Some Other Town (17 page)

It only gets worse. And as the reel spins on, we all grow increasingly uncomfortable. The movie, I think, is not showing William Holden in his best light. And so when Rosalind Russell's Rosemary begins smearing cold cream all over her face and drawling her a's like Blanche DuBois, although the movie is supposed to be in Kansas, I whisper to Ben Adams we can leave. But Ben doesn't say a word, and in the glow from a close-up of Rosalind's cold cream, I can see he is watching intently. So we just stay in our seats where we are.

It is Labor Day weekend in the movie, it turns out, and everyone's preparing for that night's celebration when Madge Owens will be crowned Queen of Neewollah. Which she is, just a few
scenes later, and then floated down a river in a big paddleboat made to look like a large frightening swan. It gets Hal's attention all right. And still later that night, as the town band begins playing “Moonglow” and Madge undulates toward him to the beat, Hal cannot keep his lusty eyes off her.

I take a quick look at Ben again, to see if now he is ready to leave. But he does not move. He is completely absorbed, and well it is possible, I think, Ben Adams sees something I've missed. So I sit still in the dark and try hard myself to focus.

It isn't easy, however, as Rosalind Russell has just gone into her big scene with Howard, a man she has been dating for years. Madge and Hal's dance is over, and Rosalind, who has drunk too much and apparently lost hope for Howard, begins throwing herself at William Holden. She is giving it her all, she makes him dance with her, cheek to cheek. Which is difficult for the rest of us here at the show, as we know it is Kim Novak that William Holden is after. Kim is young and has a fine chest and Rosalind Russell, who is middle-aged and loud, has stepped entirely out of line. It is clear William Holden wants nothing at all to do with her.

I look again in the dark at Ben Adams. But Ben just keeps his eyes on the screen. And so we stay through the next several scenes, which do not go well for William Holden. Police are involved, a stolen car, also a chase through a river. And then, with the sheriff and Madge's mother closing dangerously in, it is clear Hal will have to leave town.

It is what, at the end of the movie, he meets Madge by the back shed to tell her. “I'm in a jam, baby,” he says. And he says how he's hopping a freight train for Tulsa. And he asks if she's going to say good-bye.

Kim Novak demurs, turns her face to the shed. But William Holden can't leave it like that. “Madge,” he says, taking her into his arms. And he says then he's never told her before, but—and here William Holden looks anguished, I do not think he likes pretending like this, I do not think he believes a word of the script—“Look, baby,” he says, “I love you. Do you hear, Madge? I love you.”

Now Kim Novak looks anguished. But William Holden doesn't let up. He wants to know if she loves him too. “Do you, Madge? Do you?” he says over and over, although it's clear Kim wishes he'd stop.

Then in the distance we all hear the sound of the freight train. William Holden will have to hurry. So he tells Kim, still holding her hard by both arms, to meet him there in Tulsa, at a hotel where he has plans to bellhop.

Which would be a pretty good place for the movie to end. But then even though we can hear the train coming closer, although we are all growing concerned, William Holden still has a few lines left. Things Joshua Logan still wanted said. “You're the only real thing I ever wanted, baby. You love me. You know you do.” Things of that sort. And worse. Thinking obviously only of himself, “You gotta claim what's yours,” Hal tells Madge, “or you'll be nothing for as long as you live.”

And then running for the train, which as luck would have it skirts the Owens backyard, Hal calls back over his shoulder, grinning and arm up high waving, “You love me. You know it! You love me, you love me.”

By now, I can barely stand William Holden. I do not know what Kim Novak can see in him. And when, in the last scene, against
better judgment she boards the next bus for Tulsa, pausing on the step to smile once at the sky, I am wildly relieved to see the lights go up in the Bijou.

I stand immediately and begin pushing Ben toward the aisle. I act like I want to beat the rush for the door. “Hurry,” I hiss. “We have to get out of here now.”

“Margaret?” I hear.

I collect myself at the glass and again point to the farmer's new corn. Think how maybe now I'll bring up contour plowing, keyline irrigation, things I have learned from Ben.

But I turn and see that Marcie, still waiting at our table, isn't interested. “Margaret,” she says. “Come sit.”

She stares at me and at last I remember—we have something here to discuss. It is why Marcie had suggested tea in the first place, why we have come here to the solarium at all, where we can be certain no one will hear us.

“Well now,” Marcie says, and we pull our two chairs close together. Our cups of tea sit on the table between us. We are only taking our tea, we will say, should anyone happen to walk in. It makes us feel safe, having our tea on our table.

Marcie picks up her cup and looks at me. She is matter-of-fact, it is Marcie's way. “So here is the thing,” she says. “Dr. Steinem is having an affair.”

For a moment I freeze. Not because Marcie has spilled Steinem's
secret. I'm not surprised about Steinem, of course. It's the affair part of what she's just said, the word, that has startled me. Considering what I've just now been thinking about, it cuts a little too close.

But then I collect myself. Marcie cannot possibly know what I think here, I am not myself clear on the subject. And in an objective sort of way, I try for interest. “Oh,” I say. “Really?”

Marcie has been waiting all morning to tell me about Steinem and MaryBeth. It would be unkind to say I already know. Marcie has only just learned, I suppose, because Marcie is new and also the administrative assistant.

That is, no one here trusts administrative assistants. “They turn on you, darlin', or this ain't my first rodeo,” Lola says. She is referring here mostly to Sandra, two administrative assistants before Marcie. Sandra was fond of being in charge. It was her job, she was to make sure the office ran smoothly, but she took it too seriously, we all thought. She was forever organizing our office supplies and making group decisions for us—what loud Marimekko we would hang in the halls, what new coffee urn we would all chip in on.

No one liked Sandra. She took the administrative part of her job too far. She wanted us to fill out time sheets each day, how much time to the quarter hour, for instance, we spent on the lesson on S's. See Sam, see Sam shirk. How much time drinking coffee with a cigarette, how many trips to the ladies' room. People refused to give her their sheets, they claimed they forgot to write down their start times, they said there was no point in turning in hours when they had no idea when they'd begun. They suspected then Sandra told Steinem on them, and though they were pretty
sure he didn't care what they did, still they did not like all the tattling. Which is why they never told Sandra a thing.

Marcie is not like Sandra, she has not asked anyone for hours. Still, because Marcie is new, people want to make sure before saying anything much to her. It is no wonder she has only now learned of the affair; the wonder is that she has found out at all. And it occurs to me now it could be that Marcie reads Steinem's mail. I would not in the least put it past her.

“You can never guess who it is,” Marcie says.

I can, of course. I wait for it.

“It's MaryBeth Malone,” Marcie announces. “Miss MaryBeth from
The Magic Garden
.” And then she sits forward like a young, prissy hawk to see what my reaction will be.

I open my eyes wide for Marcie's sake. “No!” I say. “Not Miss MaryBeth.” I raise my hand to my mouth in utter surprise and hope that I am convincing.

It is enough, if not all Marcie hoped for. “The same,” she says and leans in further to tell me what she's found out. That Steinem is a fool for Miss MaryBeth Malone. That it has begun to affect his work. She has watched him there in his office suite. She peeks in on him when he isn't looking. “Dr. Steinem,” she says, “isn't up to what I think you all think he is.” Instead, every day since contracting MaryBeth—if she isn't already visiting on business—he just sits writing long love letters to her. “When Steinem closes his door and announces he's on a deadline,” Marcie says, “you can bet it's more mail to that woman.”

We all know this about Steinem, of course. About his general disengagement. It is why there's part two to our own secret here. But I let Marcie carry on.

“Or if not writing her,” Marcie says, “Steinem's on the phone to her, long distance.” MaryBeth lives on the West Coast, Marcie reminds me. Steinem is forever phoning her in the middle of the day. When the rates are highest, she points out. Marcie worries inordinately about our bottom line. “It just all adds up,” she says.

And then from behind us we hear, “He couldn't wait until five like the rest of us?” It is Frances now, come out to the solarium. Frances and Lola and Sally Ann too.

Marcie jerks her head up. Frances and Lola laugh. And Marcie looks at me quickly, like I could have let her know we all know. But then without missing much of a beat, “No,” Marcie says to Frances. Miss MaryBeth is home with her husband by five. Naturally Steinem can't call her there.

“Naturally,” Frances replies, and helps herself to a deck chair. Lola and Sally Ann sit down as well, they all pull their seats in closer. We have turned ourselves into a tea party. The editors all seem to want to hear more, they all sit and look now at Marcie. She does not herself look displeased.

“No, no,” she says again. “Dr. Steinem cannot wait until the rates go down.” Instead, she tells us, he calls the Personality late mornings, right after her children's show, right after she finishes shooting. She must have to run from the set to her phone. He calls her almost every weekday.

Here Sally Ann pulls out Mr. Bones, who has something to add. “Steinem's a goner,” Mr. Bones says. The crooner's going to find out about all those calls. Somebody at the studio will tell him. Probably trace the number. “The crooner's not gonna stand for no stinkin' calls.”

Marcie gives Bones a knowing look. “Well, and it's not just the
calls,” she says. She suspects Steinem also tunes into the show. She says she has watched him, he disappears at ten-thirty every day, and she thought at first he was just on his way to the men's room. “Most people around here go to the restroom about then,” Marcie says. She has noticed that about us. “But,” Marcie says, “Steinem never comes back, well not for twenty-five minutes or so. It is too long a break for the restroom.”

Bones nods his head once at Marcie. “I can make it in thirty seconds,” he says. And Sally Ann has to contain him, or he will go into unnecessary detail. How it is that puppets urinate. She takes hold of his mouth by both his bowls and eases him down off her arm.

Marcie continues. “And then one day, I saw Steinem in the alcoholics' lounge.” She had gone down to their floor for a candy bar, she says. The alcoholics have vending machines on their floor, and although generally Marcie tries not to snack before lunch, that day she'd had no breakfast. “So anyway,” she says, “as I was passing the glass doors to the lounge, I looked in and there was Steinem on a couch next to a guy in a robe. They were both of them watching the alcoholics' TV.”

Frances jumps in here. “Alcoholics will watch anything,” she says. We all turn to look. “Don't you agree? Surely you've noticed. I can't believe what I've seen those men watching.” We stare. “Well, yes, on my way for a Snickers.”

Marcie ignores Frances. Goes on. “The doors to the lounge are all soundproof, so I couldn't hear what the alcoholics had on.” Although, she adds, she didn't try very hard either. She couldn't very well have Steinem catch her there watching him watch the alcoholics' TV.

“But it was MaryBeth, I am sure of it,” Marcie says. “It was that awful
Magic Garden
show.”

We all nod our heads. Dr. Steinem is more a fool than we'd thought. “Well thank god she lives in Los Angeles,” Lola says. “At least he isn't watching her in person.”

Marcie has been waiting for this. She almost lunges. “But that's just it,” she says to Lola, voice rising. “That's the part I was getting to.” And she shifts in her chair to address us all. “Miss MaryBeth is coming for a visit. She's coming to spend the weekend. And the worst of it is,” and here Marcie stops for a dramatic breath, “she arrives at the Project tomorrow.”

Well now, at last Marcie has said something newsworthy. The editors and I take it in. Always before the Personality has come here only on little day trips, and always before we've had warning. But now with no word whatsoever from Steinem, the Personality descends tomorrow for a shocking whole three days.

I begin thinking of all we should really prepare. Or, for that matter, hide. Then I think too about those readers she wants to get hold of. And oh well, I think, the editors and I should probably talk.

But Lola and Frances are concerned about more. “The weekend?” Frances says. “She's coming for the entire weekend?”

And “Good god almighty,” Lola says. “That gal wouldn't dare. What's she gonna tell the crooner?”

Lola is with Bones on this one. She believes the crooner is onto his wife. And in this, Lola sides with the crooner.

Frances lights up a cigarette, takes a draw. “So the weekend,” she says, squinting into the smoke. “Well you of course know what that means. They'll be spending it all at Steinem's. Most likely in Steinem's bed.”

Things must be worse with the old crooner, she adds. The Personality would not stay overnight as she is, here for a three-day weekend, if things were going all that well at home.