readers would be interested in knowing what a young serviceman would choose to do on his first night out in New York after being away for so long. Do you mind?”
“Simple for me. Dinner and the theatre.”
“With anyone special?”
“Rita, Rita Benson.”
“Oh, I see.
George Pearce and Margie seemed pleased with the afternoon and parted from Rann in the lobby and Rann took a taxi home to change for dinner.
“Why, young sir, you look so different.” Sung’s smile showed his enthusiasm. “You so all new from morning. Looks nice like, different but nice.” He took the package Rann was carrying.
“Thank you, Sung. I’ll be dressing right away and I’ll wear the jacket in that box.”
“Your mother called, young sir. She sound upset. She ask you call.”
“All right, I’ll call her now, but I’ll have to make it quick. I don’t have any time to spare. Turn the water on in the bathtub, will you, and not too hot.”
Rann sat at the desk in the library.
“How are you, Mother? Is anything wrong?” His call went through quickly.
“Oh Rann, I’m so glad you called. I don’t know if anything’s wrong or not until you tell me. There was this very insinuating article in this morning’s paper. Rann, who is Rita Benson?” His mother sounded anxious.
Rann laughed. “No one you need to worry about. She’s just a lady I met on the plane.”
“Not according to this article.”
“Mother, I can only tell you what I have been told, which is pay no attention to stuff like that you read in the papers. She is a nice lady, that’s all.”
“As long as you are sure you haven’t been added to someone’s stable, though I suppose that’s all right too, if that’s what you want.”
“I’m not in anyone’s stable and I’m not going to be. There is nothing to worry about. Now, Mother, I have to run or I’ll be late for a dinner date.”
“With her?”
“Yes, Mother,” Rann laughed again. “With Mrs. Benson.”
“Well, all right. We’ll talk again soon.”
“And I’ll see you soon, Mother, and you will enjoy Mrs. Benson when you meet her.”
Rann sat, thoughtful, for a moment after he hung up. He could not resent her concern. She was not actually prying. It was honest, natural concern. It was a comfort to him, in a way, to have her there in the background of his life, always concerned for his happiness.
“MY DEAR BOY, YOU ARE not late,” Rita Benson said when he telephoned her room at the St. Regis forty-five minutes later.
“And never apologize. In this world anything under a half hour is on time. Do you want to come to my suite for cocktails or, in view of the papers, shall I meet you in the lounge? I must say, however, that if this is a stable, I’m paying dearly for it.”
“I’ll meet you in the lounge, Rita,” Rann laughed. “And I’m not worried about the stable.”
“Oh dear, I must be slipping.” Rita Benson laughed too. “See you in a minute.”
Rann was glad for the new dinner jacket when Rita Benson entered the cocktail lounge a few minutes later. Every head in the room turned to her as she came to the table. She looked to be perhaps thirty-five, though Rann suspected she was nearer fifty-five. Her long gown of wine-colored silk clung to her slender frame with the easy grace of a dress made for the one who wears it. Her closely cropped hair fit smoothly to her head, framing her face dramatically and accentuating her long, graceful neck and slender shoulders.
“Rita, you’re beautiful.” Rann complimented her frankly, rising to hold her chair.
“But of course I am, dear boy. God knows I work hard enough at it. Nice of you to notice, though. But you’re the one. How handsome you look. Who cut your hair? Maybe I’ll give him a go at mine.”
They finished their cocktails quickly and moved to the dining room.
“Rann, I now want to say that your book is absolutely marvelous. I ordered it the moment I got to the hotel and was unable to put it down until I finished it, and I’ve begun it again. I’ve toyed all day with the idea of putting it on Broadway but I think perhaps the stage is not right for it. I think maybe film, though I’ve not done anything with film. We will have to talk about it when we have more time. Right now we are running late.”
She rose from the table and Rann helped her with her stole. “Add twenty percent to our check and put it on my bill, Maurice,” she said as they passed the headwaiter.
Rann could scarcely keep his mind on the play they were watching. His mind kept drifting to what Rita had said over dinner about his book. He was flattered, of course, but the idea was strange to him. He had never considered the old man’s story as anything other than a book and had barely had time to get used to it as a book.
“Did you enjoy the play?” Rita asked as he helped her into her limousine afterward.
“I did very much, though I confess I had difficulty concentrating on it after the remark you made at dinner.”
“You mean about your book? I mean it, but I’ll have to read it again and then we will talk.”
The ride to Sardi’s was short. “Mrs. Benson, Mr. Colfax,” the headwaiter announced clearly. “We’ve been expecting you. Your table is right over here. Mr. Caldwell has already arrived.”
Emmet Caldwell’s column was syndicated in every major newspaper in the world, Rann had long known, but he was not prepared for the man he met when they arrived at the table. He was tall and outgoing, an intelligent look in his wide-set eyes, his brow a little high for him to be considered handsome. He looked like a college professor. He rose.
“Rita, it’s always a pleasure.” He extended his hand. “And you are Rann Colfax. I must say that yesterday’s news photo wouldn’t have let me know it.”
Rann shook hands. The man’s grip was strong and firm and Rann liked him. There was the air of one long accustomed to his profession in all that he did.
They settled comfortably into their chairs at the round corner table and ordered a supper of the well-known Sardi steak sandwich and a tossed green salad.
Emmet Caldwell led the conversation. “Rita, is the rumor I’ve heard true that you are considering purchasing the dramatic rights to Rann’s book?”
Rita looked thoughtful and delayed her answer until the waiter had served their drinks and left the table.
“Yes, I think you can truthfully say I am considering it. I have not decided and I am unable to do so without some very good advice. It is an excellent book, in my opinion, a moving story, beautifully told. Whether or not it will fit on a stage and do justice to the stage and the story, I do not know. Perhaps it needs film. About that I shall have to get advice. I have an appointment with a Hal Grey on Monday morning and I have asked him to read the book before then.”
Rann knew of Hal Grey as the head of the most successful independent production company in the country and winner of many awards for documentary films.
She continued, “I think if Hal is interested then he could do the right job with the book. It is a very historical novel.”
Emmet Caldwell unobtrusively made notes in a small pocket-size notebook. “And what do you think of it, Rann?”
“I haven’t, frankly, had time to think of it.” Rann was quiet for a moment. “Margie Billows of my publisher’s office mentioned I should have an agent to handle subsidiary rights, and she has made an appointment with me to introduce me to one. If Rita is interested, however, I am sure she would do well with the material.”
Caldwell smiled. “I know Margie well, Rann, and if she is interested in you then you will do well to follow her advice. She is an old hand at this business and there is none better. George Pearce is lucky to have her. She really knows her way around.”
The conversation continued through supper and Rann enjoyed the easy exchange between Rita Benson and Emmet Caldwell. Yes, a world within a world, he thought to himself, and its discovery fascinated him.
