I said, "What was this weeks weather report?"
A multitude did. Within the next quarter-hour a stag party had taken over theapartment, several of them in uniform. I counted two Naval officers and an Air Forcecolonel; but they were outnumbered by graying arrivals beyond draft status. Exceptfor a lack of youth, the guests had no common theme, they seemed strangersamong strangers; indeed, each face, on entering, had struggled to conceal dismay atseeing others there. It was as if the hostess had distributed her invitations whilezigzagging through various bars; which was probably the case. After the initialfrowns, however, they mixed without grumbling, especially O.J. Berman, who avidlyexploited the new company to avoid discussing my Hollywood future. I was leftabandoned by the bookshelves; of the books there, more than half were abouthorses, the rest baseball. Pretending an interest in Horseflesh and How to Tell Itgave me sufficiently private opportunity for sizing Hollys friends.
Thats very much on my schedule, and someday Ill try to get around to it; but if ithappens, Id like to have my ego tagging along. I want to still be me when I wake upone fine morning and have breakfast at Tiffanys. You need a glass," she said,noticing my empty hands. "Rusty! Will you bring my friend a drink?"
"Hes an opportunity, believe me."
"Admiring my publicity, or are you just a baseball fan?" she said, adjusting herdark glasses as she glanced over my shoulder.
Presently one of these became prominent. He was a middle-aged child that hadnever shed its baby fat, though some gifted tailor had almost succeeded incamouflaging his plump and spankable bottom. There wasnt a suspicion of bone inhis body; his face, a zero filled in with pretty miniature features, had an unused, avirginal quality: it was as if hed been born, then expanded, his skin remainingunlined as a blown-up balloon, and his mouth, though ready for squalls andtantrums, a spoiled sweet puckering. But it was not appearance that singled him out;preserved infants arent all that rare. It was, rather, his conduct; for he wasbehaving as though the party were his: like an energetic octopus, he was shakingmartinis, making introductions, manipulating the phonograph. In fairness, most ofhis activities were dictated by the hostess herself: Rusty, would you mind; Rusty,would you please. If he was in love with her, then clearly he had his jealousy incheck. A jealous man might have lost control, watching her as she skimmed aroundthe room, carrying her cat in one hand but leaving the other free to straighten a tieor remove lapel lint; the Air Force colonel wore a medal that came in for quite apolish.
"Hes still harping?" she said, and cast across the room an affectionate look atBerman. "But hes got a point, I should feel guilty. Not because they would havegiven me the part or because I would have been good: they wouldnt and I wouldnt.
"Weve separated by mutual agreement"
She persisted. "Go over there and make him think he isnt funny-looking. Hereally can help you, Fred."
She winked at me, but it was humorless: a wink of warning, "Im all for horses,but I loathe baseball," she said, and the sub-message in her, voice was saying shewished me to forget shed ever mentioned Sally Tomato. "I hate the sound of it on aradio, but I have to listen, its part of my research. Therere so few things men cantalk about. If a man doesnt like baseball, then he must like horses, and if he doesntlike either of them, well, Im in trouble anyway: he dont like girls. And how are youmaking out with O.J.?"
I was not told these things. I read them in The Baseball Guide, another selectionoff Hollys shelf which she seemed to use for a scrapbook. Tucked between the pageswere Sunday features, together with scissored snippings from gossip columns. RustyTrawler and Holly Golightly two-on-the-aisle at "One Touch of Venus" preem. Hollycame up from behind, and caught me reading: Miss Holiday Golightly, of the BostonGolightlys, making every day a holiday for the 24-karat Rusty Trawler.
The mans name was Rutherfurd ("Rusty") Trawler. In 1908 hed lost both hisparents, his father the victim of an anarchist and his mother of shock, which doublemisfortune had made Rusty an orphan, a millionaire, and a celebrity, all at the age offive. Hed been a stand-by of the Sunday supplements ever since, a consequencethat had gathered hurricane momentum when, still a schoolboy, he had caused hisgodfather-custodian to be arrested on charges of sodomy. After that, marriage anddivorce sustained his place in the tabloid-sun. His first wife had taken herself, andher alimony, to a rival of Father Divines. The second wife seems unaccounted for,but the third had sued him in New York State with a full satchel of the kind oftestimony that entails. He himself divorced the last Mrs. Trawler, his principalcomplaint stating that shed started a mutiny aboard his yacht, said mutiny resultingin his being deposited on the Dry Tortugas. Though hed been a bachelor since,apparently before the war hed proposed to Unity Mitford, at least he was supposedto have sent her a cable offering to marry her if Hitler didnt. This was said to be thereason Winchell always referred to him as a Nazi; that, and the fact that he attendedrallies in Yorkville.
"I understand you werent too appreciative." She seemed puzzled until I said:"The Story of Doctor Wassell"
"I do believe you. But what have I to offer that would strike him as anopportunity?"
If I do feel guilty, I guess its because I let him go on dreaming when I wasntdreaming a bit. I was just vamping for time to make a few self-improvements: Iknew damn well Id never be a movie star. Its too hard; and if youre intelligent, itstoo embarrassing. My complexes arent inferior enough: being a movie star andhaving a big fat ego are supposed to go hand-in-hand; actually, its essential not tohave any ego at all. I dont mean Id mind being rich and famous.
