Four hours later it was all over. The play went well from the beginning; the audience, notwithstanding the season a fashionable one, were pleased after the holidays to find themselves once more in a playhouse, and were ready to be amused. It was an auspicious beginning for the theatrical season. There had been great applause after each act and at the end a dozen curtains calls; Julia took two by herself and even she was startled by the warmth of her reception. She had made the little halting speech, prepared beforehand, which the occasion demanded. There had been a final call of the entire company and then the orchestra had struck up the National Anthem. Julia, pleased, excited and happy, went to her dressing-room. She had never felt more sure of herself. She had never acted with greater brilliance, variety and resource. The play ended with a long tirade in which Julia, as the retired harlot, castigated the flippancy, the uselessness, the immorality of the idle set into which her marriage had brought her. It was two pages long and there was not another actress in England who could have held the attention of the audience while she delivered it. With her exquisite timing, with the modulation of her beautiful voice, with her command of the gamut of emotions, she had succeeded by a miracle of technique in making it a thrilling, almost spectacular climax to the play. A violent action could not have been more exciting nor an unexpected dénouement more surprising. The whole cast had been excellent with the exception of Avice Crichton. Julia hummed in an undertone as she went into her dressing-room.
Michael followed her in almost at once.
“It looks like a winner all right.” He threw his arms round her and kissed her. “By God, what a performance you gave.”
“You weren't so bad yourself, dear.”
“That's the sort of part I can play on my head,” he answered carelessly, modest as usual about his own acting. “Did you hear them during your long speech? That ought to knock the critics.”
“Oh, you know what they are. They'll give all their attention to the blasted play and then three lines at the end to me.”
“You're the greatest actress in the world, darling, but by God, you're a bitch.”
Julia opened her eyes very wide in an expression of the most na?ve surprise.
“Michael, what do you mean?”
“Don't look so innocent. You know perfectly well. Do you think you can cod an old trooper like me?”
He was looking at her with twinkling eyes and it was very difficult for her not to burst out laughing.
“I am as innocent as a babe unborn.”
“Come off it. If anyone ever deliberately killed a performance you killed Avice's. I couldn't be angry with you, it was so beautifully done.”
Now Julia simply could not conceal the little smile that curled her lips. Praise is always grateful to the artist. Avice's one big scene was in the second act. It was with Julia, and Michael had rehearsed it so as to give it all to the girl. This was indeed what the play demanded and Julia, as always, had in rehearsals accepted his direction. To bring out the colour of her blue eyes and to emphasize her fair hair they had dressed Avice in pale blue. To contrast with this Julia had chosen a dress of an agreeable yellow. This she had worn at the dress rehearsal. But she had ordered another dress at the same time, of sparkling silver, and to the surprise of Michael and the consternation of Avice it was in this that she made her entrance in the second act. Its brilliance, the way it took the light, attracted the attention of the audience. Avice's blue looked drab by comparison. When the reached the important scene they were to have together Julia produced, as a conjurer produces a rabbit from his hat, a large handkerchief of scarlet chiffon and with this she played. She waved it, she spread it out as though to look at it, she screwed it up, she wiped her brow with it, she delicately blew her nose. The audience fascinated could not take their eyes away from the red rag. And she moved upstage so that Avice to speak to her had to turn her back on the audience, and when they were sitting on a sofa together she took her hand, in an impulsive way that seemed to the public exquisitely natural, and sitting well back herself forced Avice to turn her profile to the house. Julia had noticed early in rehearsals that in profile Avice had a sheep-like look. The author had given Avice lines to say that had so much amused the cast at the first rehearsal that they had all burst out laughing. Before the audience had quite realized how funny they were Julia had cut in with her reply, and the audience anxious to hear it suppressed their laughter. The scene which was devised to be extremely amusing took on a sardonic colour, and the character Avice played acquired a certain odiousness. Avice in her inexperience, not getting the laughs she had expected, was rattled; her voice grew hard and her gestures awkward. Julia took the scene away from her and played it with miraculous virtuosity. But her final stroke was accidental. Avice had a long speech to deliver, and Julia nervously screwed her red handkerchief into a ball; the action almost automatically suggested an expression; she looked at Avice with troubled eyes and two heavy tears rolled down her cheeks. You felt the shame with which the girl's flippancy affected her, and you saw her pain because her poor little ideals of uprightness, her hankering for goodness, were so brutally mocked. The episode lasted no more than a minute, but in that minute, by those tears and by the anguish of her look, Julia laid bare the sordid misery of the woman's life. That was the end of Avice.
“And I was such a damned fool, I thought of giving her a contract,” said Michael.
“Why don't you?”
“When you've got your knife into her? Not on your life. You're a naughty little thing to be so jealous. You don't really think she means anything to me, do you? You ought to know by now that you're the only woman in the world for me.”
Michael thought that Julia had played this trick on account of the rather violent flirtation he had been having with Avice, and though, of course, it was hard luck on Avice he could not help being a trifle flattered.
“You old donkey,” smiled Julia, knowing exactly what he was thinking and tickled to death at his mistake. “After all, you are the handsomest man in London.”
“All that's as it may be. But I don't know what the author'll say. He's a conceited little ape and it's not a bit the scene he wrote.”
“Oh, leave him to me. I'll fix him.”
There was a knock at the door and it was the author himself who came in. With a cry of delight, Julia went up to him, threw her arms round his neck and kissed him on both cheeks.
“Are you pleased?”
“It looks like a success,” he answered, but a trifle coldly.
“My dear, it'll run for a year.” She placed her hands on his shoulders and looked him full in the face. “But you're a wicked, wicked man.”
“I?”
“You almost ruined my performance. When I came to that bit in the second act and suddenly saw what it meant I nearly broke down. You knew what was in that scene, you're the author; why did you let us rehearse it all the time as if there was no more in it than appeared on the surface? We're only actors, how can you expect us to—to fathom your subtlety? It's the best scene in your play and I almost bungled it. No one in the world could have written it but you. Your play's brilliant, but in that scene there's more than brilliance, there's genius.”
The author flushed. Julia looked at him with veneration. He felt shy and happy and proud.
(“In twenty-four hours the mug'll think he really meant the scene to go like that.”)
Michael beamed.
“Come along to my dressing-room and have a whisky and soda. I'm sure you need a drink after all that emotion.”
They went out as Tom came in. Tom's face was red with excitement.
“My dear, it was grand. You were simply wonderful. Gosh, what a performance.”
“Did you like it? Avice was good, wasn't she?”
“No, rotten.”
“My dear, what do you mean? I thought she was charming.”
“You simply wiped the floor with her. She didn't even look pretty in the second act.”
Avice's career!
“I say, what are you doing afterwards?”
“Dolly's giving a party for us.”
“Can't you cut it and come along to supper with me? I'm madly in love with you.”
“Oh, what nonsense. How can I let Dolly down?”
“Oh, do.”
His eyes were eager. She could see that he desired her as he had never done before, and she rejoiced in her triumph. But she shook her head firmly. There was a sound in the corridor of a crowd of people talking, and they both knew that a troop of friends were forcing their way down the narrow passage to congratulate her.
“Damn all these people. God, how I want to kiss you. I'll ring you up in the morning.”
The door burst open and Dolly, fat, perspiring and bubbling over with enthusiasm, swept in at the head of a throng that packed the dressing-room to suffocation. Julia submitted to being kissed by all and sundry. Among others were three or four well-known actresses, and they were prodigal of their praise. Julia gave a beautiful performance of unaffected modesty. The corridor was packed now with people who wanted to get at least a glimpse of her. Dolly had to fight her way out.
“Try not to be too late,” she said to Julia. “It's going to be a heavenly party.”
“I'll come as soon as ever I can.”
At last the crowd was got rid of and Julia, having undressed, began to take off her make-up. Michael came in, wearing a dressing-gown.
“I say, Julia, you'll have to go to Dolly's party by yourself. I've got to see the libraries and I can't manage it. I'm going to sting them.”
“Oh, all right.”
“They're waiting for me now. See you in the morning.”
He went out and she was left alone with Evie. The dress she had arranged to wear for Dolly's party was placed over a chair. Julia smeared her face with cleansing cream.
“Evie, Mr. Fennell will be ringing up tomorrow. Will you say I'm out?”
Evie looked in the mirror and caught Julia's eyes.
“And if he rings up again?”
“I don't want to hurt his feelings, poor lamb, but I have a notion I shall be very much engaged for some time now.”
Evie sniffed loudly and with that rather disgusting habit of hers drew her forefinger across the bottom of her nose.
“I understand,” she said dryly.
“I always said you weren't such a fool as you looked.” Julia went on with her face. “What's that dress doing on that chair?”
“That? That's the dress you said you'd wear for the party.
“Put it away. I can't go to the party without Mr. Gosselyn.”
“Since when?”
“Shut up, you old hag. Phone through and say that I've got a bad headache and had to go home to bed, but Mr. Gosselyn will come if he possibly can.”
“The party's being given special for you. You can't let the poor old gal down like that?”
Julia stamped her feet.
“I don't want to go to a party. I won't go to a party.”
“There's nothing for you to eat at home.”
“I don't want to go home. I'll go and have supper at a restaurant.”
“Who with?”
“By myself.”
Evie gave her a puzzled glance.
“The play's a success, isn't it?”
“Yes. Everything's a success. I feel on top of the world. I feel like a million dollars. I want to be alone and enjoy myself. Ring up the Berkeley and tell them to keep a table for one in the little room. They'll know what I mean.”
“What's the matter with you?”
“I shall never in all my life have another moment like this. I'm not going to share it with anyone.”
When Julia had got her face clean she left it. She neither painted her lips nor rouged her cheeks. She put on again the brown coat and skirt in which she had come to the theatre and the same hat. It was a felt hat with a brim, and this she pulled down over one eye so that it should hide as much of her face as possible. When she was ready she looked at herself in the glass.
“I look like a working dressmaker whose husband's left her, and who can blame him? I don't believe a soul would recognize me.”
Evie had had the telephoning done from the stage door, and when she came back Julia asked her if there were many people waiting for her there.
“About three 'undred I should say.”
“Damn.” She had a sudden desire to see nobody and be seen by nobody. She wanted just for one hour to be obscure. “Tell the fireman to let me out at the front and I'll take a taxi, and then as soon as I've got out let the crowd know there's no use in their waiting.”
“God only knows what I 'ave to put up with,” said Evie darkly.
“You old cow.”
Julia took Evie's face in her hands and kissed her raddled cheeks; then slipped out of her dressing-room, on to the stage and through the iron door into the darkened auditorium.
Julia's simple disguise was evidently adequate, for when she came into the little room at the Berkeley of which she was peculiarly fond, the head-waiter did not immediately know her.
“Have you got a corner that you can squeeze me into?” she asked diffidently.
Her voice and a second glance told him who she was.
“Your favourite table is waiting for you, Miss Lambert. The message said you would be alone?” Julia nodded and he led her to a table in the corner of the room. “I hear you've had a big success tonight, Miss Lambert.” How quickly good news travelled. “What can I order?”
The head-waiter was surprised that Julia should be having supper by herself, but the only emotion that it was his business to show clients was gratification at seeing them.
“I'm very tired, Angelo.”
“A little caviare to begin with, madame, or some oysters?”
“Oysters, Angelo, but fat ones.”
“I will choose them myself, Miss Lambert, and to follow?”
Julia gave a long sigh, for now she could, with a free conscience, order what she had had in mind ever since the end of the second act. She felt she deserved a treat to celebrate her triumph, and for once she meant to throw prudence to the winds.
“Grilled steak and onions, Angelo, fried potatoes, and a bottle of Bass. Give it me in a silver tankard.”
She probably hadn't eaten fried potatoes for ten years. But what an occasion it was! By a happy chance on this day she had confirmed her hold on the public by a performance that she could only describe as scintillating, she had settled an old score, by one ingenious devise disposing of Avice and making Tom see what a fool he had been, and best of all had proved to herself beyond all question that she was free from the irksome bonds that had oppressed her. Her thoughts flickered for an instant round Avice.
“Silly little thing to try to put a spoke in my wheel. I'll let her have her laughs tomorrow.”
The oysters came and she ate them with enjoyment. She ate two pieces of brown bread and butter with the delicious sense of imperilling her immortal soul, and she took a long drink from the silver tankard.
“Beer, glorious beer,” she murmured.
She could see Michael's long face if he knew what she was doing. Poor Michael who imagined she had killed Avice's scene because she thought he was too attentive to that foolish little blonde. Really, it was pitiful how stupid men were. They said women were vain; why, they were modest violets in comparison with men. She could not but laugh when she thought of Tom. He had wanted her that afternoon, he had wanted her still more that night. It was wonderful to think that he meant no more to her than a stage-hand. It gave one a grand feeling of confidence to be heart-whole.
The room in which she sat was connected by three archways with the big dining-room where they supped and danced; amid the crowd doubtless were a certain number who had been to the play. How surprised they would be if they knew that the quiet little woman in the corner of the adjoining room, her face half hidden by a felt hat, was Julia Lambert. It gave her a pleasant sense of independence to sit there unknown and unnoticed. They were acting a play for her and she was the audience. She caught brief glimpses of them as they passed the archway, young men and young women, young men and women not so young, men with bald heads and men with fat bellies, old harridans clinging desperately to their painted semblance of youth. Some were in love, and some were jealous, and some were indifferent.
Her steak arrived. It was cooked exactly as she liked it, and the onions were crisp and brown. She ate the fried potatoes delicately, with her fingers, savouring each one as though it were the passing moment that she would bid delay.
“What is love beside steak and onions?” she asked. It was enchanting to be alone and allow her mind to wander. She thought once more of Tom and spiritually shrugged a humorous shoulder. “It was an amusing experience.”
It would certainly be useful to her one of these days. The sight of the dancers seen through the archway was so much like a scene in a play that she was reminded of a notion that she had first had in St. Malo. The agony that she had suffered when Tom deserted her recalled to her memory Racine's Phèdie which she had studied as a girl with old Jane Taitbout. She read the play again. The torments that afflicted Theseus' queen were the torments that afflicted her, and she could not but think that there was a striking similarity in their situations. That was a part she could act; she knew what it felt like to be turned down by a young man one had a fancy for. Gosh, what a performance she could give! She knew why in the spring she had acted so badly that Michael had preferred to close down; it was because she was feeling the emotions she portrayed. That was no good. You had to have had the emotions, but you could only play them when you had got over them. She remembered that Charles had once said to her that the origin of poetry was emotion recollected in tranquillity. She didn't know anything about poetry, but it was certainly true about acting.
“Clever of poor old Charles to get hold of an original idea like that. It shows how wrong it is to judge people hastily. One thinks the aristocracy are a bunch of nit-wits, and then one of them suddenly comes out with something like that that's so damned good it takes your breath away.”
But Julia had always felt that Racine had made a great mistake in not bringing on his heroine till the third act.
“Of course I wouldn't have any nonsense like that if I played it. Half an act to prepare my entrance if you like, but that's ample.”
There was no reason why she should not get some dramatist to write her a play on the subject, either in prose or in short lines of verse with rhymes at not too frequent intervals. She could manage that, and effectively. It was a good idea, there was no doubt about it, and she knew the clothes she would wear, not those flowing draperies in which Sarah swathed herself, but the short Greek tunic that she had seen on a bas-relief when she went to the British Museum with Charles.
“How funny things are! You go to those museums and galleries and think what a damned bore they are and then, when you least expect it, you find that something you've seen comes in useful. It shows art and all that isn't really waste of time.”
Of course she had the legs for a tunic, but could one be tragic in one? This she thought about seriously for two or three minutes. When she was eating outher heart for the indifferent Hippolytus (and she giggled when she thought of Tom, in his Savile Row clothes, masquerading as a young Greek hunter) could she really get her effects without abundant draperies? The difficulty excited her. But then a thought crossed her mind that for a moment dashed her spirits.
“It's all very well, but where are the dramatists? Sarah had her Sardou, Duse her D'Annunzio. But who have I got? ‘The Queen of Scots hath a bonnie bairn and I am but a barren stock.’”
She did not, however, let this melancholy reflection disturb her serenity for long. Her elation was indeed such that she felt capable of creating dramatists from the vast inane as Deucalion created men from the stones of the field.
“What nonsense that was that Roger talked the other day, and poor Charles, who seemed to take it seriously. He's a silly little prig, that's all.” She indicated a gesture towards the dance room. The lights had been lowered and from where she sat it looked more than ever like a scene in a play. “‘All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players.’ But there's the illusion, through that archway; it's we, the actors, who are the reality. That's the answer to Roger. They are our raw materials. We are the meaning of their lives. We take their silly little emotions and turn them into art, out of them we create beauty, and their significance is that they form the audience we must have to fulfil ourselves. They are the instruments on which we play, and what is an instrument without somebody to play on it?”
The notion exhilarated her, and for a moment or two she savoured it with satisfaction. Her brain seemed miraculously lucid.
“Roger says we don't exist. Why, it's only we who do exist. They are the shadows and we give them substance. We are the symbols of all this confused, aimless struggling that they call life, and it's only the symbol which is real. They say acting is only make-believe. That make-believe is the only reality.”
Thus Julia out of her own head framed anew the Platonic theory of ideas. It filled her with exultation. She felt a sudden wave of friendliness for that immense anonymous public who had being only to give her opportunity to express herself. Aloof on her mountain top she considered the innumerable activities of men. She had a wonderful sense of freedom from all earthly ties, and it was such an ecstasy that nothing in comparison with it had any value. She felt like a spirit in heaven.
The head-waiter came up to her with a ingratiating smile.
“Everything all right, Miss Lambert?”
“Lovely. You know, it's strange how people differ. Mrs. Siddons was a rare one for chops; I'm not a bit like her in that; I'm a rare one for steaks.”
四小時后一切都結(jié)束了。演出從頭到尾都很順利;盡管現(xiàn)在是一個尋歡作樂的季節(jié),但觀眾們度假回來很樂意去劇院消遣,并已經(jīng)準備好了被逗樂的心情。這是這個演出季的好兆頭。每一幕結(jié)束后都有熱烈的掌聲,結(jié)尾謝幕多達十二次;朱莉婭單獨謝幕了兩次,連她都被觀眾的熱情反應(yīng)所震驚。她吞吞吐吐地說了幾句為這種場合預(yù)先準備好的話。最后是全劇團集體謝幕,交響樂團奏響了國歌。朱莉婭滿懷興奮和喜悅走向自己的化妝間。她從未感到如此自信。她從未像今天這樣表演得如此出色、多彩和老練。演出以朱莉婭一段慷慨激昂的長篇演講結(jié)束,身為一個從良的妓女,她批判了婚姻使她陷入的那個輕浮無用、傷風(fēng)敗俗的圈子。那篇演講足足有兩頁紙那么長,英格蘭沒有別的女演員能夠像她講得那樣引人入勝。憑借她對時機的巧妙把握,加上她美妙的聲音,以及她控制自如的感情,她奇跡般地讓這段演講成為這場表演中令人振奮甚至驚心動魄的高潮。沒有任何激烈的動作能更加讓人激動,沒有任何意想不到的結(jié)局能更讓人出乎意料。整個劇團的演出都非常棒,除了艾維斯·克賴頓。朱莉婭低聲哼著小曲,走向她的化妝間。
邁克爾緊跟著她進入房間。
“演出看起來大獲成功?!彼秒p臂抱住朱莉婭,親吻了她,“上帝,你的表演太出色了?!?/p>
“你自己也不賴,寶貝兒?!?/p>
“那是我唯一拿手的角色,”他滿不在乎地回答道,依舊對自己的演技保持謙虛,“你講那段長篇演講的時候聽到觀眾出聲了嗎?這會讓評論家們大為震驚?!?/p>
“哦,你知道他們什么樣子。他們會把全部的注意力都放在該死的劇本上,然后在最后三行提一下我?!?/p>
“你是世界上最偉大的女演員,親愛的,但上帝啊,你是個婊子?!?/p>
朱莉婭大睜著雙眼,表現(xiàn)出極為天真的驚訝。
“邁克爾,你什么意思?”
“別假裝無辜。你完全知道我的意思。你認為你能騙得了像我這樣的老手嗎?”
他雙眼閃爍地看著她,朱莉婭艱難地控制住自己才沒有大笑出來。
“我像個剛出生的嬰兒一樣無辜?!?/p>
“別裝了。如果有人處心積慮地扼殺了一場演出,那你就是扼殺了艾維斯的。我都沒法跟你生氣,因為你干得太漂亮了?!?/p>
現(xiàn)在,連朱莉婭都遮掩不了她上揚嘴角處的微笑了。贊賞總是讓藝術(shù)家們感激。艾維斯的主要戲份在第二幕,是和朱莉婭的對手戲,邁克爾完全將這場戲排練成艾維斯的戲。這確實是劇本需要,朱莉婭排練時一如既往地完全聽從邁克爾的指揮。為了凸顯她的金發(fā)碧眼,他們讓艾維斯穿上淺藍色戲服。為了形成對照,朱莉婭選擇了一件相宜的黃色裙子,這也是她排練時一直穿的裙子。但同時她還訂購了另外一件戲服,是光彩奪目的銀色,當(dāng)她穿著這件裙子在第二幕登場時,邁克爾嚇了一跳,艾維斯更是驚慌失措。這套衣服耀眼華麗,在燈光下吸引了觀眾的注意。相較之下,艾維斯的藍色裙子顯得沉悶無比。等兩人一起演到關(guān)鍵時刻,朱莉婭就像魔術(shù)師從帽子里變出一只兔子一樣掏出了一條紅色雪紡大手帕,拿在手里玩弄。她揮舞著它,將它鋪展開就好像要端詳它,她將它擰成一團,用它擦額頭,還用它輕輕地擦鼻涕。著迷的觀眾無法將眼睛從那塊紅布上挪開。她走到舞臺前,讓艾維斯對她說話時不得不背朝觀眾;當(dāng)她們一起坐在沙發(fā)上時,她拉著艾維斯的手,那動作在觀眾看來充滿感情又極為自然,然后深深地坐到沙發(fā)里,迫使艾維斯只能側(cè)臉面對觀眾。朱莉婭在排練的時候就注意到,艾維斯側(cè)臉看起來像只綿羊。作者給艾維斯的臺詞在起初排練時讓劇組覺得十分好笑。在觀眾還沒有意識到這些臺詞有多有趣前,朱莉婭就立刻切入了自己的回答,由于觀眾急于聽到她說了什么,便抑制住了笑聲。這場原本設(shè)計為極其有趣的一幕帶了一絲冷嘲的色彩,艾維斯扮演的角色讓人有些厭惡。由于缺乏經(jīng)驗,艾維斯在沒有獲得預(yù)料中的掌聲后驚慌失措;她的聲音變得刺耳,手勢變得笨拙。
朱莉婭從艾維斯手中接過這場戲,演得極為生動有趣。但她的最后一擊卻是臨時想法。艾維斯要講一大段獨白,朱莉婭緊張地將她的紅手帕擰成一個球;這動作本身就表明了一種感情;她雙眼困惑地凝視著艾維斯,兩行沉甸甸的淚珠順著臉頰流下。你感到這個女孩對自己的輕佻感到羞愧,你看到她因自己對正義的小小理想、對善良的渴望受到無情的嘲弄而陷入痛苦,但就在那一分鐘里,朱莉婭通過那幾滴眼淚和痛苦的眼神,揭露了女人悲慘痛苦的一生。艾維斯的演藝生涯就此結(jié)束了。
“我真太蠢了,竟然想給她一份合同?!边~克爾說道。
“為什么不呢?”
“在你給了她一刀之后?絕對不行。你真是個淘氣的小家伙,嫉妒心竟然這么重。你不會真的以為她對我意味著什么吧?你應(yīng)該知道,你是我至今唯一的女人。”
邁克爾以為朱莉婭玩這么一出是由于他和艾維斯極為刺眼的調(diào)情所致,雖然對艾維斯來講運氣不佳,但邁克爾忍不住覺得有些得意。
“你這頭老驢?!敝炖驄I微笑著,心里非常清楚他在想什么,對他的錯誤樂不可支,“畢竟,你是全倫敦最帥的男人?!?/p>
“可能確實如此。但我不知道編劇會怎么說。他是個自命不凡的家伙,你可沒按照他寫的來演那出戲?!?/p>
“哦,讓我來對付他,我會搞定他?!?/p>
此刻有人敲門,進來的正是編劇。朱莉婭高興地呼喊著走向他,雙臂摟住他的脖子,親吻了他的雙頰。
“你開心嗎?”
“看起來很成功。”他冷冷地回答道。
“我親愛的,這戲會演上一年?!彼p手搭在他肩膀上,正面瞧著他,“但你是個頑皮的,頑皮的男人?!?/p>
“我?”
“你幾乎毀掉了我的表演。當(dāng)我演到第二幕時,突然間我明白那一幕是怎么回事兒了,那時我差點崩潰。你知道那一幕,你是編??;為什么你不教我們好好排練?就好像那一幕除了表面意思外再沒有深層含義了?我們只是演員,你怎么能期待我們——理解你的微妙之處?這是你劇作里最棒的一幕,我差一點搞砸了。這世界上除了你沒人能寫出這一幕。你的劇本很棒,但那一幕簡直棒極了,可謂天才之作。”
編劇紅了臉。朱莉婭生氣地看著他。他感到既害羞又滿足又驕傲。
(“不出二十四小時,這個傻瓜就會真的認為這一幕這樣演就是他的本意?!保?/p>
邁克爾滿臉笑容。
“來我的化妝間坐坐,喝杯威士忌蘇打吧。我肯定投入這么多情感后你需要來一杯?!?/p>
他們出門時,湯姆正好走進來。他興奮得滿臉通紅。
“我的寶貝兒,太了不起了。你簡直棒極了。天啊,演出太精彩了。”
“你喜歡?艾維斯很不錯,不是嗎?”
“不,她糟透了?!?/p>
“我親愛的,你什么意思?我覺得她非常迷人?!?/p>
“你徹底把她打敗了。即使在第二幕,她都不漂亮。”
艾維斯的藝術(shù)生涯!
“我說,你之后去做什么?”
“多莉要為我們舉辦宴會?!?/p>
“你能推辭掉跟我一起去吃晚餐嗎?我瘋狂地愛著你。”
“哦,胡說八道。我怎么能讓多莉失望?”
“哦,跟我走吧?!?/p>
他的眼神極其熱切。她能看出他從未像現(xiàn)在這樣對她有如此熱烈的欲望,她為自己的最終勝利而歡欣鼓舞。但她堅定地搖了搖頭。走廊里傳來一群人說話的聲音,他們倆都知道有一隊朋友正從狹窄的走廊里走來,你推我搡地要來向她表示祝賀。
“讓這些人都見鬼吧。上帝,我太想吻你了。我早上會給你打電話。”
門被猛地打開,肥胖的多莉冒著汗,熱情洋溢地頭一個沖了進來,大伙把化妝間擠得透不過氣來。朱莉婭任憑自己被各色人親吻著。在這群人中有三四個有名的女演員,她們毫不吝嗇對朱莉婭的贊美之詞。朱莉婭出色地表演了毫不做作的謙遜。走廊里擠滿了人,大家都想一睹她的芳容。多莉費勁地走了出去。
“別太晚,”她對朱莉婭說道,“今晚將有個絕妙的宴會?!?/p>
“我會盡早到的?!?/p>
最后,朱莉婭擺脫了人群,脫了戲服,開始卸妝。邁克爾走進來,穿著一件晨衣。
“聽著,朱莉婭,你得自己去多莉的宴會了。我得去戲票代售處看看,我去不了,我得去盯緊他們?!?/p>
“哦,好吧?!?/p>
“他們現(xiàn)在正等著我呢。明天一早見?!?/p>
邁克爾離開了,留下她和伊維兩人。她為多莉的宴會準備的禮服被擺在一把椅子上。朱莉婭涂上了卸妝膏。
“伊維,芬內(nèi)爾先生明天會打電話過來,你說我出去了,好嗎?”
伊維望向鏡子,與朱莉婭眼神相對。
“如果他再打過來呢?”
“我不想傷害他,可憐的家伙,但我覺得從現(xiàn)在起我會非常忙碌?!?/p>
伊維大聲地吸著鼻涕,以她那令人惡心的習(xí)慣,用食指摳了摳鼻孔。
“我明白?!彼浔卣f道。
“我一向覺得你并不是看起來那么傻?!敝炖驄I繼續(xù)弄著她的臉蛋,“那椅子上的裙子是怎么回事?”
“那件?那是你說參加宴會要穿的裙子?!?/p>
“收起來。我不能沒有格斯林先生的陪伴獨自去赴宴?!?/p>
“這是自從什么時候開始的事?”
“閉嘴,你這個丑老太婆。有人打電話來就說我頭很疼,得回家休息,但格斯林先生會盡力去赴宴?!?/p>
“那是特意為你舉辦的宴會。你怎么能讓你的老朋友這樣失望?”
朱莉婭跺了跺腳。
“我不想去赴宴。我就不會去赴宴?!?/p>
“家里沒有為你準備的食物?!?/p>
“我不想回家。我會去飯店吃晚餐?!?/p>
“和誰一起?”
“我自己?!?/p>
伊維困惑地看了她一眼。
“這部劇大獲成功了,不是嗎?”
“是的。一切都非常成功。我覺得我登上了世界之巔。我感覺好極了。我想一個人享受這一切。給伯克利飯店打電話,告訴他們在一個小房間里為我準備一個人的桌子。他們會明白我的意思?!?/p>
“你到底怎么了?”
“我這輩子再也不會有這樣的時刻了。我不會跟任何人分享這一刻?!?/p>
朱莉婭將臉洗干凈后,沒有再進行任何修飾。她既沒有涂口紅,也沒有撲腮紅。她又穿上了她來劇院時穿的棕色大衣和裙子,帽子也沒換。那是一頂有帽檐的氈帽,她將帽子壓下來蓋住一只眼,盡可能地擋住自己的臉。準備好后,她看了看鏡子中的自己。
“我看起來像一個被丈夫拋棄的裁縫,而且這并非他的錯。我相信沒人能認出我來。”
伊維從劇院后門處打了電話,她回來后,朱莉婭問,那里有沒有許多人在等自己。
“大概有三百人吧?!?/p>
“可惡?!彼蝗挥姓l都不想見,也不想被任何人看到的欲望。她想要消失一個小時?!案嬖V消防人員讓我從正門出去,我會搭輛出租車走,一旦我離開了,就告訴大伙別等了?!?/p>
“只有上帝知道我得忍受什么?!币辆S生氣地說道。
“你這頭老母牛?!?/p>
朱莉婭雙手捧著伊維的臉,親吻了她皺巴巴的雙頰;然后溜出了她的化妝間,穿過舞臺和鐵門,走進了漆黑的觀眾席。
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