“They’re…okay,” she admitted. “I guess.”

“What do you mean okay? I lock you together in a romantic theater, throw a party, distract your brother while you make your escape…I’ve practically sent the two of you out to sea in a tiny rowboat. What could possibly be the problem?”

She was, as Scarlett had suspected, already aware of the general situation.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” she said. “With him, with Spencer…”

“Give me the details. And don’t be precious. I can’t help you unless you give me all the facts.”

So, Scarlett told the story. All of it. Mrs. Amberson listened intently. When Scarlett was finished, she snapped her cigarette case open and shut a few times.

“I understand completely,” she said. “It all makes complete sense.”

“It does?”

“Let’s start with Spencer,” she said. “He’s upset for two reasons, a superficial one and a deeper one. The first I am sure you have already guessed. He’s afraid that you might break up, because then he’ll have to hate Eric. Working on the show becomes difficult. The deeper reason, the real reason, is that he’s jealous.”

“Jealous of what?” Scarlett asked.

“I watch your brother on stage every day. When he does something, do you know who he looks to? Not me. Not Trevor. Not that poor girl who’s been slogging around after him for a week. You are his audience, Scarlett. Out of everyone in the room, it’s your opinion that matters most. If you laugh, if you are impressed, that counts more than anything I could say. But now you are paying more attention to his partner. Someone else is going to know your secrets first. Someone else will be sharing the inside jokes. And this is very, very annoying.”

This all sounded weirdly right.

“He’s probably not even aware of where his feelings are coming from,” she went on. “But things have to change between you sometime. He’ll move out. You’ll go to college. Someone or something will get in the way. Don’t fight the change, just deal with it.”

“I’m trying to. But he’ll barely talk to me, not like normal.”

“We’ll move on to Eric,” she said. “It all ties in together. They’re both actors, and I know actors. That’s one subject I’ve covered in depth. Believe me.”

She trailed off here and began playing with her lighter and failing. It clicked and spluttered as she tried to light her cigarette. Scarlett watched her, hypnotized, until she finally got it lit and took a long drag.

“An eighteen-year-old actor is a dangerous thing. Especially in New York. They’re hungrier than you can possibly imagine. They work very hard to be liked. Eric is no exception.”

“He’s Southern,” Scarlett offered in his defense.

“Being Southern is his gimmick. That’s not a bad thing—all actors have a gimmick. It doesn’t change the basic profile. You see, a lot of actors think in order to be appealing, they must seem to be available to anyone and everyone. Their lives are one long flirtation. It’s not because they are bad people—it’s because they want to work.”