Tomorrow Is Forever by Gwen Bristow

Author:Gwen Bristow
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2014-04-20T16:00:00+00:00

9

Kessler was her friend, and he remained so. But during the next few weeks this very fact made it impossible for Elizabeth to lose her curious sense of this friendship’s being an old intimacy renewed.

She tried to tell herself not to be foolish. You saw somebody by chance, you remembered without knowing you remembered, and when you saw him again you knew this wasn’t the first time and it worried you until you could recall that earlier meeting. It was a common experience in Hollywood to look up in a restaurant and catch sight of a familiar face at another table, and give a nod and smile before you recognized the face as that of some actor whom you had seen a dozen times playing those obscure roles in pictures which everybody saw and nobody remembered. That happened so often that many professional bit-players habitually smiled and nodded at anybody they saw looking at them with that puzzled I’ve-seen-you-somewhere expression, just so as not to appear discourteous.

If that happened with actors, why not with other people? She might easily have seen Kessler in a theater lobby, in the Brown Derby, on the streets of the studio lot, not once but many times before the night Spratt brought him to dinner. Elizabeth was annoyed with herself for being unable to accept this as the answer.

She liked Kessler so much, and yet he had for her an almost irritating attraction. His wise sympathy never ceased to delight her. Yet with it there was always the bothersome sense that she had done all this before. Though she tried to ignore it, and laughed at herself for it, the feeling would not down. It kept returning, like the teasing involuntary search for a name, a line, or a tune long ago forgotten and too unimportant to be worth remembering, but which lay so close to the surface of her consciousness that no matter how much she tried to ignore it, it kept trying to push through, troubling her in the most unexpected places by knocking on the door of her memory and demanding that it be let in. She would have been glad to let it in and so be rid of it, but this required opening a door to which she had long since lost the key.

She was ashamed to keep asking Spratt to help her remember. She had tried that several times, and he only laughed and shook his head. “Wherever you saw him, I wasn’t there. And if you’ll forgive me, my dear, I suspect Kessler wasn’t there either. He certainly doesn’t remember you.”

All of a sudden one day it occurred to her. “Is it possible that I can’t remember because I don’t want to remember?” The idea was startling, but the longer it stayed with her the less startling it became. She had read about the thoroughness with which the mind rids itself of matters it does not want to remember.

And then, without any more effort on her part, the question ceased to annoy her.

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