Mr. Bridge_ A Novel - Evan S. Connell [85]
The food was not bad, at least there was this to be grateful for; he ate without saying much, waiting for her to indicate the purpose of their luncheon together. Finally, while they were eating spumoni, she said she was not happy in Kansas City. She did not feel at home in the community which always had been her home. The friends she had known all her life were not important to her. She did not want to get married to some boy she had known a long time and become nothing but a housewife. She wanted more out of life than raising children in the suburbs of Kansas City while her husband climbed the ladder. She wanted to move to New York. She wanted to get into theater work. She had a talent for acting. She wanted to attend a theatrical workshop and try out for Broadway plays. If she stayed in Kansas City she could never become an actress. Nobody in Kansas City cared about theater or any of the other arts. There was some Little Theater work but not much; besides, she did not want to act in local productions—not in Kansas City, although that would be all right in New York.
As soon as he found out what she wanted he felt relieved. He had been afraid she was in trouble. He had been reluctant to admit a thought which he could now dismiss quite easily; he had been afraid she was involved with the people who infested this place.
About the acting, he was skeptical. He had seen small evidence of this talent she claimed. She had not gotten the part of Juliet, and although this did not necessarily prove she lacked ability it confirmed his own opinion. She had reduced the balcony scene very nearly to farce. If she could do that to Shakespeare she would probably destroy a lesser playwright. Possibly the talent for acting had missed the family entirely. He himself had never cared much for plays, nor had his wife. Nor had Douglas. Carolyn once played the part of the Virgin Mary in a children’s Christmas play, but her characterization was unremarkable: for about fifteen minutes she sat absolutely motionless on a three-legged stool and pensively considered a lightbulb in a cradle. Never was there a more rigid Virgin. Ruth’s Juliet leaned heavily on the other side of the scale, with much flinging of hair, sighing, murmuring, pleading, wetting of lips, and so forth. And regardless of her ability, acting was reputed to be among the most difficult ways to earn a living.
However, he reflected, he knew next to nothing about such matters, and it was at least possible that she could succeed. Maybe she deserved a chance. There was little to be gained by discouraging or forbidding her. The hour for this might come when she herself had learned how difficult it was. Then she might welcome his disapproval so she could give up and try something else without feeling humiliated.
He asked what her mother thought of the idea. Ruth answered that she had not mentioned it at home, and he was surprised because the children never came to him first. For money or for permission to use the car they were accustomed to asking him, but that was all. For everything else they went to their mother. He felt oddly moved, and took off his glasses and slowly polished them while Ruth continued talking, attempting to convince him she would be safe in New York. An older sister of Nathalie Blakely lived in New York and was married to the vice-president of an advertising agency. Nathalie was writing to her sister. And so on, and so on.
Mr. Bridge listened to his daughter’s voice, but what she said was irrelevant. She would not be around much longer. What Alexis Sauer had predicted was about to come true. Ruth was going away. He could prevent this, if he chose, but only for a little while. Finally he told her he would think it over, and they must find out how