This night was unfair, and every door on the fifth floor led to some kind of pitfall. It was only a situation this dire that could make her go down one flight and approach the room at the end of the hall. That door flung open after one knock.
“I was wondering when you’d come and fess up,” Mrs. Amberson said. “When I didn’t see you at the cast party…”
“You were there?”
“Take a deep breath, O’Hara. All things can be overcome if we remember to breathe. I take it you have some personal issues to sort out?”
“Kind of,” Scarlett admitted.
“Then you have done the right thing by coming to me. Meet me in the lobby in five minutes. We’re going somewhere fabulous.”
Somewhere fabulous turned out to be a restaurant called Raw Deal, where none of the food was cooked above a light steaming and nothing was quite as it seemed. The burgers were made of sesame seeds and millet. The tomato sauce was made of beets. Even the “cola” was some syrupy concoction of tree sap and human misery.
They took one of the sidewalk tables so Mrs. Amberson could smoke, a fact that clearly annoyed the other diners and the staff.
“For the last week,” she said, gleefully exhaling a plume in the direction of a particularly peevish looking guy eating a pyramid of lentils, “you have looked like someone about to be sent to the bottom of the Mariana Trench in a second hand Citro?n. If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I will be forced to investigate, and you don’t want that.”
The waiter came over, presumably to request that she stop puffing like a dragon at his other tables, but she undercut him with an order for the adzuki dip with blue algae crumbles, punctuated with a “do not cross me or I will set you on fire” smile.
The one thing Scarlett’s life was currently missing—and could happily continue to miss—was a deep investigation by Mrs. Amberson. Plus, she had run out of options on her own. It was easier just to tell her.
“I’m sort of…with someone in the cast.”
“Ah, the missing verb,” she said. “It’s like the lost chord. And how are things with Eric going?”
“They’re…okay,” she admitted. “I guess.”
“What do you mean okay? I lock you together in a romantic theater, throw a party, distract your brother while you make your escape…I’ve practically sent the two of you out to sea in a tiny rowboat. What could possibly be the problem?”
She was, as Scarlett had suspected, already aware of the general situation.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” she said. “With him, with Spencer…”
“Give me the details. And don’t be precious. I can’t help you unless you give me all the facts.”
So, Scarlett told the story. All of it. Mrs. Amberson listened intently. When Scarlett was finished, she snapped her cigarette case open and shut a few times.
“I understand completely,” she said. “It all makes complete sense.”
“It does?”
“Let’s start with Spencer,” she said. “He’s upset for two reasons, a superficial one and a deeper one. The first I am sure you have already guessed. He’s afraid that you might break up, because then he’ll have to hate Eric. Working on the show becomes difficult. The deeper reason, the real reason, is that he’s jealous.”
“Jealous of what?” Scarlett asked.
“I watch your brother on stage every day. When he does something, do you know who he looks to? Not me. Not Trevor. Not that poor girl who’s been slogging around after him for a week. You are his audience, Scarlett. Out of everyone in the room, it’s your opinion that matters most. If you laugh, if you are impressed, that counts more than anything I could say. But now you are paying more attention to his partner. Someone else is going to know your secrets first. Someone else will be sharing the inside jokes. And this is very, very annoying.”
This all sounded weirdly right.
“He’s probably not even aware of where his feelings are coming from,” she went on. “But things have to change between you sometime. He’ll move out. You’ll go to college. Someone or something will get in the way. Don’t fight the change, just deal with it.”
“I’m trying to. But he’ll barely talk to me, not like normal.”
“We’ll move on to Eric,” she said. “It all ties in together. They’re both actors, and I know actors. That’s one subject I’ve covered in depth. Believe me.”
She trailed off here and began playing with her lighter and failing. It clicked and spluttered as she tried to light her cigarette. Scarlett watched her, hypnotized, until she finally got it lit and took a long drag.
“An eighteen-year-old actor is a dangerous thing. Especially in New York. They’re hungrier than you can possibly imagine. They work very hard to be liked. Eric is no exception.”
“He’s Southern,” Scarlett offered in his defense.