“There is always something else,” said Lewis decidedly.
“I think that’s right,” said Carla.
“What?” asked Holton. “What else can you do but that?”
“Run away,” said Lewis.
“Fall in love,” said Carla.
But neither solution was convincing to Holton and Carla could think of no way to explain herself. There seemed, at the moment, no words to record her meaning, no bridge to reach him. They were all three quiet, thinking of questions and answers.
Finally their silence killed the problem and they began to notice the room they were in and the other people. The people at the different tables were not, generally, mixed. Several women would sit at one table and several men would sit at another. Around the room were small tables for two and here men sat with men and women with women. This was puzzling to Holton, she could see. He said nothing, though, and she had a great sudden ache of tenderness for him, a desire to protect his innocence. But this she could not do. She was a stranger to him and he had forgotten.
Cigarette smoke veiled the room bluely and everything seemed tenuous and unreal. The sound of voices and ice clattering, of forks striking plates and of many people moving and breathing together made an ocean-like roar in Carla’s ears. The room was hot and the smell of perfume was strong.
The band returned and began to play. They played much more softly than they had before and she was grateful. Conversation was not difficult when the music was soft. In fact, the music seemed to underline many things, made emotional statements dramatic. Unfortunately, with George Robert Lewis sitting at the table there was no opportunity to make emotional statements. He would have to leave. She began to concentrate on this as they talked now of trivial things. Finally he received her subconscious message. He stood up.
“I hope you’ll excuse me a moment but I have to go backstage. I’ll only be gone a minute.” He left quickly, going around the stage and behind the crimson curtain.