"Stacy! Is that it, Kay? Oliver Stacy?" Lennox stepped to her and took her shoulders. "Is he what's eating you out?"
"It was a slip. I meant Cooper. Sam Cooper, of course. I always get his name mixed up with Oliver's. Let go of me, Lennox. Damn you, let go of me."
"Is it Stacy?"
"To hell with Stacy. It was a slip, I tell you. Slip of the tongue...." She began to shake and clung to him. "My God, Lennox. My God! I haven't seen him in two weeks, outside rehearsal. 'Good morning. Good night. Take it from the top. Cue, please. Take your cross after I say the line. Oh Jesus, Lennox, what's he doing to me?"
"Running up a score, Kay. Face it."
"You son of a bitch!" Kay wrenched herself out of his arms. "You're gloating too, aren't you? All of you. Counting up your scores. Get lost, Lennox. Get lost fast!"
Lennox got lost fast. Down on the street he murmured: "But she's the one who's lost. Lost in the tunnels. At least I gave her a half hour's entertainment. Balance! Two down and four to go."
It so happened that my wife was in Raeburn Sachs' office when Lennox dropped in. She had been called down unexpectedly. Sachs' wife, a discouraged creature with a sagging figure, led Robin down a twisting corridor in Grabinett's offices to the brain room where Sachs operated. He directed all Grabinett's shows.
Sachs was thin, dry-blond, with bulging blue eyes and a mid-western twang. He liked to be overworked and fatigued, and the first impression he gave was of a bone-weary man calling on genius to surmount exhaustion. Later, you imagined you had received the wrong impression, but you really hadn't. It was Sachs who changed. His thyroid began popping and everything else in addition to his eyes bulged.