“You’d make an awful lawyer. Absolutely terrible.”
Henry grinned. “Thank you for your confidence in me.”
“Terrible,” Ling said again.
“Yes, we’ve covered that sufficiently, I believe. Anyway, when he decided to send me to military school, I packed my suitcase and left. I suppose you think I’m an ungrateful son.”
“No,” Ling said, considering Henry’s reasons. “But I could never leave my parents.”
Henry tried to imagine the sort of filial duty Ling felt. If anything, he saw his parents as a burden to be endured. When people talked about “family” as something special, a place where you belonged, a dull anger nipped at Henry, a feeling that he’d been cheated of this basic comfort. Instead, Henry had made his own family with Theta, with his friends in the speakeasies and backstage at the Follies. He imagined that one day he’d hear that his parents were gone and feel only a vague sense of loss. How could you mourn something you’d never really had?
“Well,” Henry said wistfully, “it must be nice to be so loved.”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” Ling said, letting the subject drop. To her surprise, she found that she liked talking with Henry, especially about dreams. Sure, he told too many jokes for her taste. But he was easy and loose, like a gentle stream that carried her along.
For a moment, she considered telling Henry about her plan to look for George tonight. But she decided it was best to keep quiet; that was her mission, not his.
“You asked me if I was afraid the first time I walked in a dream. But what I’m most afraid of is not being able to do it,” Ling said quietly. “Here, I’m completely free. I can be myself. I can do anything.”
Henry nodded. “I know just what you mean. When I’m here, if someone is having a bad dream, with a word, I can help them have a better dream. I can do something. In the waking world, I can’t even get my songs published!”
“Are you sure you’re working hard enough?”
Henry raised both eyebrows. “You are quite possibly the rudest person I have ever met. And I work in show business, so that’s saying something.”
“Fine. I’ll be the judge. Play me a song,” Ling said.
“Heaven help me,” Henry said on a sigh. He played one of his numbers for Ling, a fun little ditty that quite a few of the chorines liked dancing to after hours.
“Well? Did you like it?” he asked.