Anders was sitting in a chair upstage. Lawrence was downstage. They were both in evening dress after a wee-hours jaunt going AWOL from a party that Lawrence’s marital disgruntlement had soured her on hosting.
Anders’ “I love you,” followed Lawrence admitting that she’d never walked out on a party before although she’d wanted to all her life. Lawrence accompanied this with a certain cadenza of body language proclaiming her elation, her delight in her own elegance . . . “monkeying, monkeying, monkeying. . . all of her things that are so wonderful, her charming things,” Anders recalled to me in 1981, “entrancing the audience.” But there was some suspense in their minds, too, about exactly how deep this extra-martial attraction had taken hold.
It was a question for him of letting it go on long enough to keep that particular enchantment and suspense potent, and then interjecting a new and different note of enchantment with his confession.
At this particular performance, however, Anders waited a couple of seconds too long. . .and instead of a hush settling on the audience when he finally said “I love you,” the line simply seemed banal, meaningless: “Everyone thought it was silly.”
Lawrence stole a look at Anders upstage and on her face was written, “What the hell happened?”