in the early days of edith’s career, when she’d been playing coffee shops in new york city, helen would receive photos and news clippings in the mail. it was a daughter’s desperate attempt to convince her mother that distance was for the best. nowadays, with limited time and gained notoriety, helen rarely receives those souvenirs of time. what she’s gleamed of jerry’s character comes not from personal experience, but magazine columns and televised images. he seems so self-assured on screen and on print — self-trained, even, to make up for a pedigree he lacked at birth. whatever the descriptors, he is opposite in this moment.
she sighs and she softens. now is not the time for bad impressions. “i haven’t said thank you yet. for … well. you know. we got a lot to be grateful for.” helen wonders how can jerry stand despite the weight of what he’s seen. she’s tried to keep her mind on the now, everything one step at a time, for fear of grotesque images infecting the mind. after a moment of averting her gaze to wring her hands, she stares at jerry with a forced determination. “edie tells me things, you understand ? and i know … i know what you two have done.”
it becomes apparent that she’s been planning to touch on this topic all along, from the moment she stepped off of the airplane. it’s the reason why her husband isn’t here in this moment : there are things he doesn’t need to know about, troubles she won’t let him cause. “i’ll tell you now i don’t think it’s right. i don’t think you ought to mix up the business and the personal. but it’s not my call, and anyway that don’t matter now. we’ve got to be a team, you understand ?” there is a despairing effort to search his eyes for comprehension. they need to be able to trust each other, and most times trust is impossible with fear in the way.
“yeah. yes.” he doesn’t waste time with explanations. jerry’s keeping his tone just above an ingratiating whisper, nodding attentively at her words and keeping his responses short and to-the-point. he’s spent too long running from personal matters; it’s about time he try and mend some for the better.
he scans the hallway around them to avoid meeting her gaze. it’s hard, when she commands such a presence. helen walls stands out with her wide shoulders and wise features and head that’s held above everyone else. he curses himself for hanging his, for not making eye contact despite her face being the only to look at here. she’s searching him up and down, he feels it: the certain regarding a person gives when searching for the sins of another, to determine a pre-judgement, to decide if they’re worth having an association with. he owes her something. something that might make this easier for her to swallow.
edith and jerry are more than just a simple kiss on the cheek when parting at dinner. and they’re not less than a night of heavy drinking followed by a frosty invitation to the hotel room upstairs. they linger somewhere in the place of sexual encounters that involves real feeling, real care, real pain. it has never been nothing. jerry is well and cornered at the unfortunate end of a hallway, with the wall to his back and an intimidating figure of a woman to his front. the feeling is that of a snarling lion facing him. finally, he returns his stare to her.
“it’s not-- i don’t know what she tells you. i’m -- i guess what i’m trying to say is that it’s not all bad.” his skin feels flushed. there’s something nervous about his movements. “i don’t hurt her. i don’t try to, at least. i think i’m a little lost -- i’m not good with words. ignore that, i’m sorry. you don’t deserve this. any of this.” i love her is so close. on the tip of his tongue, even.