Douglas will be happy to answer your questions, but they really must come one at a time.” He looked nervously at Kit and thought, I hope the hell he keeps his temper.
He did. He put on what Mel afterward told him was perhaps the finest performance of his career. He disdained the microphone and pitched his celebrated voice to an easily audible level. “I thought perhaps that first I would explain a little about my marital situation since it seems to have provoked such universal interest.” He didn’t sound at all sarcastic and he smiled charmingly before he went on to give a very edited account of his marriage: “We were both students and too young. It simply didn’t work out.” The coincidence of himself and Dr. O’Connor—he scrupulously called her Dr. O’Connor the whole time—both working at the Yarborough Festival this summer was just that, a coincidence. He had not realized until after he took the role that she would be lecturing here. “So you see,” he concluded disarmingly, “it has all been a tempest in a teapot.”
“But why didn’t you ever get a divorce, Chris?” asked the man from Personality.
“Neither of us ever got around to it, that’s all. If I had wanted to marry again, I would have. I’m sure we’ll do something permanent eventually. We’ve just both been rather busy these last years.”
“Why did you keep your marriage such a secret?” It was the eager young lady from one of the wire services.
He shrugged. “It was over with before I became established. The subject never came up. And I certainly didn’t want Dr. O’Connor bothered by a lot of unnecessary questions.” He gestured beautifully around the room. “As has happened.”
“Is that why you’re holding this press conference? To protect—ah, Dr. O’Connor?” It was a man from a New Hampshire paper.
Kit looked at him thoughtfully. “Partly. I feel guilty about having caused her all this trouble. But I was hoping, too, that there might be some interest in my tackling such a formidable role. After all, I haven’t done any theater in five years and my movie roles have hardly been of this caliber.”
“How do you feel about Hamlet?” asked the man from the Associated Press and from then on the conference moved into theatrical areas. Kit wandered around the room, chatting pleasantly, patiently answering questions, utterly relaxed, utterly charming.
“I don’t believe what I’m seeing,” muttered Mel Horner to George Clark. “Chris of all people. He hates things like this.”
“John Andrews was right, of course,” replied George soberly. “He’s doing it to protect Mary.”
Mel looked at him accusingly. “You haven’t told anyone that Chris asked to come here?”
“Of course not!”
“Good. The fat would really be in the fire if the press found that out.”
“Or if Mary did.”
“True.” Mel Horner sighed. “What a shame to waste a woman like that in the classroom. That skin! Those eyes! She could make a fortune in the movies.”
George grinned. “Somehow, gorgeous as she undoubtedly is, I cannot see Mary in the movies.”
Mel Horner thought for a minute. “I suppose you’re right,” he replied gloomily. “The problem is I can’t see her as Chris’s wife either, and I’m afraid that that is what he wants.”
They both looked at the slim, dark man who was sitting casually now on the arm of a chair talking to a New York theater critic. “He seems a very decent sort,” said George Clark, “but it’s a hell of a life, isn’t it?”
* * * *
Mary stayed as far as possible from the press conference. Her brief experience with the media after the bombshell of her marriage had dropped had been enough to permanently scar her sensibilities. What a life Kit must lead, she thought, with a flicker of genuine horror. Still, he had known what it would be like and he had gone after it with a single-minded intensity, ruthlessly sacrificing everything else to this one driving ambition.
He did. He put on what Mel afterward told him was perhaps the finest performance of his career. He disdained the microphone and pitched his celebrated voice to an easily audible level. “I thought perhaps that first I would explain a little about my marital situation since it seems to have provoked such universal interest.” He didn’t sound at all sarcastic and he smiled charmingly before he went on to give a very edited account of his marriage: “We were both students and too young. It simply didn’t work out.” The coincidence of himself and Dr. O’Connor—he scrupulously called her Dr. O’Connor the whole time—both working at the Yarborough Festival this summer was just that, a coincidence. He had not realized until after he took the role that she would be lecturing here. “So you see,” he concluded disarmingly, “it has all been a tempest in a teapot.”
“But why didn’t you ever get a divorce, Chris?” asked the man from Personality.
“Neither of us ever got around to it, that’s all. If I had wanted to marry again, I would have. I’m sure we’ll do something permanent eventually. We’ve just both been rather busy these last years.”
“Why did you keep your marriage such a secret?” It was the eager young lady from one of the wire services.
He shrugged. “It was over with before I became established. The subject never came up. And I certainly didn’t want Dr. O’Connor bothered by a lot of unnecessary questions.” He gestured beautifully around the room. “As has happened.”
“Is that why you’re holding this press conference? To protect—ah, Dr. O’Connor?” It was a man from a New Hampshire paper.
Kit looked at him thoughtfully. “Partly. I feel guilty about having caused her all this trouble. But I was hoping, too, that there might be some interest in my tackling such a formidable role. After all, I haven’t done any theater in five years and my movie roles have hardly been of this caliber.”
“How do you feel about Hamlet?” asked the man from the Associated Press and from then on the conference moved into theatrical areas. Kit wandered around the room, chatting pleasantly, patiently answering questions, utterly relaxed, utterly charming.
“I don’t believe what I’m seeing,” muttered Mel Horner to George Clark. “Chris of all people. He hates things like this.”
“John Andrews was right, of course,” replied George soberly. “He’s doing it to protect Mary.”
Mel looked at him accusingly. “You haven’t told anyone that Chris asked to come here?”
“Of course not!”
“Good. The fat would really be in the fire if the press found that out.”
“Or if Mary did.”
“True.” Mel Horner sighed. “What a shame to waste a woman like that in the classroom. That skin! Those eyes! She could make a fortune in the movies.”
George grinned. “Somehow, gorgeous as she undoubtedly is, I cannot see Mary in the movies.”
Mel Horner thought for a minute. “I suppose you’re right,” he replied gloomily. “The problem is I can’t see her as Chris’s wife either, and I’m afraid that that is what he wants.”
They both looked at the slim, dark man who was sitting casually now on the arm of a chair talking to a New York theater critic. “He seems a very decent sort,” said George Clark, “but it’s a hell of a life, isn’t it?”
* * * *
Mary stayed as far as possible from the press conference. Her brief experience with the media after the bombshell of her marriage had dropped had been enough to permanently scar her sensibilities. What a life Kit must lead, she thought, with a flicker of genuine horror. Still, he had known what it would be like and he had gone after it with a single-minded intensity, ruthlessly sacrificing everything else to this one driving ambition.
Similar Books
