Valley of the Dolls (41 page)

She started to storm off the set. Then she stopped. Good God, this would be playing right into The Head’s hands. She walked back. She was shaking. Neely O’Hara, having to take this shit from a scared director. He knew the entire crew was watching. No one had ever treated her like this, turning their backs on her and walking away. She did the walking!

She forced herself to return to her place on the set. She stood under the lights, trembling, while the girl patched her makeup. The slate snapped—Take Three. She fluffed a line on the opening. The cameras stopped. Take Four. Another fluff. Take Five. Take Six. . . .

By late afternoon they were on Take Fifteen. This was ridiculous. She had never done more than eight takes in her life. Sam had done this to her. He was taking his nerves out on her. She couldn’t remember a line now if her life depended on it.

“Dinner break—everyone back at seven,” he called.

Dinner break! She hadn’t worked at night since her early days. And he hadn’t even consulted her. She stalked over. “I presume you’re planning on shooting around me.”

He concentrated on the viewfinder. “I’m shooting the same scene until you manage to give me a decent take.”

“Not me, buster. I’ve cooperated. I was here on time and I leave on time. I’m not breaking my ass so you can make a bonus of a thousand a day.” She walked off.

“If you walk off I’ll report it.”

“As you like,” she snarled. “I have some rights!”

The cast and crew arrived back at seven. They waited until ten. A call was placed to Neely’s home. They were told she had retired for the night. Sam Jackson stood up and dismissed the crew. “No call tomorrow. No call until further orders.”

He got into his car and drove out to the beach. He came to a small house and honked his horn. The door opened. A beautiful girl with long black hair, wearing a terrycloth bathrobe, stood in the doorway. She beckoned to him and he came into the house.

“Well, Janie, you got the part.”

She opened her mouth and let the smile show her even teeth. “Oh, Sam, you swung it! I’m so glad!” Then she turned to the little man with the white hair who was sitting in a chair, smoking silently. “Did you hear? Sam pulled it off.”

The little man smiled. “Good.” He stood up and pulled the string of her loose robe. It fell open, revealing her perfect body. The little man, who barely reached the young goddess’s shoulder, ran his suntanned hand lightly over the arched breasts.

“Take a good look, Sam. But don’t touch—this is mine.”

Sam nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“I just want you to know. You’re a young guy—you might get ideas.”

The girl turned and hugged the little man. “But I love you, you know that.”

The man nodded. “All right, Sam—good work. Now beat it. Call everyone back day after tomorrow. I’ll send out the releases. And send a wire to Neely telling her not to report. Sign my name.”

Sam nodded and walked out. The white-haired man turned to the beautiful girl. “Okay, now you’ll be a star, Janie Lord. You’ll be
the
Miss Lord—just so long as you remember . . . I’m
your
lord!”

“Yes, sir.” And she fell to her knees and began making love to him.

1957

Anne hung up the receiver thoughtfully. Kevin Gillmore reached across and took her hand. “Neely again?” she nodded. He patted the bed. “Lie down here with me and we can talk it out.”

She lay back on her own bed. “It’s not that simple, Kevin.”

“I heard you squirm on the phone. I assume she wanted to stay with you.”

When Anne was silent, Kevin laughed. “You’re still the New England prude, aren’t you? Why didn’t you come right out and say, ’Yes, Neely, I do have twin beds, but my guy often spends the night with me.’”

Anne picked up the script she had been studying. “Because there was no reason to say that. Kevin, I’m worried. Neely’s in a bad way.”

“Why? Because they didn’t pick up her option? She’s been sitting on her fanny for seven months drawing a lot of money. It’s no disgrace to be without a long-term contract today. No studio is giving them out any more.”

“But she sounded odd . . . desperate. Says she has to get away.”

“She can have her pick of offers. The minute she hits town every Broadway producer will be after her. She could do television—anything she wants.”

“But I’ve heard funny rumors . . .” Anne reached for a cigarette.

Kevin reached across and held her hand back from lighting it. “Come on over here with me so we don’t have to scream.”

She smiled. “Kevin, I
will
scream if I go before the cameras and don’t know these lines.”

“Use the cue cards.”

“It’s better when I don’t. I like having them there just in case, but it’s better if I know what I’m saying.”

“Do you really care about me, Anne?” he asked.

“I care very much, Kevin.” She put down her script and waited patiently. It always started like this.

“But you’re not wildly in love with me.”

She smiled. “That’s a young kind of love, reserved for one’s first romance.”

“Still torching for that hack writer?”

“I haven’t see Lyon in years. The last I heard, he was writing some movie scenarios in London.”

“Then why haven’t you fallen in love with me?”

She reached out and took his hand. “I enjoy your company, Kevin. I enjoy you in bed. I enjoy working for you. Perhaps this is love,”

“If I offered to marry you, would you love me more?”

Her words were measured. “In the beginning it mattered terribly. I didn’t like being known as someone’s ’girl.’ But now the damage is done. . . .” She spoke without emotion—they had gone through this so many times before.

“What damage? You’re famous. You’re known everywhere as the Gillian Girl.”

“And
Gillmore’s Girl. But it doesn’t matter now. I wanted a child. . . I still do. . . .”

“Anne.” He got out of bed and began to pace. “You’re thirty-one. That’s late for children.”

“I know women who had their first child at forty.”

“But I’m fifty-seven. I have a grown son and a married daughter—and a two-year-old grandchild. How would it look if I married you and had a child younger than my grandchild?”

“Many men marry late in life and start a new family.”

“I was married twenty-five years to Evelyn—may she rest in peace—and I went through the whole business—summer camps, nurses, braces, measles. I haven’t the patience to go through it again. Now that I have a little freedom and more money than I could ever spend, I want an easy life and no encumbrances, and a girl who will be free to travel with me, to have fun. I never had any fun in marriage. It was all a struggle then. I was starting the business and Evelyn was raising the kids. We never went anywhere, except maybe a weekend in Atlantic City, and then she was always worried that the maid wasn’t reliable or that one of the kids would get sick. And then, when I made it big and the kids were grown, it was too late. She was sick. I had five years of it—five years of watching her die. Then I met you—one year to the day after her death—and I knew right away you were the girl for me.”

She managed a smile. “I’m glad I fit in with your plans. But a girl doesn’t plan on just being someone’s girl—she hopes to be a wife and mother.”

“I’ve thought about it, Anne—but my kids wouldn’t like it.” He sat on the edge of her bed and said lightly, “Besides, I’m more sure of you this way. Once we were married, you’d take me for granted.” He went back to his bed and. picked up the newspaper. Soon he was lost in the financial section of the
Times.

Anne went back to her script. In a few months he would bring it up again, and again it would end like this. Kevin felt guilty about not marrying her, but it really didn’t matter to her any more. Maybe it was too late to think about children. And a marriage certificate certainly didn’t insure fidelity or happiness—look at Jennifer. And look at poor Neely.

It was true that everyone knew she was Kevin’s girl. But she was also the Gillian Girl. . . and he had made that possible. She enjoyed her work. It was lucrative and kept her busy. She liked Kevin, too—no, it was more than just liking him, perhaps it
was
love. Not love as she had known it with Lyon—there were no Cloud Nines with Kevin. Their physical union left her completely untouched, and very often she wondered what attraction she held for him. When she recalled the wild abandon with which she had given herself to Lyon—their deep kisses and feverish embraces, lying locked in each other’s arms all night—her relationship with Kevin seemed absolutely antiseptic.

In the beginning, it had been strictly a business relationship. Then gradually they had drifted together socially. She had enjoyed his company, and she found dating one man easier than resisting the advances of many. She was an asset to his company, and he was patient with her inexperience before the cameras. It was his patience that had enabled her to achieve her success. He hovered around every rehearsal, checking every light, working with her on her delivery, helping her choose the right dress. She grew to rely on him, to seek his advice and judgment. She was aware of the pretty little models who flung themselves at him, and she saw wealthy divorcees and visiting starlets seek him out. She knew about the frantic invitations he received from the chic, famous fifty-year-old ex-movie queen. Yes, Kevin Gillmore could write his own ticket. But he wanted her. She held him off for a year, but she met no one who kindled any excitement or romantic image. So, finally, she gave herself to Kevin.

She recalled their first union. She had been unable to do more than submit. She allowed him to take her, to satisfy himself—nothing more. And he never asked for more. Sometimes she forced herself to respond in a tepid way, and Kevin seemed to accept this for passion. Soon she realized that with all his worldliness, he was totally unsophisticated about the act of love. Obviously he had been quite pure when he married his wife, and she must have been equally chaste and unimaginative. They probably had never progressed beyond a few limp kisses and the mechanical act of intercourse. After his wife’s death there must have been girls, and some of them must have gone all out—but he probably related this kind of sex to girls of loose morals. Anne was a lady, as his wife had been. And so he accepted her frigidity as the normal attribute of a lady, and being a gentleman, he expected nothing more.

No, with Kevin there were no highs or lows, but perhaps this was what mature love was like. Sometimes she told herself she was fortunate. Many girls never knew the Lyon Burke kind of love, and few achieved the solidity of Kevin’s kind of love. Even his unwillingness to marry her presented no real problem. She had never forced the issue, though she knew she could make Kevin marry her—all she had to do was threaten to leave him. No, she was perfectly content with their present status. She knew Kevin would always be there.

Neely arrived the following week. Anne managed to conceal her shock at Neely’s transformation. She had gained weight, her face looked puffy, and even though she wore an expensive suit, she looked seedy. Her nail polish was chipped, there was a run in her stocking and she seemed rumpled. But most of all, there was something dead in her whole countenance. Neely didn’t sparkle any more. Her eyes didn’t seem to focus when she talked.

Anne remained the attentive listener as Neely poured out her entire diatribe of woe—the diabolical schemes of The Head, the broken marriage, the evils of Hollywood . . .

About herself, Anne offered very little information. She talked about her work and her close friendship with Kevin, and when Neely asked with a trace of the little-girl voice if she were “doing it,” Anne smiled and nodded. That seemed to please Neely.

Kevin played the gracious host. If Neely infringed on his private life he hid his irritation well. He escorted both girls around town to the shows and the nightclubs. Neely caused a sensation wherever she went. She blossomed with the acclaim. There were no lost days, no endless bouts of drinking. She bought new clothes, dropped ten pounds in two weeks and rarely took more than three pills a night. She sparkled again—and became the bouncing girl Anne had always known.

One hot September evening, as they were leaving a theatre, a large crowd deserted the stage door and rushed to Neely, cutting them off from their cab. Laughing, waving, signing books, Neely was buffeted by the friendly mob until Kevin, assisted by a policeman, managed to clear a path to the curb.

In the taxi Kevin mopped perspiration from his face and shook his head in wonder. “It’s fantastic! If they’re that crazy just to
see
you, what would they do if you sang?”

“Pass out in sheer ecstasy.” Neely laughed. “But my public has always been hot for me,” she added, her round eyes suddenly growing serious. “There were lines at Radio City for all my pictures. They just cost too darn much money to make. But I never had a picture that died. I always did big business—”

Kevin stared at her as though what she had been saying had just penetrated. A note of excitement made his voice tremble. “You’re right. Your pictures always sold out. Your public is still with you. They want you. Neely—let’s do a spectacular! I’ll present it—I’ll buy an hour of prime time on one of the networks. My God—it would be a sensation!”

“Are you kidding? Me do TV? A whole hour live—with no retakes? Geez, I’d die.”

“If you sang all the songs you’ve introduced, you wouldn’t need retakes,” Kevin insisted. “No gimmicks, no other acts—just you standing out there singing.”

“Forget it,” Neely answered. “I heard what those television cameras do to you—they add ten pounds and twenty years. And besides, what do I need it for? The Johnson Harris office is trying to work out a three-picture deal with Metro right now.”

As Neely’s appearances in public continued to generate new excitement, Kevin became obsessed with the idea. “Work on her,” he pleaded to Anne. “I’d give her four weeks of rehearsal. We’d introduce a new product. The publicity would be worth millions for Gillian.”

“I can’t force her if she’s afraid,” Anne insisted. “If something went wrong I’d feel responsible.”