Part 19 (1/2)

We're putting on a thing by Chekov next week and a strong thing by Elvenah Jack. Lives down the street. Know her? Oh, it isn't much.” He smiled good-naturedly at the miniature theater. ”But it's fun. I'll show you around.”

Rachel submitted. Brander was a friend of Emil Tesla. He drew things for _The Cry_. He had a wide mouth and ugly eyes that took things for granted--that took her for granted. She was a woman and therefore interested in talking to a man. He held her arm too much and kept saying in her thought, ”We've got to pretend we're decent, but we're not. We're a man and woman.” But what did that matter? Long hours before eight o'clock.

On the stage Brander became a personality. A group of nondescript faces deferred to him. A woman with stringy hair and an elocutionist's mouth, grew dramatic as he pa.s.sed. They paused before Mary. Brander had stopped abruptly in his talk. He turned toward Mary and stared at her until she began to grow pink. Rachel wondered. Mary wanted to run away, but couldn't. Brander finally said shortly, ”h.e.l.lo, you!” His eyes blazed for an instant and then grew angry.

”Come on, Miss Laskin.” He jerked her and she followed. In the wings half hidden from the group that crowded the tiny stage Brander said, ”Do you know that girl?”

Rachel nodded.

”She's no good,” he grinned. ”I like women one thing or the other. She's both. And no good. I got her number.”

Rachel noticed that he had moved his hand up on her arm and was gently pressing the flesh under her shoulder. He kept saying to her now in her thought, ”I've got a man's body and you've got a woman's body. There's that difference between us. Why hide it?” His voice became soft and he said aloud, ”Don't you like men to be one kind or the other? And not both?”

Rachel looked at him blankly. She must pretend she didn't know what he was talking about. Otherwise she would begin to talk. He was a man to whom one talked because he demanded it. His face, ugly and boyish, seemed to have rid itself of many expressions and retained a certainty.

The certainty said, ”I'm a man looking for women.”

Brander laughed.

”Oh, you're one of the other kind,” he said. ”Beg pardon. No harm done.

Let's go out front.”

Out front in the half-lighted auditorium Brander suddenly left her. She saw him a few minutes later standing close to a nervous-voiced woman who was saying, ”Oh, dear! Dear me! I'll never get this part. I won't! I just know it!”

Brander was toying idly with a chain that hung about the woman's neck.

He was looking at her intently. Mary approached, bearing Charlie along.

She began whispering to Rachel, ”That man's a beast. I hate him. He thinks he's an artist, but he's a beast. You'll find out if you're not careful.”

Rachel asked, ”Who?”

”Brander,” Mary answered.

Charlie interrupted, indignation rumbling in his voice,

”A bunch of freaks, all of them. I don't see why a decent girl wants to hang around in a dump like this.”

He was more grieved than indignant. A woman with dark hair and long gypsy earrings had suddenly laughed at him when he sat down beside her.

Mary patted his arm.

”I know, Charlie. But you don't understand. My turn in a few minutes, Rachel. We'll wait here till the Chekov thing comes on. Do you know Felixson? He's got a wonderful thing for the bill after this. A religious play. Awfully strong. That's him with the bushy hair. You must know him.”

Charlie grunted.

”You don't mean you act in this d.a.m.n joint?”

”Oh, I'm just helping out for next week. It's lots of fun, Charlie.”

Rachel stood up suddenly from the uncomfortable bench seat.

”I must go,” she murmured. ”I'm sorry.”