The Love Machine

by Jacqueline Susann

  Three days later the trades carried the news that Christie Lane had signed a new five-year deal with IBC. The following day Gregory sent for Robin and Danton Miller and outlined the idea of the special.

  Dan listened carefully. Robin watched his reactions. He was positive Dan remembered that he had suggested a Christie Lane show for the series. But Gregory was acting as if the idea had suddenly struck him a few days ago. Dan wasn’t fooled. Robin knew that. But Dan would have to play the game and go along; the Cheshire smile appeared, he nodded approvingly. Then a slight frown appeared, signaling that his thoughts had run into an obstacle.

  “I think the conception is brilliant, Gregory, especially as it has locked Christie in for IBC. But I’m just wondering if Robin is the man to moderate the show. No offense, Robin. It’s just that your image doesn’t actually go with divulging the life of a man like Christie Lane. We need a top star to present Christie—a Danny Thomas, or Red Skelton. Someone who’d have empathy with him.”

  Gregory was caught off guard. It made sense. Dan’s smile was openly victorious. Robin leaned forward. His expression was bland and his voice even. “I disagree.”

  Dan’s smile remained fixed. His voice was patronizing. “I’m sorry. But as President of Network Television, I know a little more of what appeals to the public than a newsman who spends half the year in Europe.”

  Robin didn’t smile. “I agree that you know about programming. But I think you know absolutely nothing about human nature. You put on a star with Christie Lane and you rob him of the spotlight. It becomes the Danny Thomas or Red Skelton show featuring Christie Lane. It is to be his show, about him, with no one overshadowing him in any way.”

  Gregory stood up. “He’s absolutely right, Dan! Put on another star as emcee and you have another variety show. This is the first show of a series I want Robin to do.”

  Dan nodded tightly, then turned to Robin. “Lay low on the romance angle,” he warned.

  “The public wants romance,” Robin answered.

  “His romance won’t bear close scrutiny,” Dan said.

  “It’ll only make him more colorful,” Robin insisted.

  “No romance!” Dan snapped. “Besides, the public isn’t interested in Christie’s love life.”

  Gregory interrupted. “You’re wrong again, Dan. Christie has to have a girl. Personally I’m always suspicious of a man who is over forty and has never been married. With Christie it’s understandable—he’s always been a gypsy. But we need the girl angle now. Who is she and what’s wrong with her?”

  “Ethel Evans,” Dan said. “She used to work in publicity for us. She’s one step removed from a hooker.”

  “Can’t we find some other girl?” Gregory asked. “Why not give him a lot of girls? Hire beautiful models, link him with several.”

  “Ethel would never stand for it,” Dan said. “And if you’re going to use girls, you have to use her too. The public has read too much about her.”

  “What’s she doing now, besides laying him?” Gregory asked.

  Dan laughed. “Believe it or not, she’s his personal press agent!”

  “Fine,” Robin interrupted. “Let’s make her just that in the special. Every star has a Girl Friday!”

  Dan nodded slowly. “It’s an angle—it sure as hell would whitewash everything. We can’t dismiss her from his life; she’s been in too many fan magazines with him as it is.”

  Robin smiled. “Fine. Now it’s your problem to make Christie Lane buy it.”

  Dan’s laugh was ugly. “Oh, he’ll buy it—but will Ethel?”

  TWENTY-TWO

  THE PRESENCE OF DANTON MILLER at the Hotel Astor somehow seemed to emphasize the shoddiness of the room. Ethel stared at a stain on the carpet and wondered why Christie always wound up with one of the rattiest suites in the place. Probably because he always asked for the one that cost the least. And there was Dan, incongruously elegant, sitting in a faded club chair. And Christie, oblivious of the expression on Dan’s face when he had seen the suite, sat puffing away at a cigar. Ethel was coiled tight as a spring. Her suspicions had been aroused when Dan casually phoned and said he’d drop by to talk over the mechanics of the special. Dan wasn’t the type to just “drop by.” And what was all this crap about “mechanics”? It was going to be Christie’s life—his friends, the people he knew on the way up. His Happening! That’s all she had been hearing for the past two weeks. Christie acted like he was being immortalized. But she could understand his excitement. As star of The Christie Lane Show, he appeared in a format. He sang songs, played in sketches, introduced guest stars. But the Happening was him. Everyone on it would be talking about him, no buildups for Hollywood guests—just him! The “gofors” were even springing for new suits. And Agnes kept dropping gentle hints. Oh, she didn’t expect to really be on it, she claimed, “but when all my friends kid me about being a camp follower, I just tell them I’d rather be a tiny part of Christie’s life than the star in anyone else’s.” Christie hadn’t given her the nod yet, but Ethel sensed he’d give in. And gradually, Ethel had even been caught in the general excitement. She started a rigid diet and bought two dresses to wear on the show. But the full impact of her own importance on the show never really occurred to her until Danton Miller “casually dropped by.”

  Ethel sat and listened silently as Dan spoke about the special. To Ethel’s amazement, his enthusiasm matched Christie’s. Everything he said whetted Christie’s appetite, inflated his ego. As he talked, the event of Christie’s Happening took on the proportions of an Academy Award feature. It had to win the Emmy. When he got to the “mechanics” her eyes narrowed. And as she listened, her worst suspicions were realized. All the fancy footwork was just a cover-up. Dan’s prime objective was to de-emphasize her—throw a smoke screen around the real role she played in his life. She couldn’t believe it! She listened as Dan casually explained about the models they would hire to act as Christie’s dates. The debutante who had already agreed to attend the opening of Aqueduct with him. The great shots they’d get with Christie visiting her father’s stables.

  “It gives you another dimension,” Dan was saying. “Christie Lane is not just everyone’s Uncle Harry—beautiful girls are attracted to him, debutantes adore him. We’ve even dug up a poetess and we’ll show the two of you browsing around Double-day’s. Christie Lane is erudite! Of course Ethel will play an important role on the show. We’ll have shots of her handling your mail, on the phone making your appointments—”

  Ethel fastened her eyes to a sun spot that was working its way across the faded rug. This was the final humiliation. Lumping her with the “gofors.” But when you got down to it, what else was she? They serviced him by running errands, she serviced him in bed. They even earned the same kind of money. For the first time in her life she felt defeated. She even lost the will to fight. Maybe it was Dan’s supercilious manner, maybe it was the suite, but suddenly she felt as shabby as the soot-stained drapes that hung limply on the grayish windows. She suddenly saw herself through Danton Miller’s eyes, and she wanted to run! Oh God, what had happened to fat little Ethel Evanski who sat on a stoop in Hamtramck and had the dream? How had she turned into Ethel Evans who sat in a smoke-filled suite at the Astor listening to Danton Miller evasively and politely plotting to alibi her presence in Christie’s life? How had it all happened? She had only wanted to be someone—was that so wrong? She wanted to burst into tears, lunge at Danton Miller, scratch that snobbish smile off his face… . How could he sit there and look so impeccable and spotless? Who the hell was he to intimate she wasn’t good enough to be Christie’s girl? Dan had slept with her. Why hadn’t it soiled him and his goddam black suit? But she remained silent. Because everything Dan said made sense. With the models, the debutante and the poetess, it would make a better show. And to Christie the show was all that mattered. That was one argument she could never win. Oddly enough, she didn’t care what anyone in the business thought. They would all know it was a cover-up. But for the f
irst time she thought of her mother and father, and even Helga. In their eyes, she was “engaged” to Christie Lane. How would it look when they saw Christie with all the glamour girls, and fat little Ethel Evanski sitting on the sideline with the “hired help”? She fastened her eyes to the sun spot on the rug. She didn’t dare look up. Her throat was tight and she was dangerously close to tears. Christie’s lusterless eyes were objective and thoughtful. Dan was still going strong, coming on for a big flash finish. Then he leaned forward. “Well, Christie, what do you think?”

  Christie bit off a piece of his cigar and spat it on the floor. “I think it stinks.”

  Ethel looked up. Dan was too surprised to answer.

  “What is this shit with me and the debutante or a poet? Everyone knows Ethel is my girl.”

  Ethel’s lips parted in amazement. The slob was actually sticking up for her!

  Dan shrugged. “Of course you go with Ethel. I know it, and you know it. But we’ve all done a lot of thinking about this Happening and the conclusion is unanimous. They think it will make a more exciting show if you are seen with many girls instead of one.”

  “Are we doing a glamour show, or the Happening of Christie Lane?” he asked.

  “It’s better for the ratings if we can combine them both.”

  “My show is in the top five, right? And it’s not because of models or debutantes—it’s me!”

  Dan nodded. “But, Christie, let’s not forget you do have big-name guest stars on your show, pretty girls for the commercials, and an occasional girl singer to do a duet with you.”

  “What about Ethel?” Christie’s voice was gravel-hard.

  “Ethel is very attractive,” Dan said quickly. “As a matter of fact, Ethel, I’ve never seen you look better.” His smile was indulgent. She answered it with a baleful glance.

  Christie ignored the byplay. “So?” he demanded.

  “We’re afraid of scandal magazines. So far we’ve been lucky—but just let one of them start with Ethel’s love life, and they’ll all leap on the wagon.”

  “I’d sue them,” Christie said. “She’s been with no one but me for almost a year. I can prove it.”

  “I’m afraid you’d only be proving their point. Yes, Ethel’s been with you—living with you! That’s why they figured the ‘girl Friday’ was such a good gimmick. It would explain why she is with you so much.”

  “Wait a minute!” Christie waved the cigar. “Who the fuck is they?”

  Dan took out the cigarette case. “Let’s put it this way, Christie. Robin Stone is also part of this show. If the scandal magazines hit at him on his first show because of Ethel, he could lose his blue-chip sponsor on the entire series. You’ve got to remember there is a large world outside of New York, Chicago and Los Angeles—a world where people go to church every Sunday, get married and celebrate golden anniversaries. Those people love you. You come into their living rooms. You can’t blatantly state: ‘This is the girl I live with—take it or else.’ “

  Dan took advantage of Christie’s silence, and forged on with renewed emphasis. “No matter how you look at it, Christie, it adds up to this: you can’t take the chance of acknowledging Ethel as your girl on the special.”

  “Okay. She won’t be my girl,” Christie said quietly. “She’ll be my wife.”

  Dan’s face lost its usual bland expression. His lips parted—but no words came. Ethel leaned forward—there had to be a catch!

  Christie nodded, as if to affirm the decision to himself. “Yeah, you heard me. I’m gonna marry Ethel.”

  Dan had recovered from his initial shock and managed a weak attempt at his feline smile. Christie sat back as if the matter was settled, but Ethel sensed the battle had just begun. Dan was marshaling his forces, readying for another attack.

  It came immediately. “Funny.” Dan’s tone was almost melancholy. “I had you down in my book as one of the great romantics.”

  “A what?” Christie asked.

  “A man who would only love one woman all his life. I was positive that’s the way it was with you and Amanda. The night she died I was even afraid you might cancel the show. But you’re a pro. I knew how you felt, but you realized that life goes on. When a man loses the only thing that matters, he finds a substitute—a temporary replacement.”

  For the first time Ethel understood the temporary insanity of blind fury that caused murder. She wanted to leap at Dan’s throat. But this was no time for her to come on tough—not as long as Christie was carrying the ball. She clutched the arm of the sofa until her knuckles went white. And dredging her resources for a final gust of control, she managed a voice as cautious as his own: “You seem to forget, dear Danton, that Amanda had left Chris for Ike Ryan. She died as Mrs. Ike Ryan, not as Christie’s girl.”

  Dan’s tone was conciliatory. “Ah, but the greatest lovers of all are the lovers who lose and go on loving. To me Christie Lane is that kind of a man.”

  Christie jumped up. “What is this bullshit? Is that your idea of a great lover? To me it sounds like a number-one shmuck! A shmuck who sits around weeping for a broad that walked out on him! Oh no, Danny boy, I’m Christie Lane. I’m a big one, Buster! I came up the hard way—I’ve gotten real kicks in the gut. One little blond broad is no earth-shattering event in my life.” He walked over to Ethel and took her hand. “Take a good look, Mr. Miller—this is a real broad. A great broad. Sure, Ethel and I started out as just two people on the town together. But after a few dates I forgot I ever knew Amanda.”

  Dan’s smile was sad. “I reread the Life story just the other day, and it really got me. Especially when you said Amanda was the only girl you ever thought about marrying. The girl you wanted to have a child with.” He sighed. “But it’s really too bad, the Amanda thing was going to make a great part of your special.”

  “What has Amanda got to do with my special?” Christie asked.

  Dan’s voice was low and intense: “We were going to show blowups of the pictures you took together for Life. Get a clip of Amanda doing the commercial—and use the tape of that great moment when you sang ‘Mandy’ to her. Remember—when we cut to the wings and took a close-up of her face listening to you?” Dan shook his head sadly. “Can you see it? There wouldn’t be a dry eye in the audience. Every newspaper in the country would write about it—the special with the love story of the century. Amanda—the only girl in Christie’s life. And when she married someone else, he bore her no ill will. But when she died, a little bit of him died with her. The public will lap it up. That explains the models, the debutante—because after Amanda, there can’t be any one girl in Christie Lane’s life. Then, as you sing, the announcer’s voice will say, ‘Women love to listen to Christie sing—but Christie will always sing his love songs to a girl who can never hear them.’ Then we show you on the town, proving that you’re trying to forget. Christie, the public adores a lover; they’ll dismiss the fact that she married Ike Ryan. They were only married for a short time. Tell me, how many girls do you recall being with Sinatra? There’ve been plenty—but the fans think he still sings only to Ava Gardner. The lyrics take on a stronger meaning—the world loves a lover, especially if he’s lost someone. We can say that Ethel Evans is your most constant companion, that she cared for Amanda too—they were friends and worked on the show together, she understands the loss you’ve gone through. Christie, can’t you see it?”

  Christie’s expression was bland. “You should be a movie writer, Dan.” Then his voice went hard. “What kind of shit-kicking show do you expect me to do? Is this the Christie Lane Happening? The story of a man who came up the hard way, who was still just a second-rater when he hit his fortieth birthday? Everyone wrote him off—and two years later he made it big! There’s your story—the heart of it—right there! That’s the Christie Lane Happening. Get it? My Happening—about me! If the day ever comes when I need to rattle a dead girl’s bones to have a show, then I’ll sell shit! But right now I’m selling my talent, my life. And neither you nor Mr. Robin
Stone is going to dictate to me what I am. I am me! Get it? Me! And I’m marrying the only broad I care about—Ethel Evans.”

  Dan walked to the door. “I’m sorry. Perhaps I just took the Life story too seriously—all that talk about how much you wanted a baby with Amanda, so it would look like her, be like her… .”

  “Bullshit!” Christie yelled. “You bet your ass I want a kid. I want a son. I want to give him everything I didn’t have. And Ethel and I will have one hell of a kid together!”

  Dan bowed slightly. “May I wish you both happiness. I think it’s wonderful. Christie, after listening to you, I’ve changed my mind. You and Ethel—well, one might almost say it’s a marriage made in heaven.” Then he left the room.

  Christie stared after the closed door for a moment. Then he turned and started toward the bedroom. Without glancing at Ethel, he said, “Call Lou Goldberg. Tell him to come to town. Call Kenny and Eddie. Tell them to find out about blood tests and all that jazz. Call the mayor. See if we can get him to marry us.” He disappeared into the bedroom.

  Ethel sat on the couch. She couldn’t believe it. He really meant it! She was going to be Mrs. Christie Lane. She looked up as Christie came from the bedroom, carrying his topcoat.

  “Well, what are you sitting there for?” he asked. “Don’t you want to get married?” Then as she nodded mutely, he snapped his fingers. “Well, move it—start making the arrangements.”