Dramatists -- Fiction; Greenwich Village (New York, N.Y.) -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction
“They are exact... and of course, in one sense, I meant them. I do
feel that way about your work. But not at all in the personal sense that
you have taken it. And I recognize your ability as clearly as anybody.
Can't you see, man--that's exactly the reason I talked that way to you?”
There was feeling in her voice now. “I suppose I had a crazy, kiddish
notion of converting you, of making you work for us. It was because you
are so good at it that I went after you like that. You are worth going
after.” She hesitated, and bit her lip. “That's why I was so pleased
when Zanin thought he needed you for our big plan and disappointed now
that he can't include you in it--because you could help us and we could
perhaps help you. Yes, disappointed--in spite of--and--and don't forget
the other thing I said, that those of us that believe in truth in the
theater owe it to our faith to get to work on the men that supply the
plays.... Can't you see, man!”
She threw out her arms again. His eyes, something of the heady spirits
that she would perhaps have called sex attraction shining in them now,
could see little more than those arms, the slim curves of her body in
the sweater and short skirt, her eager glowing face and fine eyes. And
his mind could see no more than his eyes.
An automobile horn sounded. He caught her arm and hurried her to the
roadside. There were more of the large bare trees here; and a rail fence
by which they stood.
“You say Zanin has given up the idea of coming to me with his plan?”
He spoke guardedly, thinking that he must not betray the confidences of
Betty and Hy.
“Yes, he has had to.”
“He spoke to me about it, once.”
“Yes, I know. But the man that is going to back him wants to do that
part of it himself or have his own director do it.”
Pictures unreeled suddenly before his mind's eye--Sue, in “a pretty
primitive costume,” exploited at once by the egotistical self-seeking
Zanin, the unscrupulous, masterful Silverstone, a temperamental,
commercial director! He shivered.
“Look here,” he began--he would fall back on his age and position;
he would control this little situation, not drift through it!--“you
mentioned my experience. Well, you're right. I've seen these Broadway
managers with their coats off. And I've seen what happens to
enthusiastic girls that fall into their hands.”
He hesitated; that miserable letter flashed on his brain. He could
fairly see it. And then his tongue ran wild.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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