Valley of the Dolls (10 page)

“Let’s go to Morocco for a nightcap,” he said when the waiter brought the check.

Anne secretly blessed Adele, who announced it was too late—she had a matinee the following day.

A few days later Anne was back in the columns. Ronnie Wolfe had an item about the engagement ring. She arrived at the office to find Miss Steinberg and the girls waiting in quivering excitement.

“Let’s see it!” the receptionist demanded. “When did you get it?”

“Is it really over ten karats?” Miss Steinberg asked.

Anne reluctantly held out her hand as they gasped over the ring. She had been wearing it turned the other way and it had escaped detection. It was too valuable to leave in her furnished room, and she had been promising herself to return it to Allen as soon as she could—but now it was an item.

She was sorting the mail when Lyon Burke came in. He stopped at her desk, picked up her hand, whistled and dropped it. “Heavy, isn’t it?” Then he added, “He seems like quite a decent chap, Anne.”

“He’s very nice,” she said lamely. “And Jennifer North seemed very nice too.”

A curious expression crossed his face. “Jennifer North is one of the nicest girls I have ever known,” he said quietly.
“Really
nice.” Then he walked into his office.

She sat back miserably. Had she sounded insincere? Jennifer
was
nice. She had meant it. Perhaps it had come out wrong because she was flustered.

She ducked lunch with the girls and spent the hour wandering along Fifth Avenue. Staring vacantly into the window of a novelty shop, she thought of Neely. She had bought Neely a rabbit’s foot yesterday—rehearsals for
Hit the Sky
started this morning. She envied Neely, so vibrant and uncomplicated. Nothing bad could ever happen to someone like Neely.

There was a newspaper propped up on her desk when she returned. One of the girls had probably put it there. Probably some other item about the ring. She was about to drop it into the waste basket when she saw the office memo clipped to the corner.
Memo from Lyon Burke
was printed on it, and in his hand was scribbled,
Perhaps of interest to Anne Welles. Story on page two.

It was a beautiful picture of Jennifer—and Tony Polar! The black caption blazed:
BROADWAY’S NEWEST ROMANCE.
The story was written tongue in cheek. “It was a lightning bolt that struck me,” Tony was quoted as having said. Jennifer’s prose was less explosive, but she blushingly admitted the attraction was mutual. They had been introduced after the show by a mutual friend, Lyon Burke.

“Lyon just brought her in and handed her over,” Tony had gone on. “He said to me, ‘Tony, I told you I had an opening night present for you.’”

Anne closed the paper and sat back, suddenly weak with an inexplicable happiness. “Lyon handed her over . . .” The line kept running through her mind.

“Anne . . .”

She came out of her reverie. Neely was standing in front of her desk.

“Anne, I know it’s awful my coming here. But I couldn’t go home. I had to see you.” Neely’s face was splotched with tears.

“Why aren’t you at rehearsal?” Anne asked.

Neely suddenly broke into uncontrolled sobs.

Anne shot a worried look toward the closed door to Henry’s office. “Neely, sit down.” She pushed Neely into her chair. “Stay there . . . try to control yourself. I’ll get my coat. We’ll go home.”

“I don’t wanna go home,” Neely said stubbornly. “I couldn’t face that room. I was so happy when I left it this morning. I wrote ‘The Gaucheros make Broadway!’ on the mirror in lipstick. I couldn’t face it now.”

“But Neely, you can’t sit here and—have a breakdown.”

“Who says I can’t? I didn’t go to Radcliffe. If I feel like having a breakdown, I’ll have it wherever I want. And right now I happen to be here.” The tears spilled down her face and onto her dress.
“Ooooh!”
She sobbed louder. “Look . . . my new dress, and it’s all spotted with my crying. It’s ruined, isn’t it?”

“Button your coat. It will clean.” She watched Neely obediently button her coat. Secretly, she couldn’t feel sorry about the dress. It was awful. (“Neely, people don’t wear purple taffeta to work,” she had said when Neely brought the dress home. “You don’t,” Neely had argued, “but I want to stand out at rehearsal.”)

Anne sat down. “All right, Neely, if you insist on staying here. Try to tell me about it quietly. Why aren’t you at rehearsal?”

“Anne, I’m not in the show.”

“You mean they’re not using The Gaucheros?”

“Oh, Anne, it was awful! They are—and they aren’t. . .”

“Well, start from the beginning. What happened?”

“I got there this morning, five minutes early even. I was all caked up and I had your rabbit’s foot in my bag. Then some skinny fag with a crew cut came in, carrying a book of the script. Dick and Charlie arrived next—”

“Neely, get to the point!”

“There is no point. I’m telling you how it happened. Then the showgirls arrived. I began to feel real crummy. Even in my new dress. You should see the getups on some of those showgirls. Six of them had real mink coats, and the rest had beaver or silver fox. Not one cloth coat! And everyone knew everyone else, except us. And when Jennifer North arrived, you’da thought Rita Hayworth was making an entrance. The assistant director rushed to her with cooing noises like how
glad
he was she was joining them. She was ten minutes late and he was making like it was a thrill that she managed to come. I felt lousy, like we just didn’t fit. We looked like vaudeville and cheap clubs. Charlie hadn’t shaved close enough and Dick seemed more faggy than ever, and my taffeta dress suddenly looked like it cost ten ninety-eight. For about fifteen minutes everyone kept greeting everyone and talking about the last show they did together. Even the chorus kids knew each other. Then the director got there. I think he’s a fag, too.”

“Neely . . .” Anne tried to cover her exasperation. “Please, just tell me what happened.”

“I am! I’m not leaving out a thing. Then Helen Lawson walked in like the Queen of England. The director introduced her. He said, ‘Cast, your star. Miss Lawson.’ I felt like maybe we should all stand up and sing
The Star-Spangled Banner
or something. The director walked around with her and introduced her to the people she didn’t know. Then she met us. . . .” Neely stopped. Her eyes brimmed with fresh tears.

“Then what?” Anne was insistent.

“She nodded at Dick and Charlie but looked right over me like I wasn’t even there. She’s ice water, Anne. Then she said, real tough like, to Dick and Charlie, ‘Oh yeah. You’re The Gaucheros. We’re gonna do a dance together. You fellas better eat a lot of spinach, because you’re gonna have to toss me around.”

“Her?”

“That’s right.
Her.
I stood up and said, ‘Hi, Miss Lawson. You know there’s three Gaucheros. I’m one of them. I’m Neely . . .’ And without even looking at me, she turned to the director and said, ‘I thought that had all been settled.’ Then she turned and walked away. Then maybe a few minutes later the director called Charlie off into a corner and they had a little talk. It looked like the director was telling Charlie off good, and Charlie was trying to explain something. Then Charlie comes back and says, ’Look, Neely, they didn’t pick us to really do our dance. They picked us because they want us to do a comedy number burlesquing our dance. It’s a dream sequence, and we’re supposed to toss Helen Lawson around.”

“But what about you?” Anne demanded. “You have a contract.”

Neely shook her head. “Charlie always signs our contracts. This one just says ‘The Gaucheros.’ It’s for five hundred a week. He and Dick were to get two hundred each and I was to get one hundred. Now Charlie says I’ll get the hundred anyway, even if I don’t work. But I don’t trust him. If he’d toss me out this easy, how can I believe he’ll pay me? Besides, what am I supposed to do? Just sit in that lousy room and mope? I don’t know anyone—my whole life has been the act.”

“It
is
awful,” Anne agreed. “But I can see Charlie’s dilemma. If they just sprang this on him, he can’t afford to walk out on all that money. Maybe to keep busy you could find another job.”

“Doing what?”

“Well. . . let’s go home and talk about it. We’ll figure out something. I can send you to the employment office I went to and—”

“I can’t type. I got no college degree. I can’t do anything—and besides, I wanna be in the show!” Neely started to sob violently again.

“Please, Neely,” Anne begged. She knew Miss Steinberg and the girls were staring, but her worst fear materialized when Lyon Burke opened his door. She smiled at him weakly as he came over and stared at the shrieking Neely.

“This is Neely. She’s a little upset.”

“I’d say that was a classic understatement.”

Neely looked up. “Geez, I’m sorry. When I cry, I cry loud.” She looked at him, wide eyed. “You’re not Henry Bellamy, are you?”

“No, I’m Lyon Burke.”

Neely smiled through her tears. “Geez, now I see what Anne means.”

“Neely’s had a big disappointment today,” Anne said quickly.

“Disappointment! I’m ready to die.” Neely went on to prove it with a fresh outpouring of sobs.

“Well, it must be quite uncomfortable dying out here in a straight-backed chair,” Lyon said. “Why don’t we transfer this wake into my office?”

Sprawled comfortably in Lyon’s leather chair, Neely repeated the entire story, punctuated with fresh howls.

When she had finished, Anne looked at Lyon and said, “It
is
a shocking thing to have happen. This show meant so much to her.”

Lyon nodded sympathetically. “But I can’t believe Helen would do such a thing.”

“She’s a killer,” Neely shouted.

Lyon shook his head. “Oh, I’m not defending her. She’s rough—but this is just not like Helen. She’d have someone else do her axing—unless she was taken by surprise.”

“It happened just like I said. I’m not making it up,” Neely insisted.

Lyon lit a cigarette and seemed thoughtful for a moment. Then he said, “Would you accept being in the show even if you weren’t part of The Gaucheros?”

“Those bums! After the way they dumped me, I’d do anything not to have to work with them again. But what could I do in the show?”

“A musical is quite elastic,” Lyon said. “Now it’s up to us to stretch it a bit.” He picked up the phone and dialed. They both listened as he asked for Gilbert Case, the producer of the show. Lyon was affable as he exchanged greetings, discussed the coming football schedule. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “By the way, Gil, you’ve signed an act called The Gaucheros. . . . Yes, I know Helen wants to clown a dance with them. But you did know there were
three
Gaucheros . . . yes . . . of course it’s not your business . . .” He held his hand over the receiver while Gil Case ranted on and whispered to Neely, “Your brother-in-law is really a louse—he sold you out
before
he signed the contract.”

Neely leaped up. “You mean that slob let me come to rehearsal and make a fool of myself! Why I’ll—”

Lyon motioned her to be quiet. But Neely’s eyes were blazing with anger. “I’m gonna go over there and kill him,” she muttered.

“Look, Gil,” Lyon said in an easy voice, “I know it’s not really your concern. Technically you’re in the clear, If the boys promised you they’d take care of their partner, quite naturally you believed them.”

Anne saw him staring at Neely. She knew he was stalling for time. He put his hand over the phone again and whispered, “Neely, how old are you? Truth!”

“Nineteen—”

“She’s seventeen,” Anne hissed.

“I have to say I’m nineteen to work in some states,” Neely argued.

Lyon’s face broke into a victorious smile. “Look, Gil,” he said cheerfully. “We certainly don’t want any trouble. We have Helen Lawson in the show, plus the choreographer and Jennifer North. It’s to our advantage to have everything run smoothly. The last thing any of us wants is a lawsuit. Yes, I said lawsuit. Gil, this little partner The Gaucheros brushed off is only seventeen. And these chaps have been trotting her across the country for some time, lying about her age. Now if she wanted to sue them it could get messy. I imagine the contract is just for The Gaucheros . . . nothing about an agreement to dissolve the current act. Gil, I
know
they told you it would be all right—but the fact is, it
isn’t
all right. How do I know she’ll sue? Because she’s sitting right here.” He winked at Neely and leisurely lit a fresh cigarette.

“Now Gil, of course I know it’s rough to start looking for a new dance team. But I think we can solve things right on the phone. The Gaucheros have a standard Equity contract for five hundred, right? You can drop them any time during the first five days without paying them a dime, right? Then just give them the facts of life and issue them a new contract for four hundred, then issue another contract to their little partner for one hundred. Put her in the chorus, let her understudy, do bits—anything, just so long as she’s in the show. It doesn’t cost you an extra penny and everyone’s happy. . . . Of course. Yes, I’ll tell her to report back to rehearsal tomorrow. . . . Delighted The Copa? When, tonight? Love to join you. All right, see you there.”

He hung up and smiled at Neely. “Young lady, you are in the show.”

She crossed the room and threw her arms around him in a spontaneous burst of gratitude. “Oh, Mr. Burke . . . golly, you’re terrific!” Then she rushed back to Anne and hugged her. “Oh, Anne, I love you! I’ll never forget this. You’re the only friend I have. Even my brother-in-law turned against me. And my sister—that louse musta known about it! Charlie wouldn’t dare pull this whammy without letting her know. Oh, Anne, if I ever make it—or get anywhere—or if you ever need anything, I’ll repay you. I swear, I’ll—”

Anne gently released herself from the frenzied embrace. “I’m glad for you, Neely. Really I am.”

The phone buzzed. Lyon picked it up. “It’s Gil Case again,” he whispered, one hand over the mouthpiece. Anne felt a lurch of apprehension until Lyon laughed.