The Dud Avocado - Elaine Dundy [39]
“Dammit man,” he said in a voice choked with emotion, “this is marvelous. Gosh, why didn’t I know it before? Dody, did you hear what he said? Student Conferences. Say, that’s my real interest, Visconti. Anyone’ll tell you that. The only hope we’ve got is based on the willingness of today’s youth to shoulder their responsibilities. And I never even knew these conferences were going on. That just shows what little publicity they get. Well, I’m going to change all that, all right; they’re going to get plenty in my rag, anyway. Hell, I know you won’t mind my tagging along with you this week—I’m going to need the advice of an expert. Now—” pad and pencil were out “—now tell me about Monday’s conference. What I mean is, what do you feel is the first most important thing about it?”
I said good-by to them all. I told John I was sorry I wouldn’t be able to see them again, but I had a costume-fitting the next morning and I was rehearsing day and night for the next two weeks. I knew it didn’t matter what I said. I don’t think he even heard me. Student Conferences—Wow!
Teddy saw me out. Through the door, down the stairs, and into a taxi. We exchanged bitter farewells.
SIX
I AWOKE THE NEXT morning with a series of explosions popping off in my head like flash bulbs. “Sunday!” That was the first one. Then, following close upon it, and each more agonizingly vivid than its predecessor, scenes from last night’s debacle re-staged themselves with relentless accuracy for my edification. I was just wincing my way through the terrible moment at the dinner table where that cool cat of a Contessa managed to kidnap Larry right from under my nose, when it struck me that there was something peculiar about the whole sequence. I played it back and spotted the trouble: from the time the Contessa announced her decision to place her car at Larry’s disposal, to the time she waltzed out on his arm, she had addressed not one single word of explanation or apology to Teddy, and this, seeming as how the rat had really knocked himself out on the food and drink, struck me as just the least bit casual. Not that Teddy had minded. That was odd too. In fact they both seemed to take each other rather for granted, those two.…
I sat straight up in bed, my arms gripped hard against my knees in concentration. By the revelation of one simple fact, the whole equation had taken on an entirely new dimension: the Contessa was Teddy’s mistress. Of course. How stupid of me. It was all so obvious I could only marvel at my denseness. Well then, that meant … that meant … I was suddenly overcome by a feeling of disgust. What it meant was that Teddy had deliberately trapped his mistress into doing his own dirty work. And all this just to get back at me. Much as I disliked the Contessa, I found myself wondering if I shouldn’t warn her somehow. But warn her of what? What was I getting so worked up about? The vehemence of my moral indignation surprised me. Was I beginning to have standards and principles, and, oh dear, scruples? What were they, and what would I do with them, and how much were they going to get in my way?
In the middle of all this confusion my thoughts swerved and plunged down quite a different alley. I knelt on my bed—the wall-telephone was just above it—and gave the operator Larry’s number. When his concierge told me there was no one in his room I could hardly stop myself from telling her to go back and see if his bed had been slept in. But I gave her my name instead, and asked her to have him ring the moment he returned. I had no idea what I would say. I flopped back on the bed and looked at the clock. Nine-thirty. To keep myself from going mad I pretended that he really was with the set-designer and that their appointment really had been for some dreadful hour like nine in the morning. After all, why not? Then I abandoned myself to my grief. It was no longer possible for me to ignore the sexual aspect of