The Love Machine

by Jacqueline Susann

  Maggie had read Robin Stone’s columns. In her small experience in Philadelphia with interviews, she had learned that people rarely resembled the image projected in their work. But Robin Stone’s picture fit the image of his column: strong, clipped, virile, hard-hitting. She wondered what the man himself would be like.

  At six o’clock she was dressed and waiting. Hudson had not come home. He always spent Sunday at the country club. She called and found that he had not been there all day. She should have known—that was just another excuse to be with his girl of the moment.

  Well, she was not going to miss the cocktail party. It might be her only chance to actually meet Robin Stone. After the dinner, the guests of honor usually dashed for a train. She looked at her watch. If she left immediately, she could make it. That meant Hudson would have to come in on his own.

  When she got to the hotel, she went directly to the Gold Room. Robin Stone was surrounded. He was holding a martini and smiling politely.

  Maggie accepted a lukewarm Scotch with soda from one of the trays. Judge Oakes came to her. “Come with me, I’ll introduce you to our guest speaker. We’ve all lost our wives to him.”

  When Judge Oakes presented her, Robin smiled. “A newsgirl? Come now—you look too beautiful to be an egghead.” Then with no warning, he inched her away from the group and took her arm. “There’s no ice in your drink.”

  “It is pretty dreadful,” she answered.

  He swallowed the rest of the martini. “So was this.” He put his glass in the Judge’s hand. “Take care of this for me. Come on, newsgirl, we’ll get you some ice.” He led her across the room. “Don’t look back,” he muttered. “Are they following us?”

  “I doubt it, just glaring in stunned surprise.” She laughed.

  He walked behind the bar and said to the surprised bartender, “Mind if I make my own?” Before the man could answer, Robin was pouring a large amount of vodka into the pitcher. He looked at Maggie. “Want me to reinforce your Scotch—or will you try a Stone special?”

  “The Stone special.” She knew she was being stupid. She hated martinis. She also knew she was staring at him like an idiot. Enjoy this second, she thought. Tomorrow you’ll be sitting with Hudson—back in your own dreary world, and Robin Stone will be in another hotel, in another city, mixing another martini.

  He handed her the glass. “Here’s to you, newsgirl.” He took her arm and they crossed the room and settled on a small couch.

  She knew every woman in the room was staring at her. But once again she felt that odd new reckless freedom. Let them stare! But she couldn’t just sit and stare at him. She had to say something.

  “I read that you’d given up your column and gone on a lecture tour. But I miss the column.” She felt it sounded forced and unnatural.

  He shrugged. “They were probably chopped to mincemeat when they got here.”

  “No, sometimes they were quite long. But I suppose you like doing this better.” He swallowed his drink and then reached over and took her untouched martini. “No, newsgirl—I don’t like this better. I just do it for money.”

  He offered her a cigarette and lit it. “And what do you do on that little box?”

  “News—women’s angle mostly.”

  “And I’ll bet they watch you and listen to you.”

  “Is that so incredible?” she asked.

  “No, it’s television. Wonderful thing, that little box,” he said. “It’s created a race of beautiful people.”

  “But don’t you think seeing people makes it more personal-creates a better understanding?”

  He shrugged. “Oh, it creates a love for certain people. The whole world loves Lucy, Ed Sullivan and Bob Hope. At the moment. But they’re fickle—remember how they loved Uncle Miltie? Tell me, newsgirl, whom do you love on television?”

  “I’d love you—” She stopped, horrified.

  He grinned. “You’re the first sensible girl I’ve ever met. You get right to the bottom line.”

  “I mean I’d love your thinking, your views.”

  He finished the drink. “Don’t qualify it, newsgirl, or you’ll ruin everything between us. The world is full of hedging broads. I like your style. Come on, let’s get a refill.”

  She followed him as he carried the empty glasses back to the bar and marveled at the ease with which he had polished off both their drinks. He made two more and handed her one. She took a sip and tried not to make a face. It was almost straight vodka. People joined them and most of the women gradually drifted back; once again he was surrounded. He was polite, answered their questions, but he held her arm and never left her side. Her eyes kept drifting to the door. Suddenly she prayed that Hudson wouldn’t appear.

  There was a small tinkling chime. The chairman of the committee clapped his hands.

  “Where do you sit, newsgirl?” Robin asked.

  “I guess at the other end.” She heard her name. “That’s me.” She broke away and got into line.

  Robin tapped the chairman who stood beside him. “How would you like to change seats with my newsgirl? Both you and Judge Oakes are very attractive but I didn’t travel ninety miles to sit between the two of you when I have a chance to have a lovely lady at my side.”

  As they entered the ballroom, Robin steered her to the seat next to his on the dais. Maggie felt the entire audience was staring. Robin ordered fresh martinis. His capacity seemed unlimited. Three martinis and Hudson would be clobbered. Robin appeared absolutely sober. But no one could consume so many martinis without feeling something.

  She saw Hudson enter and take his seat at the far end of the dais. As he sat down, she knew the man next to him was explaining the unexpected change in the seating arrangements. And she couldn’t help but be pleased at the surprise on his face.

  She heard the chairman introduce Robin. Just as Robin was about to stand, he leaned over and whispered to her, “Listen, newsgirl, I’m going to pack this in as quickly as I can. I have a suite here if I want it. They’ve been more than generous, your Philadelphia organization. If you’ll cut out and meet me there, I’ll stay over. Otherwise, I’m going to run for the eleven-thirty train when all this is over.”

  He rose and waited for the applause to die down. Then he leaned over and said in her ear, “Come on, newsgirl, give me the bottom line.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good girl, Suite 17B. Wait a decent interval after I leave—and then come up.”

  He made his speech, and the award was finally presented to Judge Oakes. Guests from the ballroom congratulated the judge. Newspapermen asked him to pose with Robin and the women surrounded him. He signed a few menus for them, looked at his watch and said he was expecting an overseas call. He shook hands with Judge Oakes, waved at everyone and left.

  It was eleven o’clock. Hudson walked down from his spot on the dais and sat in Robin’s empty seat. “Was the cocktail party a big thrill?”

  “I enjoyed it,” she said.

  “Let’s go.”

  She was suddenly frantic. How could she have promised Robin Stone? What had gotten into her? She couldn’t even blame it on the martini … she had just sipped it. She had no intention of going to his room!

  “This is the last dinner I’ll ever come to,” Hudson said. “And you complain about Saturday night at the country club. At least I have a few laughs there. And we mingle with our own kind.”

  “It’s part of my job,” she said.

  “Job?” he sneered. “Which reminds me—we’re going to have to do something about that. Too many people are talking about it. Dad says some of his friends think it looks bad, you sitting across a mike interviewing all those types. That writer you talked with last week looked like a real Commie.”

  She didn’t answer. Hudson talked this way every now and then and it passed. It was better to let him rant on. He drained the glass and deliberately refilled it.

  “You really don’t care about me, do you, Hudson?”

  He poured himself anot
her drink and sighed heavily. “Oh, it’s not you. It’s us… . Our families… . Sometimes I feel I’ve had it… . But don’t worry, I won’t leave you. Where can I go? Neither of us can have any real freedom until you get knocked up a few times. Christ, that’s the least you could do.”

  She stood up. “Hudson, you make me feel sick.”

  “Come off it. I saw that mother of yours at the wedding, beaming. And your father, all handshakes and cigars. What were they so happy about? Hello, young lovers? Not on your life! It was the Stewart money. But you’re not keeping your half of the bargain. You’re supposed to have babies.” He stared at her. “Maybe we should go home and try tonight.”

  “Maybe if you didn’t drink so much,” she said.

  “Maybe I have to drink to get excited about you. I’m a man, I can’t fake it.” She walked out. He followed sullenly. At the checkroom they ran into Bud and Lucy. Lucy was pregnant again. She was also slightly drunk.

  “We’re going to the Embassy. Want to come?”

  Hudson stared enviously at Lucy’s stomach. “Sure, why not!” He grabbed Maggie by the arm and they all crowded into the elevator.

  Bud’s chauffeur was waiting. “Leave your cars,” Lucy suggested. “We’ll come back for them.”

  The Embassy was crowded. They sat in the smoke-filled room, squeezed around a tiny table. Some members from the country club were at the next table. They decided to put the two tables together. There were some jokes among the men, a bottle of Scotch was put on the table and Maggie sat hemmed in thinking of the man in Suite 17B.

  She had to call him. She would tell him the truth, that she had accepted in a moment of crazy impulse, that she was married. It wasn’t fair to make Robin Stone sit and wait. He worked too hard.

  She stood up suddenly. “I have to powder my nose.” There had to be a phone in the Ladies’ Room.

  “I’ll go with you,” Lucy said as she lumbered to her feet. “I’m dying to hear what Robin Stone said. I saw him lean over and speak to you several times. Coming, Edna?” she called to one of the girls.

  The group headed for the Powder Room. There was an open phone. An attendant was sitting near it. It was hopeless. She patched up her makeup and was noncommittal about Robin Stone. They had talked about television, she explained. She tried to hang back, but Lucy and Edna waited. When they returned to their table there was no sign of Hudson. Then she saw him across the room—sitting at a table with a group of people, his arm around a girl. She recognized the girl, a new member of the club, a recent bride. Hudson’s arm was gently massaging her bare back. Her husband sat across from her and did not see it. Suddenly Maggie stood up.

  “Sit down,” Lucy hissed. “Maggie, you know it means nothing. Hud always has to prove his charm with every new member.”

  “I’m going …”

  Bud grabbed her arm. “Maggie, you’ve got nothing to be concerned about. That’s June Tolland. She’s mad for her husband.”

  She broke away and ran. She didn’t stop running until she reached the street. Then she walked to the corner, hailed a cab and told the driver to go to the Bellevue Stratford Hotel.

  She rang the bell of Suite 17B. It was a loud ring, an empty ring. She glanced at her watch. Twelve fifteen. Maybe he had left, or gone to sleep. She rang again, then she turned and started down the hall. Suddenly the door swung open. He was holding a glass. “Come on in, newsgirl, I’m on the phone.”

  She entered the living room of the suite. He motioned to the bottle of vodka and went to the phone. It was obvious he was talking business, something to do with clauses in a contract. She went through the motions of mixing herself a drink. He had taken off his jacket. His shirt clung to him and she saw the small initials, R.S., near his chest. His tie was loose and he talked earnestly and to the point. She noticed the bottle of vodka was half empty and once again she wondered at his capacity. He finally hung up. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but then, you didn’t exactly break any track records getting here.”

  “Where do you go tomorrow?” She suddenly felt shy and nervous.

  “New York. No more lectures ever again.”

  “Why do they call them lectures?” she asked. “I mean, tonight—you were wonderful, you talked about everything. Your adventures overseas, people—”

  “I suppose it dates back to when some fink actually went out with slide pictures and—oh, who the hell cares.” He put down his drink and held out his arms. “Come on, newsgirl, aren’t you going to kiss me?”

  She felt like a schoolgirl. “My name is Maggie Stewart,” she said. Then she was in his arms.

  He made love to her three times that night. He held her close and whispered endearments. He caressed her. He treated her like a virgin. And for the first time she realized what it was like when a man made love for the sole purpose of trying to make a woman happy. She reached a climax the very first time. And then it happened again. And the third time she fell back in gratified exhaustion. He held her close and kissed her gently. Then as he began to caress her again she pulled away.

  He buried his face in her breasts. “It’s been different tonight. I’m very drunk—tomorrow I may not remember any of this… . But I want you to know, this is different.”

  She lay very still. Somehow she knew he was telling the truth. She was afraid to move, afraid to break the spell. The cool crisp Robin Stone suddenly seemed so vulnerable. In the dim light she stared at his face against her breasts—she wanted to remember every second, she would always remember, especially the word he yelled each time at the climax.

  He pulled away suddenly, kissed her, reached out and lit two cigarettes and handed one to her. “It’s two thirty.” He nodded toward the phone. “If you have to be up at any special time, leave a call. I’ve got nothing to do but catch a train to New York. What time do you have to be at work?”

  “Eleven.”

  “How’s nine thirty? I’ll get up with you and we can have breakfast together.”

  “No, I—I have to leave now.”

  “No!” It was a command—but his eyes were almost pleading. “Don’t leave me!” he said.

  “I have to, Robin.” She jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom. She dressed quickly and when she returned to the bedroom he was lying back against the pillows. He seemed completely composed. He lit a cigarette, then looked at her oddly.

  “Who are you running off to? Husband or lover?”

  “Husband,” she said, trying to meet his eyes. They were so amazingly blue and cold.

  He inhaled deeply and blew the smoke to the ceiling. Then he said, “Did you risk anything coming here tonight?”

  “Nothing, except my marriage.”

  “Newsgirl, come here.” He held out his hand. She came to him and he looked at her as if trying to see into her brain. “I want you to know something. I didn’t know you were married.”

  “Don’t feel guilty,” she said gently.

  His laugh was odd. “Guilty, hell! I think it’s funny. … So long, newsgirl.”

  “My name is Maggie Stewart.”

  “Baby, there’s another name for girls like you.” He leaned over and ground out the cigarette.

  She stood at his bed for a moment. “Robin, tonight was different for me too, it meant something, it meant an awful lot. I want you to believe that.”

  Suddenly he threw his arms around her waist and buried his head in her dress. His voice was low and urgent. “Then don’t leave me! You keep saying you love me, but you leave me!”

  She had never said she loved him! She gently pried herself loose and looked at him in amazement. Their eyes met but he seemed to be looking somewhere far off as if he was in a self-induced trance. She decided the vodka had finally hit him. He couldn’t know or mean what he was saying.

  “Robin, I’ve got to leave you—but I’ll never forget you.”

  He blinked and then stared as if seeing her for the first time. “I’m sleepy. Good night, newsgirl.” Then he switched off the light, turned on his side and p
romptly fell asleep. She stood there unable to believe it. He was not faking. He was asleep.

  She drove home with mixed feelings. The whole thing had been insane. He was two men and they never seemed to fuse except when he made love to her. Well, he had said it himself: tomorrow he would not even remember it, she would be just another girl on one of his whistle stops. But did he act this way with all girls? It didn’t matter. The only thing that counted was tonight.

  She let herself into the house quietly. It was four o’clock.

  She crept into the bedroom. It was dark; in the shadows she saw Hudson’s empty bed. Luck was with her. He hadn’t gotten home yet. She undressed quickly. She had just turned off the lights when she heard the crunch of gravel in the garage path. She pretended sleep when he crept into the room. His cautiousness amused her. The way he lurched around the room, trying not to arouse her. Soon she heard him snoring in deep drunken sleep.

  For the next two weeks she plunged into her work and pushed Robin Stone from her thoughts. She had almost succeeded until the day she opened her diary to check an appointment and saw “Curse due.” She was four days late! And Hudson hadn’t come near her in three weeks. Robin Stone! She had taken no precautions with him. Hudson had brainwashed her into actually thinking she couldn’t get pregnant.

  She buried her face in her hands. She didn’t want to get rid of it! Robin’s baby would be a baby conceived in love… . And Hudson wanted a baby. Oh, no! It was an outrageous thought! … But why not? What could be gained in telling Hudson the truth? It would hurt Hudson—and the baby. She stood up with sudden determination. She was going to have it!

  When a week passed and her period did not come, she faced the real task of getting Hudson to make love to her. He had never stayed away this long. The model must be wearing him out, or perhaps he had found a new interest. When Hudson was in the flush of a new romance, he never came near her.