I looked across the aisle, and Mr. Berns and the stranger were deep in conversation.
The stranger was saying “. . . and I said to Zanuck, it will never work, Darryl . . . Harry Warner tried to make a deal with me, but he’s such a bastard . . . and at dinner, Darryl said to me . . .”
Who the hell was this man?
I walked over to them. “Excuse me,” I said to the stranger, “I didn’t get your name.”
He looked up at me and nodded. “Harris. Jed Harris.”
I must have grinned from ear to ear. “Have I got someone who wants to meet you!”
“Really?”
“What are you doing right now?”
He shrugged. “Nothing special.”
“Would you come back to the hotel with me? I want you to meet my wife.”
“Sure.”
Fifteen minutes later, we were in the garden of the Lancaster. I telephoned Jorja from downstairs.
“Hi.”
“Hi. You’re back. How was the movie?”
“Underwhelming. Come on down to the garden. We’ll have lunch here.”
“I’m not dressed, darling. Why don’t we have something up in our room?”
“No, no. You must come down. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“But—”
“No buts.”
Fifteen minutes later, Jorja appeared.
I turned to Jed. “This is Jorja.”
I looked at Jorja. “Jorja, this is Jed Harris.” I said it slowly and watched her face light up.
We sat down. Jorja was thrilled to meet Jed Harris and they talked theater for half an hour before we ordered lunch. Jed Harris was absolutely charming. He was intelligent and funny and the soul of courtesy. I felt that we had made a new friend.
During the meal he turned to me and said, “I’m impressed with your work. How would you like to write a Broadway play for me?”
Writing a play directed by Jed Harris meant I would be working with a master. “I’d like that very much,” I said. I hesitated. “At the moment, I’m afraid I don’t have an idea for a play.”
He smiled. “I do.” He started telling me various plots that he had in mind. I listened, and after each one I said, “That doesn’t excite me,” or “I don’t think that would interest me,” or “That sounds too familiar.”
After about six different premises of his, he came up with one that I liked. It was about a female efficiency expert who almost destroys the people in the firm she’s sent to examine, and in the end, falls in love and changes.
“That has real possibilities,” I told Jed. “Unfortunately, Jorja and I are leaving tomorrow. We’re going to be traveling around Europe.”
“No problem. I’ll go with you and we can work on the play.”
I was a little surprised. “Great.”
“Where are you going first?”
“We’re going to Munich, to meet some friends of ours. He’s a Hungarian playwright named—”
“I hate Hungarians. Their plays have no second acts and neither have their lives.”
Jorja and I exchanged a look.
“Then Jed, maybe it would be better if you didn’t—”
He held up a hand. “No, no. It will be fine. I want us to get going on the play.”
Jorja looked at me and nodded.
And it was settled.
When the three of us checked into a hotel in Munich, Laci and Marika were on their way to meet us and I was a little apprehensive. I hate Hungarians. Their plays have no second acts and neither have their lives.
It turned out that I had nothing to worry about. Jed Harris was the essence of charm.
When Laci walked in, Jed put his arm around him and said, “You’re a wonderful playwright. I think you’re better than Molnár.”
Laci almost blushed.
“You Hungarians have a very special talent,” Jed said. “It’s an honor to meet you both.”
Jorja and I looked at each other.
Laci was beaming. “I’m going to take you to a famous restaurant here in Munich. They serve wines from almost every country in the world.”
“Wonderful.”
Jed went to his room to change and Laci, Marika, and I caught up on what we had been doing in the interim since we had last seen one another.