So that was that; very mysterious, and a trifle disconcerting to a young man in love. A week passed, ten days, it was almost time to go back to school. Lanny found that he was glad, for it wasn't comfortable living in Esther's home when he knew that she didn't want him and was watching him all the time, anxious when he made the children happy, when he had too much influence over them. He knew that he had ruined himself with his stepmother and that nothing he could do would ever restore him to her favor.
All right; he might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb; he decided suddenly that he wanted to see the great city of New York. He had had only a few hours there on his arrival, and only one trip with his father the previous summer. He hadn't seen the great bridges, the art galleries, the museums — to say nothing of the theatrical district, where many new plays were being got ready. He mentioned it to his father, who said all right. He sent his trunk to the school by express and packed a suitcase and took a morning train to the metropolis.
He had the bright idea that he would surprise Gracyn; so he took a taxi to the address to which he had been writing. He found it was a poor lodging house — and that she had moved from there a month ago, leaving no address. Her mail was being forwarded by the post office; but at the post office they wouldn't give the address — he would have to write her a letter and wait for a reply. After thinking it over he decided to call Walter Hayden's office. The director was away on an assignment, but his secretary said, yes, she knew about Phyllis Gracyn, she was rehearsing at the Metropole Theater — she had the leading part in The Colonel's Lady, a new play by somebody who was apparently somebody, although Lanny had never heard the name.
He drove to the theater. You don't have to send in your card during rehearsals; one of the front doors is apt to be unlocked, and you can walk in and look around. Lanny did so. Since the auditorium was dark no one paid any attention to him; he took a seat in back and watched.
Gracyn was on the bare stage with perhaps a dozen other persons, mostly men: a director, a couple of assistants, a property boy, and so on — Lanny was familiar with the procedure by now. The place was hot, and all the men were in their shirtsleeves and mopped their foreheads frequently. Gracyn was sitting in a chair watching the work; when her cue came she would get up and go through a scene.
Another war play; the men sat at small tables and it became apparent that they were supposed to be doughboys in a wine shop somewhere behind the lines. Gracyn was a French girl, daughter of the proprietor — her father scolded her for being too free with the soldiers. When he went off she teased them and some of her lines were a trifle crude — evidently it was a “realistic” play. The doughboys sang songs, one of them “Madelon,” in translation. “She laughs — it is the only harm she knows.”
Gracyn was doing it with great spirit. Oh, yes, she could act! Lanny had never seen the American boys in France, but he recalled the scene with the French soldiers when he and his mother motored to see Marcel. He thought: “I could have given the director a lot of help.” But they wouldn't let Gracyn tell what she was doing. And yet the secretary at Hayden's place had known about it and had told it freely. Very strange!
VII
Lanny didn't want to disturb her. He waited until the rehearsal was over and she was about to leave. Then he came down the aisle, saying: “Hello, Gracyn.”
She was startled. “Lanny! Of all people! Where on earth did you come from?”
“Out of a taxi,” he said.
“How did you find me?”
“Your secret appears to have leaked.”
She came into the auditorium to join him. She led him back, away from the others, and sat down. “Darling,” she said, swiftly, “I have something that's dreadfully hard to tell you. I couldn't put it on paper. But you have to know right away.” She caught her breath and said: “I have a lover.”
“A what?” he exclaimed. When he took in the meaning of her words, he said: “Oh, my God!”
“I know you'll think it's horrid, but don't be too mean to me. I couldn't help it. It's the man who's putting up the money for the show and giving me this part.”
The youth had never been so stunned in all his life. He was speechless; and the girl rushed on:
“I had a chance, Lanny; I might never have had another. He's a big coffee merchant, who happened to see my performance in Holborn. He lives in New York and he invited me to come. He offered to take me to a good manager and find me a part — right away, without any waste of time. What could I say, Lanny?”
The youth remembered his mother's phrase. “You paid the price?”
“Don't be horrid to me, Lanny. Don't let's spoil our friendship. Try to see my side. You know I'm an actress. I told you I didn't know anything else, I didn't care about anything else — I wanted to get on the stage, and I'm doing it.”
“There isn't any honest way?”
“Please, darling — use your common sense. This is New York. What chance does a girl stand? I'd have tramped the heels off my shoes going to managers' offices, and they wouldn't even have seen me. I'd have called myself lucky to get a part with three lines — and I'd have spent a month or two rehearsing, going into debt for my board while I did it. The play might have failed the first week, and I'd have twenty dollars, maybe thirty, to pay my debts with. Believe me, I've talked to show girls these few weeks, and I know what the game is.”
“Well, it's all right,” he said. “I wish you success, and the highest salary on Broadway.”
“Don't sneer at me, Lanny. Life has been easy for you. You were born with a gold spoon in your mouth, and you've no right to scorn a poor girl.”
“I'll do my best to remember it. Thanks for telling me the truth.”
“I'd have told you before, Lanny; but it was so hard. I hate to lose you for a friend.”
“I'm afraid you have done so,” he said, coldly. “Your angel might be jealous.”
“I know it's a shock, darling. But you know so little about the stage world. Somebody had to give me a start. You couldn't have done it — you surely know that.”
Said he: “It may interest you to hear that I was thinking of asking you to marry me.”
Did this startle her? If so, she was a good actress. “I haven't failed to consider that. But you have to go to school, and then to college — that's five years, and in that time I'd be an old woman.”
“My father would have helped me to marry, if I'd asked him.”
“I know, dear, but can't you understand? I don't want to be a wife, I want to be an actress! I couldn't think of settling down and having babies, and being a society lady — not in Newcastle, not even in France. I want to have a career — and what sort of a life would it be for you, tagging along behind a stage celebrity? Would you enjoy being called Mister Phyllis Gracyn?”
He saw that she had thought it all out; and, anyhow, it was too late. No good saying any unkind words. “All right, darling,” he said — it was the stage name. “I'll be a good sport, and wish you all the luck there is. I'm only sorry I couldn't give you what you needed.”
“No, Lanny dear,” she said. “It's thirty thousand dollars!” And there wasn't any acting in what she put into those words!
VIII
The sun was going down as Lanny climbed onto the top of one of the big Fifth Avenue busses, which for a dime took you uptown, and across to Riverside Drive, and up to where the nation had built a great granite tomb for General Grant, in the shape of a soap box with a cheese box on top. Part of the time Lanny looked at the crowds on the avenue, and at sailboats and steamers on the river; the rest of the time he thought about the strange adventure into which he had blundered. He decided that he wasn't proud of it, and wouldn't tell anybody, excepting of course Robbie, and perhaps Rick or Kurt if he ever saw them again.