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He never mentioned Jay O'Brien, but he seemed to know. When they did meet occasionally at a gathering, he assumed a formal correct demeanor like a cadet at attention. He let Jay claim and monopolize her. As for Mr. O'Brien, Mae believed him unaware of Rudy's existence. She was wrong, she discovered when Jay took her dancing one night.
"Gypsy, where have you been ? I haven't seen you in weeks !" Marilyn said, when they met amid the satin and silver trappings, the bald heads and bare shoulders of the New Amsterdam Roof.
"Lady Mae has found herself a gigolo," Jay said quickly, offering her a cocktail, then drinking it himself as he always did.
"Rudy is not a gigolo. He's a dancer."
"Oh, doll, for God's sake what do you think he does at Maxim's?"
"He is paid by Maxim's for dancing."
"With the lady customers. And all the rich old hags take private lessons. He's simply divine, I understand," Jay said, mimicking Rudy's feminine fans.
"You might be interested to know he's replacing Clifton Webb as Bonnie Glass' dancing partner. They're booked for a gala benefit at Delmonico's. What about that?"
"I love you when you wave the flag. George, bring Miss Murray coffee and some red, white and blue pastries."
She bit her tongue trying to think of a sophisticated retort. He marched her to the floor into a waltz.
"Salvation Nell," he mocked. "The scent of your hair drives me mad. It completely belies your tambourine. What is it you want? That I writhe? By the tin horns of Saint Gabriel, I'll writhe!"
Anger ebbed from her at his purple speeches. They were so outlandish, that they made her laugh, even when she was about to cry. Wait until opening night, just a week away, water, running up the steps into the cobalt sky — wait.
"You're in love with me, Mae," he insisted. "This is love."
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