“I was trying to call my uncle. Do you know that feeling? That something awful has happened?”

But it was not to her uncle that Annie thought something awful had happened. She looked desperately at Theda as though the woman might evaporate in front of her.

“I hate California. I hate this state.”

“It’s only another place…”

“No. It’s absurd and cruel, and it’s all made up.”

“You ought to divorce Vogel. Have you done anything about it? I have a lawyer friend. It’s not so hard out here. You ought to get clear of that.”

How like Theda to have picked out one of the threads that bound her now to this senseless fear! Theda wanted her to get rid of something, a lump sticking out in the middle of her new smoothed-out life. She supposed she ought to, she supposed—

“You’re too goddamned self-involved,” Theda said in a hard unforgiving voice. “Look at you!” She hit the table with the palm of her hand, then looked silently at her fingers. Her expression softened, and her eyes met Annie’s with a kind of apology.

“It’s true, what I said. But the way I said it wasn’t true. It’s like telling someone they breathe. People come here and I drink with them and feed them and they imagine they have my attention when all the time I think of nothing but a dead man. I’m sorry. …It’s all so painful. But about the divorce…maybe you could get an annulment. That might be better. After all, you hardly lived with him.”

They talked for a while about Theda’s lawyer friend, of how much of a fee he would demand and whether Walter would be willing to pay for it or not. They spoke of the book Theda was reading for the studio, and then Theda said she did have some good news; she had been hired by the story department beginning the first of June, and she would be working steadily there. Perhaps she would write a scenario and make a mountain of money.

“When did you start wearing glasses?”

“I’ve always worn them,” said Theda. “Oh, Annie!” and she broke into laughter.