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widened with pure terror. Was he telling her that he'd tired of her, that it was over?
"Don't look at me that way," he said, his voice agonized. He caught her roughly against him,
hurting her with the strength of the embrace.
"God, don't look at me like that. I love you!"
Tears welled up in her eyes. "Then why are you walking out on me again?"
"I'm not," he breathed. His arms tightened even more. "You know about the play. I have to go
out and finish work on the screenplay. And I have casting approval. I can't drop the project
now. Besides," he sighed, drawing back to touch her wet face gently, "you're going to be busy
yourself, getting geared up to win a Tony. Right?"
She smiled wanly. "Right." Her eyes searched his, fearfully."You aren't breaking it off? I don't
think I could bear it, Cul."
He swallowed, and his face paled. "It's just some breathing space, that's all," he said softly. He
smiled down at her, although his eyes were oddly dark. "I love you, Bett. Believe that, at
least.":
"I do." She snuggled close to him with a long, relieved sigh. But if she could have seen the
expression on Cul's face, she might not have felt that relief. He looked like a man being torn
apart.
That was the first night he took her back to her apartment. She didn't argue with him, his face
was set and he had that unbending expression on it. Besides, perhaps he was right. When he'd
spent a few late evenings watching the news and movies by himself, when he'd done without her
beside him in bed to warm him in the cool night, he'd let her come back. She was sure of it.
In the meantime, dress rehearsals began. The play was ready to go out of town. Set designers
were finished with the backdrops, all the props and costumes were ready to go to Philadelphia.
Everything was loaded up and Cul said goodbye to Bett all too soon when she drove him to La
Guardia to catch his California flight.
"Write to me," she told him with bleak eyes as he searched her pale face.
"Of course. Darling, you're so pale, are you all right?" he asked softly, studying her.
"Yes, I'm fine. Just a virus. Janet had it, and I had supper with her a couple of nights ago, you
know."
"Take care of yourself. I'll be back before you know it."
"I doubt that," she murmured. It was hard not to cry. She felt as if something were ending, all at
once. Her eyes searched his frantically for signs that he still cared, that this wasn't the end. But
his eyes were unreadable.
"So long, darling," he whispered, bending.
It was the most tender kiss they'd ever shared. She clung to him helplessly, needing his strength
to support her. Her eyes watered with tears as his mouth softly probed hers, as his arms held
her close, oblivious to passersby boarding the plane through the long ramp.
He drew back, his hands unsteady as he released her. "Be good, honey.
'Bye."
He gave her a last, wan smile, picked up his duffel bag, and walked down the ramp without
looking back.
She went to her apartment feeling like death warmed over, and promptly lost her breakfast.
The infernal virus kept hanging on, sapping her strength. She managed to get through the tryout
period, but it was the longest two weeks of her life. Fortunately the play was well received,
without any changes being necessary. The stage manager had phoned Cul to tell him the good
news about the audience's ecstatic reception.
"Did Cul have any message for me?" Bett asked hopefully.
He stared at her blankly. "No. I thought he'd have called you by now,"
he added with a grin. "You two were pretty thick when he left, weren't you?"
She managed a weak smile and turned away. So it was over. He'd have called or written if he'd
meant what he'd said about loving her. He'd just wanted her. Now, with his appetite sated, he
had no reason to continue the affair. By now there was probably someone else, some beautiful
woman in Hollywood.....
She sat down numbly in her dressing room. Why hadn't she seen the danger? Why had she
trusted him? Damn her stupid heart!
That night, after the last performance, she went back to her hotel room and, in desperation,
phoned Cul. She'd begged his number from the stage manager. It might be a terrible lowering of
her pride, but she had to hear from his lips that he no longer cared, to believe it.
He answered the phone absently, as if his mind were on other things.
"Cul?" she said in a trembling voice. "How are you?"
"I'm fine, Bett," he said coolly. "I hear the play's going great."
"Yes, it is." She curled the telephone cord around her fingers. "Are you coming back for the
opening in New York?"
"Afraid not, darling," he said carelessly. "I've got my hands full out here." He paused,
apparently talking to someone in the room with him.
"What's that, Cherrie? No, thanks, no more for me. Sure, the towels are in the bathroom, love,
go right ahead." His voice was clear and sharp again. "Sorry, Bett, I've got company."
"Yes, so I heard," she said quietly, hanging onto the shreds of her pride. "I'm sorry I bothered
you. Goodbye."
She hung up the receiver and cried as if her heart would break.
Cherrie. At least she hadn't let him hear the torture she was feeling; she'd been very cool, very
calm. Oh, God, why had she been stupid enough to trust him? Well, at least she knew the truth
now, at least she'd been spared the humiliation of having him snub her in front of the cast. She
got over him before, she'd do it again. Of course she would.
But she felt so weak that it was getting harder just to move around.
David was worried about her, and showed it.
"Look, I've got a pal who just opened a medical pratice," he said when they were safely back in
New York and a day away from the opening. "Let me take you to him, okay?"
She sighed wearily. "Okay," she agreed, resigned. "If you'll stop worrying. I think it's just
emotional."
"Yes, I know you do," he muttered. "But I don't agree."
She went to the doctor, and sat motionless, not even breathing, when he began asking more
specific questions.
Her jaw dropped. "You think I might be pregnant?" she burst out.
"Yes, I do," he replied gently. "There, there, it's not the end of the world. Don't you like
children?"
Tears filled her eyes. "Doctor, I'm not married," she whispered. "I'm the leading player in a
show that's opening on Broadway tomorrow night.
I am dead broke, and the man who got me this way just walked out on me.
Yes, it's the end of the world!"
He calmed her, had his nurse get her a cup of coffee, and spoke gently.
"We'll have the results of the tests tomorrow morning. We'll know for sure then. Meanwhile,
I'm giving you the name of a good obstetrician, just in case. And you'll need to get a lot of rest
and eat plenty of protein."
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