The Fame Game (27 page)

Damn Fred had married her photographer, and was threatening to get pregnant and retire. That was none of Libra’s business, because she wasn’t a client, and he wished her well as long as she waited until after the première of the fall Franco collection before she became misshapen. She had promised to wait, if only because she and her husband wanted to buy a house in the country and the money would come in handy.

Mr. Nelson was doing all the hairdos for Silky’s Broadway show, fifty different wigs, and he had raised his fee for a personal hair styling and cut at the salon to a hundred dollars. Libra considered that tremendous
chutzpa
, but it didn’t seem to stop any of the society and show business ladies from making appointments with him weeks in advance.

There was, right on his desk, a film offer for Shadrach Bascombe, should he decide to retire from the ring. Oh, Libra’s clients all had the magic touch, all right. The world breathed love on them. Even Zak Maynard, running around Spain with a married heiress, had come up smelling like a rose, and there was an offer for him to play—an actor running around with a married Spanish heiress.

Libra had sent the King James Version to London, where they were an enormous hit. They were in a new bag now—religious revival songs with a rock beat, and their version of “Rock of Ages” “
Let me sock it to ya/Hallelujah/Do the Rock of Ages!
” was number two in England, an extraordinary thing for any American group. Their new album was going to devote one whole side to their version of the Songs of Solomon, the flip side being standards, and Libra knew it would sweep the world. Those lyrics were great.

The only person who worried him a little was Gerry. She seemed quieter, and her face looked drawn. It was Dick, of course. Libra had warned her at the beginning, but she wouldn’t listen. Now she was getting it, just like all those other girls had. Libra was annoyed at Dick, because he respected Gerry and he didn’t like seeing a girl like her getting the shaft from a scrawny bum like him. In a way, Libra felt fatherly feelings toward Gerry. She had red hair, like the daughter he’d never had, and she had guts, like himself. She was a smart girl, efficient but human. She had a sense of humor and she knew when to shut up. Bonnie was crazy about her, and so was Silky. Even Lizzie was fond of Gerry. Gerry was spending longer hours at the office than was necessary, and although Libra appreciated it he knew she was doing it more to get away from Dick, or Dick’s absence, than because she was devoted to her job. He wished she’d just ditch the bum. If he didn’t feel so incestuous, he’d go after her himself. Gerry was really wasted on the average guy. Dick was better than the average, but he was still a bum. Somebody should take care of Gerry, take her to the beach on weekends or something.

Let the lame take care of the blind, was Libra’s slogan, so he telephoned Mad Daddy one morning, after Ingrid had given him his shot and he felt euphoric, and told Daddy that now he was a summer bachelor he wanted him to spend a weekend at Peter and Penny Potter’s beach house instead of hanging around the city chasing under-age jail bait. Daddy was horrified.

“I’ll send Gerry to look after you,” Libra reassured him. “You like Gerry. I’ll send you up in my car. You won’t even have to drive. Penny will call you later.” He hung up before Mad Daddy could protest further, and called Penny B.P., who was delighted to have any celebrity as a house guest. Then he told Gerry.

Gerry accepted the assignment with little enthusiasm, but said she’d go. She couldn’t stand the B.P.’s, but she liked Mad Daddy, and Libra could tell she was relieved to be spared the decision of whether or not to spend the weekend with Dick—or waiting for him, whichever was the status of their affair now.

“Shall I bring Bonnie?” she asked. “She loves the country.”

“This is the beach,” Libra said. “I don’t want her getting tan, and if she stays in the house she’ll do nothing but drink with that bunch of souses. I think she’d better stay home, unless you think she can’t be trusted.”

“No,” Gerry said, “I trust her. She’ll love knowing we both trust her alone. This is the first time. I think it’ll be good for her.”

“Good,” Libra said. “Take over now, I’m going to the gym.”

But he didn’t go to the gym. Halfway there he changed his mind, and still euphoric he told his chauffeur to take him to Henri Bendel’s, a store he knew Lizzie liked. He went in and bought a sexy bikini, a transparent shirt to cover it, a jazzy little pants suit, a short-sleeved sweater, and a cute blouse—for Gerry. He paid in cash and had the store deliver them to Gerry’s apartment because he was embarrassed to give them to her himself.

“Happy July Fourth” he wrote on the card, although it was the beginning of August. He wondered if Gerry was really his daughter if he would still try to start something between her and Mad Daddy. He had no idea. He didn’t know how a real father was supposed to react. But he liked liking her. It made him feel warm and rather mushy. Except for Lizzie, years ago, Gerry Thompson was the first girl Libra had ever really liked in his life. He didn’t know why he liked her, but it made him feel good. He told the salesgirl to wrap the package in all the gift wrap she could find.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Oh, Bonnie, you are a
beauty!
” Vincent Abruzzi told himself, looking at his reflection in the new dress in the tiny fitting room mirror of the store downtown in the Village. It still embarrassed him a little to walk into a girls’ store and ask for a dress, and it embarrassed him even more to take the dress into the fitting room and try it on. At first he had always taken the dresses home without trying them on, after timidly informing the salesgirl that if his “friend” didn’t like the fit someone (he, of course) would bring it back the next day, and was that permitted? He knew no one would ever read him, but still he had to fight his panic every time he went into a fitting room, sure someone would come in, outraged, and yank him out and take him right to jail.

The dress was adorable, and he bought it. Then he went down the street to a faggot store, feeling much more comfortable there, and asked to see some bell-bottomed pants.

“You can’t try them on today,” the nitty queen who waited on him said. “Girls aren’t allowed in the fitting rooms on Saturday.”

“I’ll girl you, Mary,” Vincent said.

The queen did a double-take. “Ooh, sorry. You
do
look real.”

Vincent wanted to say: “Look for me in
Vogue
next month,” but he stifled the impulse and minced into the fitting room with the three pairs of pants. They were a perfect fit so he bought them, and two silk scarves to wear as little ties with the girl’s shirts he had at home. The pants looked just like girl’s pants. He liked the way most of the clothes today were so neuter-looking; it left the decision of whether he was a boy or a girl up to the people who looked at him—if they always thought he was a girl it wasn’t as if he was trying to
deceive
them.

“Cologne?” the nitty queen asked, trying to spray him.

“No!” Vincent hated men’s cologne—except on a man, of course.

“Here, take it. It’s a free sample, because you’re so pretty.”

Vincent took it. He could keep it for a rainy day. That queen had called him “pretty.” Most queens hated him because they were so jealous that he was doing what they didn’t have the courage to do. He was happy and flattered that the queen didn’t hate him, and he gave her his best Bonnie gaze and a little smile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, doll. Good luck.”

He rode uptown on the subway because it was cheap and quick. He could afford cabs now, but he still used the subway during the daytime, preferring to spend his cab money on clothes. He wondered when he would ever be able to finish paying off Mr. Libra that fifteen hundred for the pants suit he’d stupidly mopped, and he hoped it wouldn’t be when he was too old to look nice in the clothes he was dying to buy. This shopping spree today was the result of weeks and weeks of hoarding, walking, going without lunches. When he had a date, or was with Gerry, he ate as much as he could so that he wouldn’t starve the rest of the time. He didn’t want to lose weight and get his legs so skinny they didn’t look like girl’s legs any more.

The subway platform was empty. He waited for the train, walking up and down. On the wall there were various advertising posters with wisecracks scribbled on them by subway poets. Someone had written in large letters: “God is love.”

Vincent looked at it, then looked around to make sure no one was near to see him. He took his lipstick out of his purse—the purse Gerry had finally convinced him to carry even though he thought it looked the
worst
for a boy to carry a purse—and crossed out the word
God
, replacing it with
Fame
. “Fame is love.”

“That’s about where it’s at,” Vincent murmured. The train came roaring into the station and he got on it, humming a little tune.

The apartment was lonely. He hung up his new clothes and filled the bathtub with warm water and bubble bath. Gerry had gone away to the beach for the weekend with a client of Mr. Libra’s and she had told him being left alone was a compliment and a great position of trust. He was flattered, but he missed her and he wished she had invited him, even though he knew he would have been too self-conscious to go to that beach house with all those society people, and besides he hated the sun. He put some records on the phonograph and got into the tub, where he soaked until the stack of records was finished. He shaved his legs and let the water run out. Wrapped in a big towel he went into the living room to turn the stack of records over, then filled the tub again, got in and washed his hair.

While his hair was drying he stood in front of the bathroom mirror and carefully inspected his upper lip for any sign of hair. Unmistakably, there was a downy fuzz. His first reaction was horror, then curiosity and a kind of embarrassed pride. He was growing up. A moustache was a nuisance, but he’d seen lots of girls with much worse moustaches than his. What was he going to do with it?

There was Gerry’s depilatory. He smeared it on and waited as long as the tube said to wait, and then washed it off. What kind of stuff did she use anyway? The moustache was still there, most of it anyway. He looked at the tube again.
Do not reapply
, it said. All he needed now was a red mark and he wouldn’t be able to go out tonight.

With a sigh for his lost innocence Vincent picked up the safety razor, inserted a new blade, and daintily slathered on Gerry’s shaving cream. It was a good thing she was a pack rat; their apartment was as well stocked as any drugstore. He had never shaved in his life, and he drew the blade down his upper lip gingerly, afraid he would cut himself. The hair came off like magic. He was flawless Bonnie Parker again.
Whew!
He rubbed cream on his lip to take the soreness away and put a beauty pack on his face to tighten his pores. Then he sat in front of the air conditioner, listening to the records, and brushed out all his false eyelashes, replacing them carefully in their little plastic box when he was finished. The sun was setting in the window behind him and he felt homesick. Maybe he’d go home and surprise his mother. His eyes filled with tears. He missed his mother, and he missed Gerry. He hated Saturday night.

When the phone rang, Vincent let it ring three times and then picked up the receiver just before the service could get at it.

“Hello.”

“Bonnie?”

“Yes.”

“This is Dick.”

Oh, wasn’t it! Dick Devoid, old scarecrow, big nose, bald head, closet queen! Vincent wasn’t one bit surprised. “How are you?” Vincent said.

“Fine, thanks. What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Vincent said. “What are you doing?”

“Having a drink with some friends. Would you like to come over and join us?”

Dick wanted Vincent to meet his friends! Vincent wondered if there would be any stars there. He loved meeting famous people.

“Well, I’m not dressed or anything,” he said.

“Come as you are, we’re all informal,” Dick said cheerfully. “Hurry up … they want to meet you.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” Dick said.

“Give me an hour,” said Vincent/Bonnie, and hung up. He painted very lightly, just his panstick and mascara on his long lashes; then he decided to put on his bats and started all over again. He was nervous. He’d never been out with Dick after that night with Gerry. He’d fled when he realized that Dick was anticipating a scene for the three of them, because that was a lousy thing to do to Gerry. Gerry was a nice girl, and she obviously loved Dick. But what the hell? He’d just go there tonight and see what happened. Nothing would happen. He’d just twist Dick’s mind a little and cut out. He wondered whether or not Dick would want to go to bed with him. Would
he
want to go to bed with Dick? No, not in a million years. He just wanted to see what would happen.

He decided on one of the new pairs of bell bottoms; white, with a white shirt of Gerry’s he’d long admired, and one of his new scarves tied around his neck to hide his Adam’s apple. He put on his girl’s white patent-leather loafers, with tights under the pants so he could gaff better. His hair was dry now, and very blond and shiny. He teased and smoothed it and gave it a light spray. Then he put perfume behind each ear, tucked the perfume bottle into his purse for touch-ups, and inspected himself in the mirror for a last time. Unreadable. Beautiful. Bonnie Parker the beauty.

He had Dick’s address in his little address book (he’d put it in automatically after that evening at Dick’s apartment) and he was on his way.

Dick’s guests were a fat young man, not too bad, and a bitchy-looking girl. The girl had dyed blond hair and looked at Bonnie’s natural blond hair with undisguised jealousy. She’d obviously been the beauty in this room until Bonnie got here. The fat young man’s eyes nearly popped out.

“Bonnie,” Dick said. “This is Steve, and Truffle.”

Truffle! What kind of a name was that? But Bonnie liked Steve—he had a fat little belly but his face was great, lots of hair and sexy sideburns.
Well, I’ll have
that, Bonnie thought. She looked at Dick.
I could have him too if I wanted, I bet
.