"And a theater, well, a theater can spring up almost anywhere and nobody ask questions, except the zoning authorities and such and they can always be squared. Theaters come and go. It happens all the time. They're transitory. Yet theaters are crossroads, anonymous meeting places, anybody with a few bucks or sometimes nothing at all can go. And theaters attract important people, the sort of people you might want to do something to. Caesar was stabbed in a theater. Lincoln was shot in one. And...." My voice trailed off. "A cute idea," he commented. I reached down to his hand on my shoe and took hold of his middle finger as a baby might. "Yeah," I said, "But Martin, is it true?" He asked me gravely, "What do you think?" I didn't say anything. "How would you like to work in a company like that?" he asked speculatively. "I don't really know," I said. * * * * * He sat up straighter and his voice got brisk. "Well, all fantasy aside, how'd you like to work in this company?" He asked, lightly slapping my ankle. "On the stage, I mean. Sid thinks you're ready for some of the smaller parts. In fact, he asked me to put it to you. He thinks you never take him seriously." "Pardon me while I gasp and glow," I said. Then, "Oh Marty, I can't really imagine myself doing the tiniest part." "Me neither, eight months ago," he said. "Now, look. Lady Macbeth." "But Marty," I said, reaching for his finger again, "you haven't answered my question. About whether it's true." "Oh that!" he said with a laugh, switching his hand to the other side. "Ask me something else." "Okay," I said, "why am I bugged on the number eight? Because I'm permanently behind a private 8-ball?" "Eight's a number with many properties," he said, suddenly as intently serious as he usually is. "The corners of a cube." "You mean I'm a square?" I said. "Or just a brick? You know, 'She's a brick.'" "But eight's most curious property," he continued with a frown, "is that lying on its side it signifies infinity. So eight erect is really--" and suddenly his made-up, naturally solemn face got a great glow of inspiration and devotion--"Infinity Arisen!" Well, I don't know. You meet quite a few people in the theater who are bats on numerology, they use it to pick stage-names. But I'd never have guessed it of Martin. He always struck me as the skeptical, cynical type. "I had another idea about eight," I said hesitatingly. "Spiders. That 8-legged asterisk on Miss Nefer's forehead--" I suppressed a shudder. "You don't like her, do you?" he stated. "I'm afraid of her," I said.