Evening In Byzantium Part 25

"She's a peculiar girl," Patty said. "I just got here yesterday. I flew over the Pole."

"I think we both could use a drink," Craig said. He felt very small walking beside the enormous young man along the corridor toward the bar. Patty was dressed in blue jeans and skivvy s.h.i.+rt and a light brown windbreaker. He limped a little, too, which made him even more conspicuous among the dinner jackets and jewelry.

"I see you're still limping," Craig said.

"Oh, you know about that." Patty sounded surprised.

"Anne told me about it."

"What else did she tell you about me?" There was a childish bitterness in the way Patty asked the question that was incongruous in a man his size.

"Nothing much else," Craig said diplomatically. He was certainly not going to repeat Anne's judgment on the bearded boy from San Bernardino.

"Did she tell you I wanted to marry her?"

"I believe she did."

"You don't think there's anything so all-out horrible or depraved about a man wanting to marry the girl he loves, do you?"

"No."

"It cost me a fortune to fly over the Pole," Patty said. "I see her for a few hours-she wouldn't even let me stay in the same hotel-and then, bang, there's a note saying she's leaving and good-by. Do you think she'll be coming back here?"

"I have no idea."

All the tables were full, and they had to stand at the crowded bar. More familiar faces. "I tell you," a young man was saying, "the British film industry has signed its death warrant."

"Maybe I should have put on a suit," Patty said, looking around uneasily. "I own a suit. In a fancy place like this."

"Not necessary," Craig said. "n.o.body notices how anybody dresses anymore. For two weeks here you have a really open society."

"You can say that again," Patty said sourly. He ordered a martini. "That's one good thing about my leg," he said. "I can drink martinis."

"What's that?"

"I mean I don't have to worry about keeping in shape and all that c.r.a.p. I'll tell you something, Mr. Craig, when I heard my knee go, I was relieved, mightily relieved. You want to know why I was relieved?"

"If you want to tell me." Craig sipped his whisky and watched Patty knock off half his martini in one gulp.

"I knew I didn't have to play football anymore. It's a game for beasts. And being my size, I didn't have the guts to quit. And another thing-when I heard it snap, I thought, 'There goes Vietnam.' Do you think that's unpatriotic?"

"Not really," Craig said.

"When I got out of the hospital," Patty went on, wiping the martini-damp beard with the back of his hand, "I decided I could finally ask Anne to marry me. There was nothing hanging over us anymore. Only her," he added bitterly. "What the h.e.l.l has she got against San Bernardino, Mr. Craig? Did she ever say?"

"Not that I remember," Craig said.

"She's given me proof that she loves me," Patty said belligerently. "The most convincing proof a girl can give. As recently as yesterday afternoon."

"Yes, she mentioned something about that," Craig said, although the yesterday afternoon surprised him. Unpleasantly. Most convincing proof. What proof had he given yesterday afternoon in Meyrague? The boy's vocabulary had not yet emerged from the Victorian era. It was somehow touching. Anne had not been circ.u.mspect in her choice of words when she had spoken on the subject.

"I've got to go back to San Bernardino," Patty said. "I'm the only son. I've got four sisters. Younger sisters. My father worked for a lifetime to build up his business. He's one of the most respected men in the town. What am I supposed to say to my father-'You did it all for nothing'?"

"I find your att.i.tude refres.h.i.+ng," Craig said.

"Anne doesn't," Patty said dolefully. He finished his drink, and Craig motioned for two more. He wondered how he was going to get rid of the boy. If music was the food of love, Patty was a high school band playing the school anthem between halves of a football game. He couldn't help grinning slightly at the thought.

"You think I'm foolish, don't you, Mr. Craig?" Patty asked. He had noticed the twitch of Craig's lips.

"Not at all, Bayard," Craig said. "It's just that you and Anne seem to have two different sets of values."

"Do you think she'll change?"

"Everybody changes," Craig said. "But I don't know if she'll change in your direction."

"Yeah." Patty hung his head, his beard down on his chest. "I don't like to say this to any girl's father," he said, "but the truth is I'm a shy man, and I don't make advances to anybody. Your daughter led me on."

"That's quite possible," Craig said. "You're a handsome young man and, as far as I can tell, a very nice one ..."

"Yeah," Patty said without conviction.

To cheer him, Craig said, "She even told me that when you walked on the beach, you looked as though you belonged on a marble pedestal in Thrace."

"What does that mean?" Patty asked suspiciously.

"It's very flattering." Craig handed him his second martini.

"It doesn't sound so d.a.m.ned flattering to me," Patty said, taking a gulp from his drink. "Actions speak louder than words, I always say. And your daughter's actions are mystifying, to say the least. Ah, what the h.e.l.l-I know how she's been brought up ..."

"How do you think she's been brought up, Bayard?" Craig honestly wanted to know.

"Fancy school in Lausanne. Speaking French. Famous father. All the money in the world. Talking to high-flying people all her life. I must look like a big Mr. n.o.body to her. I suppose I ought to have more sense. Only when I think about her, I don't have any sense at all. You must have some idea, Mr. Craig-do you think she'll come back here or not?"

"I really don't know," Craig said.

"I have to be back in California in a week," Patty said. "They're operating on my knee again. They promise me I'll be able to walk okay in three months. So it's not as though she'd be marrying a cripple or anything like that. One year ago, if anybody'd told me that me, Bayard Patty, would fly six thousand miles across the Pole to come to France to see a girl for one week, I'd have told them they were crazy. I tell you, Mr. Craig, I don't think I can live without her." There were tears in the bright, clear blue eyes. "I sound dramatic, don't I?" he said, pus.h.i.+ng an enormous hand at his eyelids.

"A little."

"I mean every word I say," Patty said. "She's got to get in touch with you, doesn't she?"

"Eventually."

"Will you tell her that she's got to phone me?"

"I'll pa.s.s on the word."

"What do you think of me, Mr. Craig? Honestly. You've lived through a lot. You've seen people come and go. Am I so bad?"

"I'm sure not."

"I'm not the smartest guy in the world. But I'm not the dumbest, either. It's not as though I'd be dragging her down. I'd respect her tastes. I'd be happy to respect her tastes. You've been married, Mr. Craig. You know. It isn't as though marriage has to be a prison, for G.o.d's sake. That's what she said, Anne, prison."

"I'm afraid my marriage hasn't given my daughters a very encouraging example," Craig said.

"I know you're separated," Patty said, "and I know you and your wife aren't on very good terms ..."

"That's one way of putting it," Craig said.

"But that doesn't mean every marriage has to break up," Patty said doggedly. "h.e.l.l, my father and mother have had some pretty rough times. Still have. You should hear some of the arguments around my house. But that hasn't scared me off. Even having four sisters hasn't scared me off ..."

"You're a brave man, Bayard."

"I'm not in the mood for jokes, sir," Patty said.

"I wasn't really joking," Craig said soothingly. It occurred to him that if Patty ever got angry, he'd be a ferocious man to deal with.

"Anyway," Patty said, partially placated, "if you'd put in a good word for me with Anne when you hear from her, I'd deeply appreciate it."

"I'll put in a word," Craig said. "Whether it will be good or not only time will tell."

"It helps me to talk to you, Mr. Craig," Patty said. "It's a, well-a kind of connection with Anne. I don't like to impose, but I'd be honored if you'd allow me to take you to dinner tonight."

"Thank you, Bayard," Craig said. He felt he had to repay some devious family debt. "That'd be very nice."

There was a tap on his shoulder. He turned. Gail was standing there in the same print dress she had worn at Klein's party. They stared at each other for a moment in silence. "Buy me a drink," she said.

"Do you know Bayard Patty?" Craig said. "Gail McKin-"

"Yes, we've met," Gail said. The man who was sitting next to Craig got up from his stool, and Gail swung up and sat down, putting her bag on the bar.

"Good evening, Miss McKinnon," Patty said. "Anne introduced us," he explained to Craig.

"I see." Craig wished that Patty would disappear. "What are you drinking?" he asked Gail.

"Champagne, please," she said. She looked fresh, demure, as though she had never drunk a gla.s.s of champagne in her life or was ever capable of asking a man if she was as good a lay as her mother.

Craig ordered the champagne. "Bayard tells me that Anne left this morning. Do you happen to know anything about it?"

Gail looked at him queerly. She didn't speak for a moment but s.h.i.+fted her bag on the bar. "No," she said finally. "Nothing. Did you have a good time in Ma.r.s.eilles?"

"How did you know I was in Ma.r.s.eilles?"

"All movements are charted," she said. "Walt Klein was spastic because he couldn't reach you."

"It's a charming town, Ma.r.s.eilles. I recommend it to you," Craig said. "Yes, I had a good time."

Gail sipped at her champagne. "Are you staying on here in Cannes, Mr. Patty?"

"Call me Bayard, please. I'm not sure. I'm not sure of anything."

"We're having dinner together, Bayard and I," Craig said. "Would you like to join us?"

"Sorry," she said. "I'm waiting for Larry Hennessy. They're showing his picture tonight, and he's too nervous to sit through it. I promised I'd have dinner with him and hold his hand. Some other night, perhaps?" Her tone was flat, deliberately provocative.

"Perhaps," Craig said.

"There's going to be a party in his rooms after the showing," Gail said. "I'm sure he'd be delighted if you two gentlemen came along."

"We'll see how we feel," Craig said.

"I'm doing a piece on him," Gail said. "The other piece I was doing seems to have fallen through. He's a sweet man. And wonderfully cooperative." She sipped her champagne. "With other people it's so uphill. Ah, there he is." She waved toward the door. "Oh, dear, he's being waylaid by bores. I'd better go and rescue him. Thanks for the wine." She slipped off her stool and strode toward the door where Hennessy was talking volubly to two women and not seeming bored at all.

"I don't like to say this, Mr. Craig," Patty said, "and I only met her yesterday, but I have the feeling that girl isn't a good influence on Anne."

"They hardly know each other," Craig said shortly. "Look, I have to go up and shower and change. I'll meet you in the lobby in half an hour."

"Do you think I ought to put on my suit for dinner?" Patty asked.

"Yes," Craig said. Let him suffer, too, that evening, with a tie around that bull neck. Craig paid for all the drinks and went out through the terrace entrance so that he wouldn't have to pa.s.s the door where Hennessy stood talking jovially, his arm around Gail McKinnon's shoulders.

It was almost an hour later that he went down to the lobby. Before starting to get dressed, he had picked up a copy of The Three Horizons and had glanced through it. Knowing that other people had read it, had liked it well enough to start the whole intricate and exhausting process of bringing it to life on the screen, made him review his work with fresh eyes. Despite himself, he felt the old excitement run through him as he read the pages. They were not dead to him anymore. Ideas for casting, for changes in the writing, for using the camera, for the kind of music for specific scenes, flooded through his mind. He had to wrench himself away from the script to shave and take his shower and dress. He couldn't leave poor Bayard Patty standing in the lobby all night, bereft and pitiful in his suit, waiting for him.

He was annoyed with Anne's behavior but not much more than that. He wasn't really worried about her. She was a grown girl and could take care of herself. She had been cruel to Patty, and not being cruel himself, he disapproved. When he saw her, he would make that clear. Going to bed with the boy and then disappearing the next morning was a monstrous thing to do, but she was not the first girl to waver, then run away from a problem. Nor the first man, either. Nor the first member of the Craig family, if it came to that.

He called Klein and got Bruce Thomas's address in New York. Pleased with his own impatience, he told Klein that he would take the plane the next day.

"That's what I like to hear," Klein said. "Get the wheels moving. This Festival has run out of gas, anyway. You're not missing anything." There was the babble of many voices over the telephone. Klein was giving a c.o.c.ktail party. He was getting his money's worth out of his five-thousand-dollars-a-month rent. Craig felt benevolent and unwontedly friendly toward the man. The world was full of useful people, and Klein was one of them. He would have to get Murphy to stop calling him that little punk.

He wrote out a cable to Thomas telling him he was arriving in New York and would call as soon as he landed. He thought of sending a telegram to Constance canceling their lunch date on Monday, then decided against it. He would call her in the morning and explain. He knew she'd understand. And approve. And New York was closer to San Francisco.

In the lobby, with Bayard Patty standing next to him in a dark blue suit and necktie, he gave the cable to Bruce Thomas to the concierge and asked him to reserve a seat on a plane the next day from Nice to New York.

Patty looked forlorn as he listened to Craig's conversation with the concierge. "You're leaving so soon?" he said. "What if Anne comes back?"

"You'll have to take care of her," Craig said.

"Yeah," Patty said without conviction.

They got into the car, and Craig drove to Golfe Juan where they ate in a seafood restaurant built right on the beach. The sea was rough and growled at the pilings on which the restaurant was built. Patty drank more wine than was good for him and was garrulous. By the end of the meal Craig knew all about his family, his politics, his ideas of love and student revolt. ("I'm not a typical jock, Mr. Craig, I'll tell you that. Most of the things the kids are complaining about, they're right. But I don't go along with taking over buildings and bombing banks and crazy stuff like that. At least that's one thing Anne and I agree about. My father thinks I'm a wild-eyed Red, but I'm not. And there's one thing about my father-you can stand up to him like a man and he listens to you and tries to see your point of view. When you get out to California, you've got to meet him. I'll tell you something, Mr. Craig, I'm a lucky man to have a father like that.") At no point did he say that Anne was a lucky girl to have a father like Craig. He had seen two of Craig's movies and was polite about them. He was a polite young man. By the end of the meal Craig was certain that, politics or no politics, it would be disastrous for Bayard Patty if his daughter married him, but he didn't think he had to tell the boy that.

By the time they had had their coffee, it was still too early to go to the Hennessy party, which wouldn't begin until around midnight. And Craig wasn't sure that he wanted to go to the party or that Patty would be at ease there.

"How old are you?" he asked as they went out of the restaurant toward the car. (Patty had insisted on paying for the dinner.) "Over twenty-one?"

"Just," Patty said. "Why?"

"Have you got your pa.s.sport with you?"