Jacqueline Susann's Shadow of the Dolls (13 page)

Neely could feel the tears welling up. “I do feel alone a lot of the time,” she whispered.

“You’ve had a hard life, Neely.” He handed her his handkerchief.

“I’ve tried, George. I’m still trying. I’m just not like other people.”

“You’re special, Neely. You’ll never be like other people. Forget Helen Lawson. This movie is your chance to show everyone who
you
are.”

They sat together in silence, listening to the waves lap against the rowboats.

“All right,” Neely said. “All right, then.”

George patted her knee and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “I’m going back up now. You sit here a little bit, I know you have a lot to think about. Everyone loves you, Neely, just remember everyone loves you.”

He walked back up to the house, turning and waving to her just before the path curved and she fell out of sight.

He was exhausted. He wondered how Dave did it, day after day, he wondered what it was like to love a monster like Neely. Whoever ended up directing the picture would age five years in five months. Some days he wished there were a way to make movies without actors. They were all children: needy, vain, insecure, willful little monsters.

But oh, that voice. George Dunbar knew they needed that voice. When he got back up to the deck, he gave Brian a wink, and Brian slipped away to make a telephone call. The first draft of the papers would be drawn up by the time the West Coast offices opened on Monday morning. Neely would not have time to change her mind. They would make the picture, and if Neely didn’t
fall apart, she might even get an Oscar nomination. And once she was back on top, Dave would be history. George knew that much about actresses: Women with hit pictures always traded up. He would make sure the set was full of attractive men who liked to flirt.

Everyone would win. Neely would get her movie. Dunbar’s production company would get the profits. Dave would get his life back, and Sandy (who couldn’t stand Neely, who had told George more than once that East Hampton wasn’t as much fun now that Neely was around) would start fixing Dave up with some of her divorced friends.

When Neely came back, Sandy brought out a bottle of their good Cognac and began to pour. A wind had come up from the water, and it was almost too chilly to sit outside.

“To friendship,” George said, sounding a little weary, lifting his glass to toast.

“And to the director,” Brian added, clinking his glass to George’s.

“To the director,” said Dave.

“To the director,” murmured the other guests.

“To the director,” Neely said, last of all, her clear voice not the least bit tired.

Y
ou have to come over,” Neely was saying to Anne on the telephone. “Summer is almost over and I haven’t seen you in a year! Except on television, of course.”

“Let me call you back in ten minutes,” Anne said. Gretchen and Jenn were out on the porch, flipping through fashion magazines. It was eleven in the morning, and already hot, and no one had the energy to go to the beach.

“Don’t play so hard to get,” Neely said. “I did get you that job, after all.”

So Anne packed up their swimsuits and now here she was, sitting with Neely on the deck, picking at her lobster salad. In the pool below, Jenn and Gretchen were practicing their dives. Judd sat at the edge of the pool, reading a science-fiction novel. Dylan was stretched out on a chaise, listening to music through headphones, his eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses.

Neely could not stop talking about Helen Lawson. She had brought out a stack of photocopied clippings and nightclub photographs.

“You know what I can’t get over?” Neely said. “She seemed so old when I first met her, all used up. But you know what? She was only in her forties. Pretty much the same age as Barbra Streisand is now. Hardly ancient. But enough about her. What’s going on with you?”

“Starting in September they’re going to tape the show in New York, so we’re moving back to the city,” Anne said. She had found them a place to live for well below market prices—a friend of Jerry’s had a loft in Tribeca filled with expensive paintings and was looking for someone to half sublet, half housesit while he spent the year in Italy. It was a huge space, with room for Gretchen, who planned to get a job bartending “so I can see movie stars all year round.” Jenn’s old school had agreed to take her back on scholarship.

“You’re going to rent out the house?” Neely asked.

“No, we’ll come up on weekends. I don’t want Jenn to lose contact with her Southampton friends, in case this show doesn’t work out.” With the move coming up, Anne had tried to talk Gretchen into filing for divorce, but Gretchen was too afraid of what her husband would do. Three times in the last few months he had come banging on Anne’s door in the middle of the night, drunk and cursing, threatening to set the house on fire if Gretchen didn’t come home with him. Anne had called the police each time.

“That Gretchen has quite the body,” Neely said. Judd usually spent all day working on his computer, and Dylan practically lived at the beach, but today they were glued to the pool. Gretchen was wearing a shiny turquoise string bikini. It slipped a little with every dive. Through the clear water, the boys could watch her pull her suit back into place. “She should do something about that nose, though. And those teeth.”

“She can’t even afford to go to the dentist,” Anne said.

“Yeah, I guess I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have no money.”

Anne sighed. “I haven’t.”

“Come on, Lyon’s taking care of things, isn’t he?”

“He takes care of Jenn. I’m on my own, pretty much.”

“But you have your own show!”

“It’s cable, Neely.”

“You should ask Lyon for more money.”

“I’m not asking him for anything.”

“You know, he’s doing really well now. He’s making a ton of dough since he joined that new agency. Los Angeles agrees with him.”

Anne didn’t want to ask Neely about Lyon. They hardly ever spoke anymore; now it was all just about flight arrangements for Jenn and an occasional phone call when his check was late.

“Don’t pretend you aren’t curious,” Neely said.

“I’m a little curious, I admit it. Do you—do you ever see him?”

“Nah, Dave and I have run into him in restaurants a couple of times, but that’s it. He’s with a different woman every time. But I guess I’ll start seeing more of him.”

“Really,” said Anne.

“He’s buying a house in my neighborhood. Can you believe it? It’s a tiny house, but he gets the swanky address. So, you know, it wouldn’t kill him if you hit him up for a little more cash.”

“I don’t want his money.”

“All right, all right. Enough about Lyon. Look over there.”

Jenn was sitting at Dylan’s feet, wearing his headphones, bopping her head along to the music.

Neely giggled. “I think she has a little crush on him.”

“She’s only eleven,” Anne said.

“Maybe you forgot what it’s like to be eleven. You know, I’m in my thirties and I still get crushes. It’s ridiculous! You know who I have a crush on right now?”

“I give up.”

“Harrison Ford! Is that crazy or what? I’ve never even met him. But that doesn’t stop me from thinking about him. Sometimes, in the kip with Dave, if things are slow getting started, I just close my eyes and pretend I’m in bed with Harrison Ford. I gotta tell you, wow, it really works for me.”

Anne laughed. “I don’t think I want to hear this!”

“Who do you think about?” Neely asked.

“I don’t think about anyone,” Anne said.

“I didn’t think so,” Neely said. “You know what you need? You need to get laid. You’re turning into a big grouch. Women are just like men that way. How long has it been?”

“Let’s change the subject.”

“You know what they say. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”

“It would have to be the other way around,” Anne said. “We’re the geese, the men are the ganders.”

“Whatever. The point is, you need a little gander action. Don’t you ever feel a little frisky? I know I’m feeling a little frisky.”

“But you have Dave.”

Neely stood up and slapped her stomach. “Look at this. Totally flat. I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been in since I was a teenager. It doesn’t have anything to do with Dave. I’m just in the mood for a little fun, that’s all.”

“Do you … do you have … an arrangement?”

“We’re not married,” Neely said.

“But still.”

She wiggled her left ring finger. “If he wants me to act like a wife, he’s gonna have to cough up the paperwork. Anyway, Dave’s in California for another five days. I’m going to a party tonight, why don’t you come?”

“I can’t.”

“You mean you don’t want to.”

“Okay, I don’t want to.”

“You didn’t even ask me what kind of party it was.”

“It doesn’t matter, I don’t feel like going out,” Anne said.

But Neely went on. She had not forgotten how to talk Anne into things, and anyway, wasn’t this in Anne’s best interests? It wasn’t natural, the way Anne kept herself cooped up, still licking her wounds after the divorce. And it was only her first divorce!

Anne took another sip of her gin and tonic and watched her eleven-year-old daughter attempt to flirt with a sixteen-year-old boy.
He’s stoned
, she thought,
he is so obviously stoned
. She watched Neely’s sons toss a beach ball back and forth over Gretchen’s head; she watched Gretchen jump up, laughing, her wet breasts bobbing in the thin blue suit; she watched Dylan throw the ball at Jenn, hitting her on the back; she watched Jenn shriek with delight and strike a pose of fake anger, one hand on a nonexistent hip.

“You won’t have to dress up, it’s not that kind of party,” Neely was saying. “The car will come at eight.”

A
nne sat in the back of the dark blue town car, rubbing a bug bite on her left ankle. She was wearing the clothes that Jenn and Gretchen had picked out for her: a well-worn pair of Levi’s 501s, a white ribbed tank top, a red cotton cardigan cut like a sweatshirt,
red espadrilles. The jeans were beginning to fray at the knees, and when she lifted her arms her bra straps peeked out from beneath the tank top, but Jenn had insisted this was proper party attire. Gretchen had fluffed up Anne’s hair with a blow dryer and lent her a pair of big silver hoop earrings.

“You look wonderful!” Neely cried when she got into the car at East Hampton. Neely was wearing black jeans and a low-cut yellow T-shirt. Her eyes were rimmed with navy-blue liner. “We are such babes!”

She leaned forward and gave the driver the address. “Love Shack” was playing on the radio. “And turn up the music!” she said.

“Here,” she said, handing Anne a businesss card for the car service. “In case we get separated. Dave’s account number is on the back, just give them a call. And also, just in case, take these.” She took out two condoms.

“I don’t think so!” Anne said. “You carry condoms?”

“Oh, baby, what planet are you living on. And I don’t carry them. I stole them from Dylan’s stash.” She giggled. “And he has quite the collection. My little heartbreaker. Just take them, you can always throw them out later.”

The party was in a sprawling modern house set back in the woods. It was noisy and crowded with hundreds of people Anne didn’t know, which made her first nervous, then relieved. The first vodka tonic went down quickly. Neely was dancing with a man in baggy surfer shorts. Anne sat on a window ledge, trying to make the final inch of her second drink last as long as possible.

A man came up holding two clear drinks with limes in them.

“Don’t I know you from the city?” he asked. He had curly black hair cropped close and a gold stud in his left ear. “Vodka or gin?” he asked, holding out both drinks.

“I don’t think so,” Anne said. “Vodka. Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure, I know I’ve seen you around. Maybe we work in
the same neighborhood?” He named a large ad agency in the East Forties.

“No, I live out here year-round,” Anne said.

“No kidding. Well, you look like someone I know. Or maybe you look like someone I should know.” He smiled and sat down next to her. They made small talk for a few minutes, the man flirting, Anne resisting, until he finally gave up and left. Another man came over (“Haven’t we met somewhere? You’re a friend of Jeanine’s, right?”), and in five minutes he was gone, too.

Finally Neely returned, her brow damp with sweat.

“Don’t tell me,” she said. “You’re having a terrible time.”

“No, this is nice. It’s fun just to watch.”

“Liar. I saw you giving guys the brush-off. Who were they?”

“Just guys.”

“Guys trying to pick you up?”

“I guess.” Anne sighed. “I’m sorry. This just isn’t my style.”

“Annie, there are at least fifty good-looking, totally respectable single guys at this party, guys who make good money, have good jobs, guys who, if we were in the city, women would be lined up to meet. What’s the problem?”

“It just isn’t—it just isn’t something I do.”

“You mean it just isn’t something you know how to do.”

“Maybe.”

“Listen to me. You don’t have to do anything. I was watching you. A guy gets a little aggressive, sits too close or whatever, and you pull away. You gotta flirt a little. Stare at his hands. Look at his mouth. Send him a signal. It’s the easiest thing in the world. Guys like this, they’ll do all the work. They’re on the hunt. You just gotta relax and let them take care of everything.” An old Rolling Stones song came over the sound system. “Oh man, come on, come dance with me.” She pulled Anne onto the dance floor.

They were surrounded by women dancing with each other.
Anne couldn’t remember the last time she had danced at a party. The third drink had gone to her head. She felt herself loosening with the music, shaking her hips, moving her arms higher and higher. After the first couple of times, she didn’t bother to pull her tank top back over her bra straps.

“One more!” Neely mouthed when the music segued into an old disco hit. Anne was smiling now, tossing her hair back and forth. Men were coming onto the dance floor in pairs, joining the women. She could see them watching her, looking her up and down, and it felt wonderful.
I still have it
, she thought.
Yes, oh yes, I still have it
. She danced with one man, then another, eight songs in a row, and she felt as if she could dance all night. She looked around for Neely … where had she gone? A slow song came on, and a man reached out for her with two hands … people were coupling off … but she smiled and turned away. All she wanted was to shake and shake and shake to loud, fast music, to keep shaking until she could shake loose this little knot inside her, the knot that had been there ever since Lyon had gone.