Eve

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

LOOKING back now as I hammer out this story in a sordid little bedroom with pieces of wallpaper peeling from its damp walls and dust upon the table on which only a typewriter stands, I realize that the first four days of my marriage with Carol were the high lights in my life. In her I found a companion who gave me confidence and spiritual peace; who amused me and who seemed to satisfy me physically as well as mentally.

We would get up about ten o’clock and have breakfast on the verandah with the valley spread out below us like a magnificent natural carpet. Away to the right, we could see the still waters of Big Bear Lake reflecting the fir trees and the lazy white clouds that drifted like balls of whipped cream in the brilliant sky. After breakfast we would put on shins and slacks and take the car to the lake where Carol would swim in a simple white swimsuit while I lounged in the boat, a rod in my hand, watching her. When the sun got hot I would go in after her and we would wrestle in the water, swim races and behave like a couple of kids on their first vacation. Then we’d go back for lunch which Russell would bring to us on the verandah and we’d talk and look at the view and talk some more. Then we’d go for a long walk in the woods, the pine needles making a carpet for us to walk on and the sunlight coming through the heavy foliage overhead making patterns on the ground. In the evening we would listen to the gramophone. It was grand to have Carol alone, lying on the big settee which we had dragged out onto the verandah, the moon shining down on us and the stars like diamond dust and the sound of music coming from the sitting room.

I told Carol much of my past life. I did not mention John Coulson nor did I speak of Eve, but I told her about the apartment house in Long Beach and how I had always wanted to write and my early struggles as a shipping clerk. I had to tell her a few lies to make the story stand up, but as I had now completely accepted Coulson’s play as my own I had no difficulty not only convincing Carol how I had written Rain Check but also myself.

In our big, airy bedroom with the windows wide open and the curtains pulled back and the moonlight making a bright patch of light on the white carpet, I would lie in bed with Carol in my arms. She slept with her head on my shoulder and one arm thrown across my chest. She always slept peacefully, scarecely moving until the sunlight woke her. Holding her in my arms, listening to her light breathing and thinking of the things we had done together during the day gave me many hours of satisfied contentment.

And yet, in spite of this contentment and happiness, I was aware that I was not entirely fulfilled. In some deep recess of my subconscious mind every now and then something stirred. I experienced from time to time a feeling of physical dissatisfaction. At first it was vague and undefined; then later this feeling became stronger and I knew that the physical impact that Eve had had upon my senses had left an indelible mark.

As long as Carol kept close by me, this hankering for Eve did not cause me any misgivings. Carol’s personality and kindness and affection was strong enough to override Eve’s remote influence, but if Carol went into the garden and left me alone, I found myself struggling against the temptation to call Eve on the telephone and to hear once again the sound of her voice.

You may find it difficult to understand why I could not completely dismiss Eve from my mind. I have already said that most men lead two lives — a normal life and a secret life. It followed then that most men have two mentalities. If the truth must be told, I began to realize that although Carol meant so much to me she was only able to satisfy part of my mental life. Eve’s corrupting influence was necessary before I was completely fulfilled.

You must not think that I weakly accepted this situation without a struggle. During those four days and nights I did succeed in putting Eve out of my mind, but I knew that I was waging a losing battle. My sublime happiness with Carol was not to last. I suppose it was too much to expect considering that I was never able to withstand temptation for long. The change came abruptly and without warning on the night of our fourth day together.

The night was perfect. A big, glittering moon hung above the hills, casting black sharp etched shadows and lighting the lake, making it look like a burnished mirror. It had been hot all day and even on the verandah, it was still too hot to think of going to bed.

Carol had suggested a midnight swim and we took the car to the lake. We stayed in the warm water for over an hour and by the time we returned to Three Point it was after one o’clock. We were undressing in the bedroom when the telephone began to ring. We both paused and looked at each other in surprise. The bell sounded shrill and impatient in the silence of the night and I had a sudden feeling of suffocating excitement.

“Who can it be at this time?” Carol asked. I can see her now. She had just taken off her white and red sports frock and was sitting on the edge of the bed in her brassiere and shorts, looking lovely, her skin tanned a golden brown and her eyes bright.

“It’s bound to be a wrong number,” I said, slipping into my dressing gown. “No one knows we are here.”

She smiled at me and went on undressing while I hurried into the lounge and picked UP the receiver.

“Hello?”I said. “Who is it?”

“Hello, you stinker,” Eve said.

I gripped the telephone, aware of a sudden stifled feeling and a thickness in my throat. “Why hello, Eve,” I said, keeping my voice low and looking over my shoulder across the lounge to the bedroom.

Carol had gone into the bathroom and I could hear water running. There was no fear of her hearing me.

“You stinker,” Eve was saying in a flat expressionless voice. “Why did you walk out on me like that?”

I scarcely understood what she was saying. Excitement and desire for her surged up in me and my blood pounded in my ears.

“What?” I said, struggling to control my feelings. “What are you saying?”

“When I woke and found you weren’t there, it gave me an awful shock. I couldn’t make out where you had got to.”

“So it gave you a shock, did it?” I said and laughed. “Well, you’ve given me a shock or two in the past, so we’re quits.”

There was a pause, then she said angrily, “Oh, so we’re quits? Well, let me tell you something, Clive. I’ve returned your rotten money. I don’t want it. I think it was a stinking trick to say you were going to stay and then to sneak off like that.”

“You’ve returned the money?” I repeated blankly, not believing her. “But, why?”

“I don’t want it from you. I don’t want your rotten money.”

“What did you want to do that for?” I asked, not knowing what I was saying.

“I’ve told you. I just don’t want your rotten money. I can get on all right without it, thank you. I’m not going to be treated like that, so I’ve sent it back to you.”

“I don’t believe you, Eve, I haven’t had it. You’re lying and you know it.”

“I tell you I sent it back.”

“Where did you send it to?”

“I put it in an envelope and sent it to the Writers’ Club. That’s your club, isn’t it?”

I relaxed against the back of the chair, feeling a little sick. “But why did you do it? I wanted you to have the money.”

“I tell you I don’t want your money,” she snapped back. “And Clive, I don’t want to see you -any more. So don’t either telephone or call again. I’m telling Marty she’s not to let you in and if you telephone she’s to cut you off.”

The barriers that I had so half-heartedly tried to erect against her influence crumbled completely, and the beauty of the past four days was washed away in the flood of bitter repression that engulfed me when I heard those words.

“Don’t be impulsive, Eve,” I said, gripping the telephone until my hand ached. “I want to see you again.”

“You’re not going to, Clive. You’re making a fool of yourself.

I’ve warned you before, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference. So we’re not going to see each other again.”

“Don’t let’s be final about this, Eve,” I said, trying to keep the feverish desperation out of my voice. “May I see you tomorrow? I’d like to talk this over with you.”

“No, Clive, I don’t want to talk to you any more. I don’t want you to call me. And if you do, I’ll hang up. You’ve got to stop all this nonsense. You take me too much for granted. You take up too much of my time and I don’t want it that way.”

“But look, Eve, I’m sorry I walked out on you. I can explain everything if only you’ll let me. I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just that I couldn’t sleep and I was restless and I didn’t want to disturb you. We’ve got to meet again. We can’t break, this up . . . it’s too important. Please, Eve, don’t treat me like this . . .”

“I’m tired and I’m not going to keep on talking. I don’t ever want to see you again. It’s good-bye.” There was a pause, then she repeated, “Good-bye, Clive,” and she hung up.

“Eve . . .” I began and then I sat very still staring at the telephone. I felt sick with frustration. It could not end like this. Good God, I thought, what kind of a rat must I be for a prostitute to return me my money and refuse to see me? I had never felt so completely and utterly humiliated. I replaced the receiver with a trembling hand. I had to see her again. She couldn’t do this to me. My confidence in myself had gone and I was in black despair.

“Who was it, Clive?” Carol called from the bedroom.

“Just a fellow I know,” I called back, my voice husky and unsteady.

“What did you say?” She came to the door and ran across the lounge in her flimsy nightdress. “Who was it?”

I walked over to the sideboard and mixed myself a drink. I did not dare let her see my face. “Just a fellow I know. He was a little tight, I guess.”

“Oh.” There was a long pause. I did not look round but drank the whisky quickly.

“Drink?” I asked, looking for a cigarette.

“No, thank you.”

I lit the cigarette and turned. We looked at each other. Carol’s eyes were full of questions.

“Come on,” I said, forcing a smile. “Let’s go to bed. I’m tired.”

“What did he want?” she asked suddenly.

I glanced over at her, frowning. “What did who want?”

“Your friend . . . the one who phoned.”

“He was tight. God knows what he wanted. I told him to get to hell off the line.”

“Sorry.”

I looked at her sharply and then stubbed out the cigarette and went over to her. “I’m sorry if I sounded like a crab. It annoyed me that a drunk should interrupt us like that.”

Again she looked searchingly at me, but I looked away and took off my dressing gown. I got into bed beside her and snapped off the light.

She came close, her head on my shoulder. I put my arm round her and we lay for a long time in the dark, not saying anything. In my mind, I kept saying to myself, you fool, you fool. You are throwing your happiness away. You are crazy. You have not been married five days and you’re cheating already. This woman in your arms loves you. She will do anything for you. What do you think Eve will do for you? Nothing. You know she never will do anything for you.

“Is something wrong, Clive?” Carol asked.

“Of course not.”

“Sure?”

“Sure.”

“You’re not worrying about anything? Tell me, Clive, if there’s anything wrong. I want to share things with you.”

“Nothing, darling, really. I’m tired and that guy annoyed me . . . go to sleep. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“All right.” She sounded doubtful and troubled. “But you will tell me if anything ever goes wrong, won’t you?”

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

She sighed and clung to me for a moment. “I do love you, Clive. You won’t let anything spoil this, will you?”

“Of course not,” I said, thinking what a swine I was. I was lying deliberately because I wanted to have them both. It wouldn’t work out that way . . . it couldn’t work out that way. “Now stop talking rot and go to sleep. I love you; everything’s perfect and there’s nothing to worry about.”

She kissed me and then there was silence. Eventually I could tell by her breathing that she was asleep.

The next two days passed slowly. We continued to go to the lake. We swam, we talked, we listened to the gramophone and we read books. We both knew now that something was missing, something was not quite right, but neither of us said anything. I knew, of course, what it was. I don’t think Carol guessed. I’m sure she did not, but she was troubled and I caught her looking at me from time to time with puzzled, hurt eyes.

Now that I had let the barriers down, Eve came into the house. As I sat reading, her face would suddenly appear on the page of my book. If I were listening to the gramophone, instead of the music, I would hear her voice saying, “I don’t want your rotten money,” over and over again. I would wake up at night thinking that I had her in my arms and then realizing, with a violently beating heart, that it was Carol and not Eve whom I was holding so tightly.

I began to long for her as a drug addict longs for a “shot’ in the arm. I began to count the hours when Carol would get in her car and drive away to the Studio and yet, I still loved Carol. It was as if two people were living in my body, one clamouring for the cold indifference of Eve and the other content with the love that Carol gave me. Over these two people I had no control.

It was Saturday afternoon and we were sitting in the boat. Carol had on a red swim-suit and it looked nice with her golden skin and dark hair.

“It would be wonderful if we could always be happy like this, Clive, wouldn’t it?” she said.

I rowed a few strokes before I said, “We’ll always be happy, darling.”

“I don’t know. Sometimes I’m afraid something will happen and spoil all this.”

“Nonsense,” I held the oars against my chest and stared across the big expanse of blue water. “What could happen?”

She was silent for a moment, then she said, “Don’t let’s get like other couples we know and cheat and lie to each other.”

“Don’t worry,” I told her, wondering if she had guessed what was going on in my mind. “We won’t get like that.”

She was quiet for a minute or two, her fingers playing in the water. “If you get tired of me, Clive, and you want someone else, will you tell me? I could stand it better if you told me than if I found you were cheating.”

“What’s got into you?” I demanded, leaning towards her and staring at her. “Why are you talking about such things?”

She looked up and smiled. “I just want you to know. I think if you ever cheated on me, Clive, I’d walk out and never see you again.”

I tried to make a joke of it. “Swell,” I said. “Now I know how to get rid of you.”

She nodded. “Yes, now you know how to get rid of me.”

When we returned to Three Point, there was a big, black Packard parked in the drive. I pulled up and stared at the car.

“Who can this be?” I asked.

Carol peered across me. “Let’s go up and see. What a bore having people call on our last day but one.”

I drove on up to the cabin. A short, dark fat man was sitting on the verandah with a highball on the table near him. He waved to Carol and got up.

“Who the hell’s this?” I asked Carol in an undertone.

She clutched at my arm. “Bernstien,” she whispered back. “Sam Bernstien of International Pictures. I wonder what he can possibly want.”

We went up together and Bernstien patted Carol’s arm affectionately before turning to me.

/

“So you’re Thurston?” he said, offering a limp, fat hand. “Well, I am glad and happy to know you, Mr. Thurston.

Glad and happy, and I don’t often say that to writers, do I, my pet?”

Carol looked at him with a twinkle in her eyes. “You don’t, Sam,” she said. “At least, you don’t say it to me.”

“And you’re honeymooning. Isn’t that romantic? You’re happy — both of you? That’s swell, I can see it. My, my, it’s done her good. You know, Thurston, I’ve watched this little girl ever since she came to Hollywood. She can write. Sure, she can write, but there was something frozen inside. “Carol, my pet,” I said to her over and over again, “what you want is a man. A big, strong man and then you will really write.” But she takes no notice.” He pulled at my sleeve and whispered, “The trouble is she did not think me big enough,” and he laughed, patting Carol’s shoulder and putting his arm around her. “Now she will do great things.”

I thought this was all pretty nice, but I was wondering what he wanted. He hadn’t come all the way from Hollywood just to tell me that he was glad and happy to see me and that Carol wanted a big, strong man.

“Let’s sit down,” he said, going over to the table. “Let’s all have drinks. I have come to talk to your clever husband, Carol. I have a lot of important things to talk to him about, otherwise I would not interrupt your honeymoon. You know me, don’t you, my pet? Romantic . . . a lover . . . I do not spoil a honeymoon unless it is important.”

“Come on, Sam,” Carol said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “What do you want to talk about?”

Bernstien rubbed his hand over his fat face, pushing his small beaky nose almost flat. “I have read your play, Mr. Thurston,” he said. “I think it is very good.”

A cold trickle ran down my spine. “You mean “Rain Check”?” I said, staring at him. “Why, why of course, it’s very good.”

He beamed. “And by golly, it’ll make a grand picture. That’s what I want to talk to you about. Let us, you and me make this play of yours into a picture.”

I looked quickly at Carol. She put her hand on mine and squeezed it. “I told you, Clive. I told you Sam would like it,” she said breathlessly.

I looked over at Bernstien. “Do you mean it?”

He waved his hands. “Mean it? Why should I come all this way if I didn’t mean it? Of course, I mean it. But wait, there is one little thing. It’s nothing, but it is something.”

“So there’s a catch in it?” I said, my excitement dying on me. “What is it?”

“You can tell me.” He leaned forward. “What has Gold against you? Tell me that. Let me put that right and we make the picture. We give you a contract. Everything will be all right. But first I must put you right with Gold.”

“That’s a hell of a chance.” I said bitterly. “He hates my guts. He loves Carol. Now do you understand what he’s got against me?”

Bernstien looked at me and then at Carol and began to laugh. “That is very funny,” he said, when he had recovered sufficiently to speak. “I had no idea. I would hate you too if I were in his place.” He drank half his highball and then raised a short, fat finger. “There is a way. Not so good, but in the end—” he shrugged his shoulders, “it’ll be all right. You write the treatment and I will take it to Gold and tell him that I do the picture. He does what I say, but first I must have the treatment.”

“But first I want a contract.”

He frowned. “No. Gold gives the contracts. I can’t give you that. But I get you a contract when you have finished the treatment. I promise.” He offered his hand.

I looked at Carol.

“It’s all right, Clive. Sam always gets his own way. If he promises to give you a contract, he’ll give it to you.”

I shook hands with Bernstien. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll do you a treatment and you’ll sell it to Gold. Right?”

“Right,” he said. “Now I go. I have already stolen too many minutes of your honeymoon. We will work together. Your play is very fine. I like your mind. I like the way you express yourself. I like your drama. It is good. You will make a fine treatment. Come and see me at the Studio on Monday at ten o’clock. Carol will show you where to come. Then we get to work.”

When he had gone, Carol threw herself into my arms. “Oh, I’m so pleased,” she said. “Bernstien will make a marvellous picture for you. You two working together will make a marvellous team. Isn’t it wonderful? Aren’t you thrilled?”

I was scared and dismayed. I heard Bernstien’s voice ringing in my ears. “I like your mind. I like the way you express yourself. I like your drama. It is good. You will make a fine treatment.” He wasn’t talking about me. He was talking about John Coulson. I knew I couldn’t possibly write the treatment.

Carol pushed away from me and looked at me, her eyes troubled. “What is it, darling?” she asked, shaking me a little. “Why are you looking like that? Aren’t you pleased?”

I turned away. “Of course I am,” I said, sitting on the settee and lighting a cigarette. “But, Carol, let’s face it. I don’t know much about film treatments. I’d much sooner sell the thing and let Bernstien get someone to do it. I — I don’t think somehow—”

“Oh, nonsense,” she said, sitting by me and reaching for my hand. “Of course you can do it. I’ll help you. Let’s do it now. Let’s make a start this very minute.”

She was away to the library before I could stop her and I heard her calling to Russell to prepare a sandwich supper.

“Mr. Clive’s going to turn his play into a picture, Russell,” I heard her say. “Isn’t it marvellous? We’re going to start right in now.”

She was back again with a copy of the script and we sat down and began to go through it. In an hour or so Carol had mapped out the first rough treatment. I did nothing except agree because her mind was so quick and her experience so sure that I knew that any suggestion from me would be valueless.

While we paused to eat chicken sandwiches and drink iced hock, she said, “You must do the script, Clive. It would mean so much if you did the actual shooting script. With your gift for dialogue . . . you must do it.”

“Oh no,” I protested, getting up and pacing the floor. “I couldn’t. I don’t know how . . . no, that’s absurd.”

“Listen . . .” she held up her hand. “Of course you can. Listen to this dialogue . . .” and she began to read from the play.

I stopped walking up and down, held by the power and strength of the words. They were words that I could never write. Words that had beauty, rhythm and drama. And as I listened, the words seemed to burn themselves into my brain until I thought I must snatch the play from her or go mad.

What a fool I had been to imagine that I could step into Coulson’s shoes. I thought of what Gold had said. “It is, to say the least, a lucky flash in the pan, more extraordinary, perhaps, because your first play was excellent. I have often wondered how you came to write that play.”

This was too dangerous. If I made a slip now I might be found out. Already Gold was suspicious. Why else had he said such a thing? If I began to write the script they would know at once that I had never written the play. God knows what would happen to me if they found out.

“Aren’t you listening, darling?” Carol asked, looking at me.

“Let’s not do any more tonight,” I said, pouring hock into my glass. “I think we’ve done quite enough. I’ll talk it over with Bernstein on Monday. Maybe he has someone in mind to do the script.”

She looked at me puzzled. “But darling . . .”

I took the play from her hands. “No more tonight,” I said firmly and walked out onto the verandah, unable any longer to meet her eyes.

The moon rode high. I could see the lake, the valley and the hills. But at that moment they meant nothing to me. My attention was concentrated on a man who was sitting on the wooden seat at the far end of the garden. I could not see his features. He was too far away for that, but there was something strangely familiar about the way he sat and the way he held himself, his shoulders rounded and his clasped hands gripped between his knees.

Carol came out and joined me.

“Isn’t it lovely?” she said, slipping her arm through mine.

“Do you see . . . ?” I asked, pointing to the man sitting on the garden seat. “Who is that man? What is he doing there?”

She looked. “What do you mean, Clive? What man?”

A cold wave of blood surged down my spine. “Isn’t there a man sitting on the garden seat down there in the moonlight?”

She turned to me quickly. “There is no one there, darling.”

I looked again. She was right There was no one there.

“That’s odd,” I said, suddenly shivering. “It must have been a shadow . . . it looked like a man.”

“You’re imagining things,” she said, her voice troubled. “There honestly was no one there.”

I drew her closer to me. “Let’s go inside,” I said, turning back to the sitting room. “It seems cold out here.”

It was a long time before I fell asleep that night.