After all, damn it, you owe it to him – and to us.
Sir Ambrose enjoys stroking his ego a bit too much. If one would ask him about his primary occupation, he would have probably failed to give an answer, for, according to him, he is responsible for the whole British community in Hollywood. Readers would hardly argue about the fact that it is a rather vague description. The way he bosses everyone is simply appalling. When Sir Kinsley dies, he demands a poem from Barlow for him “to recite at the graveside.” “After all, damn it, you owe it to him – and to us,” he says, though Barlow owes nothing to him.
Love may come.
To let oneself get swept away by passion or stay level-headed, that is the question Aimee fails to find an answer to. She struggles to choose between two completely different men; for she believes that it is going to define her future. The poor woman doesn’t even have a friend to turn to, so she writes to Guru Brahmin, who is “a spiritual director, an oracle” and a proud owner of a column in the local newspaper. This so called oracle consoles her, stating that “love comes late to many,” thus she has to choose stability over passion. However, Aimee doesn’t feel any better. It is not the answer she hopes for.
So what hope is there of true happiness?
Aimee wants to be happy. The problem is that a person she is attracted to doesn’t seem to be able to value “the American Way of Life.” “So what hope is there of true happiness?” she asks herself. He is not cultured enough; many of American authors seem “to mean nothing to him.” He can be “very sweet and loving” and then he “suddenly becomes unethical.” Aimee’s hopes for the American dream becoming her reality fade. True happiness becomes a less achievable goal, breaking Aimee’s heart.
