Surcher nodded. And murmured. Something. . . .
43
“O.K., Johnny, let’s hear you read that again. Just once more, boy—” Tiger said, though in truth he had already practically decided the lad just wasn’t right for the part, no matter how hard he tried. That was his trouble, actually. He only tried. In acting, Tiger knew, it was much more than trying. It had but very little in fact to do with trying. For either it was there—or it wasn’t; either you had it, or didn’t. If you did, you fell naturally into it, effortlessly achieving the maximum identification with the character, and the project, totally. In fact, it was a lot like football, Tiger mused, looking around the room and noting Ron Swann, that nifty natural of an actor, if ever there was one, in conversation now with Rochelle and Sandy Seymour, whose light red hair was tied up in a bun. She was certainly another natural, though of course Rochelle topped them all. All. There was an incomparable. Without doubt. Tiger grinned, within, thinking of another thing, Ponce, that great kid, as a matter of fact. He wasn’t here, of course. Dramatics wasn’t his line. Though from time to time Tiger had mentioned it to him, attempting to encourage him. No, it wasn’t that. He was just thinking of what Ponce had told him, about a half-hour ago, bursting in on him to do so. It had been a revelation and a half, and Tiger certainly intended to take action on it. He would of course see Surcher, as Ponce had requested. And though of course it would be just another dead end for the man, he would do it. For it fitted in beautifully with his primary
Pretty Maids All in a Row 241 aim: getting rid of the creep, Mummer. Beautifully. He could barely restrain himself now from chuckling, thinking of what Ponce had told him. It had surprised him, totally. One of the few times in his entire life, so far as he could immediately recall, Tiger had been surprised at somebody, especially that kind of thing. He certainly had kept it hidden. Well hidden. Poor creep. No wonder. Now, Tiger did chuckle, so softly though nobody really noticed. The Teaching Machine Wonder! Tiger felt good, though not entirely discompassionate either, anticipating the early departure of Mr. Mummer. A windfall, if ever there was one. First of all, he would get on to Surcher. Tomorrow morning. There was no hurry. Jim was alright. Unlike Ponce, he wasn’t worried. He continued that soft chuckling, to himself, only. It really was something. In the room also sitting here and there about Tiger were Sonny Swingle, that very promising Junior with a special flair for tragicomedy, how she could swing such roles, Marie Amis, another quasi-red-head now in her Senior year and certainly very useful to Tiger in her capacity as Student Director, what production could ever materialize without her, Dick Traugot, a terrific little actor now in his Junior year, lively as a firecracker, he would go somewhere, Judy Johnston, only a Freshman really, unbelievably, and only just admitted to the Drama Society, a black-haired charmer of a girl, a winner, bursting with life and warmth and talent, to mention some things, and of course Anne Williams and Sally Swink, those adorable things, though the truth be known Sal looked down in the dumps today. That time again? And others. Here, there, listening, or taking a hand in things, a few others, Alice Patmore among them, that very talented blond, natural of course, and, as was well known, a close friend of poor Jill’s, and understandably way down in the dumps, under the floorboards, in fact, as Tiger noted. She was brave though. Tiger treated her with the greatest consideration, even more than usual, which was very considerable, of course....
“Alright, John boy, thanks a lot, that’s enough for now—” Tiger called out. The lad looked up at him hopefully. He was extremely sensitive, this youngster, and Tiger wondered just how to break the news to him. Wasn’t there some part for him? Maybe it would be best to let Marie handle it. She was good at such things. He thought of
Ponce again. He certainly had been embarrassed, agonizingly so. making that revelation to him. He almost hadn’t. Only Tiger’s gentle encouraging had finally toppled him into it. Was that what Ponce had kept to himself all this long time, the something Tiger had long felt was on his mind? It must have been. What a lad. Certainly, if Jim hadn’t been foolishly picked up that way, if—Jill hadn’t gone that way—he never would have heard of it. Tiger sighed, within, aware once again, as so often, of the truly ironic paradoxes of things, practically all things, always. . . .
“We’ll let you know a little later, Johnny—I have to have a little powwow with Marie—” Tiger told the lad, who nodded, still hoping, but somewhere of course aware of his fate. Tiger felt sorry' for him. W’hat could he do? There weren’t any one- or two-line parts he could shove him into. Not even walk-ons! That was the trouble with such plays. One day he’d do a light light comedy, and stick him in it. But—as for this one—they had wanted it, Rochelle and Ron especially, who would of course play the leads, spectacularly. Maybe even Shakespeare could be next on the list, he mused. There was the stuff—parts for absolutely everybody! He even had to reach outside the Club sometimes, in fact, for that one. In a corner of his mind, that notable playwright was known to Tiger as the Democratic One.
“ Alright, Sonny—” Tiger said now to that young actress, “How about taking a shot at Scene I, Act II—O.K.?’’
“Sure Mr. McDrew," she told him.
“Dick, you get in there too, will you—" He said to that boy.
Sandy Seymour detached herself from Rochelle and walked over to Tiger. She sat down near him. Rochelle glanced their way, then sat down over there, near the door, near Anne and Sally. She was saying something to Johnny, Tiger noted, hoping she was setting him up for the blow. Next time, Shakespeare, definitely, Tiger thought. ...
“O.K.-go ahead—” Tiger said.
Dick and Sonny started reading their lines. Tiger listened, as did everyone else, more or less—Anne and Judy were softly giggling about something.
Soon, Marie murmured to him, “He’s perfect—и
Tiger nodded, “I think so.”
“Sonny isn’t quite there—”
“But shell make it.”
“You know what we ought to try one day?” Sandy said to him.
“What?” He asked her.
“Six Characters—” She told him, not entirely surprising him. She was gone on Pirandello. “Oh that would be great—” She said.
Tiger nodded, being himself very pro that fellow. “We’ll talk it over.”
“Might be over everybody’s head though—” She said to him.
“We still could do it”
She nodded. And they fell silent, listening to the rest of the reading. Those two kids really were pretty good, mused Tiger, taking it in. Dick was a natural and if he wanted to and worked hard and got the breaks through some right contacts, he could get somewhere, definitely. Professionally. Would Dick try it? He was a funny boy. Very funny. He wondered what he would do. On the Brooder his profile was spread all over the place, as a matter of fact. Tiger grinned, looking at Sonny. She was certainly one of the sweetest of honeys. There was something special about the way she held herself, and walked, and her carriage, it reflected her character. But then, thought Tiger, didn’t everyone’s walk? He remembered the way Jill used to walk. That had been a walk. She certainly intoxicated him with her walk. Her talk. Right up to the last moment he had heard it. . . . He remembered a dream, suddenly. From last night. He should have written it down. Nowadays he rarely did so. At one stage in his life, some four or five years ago, he used to write down most of them. They used to fascinate him. Certainly, they were the golden key. He had quite a number of notebooks filled with dreams, tucked away in a certain corner of his den at home. He used to study them. Nowadays, busy as he was, he rarely took a look at them. He felt blue about that. The dream: He was walking on the high-school grounds with Looby Loo, Ponce, and Hetty Nectar. It was strange, because with the exception of Ponce, that unique lad, they were all naked. Fortunately, it was a hot summer day. And that was the other strange thing, because out on the grounds there were at least several hundred kids milling about, and also teachers, and of course the school should have been closed, completely, for the summer. For example, he saw Betty Smith, Naked. Every single person on those grounds, in fact, was naked. And it was then that Looby Loo, interrupting a conversation he was having with Hetty and Ponce too it seemed about Vietnam, Violence and American History, suddenly said, “Why does Ponce have clothes on, Honey?” A good point, at that point. Tiger thought, noticing also. “I don’t know—” He had answered, turning to Looby Loo, lovingly, “I just don't—” He had added, putting his arm around her, fondling her, “You know what a bright kid he is.” And it ended. As far as Tiger could immediately remember, that was the end of it. Sitting there now, admiring Sonny, he mused, and wondered. . . .