Mitla Pass - Leon Uris [39]
“I’m going to my office,” I said. “If you feel like talking, come on over. Incidentally, I’m going to cut out for a few days for San Francisco. I need to hang out, see some of the guys.”
“I can’t stop you.”
THE OPENING SALVOS HAD been fired. The silent period now ruled the scene. The ice age was setting in. My office was a little guest cottage on the other side of the pool. I rehearsed my arguments just as I was certain Val was rehearsing hers. The only problem was that neither of us followed the script. She didn’t give the answers I expected. Our mouths were set on automatic. Usually within two minutes we’d both blown off course, and sometimes we even forgot what we were fighting about.
I poked about the office. I couldn’t concentrate on reading. No use phoning around. Didn’t want to answer my mail. Letter from my old man. Better not read it now. Nothing on the tube. I stretched on the couch and continued to present my bulletproof case to the “jury.”
One of the unwritten rules was that Val had to give in first and come to me. A couple of times I caved in and went to her first. No way, this time.
At around two in the morning, I could hear the shuffle of her steps. I drew the blanket over me and feigned sleep. A knock, the door opened, and a small light was turned on.
“Honey,” she peeped softly.
I grunted as though coming out of a deep slumber. I sat up, stretched, yawned, looked over my surroundings, and “remembered” where I was. Val slipped into the easy chair as I dunked my face and wiped it.
“We’d better start from square one,” I said. “When J. III and Reaves accepted Of Men in Battle, the only plans we made regarding the future were a few vague mentions of trying to find a nicer place in Sausalito. Soon as the screenplay was done, we’d go back up there and I’d keep writing books.”
“Things have changed, Gideon. You’ve opened up a second career in the studios. We have other options in life now.”
“Val, I’ve got to decide what I want to be when I grow up. I can’t be a producer. I’d murder half of the actors and directors I know. Point two. This town is stacked against the writers. What we’ve gotten into is an endless war to try to retain normalcy in an abnormal town. You haven’t mentioned my next novel for months. San Francisco isn’t even in your vocabulary anymore. Inch by inch I’m being sucked in, down here.”
“For the first eighteen years of my life, I was a Navy brat. We lived on twelve different bases. And for the first eight years of our marriage, we lived a nightmare. We’re happy here. I want a home,” she said.
“So do I. But it’s got to be outside of this magnetic field. I don’t know if I can produce books in this atmosphere. This problem is going to come up again and again.”
“Suppose you want to write a novel on India the next time, or Alaska?”
“What are you telling me, Val? No more novels? What else is buzzing around in your head?”
She was frightened and didn’t want to say what was on the edge of her tongue.
“What else, Val?” I demanded.
“Suppose your next book flops. I don’t relish returning to poverty. You have to stay near the studios.”
That was blunt enough. I owed my family a living and a home and I had no business dragging them around the world.
“School vacation starts next month. You and the girls come up to San Francisco with me for three months. I’ll finish my research and come back here and write the book. Well decide what to do afterward.”
“I’m not going up there with you to be a writer’s nurse and whore. I’ve enrolled in art school.”
She unloaded the heavy artillery on me. Subtle but rich with innuendo. What she was saying, silently, was that I had ruined her promising career as an artist. She had made all the big sacrifices for me and now it was my turn.
Val understood one thing. She knew I had a dreadful fear of loneliness. I’d go to pieces if I had to eat a meal alone in a restaurant. If I was in a hotel