Authors: Rona Jaffe
At the end of january silky’s show was bought by the movies, and she would star in it. Libra reminded her smugly that it had been a real coup for him, making them take her, but she did not really believe it had been that difficult. She was becoming more confident of herself. Love had made her confident. Besides, she had seen the photos of herself in most of the magazines, and she knew she was photogenic. She was beginning to wise up to Libra’s tricks to keep her scared of him, and her hatred had softened to dislike and vague disgust. What was the point of hating him when he was crazy? You should feel pity for crazy people.
The thing that bothered her was that when the show closed, probably during the slow period in the summer, she would have to go to California, and what would happen to Bobby? Would he come too? Would they break up? She knew it was useless to worry about something that far away—besides, they might not need her till next fall or winter—and people often broke up long before a separation period they were both so worried about, but still it bothered her. She didn’t want to discuss it. He hinted about it, though. He would say things like “Oh, Big Sur is beautiful,” or “California might be a good place for me,” and then she would hold her breath and wait for him to decide everything for her. She didn’t want to be just another star who went to Hollywood with her lover in tow; she wanted to go there as a married woman with her husband. They could get a house with a swimming pool and set up housekeeping. She didn’t want to be in gossip columns, the subject of those nasty guessing games—“When will Silky Morgan and constant companion Bobby La Fontaine tie the knot????”—she wanted to be married.
Bobby had mentioned casually that he’d given his apartment to a friend, and had brought all the rest of his filings to her apartment, mostly books and records. He’d left the furniture and phonograph for the friend. Knowing him, he’d sold them to the friend. There was no reason for him to marry her, but there was no reason for him not to either. Neither of them saw anyone else unless they were together. They never lied to each other. They loved each other.
Why
couldn’t they get married? Maybe he was waiting for her to ask him. But she didn’t dare.
Then one morning they got up and she said, “What do you want to do today?” and he said, half kidding, “Why don’t we get married?”
“All right!” she said, and jumped out of bed. “We’ll go to City Hall and get a wedding license.”
He looked surprised. “Today?”
“Why not?”
“Well … I have to cash a check.”
“It’s two dollars!”
“Don’t you want a ring?” he said.
“You get the ring when we get married, not when we get the license. We have to have blood tests and everything. We couldn’t get married for a couple of days.”
“Don’t you want a big wedding?”
“No,” Silky said. “I want you. Let’s elope.”
He looked pleased. “I hate big weddings. We could get married Saturday after the show, and then we’d have Sunday and Monday for the honeymoon. We could go to Connecticut.”
She felt oddly disappointed. What she’d really wanted, she realized,
was
a big wedding, or at least one with all her family present, and a few friends. Eloping was like playing a game. It didn’t seem real. She wanted to buy a white dress and a veil, or at least a little hat, and have a bouquet, and a wedding cake with a bride and groom on top, and champagne. And music! She didn’t want a judge or justice of the peace she’d never met before and would never see again to be the only person present at what was the most important and sacred moment of her life.
“Maybe we should ask a few people and have a party,” she said.
“Oh, now I don’t want to start all that. Libra will find out and he’ll turn it into a circus. I just want to elope. When we get married it’s our busines and not everybody else’s. I don’t want to go through all that shit. I’m marrying the girl I love, I’m not marrying a star.”
“It wouldn’t be like that.”
“It would. Believe me.”
He gave her a look so tender and sweet that she couldn’t argue with him. Besides, she was not used to disagreeing with anybody. She was too afraid they would get angry with her. But Bobby had given her an idea. So when he went into the bathroom she telephoned a columnist she knew rather well and said: “Listen … don’t tell anybody because it’s a big secret, but I’m going to get married. We’re going to get the license today. Don’t tell a soul, okay? I’m just telling you because you’re my friend and I’m so excited I had to tell somebody.”
She put on her favorite wig and took great care with her make-up and the choice of a dress because now she knew there would be photographers at the marriage-license bureau. When Bobby wanted to wear jeans and a sweater she told him mildly that maybe it would be nice if he wore a suit and a tie, because, after all, a girl didn’t get a wedding license every day. She made sure he had enough money, because it might not be two dollars, it might be five or more with inflation, and she didn’t want to have to hand him the money in front of the photographers. She felt a little evil and rotten doing this to him, but after all, a girl
didn’t
get married every day, and when Libra saw the pictures in the papers tomorrow he would make sure they had a nice wedding, because, after all, she was his star …
As she’d expected, the columnist had sent a photographer, and there were some there anyway who evidently just hung around waiting to see if anybody interesting turned up, or maybe he’d leaked the news, so there were four in all for some reason, and Bobby looked annoyed except when they took his picture, and then he looked darling because he was in show business too and he couldn’t afford to look ugly in the papers. He didn’t seem to suspect a thing.
The surprise was Libra’s reaction. (She’d stopped thinking of him as Mr. Libra somewhere along the last few weeks, but when he called her, furious, he was Mr. Libra all over again.)
“Get your ass to my office this instant,” he said in a cold, hard voice.
“I don’t want you to speak to me like that, Mr. Libra,” she whispered.
“You get down here and bring that fiancé of yours with you.” He said “fiancé” as if he was saying “gigolo,” which was certainly what he meant.
“Yes, sir.”
“What did he say?” Bobby asked.
“He wants to see us. He’s mad.”
“What right has he got to be mad? He doesn’t own you.”
“I don’t know why he’s mad. But we’d better go over there.”
“Well, I’m not going over there,” Bobby said. “Screw him.”
“Oh, please,” Silky said. “I’m scared to go alone.”
“What are you scared of?”
“I don’t know.”
“What can he do to you?”
She thought about it. Bobby was right. What
could
Mr. Libra do? Keep her money? So what. How much did it cost to get married? She had expected that when he saw the photos and read that they had the license he would just accept it and arrange a nice wedding for them, because Mr. Libra liked to arrange everyone’s life, but it hadn’t occurred to her that he would be angry like this and even try to stop them. She’d been so excited about getting married at last that it had just never occurred to her that everyone else wouldn’t be delighted too.
“I guess he can’t do anything,” she said, finally.
“Damn right he can’t. Come on, I’ll go with you. Just remember—he works for you, you don’t work for him.”
“I don’t, do I?” Silky said, surprised. “
I
can fire
him!
”
Still, it was the children against the grown-ups, and they both knew it. It didn’t make any sense, but there it was. Bobby was defiant and Silky was sick from nervousness, just because they were going to Mr. Libra’s office, he wasn’t coming to their apartment, and he had made them come because he always knew how to take advantage.
When they went up in the elevator, Bobby held Silky’s hand, and she glanced at him for reassurance and noticed with horror that he was wearing a sweater and jeans again and his awful Army jacket, and he looked like a hippie, especially with all that hair … and oh, Lord, he was wearing that gold Peace thing on a chain around his neck! Mr. Libra would pick on that, too. But Bobby was so clean. He was the cleanest boy she’d ever seen. Mr. Libra should like that, anyway.
“Smile,” Bobby told her, smiling.
They rang the bell to the suite and Gerry opened the door and threw her arms around Silky’s neck with a little squeal. “Congratulations! Oh, no, you’re not supposed to say that to the girl.” She kissed Bobby on the cheek. “Congratulations, Bobby. Oh, Silky, I’m so delighted!”
“Where is … uh?” Silky whispered.
“He’ll be out in a minute.”
“He’s mad, huh?”
“Furious. Don’t worry. Let him scream, he’ll feel better. When’s the wedding?”
“We …” Silky began, and then Mr. Libra was standing behind Gerry, dressed in black as if in mourning.
“Out,” Mr. Libra said to Gerry in a voice of ice.
Gerry winked and disappeared. Silky and Bobby stood there with fixed smiles. Mr. Libra’s face had such a look of cold rage that Silky began hating him all over again. With the hate came the old fear, and she didn’t even know why. That man just always scared her, that’s all.
“Take off your coats and sit down.” When he said ‘coats’ he looked at Bobby’s Army jacket and everything else he had on, and that look was enough. He might as well have said ‘rags.’ Silky took off her two-hundred-dollar leather coat with the little fur collar and handed it to Bobby to hang up. Bobby put it over the back of a chair. They sat side by side on the couch. Mr. Libra paced in front of them like a father deciding if he should take his kids to the woodshed.
“This is ridiculous,” Mr. Libra said. “You can’t get married.”
“Oh?” Bobby said.
“You know that, don’t you?” Mr. Libra went on. “You two can’t get married. The joke is over. I’m sending out a retraction next week. You’ve changed your minds.”
“I haven’t changed my mind!” Silky burst out. “I can marry anybody any time I want to, any time I want to, and you can’t stop me. I’m over twen …” She stopped, realizing she wasn’t.
“But you’re not,” Mr. Libra said. “You’re only nineteen.”
“Eighteen is legal age for girls in this state,” Bobby said.
“Indeed? And for boys, I believe, it is twenty-one. How old are you? Nineteen? You see, you’re a minor, and I have a very good attorney.” Mr. Libra clasped his hands under his chin and smiled.
“I don’t understand,” Bobby said. “Why should you care?”
Mr. Libra kept smiling that smug, infuriating smile.
Oh, Lord
, Silky thought,
why did he have to ask that!
“I think
she
knows,” Mr. Libra said.
Silky didn’t answer or even look at either of them. She realized that Mr. Libra wanted to start a fight between her and Bobby.
“You’re not
married
, are you?” Bobby said to her pleasantly.
“No, of course not.
You
aren’t, are you?”
“No.” They smiled at each other.
“You see?” Silky said.
Mr. Libra walked to his desk and took a folder off the top of it. He walked a few steps toward them with the folder in his hands. Then he opened it and began to read. “May 4 to August 14, last year, 200 East 57th Street, c/o Antonini, August 14 to August 20, parked yellow 1960 Plymouth, August 21 to September 15, 5 Fifth Avenue, c/o Mrs. Bruns …”
“What is
that
?” Bobby said angrily.
“A list of your former residences.”
“A car?” Silky said. “You lived in a parked car?”
“Just slept there,” Bobby said. “I was out of money.”
“Better you should ask about Mr. Antonini and Mrs. Bruns,” Mr. Libra said. “Shall I continue to read the list? It’s quite long. You never seem to keep your friends for very long. Do they find you too expensive?”
“Let’s go,” Bobby said. He stood up.
Silky shook her head. “I don’t know who these people are, Mr. Libra,” she said, “but I think you wasted your money hiring a detective to get you that list. I know all about that and I couldn’t care less. A man is entitled to have friends and just because you made a list of them doesn’t make them any more than friends no matter what you think.” Bobby sat down, looking expressionless, which she knew was his way of trying not to look surprised. She went on, feeling braver. “I’m sure you have a list of my lovers before I met Bobby, and if you don’t I’m sure you can hire a detective to get one.”
“What lovers?” Mr. Libra and Bobby said almost in unison.
Silky smiled. “Oh … my lovers. Quite a few of them had their pictures taken with me in the papers.” What a lie! She didn’t know if Mr. Libra believed all those publicity dates had been her lovers or not. “In fact, Mr. Libra, you fixed me up with them. So you might say you were pimping.”
“You little …!”
“Slut,” Silky supplied sweetly.
“I’d like to see you two live on just your allowance,” Mr. Libra said. “I’d like to see how long it takes before
he
starts seeing his old friends again. If you get married I will see that you go back on your old allowance.”
“Then I’ll just write my memoirs for the newspapers,” Silky said. “They pay a lot. Especially from a new star. And they’d love to know about all my lovers back home in Philadelphia when I was just fourteen years old. I could get a hundred thousand dollars for that.”
“You are living in a fantasy world!” Mr. Libra screamed.
“No,” Bobby said, “you are. We aren’t Romeo and Juliet. We’re adults. And you aren’t even a very good liar, sir. You wouldn’t expose Silky to any bad publicity if your life depended on it—and it does, in a way. Thirty per cent of her income isn’t bad, is it? And it’ll be even better next year, won’t it? I can get married with my mother’s consent, and no state in this country will set that marriage aside no matter how many lawyers you hire. And Silky’s of age.”
Libra ran to the desk and grabbed a sheet of paper. “Your contract,” he said, holding it up, but so quickly that Silky couldn’t see whether it was or not. He ripped the paper in half.
Silky shrugged. She was sure he had at least a dozen copies in his safe. People only tore up contracts in the movies. She felt tired. She wanted to go home. Nobody said anything. Bobby took her hand and smiled at her. She smiled back. He looked nice in a sweater and she was sorry she was ashamed of him in the elevator. He was more of a man than old Hitler ape-face Libra would ever be. Libra buzzed for Gerry. She came out of the bedroom.