Mario Puzo - Fools die

And I did catch her, but not in the way I thought. I saw her come out of the parking lot and cross the wide double streets to the terminal. She was walking very slowly, very reluctantly. She wore a long gray skirt and a white blouse, and her long blond hair was pinned up around her head. At that moment I had almost a sense of pity for her. She looked so reluctant, as if she were a child going to a party her parents had made her go to. On the other side of the continent I had been an hour early for my plane. I had rushed through the terminal to meet her. I was dying to see her, but she, obviously, was not dying to see me. As I was thinking this, she lifted her head and saw me and her face became radiant and then she was hugging and kissing me and I forgot what I had seen.

During this visit she was rehearsing days for a play that was to open in a few weeks. Since I was working at the studio this was fine. We saw each other at night. She would call me at the studio to tell me what time she would be through rehearsing. When I asked her for a number where I could call her, she told me there was no phone in the theater.

Then one evening, when her rehearsal ran late, I went to the theater to pick her up. As we were about to leave, a girl came out of the backstage office and said to her, “Janelle, Mr. Evarts is calling you,” and she led the way to the phone.

When Janelle came out of the office, her face was rosy and flushed with pleasure, but then she took one look at me and said, “That’s the first time he called. I didn’t even know they could get me on the phone in the theater.”

I heard that tick of the second card being dealt. I still had so much pleasure with her company, with her body, in just looking at her face. I still loved the expression that went across her eyes and mouth. I loved her eyes. They could get such a hurt look and yet be so gay. I thought her mouth the most beautiful in the world. Hell, I was really still a kid. It didn’t matter that I knew she was deceiving me. She really hated to lie and did it badly. In a funny kind of way she told you she was lying. Even that was a fake-out.

And it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. I suffered, sure, but it was still a good bargain. Yet as time went on, I enjoyed her less and she made me suffer more.

I was sure she and Alice were lovers. One week, when Alice was out of town on a movie production job, I went to Janelle’s and Alice’s apartment to spend the night. Alice called Janelle long distance to chat with her. Janelle was very short with her, almost angry. A half hour later, when we were making love, the phone rang again. Janelle reached over, took the phone off the hook and threw the receiver under the bed.

One of the things I liked about her was that she hated to be interrupted while making love. Sometimes, at the hotel, she wouldn’t let me answer the phone or even answer the door if a waiter was bringing in food or drinks when we were on our way to bed.

A week later in my hotel on a Sunday morning I called Janelle at her apartment. I knew she usually slept late, so I didn’t call until eleven o’clock. I got a busy signal. I waited a half hour and called again. I got a busy signal. Then I called every ten minutes for an hour and kept getting a busy signal, and suddenly I got a flash of Janelle and Alice in bed, the phone off its hook. When I finally did get through, it was Alice who answered the phone, her voice soft and happy. I was sure they were lovers.

Another day we were planning a trip to Santa Barbara when she got a rush call to go to a producer’s office to read for a part. She said it would take only one-half hour, so I went to the studio with her. The producer was an old friend of hers, and when he came into the office, he made a tender, affectionate gesture, brushing his fingers along her face, and she smiled at him. I read the gesture immediately. It was the tenderness of a former lover, now a dear friend.

When we were on our way to Santa Barbara, I asked Janelle if she had ever been to bed with the producer. She turned to me and said, “Yes.” And I didn’t ask her any more questions.

One night we had a date for dinner and I went to her apartment. She was getting dressed. Alice opened the door for me. I always liked her and in a funny kind of way I didn’t mind that she was Janelle’s lover. I still wasn’t really sure. Alice always kissed me on the lips, a very sweet kiss, she always seemed to enjoy my company. We got along fine. But you could sense the lack of femininity in her. She was very thin, wore tight shirts that showed that she had surprisingly full breasts but was very businesslike. She gave me a drink and put on an Edith Piaf record and we waited until Janelle came out of the bathroom.

Janelle kissed me and said, “Merlyn, I’m sorry, I tried to call you at the hotel. I have to rehearse tonight. The director’s going to come by and pick me up.”

I was stunned. Again I heard the tick of the second card. She was smiling at me radiantly, but there was a little quiver to her mouth which made me think she was lying. She was searching my face intently with her eyes. She wanted me to believe her and she saw that I didn’t. She said, “He’s coming here to pick me up. I’ll try and get through by eleven.”

“That’s OK,” I said. Over her shoulder I could see Alice looking down in her glass, not watching us, pointedly trying not to hear what we were saying.

So I waited around, and sure enough, the director came up. He was a young guy but already almost bald, and he was very businesslike and efficient. He didn’t have time for a drink. He said patiently to Janelle, “We’re rehearsing at my place. I want you absolutely perfect for this dress rehearsal tomorrow. Evarts and I have changed some lines and some business.”

He turned to me. “I'm sorry I spoiled your evening, but that’s show business.” He parodied the cliche.

He seemed like a nice guy. I gave him and Janelle a cold smile. “It’s OK,” I said. “Take as long as you like.”

At this Janelle became a little panicky. She said to the director, “Do you think we can get through by ten?”

And the director said, “If we really work hard, maybe.”

Janelle said, “Why don’t you wait here with Alice and I'll get back by ten and we can still go to dinner? Is that all right?”

I said, “Sure.”

So I waited with Alice after they left and we talked to each other. She said she had redecorated the apartment and she took me by the hand and led me through the rooms. It was really charming. The kitchen was fixed up with special shutters, the cupboards were decorated with some sort of inlaid patterns. Copper pots and pans were hanging on the ceiling.

“It’s lovely,” I said. “I can’t imagine Janelle doing all this.”

Alice laughed. “No,” she said. “I’m the homebody.”

Then she led me through the three bedrooms. One was obviously a child’s bedroom.

“That’s for Janelle’s son when he comes to visit us.”

Then she led me to the master bedroom, which had a huge bed. She had really changed it. It was utterly feminine with dolls against the walls, big pillows on a sofa and a television at the foot of the bed.

And then I said, “Whose bedroom is this?”

Alice said, “Mine.”

We went to the third bedroom, which was a shambles. It was obviously used as a small storeroom for the apartment. All kinds of odds and ends of furniture scattered all over the room. The bed was small with a quilt on it.

“And whose bedroom is this?” I said mockingly, a hairy Goldilocks.

“Janelle’s,” Alice said. As she said this, she let go of my hand and turned her head away.

I knew she was lying and that she and Janelle shared the huge bedroom. We went back into the sitting room and we waited.