The Love Machine (35 page)

She didn’t answer. Hudson talked this way every now and then and it passed. It was better to let him rant on. He drained the glass and deliberately refilled it.

“You really don’t care about me, do you, Hudson?”

He poured himself another drink and sighed heavily. “Oh, it’s not you. It’s us… . Our families… . Sometimes I feel I’ve had it… . But don’t worry, I won’t leave you. Where can I go? Neither of us can have any real freedom until you get knocked up a few times. Christ, that’s the least you could do.”

She stood up. “Hudson, you make me feel sick.”

“Come off it. I saw that mother of yours at the wedding, beaming. And your father, all handshakes and cigars. What were they so happy about? Hello, young lovers? Not on your life! It was the Stewart money. But you’re not keeping your half of the bargain. You’re supposed to have babies.” He stared at her. “Maybe we should go home and try tonight.”

“Maybe if you didn’t drink so much,” she said.

“Maybe I have to drink to get excited about you. I’m a man, I can’t fake it.” She walked out. He followed sullenly. At the checkroom they ran into Bud and Lucy. Lucy was pregnant again.
She was also slightly drunk.

“We’re going to the Embassy. Want to come?”

Hudson stared enviously at Lucy’s stomach. “Sure, why not!” He grabbed Maggie by the arm and they all crowded into the elevator.

Bud’s chauffeur was waiting. “Leave your cars,” Lucy suggested. “We’ll come back for them.”

The Embassy was crowded. They sat in the smoke-filled room, squeezed around a tiny table. Some members from the country club were at the next table. They decided to put the two tables together. There were some jokes among the men, a bottle of Scotch was put on the table and Maggie sat hemmed in thinking of the man in Suite 17B.

She
had
to call him. She would tell him the truth, that she had accepted in a moment of crazy impulse, that she was married. It wasn’t fair to make Robin Stone sit and wait. He worked too hard.

She stood up suddenly. “I have to powder my nose.” There had to be a phone in the Ladies’ Room.

“I’ll go with you,” Lucy said as she lumbered to her feet. “I’m dying to hear what Robin Stone said. I saw him lean over and speak to you several times. Coming, Edna?” she called to one of the girls.

The group headed for the Powder Room. There was an open phone. An attendant was sitting near it. It was hopeless. She patched up her makeup and was noncommittal about Robin Stone. They had talked about television, she explained. She tried to hang back, but Lucy and Edna waited. When they returned to their table there was no sign of Hudson. Then she saw him across the room—sitting at a table with a group of people, his arm around a girl. She recognized the girl, a new member of the club, a recent bride. Hudson’s arm was gently massaging her bare back. Her husband sat across from her and did not see it. Suddenly Maggie stood up.

“Sit down,” Lucy hissed. “Maggie, you know it means nothing. Hud always has to prove his charm with every new member.”

“I’m going …”

Bud grabbed her arm. “Maggie, you’ve got nothing to be concerned
about. That’s June Tolland. She’s mad for her husband.”

She broke away and ran. She didn’t stop running until she reached the street. Then she walked to the corner, hailed a cab and told the driver to go to the Bellevue Stratford Hotel.

She rang the bell of Suite 17B. It was a loud ring, an empty ring. She glanced at her watch. Twelve fifteen. Maybe he had left, or gone to sleep. She rang again, then she turned and started down the hall. Suddenly the door swung open. He was holding a glass. “Come on in, newsgirl, I’m on the phone.”

She entered the living room of the suite. He motioned to the bottle of vodka and went to the phone. It was obvious he was talking business, something to do with clauses in a contract. She went through the motions of mixing herself a drink. He had taken off his jacket. His shirt clung to him and she saw the small initials,
R.S
., near his chest. His tie was loose and he talked earnestly and to the point. She noticed the bottle of vodka was half empty and once again she wondered at his capacity. He finally hung up. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but then, you didn’t exactly break any track records getting here.”

“Where do you go tomorrow?” She suddenly felt shy and nervous.

“New York. No more lectures ever again.”

“Why do they call them lectures?” she asked. “I mean, tonight—you were wonderful, you talked about everything. Your adventures overseas, people—”

“I suppose it dates back to when some fink actually went out with slide pictures and—oh, who the hell cares.” He put down his drink and held out his arms. “Come on, newsgirl, aren’t you going to kiss me?”

She felt like a schoolgirl. “My name is Maggie Stewart,” she said. Then she was in his arms.

He made love to her three times that night. He held her close and whispered endearments. He caressed her. He treated her like a virgin. And for the first time she realized what it was like when a man made love for the sole purpose of trying to make a woman happy. She reached a climax the very first time. And then it happened again. And the third time she fell back in gratified exhaustion. He held her close and kissed her gently. Then as he began
to caress her again she pulled away.

He buried his face in her breasts. “It’s been different tonight. I’m very drunk—tomorrow I may not remember any of this… . But I want you to know, this is different.”

She lay very still. Somehow she knew he was telling the truth. She was afraid to move, afraid to break the spell. The cool crisp Robin Stone suddenly seemed so vulnerable. In the dim light she stared at his face against her breasts—she wanted to remember every second, she would always remember, especially the word he yelled each time at the climax.

He pulled away suddenly, kissed her, reached out and lit two cigarettes and handed one to her. “It’s two thirty.” He nodded toward the phone. “If you have to be up at any special time, leave a call. I’ve got nothing to do but catch a train to New York. What time do you have to be at work?”

“Eleven.”

“How’s nine thirty? I’ll get up with you and we can have breakfast together.”

“No, I—I have to leave now.”

“No!”
It was a command—but his eyes were almost pleading. “Don’t leave me!” he said.

“I have to, Robin.” She jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom. She dressed quickly and when she returned to the bedroom he was lying back against the pillows. He seemed completely composed. He lit a cigarette, then looked at her oddly.

“Who are you running off to? Husband or lover?”

“Husband,” she said, trying to meet his eyes. They were so amazingly blue and cold.

He inhaled deeply and blew the smoke to the ceiling. Then he said, “Did you risk anything coming here tonight?”

“Nothing, except my marriage.”

“Newsgirl, come here.” He held out his hand. She came to him and he looked at her as if trying to see into her brain. “I want you to know something. I didn’t know you were married.”

“Don’t feel guilty,” she said gently.

His laugh was odd. “Guilty, hell! I think it’s funny. … So long, newsgirl.”

“My name is Maggie Stewart.”

“Baby, there’s another name for girls like you.” He leaned over and ground out the cigarette.

She stood at his bed for a moment. “Robin, tonight was different for me too, it meant something, it meant an awful lot. I want you to believe that.”

Suddenly he threw his arms around her waist and buried his head in her dress. His voice was low and urgent. “Then don’t leave me! You keep saying you love me, but you leave me!”

She had never said she loved him! She gently pried herself loose and looked at him in amazement. Their eyes met but he seemed to be looking somewhere far off as if he was in a self-induced trance. She decided the vodka had finally hit him. He couldn’t know or mean what he was saying.

“Robin, I’ve got to leave you—but I’ll never forget you.”

He blinked and then stared as if seeing her for the first time. “I’m sleepy. Good night, newsgirl.” Then he switched off the light, turned on his side and promptly fell asleep. She stood there unable to believe it. He was not faking. He
was
asleep.

She drove home with mixed feelings. The whole thing had been insane. He was two men and they never seemed to fuse except when he made love to her. Well, he had said it himself: tomorrow he would not even remember it, she would be just another girl on one of his whistle stops. But did he act this way with all girls? It didn’t matter. The only thing that counted was tonight.

She let herself into the house quietly. It was four o’clock.

She crept into the bedroom. It was dark; in the shadows she saw Hudson’s empty bed. Luck was with her. He hadn’t gotten home yet. She undressed quickly. She had just turned off the lights when she heard the crunch of gravel in the garage path. She pretended sleep when he crept into the room. His cautiousness amused her. The way he lurched around the room, trying not to arouse her. Soon she heard him snoring in deep drunken sleep.

For the next two weeks she plunged into her work and pushed Robin Stone from her thoughts. She had almost succeeded until the day she opened her diary to check an appointment and saw “Curse due.” She was four days late! And Hudson hadn’t come near her in three weeks. Robin Stone! She had taken no precautions with him. Hudson had brainwashed her into actually thinking
she couldn’t get pregnant.

She buried her face in her hands. She didn’t want to get rid of it! Robin’s baby would be a baby conceived in love… . And Hudson wanted a baby. Oh, no! It was an outrageous thought! … But why not? What could be gained in telling Hudson the truth? It would hurt Hudson—and the baby. She stood up with sudden determination. She was going to have it!

When a week passed and her period did not come, she faced the real task of getting Hudson to make love to her. He had never stayed away this long. The model must be wearing him out, or perhaps he had found a new interest. When Hudson was in the flush of a new romance, he never came near her.

That night she snuggled against him in bed but he pushed her away.

She bit her lip in the darkness. “I want a baby, Hudson.” She put her arms around him and tried to kiss him. He turned his head. “Okay, but cut the love crap, honey. We’re playing for babies now—so let’s fuck.”

She went to the doctor when she had missed her second period. He called her the following day and congratulated her. She was six weeks pregnant. She decided to wait a few weeks before breaking the news to Hudson.

A few nights later they were having one of their rare evenings at home alone. He was quiet throughout dinner. But the surliness that had become part of his personality was not in evidence. He was calm, thoughtful. He was almost gentle when he suggested they go upstairs to the den and have an after-dinner drink. He sat on the couch and watched her as she poured the brandy. He took his glass, sipped it thoughtfully, then said, “Can you get away from your little television chores in about three months?”

“I could get a leave—but why?”

“I’ve told Dad you’re pregnant.”

She looked at him in amazement. Then she realized Dr. Blazer had probably told him. She had told the doctor she wanted to keep it a secret because of her work but he probably never thought she wanted to keep it from Hudson. This accounted for his new mood. Her smile was filled with relief. Her instinct had been right. A baby would change things.
“Hudson, there’s no need to go away. I could work almost up to the date if the camera just gets head shots of me.”

He looked at her curiously. “And how do we explain to Dad and to everyone your nice flat tummy?”

“But I’ll—”

“We can’t fake it. Everyone has to think it’s the real thing. Even Bud and Lucy. One slipup, and Dad will find out. I’ve got it all worked out. We tell him we want a trip around the world as a pregnancy present. Because after the child is born, we won’t feel free to leave it. Then we’ll say it was premature and have it born in Paris.”

“I don’t understand, Hudson. I want my baby born here.”

His old sneer returned. “Don’t get carried away with the game. I merely
told
him you were pregnant. That doesn’t make it so.”

He got up and poured himself another glass of brandy. “I’ve made all the arrangements. We can get a baby in Paris. The doctor I talked to has a contact there. They even match the looks of both parents. There are three babies up for adoption that will be born in seven months. We just pay all the mother’s hospitalization, first class. The mother turns the baby over immediately—she never even sees it or knows what sex it is, or who gets it. I’ve asked for a boy. Then we get a new birth certificate and it’s made out as our baby. And the lucky little bastard not only nets us a million, but comes up with dual citizenship if he wants it. Then we return to America in triumph.”

She laughed with relief. She got up from the couch and walked over to him. “Hudson, now it’s my turn for a surprise. All these elaborate plans—you don’t need them.”