Valley of the Dolls (55 page)

“No, Kevin. I won’t see him ever again.”

For two weeks she fought against calling him. She tried to blot him out of her thoughts. Although he never called her, she knew he was there, waiting. But she called on every bit of self-discipline she had ever known and managed to hold out. There were nights when she was alone, obsessed with the need to phone, to race down the three blocks to his hotel. She’d stand on her terrace, breathing in the balmy night air and looking at the stars. A night like this was made for love—to be with Lyon, not to stand alone like this. And invariably there’d be a call from Kevin, casually checking up on her. He had never done that before, but now he had taken to calling at odd hours. Often he’d leave her and say pointedly, “Well, my girl, back to my bachelor quarters. Tonight it’s going to be a warm bath and bed for your old man.” Three hours later he would silently let himself into her apartment. “I couldn’t sleep,” he’d say. “May I spend the night here?” She’d smile and pity the relief that flooded his face at finding her home, alone.

She was at “21” with Kevin and one of the new owners of Gillian when Lyon walked in. It was the end of June, one of those sticky, hot nights that suddenly arrive with no warning. The temperature was in the nineties. She had taped commercials all day, and she was tired. And bored. She looked up and saw Lyon swing into the room. He was with what Kevin would call a “dish,” and he didn’t see her as the captain led him to a different section of the room. From her seat she could watch him without being observed. The girl was about nineteen, with coal-black hair that hung to her shoulders. Her tan was heavy, and it was obvious that she had worked at it systematically. She had a pretty face, and her sleazy white dress clung provocatively to her youthful body, its tiny shoulder straps showing an expanse of decolletage. Her hand, with its outrageously long silver fingernails, kept entwining itself in Lyon’s. She hung onto his words. She tossed her hair. At one point she said something and Lyon threw back his head and laughed. Then he leaned over and planted a light kiss on the tip of her nose. Anne felt physically ill. How many nights had he spent with girls like this? All those nights she had lain awake, wanting him, thinking of him, picturing him alone and thinking all she had to do was call. . . .

It was the worst night she had known in a long time. The depths of her unhappiness frightened her. She had not felt anything so deeply since the old days with Lyon, but now it was as if all her senses had suddenly been awakened—all the emotions she had thought were part of her youth—they weren’t dead, they had just been sleeping, waiting to be activated. She kept her eyes riveted on Lyon and the girl, grateful Kevin was deep in some discussion of stock options.

At last the endless evening was over. As she left she shot a final glance at Lyon. He was giving his undivided attention to a story the girl was telling.

She pleaded a headache, but Kevin insisted on coming up. The moment they were in the apartment he said, “I saw them too.”

“Who?”

“Your lover and the beautiful girl. You sat there, eating your heart out, didn’t you?” His voice was nasty. “Now maybe you know how I feel!”

“Kevin, I’m tired.”

“She could be your daughter, Anne.”

“Come now, Kevin—I’m only thirty-six.”

“Lots of girls have babies at eighteen. Oh, she could be your daughter, all right. See, my pet, your Lyon is still roaring. He can have his pick. In fact, did it ever occur to you that maybe he just laid you for old times’ sake? Out of pity, like you pity me. Well, cheer up—we’re a set, you and I. Two discards. And in a way I’m beginning to pity you. You’re probably still dreaming of that wonderful night of love. Well, it was only a night he tossed to you out of sympathy and guilt.” His anger grew as he noticed her eyes darken with pain. “Sure, that’s all it was! Did he plead with you to leave me, to marry him? You bet he didn’t! When he marries it will be a dish. You’ve had it, my lady. Sure, you’re a beautiful woman—in your late thirties. But he liked you when you were twenty, and even then he walked out on you. And it was good old Kevin who picked up the pieces. Kevin who made you rich and famous.” He started for the door, then stopped. “You know, I could get a girl of twenty if I wanted. Oh, don’t worry, I’ll stick with you—but the shoe is on the other foot now. I call the shots from now on. Tomorrow you hand in your notice. I’m not sitting around next season while you work. And we’ll take that round-the-world trip we planned—only I’m not sure there’s any point in getting married first. I’ll have to think about that.”

She had been staring at him while he spoke. When he finished, she said, “Kevin, you don’t mean any of this. This isn’t you.”

“Yes, lady, I’ve finally gotten my balls back. All along I’ve been so grateful for your favors—until I saw you tonight. God, what jealousy does to a person. You disintegrated before my eyes. You suddenly looked faded and washed out beside that dish. The lines of anxiety in your face . . . My goddess suddenly toppled. I saw a faded blonde gazing in open envy at a stud she’d lost to a better filly.”

“Kevin, please leave. You can’t mean these things.”

“Don’t play the
grande dame
with me. That’s over. You’re a reject now! Want me to prove it to you? He should be home by now—he couldn’t wait to get that dish in the kip. Would you dare phone him now? Phone him and tell him you want to see him. I’ll clock it. You’ll get the fastest brush in town.”

She started into the bedroom. He ran after her and spun her around. “I’m not through talking. Don’t you walk out on me. Haven’t you been listening? That’s all over, that
grande dame
act.”

“Kevin, you really hate me, don’t you?”

“No, I feel sorry for you. Like you have for me.”

“If you mean that, please leave—for good, Kevin.”

“Oh no.” He smiled with confidence. “Not until I see you really go down the drain.” He picked up the phone. “Call him. I’m sure you’ve memorized his number. If you don’t, I will. I’ll tell him you didn’t eat any dinner, that you were sick with jealousy. Sure, I’ve memorized his number too. We’ve both been thinking of him for two weeks, haven’t we?” He picked up the phone and started to dial.

She pulled the phone away from him. He shoved her and grabbed it back.

“Kevin!” He had actually dialed and was asking the hotel operator for Lyon Burke.

“All right.” He handed her the phone. “Talk to him. Go on—or I will.”

She took the phone. They were ringing his room. She prayed he wasn’t there. This couldn’t be happening. It was a nightmare. She heard the click. . .

“Hello?” It was Lyon.

“Lyon?” Her voice faltered.

There was a pause. “Anne?”

“Go on,” Kevin hissed. “Tell him you want to come over.”

She shot him a beseeching look, and he made a motion to grab the phone. She pulled away. “Lyon . . . I’d . . . like to come over.”

“When?”

“Now.”

There was a fraction of a pause. Then, in a bright voice, he said, “Give me ten minutes to reorganize things a bit, then come directly.”

“Thank you, Lyon. I’ll be there.” She hung up and looked at Kevin. His face was pasty.

“Sure,” he shouted. “I should have known. It’ll be a three-way bit—you, Lyon and the broad. I told you the English were decadent. . . . And you’ll go along—because you have no choice!”

“Oh, Kevin,” she moaned. “What have we done to each other?”

“I just found I’ve wasted a lot of years of my life on a bum! A bum who’s been passing as a lady.” He walked out, slamming the door.

For a moment she stood motionless, as her anger gave way to mingled feelings of sorrow and relief. Kevin had made the decision. God, what a terrible thing jealousy was—it could transform a strong man like Kevin into an emotional cripple. But she felt no animosity. She was suddenly flooded with relief. She felt almost light-headed, as if a great weight had been lifted. No matter how it turned out with Lyon, she would never have to marry Kevin. That was finished . . . she was free!

She freshened her makeup and quickly walked the three blocks to Lyon’s hotel.

The door swung open. “I was beginning to give up hope,” Lyon said.

Her eyes quickly swept the room.

“She left,” he said quietly.

She pretended not to understand.

“I saw you when you were leaving ’21.’ My glorious little date squealed, ‘Oh, isn’t that Anne Welles!’ She adores you on television.”

“Yes, I saw you, Lyon.”

“Good, at least it brought you to me!” He crossed the room and mixed two drinks at a card table that served as a makeshift bar. “You know, it’s a new kind of show business today,” he said. “I confess I don’t understand it. But mine is not to reason why. Connie Masters’ last two records sold in the millions, and the British public adores her. So I have to write about her thrilling life.”

“Who is Connie Masters?”

“The charmer I was with tonight. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of her?” Anne shook her head and he smiled. “We’re the lost generation, you and I. We both think of Dinah and Ella or Neely when someone mentions singers. But Connie Masters is today’s sensation. She’s nineteen, and every picture company is after her, but I can’t listen to one of her records without a stiff drink.”

She smiled. “I know. Every day I hear of people I never heard of before. I guess the teen-agers support them.”

“Well, I’ve done my bit for the British press and the music lovers of the world. And your call kept me from serving beyond the call of duty.”

“You mean you would have made love to her?”

“Why not? It gets very lonely sitting and waiting for your call that never comes. Oh, I understand . . . I really do. But there she was, all curled up on that very chair you are sitting on, telling me she just
adores
older men. What was I to do? Turn her out into the hot night?”

Anne laughed. “Come on, Lyon, you’re not that helpless.”

“No, but this new breed catches one off guard—the young barracuda.” He crossed the room and pulled her to her feet. “Now, you’re beautiful, glamorous and dangerous, yet I feel safe with you.” He kissed her and held her close. Their embrace was suddenly shattered by the ringing of the phone.

She smiled. “The barracuda.”

He picked up the receiver. She saw his eyes narrow. Then in a cold voice he said, “I suggest you speak to the lady herself.” He turned to Anne and extended the phone. In answer to her mute question, he said clearly, “Kevin Gillmore.”

“I don’t want to talk to him.” She backed away.

“I suggest you do,” he said, and she was aware that during this exchange he had made no effort to cover the phone. Kevin was listening.

She took the receiver gingerly, as if it had a physical power of its own. “Kevin?”

“Anne! Anne, forgive me! I just told Lyon Burke, something happened to me tonight. I went crazy. Anne, tonight never happened. I didn’t mean a thing I said. Anne, are you listening?”

“Kevin, it’s no good. It’s over.”

“Anne, please . . . come home. I didn’t mean a word. You can go on working . . . you can do anything you want—” His voice broke. “I’ll marry you tomorrow—or whenever you choose. I’ll just hang on. You call all the shots. I’ll do anything.
Please!
It was just seeing you look so unhappy because he was with that girl—you never looked at me that way—I guess I went crazy. I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me.” He was actually sobbing. “Please, Anne . . . I know I’m old. If you want to see Lyon Burke on the side, I’ll even let you do that—just don’t tell me. You can do anything, just forgive me and don’t go out of my life.” He began to choke.

“Kevin, is anything wrong?”

“No. I guess I walked too fast. I’m at your apartment. I ran all the way. Anne, please . . . To Lyon you’re just another lay, but to me—you’re my whole life!”

“Kevin . . . we’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Anne, I won’t sleep. Not tonight, with you there, knowing what you’re doing—” She heard him gasp again. “Anne . . . please. Tonight . . . just come back tonight. Let me sleep in the next bed. Just so I know you’re back. From here in I won’t check on you. Just stay with me. Please Anne . . . I can’t fight him—I’m not young or healthy. Please . . . please!”

“All right, Kevin.” The phone was like lead in her hand.

“You’ll leave?” The hope in his voice was even more heart-rending than his tears.

“Yes . . . right away.” She hung up and turned to Lyon.

“In the middle again?” His back was to her as he freshened his drink.

“Lyon, what should I do?”

He shrugged. “I’d say it was a matter of whom you wish to please. Yourself—or your conscience. What are you searching for? Happiness—or peace of mind?”

“Aren’t they the same?”

“No. Peace of mind does not always come with love. I’m sure you’ll have peace of mind with Gillmore, and a good conscience. With me, you might have to battle that conscience. But then, love is always a bit of a struggle, isn’t it?”

“Are you saying you love me?” she asked.

“Good God, must it be put in neon lights to get through to you? Of course I love you!”

“But how could I know? You’ve never called me during these two weeks, or tried to convince me.”

“I’m talking about love,” he said hotly. “Not begging! Love shouldn’t make a beggar of one. I wouldn’t want love if I had to beg for it, to barter or qualify it. And I should despise it if anyone ever begged for
my
love. Love is something that must be given—it can’t be bought with words or pity, or even reason. I shall never beg you, Anne. I love you. You
must
know that. I shall always love you—”

“Lyon, you know I love you. I always have . . . I always will. . .”

“Then why are we standing here batting the subject around? You’re here, and I want you here.” He smiled but remained across the room.

“But you’re returning to England . . .”

“And Kevin is in America.” He smiled. “I was talking about love—you are talking about geography. It sounds very familiar, somehow.”

“But love means planning together . . .
being
together.”

“Love is an emotion. To you it’s a contract with unbreakable riders and rules attached to it.” He took her hands. “Anne, it’s too late for that. Yes, I will return to London, I’ve made my way of life there. You have all this. Perhaps you should go to Kevin. He fits in with your kind of life. The best I could offer you is a few more weeks.”