"What if they win?" the woman asked. She had to be Driscoll's wife, she couldn't be anyone else. Her Southern inflection had returned, her tone was again calm and reasonable, her voice softly resonant.
"They won't," Willow said.
"But if they do."
"We appeal."
"And if we lose the appeal?"
"We pay the two dollars."
"Yes, and then API and Mitchell-Campbell will turn right around and sue my husband for their losses. Isn't that so, Mr. Willow?"
"Your husband made certain warranties and indemnities in the contracts he signed, Mrs. Driscoll. One of those was that the work was entirely original with him and did not infringe on the rights of any other individual. If we lose this case, yes, API and Mitchell-Campbell would have the right to counterclaim over and4o recover against him, yes."
"Whom would you represent in such a case, Mr. Willow?"
"I'm not sure I understand you."
"My husband? Or Mitchell-Campbell Books?"
"Such a case is an impossibility," the other man said. "We're going to win this suit, Mrs. Driscoll."
"I'm only asking Mr. Willow suppose. Whom would you represent, Mr. Willow?"
"I would have to represent Mitchell-Campbell," Willow said. "My firm works for them on a retainer basis."
"And would you then claim, for Mitchell-Campbell, that my husband did indeed steal Mr. Constantine's play?"
"If this court decides…"
"Would you?"
"Mrs. Driscoll, if this court decides against us, we would most certainly appeal to a higher court."
"You're evading my question, Mr. Willow."
"I think I've got another Harvard lawyer on my hands," Willow said, and laughed.
"What I want to know, Mr. Willow, is whether you really believe my husband is an honest man."
There was a slight hesitation.
"Yes," Willow said. "I do."
"You don't think he stole that play?"
"I do not," Willow said. "Do you?"
"What?"
"Do you think he stole it?"
There was another hesitation. Then Mrs. Driscoll said, "Of course he didn't steal it."
"Then we have no problem," Willow said.
Arthur rose suddenly and left the booth, his back to the partitioning wall, his heart pounding. He should not have eavesdropped, he should.have warned them, he should have said Stop, I don't want to hear this, his father and mother in the room next to his, the wind outside and the sound of an occasional automobile in the street below, his father whispering in Italian, whispering, don't let me hear, he thought, don't you know Julie's in the room with you? I do not want to hear. Blankly, he moved away from the booth and into the restaurant, circling the columns, moving between the tables, trapped in a forest of furniture and glistening white tablecloths, the hum of conversation, the brittle sound of laughter and the clink of silverware, where should he go, should he find Mother Sauce and ask her to change their table, where was Sidney, where the hell was the men's room, where behind these columns and walls had Mother Sauce hidden the men's room? He saw the telephone booth and hurried toward it, entering it and swiftly closing the door behind him, hiding, I should not have listened. He dried the palms of his hands on his trousers. His face was flushed and he felt feverish and weak. He sat silently expectant, certain that the phone would ring and expose his hiding place. He caught his breath and looked at the dial. Selig, he thought. He dried his palms again, and searched for a dime, and then he dialed Selig's office number slowly and carefully. Selig answered on the fourth ring.
"Did you reach Mitzi?" Arthur asked. His heart was still pounding. He looked through the glass door of the booth furtively, fearful he would be discovered by Willow, exposed by Willow who would reconstruct the eavesdropping and berate him for it, scold him the way McIntyre had yesterday, make him feel foolish and guilty and afraid.
"Not only did I reach Mitzi," Selig said, "but I also asked her to ask Hester to call me at the office, which Hester did not ten minutes ago. I've been on the phone with her all this time."
"What did she say?"
"She likes the play."
"Good, will she—"
"But she has some questions about it."
"About the play?"
"Well, about the character."
"About Carol?"
"Yes, that's the part we want her to play, isn't it?"
"Yes, of course."
"Well, that's the part she's got questions about."
"What kind of questions?"
"I don't know, she wants to talk to you," Selig said. "She won't talk to anyone but you."
"When?"
"Tonight?"
"Where?"
"It'll have to be late, Arthur. She has a perform…"
"I don't care how late…"
"… ance at Lincoln Center, you know. She probably won't be free until eleven-thirty or thereabouts."
"Fine. What shall I do, pick her up at the theater?"
"No, she said she'd rather meet…"
"Where?"
"The Brasserie. She doesn't eat until after performance, so she can grab a bite there, if that's all right with you."
"That's fine."
"Eleven-thirty at the Brasserie."
"Right," Arthur said.
"You know what she looks like, don't you?"
"Yes." Arthur paused. "She didn't tell you what's bothering her, huh?"
"She didn't say anything was bothering her, Arthur. She said it was a charming play, and she loved the character, she loved the girl Carol, but before she did anything or said anything or instructed her agent to do anything, there were some things in the character she wanted to clarify, so that she would understand the character more fully and be able to approach it more intelligently."
"Did she say that? That she wanted to approach it more intelligently?"
"I'm repeating word for word what she told me, Arthur."
"Well, that sounds pretty encouraging, doesn't it to you?"
"Actresses are strange people," Selig said.
"Granted, but—"
"She may simply want to have an intelligent approach for the next time she reads it, Arthur. It could mean nothing more than that."
"Still, she wouldn't—"
"She's a very talented and high-strung girl who is afraid of her own shadow because she's so lovely, and talented, and insecure," Selig said. "She likes the play, she likes the part, but she's afraid to make a move from Lincoln Center where she's got only a little role in a Restoration comedy, but at least she's got respect and she's working steady and she doesn't have to rely on her own judgment, God forbid your play should be a flop. So she says she wants to talk to you about the character. What she really wants, Arthur, is for you to convince her she'll be doing the right thing by kissing off Lincoln Center and taking a chance on an unknown quantity. That's what this is all about."
"Okay," Arthur said.
"So explain the character to her."
"I will."
"You're a good talker."
"I'm not so sure about that."
"How's the trial going?"
"Okay."
"Call me tonight no matter how late it is," Selig said. "I want to know what she says."
"All right, I will. The Brasserie at eleven-thirty, right?"