The Love Machine (62 page)

He smiled. “I have big shoulders, Judith.”

She sat back and sipped her drink. Her eyes looked past him. “Greg’s worried about the network too. Dan’s been giving out too many interviews. Gregory gets ulcers every time he reads them. It’s
his
network and he hates anyone else to take bows.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to avoid the press,” he answered. “I duck them, so they go after Dan. After my one mass interview, I cut out.”

She smiled. “It must kill Dan. You’ve outwitted him without realizing it. In refusing to give interviews, you’ve made yourself an enigma—they write and speculate about you all the time. I rather like the title they’ve given you: the Love Machine.”

He frowned. “They’ll get tired of it. Publicity is the last thing I’m after.”

“Greg knows that, and he doesn’t resent your publicity. It’s natural for you to get it. Dan’s been in this business all his life, but even though you’ve been seen on TV, you’re still a mystery man to Madison Avenue. You intrigue them, they want to dig, to find out what makes you tick.”

“I think you’re overrating their interest.” He swallowed his drink. “Want another?”

“No. I have to be up at dawn tomorrow. Will you be there?”

He shook his head. “Someone has to mind the store. But please call me as soon as you know the results.”

“I will. Do you have a private line at IBC?”

He took out his notebook and scribbled it down.

“Put down your home number, too,” she added.

“IBC can always get to me. I have a direct line at home.”

“Robin—remember what you said about your shoulders? If I find myself alone in the small hours, if it all closes in on me, I may need to talk to someone …”

He wrote down his unlisted home number. “Anytime.” He handed her the slip of paper.

She sat in bed and wrote both his numbers in her phone book. She listed them under L. No name, just the numbers. “L” meant
Love. That was how she always listed the man she cared about. She stretched out in bed. The night cream was heavy on her face and she wore a net to keep the oil from ruining her hair. She felt elated. Gregory did not have cancer. And once the operation was over, perhaps he’d snap back to his old self. And meanwhile during his recuperation she’d see Robin every day.

Gregory was on the table six hours. During this period, Judith called Robin twice for reassurance. He sounded concerned and told her he had two meetings, but would come if she needed him. It was finally agreed that he would drop by at the end of the day. He kept assuring her that everything would be all right.

Dr. Lesgarn appeared at three in the afternoon. Gregory was in the postoperative room. The news was excellent. There was no malignancy.

Gregory was wheeled down at five. He was conscious, but the tube in his nose and the needle in his arm made him seem like a vegetable. An hour later Dr. Lesgarn came in and told him the results. Gregory turned away from him with a sneer.

Judith ran to the bed and took his hand. “We’re telling you the truth, Greg. I swear.”

He pushed her away. “Lies! It all sounds so pat! You’re a lousy actress, Judith!” She ran out of the room and leaned against the wall of the hospital corridor, trembling. Dr. Lesgarn came out and shook his head. “I gave him a shot, but it’s going to be rough to rid him of this cancer obsession.”

They both looked up as Robin came striding down the hall. His confident smile and healthy good looks only served to make Gregory seem like a shell of a man.

“I talked to the doctor an hour ago,” he said, nodding at Dr. Lesgarn. “He gave me the good news.”

“Gregory doesn’t believe us,” she said.

Robin looked properly sympathetic. “Cliff released a story to the newspapers. We said it was the same ailment—gall bladder. I think that will cover things.”

“You’ve had a long day, Mrs. Austin,” Dr. Lesgarn said. “I think you should go home.”

Her smile was gaunt. “Right now, I just want to sit down and have a drink and some food. I haven’t eaten all day.”

Robin took her to the Lancer Bar. This time she dismissed the chauffeur. At least Robin would take her home without feeling self-conscious. She looked around the room as they sat in the same booth. Did he always come to this place?

Obviously he had read her expression because he said, “I would have taken you elsewhere, but unfortunately I had made a previous appointment to meet someone here. But the steaks are good and the drinks are even better.”

She sipped her drink cautiously. On an empty stomach she would feel it, and she wanted complete control, tonight of all nights.

“Will I be intruding on your appointment?”

“Not at all.” He suddenly stood up. Judith stared as a tall young girl headed toward the booth.

“Robin, I am late. Sorry.”

“It’s all right.” He motioned the girl to slide in beside him. Then he said, “Mrs. Austin, this is Ingrid. She works for TWA, and we’ve flown together many times.”

The girl turned to Robin with a warmly intimate smile. “We had to circle Kennedy for half an hour tonight, air traffic was so heavy. That’s why I’m late.”

Robin signaled for a drink for Ingrid. Judith noticed the waiter automatically brought her a vodka-and-tonic. That meant she had been here before with Robin. She had a slight accent—Swedish, or one of the other Scandinavian languages. She was tall and almost too thin, with long heavy straight blond hair and bangs hanging below her eyebrows. Her eyes were heavily made up but she wore no lipstick. And when her slim hand slipped possessively into Robin’s, Judith wanted to reach out and stab her. Oh God, the vibrancy of youth! Ingrid in her white silk blouse and plain skirt suddenly made her feel squat and bulky in the Chanel suit. The girl could not be more than twenty-two—she was old enough to be her mother! The girl was also too young for Robin, yet she was staring at him with open adoration. Oh God, it
was
a man’s world. Age didn’t count with a man. Ten years from now, Robin would still have a twenty-two-year-old stewardess staring at him like this.

She opened her purse and took out a gold cigarette case. Robin immediately reached over with a light—at least he still remembered she was at the table. Well, she wasn’t going to give up without a fight. Not to this snip of a girl—a girl who would serve her on a plane: a
waitress!

Judith watched Robin carefully. How could he allow an airline stewardess to share even a part of his life? How many simple girls like this had he given his body to, while she had to sit there longing for him—planning, scheming?

Robin ordered another round of drinks. Judith wished she could eat something—she felt the first Scotch already. Robin held up his glass and toasted Gregory’s health. Then he had to explain to Ingrid who Gregory Austin was.

“I am sorry.” Ingrid was sincere, as she turned to Judith. “I wish him a very fast recovery. Was it serious?”

“Just a checkup, baby,” Robin said. “He flew in from Florida because he likes New York doctors.”

“Do you fly with us?” Ingrid asked.

“We have our own plane,” Judith answered.

“Oh, how very nice.” Ingrid did not seem overly impressed.

“Judith, you must get Gregory to take an interest in the network, even while he’s at the hospital having his checkup.” Robin’s gaze was serious as he emphasized the word checkup. “I want you to force him into taking an interest. Do you understand?”

She nodded. Ingrid stared at both of them. “Well, I don’t,” she said. “Poor Mr. Adlen, he—”

“Austin,” Robin said.

“All right, Mr. Austin. Well, my father had to go through a checkup once, and he said it was awful. Swallowing chalk, taking X-rays. Let him relax and forget business, I say.”

Robin smiled. “Baby, do you tell the pilot what to do when the weather gets rough?”

“Of course not. Tower control and the navigator do that.”

“Well, I’m tower control and Judith is navigator.”

“I
still
think the poor man should be left to have his checkup in peace,” she said.

Judith had to admire her. She wasn’t cowed by Robin’s dismissal. But then, she had been to bed with Robin and knew her
power. And why? Just because she was young. Oh God, when she was young she had taken her youth for granted too.

“I’m hungry,” Ingrid said suddenly.

Robin beckoned the waiter. “Get the lady a steak. And bring me a double vodka.” Then he turned to Judith. “What would you like? I’d advise the steak and the tossed salad.”

“What are you having?”

He pointed to his glass.

“I’ll have another Scotch,” she said quietly.

“No steak?”

“No steak.”

A slow smile crept to his eyes. “Well, well. Judith, I like your style. It takes more than a few knockdowns to make you lose a fight—you’re back there slugging at the sound of the bell. I guess that’s why you’re a winner.”

“Am I?” she asked challengingly.

“You sure as hell are!” He raised his glass in salute. Ingrid looked on in bewilderment. Suddenly she stood up. “I think perhaps you should cancel my steak. Suddenly it seems I am not needed here.”

Robin stared at his glass. “Suit yourself, baby.”

She grabbed her coat and went to the door. Judith tried to look concerned. “Robin, perhaps I should go? You and this girl—”

He reached across the table and took her hand. “Don’t play games, Judith. It’s not your style. This is the way you wanted it, isn’t it?”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Ingrid hesitate at the door, hoping Robin would come after her. Judith waited until she left. Then she said, “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Ingrid won’t bleed—at least not for long,” he said. He canceled the steak and asked for a check. They finished their drinks in silence, then walked out of the restaurant. “I live down the street,” he said.

She slipped her arm through his as they walked. This wasn’t the way she had planned it, not so cut-and-dried. There wasn’t any romance this way. She had to make him understand that he meant something to her. “Robin—I’ve cared about you for a long time.”

He didn’t answer, but he took her arm from his and held her hand. “You’re a winner, Judith. Don’t try to qualify things.”

When they entered his apartment, she suddenly felt insecure, like a girl beginning her first affair. And suddenly she felt the perspiration between her breasts, on her brow—those God-damned flashes! Little reminders that she wasn’t a carefree young airline stewardess!

Robin made her a light Scotch and poured a large shot of vodka for himself. He drank it standing in the middle of the living room. She sat on the oversized couch and longed for him to join her. There was a fireplace and some fresh wood. If only he would light it, and they could sit in the darkness in the glow of the fire and play some of the records she saw stacked near the hi-fi. She wanted him to hold her in his arms… .

He suddenly walked over to her, took the drink from her hand and led her into the bedroom. She felt panic. Would she have to undress in front of him? Ingrid probably let him undress her … reveling in her nakedness and firm young body. She was wearing a panty girdle. Nothing was less sexy—despite her slimness, it pushed up her loose flesh into unflattering ripples.

He pointed to the bathroom as he loosened his tie. “No dressing room, but take that.”

She stumbled into the bathroom and undressed slowly. She saw a maroon silk robe hanging on the door. She put it on and tied the sash. When she opened the door, Robin was standing looking out the window. He was stripped to his shorts. The room was in darkness, but the light of the bathroom reflected on his broad shoulders. There wasn’t an ounce of extra flesh on him. She hadn’t realized how well he was built. She came up behind him. He turned when he saw her and took her hand. Almost gently he led her to the bed. He looked at her and smiled. “Well, they say an experienced woman is the greatest. Prove it, dear lady—get down there and make love to me.”

She was stunned, but wanted him so much that she complied. After a few moments he tossed her on her back and ground into her. It was over in less than a minute. Then he lay back and reached for a cigarette.

“Sorry I didn’t put on more of a show,” he said with an apologetic
smile. “But I’m never very good when I’ve been drinking.”

“I loved it, Robin.”

“You did?” He looked at her with amazement. “Why?”

“Because I was with you. That’s what makes the difference.”

He yawned. “If I wake up during the night, I’ll try and please you more.” Then he kissed her lightly and turned away from her. After a few minutes his even breathing told her he was actually asleep. She stared at him. So this was the Love Machine. Now what? He expected her to go to sleep. Ingrid would. His other girls probably did. Well, why not? Gregory was in the hospital. She had no one to report to. But suppose she got the sweats in the middle of the night, or snored? Gregory had made her sleep in the same room with him in Palm Beach, and he said she snored. He teased her about it but seemed secretly pleased—another reminder of old age.