worthless lead or pig iron merely coated with a thin skin of gold. After every rubbing, more dull, worn and smutty.
In her boudoir, on the television, my Miss Kathie rides in an open horse-drawn carriage through Central Park, sitting beside Robert Stack . Behind them trails a huge looming mass of white balloons. At a crescendo of violin music, Stack rolls on top of Miss Kathie, and her fist opens, releasing the frenzied balloons to scatter and swim upward, whipping their long tails of white string.
On some shelves balance scissors big enough for the Jolly Green Giant , brass buffed until it could pass as something precious, the pointed blades as long as Miss Kathie’s legs. She brandished one pair to cut the ribbon at the opening ceremonies for the six-lane Ochoakee Inland Expressway . Another pair of scissors cut the ribbon to open the Spring Water Regional Shopping Mall . Another pair, as large as a golden child performing jumping jacks, these cut the ribbon at a supermarket. At the Lewis J. Redslope Memorial Bridge . At the Tennessee assembly plant for Skyline Microcellular, Inc .
On the television in the kitchen, Miss Kathie lies on a blanket next to Cornel Wilde . As Wilde rolls on top of her, the camera pans to a nearby spitting, crackling campfire.
Filling the shelves are skeleton keys so heavy they require both hands to lift. Tin treated to shine bright as platinum. Presented by the Omaha Business Fathers and the Topeka Chamber of Commerce . The key to Spokane, Washington , presented to Miss Kathie by his honor, the right esteemed Mayor Nelson Redding . The engraved keys to Jackson Hole , Wyoming , and Jacksonville, Florida . The keys to Iowa City and Sioux Falls .
On the dining room television, my Miss Kathie shares a train compartment with Nigel Bruce . As he throws himself on top of her the train slips into a tunnel.
In the drawing room, Burt Lancaster lowers himself onto Miss Kathie as ocean waves roll onto a sandy beach. On the television in the den, Richard Todd throws himself onto Miss Kathie as July Fourth fireworks explode in a night sky.
Throughout this montage, the actual Miss Kathie is absent. Here and there, the camera might linger on a discarded newspaper page, a half-tone photograph of Miss Kathie exiting a limousine assisted by Webster Carlton Westward III . Her name in boldface type linked to his in the gossip columns of Sheilah Graham or Elsa Maxwell . Another photograph, the two of them dancing at a nightclub. Otherwise, the town house is empty.
My hand lifts still another trophy, a heroic statuette, the muscle of each arm and leg as small and naked as a child Miss Kathie never had, and I massage its face, without pressing, to make such thin gold, that faint shine, last as long as possible.
ACT I, SCENE NINE
“The most cunning compliments,” playwright William Inge once wrote, “seem to flatter the person who bestows them even more than they do the person who receives them.”
Once more we dissolve into flashback. Begin with a swish pan, fast enough to blur everything, then gradually slow to a long crane shot, swooping above round tables, each dinner table circled with seated guests. The gleam of every eye turns toward a distant stage; the sparkle of diamond necklaces and beaming, boiled-white tuxedo shirts reflect that far-off spotlight. We move through this vast field of white tablecloths and silverware as the shot advances toward the stage. Every shoulder turns, twisted to watch a man standing at a podium. As the shot comes into deep focus, we see the speaker, Senator Phelps Russell Warner , standing behind the microphone.
A screen fills the upstage wall, flashing with gray imagesof a motion picture. For a few words, the figure of Katherine Kenton appears on-screen, wearing a corseted silk ball gown as Mrs. Ludwig van Beethoven . As her husband, Spencer Tracy , snores in the background, she hunches over a roll of parchment, quill pen squeezed between her blue fingers, finishing the
In her boudoir, on the television, my Miss Kathie rides in an open horse-drawn carriage through Central Park, sitting beside Robert Stack . Behind them trails a huge looming mass of white balloons. At a crescendo of violin music, Stack rolls on top of Miss Kathie, and her fist opens, releasing the frenzied balloons to scatter and swim upward, whipping their long tails of white string.
On some shelves balance scissors big enough for the Jolly Green Giant , brass buffed until it could pass as something precious, the pointed blades as long as Miss Kathie’s legs. She brandished one pair to cut the ribbon at the opening ceremonies for the six-lane Ochoakee Inland Expressway . Another pair of scissors cut the ribbon to open the Spring Water Regional Shopping Mall . Another pair, as large as a golden child performing jumping jacks, these cut the ribbon at a supermarket. At the Lewis J. Redslope Memorial Bridge . At the Tennessee assembly plant for Skyline Microcellular, Inc .
On the television in the kitchen, Miss Kathie lies on a blanket next to Cornel Wilde . As Wilde rolls on top of her, the camera pans to a nearby spitting, crackling campfire.
Filling the shelves are skeleton keys so heavy they require both hands to lift. Tin treated to shine bright as platinum. Presented by the Omaha Business Fathers and the Topeka Chamber of Commerce . The key to Spokane, Washington , presented to Miss Kathie by his honor, the right esteemed Mayor Nelson Redding . The engraved keys to Jackson Hole , Wyoming , and Jacksonville, Florida . The keys to Iowa City and Sioux Falls .
On the dining room television, my Miss Kathie shares a train compartment with Nigel Bruce . As he throws himself on top of her the train slips into a tunnel.
In the drawing room, Burt Lancaster lowers himself onto Miss Kathie as ocean waves roll onto a sandy beach. On the television in the den, Richard Todd throws himself onto Miss Kathie as July Fourth fireworks explode in a night sky.
Throughout this montage, the actual Miss Kathie is absent. Here and there, the camera might linger on a discarded newspaper page, a half-tone photograph of Miss Kathie exiting a limousine assisted by Webster Carlton Westward III . Her name in boldface type linked to his in the gossip columns of Sheilah Graham or Elsa Maxwell . Another photograph, the two of them dancing at a nightclub. Otherwise, the town house is empty.
My hand lifts still another trophy, a heroic statuette, the muscle of each arm and leg as small and naked as a child Miss Kathie never had, and I massage its face, without pressing, to make such thin gold, that faint shine, last as long as possible.
ACT I, SCENE NINE
“The most cunning compliments,” playwright William Inge once wrote, “seem to flatter the person who bestows them even more than they do the person who receives them.”
Once more we dissolve into flashback. Begin with a swish pan, fast enough to blur everything, then gradually slow to a long crane shot, swooping above round tables, each dinner table circled with seated guests. The gleam of every eye turns toward a distant stage; the sparkle of diamond necklaces and beaming, boiled-white tuxedo shirts reflect that far-off spotlight. We move through this vast field of white tablecloths and silverware as the shot advances toward the stage. Every shoulder turns, twisted to watch a man standing at a podium. As the shot comes into deep focus, we see the speaker, Senator Phelps Russell Warner , standing behind the microphone.
A screen fills the upstage wall, flashing with gray imagesof a motion picture. For a few words, the figure of Katherine Kenton appears on-screen, wearing a corseted silk ball gown as Mrs. Ludwig van Beethoven . As her husband, Spencer Tracy , snores in the background, she hunches over a roll of parchment, quill pen squeezed between her blue fingers, finishing the
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