Valley of the Dolls (61 page)

Lyon arrived a week later. He said they had taken the polar route home and stopped off in California. She pretended surprise. He looked at her peculiarly. “You mean you didn’t know I was in Los Angeles?”

“How would I know?” she asked. “I assumed you were detained in Europe.”

He turned away, but not quickly enough for her to miss the surprise in his eyes. He had returned expecting trouble, loaded with explanations—and none were required. They had dinner at The Colony, then spent their first evening alone. She was tender and devoted in their lovemaking. It was difficult; she wanted to reach out and claw him, to leave evidence that he belonged to her. She was tortured with visions of him and Neely in bed, but somehow she pushed the thoughts away and returned his embraces with passion.

They had five wonderful days together. She almost began to believe that nothing was wrong, that whatever had happened was in the past. Then Neely arrived. She was signed for ten monthly television specials, and she would have to begin taping in August, since the first show went on in September. But there was still half of July with nothing to do, so she came to New York looking for action.

It was a Thursday. Anne knew nothing about Neely’s arrival. She and Lyon had theatre tickets and a date afterward at the Copa with the agent of a new male singer. It seemed that every agent in town was trying to get his client a guest shot on Neely’s show.

At five o’clock Lyon’s secretary called. Mr. Burke had been called to a meeting with the sponsors, and he would not be able to make it to the theatre. He was sending Bud Hoff to escort her. He would join them later at the Copa.

It never occurred to Anne that anything was amiss. She played with the baby, had a leisurely bath and dressed. Bud arrived and took her to the theatre. They went to the Copa, where the agent was waiting, holding a choice table on the balcony. Anne explained that Lyon was detained and would join them.

The agent nodded. “I was afraid he’d get tied up with Neely arriving today.”

She felt her face grow warm, but she managed an impassive smile. “Oh yes . . . that’s right. What time did Neely get in, Bud?” she asked, trying to give the impression that the news was no surprise.

Bud seemed uncomfortable. “About noon, I think. Anyway, that’s when the first call came in.”

Anne ordered a drink. “Poor Lyon. He was hoping she’d stay in Arizona with her sons.” Was there an exchange of glances between Bud and the agent or did she imagine it? How many people actually knew the truth?

She forced herself to watch the show and comment favorably on the singer. Lyon’s empty chair seemed to smirk at her. The smile was glued to her face as she made wifely excuses for his absence. She could see how disappointed the agent was, but his misery was no match for her own. “Probably something came up about Neely’s show—she relies on Lyon so much. I’m sure he feels dreadful about missing the show, but Bud will give him a full report, won’t you, Bud?”

Of course Bud would. Again there seemed to be an exchange between the two men.

It was three in the morning when Bud dropped her off at the apartment. She knew Lyon would not be there. She tiptoed in and kissed the baby and covered her. Darling, darling little Jennifer, with her father’s black hair and blue eyes. She was so beautiful. She felt the tears begin with the closing of her throat. No—she had to be calm when Lyon came in. No tears. She had to swallow whatever story he gave her.

At five o’clock she tiptoed into the living room. Perhaps he had come in and didn’t want to disturb her. Maybe he was sleeping in the den. But the living room and den were empty. Oh God, Lyon, why? And Neely—how could you do this to me? She walked to the bathroom and took a red pill—she had taken one every night for a week until Lyon had returned. She had the feeling that it had been the only thing that had saved her sanity. She hadn’t taken one since his return. But here we go again, she thought. Thank God for the lovely red dolls. They made the nights bearable. It was easier to get through the days; there was the baby, and she could usually have lunch with Henry or casual acquaintances.

She knew many women who lunched at “21” or The Little Club and who were equally frantic to fill their days, wives of Lyon’s assistants, or of directors or clients. But she had never formed a close friendship with any girl since Neely and Jennifer. Close friendships with girls come early in life. After thirty it becomes harder to make new friends—there are fewer hopes, dreams or anticipations to share. Still, there was always someone to fill an afternoon, to lunch or shop with. But the nights! Long after little Jen and Miss Cuzins were asleep she’d find herself awake, thinking of Lyon, seeing his face, his smile—and imagining him with Neely. When it was more than she could bear, she would dash for release in the form of the faithful little red doll. Soon Neely and Lyon would be blotted into nothingness by a dreamless sleep. That’s how it had been that week.

And now it was all starting again. She lay in bed and wondered how long Neely was planning to stay. Perhaps it would just be for a few days. The room began to slip away. Thank God the pill was working.

She did not know how long she slept, but she was vaguely conscious of Lyon’s presence, his quiet movement in the room. She forced her eyes open. . . . It was daylight. He was in the bathroom.

“Lyon?” She sat up. She saw the clock—eight o’clock! Had he just returned? She saw his suit lying on the chair.

He came out of the bathroom in his shorts, smiling. “Sorry I woke you.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight. I’m getting dressed.” He walked across the room and quickly sat on his untouched bed to hide the freshness of the sheets. He was actually trying to pretend he had been here!

“What time did you get to sleep?” he asked casually as he put on his shoes.

“About three,” she lied. Damn the pill—she was so groggy.

“I came in about four,” he said lightly. “You were dead asleep.”

She fell back against the pillow.

“Neely got into town,” he said as he put on a clean shirt.

“Yes, Bud told me.”

She knew he was watching her reactions. She kept her eyes shut.

“She joined me and the sponsors. There are some changes she wants made in the format, and a few problems that had to be ironed out. She wants more strings in the band and wants them to pay for it, and she insists that the network absorb half the below-the-line costs. It took hours to work out.”

Till eight in the morning? She kept her eyes closed.

“Then I went on to a late dinner with the sponsors. I had to soothe them—and that Ted Kelly . . . you know how he likes to drink. Oh, that’s right, you haven’t met him. He’s with the agency. I sat with him at P. J.’s till three-thirty, calming him. I wanted to call you at the Copa, but he would have insisted on joining us and he was terribly drunk then, so I just sat nursing him along. Thank God P. J.’s closes at four. I came directly home.”

Oh, God, I can’t stand this, she thought. I’ve got to scream. But she bit her lips and remained silent.

“Are you awake, dearest?” When she nodded faintly, he smiled. “You must have had a bit yourself to be this done in. By the way, tonight try to arrange something with some of your girl friends. I have to take Neely and some agency people down to the Village and catch some acts.”

She was wide awake now. “Can’t I go along?”

“You’d hate it,” he said quickly. “And it’s business. None of the chaps are bringing their wives. If you came it would put a social connotation on it, and then they’d all bring their wives and we’d have a big party. One can’t rush from spot to spot with an entourage.”

“But Neely will be there,” she argued.

He looked surprised. “But of course. It’s her show. She must approve any act that goes on.” Then he smiled and said, “I hear Jennifer. I swear it sounds like she said ’Dada.’ I think I’ll join our beauty for breakfast. Now you go back to sleep.”

She didn’t see him for five nights, though she heard him come in early in the morning to change. Sometimes she’d wake and pretend to go along with the idea that he had just awakened. He took care to muss the bed when he came in, and there was always a valid excuse—more acts to see, a meeting with the agency, a recording session with Neely, listening to songs for Neely’s new album. And each night she’d take the red pill and sink into merciful oblivion.

On the sixth day she faced a new crisis. He had just gone. He had been out with Ted Kelly again, he said. Just the two of them. She had pretended to swallow it, and now sank back against the pillows. But she couldn’t go back to sleep. She walked into the bathroom and took another red doll.

It was one in the afternoon when she woke. She rang for the maid and said she wasn’t feeling well, that she’d take some coffee and toast in bed. The maid brought the tray and the afternoon papers. Idly, she opened one, turned to the rotogravure section—and was struck by a large picture of Neely and Lyon. “Miss Neely O’Hara dancing at El Morocco with her personal manager, Lyon Burke.”

Neely looked good. With a start she realized she hadn’t seen Neely in . . . how long? Before the baby—maybe eight or nine months ago. Neely wasn’t even trying to hide her affair with Lyon. No, not the way she looked—radiant, smiling into Lyon’s eyes. And Lyon looked happy too. Oh, God, now what? He was caught in a lie. If only he hadn’t told her he had been with Ted Kelly. She dialed Henry.

“Throw the paper out,” he told her. “Don’t confront him with it. It’s possible you wouldn’t have seen it.”

“Henry, I can’t go on like this,” she sobbed. “I can’t. . .”

“Come on over, Anne,” he begged. “We’ll talk about it.”

Henry paced back and forth. “I admit it’s rough,” he said. “I didn’t think she’d be this brazen. I thought it would only be on tour. I figured you might be lonely, but I didn’t figure you’d have it shoved under your nose like this.”

“What can I do? I must be the laughingstock of the whole town. I can’t even go to lunch now. I said as late as yesterday that Lyon wished Neely would return to California, that he hates playing wet nurse. I said this in front of three women at lunch—and I knew they were snickering. Now I can’t even save face.” She picked up the paper.

“Shall I call Lyon?” he asked. “Talk as a friend, without letting on you’re here . . . see what I can do?”

She shook her head. “Lyon would know. He knows you’re the only one I trust.”

Suddenly he reached for the phone. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

“I’m going to call Neely,” he said. “I’ll pretend I’m offering her advice, which she needs. You go into the bedroom and listen in on the extension.”

She watched him as he wasted a few minutes complimenting Neely on her new figure, her various successes. Finally he forged ahead. “Neely, I just saw the afternoon paper. What in hell is this about Lyon Burke?”

Anne didn’t like the expression on his face. She went into the bedroom and quietly slipped the receiver of the extension phone off the hook.

Neely was speaking. “Listen, Henry—I love you, but butt out.”

“Neely,” Henry said quietly, “I don’t care how you feel—even if you feel you owe no loyalty to Anne, there is still your public image to protect. Everyone knows Lyon is married to Anne. So far there’ve been just a few veiled hints in columns, but this . . . After all, your sponsors certainly wouldn’t want a scandal, and Lyon
is
living with Anne.”

“Like hell he is,” Neely snarled. “He just goes home in the morning to change his clothes. He’s waiting, hoping she’ll catch him. But she’s always asleep.”

“Maybe you only think he wants to be caught, Neely.”

“Nuts! He’s been with me every night. When they snapped us at Morocco last night, he even said, ’Maybe it’s for the best—if the picture breaks it will all come out.’ That’s exactly what he said. He’s just afraid to break it to Anne, afraid she might fall apart. And . . .” Neely hesitated. “Well . . . he does love that kid of theirs.”

“Neely, this will all come back to you,” Henry said. “You can’t just reach out and take what you want without worrying about the feelings of others. Everyone gets paid back.”

“I’m not everyone!”
she cried shrilly. “And it’s about time I take what I want. You know why? Because all my life I’ve
given.
Even as a kid . . . those fucking Gaucheros couldn’t dance, it was
me
who held the act together. My brother-in-law is a checker at Macy’s now—he never got an act together after I left. I made the studio money and they kicked me in the ass. But nothing could destroy me. You know damn well there’s no one like me. I don’t have to live by the stinking rules made for ordinary people, because I’m not ordinary. Nothing can destroy me, I tell you. Demerol, pills, a funny farm, weight—nothing. But Lyon makes me tick. I don’t need to eat when I’m with Lyon. I can drink now and take skinny pills and even sleeping pills and it’s all right. Dammit, Henry, my talent makes the world happy. And Lyon makes
me
happy. Don’t I have a right to be happy? I need Lyon. Who the hell is Anne?”

“Only the best friend you ever had!”

“Oh sure. Listen, she was lucky I gave her the time of day. Why shouldn’t she have liked having me around? I’m colorful. I’m a star. Who in hell is she when you get down to it? Even when I was a kid I had more on the ball. Sure, she had some fancy manners, but that was all. And who is she now? A skinny nobody who sold nail polish on the air and who slept with some old bastard for years. So she used his money to buy Lyon, and now she wants to play Miss Pure Mouth. The Virgin Mary with the baby. Well, I didn’t get my money handed to me because I had good cheekbones, I earned it with my talent. She’s gone through life on a pass long enough because of her goddam classy looks. She’s around thirty-eight now, and I’m thirty-four, but
my
looks don’t matter. I never got by on looks. If you’re a friend of Anne’s, tell her to give Lyon his freedom. Then she can have her face done and maybe Kevin Gillmore or some other slob will take her on. She was always good at attracting millionaires!” Then, with a snort, Neely slammed the phone down.

Anne slowly replaced the phone in its cradle. She walked over to the mirror. The fine lines under her eyes were deep today, and there were small lines evident around her mouth. Funny, she’d never really thought about her looks in connection with Lyon, but—