The Love Machine

by Jacqueline Susann

  She shook her head.

  He went back to his dialing. “Then I’ll put through this call. I guess you’re serious about that joker you came with. You were with him at Danny’s when we met.”

  “I do the commercials on The Christie Lane Show.” She wondered if Robin had ever mentioned her to Ike Ryan.

  His number answered. “Joy, hi, sweetheart, want to make it for dinner at nine? I’ll send my car for you. We got three parties we can go to, or we might wind up at the Sixth Avenue Delicatessen. Depends how I feel. What? Sure I do—would I stop in the middle of a business deal to call if I didn’t? Okay, toots.” He clicked the phone and turned to Amanda. “See what you’ve missed?”

  She smiled wryly.

  He stared at her. “I like you. Most broads fall all over me.”

  “I’m not a broad. I have a contract to go to California for some TV commercials, and the ‘joker’ who brought me here happens to be very much in love with me.”

  He smiled. “Where you staying on the Coast?”

  “At the Beverly Hills, if I go-”

  “If you go? I thought you had a contract.”

  “I do. I haven’t signed it yet.”

  “What’s the efsher?”

  “Efsher?”

  He smiled. “It’s a Yid word. My old lady used to use it. It loses in the translation but I’ll try and give you an example of efsher. Let’s see. Oh yes! My sister was a beast before I sprung for the nose job which finally landed her a husband. But before that she never got dates. And so one weekend she was going to Grossinger’s with several girls she knew, all pigs like herself—you know the type. No, you wouldn’t. Virgin Jewish girls past twenty-five. Hysterical! Real losers. The kind that’s stopped hoping. My sister was one of them. So this weekend I remember my sister was packing slacks, a tennis racket, a bathing suit, and my mom said, ‘What, no pretty dresses?’ My sister said, ‘Look, Mom, I’ve been to these places. There are never any unattached men. So this time I’m going to relax. I’ll play tennis. I’m going for a rest, not to look.’ Then my mom walked over with my sister’s best dress, plunked it in the suitcase and said, ‘Take it, efsher’”.

  Amanda laughed. She found herself warming up to Ike Ryan.

  “Get it?” he asked. “Efsher means ‘maybe’—a possibility, a dim hope. What’s your efsher, toots?” Then, as if sensing her change of attitude, he said, “Listen, want to change your mind about tonight? I can always cancel that date I just made.”

  “I don’t break dates,” she said.

  “Neither do I when I care about them.” He stared at her intently. Then he smiled. “Come to the Coast, toots. I think we got a future together.”

  The room suddenly seemed so empty after he left. She realized it was after six. Robin might have arrived. She quickly dialed the nursing home. Still busy! She checked her makeup and returned to the party. She’d try later.

  The large room had filled and spilled over to the drawing room and the dining room. She wandered into each room, scanning every face, but Robin wasn’t there. She found Chris, rooted to the same spot, still talking to Danton Miller. Danton seemed relieved to see her and immediately broke away.

  “Where the hell you been?” Chris asked, as soon as they were alone.

  “Combing my hair,” she said coldly.

  “You been gone twenty minutes. Dan Miller was stuck standing with me.”

  “Well, if you’re such a big star, where are all your fans?”

  Chris stared at all the famous people in the room. “It’s funny,” he sighed. “I know everyone I see, but I see no one I know. Doll, let’s go. I don’t belong here.”

  “Oh, Chris, at least try and look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

  “Why? Where’s there a rule that says we gotta enjoy it? So we were invited—Eddie Flynn also invited us to a party. He’s giving it in his suite at the Edison. Some of the kids from the Copa are coming—it’s for Aggie because she quit the line at the Latin Quarter to go to the Coast with Eddie. Now, that’s a party that’ll have some laughs.”

  She looked toward the door. Her heart quickened. But no, it was just another tall man… .

  At eight fifteen Amanda finally gave in and allowed Chris to drag her to Eddie’s party at the Edison. The Copa girls and the Latin Quarter girls had gone to do their dinner shows. Amanda sat on the couch and started to drink Scotch. Chris was relaxed—this was his kind of party. He brought over some pastrami sandwiches.

  “Here, doll, this is better than that fancy food at the Austins’.”

  She refused and poured another Scotch. “Better eat,” Chris warned her, cramming the sandwich into his mouth. “I’ve had three of these, so I don’t feel like dinner.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Amanda said.

  Agnes joined her on the couch. “Is that how you models keep your figures?” she asked. “You’re making a big mistake. The corned beef is to die over.”

  “I’m just not hungry,” Amanda said. The Scotch suddenly made her feel drowsy and she yawned.

  Agnes looked at her sympathetically. “Too much New Year’s Eve, last night?”

  “No, not really. Chris played a club date. It was very quiet really—that is, if you can call the Grand Ballroom at the Waldorf quiet.”

  “Last year me and Eddie were with Chris at the Fontainebleau. Oh, none of us lived there. Chris was playing a club date. That was before the show started on the air. You know something? Me and Eddie, we had more fun before we made it big on television. I mean—there were laughs. That’s the way it should be on holidays.”

  “I don’t like New Year’s Eve or any holiday,” Amanda said.

  By eleven o’clock she was quite drunk. Chris wanted to go someplace for coffee but he finally agreed to take her home.

  He held the cab while he walked her to the door. This was a courtesy she had finally drummed into him but he still thought it was ridiculous. “Maybe you get your kicks hearing that meter running,” he said.

  “Ike Ryan has a car and chauffeur,” she said.

  “Just a rented job,” he snapped.

  “But he doesn’t use cabs—”

  “That’ll be the day, when I pay eight bucks an hour while a chauffeur sits around and listens to the radio.” He kissed her quickly, conscious that the taxi meter was clicking. “Remember, doll—when I’m sixty, we’ll have it made. A guy like Ike Ryan might go down the drain.”

  She stumbled as she let herself into the apartment. She felt a queasy feeling in her stomach and the beginning of a monumental headache. She checked with her answering service. One message, from the nursing home. Sure you can bet they had called—those nurses were waiting for the twenty-dollar bills she passed around on New Year’s Day.

  But no call from Robin! Well, this was it. No more—what was that word?—efsher. Yes, no more efsher. She’d go to California! She’d marry Chris! Suddenly she went rigid as a new thought came into focus. Then she went limp with shock. California! Who would visit Aunt Rose? She always went once a month—always on a different day, at a different hour, to check on her. If she went away, they’d leave her neglected. Why hadn’t she thought of this until now? Because until this minute she had never actually believed she would go. She hadn’t even bothered to sublet her apartment. She had still hoped for Robin.

  She thought for a moment, then on impulse she dialed Jerry at home. His wife answered. Amanda apologized for the late call but explained it was urgent.

  “Jerry—I can’t go to California.”

  He sounded elated. “It worked, huh? I told you to put it on the line with him!”

  “He never showed,” she said slowly.

  “Then why don’t you go to California?”

  “It has nothing to do with Robin,” she said wearily. “Jerry—it just hit me. I’ve been so busy thinking of myself, of Robin, of Chris. I forgot about Aunt Rose. I can’t just take off. Who will visit her?”

  “I’m sure there must be good nursing homes on the Coast.”
/>
  “But, Jerry—how could I move her?”

  “Get Chris to charter a private plane. Get a nurse to go along with you.”

  “He doesn’t know about Aunt Rose and I don’t know how he’d take it.”

  “Listen, Amanda—Chris has come up the hard way. If anything he’ll respect you twice as much. And it will make him happy to be able to help you.”

  “Oh, Jerry, if Chris does that, I’ll try to love him. And I’ll be good to him. I really will. I’ll make him happy. I’m going to call him right now.”

  Christie’s phone didn’t answer. That meant he was at the Copa bar, the Stage, Lindy’s or Toots Shor. She tried them all and finally located him at Toots Shor.

  “Chris, can you come here? I want to talk to you.”

  “Doll, I’m sitting with Toots, and Ronnie Wolfe just joined us. I want to get a plug in his column.”

  “I have to talk to you.”

  “Jesus, everyone is here. It’s jumping. Come on, doll, grab a cab.”

  “Chris, I can’t talk with all those people. This is important. It’s about us, our future.”

  “Jesus—all night we were together. At the Austins’ you just stood there like a lump. Why didn’t you talk to me then? We had plenty of privacy. People stayed away from us in droves.”

  “Are you coming, Chris?”

  “Doll, I’ll be there in, say, half an hour.”

  “No.” The Scotch was hitting her. She felt groggy. “Now, while I’m still awake. This is important. Come right away.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there.”

  “Hurry.”

  “Is it all right with you if I stop and take a leak first?”

  She clicked the phone. Then she undressed. He probably would want to go to bed with her. Well, if he would arrange to bring Aunt Rose to Los Angeles, to a good nursing home, he could sleep with her every night. She’d even try and respond.

  She put on a robe, combed her hair, fixed her makeup and put in her diaphragm.

  Chris finally arrived. He took off his coat and took her in his arms and began to kiss her.

  “Chris, later. I want to talk to you.”

  “We’ll talk, but after—” He pulled the string of her robe and it fell open. He stopped suddenly. “Okay, you win. I don’t want to make love to a statue. For all the action I’m getting, I could look at Playboy and jerk off.”

  She closed her robe and crossed the room. “Sit down, Chris, I’ve got quite a bit to say.”

  He sat very still while she spoke. She told him everything, omitting nothing. His eyes widened as he listened, then he shook his head in sympathy.

  “You poor kid, you had it as rough as me.”

  Tears came to her eyes. “Then you’ll help me, Chris?”

  “Doll, how can I help?”

  “Move Aunt Rose to the Coast!”

  “You must be kidding!” he said. “You know what that will cost? We can’t take a sick dinge on the plane!”

  “Don’t you dare call Aunt Rose that.”

  “All right! Even if she was snow-white, you still can’t take a person with a stroke on a plane.”

  “You can charter a plane.”

  “Sure, for thousands of bucks!”

  “Well … you certainly have enough money.”

  He stared at her. Then he stood up and paced the room. He whirled around, his finger shooting out at her. “Are you crazy! I got a cousin, a first cousin, a flesh-and-blood cousin, and he wanted to borrow two thousand to buy into a business and I turned him down. Know why? Because I’m like you. No one ever did anything for little Chris. My folks were poor too. My old man was in burlesque. He cheated on my old lady. She cheated on him, they both split, remarried—neither of them wanted me. I made it on my own from the time I was twelve. I got a half brother. I don’t give him a dime! Because if it was all reversed, I know damn well he wouldn’t give me the right time.”

  “Then you won’t do it?” she asked.

  “Kee-rist! Next thing I know, you’ll want Aunt Rose to move in after we’re married, stretcher and all.”

  “If she got better, why not?”

  “Because I won’t let my family poach on me—and I’m not about to lay out my money for an old—lady I never met. This could cost maybe ten thousand!”

  “It might,” she said coldly.

  “Do you know how hard I work to make ten thou?”

  “I heard you got that every week as a raise.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You been doing a Dun and Bradstreet on me?”

  “Everyone knows the sponsor gave you a ten-thousand-dollar raise. You made sure that it got into every column.”

  “Well, the government gets seventy percent. See, that’s what I mean. For me to lay out ten thou, I have to make a fortune.”

  “All right, Chris, please go.”

  He crossed the room and grabbed her. “Amanda, doll, I love you. I’m not cheap. Look, let’s say we have a kid and it wasn’t feeling right, I’d toss out ten thou in a second to the right specialist. Everything I got will be for you and the kid. But no relatives. Especially someone who’s not even a blood relative,” he added.

  “She’s like my mother!”

  “Holy shit!” he exploded. “Only to me could this happen! I think I’ve found me the classiest broad in the world. And suddenly as a little dividend you spring a black relative on me—not even a healthy one we could pass off as the maid! Doll, when you say you want to talk, you sure don’t fuck around!”

  “Get out, Chris.”

  “I’ll go, but you sleep on it. And don’t get sullen and think I don’t love you. I love you plenty—and I’m a liberal too! I figured maybe you came from some fancy family. Here I was, always apologizing about my background—and you coolly tell me you’re illegitimate, you were raised by a black chambermaid, and does it matter to me. Not a bit! I still love you and I want to marry you. But I ain’t forcing my crummy family down your throat, and you can’t force yours on me. When we’re married, the money we spend will be on our kid. But one thing, Mandy—” He stopped. “Jesus—even that name sounds lousy now. The next thing I know you’ll want to name our kid Rastus. From now on no one calls you Mandy. It’s Amanda. Did your aunt tag that on you?”

  “No,” she said quietly. “My real name is Rose. Nick Long-worth changed it when I started to model. Rose Jones wasn’t glamorous. He thought Amanda sounded English—Noel Coward and all that.”

  “Well, it did until I learned about dear old Aunt Rose. Look, doll, I shared dressing rooms with colored acts. They’re my friends. Eventually things will change. I hope they do. But I’m not big enough to go on a one-man crusade. Let someone else do it, and I’ll join. But all my life I’ve been an almost-was. I played every crummy joint in the world. Loads of guys have done the same and never risen above it. But I’ve made it. And I’m offering it to you! But just you! Not your aunt, my cousin, my half-brother—it’s us all the way.”

  He grabbed his coat and started for the door. “We forget tonight, understand? It never happened. I don’t know no Aunt Rose. You’re Amanda, the top model—we’ve got it made together.” He slammed the door.

  She sat very still for a few minutes. Then she got up and poured herself a drink. Oddly enough she understood how Chris felt. Well, it proved one thing—she couldn’t afford the luxury of love. Because no one really cared. Everyone was out for number one! She’d never see Christie Lane again or Robin Stone! She’d quit the show, tell Nick to concentrate on getting her bookings, even if she had to cut her price. She felt no guilt about Christie now. She’d work, take care of Aunt Rose, and marry the first decent man who came along so that she could have a child and give it a decent start in life. She took a sleeping pill, set the alarm and turned off her phone.

  The alarm went off at nine. Her head ached. She reached for the phone to check with her service, then changed her mind. If there were any calls, they would only be trouble.

  She took a cab to Queens. The small lobby of the nurs
ing home was half empty. A few old women sat and watched television in wheelchairs. One woman was doing a child’s jigsaw puzzle. Another just sat and stared into space. An attendant was taking down a moth-eaten Christmas tree.

  She went to the elevator and pushed the button to the third floor. She never announced herself. It was best not to give them any warning.

  She opened the door of the room. The bed was stripped.

  Miss Stevenson, the supervisor, came rushing in. She looked upset.

  “We called you last night,” Miss Stevenson said.

  “I tried to call in,” Amanda said. “The line was busy. Why have you moved Aunt Rose?” She suddenly panicked. “Is she worse?”

  “She’s dead,” Miss Stevenson said.

  Amanda screamed. Then she flew at the woman and grabbed her. “What happened? How?” Amanda shouted.

  “At six o’clock when we brought her dinner, she suddenly sat up. Her eyes were bright. She said, ‘Where’s little Rosie?’ We told her you were coming. She lay back and smiled. She said, ‘I’ll eat with little Rosie. I don’t like to eat alone. When she gets home from school we’ll eat—’ “

  Amanda began to sob. “She thought she was in the past. But she might have recognized me.”

  Miss Stevenson shrugged. “When it seemed you weren’t coming, we tried to get her to eat. But she kept saying, I’m waiting for my child.’ Then at eight we came back, and she was sitting up just as we had left her. She was dead. We called you—”

  “Where is she?” Amanda asked.

  “In the morgue.”

  “The morgue!”

  “We couldn’t keep her here.”

  Amanda dashed to the elevator. Miss Stevenson followed. “I’ll give you the address. You can make your funeral arrangements from there.”

  She made arrangements for the cremation and services. Then she went home, turned off the phone and slept.

  When Jerry called the following day, she told him what had happened.

  Jerry tried to hide the relief in his voice, but he said it was for the best. “Now you can go to California with a clear conscience,” he said.