When she finally came over to him again, out of breath and flushed, he said, "What seems to be troubling you about the part?"
"Oh, I don't know."
"Well, something is."
"Oh, sure, something is."
"Well, what?"
"I don't know." Hester sat on the edge of the pool. The lighted Christmas trees behind her put a high gloss on her blond hair. She took a small lace-edged handkerchief from her bag, crossed her legs, and ineffectually began drying them.
"I think it's a perfect part for you," Arthur said.
"You do?"
"Certainly."
"I don't know."
"Really, Hester."
"Well, I don't know. You still haven't explained it to me. I wish you'd explain it to me," she said, and in the same breath added, "How tall are you?"
"Five-ten," Arthur said. "Seriously, Hester, I don't think Lincoln Center would object to your leaving. Not for a part like this one."
"I'm not sure about that," she answered. "Do you have a handkerchief?"
"Yes." He took a handkerchief from his breast pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to her.
"Thank you," she said. "I don't think Kazan liked me very much, but things are different now. I'm not sure they'd let me go just like that."
"It's a matter of how much you want the part, I guess," Arthur ventured.
"Yes, of course."
"So if there are any problems about it, I wish you'd tell me what they are."
"Oh, I don't know," Hester said, and rose suddenly, picking up her shoes in one hand, returning Arthur's handkerchief with the other, and then walking down the steps and onto Park Avenue barefooted, the shoes swinging at the end of her arm. Arthur took a deep breath, hesitated alongside the pool for a moment, and then followed her.
"This is the greatest street in the world," Hester said. "Tell me about Carol."
"Where do you want me to begin?"
"Where is she from?"
"The Bronx. That's pretty clear in the—"
"Do you know where I'm from?"
"No."
"Originally?"
"No, where?"
"You won't believe it."
"Try me," he said.
"Seattle, Washington. How about that?"
"Really?"
"Yes. My father was a lumberjack. Do you know you can get mugged on this street at this hour of the night, and your body dumped in the river?"
"No, I didn't know that. Carol…"
"A boy I know got mugged on Fifth Avenue, would you believe it?"
"… is a girl who feels—"
"He was one of the gypsies in Hello, Dolly. This was after the show broke. He lived, I don't know, on 48th Street, I guess, and he was walking down Fifth Avenue, and these hoods jumped him. This city…"
"The Bronx is different, you know. Carol grew up in a neighborhood…"
"It's not too different really. You read about Bronx muggings all the time, don't you just love these reminders, 'Just a Drop in the Basket,' they really gas me."
The hell with it, Arthur thought, the goddamn rotten hell with it.
"You know what?" he said.
"What?"
"Actresses give me a severe pain in the ass," he said.
"Oh, really?" Hester said, and shrugged, and ran up the street to the corner, her arms raised winglike, the shoes dangling from one hand. "Oh, it's marrr-velous!" she shrieked. "Snow is marrrrvelous!"
Arthur walked slowly to the corner. There were lighted Christmas trees on the islands dividing the avenue, lighted trees perched on the marquee of the Sheraton-East, enormous wreaths hanging from the buildings, blues and greens reflecting on the snow. There was no wind, and the city was hushed. He felt like weeping.
"Would you like to know why actresses give me a severe pain?" he said angrily.
"In the ass," Hester amended. "You forgot in the ass."
"A severe pain in the ass, thank you. Would you like to know why?"
"No," Hester said. "I'll bet you always got the prettiest girl in the class, didn't you?"
"What?"
"You. Did you always get the prettiest girl?"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"In your class."
"No, I always got the ugliest one," Arthur said.
"Do you think I'm pretty?"
"Not particularly."
"I have beautiful legs."
"Hester, do you want this goddamn part or not?"
"I know I have beautiful legs."
"Who cares about your legs?"
"You're not telling me anything I don't already know. In fact, you're boring me. Do you want to discuss your play, or do you want to go home?"
"I want to go home," Arthur said.
"Good night," she answered, and turned left on 52nd Street.
"No, wait a minute," he said.
"No, go home," she said. "Really, I'm bored to death. I was offered a part in a play by William Inge, did you know that? Just two weeks ago."
"No, I didn't know that."
"I could have had After the Fall, too, in spite of Kazan. I just didn't think it was right for me. But I could have had it."
"You'd have been terrible," Arthur said.
"That's beside the point. I could have had it if I wanted it. They think very highly of me at the Rep."
"I think very highly of you right here."
"Cut it out," she said.
"Cut what out?"
"When I was a struggling young actress, longer ago than I care to remember, a wise old lady said to me, 'Hester baby, don't ever ball a writer, a director, or a producer. It won't get you the part.' I followed her advice, and now I don't have to ball writers, directors, or producers."
"Who do you have to ball now?" Arthur asked.
"Don't get smart."
"I'm sorry, but I think I'm missing your point."
"My point is don't come on with me."
"I didn't know I was."
"You were," Hester said, "and the answer is no. Give me your arm, I want to put on my shoes." She caught his arm at the elbow and, leaning against him, put on first one shoe and then the other. "What are you smiling about?" she asked.
"Nothing."
"I don't like people who get dumb smiles on their face. How tall did you say you were?"
"Five-ten."
"That's short."
"It's not so short."
"It's short. I'm five-eight."
"Where do you live, Hester?"
"Over there someplace," she said, and gestured vaguely uptown. "In my stocking feet. I'm a very tall girl."
"I live on Fifty-fourth and Third," Arthur said.
"So?"
"Why don't we go there?"
"What for?"
"I'm cold."
"I'm not."
"We can discuss the play there."
"We can discuss it right here."
"Anyway, I'd like a drink."
"I know what you'd like."
"What would I like?"
"You'd like to jump right into bed with me."
"No, I only…"
"Forget it."
"… want to discuss the play someplace where it's warm."
"If you want to discuss it, discuss it here."
"Okay."
"And stop smiling like that."
"Okay."
"Do you want me to play the part?"
"Yes."
"I don't believe you. I don't believe your character, and I don't believe you, either."
"Okay."
"Stop smiling. I don't even know if it's such a good play."
"It's a good play, believe me."
"Sure, you wrote it."
"It's still a good play, no matter who wrote it."
"I think it's a confusing play."
"It's real."
"My part is confusing."