I know now a lot of things that were the matter with Peter Mack, but he has asked me not to go into details. It isn't important anyway; resentfulness at a girl; the escape mechanism of too much drink; trouble with the authorities in a lot of minor ways. And then a sort of sullen resentment at everything and everybody. A derelict who could salvage himself but he didn't want to.
Anyway, that was Peter Mack. And then there was Vivian La Marr. I met her back stage at the Gayety with Shorty who was there to see the stage manager who was to be a witness in some trivial crime-affair that Shorty was reporting. This Vivian La Marr was the main reason why the Gayety was having trouble with the Anti-Vice League and was about to lose its license. She came up to me back stage—a lush, artificial blonde, heavy with makeup; with an amazing expanse of flesh smooth as satin, and a negligible tinseled costume that the Anti-Vice League did not like at all but which pleased the Gayety's customers very much.
"You're Robert Rance," she said. "I saw your picture an' wasn't you televized a few times."
I agreed that was so.
"I also heard one of your astronomy lectures," she added with a wry grimace. "I was wonderin' how a guy like that could live with himself." She looked me up and down. "Now I see you ain't so bad," she said. She was grinning.
"Much obliged," I said. "Maybe I can teach you astronomy some time!"
"From you I would be glad to learn anything," she retorted, mockingly. We were standing by the stage door where it was cooler, and a moment later she was called back on the stage.
That was Vivian La Marr. The other person who was destined to be involved with us was J. Walter Blaine, the International Financier. I interviewed him at his Fifth Avenue Club. He tells me now that I may say what I like concerning my impression of him that first time I met him. So I will be absolutely frank.
A man of multi-millions and international importance makes many friends, and inevitably many enemies. Seldom can he know what people really think of him. His enemies exaggerate the worst, and his friends mostly fawn. Blaine's personal reputation, by hearsay, had reached me, of course. I had no expectation of liking him, and, very frankly, I didn't. I found him a big man, as tall as myself, heavy, portly from easy living. But I must say his appearance was impressive—a big mane of shaggy hair, a rather handsome, large-featured face, keen dark eyes under heavy brows, a jutting chin.