"He will love me."

"I love you, my dear, I love you," he whispered again and again.

A great calm came over her. A great calm and a great chill. She felt uneasy because she felt so wonderful, too wonderful, too uneasy, as if she might feel too deeply and something inside would break.

She felt Julian's hand on her and he was turning her around. "I must kiss you," he said. "I must kiss you. I love you."

"Yes," she smiled. "You may kiss me."

She imagined it was Kelsey kissing her. Kelsey's arms were around her neck, and she was longing for the face of Kelsey. She moved her lips over his forehead and his cheeks until she felt the moistness of his mouth. She saw the unsettled look in Julian's face and the sweat on his upper lip. It was her first kiss, and it was Kelsey she kissed.

Julian stepped back and touched his lips. He shook his head and jerked his face nervously toward the door.

He stared into her eyes. His fingers ran over her face. "Now I see it," he whispered hoarsely. "Now I see it. It was there before, before I ever touched you. It was in your eyes. I've always known that. I've known that no one creates beauty out of pastes and tape and foam rubber and false hair."

"I must go now," she said. "I must hurry."

"That's right, that's very right. You've got to go out of here, out of my sight and out of my mind!"

"Do I feel real?"

"My God! There's this light—that is what you feel—the light! Listen, listen to me whoever, whatever, you are. Listen. What's happening? You're more real than the woman who invites me to her apartment and assures me with insipid smiles and phony gestures that she is real. What's real? You're real—but you can't be real!"

He turned away from her and leaned against the wall. There was a catch in his voice, and she could see the throbbing in the side of his neck. "You had better go now. And tomorrow I won't remember you. I'm probably going crazy. Beginning to believe in my own pitiful wishes. Everyone I know—all of them—shells of phony beauty, something painted on, something stuck on the outside. Nothing real, nothing real at all. And what do I do—dream? Dream of somehow bringing real beauty back. But it never comes back! Beauty comes from inside. I 

 Prev. P 15/26 next