Valley of the Dolls (29 page)

There was a sharp knock on the door. Jennifer broke the embrace. “I’m not expecting a soul. Tony, did you tell anyone you’d be here?”

He shook his head. She pulled on her robe. It was an apologetic bellboy with a telegram.

“It’s for Anne. I’d better phone her at Lyon’s. It might be important.”

She sat on the bed and called Anne. Tony came into the bedroom. Oh, God, this was a stupid thing to do! She stood up, clutching her robe around her. Where was Anne? Why didn’t they answer?

“Hello.” It was Lyon. Yes, he’d get Anne. Tony was fumbling at her robe. She pushed him away.

“Hello, Anne? A telegram just came for you. Sure, one second.” She ripped it open. Tony gently but firmly pushed her on the bed. She held the telegram and the phone and silently tried to push him off. She clamped her hand over the phone. “No, Tony! Not now. No!” He was on top of her. She looked at the wire. Tony’s mouth found her breasts. Oh, God . . . “Anne . . . yes, I’m here . . . Anne . . . Good Lord, your mother is dead!” She felt Tony enter her, roughly, pounding into her. She clenched her teeth and kept her voice even. “Yes, Anne. That’s all it says. I’m terribly sorry.” She hung up. Tony had fallen across her, panting in satisfied exhaustion.

“Tony, that wasn’t fair. That was taking advantage of me.”

He smiled lazily. “Baby, you were born with the advantages—a pair of them.” He flicked her breast lightly.

“We’d better get dressed. Anne is coming back here.”

He pulled on his shirt. “Christ, I was hot for you, wasn’t I? No buttons left on this shirt. I’ll run back to the hotel and grab a new shirt.”

“Pack a bag, Tony.”

“What for?”

“We’re going to Maryland—remember?”

He smiled. “Not now, baby. If we hurry we can still catch part of the show at La Bombra. Now be dressed when I come back—in about twenty minutes.”

“Tony, if we don’t elope tonight, I’ll never see you again.”

He walked over and chucked her playfully under the chin. “You’ll see me, baby. I’m the greatest. Who could replace me?” He walked to the door. “Wear something gorgeous—the newspapermen will be there.”

She watched the door close. Damn, damn! What timing. Damn Anne’s mother! Damn all mothers! Even in death they reached out and loused you up. She suddenly remembered—she hadn’t sent her mother a check this week. And Christmas was coming up. Her mother had seen a Persian lamb coat, and she
had
to have it. She wanted
one
fur coat before she died. She rushed to the desk and scribbled a check for five hundred dollars, stuck it in an envelope and wrote,
Merry Christmas. Happy Persian lamb. Jeannette.
Well, at least her mother would have a merry Christmas. Damn it, when would
she
have one?

She began to dress quickly. She didn’t want to be here when Tony came by. She had to force his hand. There was so little time.

She’d go to Lawrenceville with Anne. Of course! She owed it to Anne as a friend. She called Henry Bellamy. His sleepy voice became alert when she told him the news. Of course she was to go along with Anne. Don’t worry, he’d handle Gil Case. She was also to hire a car and charge it to his account. It would be easier to drive to Lawrenceville than to bother with train connections. Poor Anne—an aunt and a mother, all in one year.

When Anne and Lyon arrived, everything had been arranged. Jennifer had even packed Anne’s overnight bag. “I put in two black dresses and your gray suit.”

“We can take an early train in the morning,” Anne said.

“No. It’s only twelve-thirty, and I never sleep anyway. I’ll drive—you can sleep in the car. We’ll be there in the morning. I’ve ordered the car. It should be downstairs any second.”

“I’ll come up for the funeral,” Lyon said.

She turned to him. “No, Lyon. You didn’t know Mother. I’ll be all right. Use the time on the book”.

“Call me the minute you arrive.”

Jennifer rushed them downstairs. The attendant was waiting with a shiny black sedan. He gave Jennifer the keys and registration, and five minutes later they were on their way. Lyon watched the tail lights disappear into the traffic. It had all happened so quickly. He was amazed at Jennifer’s take-charge attitude. He had misjudged her; she wasn’t all fluff after all. He walked down the street, just missing Tony Polar, who jauntily pulled up in a cab.

The funeral was held on Monday. Once they were in Lawrenceville, Anne took over and coolly made all the arrangements. It had been a senseless accident, her mother’s fault. She was getting cataracts. Aunt Amy had always done the driving, yet after Amy’s death she had insisted on driving herself. It had been a rainy night, and she was returning from a duplicate bridge game at church. She hadn’t seen the trailer truck. It had been a head-on crash, and her mother had died instantly.

The funeral had been serene and dignified. Lyon and Henry sent huge floral offerings. Miss Steinberg and the girls also sent a wreath. Later that evening Anne went through the formalities of receiving. Everyone in town came to express sympathy and to gape at Jennifer.

On Tuesday morning, Jennifer brought up the subject of returning to New York. They were sitting in the sunny breakfast room. Jennifer had enjoyed Lawrenceville. She had been amused at the town’s bulgy-eyed admiration. But most of all she was impressed with the large house that belonged to Anne.

“I have to get back to the show,” she said. “But I imagine you want to stay here for a while.”

“Whatever for?” Anne asked.

Jennifer looked around. “Well, this house. You just can’t up and leave it.”

“I’ve already spoken to my lawyer. I told him to put it up for sale, furniture and all.”

“But it’s a wonderful house, Anne. Maybe you should keep it . . . rent it.”

“I hate it. I hate this town. I want to cut every tie. If I kept this house, there’d always be a reason to return. If I sell it, I’ll know I never, never have to come back.”

“Was your childhood that awful?”

“Not awful. Just nothing.”

“I take it you didn’t love your mother.”

“No, I didn’t love her. But I didn’t dislike her. She never gave me a chance to do either. It wasn’t her fault. It was Lawrenceville. Oh, Jennifer, I’d rather live my whole life in that one dreary room I used to have on Fifty-second Street than stay here. Lawrenceville strangles me. I can feel it—closing in on me.” She shuddered. “Imagine, in all my life here I knew at least thirty girls, but not one became a close friend. I’ve been in New York just a little over a year and I’ve got you and Neely and Lyon!”

“Well, you’ve got Lyon and me. We haven’t heard from our movie star in months.”

“Her picture opens in March. Imagine—her first picture opening at the Music Hall.”

“Well, she must be good in it. I read where she’s already at work on the second. Wonder when the babies will start. And Mel—do you think he’s gained any weight?”

They both laughed, and Jennifer poured some more coffee. “Well, I’ve got to leave this afternoon. That will get me back late tonight. At least I can make the matinee tomorrow.” Her brow creased. “God, Tony probably thinks I’ve been kidnapped. I left no word at the hotel. Miriam must be celebrating.”

She thought about Tony during the monotonous drive back to New York. Even if things worked out—if they did get married—there’d always be Miriam. It was a blind spot with Tony. “She’s raised me, given her whole life to me,” he’d yell when Jennifer balked at Miriam’s eternal intrusion. “She’s the only dame who’s a hundred per cent for me.”

But Miriam couldn’t go to bed with him. Jennifer’s face set. It wasn’t just his money and security she wanted. She also wanted to be a good wife. She wanted a child. Tony would get more than he bargained for. She wouldn’t cheat on him. Cheat? For what? One man was the same as another. Tony could satisfy her; most men could. Maria had taught her about her body, and she knew how to get aroused. It was easy . . .

Her box at the hotel was crammed with messages. Some were from the Longworth Agency—oh, God, she had forgotten to notify them—but the rest were from Tony. The switchboard operator informed her that Mr. Polar had just called—for the tenth time that day. Jennifer smiled in satisfaction. It was two in the morning. She went to her suite and undressed, but she didn’t take a Seconal. She got into bed and waited.

Twenty minutes later the phone rang. She could hear the relief in Tony’s voice when she answered. Then he growled, “Where in hell have you been?”

“Away.”

“No kidding!” Then his tone changed, and in a sudden rush of emotion he said, “Listen, baby, I’ve been half out of my mind. Where were you?”

He was not appeased when she told him. Nor was he fully convinced.

“Since when do you go rushing out of town to attend funerals?”

“Anne is my best friend.”

“All right, but you sure stayed away a hell of a long time. What happened? Was one of the pallbearers handsome?”

“They all were,” she said sweetly. “As a matter of fact, I’ve never seen so many good-looking men in one town.” She hadn’t even talked to a man under fifty.

“Jen,” he said softly. “Can I come over?”

“Tony, it’s almost three o’clock.”

“I could be there in five minutes.”

She forced a yawn. “Sorry, I’m bushed.”

“Tomorrow, then. Early in the afternoon. I have a recording session at three, but I’ll be through at four.”

“I have a matinee. It’s Wednesday—remember?”

“All right, I’ll come to your place after the matinee.”

“No. You know I keep my makeup on between shows. And it would ruin my hair.”

He groaned. “All right, all right! I’ll come by and take you to dinner.”

“We’ll see . . .” She hung up.

She didn’t go home after the matinee. She forced herself to sit through a movie between shows. At the evening performance, she told the doorman to say she had gone if Tony arrived after the show to pick her up. She sat in the dressing room until the doorman came by to lock up. Yes, Mr. Polar had come by, and he had given the message like she said. She gave him five dollars and walked home.

The phone was ringing when she let herself into her apartment. She let it ring. It rang every twenty minutes. Each time she checked with the operator—it was always Mr. Polar. At five in the morning she finally picked up the phone on the third ring.

He was enraged. “Where have you been!”

“I went to a movie between shows.” She deliberately made it sound like a lie.

“Oh sure! And tonight? You sure must have lit out of there fast!”

“I was there. The doorman must have made a mistake.”

“And I suppose you’ve been home all evening?”

“Mmmmm.”

“Well, for your information, I’ve called every twenty minutes since eleven-thirty. You just got home!” He sounded triumphant.

“I must have been sleeping and didn’t hear the phone.”

“I’ll bet. Probably with one of those Boston swells you met at the funeral.”

She hung up on him and lay back with a beatific smile. It was working! She went into the bathroom and took out a bottle brimming with red pills. What a windfall! In Lawrenceville she had innocently told old Dr. Rodgers about her sleeping problem. He had been blinded by her sunny smile. He was sympathetic and understanding. Funerals often gave people insomnia. The next day he had appeared with a little bottle crammed with twenty-five Seconals!

She heard the insistent ring of the phone again. Tony would keep at it. She told the operator not to ring any more, to say she was accepting no more calls for the night. As an extra precaution she pulled the safety bolt across the door. Then she opened the bottle of pills. She took two of them. One worked—but two! It was the most beautiful feeling in the world. She put her head on the pillow gently. The soft numbness began to slither through her body. Oh, God! How had she ever lived without these gorgeous red dolls!

She played the cat-and-mouse game with Tony for two more days. Each night she looked at the bottle of Seconals with affection. She never could do this without the dolls. She would have spent sleepless nights, smoking, worrying—and she would have lost her nerve.

On Friday night, Tony was standing at the stage entrance when she arrived at the theatre. He grabbed her arm roughly. “Okay. You win,” he snarled. “I have the car. We leave for Elkton tonight—now.”

“But I have a show, and a matinee tomorrow.”

“I’ll go in and tell the stage manager you’re sick.”

“But they’ll read about us in the papers tomorrow if we elope. I’ll be fired—maybe brought up on charges at Equity.”

“So what? You’ll be Mrs. Tony Polar. You don’t intend to keep on working in the show, do you?”

(Of course not! Was she crazy? Besides, Henry would smooth everything over. This was it!)

She grabbed his arm. “Go tell them I’m sick, Tony. As a matter of fact, I
am
beginning to feel faint. . . .”

Jennifer was happy, Tony was dazed. They were married! The Elkton newspapers had been informed. They had posed and smiled for the local cameramen and given statements for the AP and UP. Finally, they had driven off and checked into a small hotel in the outskirts of the city.

Now, as Tony sat on the bed, watching Jennifer unpack, the numbness created by the excitement began to wear off. He was suddenly frightened.

“Miriam will kill me,” he said slowly.

Jennifer came over and put her arms around him. “You’re not a child, Tony, you’re my husband.”

“You’ve got to stick by me when we tell her,” he mumbled.

“I’m your
wife,
darling. I’ll always stick by you.”

“But she’ll be so mad, Jen.” Tears came to his eyes. Suddenly he buried his head in the pillow and sobbed. “I’m scared . . . oh, I’m scared. . . .”

For a moment Jennifer stood very still. A wave of revulsion sickened her. She felt a crazy impulse to turn and run—but where? And to what? No one would understand. They’d think something was wrong with her. She had to make this work. Tony was a star, and talented people had idiosyncrasies. Maybe that was it—he was just more emotional than most men.

She sat on the bed and cradled his head in her arms. “It’s going to be all right, Tony,” she said softly.