Cry Shame!: A Novel by Gore Vidal by Katherine Everard & Gore Vidal

Author:Katherine Everard & Gore Vidal [Everard, Katherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Everard & Sons Campfire Classics
Published: 1950-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER VII

She saw Joe Isaacs again at a party almost a week later. She was pleased but not surprised when he recognized her and came over and joined her on the couch where she was sitting with a young man she’d met and known on the beach — a young actor. Jason Carter was on the other side of the room talking to the host, a well-known oil man who had been a friend of his for many years, before he’d come to live in Hollywood where he gave lavish parties like this one.

“Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Carter,” said Joe Isaacs.

He was well-dressed, she noticed, in a quiet dark suit and quite a handsome shirt and tie. He sat down beside her. “Won’t you have a drink? You all set?”

“Yes, I have a drink here, thanks. I didn’t think you’d remember me, Mr. Isaacs.”

“Oh, I remember you, all right,” said Isaacs, smiling. “I always remember a pretty face.”

“You must see so many of them,” said Grace.

“Not as many as you think; not as many as I’d like to, either professionally or personally.”

They both chuckled at this and the waiter came over and handed them canapés.

Grace looked about the room. They were in a large drawing room of the oil man’s house. Over a hundred people were here today for this cocktail party was in honor of some man from the East: she’d forgotten whom although she’d been introduced to him and her husband had assured her he was most distinguished. There were, however, many people of more interest to her. There were quite a few movie stars and producers, directors and writers, as well as women of fashion and men of much distinction. She enjoyed these parties and she always liked it when Jason Carter took her to them, which was seldom, for he disliked parties and she, not wishing to displease or disappoint him, always said she disliked them, too. Actually, they excited her and she was bewitched by their glamour.

Now Joe Isaacs was sitting beside her on a couch and she was talking to him, aware that she was well-dressed, aware of the brilliant ruby on her finger which several people had already noticed and which, at the moment, she had discreetly covered with her other hand. She could hardly believe that Graziella Serrano was sitting here, poised and beautifully dressed, with a famous motion picture director beside her and a rich husband across the room. It all seemed so unreal. She wished suddenly that her mother could see her.

“You still taking dancing classes?” asked Isaacs, helping himself to one of her olives.

“Oh, yes, I take class every day,” she said. “I’ve been taking class for four years now. Before that I used to appear in a night club in New Orleans. Not big time, of course, but — well, I had a little following down there.”

“You say you worked in Mexico, too.”

“You certainly have a good memory, Mr. Isaacs,” she said, smiling.

“Well, I do remember what certain people tell me.

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