moment longer, knocked a third time, then a fourth. Inside, a radio was playing softly, but otherwise there was no sound, and after a moment, Corman pressed his ear up against the door. “Harry?” he said. He rapped at the door a final time. “Harry?”
The door opened slowly, and Corman could see Groton staring at him, his large swollen face slightly pink in the dim light of the room.
“Didn’t know it was you,” he said grimly.
“We have a shoot,” Corman reminded him.
Groton stepped back and swung the door open. A severe smile spread across his lips. “You probably thought I was dead. Either that, or drunk.”
Corman walked inside and said nothing.
“The job’s yours,” Groton said as he closed the door. He nodded toward a single swollen suitcase which rested heavily at the end of the bed. “I got a flight. That’s what I decided a few hours ago. That I was going home.”
Corman turned toward him. “Home?”
“Back west. South Dakota.”
“I didn’t know you were from South Dakota.”
“I’m not,” Groton said. “But my brother is. At least, that’s where he lives now.” He shrugged. “We never were that close. But here. Well. There’s just … the way you feel … like nothing stuck. Through the whole thing, nothing.”
Corman nodded.
Groton stepped over to the bed and began tightening the last strap on the suitcase. “Anyway, that’s what I decided. I called Pike. I guess he couldn’t get in touch with you.”
“I guess not.”
“The shoot’s at Tavern on the Green,” Groton said matter-of-factly. “Be there by six. You’ll like it. They got all those little lights wrapped around the trees, little ones.” He drew the strap up very tightly, pulled the suitcase from the bed, and lowered it onto the floor. “That’s all I’m taking. The rest can go get fucked.”
Corman’s eyes swept the room, taking in all Groton had decided to leave behind: the bed, a rickety chair or two, a gray metal desk, a calendar from a Brooklyn bank. The walls which surrounded them were dirty, but completely unadorned, as if in all the years he’d lived in the room, Groton had never bothered to lighten the atmosphere with even so much as a single dime store painting of a fuzzy kitten in balled-up blue twine.
Groton smiled. “You need any of this stuff? You see something, take it. The landlord’ll just toss it.”
Corman shook his head. “My place is already a little cluttered,” he said.
Groton nodded quickly, walked to the front door, drew his raincoat from a small brass peg and pulled it on. “Well, good luck, Corman,” he said as he thrust out his hand.
Corman didn’t take it. “I’ll go down with you.”
They rode silently down the elevator and walked out onto the bustling sidewalk. For a moment, Groton stood very still, his hunched frame poised like a rumpled statue. “It’s not easy, leaving,” he said finally.
“You’ll miss the city,” Corman said absently, without conviction.
Groton looked at him irritably. “That’s not what I meant,” he snapped, then whirled around quickly, hailed a cab and disappeared into it as fully as if it were a faded yellow cloud.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
THE LITTLE WHITE LIGHTS were twinkling brightly at Tavern on the Green by the time Corman arrived. Clayton was already staring about anxiously, waiting for him.
“Groton out again?” he asked as Corman came up to him.
“He’s gone to South Dakota,” Corman told him. “Pike knows.”
“And you’re the official replacement?” Clayton asked.
Corman nodded.
“So you took the job?”
Corman shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “But I’m here for the night.”
Clayton smiled pleasantly. “Good,” he said. “Then let’s get to work.”
Corman started immediately, moving through the crowd as invisibly as he could. He shot little knots of tuxedos and evening dresses, tables of densely packed hors d’oeuvres, flower arrangements, the slightly overweight members of the classical quintet that played in a distant corner.
As the minutes passed, the room grew increasingly more crowded until, toward eight, it was entirely filled. Corman had taken five rolls of film by then, and he was busily putting a sixth into his camera when he glanced up and saw Lexie standing only a few yards from him, her face smiling quietly through a clutter of shoulders, champagne glasses and gliding silver trays. He felt his legs go rubbery beneath him, his stomach empty, and began to shrink away, just as she glimpsed him suddenly, excused herself and made her way toward him through the crowd.
“David,” she said quietly when she reached him. “To say the least, I didn’t expect …”
“No, of course not,” Corman said.
“What are you doing here?”
Corman lifted his camera and smiled lamely. “Filling in,” he said. “For the regular guy.”
Lexie looked at him doubtfully. “I see.”
Corman shrugged. “Just for the night.”
She was dressed in a shimmering green dress, cut low, so that the rounded tops of her breasts shone toward him whitely, like two muted lights. She was incontestably beautiful, but there were distractions now—a diamond choker, a gold pendant—things so radiant she seemed lost within their glare.
“You look very nice,” he said.
“Thank you,” Lexie replied. “You look …”
“The same,” Corman said quickly, helping her out.
“Yes.”
For a moment, Lexie’s eyes studied him with that quietly burning stare that peeled back his soul the way heat peeled back curls of liquefying paint.
“As a matter of fact, I was just about to leave,” he told her. He smiled again, tried to look at ease, and shifted the subject away from himself. “Is Jeffrey here?”
Lexie glanced about idly. “Somewhere in the room.”
“I guess you know these people.”
“People?”
“Whoever this party’s for.”
Lexie smiled indulgently. “It’s for the seals.”
“Oh … the Seals. They live around here?”
Lexie laughed. “Christ, Corman.”
“What?”
“In the ocean,” Lexie explained. “Those seals.”
A quick frantic little burst of embarrassed laughter broke from him. “Oh, those seals.” He shook his head. “Sorry.”
Her face softened. “Are you all right, David?”
His face stiffened. “I’m fine.”
The look came back. He could feel the heat from it sinking into his bones.
“We have to talk, you know,” she said.
Corman nodded.
“Edgar said that he’d spoken to you,” Lexie added significantly.
“Yes, he has,” Corman told her. “And you and I are supposed to talk tomorrow night, right?”
“That’s right,” Lexie said. She smiled sweetly. “I’ll meet you at your apartment, if that’s all right.”
