said severely.
“Yes, I’ll try.” And she stared resolutely at her hand.
* * * *
For the next two days Mary scarcely saw Kit, George, Alfred, or Margot. “Hell,” George had muttered to her as their paths crossed briefly on Friday, “she doesn’t even know her lines. And she needs her hand held constantly. I’m going to tear my hair out.”
The fact that Margot was proving a disrupting force among the cast was confirmed by Carolyn Nash, who sat down next to Mary at the lakefront on Saturday afternoon. “She’s a pain in the neck,” said Carolyn forthrightly in answer to Mary’s question as to how Margot was doing. “She hangs on Chris like a leech, and every time George moves her off center stage she cries.”
“Oh God,” said Mary. “What a mess. But is she any good, Carolyn?”
“I don’t know,” the girl grumbled. Then, unwillingly: “She may be all right. Chris has been coaching her about her voice. It’s a little thin and high,” She sighed. “He’s incredibly patient with her. I’d like to give her a good swift kick myself.”
“Yes, well you aren’t a man,” Mary murmured.
“That’s true. She’s very beautiful.”
“Very.”
They looked at each other and laughed ruefully. “I must say,” confessed Mary, “that I really didn’t believe women like that existed. I thought it was all part of the Hollywood myth. She actually calls people ‘darling.’ ”
“She lays it on so thick you can’t believe it,” said Carolyn in amazement. “I mean, I admire Chris enormously. I think he’s wonderful, actually. But she ...”
“I know. She makes Scarlett O’Hara look subtle.” They both laughed again and felt much better for having shared their mutual dislike of La Belle Chandler, as Mary called her nastily. They neither of them bothered to reflect that Margot’s chief sin in both their eyes was that since she had arrived, she had totally monopolized Christopher Douglas.
* * * *
Sunday morning Mary arose early and decided to go to Mass first and have breakfast afterwards. She put on her blue shirt-dress and espadrilles and got in the car. It was the first time she had ventured off campus since Wednesday when she had been accosted by Jason Razzia. She looked cautiously around as she drove out of the college gate but there was no one around. She made it to church without incident and on the way back to college stopped to pick up the Sunday papers. The store she stopped at was a small food market that had a lunch counter as well where they served coffee, donuts, and sandwiches. Sitting at the counter having a cup of coffee was her nemesis. Razzia jumped up the minute he saw her.
“Hi there, Mrs. Douglas! You and Chris done any more boating? Or has Margot Chandler been keeping him too busy?” Mary ignored him and went to the cash register to pay for her papers and the few groceries she had picked up. “She’s between husbands right at present, you know, and may be in the market for a younger man. It seems to be the new fad.”
Mary gritted her teeth, collected her change, and stalked to the door. “You’re a good-looking dame,” came the revolting voice from behind her, “but Margot is supposed to be pure dynamite. Better watch out.”
Mary longed, with a passion that curled her fingers, to turn and smash him across his hateful face. She climbed into her car and relieved her feelings slightly by slamming the door hard and pretending that Jason’s Razzia’s fingers were in the way.
She got back to college, to safety, she thought as she drove in the gates and went to have breakfast in the dining room. She took her papers along, and over her second cup of coffee she opened the theater section of the Times. The headline jumped out at her:
CHRISTOPHER DOUGLAS TACKLES HAMLET.
She put down her coffee cup, folded the paper, and read:
During the past ten years some of the most interesting and daring of our theatrical ventures have come out of Yarborough College’s
“Yes, I’ll try.” And she stared resolutely at her hand.
* * * *
For the next two days Mary scarcely saw Kit, George, Alfred, or Margot. “Hell,” George had muttered to her as their paths crossed briefly on Friday, “she doesn’t even know her lines. And she needs her hand held constantly. I’m going to tear my hair out.”
The fact that Margot was proving a disrupting force among the cast was confirmed by Carolyn Nash, who sat down next to Mary at the lakefront on Saturday afternoon. “She’s a pain in the neck,” said Carolyn forthrightly in answer to Mary’s question as to how Margot was doing. “She hangs on Chris like a leech, and every time George moves her off center stage she cries.”
“Oh God,” said Mary. “What a mess. But is she any good, Carolyn?”
“I don’t know,” the girl grumbled. Then, unwillingly: “She may be all right. Chris has been coaching her about her voice. It’s a little thin and high,” She sighed. “He’s incredibly patient with her. I’d like to give her a good swift kick myself.”
“Yes, well you aren’t a man,” Mary murmured.
“That’s true. She’s very beautiful.”
“Very.”
They looked at each other and laughed ruefully. “I must say,” confessed Mary, “that I really didn’t believe women like that existed. I thought it was all part of the Hollywood myth. She actually calls people ‘darling.’ ”
“She lays it on so thick you can’t believe it,” said Carolyn in amazement. “I mean, I admire Chris enormously. I think he’s wonderful, actually. But she ...”
“I know. She makes Scarlett O’Hara look subtle.” They both laughed again and felt much better for having shared their mutual dislike of La Belle Chandler, as Mary called her nastily. They neither of them bothered to reflect that Margot’s chief sin in both their eyes was that since she had arrived, she had totally monopolized Christopher Douglas.
* * * *
Sunday morning Mary arose early and decided to go to Mass first and have breakfast afterwards. She put on her blue shirt-dress and espadrilles and got in the car. It was the first time she had ventured off campus since Wednesday when she had been accosted by Jason Razzia. She looked cautiously around as she drove out of the college gate but there was no one around. She made it to church without incident and on the way back to college stopped to pick up the Sunday papers. The store she stopped at was a small food market that had a lunch counter as well where they served coffee, donuts, and sandwiches. Sitting at the counter having a cup of coffee was her nemesis. Razzia jumped up the minute he saw her.
“Hi there, Mrs. Douglas! You and Chris done any more boating? Or has Margot Chandler been keeping him too busy?” Mary ignored him and went to the cash register to pay for her papers and the few groceries she had picked up. “She’s between husbands right at present, you know, and may be in the market for a younger man. It seems to be the new fad.”
Mary gritted her teeth, collected her change, and stalked to the door. “You’re a good-looking dame,” came the revolting voice from behind her, “but Margot is supposed to be pure dynamite. Better watch out.”
Mary longed, with a passion that curled her fingers, to turn and smash him across his hateful face. She climbed into her car and relieved her feelings slightly by slamming the door hard and pretending that Jason’s Razzia’s fingers were in the way.
She got back to college, to safety, she thought as she drove in the gates and went to have breakfast in the dining room. She took her papers along, and over her second cup of coffee she opened the theater section of the Times. The headline jumped out at her:
CHRISTOPHER DOUGLAS TACKLES HAMLET.
She put down her coffee cup, folded the paper, and read:
During the past ten years some of the most interesting and daring of our theatrical ventures have come out of Yarborough College’s
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