dream. Thelma studied my face. I bent down and kissed her on the mouth.
“Get me a copy of The Genius by Theodore Dreiser.” The novel came up from the studio library within the hour, and I began to read. It was a very long novel and by the end of the week I had read it twice and collected a notebook of ideas on how to convert it into a picture.
Two months later I read The Genius for what must have been the tenth time and I had four notebooks filled with observations, stacked on my desk. I jumped whenever the phone rang, thinking it was Schindler. I kept my door open watching the reception room for his appearance. His office had another door leading to the hall. Whenever I heard it open I jumped up and rushed outside. A couple of times Istood waiting as he appeared. It was as if he did not see me at all as he walked by. I slunk back to my office and sat brooding.
Why was he doing this? What was happening to me? Was there some conspiracy against me in the world? Had I offended him? Hadn’t he offered me this job? Was I accursed by Almighty God? Perhaps my mother was right. Lose your faith and you lose all. Was she better informed than I on the ways of the Lord? Was I too late to make amends? I walked down to the parking lot, got in my car, and drove up Sunset to the Catholic church. Kneeling in the front pew, I prayed:
“Please, God, do something about that assignment. I haven’t asked anything of you for years. Do this for me and I will come back into the arms of Mother Church for the rest of my days.”
After a while a priest appeared and moved into the confessional. A few old women knelt in the vicinity. I went to kneel with them. Then it was my turn and I entered the confessional. Through the wooden grillwork I saw the priest’s white face. I had nothing to say. The guilt for past sins had left me. I knelt there in embarrassment. The moments passed. The priest stirred. His eyes sought mine through the grill.
“Yes?” he asked.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, “I haven’t prepared myself.” I rose and walked out, down the aisle and through the heavy front doors to the street. I was more despondent than ever, for somewhere in my heart there had always been a conviction that the church was my ace in the hole. I had always believed this without articulating it. Now the conviction was gone and I was lost, and facing a hostile world. I walked down to my car and got in. Suddenly, desperately, I got out again and hurried back into the church and knelt down and tried to pray.
I murmured a Hail Mary and found it interrupted by Thelma Farber. Hail Mary full of grace and Thelma Farber naked in my arms. Holy Mary, Mother of God, kissing Thelma Farber’s breasts, groping at her body and runningmy hands along her thighs. Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death and my lips moved to Thelma’s loins and I kissed her ecstatically. I was lost, writhing. I felt my body kneeling there, the hardness in my loins, the fullness of an erection, the absurdity of it, the maddening dichotomy. I arose and dashed out of there, down to my car, and drove off, frightened, shaking, absurd.
I was glad when I got back to my office. It was like a nest that comforted me. Thelma was not there. I closed the door, sat at my desk and lit a cigarette. Mysterious unsettling things were happening to me. I had stepped out of the world and now it was hard to find my way back. I thought of Frank Edgington down the hall. Perhaps I could tell him my problem. But that was no good. Edgington was too sardonic, too impatient. He would merely laugh and blame it on my peasant origin.
There was a knock on the door. It was Thelma. A few minutes ago I had knelt in the church and kissed her loins and there she was again. She sensed something.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Sure.”
“Harry wants to see you.”
“What about?”
“How should I know?”
I crossed the reception room to Schindler’s door and knocked.
“Come in.”
I opened
“Get me a copy of The Genius by Theodore Dreiser.” The novel came up from the studio library within the hour, and I began to read. It was a very long novel and by the end of the week I had read it twice and collected a notebook of ideas on how to convert it into a picture.
Two months later I read The Genius for what must have been the tenth time and I had four notebooks filled with observations, stacked on my desk. I jumped whenever the phone rang, thinking it was Schindler. I kept my door open watching the reception room for his appearance. His office had another door leading to the hall. Whenever I heard it open I jumped up and rushed outside. A couple of times Istood waiting as he appeared. It was as if he did not see me at all as he walked by. I slunk back to my office and sat brooding.
Why was he doing this? What was happening to me? Was there some conspiracy against me in the world? Had I offended him? Hadn’t he offered me this job? Was I accursed by Almighty God? Perhaps my mother was right. Lose your faith and you lose all. Was she better informed than I on the ways of the Lord? Was I too late to make amends? I walked down to the parking lot, got in my car, and drove up Sunset to the Catholic church. Kneeling in the front pew, I prayed:
“Please, God, do something about that assignment. I haven’t asked anything of you for years. Do this for me and I will come back into the arms of Mother Church for the rest of my days.”
After a while a priest appeared and moved into the confessional. A few old women knelt in the vicinity. I went to kneel with them. Then it was my turn and I entered the confessional. Through the wooden grillwork I saw the priest’s white face. I had nothing to say. The guilt for past sins had left me. I knelt there in embarrassment. The moments passed. The priest stirred. His eyes sought mine through the grill.
“Yes?” he asked.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, “I haven’t prepared myself.” I rose and walked out, down the aisle and through the heavy front doors to the street. I was more despondent than ever, for somewhere in my heart there had always been a conviction that the church was my ace in the hole. I had always believed this without articulating it. Now the conviction was gone and I was lost, and facing a hostile world. I walked down to my car and got in. Suddenly, desperately, I got out again and hurried back into the church and knelt down and tried to pray.
I murmured a Hail Mary and found it interrupted by Thelma Farber. Hail Mary full of grace and Thelma Farber naked in my arms. Holy Mary, Mother of God, kissing Thelma Farber’s breasts, groping at her body and runningmy hands along her thighs. Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death and my lips moved to Thelma’s loins and I kissed her ecstatically. I was lost, writhing. I felt my body kneeling there, the hardness in my loins, the fullness of an erection, the absurdity of it, the maddening dichotomy. I arose and dashed out of there, down to my car, and drove off, frightened, shaking, absurd.
I was glad when I got back to my office. It was like a nest that comforted me. Thelma was not there. I closed the door, sat at my desk and lit a cigarette. Mysterious unsettling things were happening to me. I had stepped out of the world and now it was hard to find my way back. I thought of Frank Edgington down the hall. Perhaps I could tell him my problem. But that was no good. Edgington was too sardonic, too impatient. He would merely laugh and blame it on my peasant origin.
There was a knock on the door. It was Thelma. A few minutes ago I had knelt in the church and kissed her loins and there she was again. She sensed something.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Sure.”
“Harry wants to see you.”
“What about?”
“How should I know?”
I crossed the reception room to Schindler’s door and knocked.
“Come in.”
I opened
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