The Dark Lady by Louis Auchincloss, Thomas Auchincloss Read Free Book Online Page A

intervene..."
    "What must I do? Vamp the old boy?"
    "Just be yourself. That should do nicely. He admires you so much. Besides, if you want an angel for your new comedy..."
    "Ah, so that's it! Trust me!"
    That was not it at all, but that would do for the moment. Ivy was pleased with her friend's progress in the past month. Elesina had moved into her apartment and had accepted her ministrations quite as if they were her due. She kept insisting that she would stay only a few days, but her departure was continually put off. She drank less now and went regularly to see her agent. She was even learning a part in a comedy by a young unproduced playwright.
    "I shan't let Irving talk to you at cocktails," Ivy continued thoughtfully. "I shan't even put him next to you at dinner. By the time he gets you to himself, he'll be so frustrated he'll be ready to do anything you ask."
    When Irving Stein arrived at the little party of eight the other guests were already assembled and Ivy was able to devote herself to him exclusively. She led him to a corner.
    "I had a terrible tussle getting Elesina to let me ask you tonight," she confided in him.
    "But why?" Irving's great bushy eyebrows were arcs of astonishment and sudden hurt. "Am I so objectionable?"
    "Quite the contrary." Ivy permitted herself a smirk. "But you must know how actresses are. She's interested in a play, and she was afraid you'd think that she was looking for a backer."
    Irving examined his hostess severely. Obviously he knew that he was dealing with a very clever woman. "And why should Miss Dart not regard me in that capacity? I have frequently put money into plays."
    "That's just it. She has a horror of appearing to want anything from people. From people she likes, that is. You know how families like the Darts are. They can't bear to owe money to friends."
    "You mean she considers me a friend?"
    Ivy laughed roguishly. "There's no accounting for tastes, is there?"
    "I suppose she sees me as a kind of avuncular figure."
    Ivy pretended to give it up. "Yes, that must be it."
    "Or even a father?"
    "More like a grandfather."
    Irving's look of disappointment was comic. "I must expect that sort of attitude at my age!"
    She slapped his wrist. "Oh, Irving, don't be such an ass. I said she
liked
you. That means she's attracted to you. Do I have to cross all the t's in 'attracted'?"
    "You mean she's the type that likes older men?"
    "Well, I don't say she likes you
because
you're an older man. Both her husbands were rather callow youths. Perhaps they taught her to appreciate judgment and maturity. And you're still very good looking, Irving. Don't pretend you don't know it. I used to have a bit of a thing about you myself!"
    She watched the Judge narrowly. But his vanity was proof against all suspicions. The lull in their argument was now interrupted by a livelier one between Sam Gorman and Fred Pemberton. It was, of course, Shakespeare again.
    "It is one of the rare situations in which the bard seems dated," Pemberton was explaining. "He shared the morbid Elizabethan belief that a woman should never give herself to more than one man. How they loved to rant about this! Their faith in God would be lost, their sun and moon eclipsed, their universe degraded to an unweeded garden, if some poor female chose to exercise the simple human prerogative of sleeping around."
    "But surely a man's compulsion to keep a woman to himself is not restricted to the Elizabethans," Irving interposed. "What about the Arab world? What about those harems guarded by eunuchs?"
    Ivy looked about the pleasant little green-paneled room where the eight were assembled so cozily. Pemberton was doing just what she had wanted. His chatter was creating the same pedantic-erotic atmosphere of the disastrous night at Broadlawns. A fire crackled in the small grate under the marble Victorian mantel; Tiffany lampshades sparkled with iridescent hues. Elesina in black velvet looked creamy and elegant, as in a Sargent portrait. The