"Dart, Iris Rainer - Beaches 01 - Beaches" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dart Iris Rainer)

"A walk will do me good," Cee Cee said to herself, as if she didn't know where she was going. As if this was just some insomniac's way of tiring herself out so she could fall asleep after a nice walk on the beach. Marion Avenue. Was it north or south? North. She had passed it one night when she went with Richie Day to the bus to pick up his mother who was coming to visit.
"Perry's house," Richie had said, pointing.
Cee Cee had turned to look and couldn't believe what she saw. It was a palace. A mansion maybe. Big and white and colonial. And Perry's black Lincoln convertible parked right out in front made the house look even more elegant.
Now the whole place was dark. Totally. Cee Cee had walked the six blocks rehearsing the words, "I hope I didn't wake you," and now they seemed silly. Of course she would be waking him. There wasn't a light on anywhere. Maybe she should go back. Then why did she keep walking toward the house? She held her breath as she passed the black convertible and walked to the front door. The door knocker was heavy in her hand-but she lifted it and then let go. Just once. The sound was loud and Gee
Gee closed her eyes. Her heart was pounding. Now was the time to go. To run. To get back to the cast house before she said or did something really schmucky. This was a good stock job, and she shouldn't fuck it up with her crazy big mouth that Leona was always telling her about. "Steppin' all over yourself," she called it. Leona should talk.
The door opened about three inches, and a sleepy-faced John Perry looked out.
Cee Cee was too nervous to talk.
"Cee Cee? Is that you? Come on in, kiddo."
Kiddo. Not even dear. Just goddamned-no-sweet-talk-for-you, Bloom-Kiddo! Well, fuck you, John Perry. Oh, yes. Fuck you.
She followed Perry into the warmth of a beautifully furnished living room.
"Y'okay?"
"N'huh!"
"Sure?"
"Yeah."
"Wine?"
"No."
"Sit down?"
"Okay."
Oh, God. Now she'd done it. He was waiting for her to speak. To tell him what it was that got her to walk here at two in the morning in her caftan and wake him up, for God's sake. How long could she stall?
"Cee Cee. What is it?" Perry said, stifling a yawn.
Now he was bored, Cee Cee thought miserably. What was she doing here? Her foot hurt. Maybe she'd gotten glass in it walking barefoot. Why didn't she run? Not to the cast house. To the bus station.
"Cee Cee darling." There, he said it. "What in God's name do you want from my life at this hour? Hmmm?"
Cee Cee took a deep breath. This was it.
"I want to get laid," she said.
Why didn't it sound funny like the other day when Bertie said it, and they laughed so much? Why did it sound like begging? Why had she blurted it out so quickly when she meant to be really seductive and mysterious and just tell him at first she wanted a little nightcap, like people said in movies. And would he want her? Want to go to bed with a virgin who at nineteen was finally giving up "the golden crotch"? (That's what Marsha Edelman, a girl in Cee Cee's high school, had called hers, which she finally gave to her doctor fiance.) Cee Cee realized she was crying.
Perry still hadn't said a word, and Cee Cee wished he would speak because the only sound in the room was the sound of her sobs. Outside, the ocean pounded against the beach; she had a subliminal flash of A Star Is Born, where Norman Maine walked out into the water, leaving his robe on the shore while Esther Blodgett/Vicki Lester sang. Maybe Cee Cee would keep her caftan on when she walked into the water instead of leaving it. At night that water probably felt very, very cold.
Perry moved toward the sofa where Cee Cee had seated herself and sat down beside her.
"Cee Cee," he said. "Cee Cee, please stop crying. For now and forever more, if there is one person who doesn't have to cry, it's you. Do you hear me?"
Oh, yes, she heard him and she saw him and she felt him in that white (Norman Maine) terry-cloth robe next to her, with those adorable furry legs and . . .
"Yes," she said. "I hear you."
"Cee Cee," he said. "Cee Cee. If I have stopped myself once from telling you what I am about to tell you, I have stopped myself ten thousand times. I swear to you on everything that is holy. But you've pushed me, forced me, and now I will do it-prudence, caution, and good sense be damned."
Oh, my God. He loves me, Cee Cee thought. She steeled herself. Could it be? Oh, my God. Of course. Of
course. That's why he ignored me. Afraid he'd be exposed in front of the others. They won't understand, and we-
"Cee Cee. You don't want to go to bed with me. You want my attention, that's all. And I've known it from the first day you got here. But frankly, baby" (oh, yes) "I'm a little afraid of you, and that's why I've held back."
"Huh?"
"Cee Cee. You're a star. You have the voice of an angel. The timing of Jack Benny. Confidence that any other actor would kill for. Cee Cee, you are it. I knew it the day I saw you. I told Jay Miller and Marilyn. They knew it, too. You see, my love, although I hate to admit it, you're wasting time in my stinking little theater. You're major stuff. Virtuoso. And you're right. I have ignored you. Deliberately. I haven't directed you because you don't need me. You are beyond me. You know intuitively what I could spend years studying and still wouldn't learn. Do you hear me, Cee Cee? Do you know what I'm saying? I mean, by all means, stay out the season with us ... but, sweetheart, you will be, I predict, on Broadway next year. One good vehicle and good-by. Straight to the top."
Cee Cee was shocked. Confused. Yes. Yes. She knew that everything he was saying was true. She knew he meant it, too.
"Straight to the top in the most competitive cutthroat business in the world. Because everyone wants it and dreams about having it-and you're one of the few who will."
"John ... I ... don't . . ."
"I know you don't. You don't know how to deal with it. It's heady. It's big. And you're scared. Well, you should be. Now go back to the cast house and get some rest. You'll be fine in the morning, and tomorrow night the show will open and you'll knock 'em dead. Now go on."
Gee Cee got up slowly. Her eyes were puffy, but she'd use some Murine and they'd look fine tomorrow. Perry put his arm around her and walked her to the door.
"Will you be okay getting back?" he asked.
"Sure."
He kissed her on the cheek and gave the caftan a little pat where he guessed her ass would be, and she was out in the night walking back to the cast house.
Virtuoso, she thought. Baby, she thought. I'm a star. And he's afraid of me. That's why he's steered away from me. She felt warm and sleepy and happy. He's probably been in love with me since my audition, she thought. Afraid to approach me. She could see the cast house in the distance and was tempted not to go there and crawl back into her little bed but to run out onto the beach instead and scream at the top of her lungs: John Perry thinks I'm a star! We love each other!
After all the years when the only boys who really wanted her were "shlubs," as Leona dubbed them. After all the years when she watched all the top guys going for the other girls. Girls who-what? Were pretty. That's what. This time, Cee Cee had finally won out. This man, this fabulous man, John Perry, was different. Because he saw past things like looks. He was deep. And that's why he appreciated Cee Cee. Loved her.
Cream rises to the top. That was an expression her singing teacher had used when he had promised Cee Cee that her talent as a singer couldn't possibly go unnoticed. So, too bad, Stanley Berger, the schmuck who was supposed to be her date for the senior prom two years ago. The only reason he'd asked her to the prom was that he'd been out of school sick for a month, and when he came back, every other girl had already been asked. But then Cee Cee actually overheard Barry Rubin say, "Hey, Berger, you're not takin' B.P. Bloom to the prom, are you?"
"What's B.P.?" Stanley Berger asked.
Cee held tight to her locker door, braced to hear the answer, but Barry Rubin said it so fast that she couldn't make it out. All she heard was Stanley Berger laughing really loud. And she was afraid to ask anybody what B.P.
was. Couldn't ask any of the other girls. And certainly not the boys. She sat for hours at home that night writing a "B" on a piece of notebook paper and a "P" a few inches away, and filling in words. Bad Person, Boring Pushover, Big Prostitute. At eleven o'clock that night, in tears of fury, she finally grabbed the phone and called Stanley Berger to break the date.