James Baldwin - Another Country

“Oh, he drops by from time to time. He always looks that way. He’s harmless.”

“I’ll have the same thing the lady’s drinking,” said Vivaldo, and joined them at the bar.

“Well, I’m glad you told me he’s harmless,” Ida said, and winked at him, and drummed her long fingernails on the bar.

“I’ll have a short drink with you,” said Cass, “and then I’m simply going to have to vanish. I’ve got to finish fixing lunch — and we have to eat it — and I’m not even dressed yet.”

“Well, I’ll help you in the kitchen,” Ida said. “What time are all these other people coming over?”

“About five, I guess. There’s this TV producer coming, he’s supposed to be very bright and liberal — Steve Ellis, does that sound right?—”

“Oh, yes,” said Ida, “he’s supposed to be very good, that man. He’s very well known.” She mentioned a show of his she had seen some months ago, which utilized Negroes, and which had won a great many awards. “Wow.” She wiggled her shoulders. “Who else is coming?”

“Well. Ellis. And Richard’s editor. And some other writer whose name I can’t remember. And I guess they’re bringing their wives.” She sipped her drink, looking rather weary. “I can’t imagine why we’re doing this. I guess it’s mainly on account of the TV man. But Richard’s publishers are giving Richard a small party Monday — in their offices — and he could just as well see all those people then.”

“Buck up, old girl,” said Vivaldo. “You’re just going to have to get used to it.”

“I expect so.” She gave them a quick, mischievous grin, and whispered, “But they seem so silly—! those I’ve met. And they’re so serious, they just shine with it.”

Vivaldo laughed. “That’s treason, Cass. Be careful.”

“I know. They really are getting behind the book, though; they have great hopes for it. You haven’t seen it yet, have you?” She walked over to the sofa, where books and papers were scattered and picked the book up, thoughtfully. She crossed the room again. “Here it is.”

She put the book down on the bar between Ida and Vivaldo. “It’s had great advance notices. You know, ‘literate,’ ‘adult,’ ‘thrilling’—that sort of thing. Richard’ll show them to you. It’s even been compared to Crime and Punishment —because they both have such a simple story line, I guess.” Vivaldo looked at her sharply. “Well. I’m only quoting.”

The sun broke free of a passing cloud and filled the room. They squinted down at the book on the bar. Cass stood quietly behind them.

The book jacket was very simple, jagged red letters on a dark blue ground: The Strangled Men. A novel of murder, by Richard Silenski . He looked at the jacket flap which described the story and then turned the book over to find himself looking into Richard’s open, good-natured face. The paragraph beneath the picture summed up Richard’s life, from his birth to the present: Mr. Silenski is married and is the father of two sons, Paul (11) and Michael (8). He makes his home in New York City .

He put the book down. Ida picked it up.

“It’s wonderful,” he said to Cass. “You must be proud.” He took her face between his hands and kissed her on the forehead. He picked up his drink. “There’s always something wonderful about a book, you know? — when its really, all of a sudden, a book, and it’s there between covers. And there’s your name on it. It must be a great feeling.”

“Yes,” said Cass.

“You’ll know that feeling soon,” said Ida. She was examining the book intently. She looked up with a grin. “I bet I just found out something you never knew,” she said to Vivaldo.

“Impossible,” said Vivaldo. “I’m sure I know everything Richard knows.”

“ I wouldn’t be so sure,” said Cass.

“I bet you don’t know Cass’s real name.”

Cass laughed. “He does, but he’s forgotten it.”

He looked at her. “That’s true, I have. What is your real name—? I know you hate it, that’s why nobody ever uses it.”

“Richard just did,” she said. “I think he did it just to tease me.”

Ida showed him the book’s dedication page, which read for Clarissa, my wife . “That’s cute, isn’t it?” She looked at Cass. “You sure had me fooled, baby; you just don’t seem to be the Clarissa type .”

“As it turned out,” said Cass, with a smile. Then she looked at Vivaldo. “Ah,” she said, “did you happen to note a very small note in today’s theatrical section?” She went to the sofa and picked up one of the newspapers and returned to Vivaldo. “Look. Eric’s coming home.”

“Who’s Eric?” Ida asked.

“Eric Jones,” Cass said. “He’s an actor friend of ours who’s been living in France for the last couple of years. But he’s been signed to do a play on Broadway this fall.”

Vivaldo read. Lee Bronson has signed Eric Jones, who last appeared locally three seasons ago in the short-lived Kingdom of the Blind, for the role of the elder son in the Lane Smith drama, Happy Hunting Ground, which opens here in November .

“Son of a bitch,” said Vivaldo, looking very pleased. He turned to Cass. “Have you heard from him?”

“Oh, no,” said Cass, “not for a very long time.”

“It’ll be nice to see him again,” Vivaldo said. He looked at Ida. “You’ll like him. Rufus knew him, we were all very good friends.” He folded the paper and dropped it on the bar. “Everybody’s famous, goddamnit, except me.”

Richard came into the room, looking harried and boyish, wearing an old gray sweater over a white T-shirt and carrying his belt in his hands.

“It’s easy to see what you’ve been doing,” said Vivaldo, smiling. “We heard it all the way in here.”

Richard looked at the belt shamefacedly and threw it on the sofa. “I didn’t really use it on him. I just made believe I was going to. I probably should have whaled the daylights out of him.” He said to Cass, “What’s the matter with him all of a sudden? He’s never acted like this before.”

“I’ve already told you what I think it is. It’s the new house and kind of new excitement, and he doesn’t see as much of you as he’s used to, and he’s reacted to all of this very badly. He’ll get over it, but it’s going to take a little time.”

“Paul’s not like that. Hell, he’s gone out and made friends already. He’s having a ball.”

“Richard, Paul and Michael are not at all alike .”

He stared at her and shook his head. “That’s true. Sorry.” He turned to Ida and Vivaldo. “Excuse us. We’re fascinated by our offspring. We sometimes sit around and talk about them for hours. Ida, you look wonderful, it’s great to see you.” He took her hand in his, looking into her eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Richard. And it’s wonderful to see you . Especially now that you’re such a success.”

“Ah, you mustn’t listen to my wife,” he said. He went behind the bar. “Everybody’s got a drink except me, I guess. And I ” —he looked very boyish, very secure and happy—“am going to have a dry martini on the rocks.” He opened the ice bucket. “Only, there aren’t any rocks.”

“I’ll get you some ice,” Cass said. She put her drink on the bar and picked up the ice bucket. “You know, I think we’re going to have to buy some ice from the delicatessen.”

“Well, I’ll go down and do that later, chicken.” He pinched her cheek. “Don’t worry.”

Cass left the room. Richard grinned at Vivaldo. “If you hadn’t got here today, I swore I was just going to cut you out of my heart forever.”