look up Leon, if and when you returned. Why did you vanish?"
"I needed a rest. And I don't write."
"You'll write your name on this," Leon winked at Howard as he produced a contract from his desk drawer.
"I suppose I will," Ken said.
The rebellion was broken. His will to fight was gone. He dipped his pen in ink. He signed his name.
"Satisfied?" he said to Howard.
"I'm glad," the other replied. "Did you read it?"
"No." Ken glanced at the contract. "It's a regular form, isn't it?"
"Ironclad. You work for me or for no one … until next June, eleven months away."
Because he needed money, Ken agreed, he had bound himself to Howard for another season. This reason he had made clear as they walked up Broadway. "I still feel I should work for someone else," he explained.
"You're super-sensitive," Howard said. "I'm tying you up only because I have a part for you in the new show." He was serious; the lines of his mouth straight. "Been drinking?" he asked Ken.
"Not for a week."
"Then I shan't ask you over to the hotel for a cocktail. I'm not even going to invite you to live at the Barrington again. Because I don't really care, if you want to know the truth."
Ken did not speak. His lips were tightly shut.
"You were with Grant Beckett," Howard accused.
"Who told you?"
"I knew a week ago."
