Chapter 11

It was long past midnight when Larry brought two cups of steaming coffee to the couch. Sophia huddled in the corner of the couch, her dress draped over her knees as a blanket. Their eyes met and quietly Larry said, "Hi,"

"Hello," she whispered, raising her hand for the cup. "Hello, darling."

He kissed her again and sat beside her. "You're much woman, Sophia."

Sophia's palm moved lovingly over his cheek. "And you're much man."

"Happy?"

"Mmm. Deliciously."

"No more lectures then about Margo?"

"Let's not talk about Margo." The dreamy smile vanished from her lips and she was once more pensive.

"What's wrong, Sophia? Why should you feel so guilty when we talk about her?"

"Larry ... what's going to happen if Margo finds out about-us? I don't want to hurt her, but I don't want to think of you and me sneaking around corners, kissing in dark hallways." She paused. "Or am I just assuming we have a big romance already?"

"We have, Sophia. It's a little storybookish, isn't it? That you and I could get so simpatico so quickly, I mean. I'm damned if I know that it's going to develop into the love affair of the century, but it's worth trying for."

She nodded. "That makes sense. A little hard-boiled, but sensible."

"What's hard-boiled about it?"

"Trying for love."

"But people do try, don't they, if they want it to mean something? Love never just appears and stays on its own steam." He drank his coffee and faced her. "That's the point, Sophia. Everybody's looking for love, but too often it's done on tiptoes, as if it were possible to have all the happiness of love and avoid all of the unhappiness. Tell me if I'm delivering a sermon."

"No, you're not."

"This 'in love with love' bit is destructive. Margo's involved with it. She's a great kid and mature about everything else, but she wants love on the platter she designs herself. I'm not being nasty now, I'm just stating the fact. I had a wife once, Sophia. Plenty of fine qualities. She had some of that infection, though, too, that infection that starts, 'I'll give love only after I get it, not until then.' "

"Lots of people do behave that way," she agreed reflectively. She wondered how much he really knew about her-he with his keen mind and tenderness?

"We'll see each other again, Sophia," he said, bringing his arm around her. "If we have something good in store for us, we'll find out."

"Oh, Larry, let's try! Let's be honest and strong! Let's-"

A sharp knock at the door interrupted her.

Worriedly, she looked at Larry. He frowned and, taking her hand, called out, "Who's that?"

The answer came, "It's Margo, Larry."

Sophia sat forward in horror. Calming her, Larry said softly, "You go in the other room and dress. Then come out."

"No!"

"What's there to be nervous about, honey? You were right before: it's no good if we sneak around corners."

Swiftly, Sophia leapt from the couch and picked up her coat and shoes. "Don't let her know I'm here. Please! I'll wait in the other room. Please, Larry."

From the door, Margo called, "Larry?"

He pointed to the bathroom. She hurried there and closed the door.

Numbed for just a moment, Larry Barker gazed around the room. An extra coffee cup. Cigarettes with lipstick stains. All right, he thought, so what? We don't have a pact of fidelity.

He crossed the room and opened the door to meet Margo.

Standing not quite straight, she carried a cape over one shoulder with a crooked finger. There was a silly, somehow pathetic grin on her face.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello yourself," she rejoined, still grinning, showing her white, even teeth. "Can this camel have a drink of water?"

"Come in, Marg," he said stiffly and stepped aside for her to enter. She did, with a minor loss of balance. Margo held her liquor like a trouper, he knew; she must've really been hitting it, though, within the past few hours since the end of the show, for it was obvious in her eyes and walk.

"Thank you." Margo dropped her cape on a chair. Was she up to something, he wondered. How would she know Sophia was here, if she did know? Her making unannounced appearances here wasn't especially unusual; until he'd told her to lay off, she'd popped in occasionally at two or four or six in the morning with some cute but generally unrealistic suggestion that they take a subway ride out to the Coney Island boardwalk and go hunt up a pizza somewhere. Or something.

"The vivacious Miss Margo Holland," he said without malice, "was seen last night entering a gentleman's apartment. She was not accused of being sober."

Giggling, Margo nodded. "Yep. Ol' Margo was taken suddenly drunk. Any spirits on hand, sweets?"

"No."

"Just one," she persisted, sitting on the couch and fumbling for a cigarette. "I want to talk. That interview was six months of combat fatigue all rolled up into two hours."

"Marg ... I have company."

She raised her head and blinked. Her slowly-moving eyes observed the lipsticked cigarettes and the extra cup.

"I ... see." She glanced around. "Where is your company? In the closet?"

"In the John."

"Oh." She sat back, not making a move to leave. "Nice girl, Larry? Anyone you know?"

"Marg, you're under the weather. Go find a cab and get some sleep."

"Your directions, Mr. Barker," she remonstrated, "end when the show ends. After that, I'm a free soul."

"Look, I'm tired and in no mood to swap witticisms with you."

"The scruff-of-the-neck technique, eh? Tossing me down the steps?"

"Stop performing, Marg. You know you're loaded."

"And you wanna get back to the hidden lady, c'rect? Tell me, is this a nightly feature around here? When you leave me do you bring a gal up here and swamp her with the Barker charm? I merely want to know for my memory book."

Larry lit her cigarette and then one for himself. He wondered if it mightn't be a simpler way out of this to let her know it was Sophia in the John. He could feel no hatred for Margo, but he was certain her possessiveness was of her own origins; he'd never led her on, never told her he loved her.

"Ah, Larry, Larry," she cried suddenly and rose from the couch. Her hand went awkwardly around his neck and she tried to kiss him, to mold her body against his. She was making a messy scene and, partly for her sake, because he knew she would loathe herself when she recalled this behavior, Larry made an effort to bring her hands away.

"Get rid of her, Larry," Margo pleaded. "I need you. You need me. We're the same people we always were. I've never loved anyone the way I-"

"Don't, Marg," he said firmly, stepping away. "Come on, I'll find a taxi for you."

Her passion for acceptance switched abruptly to venom and her eyes were ablaze with fire. "Don't do me any favors!" she shouted.

This wasn't anything new, either, he thought. She had a faculty for changing emotions without any notice.

"Pipe down," he instructed, and retrieved her coat from the chair.

"Who the hell are you to make me crawl on my hands and knees this way? Push me away, huh? Listen, I wouldn't have you if you came free in a box of Cracker Jack. Get away from me! Go back to your tramp there. Call her out, let me congratulate her on her new acquisition!"

He brought the cape over her shoulders and led her to the door.

"I said, take your hands off me! I know when I'm being thrown out."

"Let's go," he said and opened the door.

Sophia waited, too frightened to move even after she heard the front door close.

When she was able to mobilize herself, she unlocked the bathroom door and walked out, her legs still rubbery and weak from fear.

She felt Margo's suffering and tortured pride, but she couldn't blame Larry for being so firm. Nor could she blame Margo for wanting him so.

But as she heard his footsteps approaching from the corridor, she knew it was too late to simply drift away.

She was in love with Larry Barker.

The door opened and he reappeared. He assured her that Margo would get home safely, that she had a fantastic capacity for survival in a pinch. Past that, he didn't want to talk.

"We can't let it drop, though, Larry, and pretend Margo wasn't here," she entreated.

"And I repeat: You're making too much of it. This is just an act with Margo. She never behaves this way when she's sober."

"I hope you're right."

He advanced, extended his arms and she invaded them.

"Tired?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Want to go home?"

"I should go home."

"That's not what I asked."

Sophia raised her lips to meet his.

"Now you have your answer," she informed him.

They loved again, this time without the ferocity of hidden suspicion. And it was greater, more poignant to Sophia. There was no Margo, no Daddy, no ominous clouds. As his eager, probing hands accepted the lushness of her, she was a woman dedicated to a love that had purpose.

The next day Eddie, the dance director, pulled Sophia aside and said, "Listen, have I got great news for you!"

"What is it?" she asked.

"We've decided to give you a solo on this week's show," he said. "It'll mean a lot of extra rehearsal, but it'll be worth it!"

This was a break! "You mean I'll be spotlighted?" Sophia asked.

"Exactly," Eddie nodded. "Not bad for a girl who just arrived, but that's how it is in this business. Some people knock themselves out for years and never get anywhere. Others arrive and bowl over the town!"

She couldn't find Margo to share the good news with her. She had been noticing that Margo wasn't around as much as she used to be.

Had Margo figured it out?

She put that thought out of her mind. She would feel too rotten if that were to happen.

Still, in a gossipy, back-biting world like this one, it was almost impossible for Margo not to hear about Sophia and Larry.

And suddenly she knew that she was right, and Margo did know.

But Sophia couldn't face her-not yet. She still had the show to work on, and with a solo this week, she was going to be busy day and night.

Sophia's world held together until the night of the show. Sophia was nervous-she was always nervous before she performed. But she had the routine down pat, and she knew there was nothing to worry about.

Still, Margo had not been present at all. She knew that Margo was avoiding her. It was but a matter of time, she supposed, until they would have it out.

She was walking by Keith McClure's dressing room when he called her in.

"Just saw Margo," he said. "She wants to see you."

"When?"

"Right now," Keith said, smiling.

Suddenly Sophia knew. "I guess you made it a colorful and exciting story," she said to Keith.

He shrugged. "I did my best," he said.

"You're a petty bastard," Sophia said as she left his room. "No wonder you are what you are."

Margo was half-bombed in her dressing room. "Come on in," she called out. When she saw it was Sophia, her face hardened. "My little sister," she said. "Have a drink with me?"

Sophia tried to say no, but Margo was insistent. "Come on," she said. "If I'm going to be a good sport about this, no reason you shouldn't. Have a drink with you sister, for goodness' sake!"

Sophia couldn't refuse.

"So that's it," Margo said, handing Sophia a drink. "You and Larry."

"I'm so sorry you were hurt," Sophia managed to say. The drink was just what she needed. She finished it quickly and Margo fixed her another. Then the two sisters talked, about old times, about the silliness and the plain ordinary cussedness of life.

And then it was time. "On stage!" the stage manager called out. Margo had had more to drink than Sophia, but she got up and quickly walked out of the room.

Sophia was bombed. She made it to her dressing room and quickly got into costume.

Then the next thing she knew she had taken her position on stage. The music sounded and she began dancing, her mind in a whirl. It felt so good to dance, so sensual.

She whirled once and then lost it but quickly regained the beat and almost laughed out loud. It didn't hurt to be drunk, she thought, it was just like in college-people liked to see her dance when she was loaded.

And then her hands were behind her back, and she was fumbling with the clasp on her halter top, and then it was off, dangling in her hands, and she stood there, topless, her beautiful breasts naked and delicious. Pandemonium broke out, the show was stopped and as she was led from the stage she saw Margo gloating and Larry Barker standing next to her, furious.

Totally humiliated, Sophia managed to get out of the studio and get back to the apartment before Margo. She packed quickly, left a note saying goodbye and took a cab to the club where Cynthia La Starr was stripping. Cynthia was sitting in a booth and Sophia walked up to her. "Remember me?" she asked.

"Sure," Cynthia said. She grinned.

"Need a job?" Sophia nodded. "I sure do," she said.

"Relax, kid," Cynthia said. "It happens to the best of us. You can start tomorrow. And believe me, you'll be terrific-you'll see."

Sophia was terrific-and she was also drunk after every show. It was the same old life again, and it was strange how fantastic her other life had been. It all seemed like a dream now, a dream nurtured by whiskey and song and strange old men who pawed her through the night.

Until she stumbled from the club one night and saw a familiar figure standing by a cab. Her heart caught in her throat. Larry!

He caught her in his arms and told her how he had searched for her and how much he wanted her. He told her how upset Margo was as well. She couldn't think of an answer to his speech.

He didn't need any answer. His lips warmed hers, telling her that she need never be alone again.