The Eternal Wonder

understand that now. You reacted to me as any boy in your position would have. Certainly, I can see that. I won’t say I don’t wish things could have been different. There is no need for us to lie, but as long as it’s this way, then let’s be friends on whatever basis we can. I think that’s all there is to say on that subject.”

Rann was relieved that Donald Sharpe had spoken so frankly.

“I think I’d like that, Don. So long as we can both remember the facts of the situation.”

“I shan’t ever forget, dear boy. Now, your mother tells me she is coming to New York in a couple of weeks and I think I might fly in with her. Who knows? Maybe now that I’ve given him you, George Pearce may be willing to publish something of mine. At any rate, hold a little time aside for us and we will see you soon.”

Rann promised he would and sat in thought after the conversation had ended. A great deal had taken place in his own life since that night he had spent in Donald Sharpe’s home and while his personal feeling of physical revulsion remained strong, he was better able to understand the pity his mother had expressed for the man at that time. It must be difficult, indeed, for a man like him to find any satisfying relationships, caught, as he was, between sexes. With his total recall, Rann could hear his father’s voice as it had been during one of their long talks together.

“The world is made up of many different kinds of human beings, son, and while you, yourself, and only you, can be responsible for the kind of person you are to be, you must, however, get to know as many different types as you can, for these are the basic components of life as we know it today. Because there are thieves and because you know does not mean that you must steal. Because there are cannibals and prostitutes does not mean it’s all right for you to eat human flesh or sell your own body, but the fact that it is not right for you need not stop you from knowing those who do or from trying to understand why they do so. You will be many times hurt, for you have a deep appreciation of beauty and order in all that you do and people, alas, are not always beautiful or orderly. They will not always be what you would have them be, so be content if at least they can be honest with you and you can learn to understand them as they are. You must hold yourself apart and be the kind of person you want to be. In this way, someone—somewhere—will come along to prove to you that all things of beauty must be good, and when that person does come along you will know him, for you will have known many others before, and you will be ready for the lasting relationship that is, in itself, man’s deepest satisfaction.”

Rann knew now that he could accept Donald Sharpe as a friend, whatever else he was, and that this friendship need not in any way affect him and what he knew himself to be, except to broaden his own understanding of yet another of the multitude of facets of human nature. Rann’s thoughts were interrupted again by the telephone on his desk. It was Rita Benson.

“Rann, if I send my car for you, can you come for cocktails and dinner? I’ve had Hal Grey here for the weekend and we’ve talked of nothing but your book and there are a few angles we would like to go over with you. You could stay over and we will ride back to the city together tomorrow.”

He said he would go. Sung prepared a light luncheon for him and packed an overnight bag and Rann was ready when the doorman announced that Mrs. Benson’s car had arrived. Traffic was light on Sunday afternoon and Rann enjoyed the drive through the suburbs onto the parkway and into Connecticut to Rita Benson’s home. It was a large old stone house she had bought and modernized and was well situated on acres of lawns and gardens, all meticulously kept. Cocktails were served to them on the south terrace, and they were enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun. Hal Grey, seated on a long chair facing Rita and Rann, was talking.

“There are problems with the project, Rann,” he was explaining. “It’s an excellent story and will lend itself well to the screen, but the trouble is that there is no role important enough for an American star, which we must have to ensure a box office. I had thought the scriptwriters could write in the role of the author as the star so we would be doing the story of the book, which would include the story in the book and it would give us the role we need.”

The conversation continued through dinner and on into the evening and Rann agreed to work with the scriptwriters to create the needed role.

The next day, back in the city, the three of them met with Rann’s agent and Rita’s and Hal Grey’s attorneys, and the necessary papers were signed. George Pearce was delighted and insisted on taking them all to dinner afterward to celebrate. Hal Grey’s office arranged a press luncheon for the next day, where the formal announcements were to be made.

Rann was unable to suppress a feeling of hostility for Nancy Adams of the Tribune, so, knowing he would see her at luncheon the next day, he expressed his feelings to George Pearce and Rita Benson that evening. Margie and Hal Grey had excused themselves after dinner because of early morning appointments and the three of them had taken Rita’s car to Rann’s apartment, where Sung had served them drinks in the drawing room.

“Your apartment is charming, Rann. So decidedly masculine and yet I suspect a woman’s touch here and there.”

Rita sat on the couch facing the fireplace, the fire already crackling though Rann had put a match to it only minutes before when they had entered the room. Something Chinese, Rann supposed, in the way Sung laid a fire always made them catch very quickly.

“It must be Serena, my grandfather’s second wife. I’ve not changed anything since he died and left the place to me.”

Rann settled into a comfortable armchair on one side of the fire, and George chose its counterpart on the other side. Rann realized these were the first visitors he had brought here since he returned. It had not occurred to him to change anything in the apartment.

“You really should redo the place to suit your own personality, Rann.” Rita sipped her drink and placed the glass on the cocktail table. “It is good for one to express one’s self in one’s surroundings.”

“Perhaps I don’t know yet what it is I would express, Rita—but I have time for that. Right now I have a problem I think the two of you can advise me on, which is why I wanted to talk to you this evening. Tomorrow, we will have to talk to Nancy Adams—”

George Pearce interrupted. “I know. I’ve thought of that. You are understandably upset and angry over all the articles she has written, and now she has that upstart of a senator, what’s-his-name, promising a full-scale investigation based on your book. The thing to remember is that she can’t really hurt us. Oh, she can irritate and infuriate, but the more she writes the more books we sell and the richer you get in the long run. The worst that can happen is that you will have to answer some questions, but you are innocent so that can’t hurt. I say forget about it. Ignore her and go on. She is one of this new breed calling themselves investigative reporters and she is doing her job, which is to sell newspapers. The thing to remember is that she also sells books. Just don’t, under any circumstances, lose your temper with her. Then she can say something that is true. She can say you lost your temper when questioned.”

“I know how to handle it.” Rita looked thoughtful as she spoke. “Let the press conference be mine. That way, the reporters can direct their questions to me and I can ask Rann or Hal for information we want them to give.”

George Pearce took a long drink from his glass. “That’s a good idea, Rita. It seemed logical to me that you should answer their questions.”

“Of course it is. After all, at this point it is I who have spent a million dollars. That, my dears, is still news.”

They all laughed.

“There is one other point I’d like your advice on.” Rann stirred the fire as he spoke. “I had thought I’d call Senator Easton and offer to answer any questions he might have. I have nothing to hide and this way we might bring things to a head.”

“Just let it rest,” George said. “Let him call you if he wants to. You haven’t done anything—so forget it.”

“You are right, George.” Rita rose from the couch. “And now I have to get home or I probably won’t be there tomorrow.”

Rann said good night to them at the door and returned to the fire to finish his own drink.

“THERE IS NOTHING MORE FOR her to say, Mother.”

Rann was sitting in his grandfather’s study with his mother and Donald Sharpe. They had arrived on an afternoon flight and his mother was settled in his guest room while Donald Sharpe had chosen a small neighborhood hotel in the next block as his headquarters, and Sung had worked for two days to prepare the first