Part 24 (2/2)

Her movements became almost fluid now, as she changed from pose to pose.

A dark, a.s.sertive charcoal in his hand, Harburg reached over Henry's shoulder and drew what he had in mind: bold, quick strokes that suggested a motion but not really a person. A lunge, a reach, a retreat, a mood. Her gender became irrelevant; her age, her hair, her eyes. She became a body in motion, nothing more. As the pages and poses flew by, Henry drew with increasing speed and freedom. By the middle of the second hour, he had at least three sketches that, partly because of the speed with which he had drawn them, conveyed a sense of motion that nothing he'd ever drawn had conveyed.

”That's more like it,” Harburg said. He called for a break, draping his cardigan over Annie's shoulders again, patting her shoulders paternally.

The men lit new cigarettes, stood up to stretch, sharpened their pencils with pocketknives.

Annie slowly walked around the drawing benches, seeing whatever images of her last pose were still uncovered. Her face remained impa.s.sive, almost shy. When she came to Henry's bench, he instinctively reached to flip to a fresh page and cover up his most recent drawing. She eyed him and smiled kindly.

”It's your first time here, isn't it,” she said.

”Yes.”

”And you're doing the tryout?”

”Yes.”

”My name is Annie.”

”I know. I'm Henry.”

”Have you you got any scars?” she asked. got any scars?” she asked.

He laughed. ”They're all internal,” he said.

Her eyes softened further. ”Really? Your heart's already been broken?”

He thought of the look on Mary Jane's face when she told him no. ”Don't be ridiculous,” she had said. Henry looked at Annie, inviting her to find out more.

She touched his elbow. Just a tiny touch. A little gesture, far too quick to capture, not even the length of a one-second pose, but Henry felt sure that, later that night, he would have no trouble drawing it from memory.

IT WAS A WORLD OF MEN, a world of fathers, cousins, and brothers, as clearly male and paternal as the practice house had been its opposite. Though there were certainly women at the studio-secretaries, a.s.sistants, inkers, and painters-they were virtually banned from the Animation Building and thus irrelevant to the real work.

Henry saved thinking about the women for the nights. He had two of them already in his mind: Cindy, with her amazing balloon-shaped b.r.e.a.s.t.s and matching carnival spirit; and Annie, who seemed so much more fragile, and thus provoked in him an eager, protective urge.

At night, Henry watched Jack Benny Jack Benny or or The Fugitive The Fugitive or or The Twilight Zone The Twilight Zone on TV. He tried to imagine which of the two women would be better to invite over first. On the surface, Cindy seemed a surer bet. No work to get her at all, and probably not much more to keep her. But something about Annie held promise for him, too: he pictured her gripping him tightly, and the need he imagined in her was somehow more compelling than the need he felt in himself. He didn't know why he wanted it, but he let himself imagine that, for the first time, it might be nice to have a girlfriend whom he allowed to need him. on TV. He tried to imagine which of the two women would be better to invite over first. On the surface, Cindy seemed a surer bet. No work to get her at all, and probably not much more to keep her. But something about Annie held promise for him, too: he pictured her gripping him tightly, and the need he imagined in her was somehow more compelling than the need he felt in himself. He didn't know why he wanted it, but he let himself imagine that, for the first time, it might be nice to have a girlfriend whom he allowed to need him.

THE ONLY WOMAN HENRY THOUGHT ABOUT during the workday was Mary Poppins. Emem had read the book to Henry when he was six or seven. It was a strange book, Henry had thought even then. In it, four British children-Jane and Michael and a pair of twins-were tended to by a nanny who was blown onto their doorstep, took them on all sorts of magical adventures, and then-in chapter after chapter, with what Henry had sensed as increasing cruelty-simply pretended that nothing magical had happened after all.

Martha had kept the book among Henry's favorites, but she was the one who had liked it. The fact that the main character was a better mother to the children than their real mother was not something Henry would notice until later, and then he would find other similarities between Mary Poppins and Martha. Both of them were stern and precise, both of them were convinced they were right, and both of them were dishonest.

None of that mattered now. Henry would not have cared if the main character of this film was a phone book. But he gathered quickly that Disney's Mary Poppins Mary Poppins was a different story entirely. In the movie, Mary Poppins was more predictable in her goal: She came to fix a family, and she left when the family was fixed. There was also a certain cuteness to things. For one thing, the waiter who in the book had tended to Mary and Bert had been replaced by a team of four cartoon penguins. was a different story entirely. In the movie, Mary Poppins was more predictable in her goal: She came to fix a family, and she left when the family was fixed. There was also a certain cuteness to things. For one thing, the waiter who in the book had tended to Mary and Bert had been replaced by a team of four cartoon penguins.

Among those overseeing the required animations were two of the legendary studio veterans whom Walt had dubbed ”the nine old men” long before they were old. Henry was asked to report to Ollie Johnston, whom he found at a wooden drawing board in a private office.

”Penguins or horses?” Johnston asked, as if he were offering weapons in a duel.

”Whatever you need,” Henry answered, as if he was sure he could do anything.

”Let's see your penguin,” Ollie Johnston said.

Henry reached into his back pocket for his sketch pad and whipped the pencil from its spiral binding. Within seconds, he had drawn the beginnings of a cheerful penguin.

”No, no, not that way,” Johnston said.

Mortified, Henry looked back at his drawing, trying to find the error.

”No. I mean your penguin,” penguin,” Johnston said and, c.o.c.king his hands at right angles to his sides, demonstrated for Henry the most ridiculous, the most graceful, the most convincing penguin dance it was possible to imagine. Johnston said and, c.o.c.king his hands at right angles to his sides, demonstrated for Henry the most ridiculous, the most graceful, the most convincing penguin dance it was possible to imagine.

Henry laughed. ”Oh,” he said. ”My penguin.” penguin.”

”It's even better when Frank and I do it together,” Johnston said.

He made one last little shuffle and glide, then sat back in his chair.

”Good luck, kid,” he said. ”See you around, maybe.”

HENRY LOVED THE WARM, TROPICAL MAGIC of California: the strange, contradictory foliage, the odd quiet, the sameness of the sky. He loved the white, green, and rust of the landscape, the pink and beige houses, the surprise of the hills. Above all, he loved the distance he had come from every place he had ever lived and, with only one exception, every person he'd ever known.

He felt almost too free to be angry anymore. When he thought about Betty and Martha, it was mostly with grim satisfaction that he was no longer dependent on either of them. And when, exactly four weeks after Henry started his tryout, Morrow told him that he would be hired as a full-time Disney employee, it was the first time since his arrival that he had felt the impulse to share his news with someone from his former life. He was tempted by neither Martha nor Betty, and he was still too wounded by Mary Jane. But as he bicycled home from the studio late in the evening, he realized that he wanted Charlie and Karen to know.

There was a faint tone of retaliation in the letter he wrote that evening, a none-too-subtle suggestion that he didn't need them after all. He wrote the letter on Disney Studio stationery and punctuated it with details of the animation world and samples of drawings and many mentions of the ”nine old men” and how some of them would be working on Mary Poppins Mary Poppins and teaching him what they knew. and teaching him what they knew. Teaching Teaching was obviously a word that Henry chose with much precision and little subtlety. was obviously a word that Henry chose with much precision and little subtlety.

He enclosed an old paper face mask of Donald Duck that he'd found in his bottom desk drawer, a souvenir of whatever in-betweener had had the desk before him.

”I know Mabel is still probably a little young for this,” Henry wrote. ”But maybe she will enjoy it when she gets a little older.”

He closed by drawing a sketch of a plump diapered baby wearing the Donald Duck mask, with her arms outstretched in glee.

HE WANTED TO CELEBRATE getting the job, and he decided that he wanted the celebration to be with Annie. In the break during the next drawing cla.s.s, while she circled the wooden benches, Henry quickly altered his drawing so that when she came over to look, she found a picture of herself, fully clothed, with a flower in one hand and a sc.r.a.p of paper in the other. On the paper was Henry's phone number.

She laughed when she saw it.

”Really?” she said.

”Come out with me tonight,” he said. He grinned. He gave her his best eyes: green and golden, sweetness and mischief, a promise of fun and attention.

The cla.s.s ended at nine, and by nine-thirty they were riding their bikes, side by side, through the warm night, toward the Tuxedo.

”This is where you live?” she asked him as they pulled up. The oval swimming pool glowed green in the night, gaudy as a gem.

”It's called the Tuxedo,” he said.

”I thought we were going to get something to eat.” She was still straddling her bicycle.

”We're going to,” he said.

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