"Very well then."
Mollified, he took Noelle in his arms and received a warm kiss from her. He knew now that he had worried unnecessarily. She was like any other woman, she needed to be dominated. He would have no further problem with her.
Their lovemaking that night surpassed anything that had gone before, possibly, Gautier thought, because of the added excitement of the slight quarrel they had had.
During the night he said to her, "You really can be a wonderful actress, Noelle. I'm going to be very proud of you."
"Thank you, Armand," she whispered.
Noelle fixed breakfast in the morning, and Gautier left for the theater. When he telephoned Noelle during the day, she did not answer, and when he arrived home that night she was not there. Gautier waited for her to return, and when she did not appear he lay awake all night wondering if she could have been in an accident. He tried to phone Noelle at her apartment, but there was no answer. He sent a telegram that went undelivered, and when he stopped at her apartment after rehearsal, no one answered his ring.
During the week that followed, Gautier was frantic. Rehearsals were turning into a shambles. He was screaming at all the actors and upsetting them so badly that his stage manager suggested they stop for the day and Gautier agreed. After the actors had left, he sat on the stage alone, trying to understand what had happened to him. He told himself that Noelle was just another woman, a cheap ambitious blonde with the heart of a shopgirl who wanted to be a star. He denigrated her in every way he could think of, but in the end he knew it was no use. He had to have her. That night he wandered the streets of Paris, getting drunk in small bars where he was unknown. He tried to think of ways to reach Noelle but to no avail. There was no one he could even talk to about her, except Philippe Sorel, and that, of course, was out of the question.
A week after Noelle had disappeared, Armand Gautier arrived home at four o'clock in the morning, drunk, opened the door and walked into the living room. All the lights were on. Noelle was curled up in an easy chair dressed in one of his robes, reading a book. She looked up as he entered, and smiled.
"Hello, Armand."
Gautier stared at her, his heart lifting, a feeling of infinite relief and happiness flooding through him. He said, "We'll begin working tomorrow."
CATHERINE
Washington: 1940
5
Washington, D.C., was the most exciting city that Catherine Alexander had ever seen. She had always thought of Chicago as the heartland, but Washington was a revelation. Here was the real core of America, the pulsating center of power. At first, Catherine had been bewildered by the variety of uniforms that filled the streets: Army, Navy Air Corps, Marines. For the first time Catherine began to feel the grim possibility of war as something real.
In Washington the physical presence of war was everywhere. This was the city where war, if it came, would begin. Here it would be declared and mobilized and masterminded. This was the city that held in its hand the fate of the world. And she, Catherine Alexander, was going to be a part of it.
She had moved in with Susie Roberts, who was living in a bright and cheery fourth floor walk-up apartment with a fair-sized living room, two small adjoining bedrooms, a tiny bathroom and a kitchenette built for a midget. Susie had seemed glad to see her. Her first words were: "Hurry and unpack and get your best dress steamed out. You have a dinner date tonight."
Catherine blinked. "What took you so long?"
"Cathy, in Washington, it's the girls who have the little black books. This town is so full of lonely men, it's pitiful."
They had dinner that first evening at the Willard Hotel. Susie's date was a congressman from Indiana and Catherine's date was a lobbyist from Oregon, and both men were in town without their wives. After dinner they went dancing at the Washington Country Club. Catherine had hoped that the lobbyist might be able to give her a job. Instead she got the offer of a car and her own apartment, which she declined with thanks.
Susie brought the congressman back to the apartment, and Catherine went to bed. A short time later she heard them go into Susie's bedroom, and the bedsprings began to creak. Catherine pulled a pillow over her head to drown out the sound, but it was impossible. She visualized Susie in bed with her date
making wild, passionate love. In the morning when Catherine got up for breakfast, Susie was already up, looking bright and cheerful, ready to go to work. Catherine searched for telltale wrinkles and other signs of dissipation on Susie, but there were none. On the contrary she looked radiant, her skin absolutely flawless. My God, Catherine thought, she's a female Dorian Gray. One day she's going to come in looking great, and I'll look a hundred and ten years old.
A few days later at breakfast Susie said, "Hey, I heard about a job opening that might interest you. One of the girls at the party last night said she's quitting to go back to Texas. God knows why anyone who ever got away from Texas would want to go back there. I remember I was in Amarillo a few years ago and..."
"Where does she work?" Catherine interrupted.
"Who?"
"The girl," Catherine said patiently.
"Oh. She works for Bill Fraser. He's in charge of public relations for the State Department. Newsweek did a cover story on him last month. It's supposed to be a cushy job. I just heard about it last night, so if you get over there now, you should beat all the other girls to it."
"Thanks," Catherine said gratefully. "William Fraser, here I come."
Twenty minutes later Catherine was on her way to the State Department. When she arrived, the guard told her where Fraser's office was and she took the elevator upstairs. Public Relations. It sounded exactly like the sort of job she was looking for.
Catherine stopped in the corridor outside the office and took out her hand mirror to check her makeup. She would do. It was not yet nine-thirty so she should have the field to herself. She opened the door and walked in.
The outer office was packed with girls standing, sitting, leaning against the wall, all seemingly talking at once. The frantic receptionist behind the beleaguered desk was vainly trying to bring order into the scene. "Mr. Fraser's busy right now," she kept repeating. "I don't know when he can see you."