Funny Girl(63)

Sophie found herself watching Maurice Beck’s face as much as she watched his hands. To her surprise, he was, in odd moments of repose, passably handsome. She had seen him on television, back in the days when she watched at home on a Saturday night, and he made so many odd faces – intended to indicate bafflement, mirth, disaster – that she would never have thought of him as being attractive. In the restaurant, however, he was only putting on half a show, and in any case Sophie could tell that he was aware of her attention. He allowed his face to sit still, most of the time, and she could therefore see that he had sharp cheekbones and deep brown eyes. He was younger than she’d realized too, maybe not even forty. He wasn’t as good-looking as Clive, but Clive was too vain ever to forget that women liked him. Or maybe he simply thought that his looks, and not his talents as an actor, were his prize possession, the gift that needed the most protection and attention, so he couldn’t afford the sort of animation that Maurice allowed. Sophie suddenly realized that Clive was never going to make it, not in the way he wanted to. He was a leading man or he was nothing, and he wasn’t a leading man.

‘Can I ask you two something?’ said Maurice. ‘Your show … is it just a show?’

‘How do you mean?’ said Sophie.

‘I don’t want to tread on anyone’s toes, that’s all. If the show isn’t just a show.’

‘Oh, I see where he’s going,’ said Marie.

‘Where’s he going?’ said George.

‘Don’t you see?’ said Marie.

‘No,’ said George.

‘He already said he can’t see,’ said Sophie. ‘And neither can I.’

‘Can you not? He wants to know if you two are courting in real life. And if you’re not …’

‘Marie!’ said Sophie. ‘He might not be saying that at all!’

‘That’s exactly what I’m saying,’ said Maurice. ‘You’re very astute, Marie.’

Marie looked delighted.

‘It’s just … I’ve always said to myself, Maurice, if that girl’s not been taken already …’

‘It could be,’ said Sophie, ‘that the show is just a show, but I’ve got a boyfriend anyway.’

‘You just told us you weren’t courting,’ said George.

‘He didn’t know that.’

Clive was desperately looking for a way into the conversation. He felt as though he was at the Yalta Conference, and Europe was being carved up into pieces while he watched helplessly.

‘He does now,’ said George triumphantly. ‘She’s not courting, Maurice. She’s free as a bird.’

‘She might like it that way,’ said Clive.

‘You’ve had your chance,’ said George. ‘You didn’t take it.’

‘I’m sorry this is all so public,’ said Maurice, ‘but could I have your telephone number?’

He dug around in his wallet, found a receipt and a pen, and thrust them towards her. She didn’t know what to say. She was going to upset someone whatever she did.

‘What are you waiting for?’ said her father. ‘Maurice Beck has just asked for your phone number! You can’t just stand there gawping like a fish!’

She wrote her number down, just because it seemed like the quickest way of ending the embarrassment. For a moment she was afraid that Marie and her father were going to applaud when he picked the piece of paper up and tucked it back in his wallet, but they just nudged each other.

‘Let’s not get carried away,’ said Sophie. ‘It’s early days.’

When the bill arrived, Clive and Maurice fought over it, and Maurice won.

‘When I get home, nobody will believe that Mr Magic bought me dinner,’ said George.

‘They won’t believe he asked for your daughter’s phone number either,’ said Marie.

‘Thanks,’ said Sophie.

They said their goodbyes to Maurice outside the restaurant. He kissed Marie on the cheek and Sophie on the hand, and her father laughed in disbelief throughout. Maurice then pretended that he was going to kiss George, which took hilarity to unprecedented heights. Clive was largely forgotten, and Sophie felt bad for him: she suspected that Marie and George didn’t think of him as a star because she knew him and worked with him and therefore he didn’t count. And in any case they’d been watching Maurice Beck for years and years. They had a pre-existing relationship with him. Clive disappeared off into the night before they’d even hailed their taxis.