VALLEY OF THE DOLLS - 2

VALLEY OF THE DOLLS

JACQUELINE SUSANN

( INSTALMENT 2 )

******

“Now this is what I call an unusual foursome,” George Bellows said as he placed the morning paper on Anne’s desk. She stared at the picture that had been snapped the night before at Morocco. Helen looked grotesque; Gino was grinning; Allen was partially out of the picture. Her own likeness was more than flattering.

She managed a smile. “Who is Nick Longworth?” she asked as she studied the messages on her desk.

“One of the top modeling agencies in town. Why—did Longworth make you an offer?”

“I don’t know. I just came in and found these messages to call him.”

“That’s what you should be doing. You’re a born model. But you probably would have wound up the same way. Kismet.” He looked at her ring.

Her phone rang. George waved and wandered back to his office.

It was Allen. “Have you recovered from last night?”

“It was really fun, wasn’t it?” she asked cheerfully.

He was silent.

“Allen?”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing right.”

“I like Helen Lawson,” she said defensively.

“What do you like about her? Her charming jokes? Her ladylike manner? Look, Gino can be pretty tough to take, but I’m stuck with Gino. He’s my father. But Helen—”

“I like your father.”

“You don’t have to be polite, Anne. I always say, you can’t pick your relatives—but you can pick your friends.”

“Allen, that’s a terrible thing to say.”

“Why? I’m just being honest. If I met Gino and he wasn’t related to me, I’d find him loud and obnoxious. I might admire his business ability, just as I admire Helen’s talent on the stage. But socially I can do without either of them. Once we’re married, we’re going to find a whole new set of people, the right people. I’ll explain it better tonight.”

Her head had begun to throb with a hammering headache. “Allen, I’ve had very little sleep. I think I’ll have to beg off tonight. I want to go home after work and fall into bed.”

“That’s another thing we’ve got to discuss. How long do you intend to hang on to that job? Right up till the day we get married?”

“I want to work, Allen—and I don’t want to get married. I’ve told you that.”

He forced a light laugh. “You are tired. All right, I’ll give you a night off. But Anne ... I know I promised not to rush you, but start thinking about marriage. Just think ... that’s all I ask.”

The day dragged on. The Longworth Agency called again. She told them she was not interested in becoming a Longworth model. Yes, she would call them if she ever changed her mind.

Henry came in after lunch. She brought the mail into his office, but he tossed it aside. “Sit down.” He lit a cigarette. “Well, we got good reviews on the Ed Holson show, but the sonofabitch is murder.”

“The show or Ed Holson?” She leaned her head against the leather chair and massaged her temples.

“Holson. What do you do when you have a lush for a client? A goddam genius, but a lush!” He shook his head. “Got stoned right after the show, in front of the sponsor. Naturally, I had to pretend it had never happened before. Twenty thousand a week and he gets drunk with the sponsor. And I was lucky—he was on one of his polite drunks. When he gets on a rude drunk he starts calling people Jew bastards.”

“Why do you handle him?”

“Figure out what twenty-five per cent of twenty thousand a week comes to, and you’ll have your answer. He also happens to be a real talent. I pick friends that I like, clients for their talent.”

Her headache had spread. It was banging at the backs of her eyes. “I guess it is hard to have integrity in everything,” she said wearily.

“This has nothing to do with personal integrity. This is business integrity. You pick the best, and you can’t let your feelings count. The minute you start thinking with your heart instead of your head you’ll get clobbered.”

The private phone on his desk began to ring. “Hello. Oh, hello, honey, how’s everything going? Yeah, sure I saw it. You looked good, baby. Sure, she’s sitting right here.” He handed the phone to Anne. She stared at him questioningly. “It’s Helen,” he said.

“Hi!” Helen yelled cheerfully. “How’s the working girl?”

“A little tired.”

“Me too. I had to be at rehearsal at ten. I just took a five-minute break. Listen—there’s a new show opening at the Copa tonight. I called Gino and suggested the four of us go and he was all for it. We’ll catch the second show. That’ll give us both time to take a little nap first.”

“Does Allen know?”

“How should I know?” Helen paused, and the little-girl voice came on. “Don’t you wanna go to the Copa, Annie?”

“Well ... yes, I guess it would be fun. Especially if I get a little rest first.”

“Sure. And get dressed real fancy—everyone will be there.”

“You mean a long dress?”

“Nah, just a short gussy one. And please, a fur jacket. That camel-hair job has to go!”

“I have a black coat ....” Anne looked up suddenly. Lyon Burke had entered the office.

“Fine. Oh, and when you get home you’ll find a little present from me.”

“A present? But why?”

“It’s a happy-happy. Well, I gotta go back and make a buck.” The phone clicked.

“Anne is Helen Lawson’s new pal,” Henry said to Lyon.

Lyon sat down and stretched his legs. “Anne’s from sturdy New England stock. She’ll survive.”

Anne smiled faintly. “I’m almost getting tired of saying this, but I happen to genuinely like Helen Lawson.”

“Good,” Henry said briskly. “Helen needs a real friend. Deep down I think she’s very lonely.”

Lyon laughed. “Helen has a new friend every season.”

“She’s never had a real one,” Henry insisted. “Most women try to use Helen, even make fun of her on the side. She went up too fast to learn the little niceties. Half the broads in town start with no knowledge of taste or manners. But they learn—in chorus dressing rooms, from other girls—they learn what books to read, or say they’ve read, how to dress. And by the time they make it they’ve smoothed out the rough edges. Helen spent a couple of years singing in a speakeasy. She learned nothing. Then in her first show she shot up like a skyrocket. And people accept anything from someone who’s a hit. Helen was suddenly too big for anyone to tell her how to dress, how to talk. They laughed good-naturedly at her gutter language and made her feel it was colorful. Stick with her, Anne, she needs someone like you.”

Henry’s phone buzzed. The receptionist announced the call. Henry nodded and handed it to Anne. “Allen.”

“I can take it outside,” she said quickly. Henry waved his hand. “Relax, you’re with friends.”

She took the telephone, conscious that Lyon was watching her.

“You were too tired to have a quiet dinner with me!” Allen’s voice crackled over the wire. “Now I hear we’re all going to the Copa.”

“Helen and Gino arranged it,” she said lamely.

“I get it. I’m easy to brush, but you can’t say no to Helen. What are you, celebrity happy?”

“Allen, I’m in Mr. Bellamy’s office. If you like, we’ll cancel tonight.”

“No ... wait a minute. I didn’t mean to sound off. We’ll go.”

Henry’s private phone began to ring.

“I’ll talk to you later, Allen.”

“Anne, I’m sorry. I realize you work for Henry and she’s his client. But after tonight, let’s lose her. If you have to see her, then go shopping together, have lunch together—but keep her out of my life.”

Henry was holding the phone. It had to be Helen.

“Allen, I’ll see you tonight.” She hung up.

Henry handed her the other phone. “Looks like we’ll have to get her a private secretary,” Henry said with a wink at Lyon.

“Hey, what’s your address?” Helen sang out. “I got to have it so the happy-happy can be delivered.”

Anne told her.

“Oh shit, there’s no pencil here. Wait—”

“Helen,” Anne said quickly. “Ask Neely O’Hara.”

“Who?”

“Neely O’Hara. She’s in your show. We live in the same building. She’ll write it down for you.”

“What does she do? In the chorus?”

“Yes. Originally she was part of The Gaucheros.”

There was a slight pause. “Oh, that one.”

“She’s a very close friend of mine, Helen. She’s only seventeen. She’s just dancing in the show, but she can sing, too. She’s really very talented.”

“Okay,” Helen said brightly. “I’ll get it from her. You say she sings, huh? Maybe I can swing something for her. She had a rough deal. Honest, I had nothing to do with it. But never mind .... maybe I can do something now. I got an idea.”

Anne returned to her desk and lost herself in her work. Her head was still throbbing when the day finally dragged to an end. When she got home, she ran up the stairs, thinking only of a nap. Neely’s door was wide open. She dashed out and followed Anne up the stairs.

“I’m really tired, Neely. We’ll talk later.”

“I won’t stay. I just want to see the expression on your face when you see Helen’s present. It’s in your room. I called the super from rehearsal and had him unlock your door.”

Anne looked around her room. She saw no package, nothing new anywhere.

“There!” Neely pointed to the rickety night table. Anne stared stupidly at a shiny black telephone.

“She’s paying for the installation and for the first two months’ bill. She said after that you’ll probably be married to Allen.”

“But I can’t let her do this.”

“Listen, she’s already done it. I don’t know, Anne ... maybe you have put some kind of a hex on her. She sure was nice to me after you told her I was your friend.” Then, as Anne smiled, Neely snapped, “But it doesn’t change things. I still think she’s a beast!”

******

The Copa was a repetition of the previous evening. All the attention gyrated around Helen. Her shrill laughter; the cheerful, raucous voice calling out to everyone she knew; Gino urging her on, replenishing her champagne. Warmed by Helen’s personal attention, exhilarated by a second glass of champagne, Anne became a participating member in the good-natured camaraderie. Allen remained aloof and taciturn.

“We’ll drop Annie first,” Helen announced when they finally settled in the limousine.

“Yes, I am the nearest,” Anne said quickly, avoiding Allen’s demanding eyes. When the car stopped in front of her brownstone, she leaped out without waiting for the chauffeur to help with the door. “Stay where you are,” she told Allen. “It’s freezing out.” She waved and ran quickly up the steps, aware that Allen’s jaw was clamped sullenly, his displeasure obvious even in the gray darkness.

Twenty minutes later her new phone jangled with its first cry of life.

“I had to initiate it,” Helen said cheerfully. “Did I wake you?”

“No ... I’m in bed, though.” She felt positively luxurious. Even in Lawrenceville, a phone by the bed was unheard of.

“It was fun, huh?”

“I had a wonderful time. One of the best evenings of my life.”

“Yeah ...” Helen paused. Then her voice changed. “Annie, I’m not getting anywhere with Gino.”

“He had a wonderful time,” Anne said truthfully.

“But he didn’t even try to kiss me good night,” Helen whined. “We dropped Sonny Boy off after you. I was positive he’d ask to come up for a nightcap. I snuggled against him and said I had a bottle of Dom Perignon on ice. But when he reached my place he just slapped me on the back and said, ‘Good night, sport.’”

“Well ...” Anne groped for the right words. “That shows he has respect for you.”

“Who wants respect? I want to get laid!”

Anne’s gasp was audible, but Helen went right on. “Look, angel, when you’ve been around as long as I have, you’ll know that’s the only way a guy shows you he’s hung on you.”

“You can’t mean that, Helen. In fact it’s just the opposite.”

“Opposite my ass! How else can he show it?”

“By taking you out, spending time with you—having fun together.”

“Are you kidding? In my book, if a guy digs you he wants to jump in the feathers with you. Even that bastard Red Ingram, my last husband—why, he leaped on me the first night we met. After we got married he slowed up a little, to maybe three, four times a week. Then it got to once a month, then nothing. That’s when I put detectives on him and found he was cheating on me.”

“But Helen, I’ve had tons of dates with Allen and he’s never ... tried to get fresh.”

“Stop the shit!” For a moment the silence was heavy. Then Helen broke it with her little-girl voice. “Now don’t be mad, Annie-pie. I believe you. But Jesus, don’t you want to? I mean, how do you know you’ll like marriage with the guy? He may be lousy in the kip. You’re going to have a trial run first, aren’t you?”

“I certainly am not.” This time Helen was momentarily silenced. Then in a hard voice strangely tinged with admiration, she said, “Then it’s just his loot that interests you.”

“I went with Allen for six weeks when I thought he was just a poor little insurance agent.”

A slight pause. “Well, what the hell—you one of those frigid dames?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Whaddaya mean think! Next thing you’ll be telling me you’re a virgin. Anne? You still on? Oh, Jesus, I bet you are a virgin at that.”

“You make it sound like a disease.”

“No, but even at twenty most girls aren’t ... I mean, hell, if you dig a guy, you want him to jump on you. You can’t wait.”

“Is that the way you feel about Gino?”

“Sure—and I’m not even in love with him yet. But I could be.”

“Well, give it a little time,” Anne said wearily.

“I’ll try tomorrow night. There’s an opening at La Martinique.”

“Do you have a date with him?”

“Not yet. I’ll call him at the office tomorrow and make one.”

“Helen ... why not wait?”

“For what?”

“Give him a chance to call you.”

“But suppose I wait and he doesn’t call.”

“But you wouldn’t want to go out with him if you were forcing it, would you?”

She could hear Helen yawn. “Why not? Sometimes you get to be a habit with a guy whether he started out wanting you or not.”

Anne felt Gino could not put off Adele three nights in a row. But most of all, she did not want Helen to be humiliated. “Helen, do me a favor. Don’t call Gino tomorrow. Give him a chance to call you.”

“Suppose he doesn’t?”

“He might not. He might not call for several days—even a week.”

“A week! Aw no, I’m not waiting that long!”

“You might not have to. But try it ... don’t call tomorrow. Maybe Gino isn’t up to three nights in a row.”

“All right.” Helen sighed. “But I still think my way is best. I’ll give him a day to call me. Only I wanted to go to the opening of La Martinique.”

“Isn’t there someone else who can take you?”

“Oh, I can always scare up someone. My designer will take me, or Bobby Eaves, my accompanist. But they’re both fags. That’s the trouble—no real men these days. Plenty of fags, but no men. I hate to go to an opening with a faggot. It’s like wearing a sign: ‘This is all I could get.’”

“I would think you could have your pick of men.”

“That’s what every girl thinks when she first hits New York. It used to be like that, in the good old days when they had Prohibition. I guess they knew what they were doing making booze legal, but it sure was a great time. The speakeasies were great—places like the Park Avenue Club, The Ha-Ha. There’s no night life any more. I liked the days when you dressed, when Eddy Duchin played in the Casino-in-the Park, when Society Charlies sat at ringsides of speaks, when you went to Harlem for breakfast. In those days Tony thought nothing of handing out fifty-dollar tips. Today, if a guy gives you a quarter to go to the can he thinks he’s a big spender. God, how I loved that Tony! Now there was a man!”

“I thought you said Frankie was the only man you ever loved.”

“He was. Tony was exciting—a great guy in the kip—but he was a shit at heart. Frankie was good and kind and ...” Suddenly Helen began to sob. “Oh Annie, I did love Frankie ... honest ... he was the only man I ever loved. And now he’s gone.”

“But Helen, at least you had the real thing once,” Anne stammered.

“I guess so ...” Helen seemed appeased. “I guess I was lucky having one guy I really loved. Some women never have that.”

“Didn’t you love Henry?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you were in love with Henry Bellamy, weren’t you?” But somehow Anne sensed she had said the wrong thing.

“Did he tell you that?” Helen’s voice was cold.

Anne was shaken by the incredible change of tone. In an instant the warm intimacy of their friendship had vanished.

“No, I just assumed it from the warm way he spoke about you,” Anne said evenly. Her head was spinning with confusion and fatigue.

“Hey, wait a minute! Jesus, you’re touchy. Sure, I knew Henry way back. But why can’t people forget it? We went to bed together, but it meant nothing. To me, anyway. I never dug him that way. But I was young and Henry was important for my career and there was no one else I could be seen with and—oh, hell, that’s ancient history. I sometimes forget there was ever anything like that between us. But he’s still my business manager, so for Christ’s sake don’t you ever tell him this.”

“Now Helen, why should I? I like Henry. I wouldn’t want to hurt him.”

Helen yawned. “Funny, about a year ago we went out. I was depressed, so Henry came home with me. And we decided to try it for old times sake. Nothing! I couldn’t pretend, and Henry couldn’t get it up. Well, after all, Henry’s getting on—he’s in his fifties. I guess it’s not easy to put starch in his lob.”

Anne muffled an involuntary exclamation. Then she said “But Gino’s in his fifties ...”

“He’s Italian, and those wops got real fire in them all the time. There’s nothing like a wop in the kip. That Gino! I can’t wait! Listen, I’m gonna call him now and say good night to him. . . make him dream of me.”

“Helen! You can’t! It’s four in the morning. You’ll wake him.”

“Nope, because outta the blue just now, I thought of him. Know what that means? It means he’s thinking of me. Whenever you think of someone out of the blue like that it means the other person is thinking of you.”

“This was not out of the blue,” Anne said sternly. Helen’s warmth had restored her confidence in their friendship. “We’ve been talking about Gino on and off for almost an hour. You just can’t call him now, Helen.”

“All right,” Helen promised. “I’ll listen to you. I’ll wait till he calls me.”

“That’s right.”

“Okay, angel,” Helen said sleepily. “Talk to you tomorrow. Sleep well ...”

******

Three days passed and Gino didn’t call. Helen impressed this on Anne several times a day. She called at the office, she called when Anne was dressing to meet Allen, she called at two in the morning.

Neely was also pressing her for advice. She was going to Brooklyn to have dinner with Mel’s family. She dragged out her entire wardrobe; Anne had to help with the decision. Naturally she knew the purple taffeta was the right thing. She just wanted to be sure. A violent argument ensued when Anne insisted on a tan wool. “Geez, that’s two years old.” They argued about it endlessly. Neely finally gave in and went off in the tan wool, much against her better judgment.

The office was filled with the activity of the Ed Holson radio show. But Anne was exhilarated with all the excitement around her. She was busy with her work; Henry needed her; Helen and Neely needed her; she was climbing Mount Everest and the air was invigorating and wonderful. Even if every second verged on crisis, this was part of living—not just watching from the sidelines.

On the fourth day of Gino’s silence, Helen demanded action. “Listen, I don’t care how busy he is,” she shouted on the phone. “If a guy digs you, he can at least get on the horn to say hello.”

“Well ... maybe I was wrong. I mean ... maybe he doesn’t care,” Anne said carefully. Allen had tickets for the theatre. It was late and she wanted to get home and change.

“He dug me, I can feel it,” Helen said stubbornly. “I’m gonna call him now.”

“Helen, please ...”

“Listen. Your advice is for the birds. I been winding up with nothing listening to you.”

“But you said if he cared, he’d call ...” Anne said patiently.

“I let it go too long. If I’da called, by now I’d be a habit with him. Christ! That’s the story of my life. I always get kicked in the ass ...” She began to sob. “Honest, Anne—the minute I’m nice to a guy he dumps me. I been hurt more than any girl alive. I’ve got nothin’. I just work, work, work—make money for everybody—and I’m so alone. I thought Gino liked me. You said so too that night at Morocco. Why hasn’t he called, Annie?”

Anne’s heart rushed out to the woman. She felt a sense of responsibility—she had introduced them. It wasn’t right for Gino not to call even once. It wouldn’t hurt him to see her once in a while. He should be flattered.

“Helen, give it one more day ... please.”

That night after the theatre Anne suggested going to El Morocco. Gino was at his usual table. He waved at them effusively and insisted they join him. Adele was glowing in the new mink, her arm possessively linked through Gino’s. Anne suddenly wondered what she had hoped to accomplish. She had forgotten how beautiful Adele was. Ronnie Wolfe joined them. Adele mentioned a new nightclub that was opening the following evening; Gino enthusiastically formed a party, inviting Anne and Allen along.

It had been a mistake coming to Morocco. Why had she come? Had she hoped, in some crazy way, that seeing her might remind Gino of Helen? She watched his hand caress Adele’s shoulder and thought of Helen, with her bloated face and figure. She ached with compassion for the middle-aged star.

“C’mon, Anne, dance with me.” It was Gino, hauling his robust form from behind the table. “I never yet danced with my son’s intended.” He winked at Ronnie Wolfe. “Can’t pass up a chance like this.”

After they had circled the floor and Gino had nodded to everyone he knew, he said quietly, “Listen, Anne, you gotta do me a favor. Get that Lawson dame off my back.”

“I don’t understand ...” She forced herself to sound innocent.

“She called me tonight. Wants to know when we’re going on the town again. You know what—she had the nerve to ask if I was sick because I hadn’t called.”

“But why haven’t you called? I thought you liked her.”

“Sure. She’s a good Joe. I liked taking her out. She was a lot of laughs. I’d take her out again—if that was all she wanted.”

Anne’s voice was cool. “I think you’re reading something into it that doesn’t exist.”

“Anne ...” He lowered his voice. “I wasn’t gonna tell you this, but you got to know so’s you’ll understand. After we dropped you and Allen that night, that old bat practically touched my—my privates ... and begged me to come up for a nightcap. I pretended not to understand. Boy, I ran for my life!” He shuddered at the memory.

“I think she’s ... attractive,” Anne said lamely.

“That’s because she’s old enough to be your mother and you got respect for older people and respect for her talent. But listen, Anne, to a man she’s not attractive. Oh sure, when she’s on a stage and belts out a song, no one can touch her. But when it comes to romance ...” He glanced over to the table at Adele. “I’m only interested in the body in my arms.”

Anne took a deep breath. She couldn’t stand the thought of seeing Helen humiliated by such total rejection. With a little time—and with the play going out of town—Helen would probably forget him. But at the moment, Helen’s pride was at stake.

“I’m surprised at you, Gino,” she said quietly. “A man like you ... a man who has created an empire. You mean you can fall in love with a girl just because she has a pretty face? Why, Helen Lawson is a living legend. She’s someone you should be proud to be seen with. Someone of stature.”

“Look, honey, you got this all wrong. Who said anything about love? Do you think I’m in love with that featherbrained broad over there? I was in love once—with Allen’s mother. She was a lady. But when a man my age thinks about love, then he’s in for trouble. Who needs love now? I just want a girl who’s pretty, who has a good body. She doesn’t have to have brains or be a legend. She just has to look good and satisfy me. And I pay my part of the tab with a few furs and trinkets to keep her happy.” He shrugged. “What do I want with Helen Lawson? She’s like a bull in heat. Now Anne, do me a favor—call her off my back or I’ll have to insult her.”

“But you will go to New Haven for her opening?”

“New Haven?”

“Gino ... you suggested it. You promised!”

“New Haven. Jesus, that’s hours on a train. I must a been drunk. Look—she wasn’t too hot for us coming there anyway. Tell her I’ll come to Philadelphia.”

“Will you?” “No, but that’s a long time off. I’ll think of something by then.”

“No, Gino. She’s a friend of mine. I won’t be part of a deception like that.”

“All right, then I’ll tell her. I’ll tell her she’s an old cow and to leave me alone.”

“If you do that I’ll never forgive you.” Anne’s voice was quiet, but her eyes were dark with anger.

Gino looked at her. He smiled. “Anne, Anne. What do you want from me? I don’t want to hurt her. But I can’t be a loverboy with her, either.”

“You can go to Philadelphia for the opening.”

“And then what? It’ll only encourage her.”

“I wouldn’t take myself that seriously,” Anne said coldly. “You’re a very attractive man, but I hardly think Helen will wither from your neglect. It’s just that I introduced you, and when someone makes a promise I think it should be kept. Once her show opens on Broadway you’ll have to stand on line at the stage door to see her.”

“Okay, okay. God forbid I should cause a situation with a coming member of my family. I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll go to Philly—there’s a late train I can take back the same night—but only if you promise to get her off my back until then. Is that a deal?”

“All right, Gino, it’s a deal.”

******

Helen had been even more difficult. Anne invented a story about Gino being involved with some new business deal. He was too busy to see her, but he would come to Philadelphia for the opening.

“Whaddaya mean he’s in the middle of a business deal?” Helen had shrieked. “What the hell do you think I’m doing, peeling potatoes?”

“But you wanted him to come to Philadelphia rather than New Haven.”

“Yeah, but this jazz about a business deal. Listen, no matter how busy I am, if I like someone I can find time to see him.”

“Well, then forget Gino,” Anne said wearily. “He’s not worth all this trouble.”

“But I need a guy—and I don’t have anyone, Annie.” Her voice was small. “So I’ve just gotta get Gino.”

“Helen, maybe Gino doesn’t really want a steady girl ...”

“Sure he does. I got all the dirt on him. He goes with a showgirl, a big broad named Adele something.”

“You know that?”

“Sure, I read the columns. But look, he took me out while he was going with her, didn’t he? So he’s not that hot for her. I heard he’s been keeping her for about six months, but you notice he hasn’t asked her to quit her show to spend full time with him. So I figure he’s ready for a change. And it’s gonna be me! We had a ball both nights we were together. I could tell he digs me. I think maybe because of who I am he’s a little afraid—the legend and all that shit. I’m gonna call him now!”

“Helen!”

“Well for Chrissake! So he’ll say no and I won’t see him tonight. Just sitting and not calling isn’t gonna bring him to me.”

“Helen, he’s coming to Philadelphia.”

“How can I be sure?”

“Because Allen and I are also going. I promise you he’ll be there.”

“Okay.” Helen was cheerful again. “Maybe it’s for the best. The next ten days will be kind a hectic. And there’ll be a big party after the opening in Philly. Gino and I will make a fast appearance and then sneak off to my suite and have a ball. Boy, Annie, once I get him in the feathers ...”

******

The week before “Getaway Day,” as Neely tagged the New Haven opening, was one never-ending crisis. The office was filled with hysterical meetings on the Ed Holson show as writers came and went. Helen called several times a day, sometimes just to chat, but mostly to complain about Gino. He’d been at El Morocco with Adele Martin three nights in a row—her designer had seen them. What was with his business deal?

“But Helen ... he doesn’t have to meet her until after eleven. Perhaps it was just for a quick drink.”

“I’d meet him for a quick drink.”

“I’m sure he thinks too much of you to make you wait around like that ...” Then, in the middle of the chaos, Allen took a sudden stand. With Helen temporarily out of the picture, they had returned to their easy relationship. They were at the Stork Club; she was idly stirring a wooden stick in champagne and making a pretense of sipping it.

Suddenly he said, “Anne. How long does this go on?”

“What do you mean?”

“When are we going to get married?”

“Married?” She repeated the word tonelessly.

“Well, it has been the general idea.”

“But Allen ... I thought you understood. I mean ...”

“I said I’d wait. And I’ve waited. It’s been a month.”

“Allen, I don’t want to get married.”

When he spoke his eyes were strange. “I’d like to know something. To settle it in my own mind. Is it marriage you dislike—or me?”

“You know I don’t dislike you. I think you’re very nice.”

“Oh, God ...” It was a groan.

“I can’t say I love you if I don’t,” she said miserably.

“Tell me something. Have you ever loved anyone?”

“No, but—”

“Do you think you’re capable of loving someone?”

“Of course!”

“But it isn’t me.”

She swizzled the champagne again and stared at the bubbles. She couldn’t bear to see his eyes.

“Anne, I think you’re afraid of sex.”

This time she looked at him. “I suppose you’re going to tell me that I’m unawakened ... that you will change all that.”

“Exactly.”

She sipped the champagne to avoid his eyes.

“I suppose you’ve been told this before,” he said.

“No, I’ve heard it in some very bad movies.”

“Dialogue is often trite because it’s real. And it’s easier to sneer at the truth.”

“The truth?”

“That you’re afraid of life—and living.”

“Is that what you think? Just because I’m not rushing into marriage with you?” There was a hint of a smile in her eyes.

“Do you think it’s natural to reach twenty and still be a virgin?”

“Virginity isn’t an affliction.”

“Not in Lawrenceville, maybe. But then you said you don’t want to be like the people in Lawrenceville. So let me give you a few facts. Most girls of twenty aren’t virgins. In fact, most of them have gone to bed with guys they weren’t even crazy about. Their curiosity and natural sex drive led them to try it. I don’t think you’ve ever even had a decent necking session with a guy. How can you know you don’t like something if you haven’t tried it? Don’t you ever have any urges or feelings about anything? Isn’t there anyone you ever unbend with? Have you ever thrown your arms around anyone? Man, woman or child? Anne, I’ve got to break through to you. I love you. I can’t allow you to shrivel away into another New England old maid.” He grabbed her hands. “Look—forget me for a minute. Isn’t there someone you care about? Sometimes I want to shake you, to see if I can’t rattle some feeling into that perfect face of yours. Didn’t last Thursday mean anything to you?”

“Thursday?” Her mind raced back.

“It was Thanksgiving, Anne. We celebrated it at ’21.’ Jesus, doesn’t anything reach you? I was hoping you’d invite me home to Lawrenceville for Thanksgiving. I wanted to meet your mother and your aunt.”

“Someone had to be in the office on Friday, and Miss Steinberg went to Pittsburgh to see her family.”

“What about you? You’re an only child. Aren’t you close with your mother? What does she think about us? Do you realize you never mention her?”

She played with the swizzle stick again. In the beginning she had written every week. But her mother’s replies had been forced and dutiful, so after a few letters she had stopped writing. Her mother really wasn’t interested in New York, Neely or Henry Bellamy.

“I phoned my mother after the newspapers carried our engagement.”

“What did she say?”

(“Well, Anne, you probably know what you’re doing. Everyone in Lawrenceville read about it in the Boston papers. I suppose one New York man is the same as any other. No one knows anything about their families. I don’t suppose he’s related to the Coopers in Plymouth?”)

Anne smiled faintly. “She said I knew my own mind. As usual, she was wrong.”

“When will I meet her?”

“I don’t know, Allen.”

“Do you want to work for Henry Bellamy the rest of your life? Is that the height of your ambition?”

“No ...”

“What do you want, Anne?”

“I don’t know. I only know what I don’t want to do! I don’t want to go back to Lawrenceville. I’d rather die.” She shuddered. “I don’t want to get married—until I fall in love. And I do want to fall in love. Allen, I want that desperately. And I want children. I want a daughter. I want to love her ... be close to her ...”

He beamed at her. “Good girl. This is the most you’ve opened up since I’ve known you. You may not love me, but you want everything I want. We’ll have that little girl—now, no objections.” He put his fingers to her lips as she tried to speak. “And that little girl will go to the best schools and make a debut. With your looks and background, I’ll get us to the people we should know. I’ll get a social press agent, and we’ll play up your family background. You watch—we’ll really move. Newport, Palm Beach—no more Miami for me, no more Copa.”

“But I don’t love you, Allen ...”

“You don’t love anyone. But I saw a spark in your eyes when you said you wanted to be in love ... wanted to have a child. It’s there, buried, just waiting to get out. You’re the kind who will be a wild woman in bed once you’ve tried it—”

“Allen!”

He smiled. “Now don’t knock anything you haven’t tried. I don’t like to brag, but I’ve been around. I’ll arouse you. I’ll have you begging for more—”

“I won’t sit and listen to this!”

“All right. I won’t say another word. I won’t press you about marriage . . . until Christmas. We’ll set a date then.”

“No, Allen ...”

“I always get what I want, Anne—and I want you. I want you to love me. And you will! Now—not another word until Christmas.”

******

That had happened on Tuesday.

On Wednesday the cast of Hit the Sky left for New Haven to prepare for the Friday night opening.

On Thursday Henry Bellamy said, “Oh by the way, Anne, we’re taking the one o’clock train tomorrow for New Haven. I’ve booked a room for you at the Taft Hotel.”

“Me?”

“Don’t you want to go? Lyon and I have to make the opening, and I took it for granted you’d want to be there. After all, Helen is your buddy, and you’re also friendly with the little O’Hara kid who’s in the show.”

“I’d love it! I’ve never been to an opening.”

“Well, fasten your seat belt, because there’s nothing like a New Haven opening.”

December, 1945

They met at Grand Central Station. It was a cold, brisk day. Henry looked puffy and tired under his clean shave. Lyon Burke greeted her with a warm, quick smile.

They settled in the parlor car; both men opened attaché cases and hunched over contracts and legal papers. The train ride was merely an extension of their usual working day.

Anne tried to concentrate on her magazine. The bright sunlight that flashed through the window disclosed the wintry bareness of the countryside. It made her think of Lawrenceville. In New York you forgot how cold and bleak winter could be. The neon lights, the moving crowds, the taxi-filled streets stampeded the snow into slush and the slush into gray water that quickly disappeared and you forgot about the bare, desolate ground of the outside world. The loneliness of winter. The long evenings sitting in the large, clean kitchen with Mother and Aunt Amy. Or the occasional trips to the movies, or the bowling alley, or to play bridge. O God, she prayed, thank You for giving me the strength to run. Never make me go back—never!

When they pulled into the dark station at New Haven, both attaché cases snapped closed and the men stood to stretch their legs. Henry’s face took on a look of tired apprehension.

“Well, here we go—into the line of fire,” he said.

Lyon took Anne’s arm. “Come, my girl, you’re going to enjoy your first opening in New Haven. We won’t let Henry spoil it for you.”

“I’ve been to New Haven fifty times,” Henry said mournfully, “and I always forget how much I hate it until I get here. New Haven is always a trouble city. Except with a Helen Lawson show—then it’s total disaster!”

The Taft Hotel looked gloomy and forbidding. “Wash up and meet us in the bar,” Henry told her. “And if I were you I wouldn’t call Helen. She’s a killer in New Haven. She’s probably still at the theatre. I’ll go on over and check in with her. It’s right next door.”

Anne unpacked her bag quickly. The room was small and depressing. But nothing could dampen her exuberance. She felt like a girl on her first trip alone, and she was filled with a sense of expectancy—as if at any moment something very wonderful could happen.

She went to the small window and looked down on the street. The early winter darkness was closing in on the city, and street lamps began to show in the grayness. Across from the hotel a neon sign on a small restaurant flickered uncertainly. She turned quickly at the shrill ring of the phone.

It was Neely. “I just got back from rehearsal. Mr. Bellamy was at the theatre to see Helen. He told me you were here! I’m so thrilled!”

“So am I. How’s it going?”

“Awful!” Neely gasped in her breathless way. “Last night we had a dress rehearsal that lasted till four in the morning. Helen is trying to cut another number from Terry King. Terry ran out of the theatre in a fit, and her agent arrived this afternoon for a showdown with Gil Case. Terry says Helen can’t cut the song. And the dance with The Gaucheros is awful. I bet it gets cut and Charlie and Dick get the sack,” Neely added cheerfully.

“It sounds awful. Is Helen back yet?”

“No, she’s still at the theatre locked in her dressing room with Henry Bellamy. I don’t see how they’ll work it all out.”

“You mean the show won’t open tonight!”

“Oh, they’ll get the curtain up somehow,” Neely said happily. “But it’ll be a doozy. Hey Anne, Mel is here.”

“He probably took the same train we did.”

“No, he came up last night.” After a pause Neely said, “Anne ... I ...we did it.”

“Did what?”

“You know.”

“Neely ... you mean ...?”

“Uh huh. It hurt a lot and I didn’t come. But Mel made me come the other way.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He went down on me.”

“Neely!”

“Now Anne, stop acting so prissy. Just because you’re not hot for Allen doesn’t mean I’m a tramp. I happen to be in love with Mel.”

“And that makes it right.”

“You’re darn right it does! We both want each other. Nowadays people don’t get married just to do it. Mel respects me and loves me just as much today as he did yesterday. Even more, because now he really loves me. And I love him. Besides, we can’t get married yet. He helps support his folks. But if the show’s a hit and I can count on my hundred a week, then we’ll get married.”

“But Neely ... what you did ...” Anne choked with embarrassment.

“You mean let him go down on me? Listen, Mel says anything two people do together when they’re in love is normal. And besides, it feels sensational! Oh, Geez, I can hardly wait until tonight. And Anne ... when he touches my breast I can feel it down there. I bet coming the other way won’t be half as great—”

“Neely, for God’s sake!”

“Wait till it happens to you. You’ll see. See you after the show. Watch for me. I have three lines in the second scene.”

******

Lyon was waiting at a table in the bar. “Henry’s still at the theatre.” He grimaced in sympathy. “I ordered a ginger ale for you. Right?”

She looked at the glass with a smile. “Maybe I should learn to sip at a Scotch. I feel even the waiters stare at me with disapproval.”

“Then stare right back. Never let anyone shame you into doing anything you don’t choose to do. Keep your identity.”

“I don’t think I have an identity yet.”

“Everyone has an identity. One of their own, and one for show. I rather think you enjoy playing the passive Girl Friday role for show while you look for the real you.”

“I recall that you said I was a fighter ...”

“I think you are—but for others.”

She sipped at her ginger ale. He offered her a cigarette. “Have I said the wrong thing?”

“No, I think you’ve hit on a very big truth.” Then she looked up brightly. “But I did fight for one thing. I—”

“Yes, you came to New York. But tell me, Anne, is that going to be the one glorious achievement in your life?”

“What about you?” Her eyes suddenly flashed in anger. “The war is over. Life goes on. Are you going to fight again?”

“I’m fighting right now,” he said quietly.

“I never seem to say anything light and airy when I’m with you,” she said wryly. “But I didn’t start it this time. And I think I will have a Scotch.”

He signaled the captain and got two drinks. She raised the glass in a toast. “Perhaps if I down this I can say something that will make you laugh.”

“I’ll be delighted to laugh. And you needn’t drink the Scotch.”

She gulped down half the drink. Then she said weakly, “It tastes awful and I still can’t think of anything funny to say.”

He took the glass from her. “Why is it important to make me laugh?”

“I saw you that night at La Ronde—with Jennifer North. You were laughing a great deal. I thought about it ...” She reached for the drink. What was she saying? She took another swallow.

“Go ahead, finish the drink. It was a good idea at that. At least you’re fighting for yourself now.”

“And what are you fighting for, Lyon?”

“You.”

Their eyes met. “You don’t have to fight,” she said quietly.

He took her hand quickly. Allen’s diamond cut into her finger with almost a personal rage of its own. But she made no sign that she felt its sharp edge. Lyon’s eyes were close ...

“Well, I can see you two have had a few.” Henry Bellamy was striding cheerfully toward them. He motioned the waiter for a drink.

Anne withdrew her hand hastily. The ring had actually cut into her flesh. Henry sat down and sighed.

“Go back to your handholding,” he said nonchalantly. “Don’t let me stop you. Hell, you’re both young, enjoy it. I mean it—when you’re young you think you’ll always be young. Then one day you suddenly wake up and you’re over fifty. And the names in the obituary columns are no longer anonymous old people. They’re your contemporaries and friends.” The drink arrived. He drained it without stopping for breath.

“Come on, Henry,” Lyon said, laughing. “Nothing can be that bad.” He reached under the table and recaptured Anne’s hand with a warm intimacy.

“It’s worse,” Henry insisted. “In fact, this one promises to be the daddy of them all. Either Helen’s getting tougher or I’m getting older.”

“Helen’s always a barracuda until the show opens in New York,” Lyon said easily.

Henry pulled out a notebook and stared at a scribbled list. “Want to hear a few beefs? And these are just for openers. Bad light on rhythm number; second scene evening dress stinks; orchestra too loud on ballad; Terry King’s ballad holds up show and she sings it like a dirge; dream sequence chorus number too long; all my songs end with blackout—want to take my bows in one; want ballad with guy made into solo for me—he’s tone-deaf; Terry King plays part too tough, throws show off balance.” He shook his head and signaled for another drink.

“God, I hate this bar,” he said, looking around and waving affably to a few agents and producers who had arrived for the opening. “I hate every sonofabitch who comes up here hoping to see a flop.” He smiled at someone across the room. “And Gil Case draws them all. They love to see a ‘gentleman’ producer flop. He’s crammed that Harvard background down their throats so much ...” He sighed again. “This is the most miserable bar in the world, and I’ve spent some of the most miserable nights of my life in it.”

Anne and Lyon exchanged an intimate smile. She looked around. It was the most beautiful room in the world. If I could just hold this moment, she told herself. No matter what happens to me the rest of my life, this will be the happiest moment I will ever know.

They had a quick dinner in the old-fashioned hotel dining room. Henry and Lyon knew almost everyone in the room. None of the cast was present. They were busily grabbing a sandwich in their rooms and resetting limp hair. Through the chatter and excitement she watched Lyon constantly. Occasionally their eyes would meet and hold for a quick, personal moment. She could hardly believe this was happening to her ... happening exactly as she had hoped it would ... feeling as she had dreamed she would ...

Henry signaled for the check. “Anne, I can see you’re all nerves before an opening. You haven’t touched your food. Well, you can eat later. Gil Case is having a big spread after the show.”

The theatre was sold out. With the flood of theatrical people on hand, the audience took on the excitement of a New York opening. Anne sat between Lyon and Henry in the third row. The lights went down and the orchestra burst into the overture. Lyon reached for her hand. She returned the pressure, dizzy with happiness.

The show opened with a bright musical number. The costumes were clean, colorful and new; the chorus girls, who had been limp and unattractive just a few hours back, looked beautiful in their peach-colored makeup. Within minutes, the air became charged with the electricity of a hit—an intangible current that passed between the audience and the performers.

When Jennifer North walked on, spotlighted apart from the other girls, an audible gasp rolled through the entire house. She walked slowly, undulating to the music, in a gold-beaded dress that seemed molded to her incredible body.

“Jesus,” Henry hissed under his breath. He leaned across Anne. “Lyon, we can’t miss. Weiss is here from Twentieth, and Meyers is here from Paramount. She’s a cinch for a five-year deal.”

“It will have to be a good one,” Lyon answered. “She’s hung on Tony Polar. She won’t leave him unless the contract is too big to pass up.”

“Tony’ll never marry her. Leave this to me.”

“There’s your little friend,” Lyon said quickly. Anne looked just as Neely disappeared across the stage, accompanied by two chorus boys.

When Helen made her entrance, all action suspended as the audience stampeded a reception that bordered on hysteria. Helen stood quietly, half smiling, and accepted the acclaim. Everyone was on that stage because of her; the theatre was filled because of her; every musician in the pit was there because of her; the book had been written just for her. Protected by footlights, Helen received love on a mass scale. If Gino were here, he’d be screaming and applauding like the others. After the show he would beg Anne to “get her off my back,” but for this moment she was everyone’s love.

It was Helen’s show from start to finish. Each song brought on a new and stronger frenzy of applause. They were no longer an audience, they were a cult, united in the worship of Helen Lawson. The raucous laugh, which made Anne wince in public, seemed wholesome and vibrant across the footlights. Neely sparkled in her tiny bit. Jennifer North reappeared in a new revealing gown, and the audience thundered its approval. Terry King received appreciative applause for her two songs, delivered in a voice sweeter and more appealing than Helen’s. But Helen was compelling; her authority was an art in itself.

“I think Terry is good,” Anne whispered to Lyon. “But she’s no competition for Helen. She’s just an average performer.”

“Unfortunately, her looks are above average,” Lyon answered.

At intermission everyone crowded into the small lobby. Gilbert Case motioned to Henry, and they followed him into the bar next door.

“Gil, it’s Helen’s biggest show,” Henry said, as they all sipped at the weak bar Scotch.

“That’s how I see it, dear boy,” Gil said with a hearty smile. “A little cutting here and there and it comes in exactly as it is. I won’t need Boston; we’ll be able to do it with just four weeks in Philadelphia.”

“Easy. If the cutting is in the right spots.”

They looked at each other silently. Then Case quickly forced a hint of a smile. “Come now, Henry, you know I’m in a bind. I can’t fire Terry King. She’s got a run-of-the-play contract.”

“How did she get that?” Lyon asked.

He shrugged. “An excellent question. Do you think any decent ingenue will sign for a Helen Lawson show without it? Look at the track record. Betty Mobile—fired in Boston. Notices too good. Sherry Haines—part written out in Philly. Notices too good. Need I go on? You can’t get an ingenue for a Helen Lawson show without a run-of-the-play contract. Not unless you’re willing to settle for a pig.”

“Helen won’t let her open in New York, I can tell you that,” Henry said quietly.

“Henry, I beg of you—talk to her,” Gil pleaded. “If I fired Terry, how could I justify it to my backers? I’ve got two more shows lined up for this season. I need those backers. If I fire Terry, I have to pay her four hundred a week until June first, and I have to pay the same salary to the girl who replaces her. With Helen’s salary, plus her percentage ... well, I just can’t take on anything like that.”

“It’ll wind up costing you even more if you keep Terry, plus a lot of aggravation. If Terry King stays, Helen will gripe about the numbers and the orchestrations. You’ll have to book three weeks in Boston. Figure on trucking and traveling, you stand to lose eight thousand a week. Then Helen will suddenly become dissatisfied with all her costumes. She’ll also want you to get outside lyricists. I can see an extra twenty-five thousand right there. But get rid of Terry and Helen will start loving everything about the show, including you, and you’ll come in after Philly. It’s as simple as that.”

Gil shuddered. “Well, there’s always the other way ...”

Henry nodded silently.

Gil sighed. “I’ll give it a try. But I’m getting too old for these executions.”

Henry left a few bills on the bar and they returned to the theatre.

The second act mounted in excitement. Helen belted out two show-stoppers in a row and was forced back for three encores. The show was an electrifying hit; the audience refused to let her leave the stage. They were still applauding when the curtain rang down for the final time.

Henry’s program was marked with curlicues and notations on cuts and changes. His forehead was crinkled as they stood in the crowded lobby.

“You’d think the show was a flop, from your expression,” Anne said gaily.

“No, honey, I just know the battles ahead.” Then he smiled. “It’s her biggest hit so far. She’s topped herself.” He stamped out his cigarette. “Well, let’s fight our way backstage.”

The entrance to Helen’s dressing room looked like a mob scene. The hall was crowded with well-wishers who waited patiently in line to give the star a hurried kiss and a congratulatory compliment. Helen stood at the door, the heavy makeup appearing grotesque up close. She smiled and accepted the accolades with a false heartiness. She saw Henry, Anne and Lyon as they tried to get through the crowd.

“Hi!” she yelled gaily. “Get inside.” She nodded toward the entrance of her dressing room. As Anne passed, Helen whispered, “As soon as I get rid of these crumbs we’ll go to Gil’s party.” Then she turned brightly to the next person waiting in line, flashed her merry smile and continued with her boisterous greetings.

The party was going strong when they arrived, but at Helen’s entrance all activity stopped and everyone turned toward the door. There was a split second of silence that exploded into a frenzied ovation. Helen acknowledged it with a smile and a good-natured wave that commanded the party to return to the festivities at hand. The show’s press agent leaped forward to guide her to the local press and some of the important backers. Lyon led Anne to a quiet corner and brought her a ginger ale and a plate of listless, dry chicken sandwiches.

“There’s hot food across the room,” he said as he settled beside her. “I’ll have a go at it after the crowd clears a bit.”

“I’m not really hungry,” Anne insisted as she nibbled at one of the tasteless sandwiches. Her eyes roved around the room. “I don’t see Neely.”

“I’m afraid only the principals are invited to this party. The chorus and showgirls have their own shindig.”

“Why, that’s awful!”

“Not really. They take up a collection among themselves, get much better sandwiches at the delicatessen, hole up in someone’s room and have a perfectly marvelous time knocking the higher-ups.”

Another hush suddenly enveloped the room. Anne’s eyes automatically swung to the door. Jim Taylor, a leading columnist in New Haven, had just entered with Jennifer North. Each time she saw Jennifer the girl’s incredible beauty came as a fresh surprise. She watched the backers swarm over for an introduction, and once again she was doubly surprised at Jennifer’s warmth, her easy interest in everyone she met.

Helen ambled over and pulled up a chair. “You two are smart, sneaking off in a corner like this. God, how I hate these parties. But it’s Gilbert’s way of paying off the backers. Gives them one night to mingle with Showbiz.” She punctuated the last word with a grin.

Gil Case joined them. “There’s wonderful chicken à la king over there. Chinese food, too.”

“Gil, why do you always serve such shit at these parties?” Helen asked.

“It’s good food. The hotel recommended it.”

“I’m sure they also recommended roast beef—but that’s too expensive.”

“Now Helen,” Gil said pleasantly, “this is your night. Enjoy it.” He disappeared into the milling crowd.

“Hey, Gil!” Helen shrieked. “We got a little talking to do.” She leaped from her chair and followed him.

“He hasn’t a chance,” said Lyon, smiling.

“Do you think she’ll keep at it—about Terry King, I mean?” Anne asked.

“She won’t relent—not an inch.”

“Maybe I should talk to Helen,” Anne said thoughtfully. “Terry King is good. She deserves a chance. And she’s no competition to Helen. I’m sure I could convince her—”

“Anne, don’t try. You’ll have your head snapped off.”

“No, Lyon, we’re friends. That’s the trouble. No one treats Helen like a human being. She’s easy to talk to. I know she’d listen to me.”

He took her hand and looked into her eyes. “I believe you mean it. Anne ... wonderful Anne ... how did anyone as lovely as you get into such a rat race? You only think you know Helen. Underneath the greasepaint there’s cast iron.”

“You’re wrong, Lyon. I do know Helen. I talk to her at night, late, for hours—when the mask is off—and she speaks from the heart. She’s a wonderful woman. The toughness is all put on. No one takes the trouble to dig beneath it.”

He shook his head. “I’ll go along that this sweet side exists—but it isn’t Helen. It’s perhaps one of the small sides of Helen, one that is rarely shown and one that is capable of dissolving at a moment’s notice. But the toughness—that is always there.”

“Oh, Lyon ...”

Suddenly there was a surge to the door. A bellhop entered, his arms burdened with advance copies of the morning papers. Helen grabbed a set and scanned the notices quickly. Gil Case read them aloud.

The show was an unqualified hit. The critics praised the music, raved about the book and riotously acclaimed Helen. She was a living legend, the greatest musical comedy star alive, an accomplished actress, and on and on. Terry King also received a few nice mentions and Jennifer North was rewarded with superlatives on her physical attributes.

Everyone congratulated everyone. Backers walked around with silly smiles, shaking hands and crowding Helen with praise.

“This is a marvelous spot for us to make an exit,” Lyon suggested.

They had just reached the door when Henry blocked the way.

“Going somewhere?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Thought we’d go across to the diner and get some decent food,” Lyon answered.

“Oh no, my boy—you don’t leave me alone with this.”

“With what?” Lyon asked innocently. “The show’s home.”

“Sure. Only Helen insists on an immediate meeting with Gilbert.”

“When?”

“In ten minutes, in Gil’s suite. And I need you, if for nothing more than just moral support.”

Anne covered her disappointment with a smile. “Go on, Lyon. It is late. I’m not really hungry.”

“Not on your life,” he said as he tucked her arm in his. “You know the real Helen. Perhaps you can dig her up for us tonight. We’ll need all the help we can get.”

The atmosphere in Gil Case’s suite offered a violent contrast to the festivities of the party. Helen sat on a couch, sipping at a glass of champagne, sulking with the unflattering childish pout. The stage makeup had caked and run, emphasizing the wrinkles and forming unattractive little cracks on her face.

“This is complete madness!” Gil Case threw his arms to the ceiling in despair. “Here we are, all sitting around as if we’re at a wake, and we’ve got the biggest hit of the season going for us.”

“You bet your ass it’s a hit!” Helen snarled. “Every show I do is a hit. It’s gonna make you a rich man, Gil. You’ll get a big picture sale and I’ll sit back and watch Betty Grable or Rita Hayworth do my part. Okay, that’s the game. But I don’t have to sit back and watch a little whore like Terry King get a Hollywood ticket through my efforts.”

“Helen, she barely got a mention.”

“Oh yeah? One paper said she was a cinch for pictures. She’s also got the best song in the show.”

Henry spoke up. “Helen, we’ve gone over that. There’s no way that song can be rewritten for your role. The boys sat up two nights trying to lick it. It’s an ingenue’s song.”

“And they also said Jennifer North was a cinch for pictures,” Gil added.

“Jennifer North doesn’t sing!”

“Helen—Terry King can’t hurt you,” Henry pleaded.

“You bet your ass she can’t! Because she isn’t gonna get the chance. This is my show, and I’m not Santa Claus. The only star that comes out of a Lawson show is Lawson.”

“But the girl is good,” Gil insisted. “The two songs she does help the show. And what’s good for the show is good for you. As you said, it’s your show.”

“Well, if she’s so fucking good, go star her in your next show. How much money would your backers come up with for her?”

Henry stood up. “Helen, you’re too big for this. The girl can’t hurt you, and she deserves a chance. You had to start too. Remember your first show? Suppose Nancy Shaw had insisted you get the boot in New Haven. Where would you be today?”

“Where in hell is Nancy Shaw today?” Helen snapped. “Listen, Henry, she was pushing forty when I came along. If she’d been smart she’d have gotten rid of me. But she was stuck-up—she was a beauty, and all those great beauties are stuck-up. She figured I was no competition in the looks department. Maybe I wasn’t. But I managed to walk off with the show. Not that this could happen with Terry King. She’s no Helen Lawson. When you get down to it, Nancy Shaw was no Helen Lawson either. But I learned from her mistake—no one uses me or my show to feather their own little nest.”

Gil shrugged. “She’s got a run-of-the-play contract.”

Helen’s smile was nasty. “I know all about run-of-the-play contracts.”

“But Helen, she received decent notices. I can’t go to my backers and say I have to pay her off because she’s no good.”

“I agree,” Helen said amiably.

“And it wouldn’t do you any good in the business to have it known she was fired.”

“Right!” Helen agreed. “That’s the last thing we both want. At least we’re settled on that.” Her eyes narrowed. “Now go to it. Get rid of her the sensible way. You can do it. You’ve done it before.”

Gil Case seemed to shrink three inches in size. Then, with a heavy sigh, he said, “All right. But I had better wait until after the Philadelphia opening.”

“Oh no you don’t!” Helen bellowed. “And let her get another set of notices? I want her out as of this weekend!”

Gil lost some of his patience. “My dear girl, then what? Who replaces her Monday for the Philadelphia opening?”

“Send for Penny Maxwell. She auditioned for the part, and she’s a quick study. Besides, I wanted her in the first place.”

“She’s rehearsing for Max Seller’s new show.”

“You’re kidding! Christ! She sings sharp, and she’s a pig!”

“Then it’s settled,” Gil said. “Terry opens in Philadelphia. She has to. Even if I get on the phone tomorrow morning with every agent in New York, there’s no one who can get up in the part in time.”

“I know someone who could,” Anne said suddenly. Everyone turned and stared at her. “I know it’s none of my business,” she added nervously.

“Who do you know, angel?” Helen asked kindly.

“Neely O’Hara. She’s Terry’s understudy. She knows every song, and she really sings quite well.”

“Out of the question,” Gil said haughtily. “I put her on as understudy only to cover us on the road. I intend to get a real understudy when we hit New York. She’s too insignificant. Reminds me of Orphan Annie.”

Helen’s eyes narrowed. “And what should an ingenue look like? A fucked-out redhead with big tits?”

“Helen, it’s a good part. I can’t take a chance for the Philadelphia opening with an unknown kid.”

“She’s been in vaudeville all her life,” Anne offered. “She’s used to audiences. Really, Mr. Case, Neely might be wonderful.”

He hesitated. “Well ... we could try her, I suppose. I’d have three weeks in Philly to find someone else if she doesn’t work out.”

Helen stood up. “Then everything is settled. We can all go to sleep.”

“Like little lambs,” Gil said angrily. “Except I’m the one who has to handle Terry King.”

“I’ll bet you did plenty of that before you signed her,” Helen snapped. She walked to the door. “Call a rehearsal for everyone at eleven tomorrow—except me. Start the ball rolling then. I gotta get some sleep. We got a matinee yet.” She turned to Anne. “Glad you came tonight, Annie-pie. I’ll check in with you when I get in bed.”

Gil closed the door after Helen. “You boys weren’t any help,” he said accusingly.

“I tried.” Henry hunched his shoulders. “But I knew it was useless.” He looked at Lyon and Anne. “Go on, have your eggs. I’ll stay with Gil and map out the slaughter.”

As they rang for the elevator Lyon said, “Shall we try that little beanery across the street?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Tired?”

“No, not a bit.” Her eyes were shining.

“I think I could stand some air. How about it, want to brave the winter in New Haven?”

They walked down the deserted street. “What will they do about Terry King?” Anne asked.

“Force her to quit.” Lyon’s breath smoked the darkness.

“But how?”

“Come to rehearsal tomorrow—if you have a strong stomach.”

She shivered. “Well, at least Neely will get a chance.”

“You were wonderful. I’d like a friend like you.”

She looked at him suddenly. “Lyon, what do you think I am? Do you suppose I’m walking with you on a cold December night just because I enjoy freezing?”

“I’m walking because I am a friend, Anne. I’m also a realist. New Haven will end, but you have a great clump of a diamond on your finger and a nice guy that goes with it. You’re much too nice for a quick out-of-town romance.”

“Is that all it would be?”

“Could it be any more?” He stopped and looked down at her.

“It can be anything you want, Lyon.”

Without a word, he spun her around and led her back to the hotel. They didn’t speak until they entered his room. It was a duplicate of the colorless old-fashioned room that had been assigned to her. Lyon took her coat. For a moment he stared at her tenderly, then he held out his arms. She rushed to him, to his lips, cold from the night air but firm and demanding as they met her own. Her arms slid around him. She was surprised at the urgency with which she returned his kiss, as if she had always been waiting to kiss like this. She clung to him, her mind spinning deeper and deeper into the wonder of that kiss.

When she broke away she looked at him with tears in her eyes. “Oh, Lyon, thank you for making me believe ...”

“Believe?”

“I—I can’t explain ... just hold me.” She threw her arms around him. He kissed her again and she prayed it would never stop. Her whole body trembled with the pure joy of his touch.

Suddenly he broke away. He held her at arm’s length. His voice was hoarse—but gentle. “Anne, I want you very much, but you must make the decision.” He looked down at her ring. “You can make this mean whatever you wish. But if it does turn out to be—just for New Haven—I would understand.”

“Lyon, I don’t want it to be an out-of-town romance.”

“Sit down, Anne.” He led her gently to the edge of the bed. “If I thought you did, I would never have brought it up. And if I wanted a girl just for the weekend, there’s a large cast to choose from. I wouldn’t have to go after one who was taken. There’s a strange hysteria connected with a New Haven opening. Tonight will pass and Monday will come ... You’ll be back in New York on Monday. It will be another world, and this whole weekend may seem unreal. I want you to know, if that happened ... I would understand.”

“And what about you?” she asked. “Could this be hysteria for you too?”

He laughed. “O dear God! Anne, do you know how many New Havens, Philadelphias and Bostons I’ve been through? This is just another night—with one wonderful exception. You’re here.”

She reached out and touched his face with her fingertips. “I love you, Lyon.”

“I also won’t hold you to that.”

“Don’t you believe me?”

“I think you mean it, this moment. I don’t think you’re a girl who goes to bed with a man unless she believes it’s love.”

“I’ve never said that to anyone. Lyon, I do love you.”

He stood up and lit a cigarette. When he turned around, his face was set. “I’m going to send you back to your room.” He walked over and picked up her coat.

She sat on the bed. “Lyon ... I don’t understand ....”

“This can wait. See how you feel about it on Monday—in New York.”

“I’ll still feel the same.”

“I can’t take that chance.”

She got up slowly. “You really want me to leave?” Her vision was growing misty.

“Good God, Anne, it’s the last thing I want. But for your sake ... I ...”

“Lyon ... I want to stay,” she said, almost humbly.

He looked at her curiously, as if measuring the meaning of her words. Then suddenly he flashed one of his quick smiles and tossed off his jacket. He crossed the room and held out his arms. “Come here, you beautiful golden wench. I tried being noble, but you’ve ripped away my last shred of resistance.”

She felt her lips twitch as she tried to match his smile. He hugged her lightly and released her. Now what? He was taking off his tie. What was she supposed to do? She truly wanted to go to bed with him, but there must be a certain etiquette involved. She couldn’t start pulling off her clothes like a burlesque queen. Oh, Lord, why hadn’t she worn her new slip—and why hadn’t she asked someone how one went about this? Now he was taking off his shirt. She had to do something—she couldn’t just stand there ...

He unbuckled his belt and nonchalantly pointed toward the bathroom. “Want an undressing room?”

She nodded dumbly and rushed in. Safely behind the closed door, she undressed. Now what? She couldn’t just stalk into the bedroom naked. She had dreamed of just such a moment, of giving herself to a man she loved. But not like this—not in a small hotel room in New Haven! In her daydreams she had envisioned a lush double bed, had pictured herself floating, in a white gossamer nightgown, into her husband’s arms. The lights would be dim, and she’d glide ethereally under the sheets and into the tender arms of her lover. Her dream had never gone beyond that, had never progressed to the actual act of making love—she had only dreamed of the emotion and the romantic setting, and her lover had been a vague, faceless man. Now he had a face—and she had no gossamer gown. She was standing naked and shivering under a harsh bathroom light and she didn’t know what to do.

“Hey there! It’s awfully lonesome out here,” Lyon called.

She looked around frantically and grabbed a large bath towel. She draped it around her and timidly opened the door.

Lyon was in bed, with the sheet up to his waist. He squashed out the cigarette he was smoking and held out his arms. She turned to grope for the light switch in the bathroom.

“Leave it on,” he said. “I want to see you ... to believe it’s really you in my arms.”

She approached the bed and he took her hands. The towel dropped to the floor. “My lovely Anne,” he said softly. His admiration and the natural, easy way he appraised her body dissolved her embarrassment. He tossed aside the sheet and drew her into his arms. The strength of his body against her own suddenly seemed the most natural feeling in the world. Like the impossible and delirious new sensation of feeling his mouth on hers, kissing her deeply, searchingly. She felt herself responding to his embrace with an ardor she had never dreamed she possessed, her mouth demanding more and more. She couldn’t kiss him deeply enough. His hands caressed her body, gently, then intimately. Yet her emotional excitement dominated all physical sensation. To have him in her arms ... to be close, to feel free to kiss his eyelids, his brow, his lips ... to know that he wanted her, that he cared ...

And then it was happening. Oh God, this was the moment! She wanted to please him, but the pain caught her unaware and she cried out. He pulled away immediately and released her.

“Anne ...” She could see the surprise in his eyes.

“Go on, Lyon,” she begged. “It will be all right.”

He lay back with a groan. “Holy God! It can’t be ...”

“But Lyon, it’s all right. I love you.”

He leaned over and kissed her gently. Then he lay back with his arms behind his head, staring into the semidarkness.

She was very still. He reached out for a cigarette and offered her one. She refused, and watched him silently, miserably. He inhaled deeply and said, “Anne, you must believe me. I never would have touched you if I had thought—”

She jumped out of bed, dashed to the bathroom and slammed the door. She buried her face in a towel to muffle her sobs.

He followed her instantly and pushed open the door. “Don’t cry, my darling. Everything is still intact—you’re still a virgin.”

“I’m not crying because of that!”

“Then what is it?”

“You! You don’t want me!”

“Oh, my dearest ...” He took her in his arms. “Of course I want you. I want you desperately. But I can’t. You see, I never dreamed ...”

A faint show of anger burned through her tears. “What did you expect? I’m not a tramp!”

“Of course you’re not. I just assumed that somewhere along the line—in college—or certainly with Allen ...”

“Allen never touched me!”

“So it would seem.”

“Does it make so much difference to you? My being a virgin?”

“All the difference in the world.”

“I’m sorry.” She heard her own words with utter disbelief. The entire situation was insane. Here they were, standing naked in the bathroom under the ugly, unshaded little light, arguing about something that should be sacred. She grabbed a towel and covered herself. “Please get out and let me dress. I never thought I’d have to apologize for being—inexperienced. I thought the man I loved would be ... pleased ...” Her voice broke and she turned her head to hide fresh tears of humiliation.

With a quick gesture he swept her up and carried her into the bedroom. “He is pleased,” he whispered. “Just overcome ... and handling it all like a blundering idiot.”

He placed her gently on the bed and lay down beside her. “I’ll try to be gentle,” he said softly. “And if you find you don’t want to go through with it, just tell me.”

“I want to ...” She buried her head in his neck. Her voice was muffled. “I love you, Lyon. I want to make you happy.”

“But it must work both ways—and this may not be easy for you. The first time rarely is, I understand.”

“Don’t you know? I mean, haven’t you ever—had a virgin before?”

“Never,” he admitted with a smile. “So you see, I’m just as nervous about this as you.”

“Just love me, Lyon, belong to me—that’s all I ask.”

She clung to him. She didn’t care about the hurt or discomfort—just to belong to this wonderful man was the greatest happiness she could ever know. When the pain came, she clenched her teeth and made no sound. And when she felt his body go tense, she felt only surprise that he had drawn away from her. But he had groaned in satisfaction ... Then suddenly she understood, and her happiness doubled. At the height of his passion he had thought to protect her. She leaned over and took him in her arms. His back was moist with perspiration. All at once she knew—this was the ultimate in fulfillment, to please a man you loved. At that moment she felt she was the most important and powerful woman in the world. She was flooded with a new sense of pride in her sex.

Later, he held her in his arms with a new tenderness. “It wasn’t much fun for you tonight,” he said. “But it will get better—I promise you.”

“Just promise to hold me close. Oh, Lyon, I love you so!”

“And I adore you. I could spend the rest of the night telling you how wonderful you are.” He stroked her hair. “How beautiful you are ... But I think we both should get some sleep. There’s that eleven o’clock rehearsal tomorrow.”

“Rehearsal?”

“Well, that’s what they call it. You come along and tell me what you call it.” He reached down and pulled up the sheet. “Now. Let’s both get some sleep.” He held her gently and shut his eyes.

“Lyon ... I can’t sleep here.”

“Why not?” He sounded drowsy already.

“I don’t know ... In case Helen or Neely call in the morning.”

“Forget about them. I want to find you in my arms when I wake up.”

She kissed his face, his brow and his eyes. Then she slid out of his arms. “We’ll have that, Lyon, many, many times. But not tonight.” She went into the bathroom and dressed quickly. It wasn’t because of Helen or Neely—it was just too much, all at once. She wouldn’t have slept a wink, lying there beside him. And in the morning . . . Well, things like this had to be taken in stages. Men were much more casual about it than women. But the most important thing in the world had happened. She knew the feeling of love—and she knew it was the whole reason for living.

She came out of the bathroom and walked over to the bed. She started to speak, then saw that he had fallen asleep. Smiling, she went to the desk, found a piece of hotel stationery and scribbled, Good night, sleeping beauty. See you tomorrow. I love you. She propped the note by the phone and quietly slipped out of the room.

In her own bed she lay awake, too excited to sleep. Her mind relived the entire evening, recalling every word he had said, every expression on his face. “It will get better—I promise you.” Would it? Would she ever shudder and tremble and stiffen with the ecstasy he had felt? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was Lyon, to hold him in her arms, to please him—to know that she could feel love, that this remarkable man wanted her body against his ... she drifted off into a soft, dark sleep.

She was out of bed at nine. It was a clear, windy day. She looked out of the window, saw a man walking against the wind, holding his hat, a girl waiting for a bus. She felt sorry for them. She felt sorry for everyone in the world because they couldn’t feel as she did. “Oh, you poor people! You think this is just another cold day. Look up at me—I want to tell you how happy I am. The whole world belongs to me. In this very building there is a man—the most wonderful man in the world—and he belongs to me!” The watery neon sign on the diner seemed to blink at her. She winked back. It was a beautiful day! A beautiful diner! A beautiful town!

She took a hot bath, and when the water penetrated the soreness within her, it became a tangible memory of him. Her spirits soared.

She took pains with her hair. She changed her lipstick twice. And she alternated in watching the clock and staring at the telephone.

At ten-fifteen she began to feel uneasy. Did he mean to meet her at the theatre? But he had said, “We’ll go together.” Or had he said, “Come along”?

When the phone rang she dashed across the room. It was Neely. “You coulda at least come to say hello to me after the show,” she said.

“I thought you’d be at the party.”

“Me? I’m regarded as chorus. And now I got a rehearsal. Is that the end, calling a rehearsal before a matinee? Poor Mel—he’s beat.”

“Where is he?”

“Downstairs in the coffee shop. I’m meeting him there.”

“I’ll see you at rehearsal.”

“Why should you come? It’ll just be a drag.”

“Neely ... now don’t say a word ... but there’s a chance you may replace Terry King. You know her numbers, don’t you?”

“Know them?” Neely squealed. “Backwards! I know all of Helen’s songs, too. Anne, are you kidding me?”

“No, there’s some plan. I sat in on the conference last night. But don’t say a word, just sit tight.”

“Oh, golly! I can’t believe it. Oh, Lordy, wait till I tell Mel! ’By. See you at the theatre!”

Ten-forty-five. Lyon hadn’t called. Three times she had started for the phone to call him, but decided against it. She lit a cigarette and stood staring at the wintry sunlight from the window. The minutes ticked by ... somewhere a steeple bell chimed. Well, now what? Was she going to stand around in the room all day? Or go to the theatre alone? No, that wouldn’t look right. If he was there and hadn’t called her, it would look as if she were running after him. Ridiculous! This wasn’t Lawrenceville, and Lyon wasn’t just a date. There were no silly rules now. She marched resolutely to the phone and asked for his room.

His voice was muffled at first. Then he shot into action. “Good God, darling! Is it really five of eleven? I thought I left a call for ten o’clock!”

“I don’t see how you could, unless you woke up somewhere in the middle of the night.”

His laugh was sheepish. “I’m just reading your note. Boy, I’m a real Sir Galahad! Come on down and keep me company while I shave.” She could almost hear him stretching over the phone. “I’ll order some coffee for us.”

The door was ajar and he yelled a cheerful “Come in” to her light tap. He was standing in his shorts in the bathroom. He pulled her over and gave her a careful kiss, avoiding the lather on his face. Then he turned back to his shaving. His very casualness seemed to enhance the new intimacy between them, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to be there, watching him shave while he stood in his shorts. She sat on the rumpled bed, happier than she had ever been in her life. He washed the remaining lather off his face and came in. This time he leaned over and kissed her tenderly. Then he began the business of putting on his shirt. He whistled as he knotted his tie. Her happiness was making her feel weak. She had never known anything like it.

She wondered whether Lyon felt the same intimacy. He couldn’t. So many girls had probably seen him stand in his shorts while he shaved ... she quickly pushed the thought from her mind. No girl had felt what she was feeling, and that made the difference. Nothing was going to ruin the most wonderful day of her life!

The waiter knocked and wheeled in a table. Lyon scribbled his name on the check. He motioned her to sit down as he gulped his orange juice standing. Then he carried his coffee to the phone and asked for Henry Bellamy’s room.

Henry was going to be late, too. Lyon laughed. “All right, coward, let’s synchronize our watches. I have eleven-thirty. Let’s say we both walk in at eleven-forty.” He hung up and turned to Anne with a grin. “Think you can face the execution?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. What’s going to happen?”

“Nothing much. Just a few strong men will gang up on a little girl and force her to quit.”

“You act like you’ve been through this before.”

“I have. It can be sloppy. Every now and then you run into a Terry King who turns out to be an embryonic Helen Lawson. You put the knife in her back but she doesn’t bleed. That’s when you lose.”

They met Henry in the elevator. If he was surprised to see her with Lyon, he showed no sign.

The entire cast, with the exception of Helen, was at the theatre. The chorus girls sat in slacks or huddled in their fur coats, their dark glasses concealing the lack of eye makeup. They sipped coffee from paper cups and looked disgruntled. Neely sat on the edge of a chair, tense, waiting to spring.

Anne sat in the fourth row with Henry and Lyon. Jennifer North entered in a rush, apologizing to everyone for oversleeping. The director turned from a huddle with the orchestra leader and nodded good-naturedly. “Nothing’s changed for you, princess. If you like you can go back to bed for a few hours.”

Jennifer smiled and came down into the darkened theatre. Henry motioned her to sit beside them. She recognized Anne and smiled warmly. “Isn’t it wonderful,” she said enthusiastically. “We have a hit! I shouldn’t say we—I do nothing. But it’s such a great show, I’m thrilled to be in it.”

“You’re very lovely in it,” Anne said sincerely.

“Thanks, but I don’t think my name will bring any customers to the box office.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Henry answered. “Once this show hits New York you’ll get plenty of newspaper space. I guarantee you a picture deal within six weeks of opening night.”

Jennifer dimpled. “Oh, Henry ... honestly, I’d adore it.” Then a slight frown came between her eyes. “But only if it’s a big contract. Not one of those starlet deals.”

“Starlets often turn into stars,” Henry said carefully.

The frown grew deeper. “Starlets with talent. I have no talent, Henry. That’s why I’d need a good contract. If they pay you enough, they have to use you. And they have to teach you—and train you.”

“Let me decide on that. If it’s short money with a good studio and I say take it, you take it. With the smell of television in the air, they’re not handing out those big contracts so easy.”

“Then perhaps I’m better off in New York. I’ve had offers from Powers and Longworth to model, and I could earn quite a bit with that, along with the show.”

Henry turned to her suddenly. “Level with me, Jennifer. Do you want a picture deal? Or a career? I don’t want to knock myself out if you don’t really care. And what’s with Tony Polar? How serious is it between you?”

Jennifer smiled. “The newspapers blow it up. I adore Tony, but I don’t think either of us wants to rush into marriage. Besides, I’m still legally married to Prince Mirallo.”

“The papers are practically signed for the annulment. Just remember the lines when you go before the judge—you’re a nice Catholic girl and you wanted children and this bastard didn’t want any.”

“Are you Catholic?” Lyon asked.

Jennifer shrugged. “My mother was, but my father wasn’t. They divorced. I was never even baptized. But no one will check, will they, Henry?”

“Just do as I say. You’re a Catholic. You wanted to be married by a priest, but the Prince picked a civil ceremony. From then on you’re halfway home. Then you talk about the children you wanted. Anne will be your witness.”

“I what?” Anne burst in.

“We have to have a witness. I meant to tell you. Don’t worry, it will be a closed court. You just have to say that you’re a friend of Jennifer’s and that she confided to you before she married this prince how ecstatic she was about marrying the jerk, that she was even willing to go to Italy to live and that she wanted dozens of children. But be sure and remember the children part.”

“But I’d be lying under oath,” Anne argued.

“Cross your fingers,” Henry said. Then, turning his attention to the stage, he whispered, “Hold your hats ... here we go!”

Terry King was standing in the center of the stage staring at the director in complete disbelief.

“Cut the ballad!” she yelled. “Are you mad? Did you read the reviews?”

“The show’s running long, honey, and we have enough ballads.” The director’s voice was casual.

“So what? Cut some other ballad. You know damn well mine is the best song in the show!”

“Those are my orders,” he said wearily.

“Where’s Gil Case?”

“He’s not here. He’s busy with the writers. Bill! Hey, Bill Towley!” A thin young juvenile appeared. “Bill, the love scene you and Terry have is out. We’re working on a new solo dance routine for you to go in its place for Philly. Instead of telling Terry how much you love her, you do a dance. It’ll speed up the action.”

Bill nodded in delighted acceptance and disappeared.

“And what do I do while he does this dance, sit in my dressing room?” Terry shrieked. “Do you realize if the love scene is cut and the ballad goes, it leaves me with two lines in the first act and a rhythm number in the second and that’s all?”

“The rhythm number stays in,” the director answered. “But we’re putting the chorus behind you. They’ll do a dance to the second chorus.”

“And what do I do?”

“Instead of singing the second chorus, you’ll go to stage left. You’ll stand there ... then the light will go off you and you’ll slip offstage while the chorus takes over.”

“That’s what you think!” She grabbed her coat and rushed off the stage and out of the theatre. The director went on giving cuts and blends as if nothing had happened.

Ten minutes later Terry reappeared, armed with a small man who looked like a raccoon. The raccoon bristled down the aisle. “Now what’s this all about?” he demanded.

The director turned and looked down. “What’s what about?” he asked innocently.

“Listen, Leroy!” the raccoon hollered. “Don’t think your innocent girlish face is going to fool me. I know this routine. Helen’s scared of Terry. Only this time Terry has a little luck going for her. She’s got the biggest hit ballad of the show. You can’t tell me the boys are going to let Helen cut their best song from the show.”

“Call them,” Leroy suggested.

“I have. They’re in conference with Gil Case. Besides, you mean Case is willing to pay Terry four hundred bucks just to do two lines and half of a rhythm number?”

“If she wants to remain and do that, I suppose he’ll have to.”

“Oh, so that’s the bit. The Equity dodge. You’d love her to quit. Then you could put someone else in the part for chickenfeed. But if you fire Terry, you’ll have to pay her till next June plus her replacement.”

“No one is firing Terry King.”

“You can’t afford to. That’s why you’re trying to make her quit.”

The director sat on the edge of the stage and said, with exaggerated patience, “No one is trying to make Terry quit. We’re not thinking in personalities now. We’re looking at the show as a whole. As an agent, you’re only thinking of your client. I don’t blame you, Al, that’s your business. But my business is to think of the show. It runs too long. I’m cutting where Gil Case, the writers and all of us think it should be cut, regardless of who it affects.”

The raccoon stamped out a cigarette on the thick carpet of the theatre. “Don’t give me that bullshit! You’re following orders Case got from Helen Lawson. He has no choice—he has to protect Old Ironsides. And with that brassy voice of hers she needs protection from a good singer.”

“Let’s not get personal about this,” Leroy snapped.

“Why? You and I both know she’s dated and corny. If that old bag was trying to get started today she’d never get past the first audition—”

“I think we can cut this out!” Henry’s voice shot out of the darkness. The agent whirled around.

“I didn’t see you, Mr. Bellamy. Hi. Say, look, it’s nothing personal. I’m just fighting for my client—the same way you probably did for Miss Lawson twenty years ago.”

“I didn’t fight for Helen by knocking a great star when she wasn’t there to defend herself,” Henry thundered. “Who in hell are you—a weasel with desk space on West Forty-sixth Street. How dare you stand there and insult one of the greatest living stars in the theatre?”

The little man cringed. “Mr. Bellamy ... what would you do if you were in my place?”

“It would depend on who my client was. If it was Helen Lawson, we would have handed in our notice and walked out with dignity. Because with a Helen Lawson—even a Helen Lawson who was just beginning—there would always be another show and a better part. But with your client, I’d take whatever crumbs were offered. I’d stay with two lines and half a chorus and milk the producer for the salary. So what if she’s a joke to all the other producers at the Broadway opening? It’s her funeral, not yours. Maybe you’ll find someone else after you bury her. But you’d better make her stick in the show and grab your lousy ten per cent, because it’s obvious you’re scared. This may be the only show she’ll ever get, and you’re not about to pass up an easy buck.”

Terry King suddenly came to life. “Listen, I can outsing Helen Lawson anywhere! And Al and I aren’t afraid. This lousy show isn’t the only one—and I’ll be a bigger star than Helen Lawson. You bet I’ll walk out! And with dignity! Right now!” She was practically screaming.

“Honey, wait ...” Al pleaded. “This is exactly what they want you to do!”

“And what do you want me to do?” she snarled. “Open in Philadelphia and New York looking like a bit player? Just so you can collect your lousy ten per cent!”

“That has nothing to do with it. You know that. We can make double this money playing clubs. But we both agreed that a Broadway show would get us a picture deal.”

“Picture deal!” This was Henry. “God, that kind of thinking went out with Ruby Keeler movies. Any agent who thinks all you have to do is get on Broadway and it means a picture deal is small time. Sure Broadway helps, but you’ve got to do something on Broadway. Unless your client wants a stock contract—I can get that for her without this show. But a real picture deal, no. Only a star gets that. And an agent builds a star by never allowing her to appear anywhere unless she looks like a star, whether it’s on Broadway or in a saloon. But as I say, you obviously don’t think your client has it, because you’ll let her walk on looking like a bit player.”

Terry grabbed Al’s arm. “Come on, Al. Let’s get out of here.”

“Wait a minute. We still have a contract, and you have a matinee to play,” Al reminded her.

“I won’t walk on the stage with those cuts.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to,” Henry answered. “You still have to hand in a two-week notice and play Philadelphia.”

“I won’t be humiliated that way,” Terry insisted. “I won’t appear before the Philadelphia critics in a bit part.”

“What’s all the fuss about?” Gil Case called as he walked down the aisle. “Who’s not going to appear?”

“Mr. Case!” Terry rushed to him, almost in tears. “You’ve cut my part. I can’t appear on the stage as a bit player.”

“I’ve told her she has to,” Henry said slowly. “Even if she does hand in her notice right now.”

“Now wait a minute,” Gil said kindly. “No one wants to hurt anyone more than necessary.” He looked at Terry sympathetically. “My dear child, I hadn’t realized how small the part was after the cuts. It is hardly more than a bit now ...” He looked concerned.

“I can’t play it.” Terry was insistent.

He suddenly smiled. “You don’t have to.”

“What about the matinee?” Henry asked.

Gil waved his hand. “Forget it. We can put on the understudy. The part’s such a small bit, it really doesn’t matter.” He put his arm around Terry. “Let’s go back to my suite—you too, Al. Terry can write her formal notice, and I’ll give her two months’ salary as a bonus.” He paused to consider. “I’ll tell you what we’ll do. I’ll call my press agent and have him notify the New York papers, and you’ll come out of this with tons of publicity. Dear girl ... by next week every producer in town will be after you. It gives you stature to walk out on a Helen Lawson show.”

He led her up the aisle and out of the theatre with the raccoon shuffling behind.

The moment they were gone Henry walked to the stage and had a quick consultation with the director. He nodded and sprang into action. “Neely O’Hara!” he called. Neely rushed up to him. “Can you learn the one chorus of the rhythm number by two-thirty?”

“I know both choruses now.”

He smiled faintly. “Okay, we do the one chorus and we put in the dance. Come on, kids, we got work to do. Neely, you go to wardrobe, see how Terry’s costumes fit you. Now, chorus, let’s take it from the top.”

Henry stood up. “Let’s go. I think we all need some fresh air.”

Outside, they stood in embarrassed silence. “I think I’ll take a nap,” Jennifer said. She walked away toward the hotel. Henry stood silently staring into space. Lyon pressed Anne’s hand.

“I think it’s revolting,” Anne said. Then, forcing a faint smile, she said, “But I suppose that’s show business.”

“It’s not show business,” Henry snorted. “It stinks. No matter how you slice it, it stinks. I want to vomit. I felt like Joe Louis in a ring with two crippled midgets. Jesus! Well, I’ll call Helen and tell her the good news.” He walked slowly to the hotel.

Lyon led Anne across the street to the diner. He ordered eggs for both of them. “Henry’s wrong,” he insisted. “We scratched the kitten and she didn’t scratch back. And the agent is just an agent, not a Henry Bellamy. Henry’s a champ, and twenty years ago he was a champ. And twenty years ago, if you’d scratched Helen Lawson, you’d have broken your fingers. Henry wasn’t a louse—they just didn’t have it.”

“But they cut the ballad out, and half the rhythm number. How could Terry fight back? What Henry said made sense.”

Lyon attacked his eggs. “Do you honestly think that ballad will remain out? Once Terry’s notice is signed and she’s on a train back to New York, everything goes back as it was. If Terry had stuck, they’d have held off till the end of the out-of-town run. Helen would have made everyone miserable, but everything would have gone back opening night, and Terry would have won. It’s like a game of poker. Terry had the winning hand, but Henry bluffed her out of the pot.”

Fifteen minutes later Henry joined them at the diner. He forced down a dry chicken sandwich, claiming his ulcers were acting up again. At one-thirty some of the chorus drifted over for a quick sandwich. They sat in little groups, gossiping about the new events. Neely was the big news of the day.

Anne decided against visiting Neely backstage before the matinee. Knowing Neely, she realized things must be chaotic. She stood with Lyon at the back of the packed house during the performance. Neely managed the part with professional ease. As far as Anne could see, she would neither hurt nor help the show. The part had been sliced to such proportions that it meant very little.

“Anne, I know you had something to do with it,” Neely gasped when Anne went back to congratulate her. “Helen told me about it today. Oh, Anne, I love you so much. You’re really like a sister. Oh ... this is Mel.”

Anne turned toward the young man who had been standing in a corner trying to look inconspicuous. He darted forward, shook hands and receded back against the wall. He was tall, too thin, and his alert dark eyes were fixed on Neely with naked adoration. His warmth hit Anne right away, and she was suddenly very glad for Neely.

“Wasn’t she sensational?” Mel said proudly.

“Just wonderful,” Anne said warmly.

“And next Monday in Philly I get the ballad back and the love scene,” Neely burbled. “And Helen Lawson said she’ll see to it I get a new set of costumes for New York. She thinks Terry’s costumes are too sophisticated for me.”

Helen was enthusiastic about Neely. “Wasn’t your girl friend just great!” she shouted when Anne stopped by her room.

Anne was surprised. Neely had been adequate, but Helen’s enthusiasm was way overboard. “She made that whore look sick,” Helen continued. “Neely’s just what the part calls for—a nice, innocent kid. You watch, when she sings the torch song on Monday, it’ll really hit home. An innocent-looking kid, torching, gets to them.”

Anne started for the door.

“Hey, where the hell you rushing to?” Helen demanded.

“Lyon Burke is waiting downstairs.”

Helen looked at her peculiarly. “Listen, I saw you holding hands at that party last night. If you want to ball it up in New Haven, okay. But just remember, that hunk of ice on your finger is the real thing.”

“I’m giving it back.”

“Whaaat?” Helen shouted. “Listen, Annie—for God’s sake don’t go taking a one-night stand seriously.” Anne turned away. Helen softened immediately. “Look, angel ... you’re young. I know how it is, and Lyon is a real hunk of man. Have a ball, you only live once. But don’t give up Allen for a quickie romance.”

Anne smiled weakly and started for the door.

“You going back to New York now?” Helen asked.

“I think so.”

“We’re going to Philly tomorrow morning and rehearse. Put back the ballad, tighten a few things up. I think by Monday night we’ll have a real slick show. And your girl friend will have herself a good part. I already told Gil Case not to look for anyone else for New York. I’m satisfied with Neely.”

“Good luck on Monday,” Anne said lamely.

“I’ll see you then, when you come with Gino and Allen. Remember, we have a big date after the show.”

Allen! The opening! Gino!

“See you then,” Helen called gaily.

Lyon was waiting outside. “Paid all your duty calls?”

She nodded. He slipped her arm under his. “I’ve gotten us a pass,” he said. “We can take the next train back. I was afraid we might have to stick around, but Henry is remaining. He’ll go on to Philadelphia and we’ll meet him there on Monday.”

She felt a sudden surge of exuberance at Lyon’s easy assumption that she was quite naturally “with him” from now on. But her spirits sank again at the thought of facing the inevitable with Allen. For the first time in her life she understood the value of a “Dear John” letter. How simple it would be if she could just drop him a note and say: Dear Allen, Enclosed find ten-karat diamond ring. I think you’re awfully nice but I’m in love with someone else. It happened during our long separation of forty-eight hours.

They had dinner on the train and without discussion went directly to Lyon’s apartment. She felt a slight shudder when she entered. The apartment seemed almost familiar to her.

As if reading her thoughts, Lyon said, “This really is your apartment. I’ve always thought of it that way.”

“You mean you actually thought of me ... before ...”

He took her in his arms. “Anne, do you think I suddenly saw you for the first time in New Haven?”

“1 don’t know ... it never occurred to me that you were ever aware of me.”

“Well, I can’t seem to recall you leering at me, either,” he said. “I think I loved you all along,” she said. “I just wouldn’t admit it. Not even to myself.”

“Think of all the wasted time ...”

“It’s your fault. After all, what is a girl supposed to do? She can’t walk up to a man and say, ’By the way, even though we’ve just met, I think you’re the man I’ve been waiting for.’”

“I think it’s a marvelous idea. Believe me, the first girl who does that sort of thing will certainly make an impression. Especially if she looks like you. Now you settle down on the couch and I’ll fix us a drink. I’m going to give you a light Scotch. It will help you relax.”

“Do I seem jittery?”

He handed her the drink. “Not a bit. But you must be feeling some nerves. Everything is so new ... I’m new ... sex is new ...” He sat beside her and stroked her hair gently.

She snuggled against him. “I feel closer to you than I’ve ever felt to anyone in my life. I want to know everything about you ... I don’t want us to have any secrets. We’re one, Lyon, part of one another. I belong to you.”

He moved away and sipped his drink thoughtfully. “I wonder if I can measure up to that kind of love, Anne. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You couldn’t hurt me, Lyon. You’ve given me so much already. If nothing more ever happened after today, I’d still be grateful for the two most wonderful days of my life.”

He smiled gently. Then he took her hand and patted the finger with the large ring. “Aren’t we forgetting something?”

“That’s over. I’m returning the ring.”

“Anne ... the way I feel about you ... it’s very real. I want you to know that. But I’ve given all I might ever be able to give you. I—”

“And it’s enough! It’s all I want—your love. I don’t love Allen. I never have. I never really intended to marry him. It just happened so fast and I was carried along. But even if you hadn’t happened, I could never have gone through with it.”

“I’d like to believe you, Anne. My conscience would be easier.”

“Your conscience? Lyon, don’t you love me?”

He looked into space as if searching for an answer. He saw the quick tears spring to her eyes. “Anne!” He grabbed her shoulders. “Yes, yes, I do love you. I love you and want you. But your kind of love frightens me—and I wonder if my love will be enough for you.”

She closed her eyes in relief. “Oh, Lyon, you scared me. Of course you can’t love me like I love you. I don’t expect it. No one could love anyone that much.” She looked at him closely. “Just love me, that’s all I ask. Love me as much as you can. And let me love you.”

She woke up in his arms the following day. She lay there, not moving, looking at his strong profile. He was beautiful in sleep. Sex had been painful again, but she had reveled in the satisfaction she had given him. And for the first time she felt she belonged to someone. All the things she had never even discussed with girls—things that seemed too personal to talk about, even with Neely, she had talked about openly and freely with Lyon. The rhythm system, all the precautions ...

She eased herself out of his arms and went into the kitchen. She had coffee going and eggs in a pan before she looked at a clock. It was after noon.

He was awake when she placed the eggs on the table. He praised her cooking—the eggs were perfect, the coffee a work of art. After breakfast he settled down with the Times while she showered.

He looked up in surprise when she appeared, fully dressed, her coat on her arm.

“Walking out on me?” He pulled her down on the couch. “You are the most fleeting romance I’ve ever had.” He kissed her neck, and she felt herself go limp. She forced herself to pull away.

“Lyon, I can’t go to the office tomorrow in the same clothes. I need a change of stockings ... underwear ... I’ve got to get home.”

He looked at his watch. “Fair enough. I’ll pick you up at seven. We’ll have dinner. And be prepared to go to the office from here.”

She kissed him gratefully. She had been momentarily frightened that he wouldn’t ask her to return. She took the luxury of grabbing a cab; it was already three o’clock, and she had so much to do before seven.

The moment she walked into her room, the world closed in on her. There was a large vase of flowers on the bureau. The card was from Allen. Hope you missed me like I missed you. Call me the second you get in. I love you. Allen.

Until Friday, this room had known another life. Now she felt like a stranger. She had shed the room like she had shed Lawrenceville. She looked at the roses. It couldn’t be put off; she was going to Philadelphia tomorrow with Lyon, and Allen expected to go—and Gino!

She dialed Allen, but stopped halfway and hung up. Maybe she could send a wire. But she had to return the ring. It hung lifelessly and heavily on one side of her finger.

She dialed again. He answered on the second ring. “Well, how was New Haven and your girl friend, Old Ironsides?”

“The show is a hit.”

“I know. Gino ran into some people at Morocco last night who had been to New Haven.”

“How was Morocco?”

“I wasn’t there. Remember me? I’m an engaged man. I sat home both nights with a good book, waiting for my girl to get back.”

“Allen ... Allen, I’ve got something to tell you.” She rushed on, knowing it had to come in a burst or she’d lose her nerve. “Allen, I’m not your girl and I’m not engaged to you and I want to give back the ring.”

There was a long silence. Then he said, “Anne, I’ll be right over.”

“No, Allen ... I’ll meet you somewhere ... I’ll give you back the ring.”

“I don’t want the ring. I want to talk to you.”

“But there’s nothing to talk about.”

“There isn’t? Good God, Anne, for three months I’ve been in love with you. Now you want to wash the whole thing up with a phone call. What happened? Did someone talk against me in New Haven? Look, I’ve done a lot of crazy things in the past. Sometimes I wasn’t a very nice guy—but that was before I met you. You can’t hold anything I did then against me now. Nothing meant anything until you came along. Someone’s scared you off me and I’m going to see you and find out. I won’t give up just like this. I have a right to present my side.”

“Allen, no one spoke against you in New Haven. And talking to me won’t change things.”

“I’ll be right over.”

“Allen, don’t come!” She shrieked it. “I’m in love!”

This time the silence was even longer. Finally she said hesitantly, “Allen? Do you understand?”

“Who is he?”

“Lyon Burke.”

His laugh was unpleasant. “You mean the homeless cockney who’s in my old apartment? Well ... glad to have provided you with a decent honeymoon cottage.”

“Allen, it just happened.”

“Sure, just like that. And it just happened you fell out of love with me.”

“I never told you I loved you. Remember that. You were the one who insisted on being engaged.”

“Okay, Anne. Good luck.”

“How do I get the ring back to you?”

“I’m not worried about it. Why are you?”

“But I want you to have it back.”

“You mean Lyon Burke gets offended seeing it on your finger. Or has he already replaced it? From what I’ve heard about him, the only ring you’ll get is one through your nose.”

“Allen, let’s not part this way.”

“What do you want? Shall I send you a singing telegram? Boy, this is really the prize. The first time in my life I treat a girl on the level and I get it in the end! But I’ll see you around. With Lyon Burke it will be a long, long walk to the altar.”

“Please, Allen ... may I see you at lunch tomorrow and return the ring?”

“No, my little iceberg, keep it.”

“What?”

“Keep it! You bitch ... I don’t need the ring. I can buy a lot of them. But you’re going to need it. It’s very hockable. Or better yet, wear it! Let it cut into your finger every time some guy screws you like you’ve screwed me. I have a hunch Lyon Burke will be the first!”

The receiver slammed in her ear. She dialed him back immediately. “Allen, I know you’re furious at me—and the things you’ve said, you’ve said in anger. I want us to remain friends.”

“I like men for friends,” he said coldly.

“All right, but I can’t keep the ring.”

“If that’s what you called about, forget it!”

“Allen, wait!” She knew he was going to hang up. “I want to remind you about Gino. He promised to go to Philadelphia tomorrow.”

“You mean that’s still on with us?” There was a sudden tinge of hope in his voice.

“Well, not with us. I can’t go with you now. But there’s no reason for Gino not to go. Helen is expecting him.”

“Oh, no! You must be kidding!” His laugh was almost a groan.

“Why? Helen’s reserved a room for him. He operates independently of you. I see no reason for Helen to be disappointed because of us.”

“You don’t? Well, now I’ve heard everything. Do you think Gino wanted to go? Do you think it’s a thrill for him to wrestle with Old Ironsides?”

“Stop calling Helen that! She’s darned attractive, and your father should be thrilled that she wants to be with him. She’s a big star and—”

“And a big brassy bore! My father can have any girl in town. This is a man’s world—women only own it when they’re very young. You’ll find that out some fine day. And your Helen Lawson may be the biggest star on Broadway, but she’s still a bloated, loud-mouthed broad the moment she steps off stage. Sure, he was coming tomorrow ... and don’t think he didn’t try and get out of it. But I forced him. Isn’t that a laugh? I made him do it for you. And I spent all weekend trying to figure out how to keep him there overnight. He agreed to come but swore he was driving back right after the show. I finally said it would be like a wedding present to me if he’d give in to Helen, just for the night. Can you imagine that? A guy compromising his own father just to please his girl! All weekend I’ve been working on Gino. And all weekend you’ve been ...” He stopped; his voice had almost broken. “Well, at least one good thing has come out of it. Gino is spared. And now I’m tossing the ball to you—and to Lyon Burke. Let his father hump your girl friend!” The receiver clicked.

******

The Philadelphia opening of Hit the Sky was a much smoother and glossier version of the New Haven premiere. Anne was amazed at the changes that had been accomplished in such a short time. She sat beside Lyon, identifying with the cast rather than the audience. He held her hand, and she wondered if he had noticed the absence of the large diamond. It was resting in a plain manila envelope in her new safe-deposit box. It had seemed cruel leaving the large solitaire all alone in that cold tin box. It had seemed to glitter in outraged anger, as if it were protesting its uncalled-for rejection.

Lyon’s whisper snapped her thoughts back to the stage. It was Neely’s big moment. The ballad had been reinstated. Anne sat on the edge of her seat when Neely began to sing. It was a completely different interpretation. Terry King in her slinky red satin dress had seemed disenchanted and sultry. Neely in a blue dress with a Peter Pan collar was haunting, forlorn and alone. There was a vibrant wail to her voice. Now it was a torch song, very different and more plaintive. She received a tremendous ovation.

Several times during the show Anne glanced nervously at the three empty seats in the fourth row. Helen had reserved those seats. And she was supposed to be sitting there, between Allen and Gino. She had not broken the news to Helen. She felt it might hurt her performance.

The curtain came down at eleven-fifteen. There was no doubt of the show’s success. Even Henry Bellamy’s usual look of harassment had evaporated. He passed Lyon and Anne as they came backstage. “The party will be at the Warwick.”

Lyon looked at his watch. “You don’t really care about going, do you?”

She hadn’t thought about it. She had assumed Henry had reserved rooms for them at the hotel. They had come to the theatre directly from the train. She had an oversized handbag in which she had crammed a nightgown and a toothbrush. She suddenly realized Lyon was without his usual attaché case.

“If we make a fast dash backstage and congratulate Helen and Neely, we can catch the twelve-twenty-five back to New York.”

“Whatever you say, Lyon.”

“I think I’d rather have my drink in the club car with you. We both need one good night’s sleep, and this party is bound to last way into the morning.”

They elbowed their way through the crowd cluttering the hallways of the dressing rooms. Anne went directly to Neely’s room. She was standing outside the door, surrounded by a few newspapermen. Members of the cast stopped by, offering congratulations. Mel stood at her side, silent and beaming with pride.

Anne embraced her. “Neely, you were wonderful!”

“Was I really? Honest? It’ll be even better after I get used to it. And these were makeshift costumes. I’m getting a new set for New York.”

Lyon offered his congratulations. Neely looked startled. “Where’s Allen?”

“I’ll tell you some other time,” Anne said quietly.

“Nothing’s wrong, is it?” Neely insisted. “Gosh, Helen was like a school girl because Gino was out front tonight. And you’re supposed to be with Allen.”

Anne felt herself coloring. Neely’s clear voice carried halfway down the hall.

“Allen isn’t here,” Anne said through her teeth.

“That’s obvious,” Neely said. “Hey—the ring!” She grabbed Anne’s hand. “Where’s the ring?”

“Neely, we’ll talk about it another time. I’ve got to go down and congratulate Helen.”

“If Gino isn’t here, you better get out of town fast.”

They pushed their way through the crowd into Helen’s dressing room. Helen broke away from several people and came toward Anne with her arms outstretched. “Hi!” she said merrily. Then her eyes went past Anne expectantly. When she saw Lyon she looked at Anne questioningly. “Where is everybody?”

“They didn’t come.”

“What?”

“It’s a long story, Helen.”

“That sonofabitch! What happened?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“It had better be good. Come on inside while I change and tell me.”

“Helen ... we’re—Lyon and I—we’re taking the twelve-twenty-five back to New York.”

“You’re kidding!”

Anne shook her head mutely.

“You mean you’re not coming to the party?”

“I have to be in the office tomorrow, Helen.”

“Balls! If I say I want you here, then that’s it! It’s the least Henry can do for me. He went back tonight, so you stay.” Then, turning to everyone in the room, she shouted, “Hey, the party’s at the Warwick. You’ll have to scram now so I can change.”

There was the usual hum of good-bys mingled with more congratulations.

When they were alone, Helen turned to Anne and Lyon. “Lyon, you wait in the hall. Anne can sit here while I change.”

He looked at his watch. “We’d best be leaving, Anne, if we want to catch the last decent train.”

“Oh, swell! Henry doesn’t even leave you as a replacement? Next thing I know he’ll be sending me that owl-faced George Bellows. He’s gonna hear from me! Who in hell is going to escort me to the party?”

“Why didn’t Henry stay?” Anne asked.

“Because I told him Gino would be here,” Helen snarled. “I wanna hear about that. What in hell happened?”

Lyon glanced at his watch again. “I’ll hail us a cab, Anne.” He smiled briefly at Helen and left the room.

“Boy, am I getting stood up all around tonight,” Helen said. She sat at the dressing table and began powdering down her makeup.

“Helen, the show was just great tonight,” Anne said. “I’m sorry I have to leave now, but Lyon wants to make that train ...”

“Then let him, for Chrissake. What’s that got to do with you?”

Anne searched for an excuse. “I have no hotel reservation.”

“So what? I have a suite with two beds. You can stay with me.”

“But I came with Lyon.” She looked longingly toward the door.

Helen’s eyes widened. “Oh, I get it. Still playing footsies with Lyon. Jesus, you’re like all the rest. You, the one girl who had class, who I cared about—my buddy-buddy—running out on me. But go on. Hell, that’s the story of my life. I give all of myself ... I always trust people ...” Tears began to roll down her face. “I believed in you, Annie ... my one friend. But you’re like all the others, kicking me in the ass, walking out when I need you. Here I am, alone on my opening—no guy, and my only girl friend wants to take a powder ...”

“Helen, I am your friend. Maybe there’s a later train. Let me talk to Lyon . . .”

“Nah, anything after the twelve-twenty-five is a milk train.” Helen began to blot at her running mascara. “But go on. I was crazy to expect you to be different.”

“Wait . . . let me talk to Lyon.” She dashed out of the room.

Lyon was holding a cab. She rushed to him. “Lyon, we can’t leave her alone. She feels so hurt.” He stared at her.

“Anne, nothing can hurt Helen.”

“You don’t understand her. She was crying. She feels so alone on her opening night.”

“Helen’s tears come easily. And go quickly. Look, Anne, the Helen Lawsons of this world create their own loneliness.”

“But we can’t do this to her.”

“We owe Helen nothing other than a business loyalty. Simple things like the crucifixion of Terry King. That she understands—and demands. But there is nothing in my contract that states I must escort her to parties.”

“But Lyon, she’s my friend.”

“And you choose to remain?”

“I feel we should . . .”

He smiled. “Okay. Good-by, friend,” he said lightly. Then he jumped into the cab.

At first she couldn’t believe it. But the cab was gone. She didn’t know whether to be angry or frightened. Had she let Lyon down? Or had he let her down? If she had gone with him, she certainly would have let Helen down. God knows she had let Allen down. She suddenly felt tears coming to her eyes. Everything seemed to be crumbling around her. She was hurting everyone—most of all herself.

******

The party at the Warwick was a repetition of the party in New Haven, except for Neely’s appearance as a full-fledged principal. There were more people from New York, different newspapermen—and Helen, drinking heavily, was still every inch the hearty, good-natured star. There had been people in the dressing room when Anne had returned, and she had not been able to explain about Gino. So she sat through the festivities, watching, feeling outside of everything, worrying about Lyon—and feeling numb. At two in the morning, when she saw Neely and Mel steal away, she felt a stab of envy. Lyon would be just arriving in New York now. She wondered if he was angry—or did he feel miserable, too?

They returned to Helen’s suite at three in the morning, and Helen opened a split of champagne. She poured herself a large glass. “Okay, now tell me—what happened to Gino?”

Anne searched for the right words. “It’s all my fault, I suppose,” she said carefully. “You see, I broke up with Allen.”

“Why?”

“Well—Lyon and I. . . we were together. . .”

“So?” Helen asked. “I knew you were balling Lyon in New Haven. What’s that got to do with Allen?”

“I couldn’t see Allen any more if I’m in love with Lyon.”

Helen’s eyes narrowed. “Are you kidding? You don’t think just because he’s banging you he’s gonna marry you, do you?”

“Of course he will—”

“Has he mentioned marriage?”

“Helen, this all just happened three days ago.”

“So where is your big Romeo now? I notice he didn’t stick with you.”

Anne didn’t answer. Helen rushed on, driving her point home. “Listen, a guy who is in love with you sticks with you. Allen stuck—and he probably feels awful. That’s why Gino didn’t come, I bet. He probably thinks I’m as cheap as you.”

“Helen!”

“You think you’re classy, acting this way. You wear a guy’s ring and leap in the feathers with that limey! And fuck me up with Gino. Sure, he thinks we’re the same kind. He’s afraid to see me now—afraid I’d hurt him like you hurt his son.”

“What I did with Allen has nothing to do with you and Gino.”

“Then why isn’t he here? He dug me pretty good. I can tell. We had laughs together. If it wasn’t for you throwing yourself at Lyon Burke, he’d be here with me now. I’ve lost a guy I love because you’re a little tramp.”

Anne dashed across the room and grabbed her coat.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Helen asked, refilling her glass.

“Any place—just to get away from you!”

“Ha!” Helen sneered. “Honey, you got no place to go but down. Do you think anyone cares about you? You and your prissy blue nose? At least I come out and call a spade a spade. But you played it the great lady. Sure, as long as you wore that diamond you were someone. I put up with you. I figured you must have something if Allen Cooper wanted you. It was your only claim to fame. You’re nothing now—just another broad who’s been balled by Lyon Burke.”

Anne stared at her. “And I thought you were my friend—”

“Friend! What in hell have you got that I should be your friend! Who in hell are you? A stinking secretary and a big bore! And I lose a guy who digs me because of you, yet!” Helen stood up, her legs wobbling. “I’m going to bed—sleep on the couch if you like.”

Anne’s rage made her calm. “Helen, you’ve just lost the only friend you ever had.”

Helen’s face twisted. “Things would be pretty rough if I had to rely on you for laughs and kicks.”

Anne went to the door. “Good-by, Helen. And good luck.”

“No, sister, you’re the one who needs the luck. All you got left is maybe a few more bangs from Lyon Burke before he gets bored with you. And he gets bored easily. I know—I had my innings with him six years ago.” She smiled at Anne’s incredulous stare. “That’s right, me and Lyon. I was doing a new show and he had just joined Henry Bellamy. He was playing it smart—gave me the big romance treatment. He liked being seen with me. But at least I wasn’t a jerk like you. I took it for what it was worth—enjoyed him in the kip and when it petered out that was it. And believe me, I had more to offer him than you, a two-bit secretary.”

Anne opened the door and rushed out, sick with disgust and anger. She reached the elevator and suddenly stopped. Her panic grew as she frantically searched through her bag. She had no money. She had rushed to meet Lyon so quickly that she hadn’t bothered to cash a check. She made a final search and found eighty-five cents. It was after four—she couldn’t call Neely. But she couldn’t walk to New York, either.

She sat on a chair near the elevator in the hall. If she went to the lobby and sat—till nine maybe—then she could call Neely. Oh, God, she had ruined everything. She felt an overwhelming sense of loss. Helen was no longer her friend. But then it seemed Helen had never been her friend ... everyone had warned her. She had been warned about Lyon, too. Lyon and Helen. No—it couldn’t be! But Helen wouldn’t make up an outrageous lie like that. Oh, God! Why had Helen told her? She began to sob, muffling the sound in her hands.

She heard the elevator stop. She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and kept her head down. A girl got off and walked past, then stopped and turned around.

“It’s Anne, isn’t it?”

Anne dabbed frantically at her eyes again. It was Jennifer North.

“What’s wrong?” Jennifer asked. Anne looked at the radiant girl.

“Just about everything, I’m afraid.”

Jennifer smiled compassionately. “I’ve had days like that. Come on, my room is right down there. Maybe we can talk about it.” She took Anne’s hand and led her firmly down the hall.

Sitting on the bed, chain smoking, Anne found herself telling Jennifer the entire story.

At the end Jennifer grinned. “Wow, have you had a weekend!”

“I’m sorry I put you through all this,” Anne said. “And at such an hour.”

“That’s all right, I never sleep anyway.” Jennifer smiled. “That’s my big problem. But one of your problems is solved, anyway. You stay here tonight.”

“No—I really want to get back to New York. If you would lend me the money, I’ll mail you a check tomorrow.”

Jennifer reached into her bag and tossed over her wallet. “Help yourself. But I think you’re mad. I’ve got two beds. You can get a good night’s sleep and go back tomorrow on a decent train.”

“I want to get back now.” Anne took a ten-dollar bill from the thick wallet. “I’ll mail you a check.”

Jennifer shook her head. “No, wait till I get back to New York—then you can take me to lunch. I want to hear the end of this.”

“This is the end.”

Jennifer smiled. “Sure, with Helen—and possibly Allen. But not with Lyon. Not the way you look when you mention his name.”

“But how can I go back to him now, after what Helen said?”

Jennifer looked incredulous. “You mean that bothers you? You didn’t think he was a virgin, did you?”

“No, but Helen ... he seems to think so little of her as a woman.”

“Maybe he thought more of her six years ago. He was probably impressed with her. You know, working for Henry Bellamy, trying to be a success. I don’t blame him if he did it with Helen—he probably had to. But I blame her for being such a rat as to throw it at you when she knows you care.”

“But she says he hits and runs ...”

“Anne, I’m sure every man hits and runs with Helen. And she salves her pride by believing that the man acts that way with everyone. She’ll even con herself into believing that Gino adored her. Anne, I’m sure Lyon is really stuck on you. Maybe not in love, but really stuck.”

“But I’ve ruined everything now. He walked out on me.”

“He probably feels you walked out on him. In a way you did, choosing Helen over him.”

“I didn’t choose. I felt sorry for her. She was my friend.”

“Some friend!” Jennifer made a face. “Look. Tomorrow when you see Lyon, be really nice. Let your eyes fill with tears. Tell him you just learned how stupid you were to feel anything resembling friendship for Helen. Play it sweet—sweet and wounded. And for heaven’s sake, don’t dare mention what Helen told you about him!” She followed Anne to the door. “Remember, there’s only one way to own a man—by making him want you. Not with words. Now sleep on it. In fact, I should chain you up here for a few days so you don’t mess things up.”

“No. I want to go back.”

“Anne ...” Jennifer followed her to the door. “I like you. We’ll be good friends. I want a real friend too. Trust me—do it my way if you want Lyon.”

Anne smiled weakly. “I’ll try, Jennifer, I’ll try ...” The ride back to New York seemed endless. The sun was shining when she finally reached Penn Station. It was morning ... people were pouring out of the Long Island section. She’d just have time to bathe, have breakfast and get to the office. Her eyes felt gritty in the cab and her legs were like lead as she climbed the stairs to her room.

She saw the telegram sticking out under her door. Lyon! It had to be! She tore it open.

AUNT AMY PASSED AWAY IN HER SLEEP LAST NIGHT. FUNERAL WILL TAKE PLACE WEDNESDAY. IT WOULD BE NICE IF YOU COULD ATTEND. LOVE. MOTHER.

She stared at the telegram. How like her mother. Not “Please come,” or “I need you,” but “It would be nice ...”

Well, she wouldn’t go. Her mother didn’t really care. Didn’t really want her there. It would just “look nice” for Lawrenceville. But she belonged here ... she belonged to Lyon. She reached for the phone and impulsively dialed him. After four rings he answered. His voice sounded sleepy. She felt a twinge of anger. She had sat up all night on a cold train while he had been sleeping ...

“Hello?” He was awake now, and irritated. She realized she was holding the receiver and not speaking.

“Hello ... is someone on?” Lyon’s voice clipped through the wires.

She was frightened. He sounded angry.

“Is it Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth! She stared into the phone stupidly. “Come now, this is a juvenile thing to do,” Lyon said coldly. “Elizabeth, if you want to talk, say something or I’ll hang up.”

He waited a moment, then put the receiver down with a click.

Elizabeth? Who was Elizabeth? She felt sick at the sudden realization that Lyon had a complete life she knew nothing about. She had really only known him four days. God, was it just four days! Of course there was an Elizabeth—probably many Elizabeths.

******

She called Western Union and wired her mother that she would come immediately. Then she checked the trains. The next train to Boston left at nine-thirty. She threw some things into a bag. It was eight-thirty—she would have time to get to the bank and cash a check. But the office wasn’t open yet. She had to let Henry know she wouldn’t be in. She dialed Western Union again.

DEAR HENRY. PERSONAL CIRCUMSTANCES CALL ME AWAY. WILL RETURN AND EXPLAIN ON FRIDAY. ANNE.

She left for Boston, never realizing her formal wire would be misinterpreted. Henry had crushed the wire angrily. “Goddammit—she probably eloped with Allen Cooper.” He kept his suspicions to himself, but found himself being unusually short with Miss Steinberg and the rest of the office staff. On Friday, when he walked in and found her at her desk, he stared in delighted astonishment.

“You’re back!” he shouted.

“I said I would be back on Friday.”

“I was positive you were married,” he said.

“Married?” She stared in amazement. George Bellows had come in. He seemed surprised to see her, too. “Married?” she repeated. “To whom?”

“I just thought ...” Henry looked foolish. “I was afraid you had eloped with Allen.”

“Eloped? My aunt died. I had to go to Boston. The office wasn’t open, so I sent you a wire. Who said I eloped?”

Henry threw his arms around her. “Never mind. You’re back. And I’m so glad.”

It was at this moment that Lyon entered. He stopped abruptly when he saw her. Henry released her and turned in boyish relief. “She’s back, Lyon ...”

“Yes, I see.” Lyon’s voice was emotionless.

Anne dropped her eyes. “I’m sorry if you all got the wrong impression.”

“Her aunt died,” Henry said jubilantly. Then, forcing a sober expression, he added, “I’m sorry, Anne.” He turned to Lyon. “She only went to Boston for the funeral.”

Lyon smiled and went to his office.

“Come on in,” Henry said insistently. “Here, want some coffee? A Danish? A raise? Anything—I’m so happy—just name it.”

The buzzer on his desk sounded. He flipped a switch and Anne heard Lyon’s clipped voice. “Henry, could you please send Anne in with the management contract for Neely O’Hara?”

Henry winked and clicked off the intercom. He opened his file cabinet and shuffled through some papers. “We’re handling your little friend. She hasn’t any agent. She has only a small kind of future—strictly on the stage—but we’re taking her on because of you.” He handed Anne the papers and motioned her toward Lyon’s door.

Lyon stood up when she entered. “I suppose Henry told you we’re taking Neely on. She insists—says it will make her feel like a star.”

Anne kept her eyes on the contract. “Yes, Henry told me.”

He came over to her and took the papers. “Has he also told you that I’ve been a lost soul for the past four days?”

She looked at him and he took her in his arms. “Oh, Lyon, Lyon ...” She clung to him.

“I’m sorry about your aunt. None of us knew why you had gone—Henry acted as if you were actually never coming back. I couldn’t believe that. I refused to believe you had gone out of my life. I know I acted badly, Anne—I should have waited that night. Helen is your friend, and ...”

“No, I was wrong. I’ll never put anything before you again. Helen wasn’t worth it. No one is worth it. Oh, Lyon, I love you so much.”

“I love you, Anne.”

“You do! Oh, Lyon, do you really?” She clung to him even harder.

He kissed the top of her head. “Really, really,” he said lightly. But when she looked at him she knew he meant it. And once again she told herself she could never be as happy as she was this moment.

******

She spent the weekend at Lyon’s apartment. She responded eagerly to his lovemaking. On the second night she fell back, shaking and weak. He held her gently and stroked her hair.

“Oh, Lyon—it happened.” She shivered a little.

“For the first time,” he said. “I was beginning to worry about myself.”

“Not at all—it’s very rare for a girl to actually feel anything or reach a climax in the beginning.”

She kissed his face eagerly. “I function, Lyon—I’m a woman!”

That night she was aggressive in her lovemaking. She had never dreamed her physical passion could match her emotions, and she was glad and frightened at the same time. She not only loved Lyon because he was Lyon, she hungered for him physically. Her love seemed insatiable.

There was only one nagging thought that crept through the perfect weekend. On Monday she was to go to court and testify for Jennifer’s annulment.

“I know you hate to do this, Anne,” Henry had said. “But you’re the only one I can trust. Jennifer’s a stranger in New York. She doesn’t know any girls. It’ll be over and done with before you know it. Don’t worry about it. Just be in the office at nine-thirty. We’re due in court at ten-thirty. Jennifer is coming in from Philadelphia for the day. We’ll rehearse the whole deal before we leave the office.”

She mentioned it several times during the weekend. And there were times she even thought about it when she was in Lyon’s arms.

“Look, if it really bothers you, you don’t have to do it,” Lyon said.

“I know it’s silly, Lyon, but I’m scared. It is perjury, isn’t it?”

“Technically, yes. But it’s done every day. I mean, no one really cares. Not even the judge. But if this is against your principles, just tell Henry so. If necessary, he can get Miss Steinberg.”

“Why didn’t he ask her in the first place?”

“He thought about it. Naturally she was our first thought. But how far could we go, even with a sympathetic judge? Would Jennifer North look like the kind of girl who made Miss Steinberg her chum and confidante?” He reached for the phone. “But don’t fret about it. I’ll ring Henry now. You don’t owe Henry or Jennifer North a bloody thing, so why should you—”

“Oh, Lord!” She sat up in bed. “Lyon, don’t call Henry.”

“Why not?” “I owe Jennifer a great deal—ten dollars among other things. I completely forgot. She loaned me money for train fare from Philadelphia.” She had told him the Helen Lawson incident, carefully omitting Helen’s reference to him. But she had forgotten to tell him how Jennifer had sympathized and bailed her out. “I meant to send her the money. But when I got back to New York, there was the wire, and I just took off for Lawrenceville.”

“Well, you can relax. I’m sure Jennifer isn’t worried about ten dollars. I’ll give it back to her tomorrow.”

“Still, she was awfully nice to me that night. I guess the least I can do is testify for her.”

“Very well, if you think it will even the score.”

She looked at him. “That’s such a final expression, Lyon. As if it finishes you off with a person, like a paid bill. I remember when you used it with me. It was like closing a door in my face.”

“With you? When?”

“When I thanked you for Neely, for getting her the job. You said it evened the score for getting you this apartment.”

“Our apartment now,” he said.

She looked at him mistily “Our apartment?”

“Why not? Unless you’re attached to that room on West Fifty-second Street. I think we have ample closet space here. And I’m quite neat to live with.”

She threw her arms around him. “Oh, Lyon! We haven’t known each other long, but I think I knew. I knew the moment we met that you were the only man I’d ever want to marry.”

He broke the embrace gently. “I’m asking you to move in, Anne. That is all I can ask—for the present.”

She turned away from him, more embarrassed than hurt. Lyon took her by the shoulders and turned her gently to face him. “Anne, I do love you.”

She tried to blink back the tears. But they choked through her words. “When people love one another they get married.”

“In Lawrenceville perhaps—where things are settled at birth and futures are all in place.”

“Your future is very much in place. Henry believes in you ...”

“I’m not sure I want to stay with Henry. I suddenly don’t seem to be sure of anything—but I am sure I don’t want Henry’s kind of life.” He looked thoughtful. “You see, I had decided after the war that I wasn’t coming back to Henry, and to the old way of life. But I did come back, and Henry’s enthusiasm got to me. I almost slipped into the old pattern. And then we had lunch in the Barberry Room. You gave me quite a jolt that day—started me thinking. Then the weekend in New Haven—and the Terry King business.” He shook his head. “Then the smashing blow when you disappeared. I started to evaluate things carefully—and I made a decision. I’m going to have a go at writing that book.”

“That’s wonderful, Lyon. But how would marriage change things?”

“Let’s say I still have a few old-fashioned ideas. I do think a husband should support his wife. If I married you, I’d throw myself into the action at Henry’s one hundred per cent. I’d make a lot of money, but we’d have a bad marriage.”

“Are you going to leave Henry?”

“Unfortunately, I can’t. I have enough money saved to take a few months off, but it’s too big a risk. I’ll stay with Henry and write the book on the side. A few snatched hours at night ... weekends ... it’s not the ideal way, but unfortunately at the moment it’s the only way—there is no country home to retreat to. And I’m aware of the hazards ahead. Even if it’s accepted, the advance for an unknown writer is small. It takes six or eight months to come out, and sometimes, even with a good book, an author makes very little money. The runaway best sellers are the rare exceptions. So I have two alternatives—remain with Henry and work in my free time, or find a rich old woman to subsidize me.”

“I’m not old or rich, but I have some money, and I could go on working.” He ran his hand through her hair, watching the heavy silk fall between his fingers.

“With your marvelous stipend from Henry and my savings, we still couldn’t swing this apartment.”

“But I told you, I have money. I have five thousand that my father left me and I just inherited seven thousand from my aunt. That’s twelve thousand, Lyon—it’s more than enough.”

He whistled. “Good Lord, I’ve found me an heiress.” He kissed her warmly. “Anne, I’m truly touched. But it couldn’t work. Right now I’m not sure if I can write. I’m not sure the book will even be good. At this very moment there must be half a million ex-GI’s sitting at typewriters and hammering out their personal versions of Normandy, Okinawa or the London Blitz. And each of us—we really have something to say. It’s just a matter of who says it first—and who says it best.”

“I’m sure you can write,” she insisted. “I just know it.”

“Then you know more than I. Which is delightful, devoted—and I love you for it.”

“Lyon ... after the book is finished, will you marry me?”

“I shall be delighted to—if the book turns out to be a good one.”

She was silent for a moment. “But you said yourself ... even a good book doesn’t always make money.”

“I didn’t say money was the barometer. If the book was good, even if it didn’t make a dime, I’d continue to write. I’d work even harder, because then I’d know it was more than a dream. And we’d make out somehow. But if it turns out to be unacceptable to any publisher, then I would go at my job with Henry on the double. I’d haul out the old Lyon Burke and make up for the wasted years—and I’m not sure that you would care very much for me.”

“What was the old Lyon Burke like?”

He thought for a moment. “No wasted moments. Yes, I guess that would be appropriate. I never made a move without a premeditated reason. Not even this—” His hand stroked her breast.

The memory of Helen’s shrill voice filled her ears. Then it was true—the old Lyon would have had an affair with Helen. He had practically admitted it.

He took her in his arms. “But that Lyon Burke was killed in action, or perhaps he died the night the boy talked about the peach trees. If so—perhaps he didn’t spend his last night in vain.”

She put her arms around him. “You could never go back. Not when you talk like this. If this book doesn’t make it, then you’ll work on another and another. You are what you are now, and nothing will ever change that again. If you want to stay with Henry and write, I’ll wait. I’ll wait forever, if it takes a dozen books. Just stay being you.”

“I don’t know whether me is that great to be. But it is better than being Henry Bellamy. And that’s where I was heading. In fact, I’d have been even bigger than Henry, because I wasn’t as nice. Henry vacillates, takes time out to care. I have a one-track mind. I’d have been a king-sized Henry—a large success and a personal failure.”

“Is that what you think of Henry?”

“Henry’s struggled for thirty years to get where he is—the top, I guess you’d call it. It’s a trite word. He calls it Mount Everest. And that’s where he is, financially and professionally. But what about his personal life? If one were to write up Henry’s Who’s Who, there would be several paragraphs devoted to his theatrical and business achievements. To his personal life, one line—unmarried, no living relatives. In short, no life aside from the business. Alone on the summit of Mount Everest.”

“But you’re only proving my point, Lyon. Henry kept waiting to get married. You’re doing the same thing.”

“No. Because a marriage is meaningless on Mount Everest. There are men like Henry who marry and have children and families, but their personal life is the same. After all, let’s suppose Henry had gotten married. To a nice girl—out of the business. The children would be married now, attending to their children. The wife would be spending the winter in Florida. She’d have given up nagging at Henry for his erratic hours, and by now she would be accustomed to living without his companionship—a thing she never had. She would have settled for the nice things that came out of Henry’s dedication—the large apartment or town house, the furs, the style of living. There are many Henrys who are married and who wind up on top alone. They have to be alone, because they’ve alienated everyone along the way. In this rat race you whore, lie, cheat and use every trick you can employ to get up there where Henry is. This business demands it. And that’s what I’m ranting against. Not Henry personally, but what everyone turns into if he sticks in it long enough.”

They were both quiet for a few moments. Lyon spoke first. “Sorry I sounded off like this.”

“No, I’m glad. I understand you better. I’m just worried about one thing.”

He looked at her warmly. “What?”

“When are you going to marry me?”

He laughed out loud. She wondered if he knew how wonderful he looked when he did that. She had never known anyone who laughed like that—who threw his head back and let go. His laugh had a wonderful ring to it.

“I’ll tell you what—you shall be the first to read the completed manuscript, and then you can tell me.”

She snuggled against him. “I’d better go to sleep,” she whispered. “I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

“Oh yes, the annulment business.”

“Mmm ... and Lyon ... have you an extra key to your apartment?” He held her tight. “I’ll have one made. Then you are moving in?”

“No, but I’m moving in a typewriter and plenty of blank paper first thing tomorrow. A bright shiny new typewriter. It’ll be my pre-wedding gift to you.”

“I’ll accept it ... on one condition. You move in with it.”

“No. I’ll come and stay like this whenever you want me. I’ll spend weekends with you and type up your pages. But I won’t live with you. I’ll live for you ... and wait.”

He kissed her brow. “As a lawyer I should tell you that you’re getting the short end of the deal. But as your lover, I promise I shall try very hard not to let you down.”

******

The court appearance was brief. Any fears Anne might have had were immediately dismissed as she watched the cut-and-dried procedure. Henry handed some papers to the judge. The judge made a pretense of reading them, a few questions were exchanged, Jennifer testified with her rehearsed speech, Anne chanted her lines. In less than ten minutes Jennifer had her annulment.

Henry took both girls to lunch. He ate quickly. “I have work waiting,” he explained, “but you two girls can sit and rehash all the events. Anne, take the rest of the afternoon off.”

The moment Henry left, Jennifer turned to Anne and asked, “Now tell me, how did it work out with you and Lyon?”

Jennifer listened while Anne told her everything that had happened. It surprised Anne how quickly and easily she confided in Jennifer. There was something about Jennifer that invited trust.

Jennifer shook her head. “He sounds rough. You’ll never be able to control him.”

“But I don’t want to control Lyon ...”

“I don’t mean that way. A man must feel he runs things, but as long as you control yourself, you control him. Get him to put a ring on your finger, then be the slave girl if you wish.”

Anne looked at her ringless hand. “That’s not important. I have the biggest ring you ever saw lying in a safe-deposit box.”

Jennifer stared at her with new respect. “You mean you managed to get rid of Allen and keep the ring?”

“He didn’t want it back.”

Jennifer shook her head. “You must really do something special in bed. I thought I had all the answers.”

“I never went to bed with Allen.”

For a moment Jennifer was speechless. Then she grinned. “That’s what was special. You were a challenge to Allen.”

“Well, I’m afraid I’m no challenge to Lyon.”

“Still, I’ll keep my fingers crossed. At least you did one thing right—you refused to move in with him. I’m doing the same thing with Tony Polar. He wants me to quit the show and travel with him. No marriage talk, either. But I’m no camp follower. By the way, how large is your apartment?”

“One room. I live in a boarding house—same place as Neely.”

“I have no place to live when the show comes in,” Jennifer said. “It would be nice if we could find a place to share.”

“Sounds wonderful, but I don’t think I can really afford even half of an apartment.”

“Say!” Jennifer’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve got a great idea. You say Neely has a room. What if the three of us took a place together? Then we could afford it.”

“I’d love it,” Anne said.

“We come back to town in three weeks. Maybe you could swing something by then.”

“I’ll look, but things are pretty tight. I found Lyon’s apartment right away, but Allen did that for me.”

Jennifer’s blue eyes suddenly narrowed. “Anne, what are you planning to do about the ring?”

Anne shrugged. “Leave it in the vault, I guess. I certainly have no desire to wear it.”

“Just leave it there? When it could be working for you?”

“How?”

“Sell it. Invest the money.”

“But it’s not really mine.”

“You offered it back and he refused. It’s yours. And you earned it. Any time you put up with a man’s company when you can’t stand him you should have something to show for it. Sell it.”

Anne thought of Lyon. Perhaps Jennifer was right. At the end of the year, if the book wasn’t successful and she did have some real money ... “Maybe you’re right. I could sell the ring and put the money in the bank and let the interest pile up.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Jennifer said. “Sell the ring and ask Henry Bellamy to invest your money in the market. You can double your money in a few years. There’s always a bull market after a war.”

“But isn’t that risky?”

“Not now. And not if Henry manages it for you. Henry told me the market is going to boom. I wish I had some money. I haven’t a sou—just what’s on my back and what I make in the show. But the minute I get my hands on some big money I’m letting Henry invest it.”

Jennifer

December, 1945

Hit the Sky had three performances to go in Philadelphia. Henry’s predictions had been correct. They were able to eliminate Boston and bring the show into New York earlier than planned. The cast was eager for the New York opening, confident they had a hit, but the tension was high. New York critics were unpredictable. Nothing could be taken for granted.

Jennifer was oblivious to this pre-opening hysteria. Philadelphia had been a most profitable engagement. She stood in the lobby of her hotel and flashed one of her most glorious smiles at the persistent Philadelphia lawyer who was pleading for one last nightcap.

“It’s three o’clock,” she begged. “And I must get some sleep.”

“You can sleep all day tomorrow. Come on, I know a wonderful after-hours club—it’s right up the street.”

“It’s cold. And I want to get some sleep, Robby, honestly. Besides, I don’t drink, and if I have one more Coke I’ll explode.”

“How can you be cold in that coat?” He looked meaningfully at the new beaver she was wearing.

She patted it affectionately. “You were an angel to give it to me. It’s really warmer than my mink. But I’ve got to get some sleep.”

“Let me come up with you,” he begged.

“You were with me last night, Robby.”

“Is there a rule about two nights?”

“Yes, when I’m working. Call me tomorrow.” Her smile was promising.

“What time?”

“Around six. We’ll have dinner before the show.”

“And after ...?”

“And after.” She nodded. She blew him a kiss and stepped into the elevator.

There were some messages lying on the floor under her door. One was from a columnist. There were two requests to call Operator 24 in Cleveland. Well, it was too late to call her mother now. She looked at the time on the last Cleveland message—one-thirty. Even her mother wouldn’t have the tenacity to wait this long for a return call. There was also a message from Anne. She had signed the lease for the apartment she had found and everything was fine. Anne was a wonderful girl. Jennifer envied her, the way she felt about Lyon. It must be great to be able to feel that way. But then if you did, you couldn’t do the other. She stroked the beaver coat—one night with Robby. That’s what a great body was for, to get things you wanted. She wondered what it would be like really to care, to love someone like Lyon Burke. Lyon would be easy to love ... she had thought about it when they first met.

“We’ll catch Tony Polar’s opening tonight,” Henry had said. “You must be seen around, to keep the publicity going. I’ve arranged for Lyon Burke to escort you. I’m taking Helen.” She had been unprepared for someone like Lyon. She had felt a surge of excitement in meeting a man she knew she wanted, a man she wanted for nothing beyond her own pleasure. She had intended to have him that night; then Tony Polar had materialized. It had been a tense moment of decision. The spotlight on Tony; Tony singing to her; everyone in the room staring; keeping her smile: frozen in place; feeling the magnetism of Lyon Burke, yet aware of the public embrace Tony Polar was offering. As a man Tony could not compare with Lyon. They were the same age, she imagined—both around thirty. But one would always be a boy, while the other had long been a man. But Lyon Burke was only an agent; Tony was a star. That had made her decision ... it was that simple.

She got undressed, dropping her clothes carelessly on the chair. Maybe she would let Robby stay tomorrow night. She could do with a new evening gown. She wrinkled her nose. He was so unattractive and he breathed so hard. But she needed some clothes, and men who looked like Robby were always generous. They had to be. Now Lyon Burke ... but he was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Some unknown mechanism seemed to click within her mind, automatically eliminating the impractical with the precision of an IBM machine, acting as a nerve block to her emotions when they might complicate her decisions.

It hadn’t always been like this. In the beginning her emotions had fought back. But that was long ago. Now the decisions came automatically. She thought of Lyon Burke again. Too bad—the timing had been unfortunate that night. That night it had to be Lyon or Tony and there had been no contest.

Lyon had seemed to understand. She was suddenly struck by a new thought. “We’re alike!” Of course, that had to be the answer. She was a luxury he couldn’t afford. But Anne—certainly Anne couldn’t fit into his scheme of things. A new and foreign thought struck her. Perhaps she just hadn’t appealed to Lyon. But that was ridiculous. She appealed to every man. She dropped her bra and pants to the floor and stood before the full-length mirror. She surveyed her body with clinical interest. It was perfect. She turned sideways and examined the profile of her breasts. They were as upright as ever. She folded her arms and methodically did twenty-five breast-tightening exercises. She opened the medicine cabinet and took out the large jar of cocoa butter. With almost surgical precision she massaged the butter into her breasts with gentle but firm upward strokes. Then, with equal care, she creamed the makeup off her face. Once this was accomplished, she opened another jar and put some cream under her eyes. She took a V-shaped plaster out of a box and pasted it between her eyes, on the bridge of her nose. She did twenty-five more breast exercises and slid into a nightgown.

She looked at the clock. Good Lord, it was almost four and she still wasn’t sleepy. When did they turn the heat on in this hotel? It was freezing. She got under the covers and glanced through the morning papers. There were two pictures of her. One was a wire-service photo, showing her with Tony. Tony! He’d have asked her to marry him by now if it weren’t for that sister of his. She frowned as she thought of Miriam. The “frownie” plaster stabbed a warning. She relaxed her face instantly. What was she going to do about Miriam? They could never shake her. If it wasn’t that Tony was so eager to go to bed with her, she’d never see him alone. Come to think of it, that was the only time they did get rid of Miriam.

The phone rang timidly, as if frightened to interrupt anyone at such an hour. She picked it up hopefully. Sometimes Tony stayed up till dawn, too. But it was the Cleveland operator. She sighed and accepted the reverse-charge call.

“Jen ...” It was her mother’s whining voice. “I’ve been trying to get you all night.”

“I just got in, Mother. I thought it was too late to call you back.”

“How could I sleep? I’m so upset. There was a big story about you in the Cleveland papers. Said you didn’t get a cent out of your annulment from the Prince.”

“That’s right.” “Jen, are you crazy? You know John is going to be retired next year. And we’ll never be able to live on his pension. As it is, we can’t make ends meet.”

“I sent you fifty dollars last week, Mother. And I’ll send fifty more as soon as I get my pay check this week.”

“I know, but Gran’s been sick. I had to take her to the doctor, and then we had a bad leak with the oil burner, and—”

“I’ll see if I can dig up some more, Mother.” She thought of Robby again. “But I only make a hundred and twenty-five in the show—less Social Security and income tax.”

“Jen, I didn’t starve and do without to send you to school in Switzerland just so you’d wind up as a showgirl making that kind of money.”

“You never starved, Mother. It was money Daddy left me. And you only sent me to Switzerland for that year to break me up with Harry.”

“Because I was determined you weren’t going to wind up as poor little Jeannette Johnson, marrying a garage mechanic!”

“Harry was not just a garage mechanic. He was studying to be an engineer and I loved him.”

“Well, he’s still a mechanic, with black fingernails and three grimy kids. Harriet Irons was once one of the prettiest girls around; she’s your age but looks forty now, married to him.”

“Mother, how can a girl twenty-five look forty?”

“When a girl has no money and marries for love, she ages real fast. Love doesn’t last. Men only care about one thing. Remember your father!”

“Mother, this is long distance,” Jennifer said wearily. “You didn’t call me just to complain about Daddy. Besides, John’s been a wonderful husband to you. I don’t even remember Daddy, but I’m sure he couldn’t have been as nice as John.”

“He was a louse, your father. Rich, handsome and a louse. But I loved him. Our family never had money, but we had a name. Don’t forget—Gran is a Virginia Tremont. And I still think you should have taken Tremont as your stage name instead of that ridiculous North.”

“Didn’t we agree that I was to take a strange name so no one could trace me? If I’m to pass as nineteen, I have to be Jennifer North. If I took Tremont, someone in Virginia would trace me. If I took Johnson, everyone in Cleveland would remember me.”

“With your publicity, they all remembered you. The whole town’s been talking about you since you eloped. One paper sniped about your claiming to be only nineteen, but they were all so impressed with the Prince that it didn’t matter. And I felt it didn’t matter because you were safely married. Now you go and throw it all away without collecting a penny.”

“Mother, why do you think I ran? Just before we were to go to Italy, I found out he had no money.”

“What do you mean? I saw the pictures in the papers! The diamond necklace, the mink coat ...”

“The necklace belongs in his family. He bought me the mink, but I think he got it free for the publicity we gave the furrier. He had a whole floor at the Waldorf, but a wine company was footing the bill. He was like a good-will ambassador for them. His title is legitimate—very royal—but he hasn’t a dime. They lost everything when Mussolini took over. They have some horrible big castle outside of Naples. I could live there, scrounging among the international set, wearing the family jewels ... living in genteel poverty. I was lucky I found out in time. He told me he was rich because he thought a beautiful American wife would be an asset over there. After we were married I learned the bitter facts. Then he started telling me of some rich Italian wine merchant I had to play up to—go all the way if the guy wanted me. Mother, he was a high-class pimp, when you get down to it. I was lucky to be able to keep the mink coat.”

“Well, what about this Tony Polar?” her mother asked.

“He’s real cute.”

“Jen!”

“Mother, he is cute ... and I like him. And he also happens to have a lot of money. Besides, my lawyer thinks I may get a movie contract.”

“Forget about pictures!”

“Why? I might make it.”

“It’s too late. You’re not nineteen. Look, you’re lucky—you have a gorgeous face and the kind of body men go for ... though your kind of figure doesn’t last. What have you told this Tony Polar about your background?”

“An airtight story, based on some truth. That my father was wealthy and was killed in a bombing in England, that he left everything to his second wife—”

“That’s true ... what else?”

“That my father had left me a small inheritance, enough to see me through school in Switzerland. Since I’m supposed to be nineteen, I left out about staying in Europe for over five years.”

“What did you tell him about me?”

“I said you were dead.”

“What?”

“Mother, what should I tell him? That I have a mother and a stepfather and a grandmother living in Cleveland who can’t wait to move in with us?”

“But if you marry him, how do you explain me?”

“You’ll be my aunt—my mother’s dear sister whom I support.”

“All right. Are you watching your weight?”

“I’m very thin, Mother ...”

“I know, but don’t gain and lose. That’s the worst thing for your breasts. Big breasts like yours are going to drop soon enough, and then they’ll be an eyesore. Make them pay while you have them. Men are animals—they seem to like them. Maybe I wouldn’t have lost your father if I hadn’t been flat-chested. Then I could have had a decent life ....” She started to sob. “Oh, Jen, I can’t take it any more. I want to leave and be with you, baby!”

“Now Mother—you can’t leave John or Gran.”

“Why can’t I? Let John stay with Gran. He and that piddling job of his. Where else could he go? He could never even afford to buy a house.”

“Mother!” Jennifer clenched her teeth and held onto her patience. “Mother, please. Let me marry Tony first, then I’ll take care of you.”

“Has he mentioned marriage?”

“Not yet—”

“What are you waiting for? Jen, in five years you’ll be thirty. I was twenty-nine when your father got tired of me. Jen, you haven’t got much time.”

“It’s not that simple, Mother. He has a sister. She manages him, writes all his checks. Their mother died when Tony was born. She’s raised him and she loves him. And she hates me.”

“Jen, you’ve got to be tough. Get rid of her. Take her place. You can’t let her move in with you if you marry him. It would ruin your life—and she’d never let me come. Baby, use your head. Be smart. If a woman has money, nothing can ever hurt her. I only want the best for you, baby ...”

The radiators began to crackle; the sun was sneaking in under the blinds. Jennifer was still awake. Her mother’s call had not particularly disturbed her. She was used to it. But she worried about not sleeping. The one way to hold your looks was plenty of rest. Even if you didn’t sleep, lying in bed and resting was almost as good. She had read that somewhere. She lit another cigarette. But what kind of rest was it if you paced around and smoked an entire pack of cigarettes during the night? She walked to the bathroom and put some more cream under her eyes. No lines yet, but how long could this go on? She hadn’t averaged more than three hours sleep a night since—since those last weeks in Spain. She sighed. Before that she had always been able to sleep. In fact, sleep used to be an escape. When problems became insurmountable, she would look forward to the night. Until those last weeks in Spain with Maria ...

Maria ... Maria had been the most beautiful girl in school, and Jennifer, along with the other polyglot firsttermers, had idolized the glacial Spanish beauty. Maria was a senior, and she spoke to no one. And if she was aware of the hero worship she inspired in the other students, it failed to touch her; she made no friends. This hauteur only added to her glamour with the younger girls, and to the speculation and envy among her contemporaries. It looked as if Maria would graduate and leave Switzerland without allowing anyone to penetrate the imperial barrier. Until that day in the library ...

Jennifer was in tears, reading a letter from her mother. The money had run out; she was to return home at the end of the term. Had she made any valuable contacts? Cleveland was still feeling the depression, although the war in Europe was opening new factories. Harry had married Harriet Irons and still worked in a gas station. It was the part about Harry that had brought on the tears. ...

“Come, nothing can be that bad.”

Jennifer looked up. It was Maria. The majestic Maria, talking to her! Maria sat down, Maria was sympathetic. She listened while Jennifer talked.

“I don’t know what my mother expected,” Jennifer finished wearily. “Maybe she thought the English teacher would be a lord with a manor . . .”

Maria laughed. “Parents ...” Her English was stilted but excellent. “I am twenty-two. I will be expected to make a marriage with a man of my father’s choice. It will be a matter of his land adjoining ours, or other mutual family interests. Since our civil war our country is devastated. It is the duty of the few remaining families in power to unite. I agree with these decisions, but unfortunately, as a woman, I am expected to sleep with this pig ...”

“I was in love with Harry,” Jennifer said sadly. “But he didn’t suit my mother.”

“How old are you, Jeannette?” Jennifer had been Jeannette then.

“Nineteen.”

“Have you ever had a man?”

Jennifer blushed and stared at the floor. “No, but Harry and I ... we went pretty far. I mean—I let him touch me ... and once I touched his ...”

“I have gone to bed with a man,” Maria stated.

“All the way?”

“But of course. Last summer. I vacationed with an aunt in Sweden. I met a beautiful man. He had been in the Olympics. He was working as a swimming instructor. I knew the men my father was considering. It would be a fat German who escaped with all the art treasures, or one of the Carrillo family. None of the Carrillo boys have chins. So I decided to at least try it for the first time with a beautiful man.”

“I wish I had done it with Harry. Now he’s married to another girl.”

“Be glad you didn’t! It was awful! The man ... he mouths your breasts ... he pushes into you. It hurts. Then he perspires and breathes heavily like an animal. I bled—and I got pregnant.”

Jennifer couldn’t believe this was happening. Maria, the unapproachable school goddess, confiding in her!

“Oren!” Maria spat out the name. “He took care of things. A doctor ... more pain ... and good-by pregnancy. Then I got the fever and was very sick. I was taken to the hospital ... the operation... I can never have children.”

“Oh, Maria, I’m so sorry.”

Maria smiled slyly. “No, it is good! I will let my father make all the arrangements he wishes. Then I will tell the man. No man wants to marry a woman who cannot have children. I will never have to marry,” she said triumphantly.

“But what will your father say?”

“Oh, my aunt has taken care of the answer. She had to learn the truth. But I was her responsibility, so she must stand behind me. I shall say I was ill, that I had a tumor in my uterus and it had to be removed.”

“Was it?” Maria nodded. “Yes, my uterus was removed—peritonitis had set in. But it is wonderful. I am no longer bothered with the monthly period.”

Jennifer wanted to say she was sorry, but she couldn’t offer sympathy to a girl who regarded the incident as a stroke of marvelous luck. “Well, at least you’ve got everything settled,” she said. “But I still have to return to Cleveland.”

“You do not have to return,” Maria said emphatically. “You are too beautiful to spend your life waiting to be mauled by the first available man.”

“But what can I do?”

“In two weeks the term is ended. You come back to Spain with me for the summer. We will think of something.”

“Maria!” It was too wonderful. “But I have no money—just a return ticket home.”

“You will be my guest—I have more money than I can use.”

The last two weeks in school had been a personal triumph for Jennifer. The news raced through school—Little Jeannette Johnson had been befriended by Maria. The girls stared in envy. Maria continued to keep her imperial distance, even with Jennifer, except to stop and chat briefly whenever they passed in the hall.

The moment they left school, Maria’s attitude changed. She became warm and friendly. It began when they took the cab to Lausanne. “We can’t leave for Spain right away. My father’s cable ...” She handed it to Jennifer. It advised Maria to spend the summer in Switzerland. Spain was still feeling the devastation of the war. With one million dead and several hundred thousand injured, it was impossible to staff the house at present, so they had closed it and were staying at a hotel. But things would soon return to normal. Meanwhile she was to enjoy herself abroad. He had cabled the number of a Swiss bank account.

“We have plenty of money,” Maria said. “Enough to travel around the world and back. But the war is on in Europe, so France is out. So are Germany and England.”

“Let’s go to America,” Jennifer suggested. “We could go to New York. I’ve never been to New York.”

“How? I am not a citizen. Travel is impossible with Europe at war. You might make it on a Red Cross boat—as an American citizen you would have priority—but there would still be the mines and submarines. Anyway, I have no desire to go to New York. We shall stay here for the summer. Hitler will win any day and the whole thing will be over.”

They were to remain in Switzerland three years.

They became lovers the first night. Although Jennifer had been startled at the proposal, she felt no revulsion; in fact, she was even a little curious. Maria was still the exalted school-girl heroine. And Maria’s logical explanation removed any taint of abnormality.

“We like one another. I want to make you know about sex, to feel thrilling climaxes—not let you learn about it by being mauled by some brutal man. We are doing nothing wrong. We are not Lesbians like those awful freaks who cut their hair and wear mannish clothes. We are two women who adore one another and who know about being gentle and affectionate.”

That night Maria undressed and stood before Jennifer proudly. She had a lovely body, but Jennifer felt a secret delight in the knowledge that her own was superior. She dropped her clothes to the floor shyly. She heard Maria’s startled gasp as she exposed her breasts.

“You are more lovely than I dreamed,” Maria said softly. Her hands stroked Jennifer’s breasts lightly and endearingly. She leaned over and rested her cheek against them. “You see, I love your beauty and respect it. A man would be tearing into it now.” She ran her fingers gently over Jennifer’s body. To her amazement, Jennifer began to feel a sensation of excitement ... her body began to vibrate ...

“Come.” Maria took her hand. “Let us lie down. We will have a cigarette.”

“No, Maria. Keep touching me,” Jennifer pleaded.

“Later, I will touch you and hold you to your heart’s content. But I want you to feel comfortable with me. I will be gentle ...”

Maria had been gentle, and very patient—taking more liberties each night, slowly teaching Jennifer to respond, erasing any embarrassment. “You cannot just be loved, you must love back,” Maria would insist. “Make me thrill as I thrill you.” Each night Maria urged her on, until at last Jennifer found herself responding with equal ardor and reaching peaks of exaltation she never dreamed existed.

She enjoyed a dual relationship with Maria. At night she was eager for Maria, demanding and ecstatic. But during the day she regarded Maria as a friend. She felt no other personal attachment. When they shopped together or explored strange little towns, Maria was just another girl. She felt no involvement. Often they met attractive men—ski instructors, students—and Jennifer found these encounters quite difficult. Maria remained aloof to their advances, but Jennifer found some of the young men quite appealing. Many times as they danced, she felt her body thrilling to the touch of the strong masculine one that held her close. When a boy whispered an endearment, she found herself longing to respond.

Once she had slipped out for a brief walk with a particularly handsome Panamanian boy. He was a medical student, and he was going to New York after the war for further studies. He wanted her. They kissed, and she found herself clinging to him, responding to his kisses with equal passion. It was wonderful to hold the strong shoulders of a man, to feel a man’s chest against her own ... the strength of a man’s hand after Maria’s soft, tender one ... the firmness of a man’s lips. She wanted this boy desperately, but she tore away from him and returned to the café. Maria had noticed her absence; there was a slight scene that night when they were alone. Jennifer swore it had been a headache, that she had just wanted some air. At last, in bed, Maria relented ...

But most of the time it was wonderful. Maria was wildly extravagant. She bought Jennifer beautiful clothes. Jennifer learned to ski. Her French grew fluent and effortless. When they grew bored with Lausanne they moved to Geneva.

After three years in Switzerland Maria’s father wanted her to return, but she refused. Then, in 1944, he stopped her checks. She had no choice.

“You will come with me,” she told Jennifer. “But we will have to cash in your return ticket to America. I have not enough money without it.”

Jennifer knew she was handing in her ticket to freedom. For the past year she had grown increasingly weary with Maria’s demands on her body, yet Cleveland and her mother were even less appealing. But Spain! She might find some handsome Spanish man of good family. She was twenty-three, technically a virgin ... why not?

Jennifer remained in Spain over a year. She met many eligible men. A few were passable, but Maria kept a hawklike watch on all her activities. They were always chaperoned by one of Maria’s aunts. Maria repelled all advances and saw to it that Jennifer made no progress. Jennifer grew desperate. Maria’s possessiveness was stifling. For the first time she understood her mother’s fear of poverty. Money bought freedom; without it one could never be free. In Spain she could live luxuriously and wear beautiful clothes, but she belonged to Maria. If she returned to Cleveland she faced a different kind of imprisonment—marriage to some third-rate man who would also demand the use of her body. Whichever way you looked at it, without money you were someone’s captive. But there had to be a way out!

She began lying awake nights. She suffered through Maria’s lovemaking, returning an ardor she did not feel, feigning sleep until Maria’s even breathing assured her of safety. Then she would slide out of bed and sit by the window, smoking endlessly, staring at the stars, thinking ...

Money. She had to have money. The answer was in her body—it would work for her. It had carried her this far. She would go to New York, take a different name, lie about her age ... maybe she could model. Somehow she’d get money. She’d never be trapped again.

When the atom bomb was dropped, everyone in Madrid was feverish for news. Even Maria sat breathlessly at the radio set, eagerly listening for bulletins. Jennifer took this opportunity to post a secret letter to her mother, instructing her to write and demand Jennifer’s presence at home due to illness.

Her mother obeyed and Maria had no choice. They separated with promises of undying devotion, Jennifer swearing to return as soon as her mother recovered. She felt a twinge of guilt when Maria pressed a book of travelers’ checks in her hand. “It comes to three thousand dollars in American money. Try to save enough for your return here, but if you need more, cable me. I live only for the day of your return.” To erase any suspicion, Jennifer left most of her clothes in Spain as further assurance of her return. She had gone directly to New York and checked into a commercial hotel. She sent her mother five hundred dollars and told her to forward any mail from Spain, but under no circumstances to reveal her whereabouts or new name.

In the beginning Maria wrote every day. Jennifer never answered. Through a strange stroke of luck she had run into the Panamanian medical student the first day she was in New York. Fortunately he only recalled that they had met and that he had wanted her. He accepted the new name without question. She went to bed with him every night for three weeks, and then he introduced her to Prince Mirallo ...

It was seven o’clock—she crushed out the last cigarette. She had to sleep. She wanted to be really good with Robby. Then maybe she could get the gown and the money for her mother.

Neely

January, 1946

The New York critics had been unanimous in their raves for Hit the Sky. Helen Lawson’s public adoration had reached new heights, and Neely had received several excellent notices—none strong enough to incur Helen’s animosity, but glowing enough to exceed Neely’s wildest expectations.

No one had been more surprised than Neely. One critic had actually called her the freshest new talent to come along in many a season. This accolade, coupled with the new apartment, made her almost believe she was someone.

She couldn’t get over the luxury of the apartment. Anne was just fabulous! She just ran into luck, that girl. And it always seemed to be connected with Allen. Only this time it was Allen’s father. Gino had dumped his girl friend Adele, who had gotten so mad she had booked herself into the Dorchester Hotel in London as a showgirl. Just before she left, Anne had run into her and gotten her scrumptious apartment. Neely kept touching everything—the bedspreads, the lamps ... she never dreamed she’d live in a living room that had a white rug.

Of course it was only a sublease. Adele would take it back from them June first. But by then Jennifer would probably marry Tony, Anne might marry Lyon and she would marry Mel. Especially if Mel’s new job worked out. What a Christmas present from the blue that was! Johnny Mallon giving him a two-week trial as a writer on a radio show! If he made good they could be rich. Radio writers made as much as five hundred a week, Mel said. Even more. Mel was starting at two hundred, and she was making two hundred—and the show had come in to New York three weeks earlier than planned because they didn’t need Boston. Geez, things were just perfect!

She was going to buy some fancy clothes, too. After all, everyone had seen the purple taffeta a hundred times. Geez, the way Jennifer came back from Philadelphia with a closet full of clothes. No wonder she was always broke. She said Tony Polar was tight, but how could she mean that with him giving her that gorgeous big blue ring for Christmas? Jennifer said it was only an aquamarine. Geez, she’d be happy to accept an aquamarine. Well, for a start she was going to get a new winter coat. Ohrbach’s was having a big sale.

She and Mel had been invited to Johnny Mallon’s New Year’s Eve party. But they’d seen the old year out in Helen’s dressing room. “You’ll never get out of the theatre and to a party before twelve o’clock,” Helen had insisted, pouring champagne.

Johnny’s party had been terrific. Neely had never been to a party packed with celebrities. And they all knew her! That was the big surprise—everyone knew who she was! She couldn’t get over it. And then Johnny Mallon had told Mel he “could consider himself a permanent member of the team.” Geez, that was great. She had to stop saying “Geez” all the time. Several people had laughed when she said it. Oh, not nasty laughing ... they’d thought she was kidding. But maybe if she mixed with these classy friends of Mel’s she’d learn some good expressions. She never heard anything backstage except words she didn’t want to say. And Mel had such a good vocabulary ... he’d gone to college. Geez, a college man like Mel—in love with her!

She’d never forget that New Year’s Eve. Mel said he wouldn’t either. She’d hugged him that night when they reached his hotel. “I’m so happy, Mel—I’m scared.”

“This is really starting off 1946 with a bang,” Mel had said as they got ready for bed. “But you know, I felt a little sorry for Helen Lawson tonight. She looked so lonely when we left her dressing room.”

Neely had wrinkled her nose. “Listen, Helen never has a date. Tonight she was lucky she had that faggot designer to take her to a party. Geez, Mel, your hotel is really chintzy—there’s no heat and it’s practically morning. We get heat almost all night.” She’d climbed into bed and shivered in his arms.

“All right—name the day and I’ll move. We can get married any time you like. I’ll find us a nice apartment.”

Neely had snuggled up to him, wrapping her legs around his for warmth.

“How about it, Neely? You heard Johnny tonight. I’m set—I’m making two hundred a week.”

“So’m I.”

“Then let’s get married.”

“Okay. On June first.”

“Why do we have to wait until then?”

“Because I got the apartment with the girls till then. I’d have to keep kicking in my third of the rent if I left before. We all agreed to that kind of a deal because we’re all on the verge of getting married.” “We can manage it. We’ll pay them.” “Are you kidding? I should pay two rents?” “But Neely, I want you.” She giggled. “You got me. C’mon, take me ... now ...” “But Neely—” “We’ll get married June first. C’mon, Mel, make love to me. No, not that way—I’m not wearing my diaphragm. Do it the other way ... please. Please, Mel ...”

February, 1946

Anne and Jennifer stared in speechless disbelief as Neely casually directed the moving men in the placement of an enormous piano.

“I’ve just signed with the Johnson Harris office,” Neely announced.

“What happened to Henry?” Anne asked.

“Well, we had a long talk yesterday. I told him the Johnson Harris office had come to me, and he gave me a release right away. I’m not really big enough for a manager. I need a big agency behind me. Henry agreed. And look what happened ...”

“They gave you a piano?” Jennifer asked.

“No, but they’re paying for the rental. And they got me into La Rouge—I open in three weeks.” “But you’re in Hit the Sky,” Anne said. “I’m gonna double. I’ll just do a midnight show at La Rouge. And for that I’ll get three hundred a week! Isn’t that terrific? And guess what? The Johnson Harris office got me Zeke Whyte—and they’re paying for him—and he’s gonna make my arrangements and stage my act. Zeke only works with the biggest stars. When he heard me sing he said with a little work I could be great. He said I’m a cross between Judy Garland and Mary Martin.”

“Well, just don’t let any Helen Lawson creep in or we’ll throw all three of you out,” Jennifer said with a wink at Anne.

“Isn’t the piano gorgeous?” Neely asked, running her hand lovingly across the scarred Steinway. “Zeke insisted on this one. It does something for the room, doesn’t it?”

Jennifer nodded. “Sure does. Gives it a real air—like a rehearsal hall.”

Neely’s childish face looked chagrined. “Gee—do you mind it being here?” Jennifer smiled.

“No. I’m just wondering where you plan to put the ballet bar. That does come next, doesn’t it?”

Anne laughed. “Let her be ambitious, Jen. It’ll be nice having a star in the family.”

Neely made a wry face. “I’m doing it strictly for the money. In June, when Mel and I get married, I wanna have enough cash saved to furnish a place as nice as this.”

“When does he get a chance to write for Johnny Mallon?” Jennifer asked. “He seems to be working full time as press agent for you. I’ve never seen anyone get so much publicity.”

“Why shouldn’t he?” Neely insisted. “After all, everything I earn is for our future.”

“You really don’t care about making it—the star bit?” Jennifer asked.

“For what? To wind up alone on New Year’s Eve with some faggot as a date? Oh, I’ll keep working after I’m married—but my marriage will always come first. And you’re a fine one to talk—didn’t you just turn down a contract at Twentieth because of Tony?”

Jennifer shrugged. “It wasn’t a good contract. Only one-fifty a week.”

“But Henry thought you should have taken it,” Neely insisted. “If it had been bigger would you have signed?”

“Maybe ... I guess so. But I have no talent, Neely, and you have.”

“Yeah, but it takes more than talent. Hey, let’s clean up this place. Zeke will be here any minute.”

“It’s neat as a pin,” Anne insisted.

Neely ran around emptying ashtrays. “Jen, you use every ashtray in the place. Zeke says he’s glad I don’t smoke. Even in a room, smoke hurts a singer’s voice.”

Jennifer raised her eyebrows. “Will cigarettes be barred at your club opening?”

“No, but why do I have to have my home contaminated?”

For the next three weeks Zeke Whyte took over the apartment. He rehearsed Neely relentlessly. Anne and Jennifer never arrived without finding him there. He was femininely attractive, aware of his own importance, a hard taskmaster and an excellent musician. He drove Neely unmercifully.

“What does he want from me?” she’d demand, bursting into the bedroom in tears. “I never had a singing lesson in my life and I’m doing okay. All of a sudden he’s trying to turn me into a Lily Pons—in three weeks! Anne, go in and tell him to get off my back!”

Then Zeke would appear at the doorway. “Okay, Neely ... hysterical time over. Let’s get back to work.”

“I can’t,” she would sob. “You expect too much.”

“Of course I do. Why be good if you can be great?”

Neely would always go back ... the scales would continue ... there would be more hysterics ... more scales ... it seemed endless.

But the loudest argument came at the end of the second week. Neely came tearing into the offices of Bellamy and Bellows. “Where is he?” she demanded of Anne.

“Where is who?”

“Henry! I want him back as my manager. I need him. He’s got to get Zeke off my back.”

“Henry’s at N.B.C. What’s Zeke done now?”

“He wants me to burn all my clothes!”

“What?”

“You heard me. Burn them! He says he won’t even let me give them away, they’re so awful. Including this new coat.” She stroked the red fox collar lovingly. “I paid seventy dollars for it at Ohrbach’s.”

Anne hid a smile. “Well, the coat is a little sophisticated for you.”

“Look, all my life I’ve worn my sister’s hand-me-downs. I have a right to pick my own clothes now.”

“What does Zeke want you to wear?”

“Who knows? I’m supposed to meet him later at some designer’s place. That’s why I need Henry—to talk to him—to tell him I have some rights.”

“Now Neely, you don’t need Henry. You can tell him yourself.”

“No, I don’t want to fight with him. He might walk out. Geez, Anne—he’s done such great things with my voice. Sometimes I don’t even believe it’s me. And in just two weeks. You know, for the first time I feel maybe I could be great. I can hit notes I never dreamed existed, and hold them with real power. He’s a genius.”

“Then maybe he’s right about the clothes.”

Neely sighed. “Well, I’m gonna let him pick my dress for the opening. It’s being specially designed because he’s making me dance and move a little on some numbers. But I’ll never give up this coat ...”

The following week she sent the coat to her sister, along with the purple taffeta and the six new dresses she had bought since the show had opened. Zeke made her buy an evening dress for the opening, two wool street dresses for everyday and a tailored navy blue coat. She stared at her sparse wardrobe in disgust. She alternated the two dresses, afraid to eat when she wore them—one spot and half her wardrobe was out of commission.

“Imagine, a hundred and twenty-five bucks for this,” she told Mel as she spread a napkin carefully over the blue wool. They were sitting in Sardi’s, where Neely now rated a front table—a fact that never ceased to amaze her.

“It’s smart looking,” Mel said. “But it doesn’t look like that kind of money.”

“Zeke says I have to create an image and look that way all the time.”

“What kind of an image is this dress supposed to create?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. What does it do to you? You went to college.”

Mel bit into his sandwich and stared thoughtfully at the dress. “Well, you don’t look like a rising young Broadway star, that’s for sure.” He studied her. “More like a schoolgirl. Yes, that’s it—like maybe you’re fresh from some fancy girls’ college.”

“Is that good?”

“I don’t know, honey. I love you in anything—even that awful purple job.”

“Mel! You never told me you didn’t like the taffeta.”

“You had it when we first met, and I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“What about my black coat with the red fox collar?”

“Well, it was ordinary looking ... and sort of old for you.”

“And this plain navy coat is unusual?”

“I don’t know, honey, but I think it’s right for you. Fags have pretty good taste.”

“Oh, all right.” She sighed and bit carefully into her sandwich.

March, 1946

No one was prepared for the impact of Neely’s opening night. Anne was there with Lyon and Henry. Jennifer sat across the room at a large table with Tony Polar, his sister, his writers and some song pluggers. Helen Lawson arrived with an assistant stage manager. She waved hello to Henry and pointedly ignored Anne.

It began as a typical club opening. The newspapermen came because it was an assignment. The celebrities came to be seen by the newspapermen. No one expected very much. It had happened before—a new little girl, using the handle of a hit show to augment her slim pay check. They came respecting her energy and ambition; they left a raving, worshipping cult.

Anne couldn’t believe it. She caught Jennifer’s eye during the show and they exchanged stares of delighted amazement. Henry Bellamy was sitting on the edge of his seat.

Neely was fantastic. The lighting made the childlike face almost beautiful and the dress—a plain white satin shirtwaist and a short navy satin skirt—showed off her marvelous legs. Anne was surprised she had never noticed them before, or her perfect little figure with its small waistline and childish breasts.

“The star that got away,” Henry whispered. “Jesus, Lyon—how did we ever let her slip through our fingers?”

Lyon shook his head. “When we make a mistake, it’s a beaut!”

“She’s really great, isn’t she?” Anne whispered.

“Great isn’t the word,” Lyon answered. “She’s unbelievable. There’s no one around like her.”

After that, the excitement that generated around Neely made life chaotic at the apartment. The phone rang constantly, and the living room was taken over for interviews, picture sessions, rehearsals. Neely had guest shots on all the radio shows. She signed with a major record company. Metro wanted her. Twentieth wanted her. And Helen Lawson stopped talking to her.

Neely felt awful. “Imagine. She just cuts me dead,” she told Anne.

Jennifer grinned. “That means you’re a star. She’s still adorable to me.”

“I was gonna stay with the show into next season,” Neely explained. “But I won’t now. Gilbert Case offered me a new contract starting June first with bigger billing and a hundred-dollar raise. But I can’t work when Helen treats me like this.”

Anne laughed. “Come on, Neely—you have no scenes together. You’re just salving your conscience about leaving the show June first.”

“Why should I feel I owe Case anything? I’d have never got the job if it wasn’t for you, Anne—and if Helen hadn’t been scared of Terry King.”

She finally signed with Century Productions. “It’s a smaller studio than the others,” she explained, “but the Johnson Harris office thinks it’s best for me. Two of their pictures were up for Academy Awards last year. They’re getting all the new stars, and I’ll get the real star buildup.”

Mel wasn’t happy about her picture deal. “But it’s wonderful,” she insisted. “I stay with the show till the last day of May. Adele wrote and says she’s coming back the middle of June and wants the apartment back anyway, so—”

“What about Jennifer and Anne?” Mel asked.

“Well, Hit the Sky will run another year. Jennifer will stay in until she marries Tony, though nothing seems to be happening that way. They just date—no marriage talk.”

“But where will they live?”

“Oh, things are easier now. They might move to the Orwin Hotel temporarily. They can get a suite there fairly reasonably.”

“And what about us?”

“We’ll get married—June first, like we planned.”

Mel smiled. “Gee, I thought you’d never ask.”

She squeezed his hand. “Then we’ll go right to California for our honeymoon. The Head is getting me a house.”

“The Head?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you about him,” Neely babbled. “He was in town last week. Cyril H. Bean—but no one ever calls him Cyril or Mr. Bean. He’s called The Head. He’s a sweet little old man, about fifty, real tan, and nice white hair. He’s so kind—and real fatherly. He’s renting a great house for me in Hollywood—three hundred a month with a swimming pool, only he told me not to dare get in the sun because I got enough freckles. Then he said if things go great and I make it, I can get a house in Beverly Hills”.

“What’s the difference?”

“Who knows? Maybe it’s the wrong side of the street. He kind of apologized about the house being in Hollywood. I pretended I understood. But imagine, Mel—a house with a pool.”

“Neely.” Mel reached out and took her hand. “You know I love you—”

“And Mel, I start at one thousand a week! Just think of all the money we’re gonna have.”

“Neely ... the Johnny Mallon show comes from New York.”

“Give it up.”

“Just like that?”

“Mel, are you crazy? You’re only making two hundred a week.”

“I’ll make three starting next year.”

“But I’ll be making a thousand! And that doesn’t count my money from records. The Johnson Harris office said I’ll make twenty-five thousand just on records alone next year. Imagine!”

“And what do I do, sit in the swimming pool?”

“Mel, you’re with me. We’re a team. I need you. I need all the publicity I can get—more than ever now.”

“The studio will assign someone to you.”

“Sure they will. But it won’t be like you. Their press agent will take care of me and all the other stars. I want you to work for me alone. And Mel, you’ll have to handle all the money. I never even wrote a check in my life. Even in the apartment with the girls, they tell me what my end is and I hand it to them in cash. And Geez, I wouldn’t know what to say to a maid or cook, or even how to hire them. I never had a house. You’ll handle everything. Mel, you’ve got to come. I’d be nothing out there without you.”

“No, Neely. It wouldn’t work.”

“Why? You’re responsible for all this anyway. How did I get La Rouge in the first place?”

“The Johnson Harris office booked it.”

“But Mel, the Johnson Harris office only got interested in me because of all the publicity you got for me. They didn’t rush and sign me after I opened in Hit the Sky. Maybe I wasn’t the singer I am today—Zeke did that—but you got me noticed.”

He took her hands. “Zeke didn’t give you your voice, and I didn’t make you. It was there all the time. We just helped draw attention to it.”

“Then keep helping me, Mel. I need you ... I love you.”

“But Neely—I don’t know whether it could work. I’ve never been out to Hollywood, but I know how they operate out there. I’d be Mr. Neely O’Hara. No one would respect me”.

“You don’t think I’m gonna go to those fancy Hollywood parties or mix with those people, do you? It’ll be just like here. I get telegrams all the time to go to openings, and sometimes we go. They don’t call you Mr. O’Hara.”

“It’s different here, Neely.”

“But we’re the same! Look, Mel—I wanna work hard, make money, and maybe in five years chuck the whole thing. Everyone will know you’re responsible for me. Please, Mel. I won’t go unless you come with me.” “Now, Neely—” “Mel ... please ...”

He reached over and pressed her hand. “All right. I always dreamed of having a Hollywood tan. Boy, will I impress everyone in Brooklyn ...”

Jennifer

December, 1946

Jennifer stood on a chair and tried to shove the hatbox onto the top shelf of the closet, then ducked as two suitcases fell, just missing her head.

She groaned. “This closet situation is really impossible.”

Anne helped stow the suitcases back on the shelf. “I’d offer you my closet, but it’s filled—with your hand-me-downs.”

“How does a hotel expect anyone to live with just two small dinky closets? Why couldn’t Adele have found some big English lord and stayed in London? God, how I miss that apartment.”

“These are pretty large closets, Jen. It’s just that no one is supposed to have all these clothes.”

“And I hate them all.”

“Jen! Don’t you dare buy another dress! I have the best wardrobe in town already because you get tired of something the second you’ve worn it. Lyon’s eyes pop the way I keep turning up in new creations.”

“Well, if Tony gives me the new mink for Christmas, you’re taking my old one.”

“Old one! You just got it last year!”

“I hate it—it reminds me of the Prince. Besides, it’s a wild mink. It would look great with your hair. I want a real dark one.”

“I’ll buy it from you then.”

“Don’t be silly!”

“I have money, Jen. Henry invested the ring money plus my twelve thousand.”

“How are you doing?”

“Well, we only got twenty thousand for the ring. It’s worth more, but they said it wasn’t a seller’s market. And Henry invested it all in A.T.&T. It hasn’t gone up too much, but I get very nice dividends.”

“Well, don’t touch your stock.”

“You’re a fine one to talk. You’ve got pictures in Vogue and Harper’s this month and you haven’t saved a cent. Honest, Jen, you must earn a fortune since you signed with the Longworth Agency. But you spend it all on clothes. It would be different if you cared about them.”

“Between clothes and sending my mother money, how can I save? The modeling brings in three or four hundred a week, but that’s not real money. No, my jackpot is Tony. I’m twenty-six, Anne—I haven’t that kind of time or future. Tony is impressed with my clothes, and the newspapers call me glamorous. I think about this as an investment. I’m putting all my money on the line and rolling the dice for Tony. If the number comes up marriage, I’ll be independent for life.”

“That’s still no reason to give away your mink coat.”

“Everyone’s seen me in it for over a year. And if I marry Tony I’ll have a dozen. And unless Lyon’s book is a freak best seller, you’ll wait a long time for a mink.”

“Well ... I’m keeping everything crossed. He finished it last week.”

“Wonderful! Now you can get married!”

Anne laughed. “It’s not that simple. First it has to be accepted by a publisher. He gave it to Bess Wilson—she’s a very important literary agent. If she likes it and agrees to handle it, he’s halfway home. A publisher will automatically read a manuscript with more interest if he gets it from Bess Wilson.”

“When will he know?”

“Any day now. He’s hoping to hear before Christmas. Hey, Neely’s stuck.” Anne rushed to the record player and pushed the needle forward.

“You’ve worn out that album,” Jennifer said.

“It’s so great. I’m so proud of her. I can’t wait for the picture to come out.”

Jennifer slammed the closet shut. “Mind if I turn it off now? I want to read.”

Anne turned off the record player. “Jen, it’s two o’clock. We should both go to sleep.”

“Will my night light bother you?”

“No, it just bothers me that you get so little sleep. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and your bed is empty.”

“I go into the living room and smoke so as not to bother you.”

“What is it, Jen? Tony?”

Jennifer shrugged. “In a way ... but I haven’t been sleeping for over a year. I am upset about Tony, though. In February he goes to California to start a radio show.”

“Maybe he’ll ask you to marry him before he leaves.”

“Not as long as Miriam is around. When we’re alone, I can make him do almost anything. But we’re only alone in bed. I can’t very well have a justice of the peace hiding under the sheets.”

“What about eloping?”

“I’ve thought of that—there’s always Maryland. But it’s not that simple. In bed he’ll promise anything. But the moment he gets out of bed, he listens to Miriam.” She started for the bathroom. “Now go to sleep. No use both of us worrying. I’ll think of something.”

“Try sleeping for a change,” Anne said as she patted her pillow into shape.

“I’ll give it a whirl. But first I have to do my exercises and oil up my equipment.” Jennifer closed the bathroom door and wearily took out the cocoa butter. She looked at her face under the harsh bathroom light. A few tiny lines were forming under her eyes. In four years she’d be thirty! Hit the Sky would go until June, but she had been in it for a year. Nothing was going to happen. Of course, there was always the stock contract at Twentieth. But if she took it and followed Tony to the Coast she’d never get him. And if he went without her, would he miss her enough to send for her? Not a chance! Miriam would see to it that he was flooded with beautiful girls. Beautiful young girls!

Sure, Tony thought she was twenty. But once he saw a girl who was really nineteen or twenty she might look a little beat. Miriam had been staring at her lately—asking funny questions, trying to trip her with dates about school. Thank God Tony wasn’t too bright. She stopped suddenly. It was true—Tony wasn’t too bright. Or was it just that Miriam took over so much he never had the chance? He certainly was bright about performing. He knew if the music was off even a fraction. No, it was just that Miriam never gave him a chance to think. Miriam! She rubbed more oil under her eyes. She had to sleep. She returned to the bedroom. Anne was almost asleep. She got into bed and turned off the light.

An hour later she was still wide awake. This was going to be another of those nights. She got out of bed quietly and went into the living room. She could sleep—if she had the nerve. She went to her bag and took out the small bottle. She stared at the tiny, bullet-shaped red capsules. Irma had given them to her last night. (“Just take one and you’ll sleep for hours.”)

Seconals. Irma had given her four. (“They’re like gold to me. I can’t give you any more.”) Irma had replaced Neely in the show. She claimed the little red “dolls” had saved her life. (“I’d give you more, Jennifer, but you need a doctor’s prescription. I can only get ten a week.”)

Should she try one? It was a frightening idea, that a little red capsule as tiny as this could put you to sleep. She walked to the small pantry and poured a glass of water. She held the pill for a second, feeling her heart pound. This was dope—but that was ridiculous! Irma took one every night, and she was fine. Irma had been nervous going into the show and she was still nervous seven months later. (“I feel everyone is comparing me with Neely when I sing. She has such a big following with her albums now.”)

Well, one pill couldn’t hurt. She swallowed it, replaced the bottle in her bag and rushed into bed.

How long would it take? She still felt wide awake. She could hear Anne’s even breathing, the clock on the night table ticking, the traffic sounds outside—in fact, everything seemed intensified ...

Then she felt it! Oh, God! It was glorious! Her whole body felt weightless ... her head was heavy, yet light as air. She was going to sleep ... sleep ... oh, the beautiful little red doll ...

The following day she visited Henry’s doctor. He turned her down cold. She was in excellent condition. What was this nonsense! No, he would not give her a prescription for Seconals. Stop drinking all that coffee. Cut down on cigarettes. She’d sleep. If she didn’t, then her body didn’t need it.

“That isn’t the way to do it,” Irma explained a few days later. “You can’t go to a good doctor and just come out and ask for them. It’s best to find a little doctor—one whose ethics are a little shady.”

“But where? Irma, I slept four nights in a row with those blessed red dolls, and it was heavenly. I haven’t slept in two nights without them.”

“Look for one of those third-rate hotels on the West Side. You’ll see a doctor’s sign on a dirty window,” Irma explained. “But don’t just walk in and ask for pills. You have to play the game. Walk in and say you’re from out of town—California is always good. Don’t wear the mink, or the rates will go up. Tell him you can’t sleep. He’ll make a stab at listening to your heart, and you keep saying all you need is a few nights’ sleep. Then he’ll charge you ten bucks and give you a prescription for a week’s supply, knowing you’ll be back. And he knows he’s good for ten bucks a week. But believe me, it’s worth it. You may have to try a few doctors before you hit the right one—two turned me down—but you’ll find one. Don’t go to the Mackley Hotel—that’s mine. He might get suspicious.”

Jennifer found her doctor on West Forty-eighth Street. She knew he was the right one when he disinterestedly dragged out a dusty stethoscope and made a half-hearted attempt to feel her pulse. Sure enough, he pulled out his prescription blank. “Nembutals or Seconals?” he asked.

“The red ones,” Jennifer mumbled. “Here’s a week’s supply of Seconals.” He handed her the prescription. “This should straighten you out. If not, come by again.”

Anne was delighted at the change in Jennifer. She knew nothing about the pills, but she was pleased to see Jennifer sleeping through the night. She wondered if Tony had dropped any encouraging hints.

Then, a few days before Christmas, as Anne was packing a bag for her usual weekend at Lyon’s, Jennifer made her big decision.

“This is it,” she announced. “I’m going to get Tony to drive to Elkton tonight, or never see him again. I figured it out last night. If it doesn’t work, at least I’ll have six weeks going for me. Six weeks that he’s in town, where I can show up places looking divine with some other guy and drive him crazy. Crazy enough to relent and marry me. If I wait till he goes to the Coast I’m dead.”

“Where’s Miriam tonight?”

“Where she always is. With us! There’s a new show opening at La Bombra. I’ve told Tony I’m going home from the theatre to change and to pick me up here. Miriam will be waiting at La Bombra with his group. I’ll have him alone and take him by surprise. And if I play it right ...”

She was in a robe when Tony arrived. “Hey ... hurry and get dressed. The show goes on at twelve-thirty.”

She came to him. “Hold me first,” she said softly.

When he broke the embrace, he gasped. “Baby, let me come up for air. Jesus! I need a blood transfusion just being near you.” His hands stroked her breasts. His fingers fumbled with the buttons on her satin robe. “Jesus ... why do you wear robes with buttons?” He pulled the robe off her shoulders, down to her waist. He stood back, his breath coming faster.

“Jen, no one should have boobs like that.” He touched them lightly.

She smiled. “They’re yours, Tony.”

He buried his face in them, sinking to his knees. “Oh, God. I just can’t believe it. Every time I touch them, I can’t believe it.” His mouth was greedy. She held his head gently. “I never want to move,” he mumbled.

“Tony, let’s get married.”

“Sure, baby, sure ...” He was fumbling at the rest of the buttons on her robe. It fell to the floor. She backed away. He crawled on his knees after her. She backed away again. “Tony, all of this”—she stroked her body—”is not yours ... it’s mine!”

He came after her. She eluded him again. She stroked her thighs, her fingers touching between her legs. “That’s mine, too,” she said softly. “But we want you, Tony,” she whispered hoarsely. “Take your clothes off.”

He tore at his shirt. The buttons ripped and fell to the floor. He stood before her naked.

“Your body is nice,” she said with a slow smile. Then she backed away. “But mine is nicer.” She stroked her breasts deliberately, almost as if she thrilled to the touch. He stood watching, his breath coming in quick gasps. He rushed to her but she backed away.

“You can look,” she said softly. “But you can’t touch. Not until it’s yours ...”

“But it is mine—you’re mine!” His voice was almost a growl.

“Only on loan.” She smiled sweetly. “And I’m taking it back. Unless you really want it.” She stroked her breasts again. “Want it for keeps.”

He followed her, trembling. “I do. Just come to me ... now!”

“Not now. Not until you marry me.”

“Sure,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll marry you.” He kept following her, but she eluded him, smiling all the while and stroking her own body, letting her hands play with her breasts, sliding them to her legs and touching herself. Her eyes were riveted to him.

“When will you marry me, Tony?”

“We’ll talk about it later—right after ...” He kept after her, hypnotized by this new game she was playing. She let him reach her . . . he grabbed at her breasts ... his mouth sucked at them hungrily ... his hands reached between her legs. Then she pulled away.

“Jen!” he gasped. “Stop it. What are you trying to do—kill me?”

“Marry me, or that was the last time you touch me—ever!”

“I will, I will ...”

“Now. Tonight.”

“How can we get married tonight? We have to take blood tests ... we need a license. We’ll start that jazz first thing tomorrow. I promise.”

“No. By then Miriam will talk you out of it.” Mentioning Miriam was a wrong move. It snapped him back to reality. His passion began to dissolve. Quickly, she moved across the room, undulating her body, caressing her breasts. “We’ll miss you, Tony,” she whispered.

He crossed the room quickly and grabbed her.

“Marry us tonight, Tony. We want to belong to you ...” She rubbed against him.

“How can I?” he whined.

“Get your car. We could drive to Elkton, Maryland.”

He stared at her. “You mean they’d marry us—just like that?”

“Just like that!” She snapped her fingers.

“But Miriam—”

“I’ll tell Miriam,” she said. “We’ll call after we’re married. I’ll tell her. Let her yell at me. You’ll be in my arms. All of me will belong to you ... forever.” She moved her body against him. “Touch me, Tony—it will all belong to you. You’ll be able to do anything you want to me, Tony. Anything—even the things I wouldn’t let you do.” She broke away and stood, swaying, her hips moving rhythmically. “And I’ll do all the things you’ve begged me to do ... after we’re married.”

“Now,” he begged. “Now, please—then we’ll go to Elkton.”

“No. After Elkton.”

“I can’t stand it. I can’t wait until then!”

She came close. “Yes you can. Because tonight, after we’re married”—she let her fingers caress his body, nibbled at his ear—”then we’ll have a ball.”

His lips were dry. “Okay, you win. Only for Christ’s sake, let’s get going.”

She threw her arms around him. “You won’t regret it ... I’ll make you wild.”

There was a sharp knock on the door. Jennifer broke the embrace. “I’m not expecting a soul. Tony, did you tell anyone you’d be here?”

He shook his head. She pulled on her robe. It was an apologetic bellboy with a telegram.

“It’s for Anne. I’d better phone her at Lyon’s. It might be important.”

She sat on the bed and called Anne. Tony came into the bedroom. Oh, God, this was a stupid thing to do! She stood up, clutching her robe around her. Where was Anne? Why didn’t they answer?

“Hello.” It was Lyon. Yes, he’d get Anne. Tony was fumbling at her robe. She pushed him away.

“Hello, Anne? A telegram just came for you. Sure, one second.” She ripped it open. Tony gently but firmly pushed her on the bed. She held the telegram and the phone and silently tried to push him off. She clamped her hand over the phone. “No, Tony! Not now. No!” He was on top of her. She looked at the wire. Tony’s mouth found her breasts. Oh, God ... “Anne ... yes, I’m here ... Anne ... Good Lord, your mother is dead!” She felt Tony enter her, roughly, pounding into her. She clenched her teeth and kept her voice even. “Yes, Anne. That’s all it says. I’m terribly sorry.” She hung up. Tony had fallen across her, panting in satisfied exhaustion.

“Tony, that wasn’t fair. That was taking advantage of me.”

He smiled lazily. “Baby, you were born with the advantages—a pair of them.” He flicked her breast lightly.

“We’d better get dressed. Anne is coming back here.”

He pulled on his shirt. “Christ, I was hot for you, wasn’t I? No buttons left on this shirt. I’ll run back to the hotel and grab a new shirt.”

“Pack a bag, Tony.”

“What for?”

“We’re going to Maryland—remember?”

He smiled. “Not now, baby. If we hurry we can still catch part of the show at La Bombra. Now be dressed when I come back—in about twenty minutes.”

“Tony, if we don’t elope tonight, I’ll never see you again.” He walked over and chucked her playfully under the chin. “You’ll see me, baby. I’m the greatest. Who could replace me?” He walked to the door. “Wear something gorgeous—the newspapermen will be there.”

She watched the door close. Damn, damn! What timing. Damn Anne’s mother! Damn all mothers! Even in death they reached out and loused you up. She suddenly remembered—she hadn’t sent her mother a check this week. And Christmas was coming up. Her mother had seen a Persian lamb coat, and she had to have it. She wanted one fur coat before she died. She rushed to the desk and scribbled a check for five hundred dollars, stuck it in an envelope and wrote, Merry Christmas. Happy Persian lamb. Jeannette. Well, at least her mother would have a merry Christmas. Damn it, when would she have one?

She began to dress quickly. She didn’t want to be here when Tony came by. She had to force his hand. There was so little time.

She’d go to Lawrenceville with Anne. Of course! She owed it to Anne as a friend. She called Henry Bellamy. His sleepy voice became alert when she told him the news. Of course she was to go along with Anne. Don’t worry, he’d handle Gil Case. She was also to hire a car and charge it to his account. It would be easier to drive to Lawrenceville than to bother with train connections. Poor Anne—an aunt and a mother, all in one year.

When Anne and Lyon arrived, everything had been arranged. Jennifer had even packed Anne’s overnight bag. “I put in two black dresses and your gray suit.”

“We can take an early train in the morning,” Anne said.

“No. It’s only twelve-thirty, and I never sleep anyway. I’ll drive—you can sleep in the car. We’ll be there in the morning. I’ve ordered the car. It should be downstairs any second.”

“I’ll come up for the funeral,” Lyon said. She turned to him. “No, Lyon. You didn’t know Mother. I’ll be all right. Use the time on the book”.

“Call me the minute you arrive.”

Jennifer rushed them downstairs. The attendant was waiting with a shiny black sedan. He gave Jennifer the keys and registration, and five minutes later they were on their way. Lyon watched the tail lights disappear into the traffic. It had all happened so quickly. He was amazed at Jennifer’s take-charge attitude. He had misjudged her; she wasn’t all fluff after all. He walked down the street, just missing Tony Polar, who jauntily pulled up in a cab.

******

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