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He had a high-flown way of talking that shocked her with its excessive ardor; it made her feel like a school girl and she looked like one, Jay said, Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm. Good Lord, didn't she know she'd been born for desire? She knew nothing of the sort, but every moment with him was as unreal as being on a stage ; she liked that. He was very demanding. At the theatre every night he sat in the lower box, stage right, watching her. At the thes dansants, at the Sans Souci, his dark brooding eyes welcomed her compulsively; but close to him, dancing with him, hearing his harsh whispered adoration, a hand seemed to push her back. She'd seen his picture on the sports page leaning low across his polo pony, mallet raised wickedly, teeth clenched. How could a man so repel and attract you ?
He insisted he was in love with her and was going to marry her. She tried to explain that if she were to be a big star, she couldn't be thinking of marriage, she must be dedicated. That's why she spent so much time at the theatre, at museums, at rehearsal halls practicing — she had so much to learn.
"I want to be in the Ziegfeld Follies, Jay."
"You live in a dream world," he said flatly. "I don't mind your being on the stage, baby. I'd never have noticed you if you weren't. I might even be able to help."
But Bernhardt had made her great mistake in marrying Damala. It was essential to be free.
"There's no such thing as freedom." He slammed his fist on the table, bouncing her fragile cup. He didn't even pay the bill. He just left her, sitting alone at the little table at Rector's, fumbling at spilled tea with her napkin. She asked the waiter for hot water, she tried to nibble at one of the small cakes stuffed with raisins; but tears swelled her throat, she had to hold her head high to keep them back. What was wrong with the man?
That night he was not at the theatre. She knew it the moment she stepped onto the stage; the magnet was missing, the first time in three weeks. When they'd taken their final bows,
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