“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.
Half an hour later, we were entering an elegant-looking restaurant on the Isar River. We sat down to order. The waiter handed us menus. They were filled with wines from countries all over the world.
“What kind of wine would you like?” the waiter asked.
Before anyone could speak, Jed said, “I’ll have a beer.”
The waiter shook his head. “I’m sorry, sir. We don’t serve beer here. We serve only wine.”
Jed glared at him and got to his feet. “Let’s get out of here.”
I could not believe what I was hearing. “But Jed—”
“Come on. Let’s go. I don’t want to eat in a place that doesn’t serve beer.”
Embarrassed, we all got up and left.
“Goddamn Germans,” Jed snarled.
Jorja and I were horrified. We all got into a taxi and went back to the hotel, where we had dinner.
Laci apologized to Jed. “I’m sorry about this,” he said. “I know another place where they have great beer. We’ll go there tomorrow night.”
The following day, Jed and I worked on the new play. We spent part of the time writing in the garden and part of the time writing in our suite. I started developing situations arising from the basic premise and Jed would make a suggestion here and there.
That evening, the Bush-Feketes picked us up.
“You’ll like this place,” Laci assured Jed.
In the restaurant, they took us to our table and the waiter handed us menus. “What would you like to start with?” he asked.
Jed spoke up. “I’ll have some wine.”
The waiter said, “I’m sorry, sir. We only serve beer here. We have beers from almost every country in the—”
Jed jumped to his feet. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
I was shocked again. “Jed, I thought you—”
“Come on. I won’t stay in a crummy restaurant where I can’t have what I want.”
He went out the door and we all followed him. Mr. Charm was turning into a monster.
The next day Jed came to my suite to work on the play and it was as though nothing had happened.
In the morning, as Jorja and I were on our way down to breakfast, the hotel manager stopped me.
“Mr. Sheldon, could I speak to you for a moment?”
“Of course.”
“Your guest is very rude to the maids and housekeepers. He’s made them very upset. I wonder if you—”