The Love Machine

by Jacqueline Susann

  When he opened his eyes, he saw the light on the ceiling and the shadowy bodies of three dead moths who had been lured under the glass. Then he saw the bloody sheets. He sat up and stared curiously at his raw knuckles. Suddenly he saw the massive inert girl on the floor. Oh God—this time it hadn’t been just a nightmare. It had actually happened. He got off the bed and approached the enormous limp body. Her lips were grotesquely swollen, a trickle of blood was running out of her mouth, blood from her nose was crusted on her upper lip. He leaned over her. She was still breathing. Good God—what had he done! He dressed quickly. Then he reached in his pocket—he only had thirty dollars. That wasn’t enough. This girl had to go to the hospital. And he couldn’t just leave her. He looked around the room. No phone. He peered out into the hall—nothing there. He had to get her a doctor. There had to be a phone booth down the street.

  The lobby was still deserted. He walked out of the building and the darkness of Fifty-eighth Street folded around him. He headed toward the drugstore at the corner. He had to phone for help.

  “Hey, buddy boy, what are you doing around here?” It was Dip Nelson in an open convertible.

  Robin walked over to the car. “I’m in trouble,” he said tone-lessly.

  “Aren’t we all?” Dip laughed. “We played at the Concord last night and we bombed.”

  “Dip … do you have any cash on you?”

  “Have I ever—ten C’s and a check. Why?”

  “Dip—give me the thousand in cash, I’ll give you a check.”

  “Get in the car and tell me about it.” They drove through the park and Dip listened silently. When Robin finished, Dip said, “Let’s take first things first. One, do you think she’ll recognize you? I mean, suppose she’s seen you on TV, then what?”

  Robin shrugged. “Then the shit hits the fan.”

  Dip shook his head in wonderment. “Buddy, I don’t know how they let you cross the street alone. If you want to make it to the top, you got to see to it that the shit never hits the fan! Look—it would be your word against hers. Would anyone take the word of a prostitute against a solid citizen?” He looked at the clock in the car. “It’s ten thirty. What time would you say all this happened?”

  Robin shrugged. “I went to a movie; I’m not wearing a watch, but it was dark when I came out.”

  “Then it had to be about eight thirty, maybe nine. We’ll get our alibi set for eight just to play it safe.”

  “Alibi?”

  “Me, sweetheart. The Big Dipper is your alibi. If you need one. We say I went to your apartment at seven thirty. We sat around and talked shop, then we took a drive. When I check the car in at the garage, I’ll make sure someone there notices us.”

  “But what about the girl?” Robin asked. “She’s out cold.”

  “Whores never die. She’ll be out on the street tomorrow as good as new.”

  Robin shook his head. “I hurt her pretty bad. I just can’t let her lie there.”

  “What ever made you pick her up? Christ, I saw you with the most beautiful broad in the world at P.J.’s.”

  “I don’t know, I can remember seeing her—then something like a rocket went off in my head and the rest is as if I dreamed it.”

  “Look—want some advice? Leave her be. What’s one whore more or less?”

  Robin suddenly gripped the door. Dip looked at him oddly. “Anything wrong, pal?”

  “Dip—did you ever have a crazy feeling as if you had gone through something before, heard the same words, even though it’s just happened?”

  “Sure, there’s some kind of name for it. Has to do with the mind—getting something a beat late. It happens to everyone. There’s even a song about it called ‘Where or When.’”

  “Maybe,” Robin said slowly.

  “So cut her from your mind. Make like it never happened,” Dip said.

  “No—I can’t. She’s a human being … she might even have a kid.”

  “I thought you said she was a self-admitted lesbo?”

  “Yes, of course. You’re right.”

  Dip drove the car down Fifty-sixth Street and pulled into the brightly lit garage. The attendant leaped to greet him. “How did she drive, Mr. Nelson?”

  “Like an angel,” Dip said. “As a matter of fact my friend and I have been driving around in her since seven thirty. You recognize him, don’t you? Robin Stone—remember the In Depth show?”

  The attendant nodded as a concession to Dip. Then he said, “Mr. Nelson, did you remember to bring that autographed picture you promised—for my daughter Betty?”

  “Would I forget?” Dip opened the glove compartment and handed him a manila envelope. “All signed with love and kisses.”

  They left the garage and Robin started back toward Fifty-eighth Street. Dip hurried after him and tried to talk him out of it. “Look—she could be up there turning another trick by now.”

  “I only pray to God she is,” Robin muttered. They stopped before the dark building. Dip looked around cautiously. “Well, maybe I’m as nutty as you, because I’m gonna go up there with you. Come on, let’s go.”

  Once again the self-service elevator creaked its way to the third floor. The door was slightly ajar just as Robin had left it. They both stared at the unconscious woman on the floor. Dip let out a low whistle. “She’s a big one.”

  “Give me the thousand,” Robin said. “I’ll put it in her purse. Then we’ll call the doctor from the outside.”

  “Sure, and the doctor puts her in the hospital and she comes to and rats on you.”

  “But she didn’t recognize me.”

  “Buddy—when a whore has a thousand bucks on her, they’re gonna ask a lot of questions. So she describes you, and that’s how trouble could start.”

  “What else can we do?” Robin asked.

  “You stay here, buddy boy, the Big Dipper has an idea. Lock that door. When I come back I’ll give it two short knocks. Don’t open for anything else.” Before Robin could answer, he was gone.

  Robin sat on the bed and stared at the massive white body on the floor. He cradled his head in his arms. The poor bitch. What had gotten into him? This was the first time he had ever tried it with a brunette sober. And the last! Good God, suppose it had been Maggie.

  She stirred and moaned. He got off the bed and put a pillow under her head. Then he took his handkerchief, held it under the cold-water tap and tried to wipe the crusted blood off her lip. He stroked the hair from her face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. She half opened her eyes, moaned, and once again lapsed into unconsciousness. “I’m sorry, you dumb whore, I’m sorry. Oh Jesus, I’m sorry.”

  He opened the door when he heard the two quick taps. Dip brandished a bottle of gleaming red capsules. “Did I ever come up with an idea.”

  “Seconals?” Robin asked.

  Dip nodded. “Now, we just have to get them down Briinn-hilde.”

  “It will kill her.”

  “I only got eight. She can’t die from eight. A human being, maybe—but it would take dynamite to put that whale away.”

  “But why the pills?”

  “We get her on the bed, the empty pill bottle beside her—it’s got no label so it can’t be traced. Then we go out and put in a call to the police. I’ll fake the voice, say I had a date to get laid, and found her this way. I’ll say she always threatened the Dutch act. That’s the way most whores end up anyhow, unless a guy like you does it for them. Then the ambulance will come and cart her to Bellevue, pump her stomach, and by the time she comes to they’ll never believe anything she tells them nor will they care. And while she’s there they’ll patch up whatever damage you’ve done. Now all we gotta do is get Primo Camera on the bed.”

  She was a dead weight. They were both out of breath when they finally propped her up. Dip forced the pills into her mouth and slugged the water down her throat. She gurgled and the pills and water came sliding down her face. Dip pushed them back, shoved more water into her mouth. Robin held her head up so she wouldn�
��t choke. His shirt was damp and he watched in agony until Dip finally got the pills down her.

  “Okay, let’s scram,” Dip said. “Wait—” He took out a handkerchief and started wiping the place for fingerprints. He flashed Robin a wink. “All those B detective pictures I did are finally paying off. I know all the shticks. Did you touch anything, buddy boy?” Dip took a small leather case from his pocket. In it were a slim gold comb, a nail file and a nail clipper. Robin stared in horrified fascination as Dip cut her long red claws. Then he methodically cleaned the rest of her nails with a file.

  “That’s in case any of your hair was in it.” He stared around the room. “I think that covers it.” Then, using a handkerchief, Dip went into her bag and took out her wallet. “Her name is Anna-Marie Woods. She lives on Bleecker Street.”

  “Give me that address.” Robin took the driver’s license and jotted down the name and address. Then he handed it back to Dipper who replaced it in her bag. “She’s got close to a hundred bucks on her—here, take it.”

  “Are you crazy!” Robin pushed it away.

  “You didn’t write down her address so you can take her dancing, did you? You want to send her some money, right? Well, you can also add this to it. Otherwise it’s a cinch some orderly or patient will steal it from her at Bellevue.”

  Robin took the money and nodded dumbly. He understood why Dip had made it in pictures. He was constantly trying to out-think the next person. Maybe you had to when you came up the hard way.

  They left the room cautiously. Their luck held and they reached the street without meeting anyone. Dip made the call, but Robin refused to leave until he was certain help arrived. Dip was against it, but they stood in a doorway across the street. Within ten minutes they heard the sirens. Three police cars pulled up before the house. Two minutes later an ambulance arrived. From nowhere a large crowd gathered—it seemed to Robin as if they emerged from the ground. “I’ve got to go over and see if she’s alive,” he whispered.

  Dip started with him, but Robin pushed him back. “Now who’s not thinking? With that blond hair and Hollywood tan, you’d have the crowd forgetting the ambulance and mobbing you for autographs. No one will recognize me.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” Dip hissed.

  “From the look of them, I can be sure. And I’m also sure they saw all your B detective pictures.” Robin crossed the street and mingled with the curious onlookers. A few minutes later the ambulance attendants came down with the stretcher. He breathed easier. Her head wasn’t covered—that meant she was still alive.

  He returned to Dip after the ambulance clanged its way through the red light and the crowd dispersed. Dip took his arm. “Okay, buddy boy, I think you’ve had a big night. You better go to bed now, alone.”

  Robin stared at him. “Dip, what can I do for you? Name it.”

  “Forget it.” Dip jabbed him on the arm. “Pauli and I have it made. In September you can get us on In Depth before we open at the Persian Room. Now—let’s hail separate cabs a few blocks from here. We follow the B pictures to the very end.”

  Robin got home and took a sleeping pill. An hour later he took another and washed it down with vodka. Within moments he fell into a hard sleep. When he awoke the following morning, he called Dr. Archie Gold. “This is Robin Stone. I think I’m ready for the full course.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ROBIN looked relaxed and in complete command of himself as he sat across from Dr. gold.

  “Have you ever picked up a prostitute before?”

  “Never.”

  “Have you ever thought about it?”

  “Never.”

  “And you say you passed up one that was fairly attractive. What made you go for this one?”

  Robin squashed his cigarette. “That’s why I’m here. She was a brunette.”

  Archie’s gray eyes held a faint show of interest. “Could you have been testing yourself for Maggie?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’d have nothing to lose but your fifty dollars if you didn’t get an erection with the prostitute.”

  Robin shook his head. “No, I don’t think it was that at all. Something funny exploded in my head when she approached me. From the moment I went with her, I felt as if I was dreaming.”

  Dr. Gold studied his notes. “You know, the last time you were here, I told you I wanted to put you under hypnosis. I still do.”

  “That’s ridiculous—we can certainly talk things out… .”

  “I don’t want to waste my time and your money. I’d like to put you under and use a tape recorder. Then you can hear your answers, and perhaps we can go from there.” He noticed the frown appear on Robin’s face. “When we talked last January, we hit a block. You can’t go back to your early childhood. It’s not that you refuse to remember—you can’t remember. And until now, you have separated sex from love. You have no ability to put them together. What you feel for Maggie is the desire to love. Yet love with sex seems incestuous to you. We’ve got to find out the reason. There’s not a clue in anything that you’ve told me in the last visit. And I assume you held nothing back.” He paused. “Robin, how old are you?”

  “I’ll be forty-one next month.”

  “Have you ever thought of marriage?”

  “No. Why should I?”

  “Every man naturally assumes that one day he will marry. When did you first become aware that you wanted to be a loner?” Dr. Gold asked.

  “I don’t know. It was something I always felt.”

  “There we go again,” Archie said triumphantly. “Something you felt—when? How? Don’t you see, we have to go back.” He stood up. “Robin, we’re only going in circles. I think you’ve had enough for today. Come in tomorrow. Do you think you can give me three hours?”

  “Three hours?”

  “I want to put you under and use a tape recorder. After we both listen to the tape, I have a feeling we’ll cut right through to the core of the problem.”

  “We’ll have to make it in the evening,” Robin said. “Would six be all right?”

  “I’ll see you here at six.”

  The following day Robin scanned the newspapers to see if there was anything about Anna-Marie. He finally found a brief mention on the fifth page of the News:

  A woman was found brutally beaten in a furnished room on West 58th Street. Police arrived after receiving an anonymous phone call. She did not live in the room and offered no explanation for being there. She was taken to Bellevue where it was discovered she had a long record for prostitution. No charges are brought against her, and she has been unable to name her unknown assailant. Her condition is not serious and she will be discharged from Bellevue tomorrow.

  Robin went to the bank, withdrew two thousand dollars in small bills and sent it to her home address in a plain manila envelope. He still had reservations about the hypnotism deal, but he arrived at Dr. Gold’s office at six. When his eyes rested on the tape recorder he felt a small chill of apprehension. “You actually think this is going to work?”

  “I hope so,” Archie answered. “Take off your coat and loosen your tie.”

  Robin took out his cigarettes. “Might as well get comfortable. Do I use the couch? I’ll even try that if it will help.”

  “No, sit there, in the straight chair. And forget the cigarettes. Robin, you’re not going to fight it, are you?”

  “Listen, neither of us has time to play games.”

  “Fine! Now I want you to clear your mind. Fasten your attention to that seascape on the wall. All you see is the water … your feet are relaxing … all sense of feeling is leaving them … your legs are also floating … the feeling is creeping up through your body … you are weightless … your hands will drop at your side … your head and neck are relaxed … your eyes will close. Close your eyes, Robin. Now … you see nothing but darkness … it is velvet darkness … you are falling asleep… .”

  Robin was aware that Dr. Gold had dimmed the lights. He was positive it was no
t going to work, but he followed Dr. Gold’s instructions. He stared at the damned seascape. He told himself all feeling was leaving him. He pushed every thought from his mind but the quiet voice of Dr. Gold. … He could hear Archie’s voice. It wasn’t going to work. He could still hear Archie’s voice. The darkness behind his eyes was heavy … but it wasn’t going to work… .

  He opened his eyes. He was on the couch. He sat up and stared aimlessly around the room and reached for his cigarettes. “How did I get over here? A few seconds ago I was on that chair.”

  “That was two and a half hours ago.”

  Robin jumped up. “What time is it?”

  “Quarter of nine. You arrived here at six.”

  Robin picked up the telephone and dialed for the correct time. The singsong voice said, “At the tone, it will be eight forty-seven.” He hung up and looked at Dr. Gold in total disbelief. The doctor smiled at him.

  Robin looked at the tape recorder questioningly. Dr. Gold nodded.

  “Well, for God’s sake-play it for me!”

  “You’ve had enough for one night. I want to listen to it myself alone tonight. Then tomorrow I’ll play it for you.”

  “Did I make sense?” Robin asked.

  “You made some startling revelations.”

  “For Christ’s sake, play it for me. How can I sleep tonight wondering about this?”

  Dr. Gold placed two green pills in an envelope. “Take these when you get home. Can you be in my office at six tomorrow?”

  The pills worked. He had a good night’s sleep, but he was tense and impatient the following day. He chained-smoked and found it impossible to concentrate on the work at hand. By the time he reached Dr. Gold’s office, he was taut with nerves.

  “Robin,” said Dr. Gold, “before we start, I want you to bear this in mind. People tell the truth under deep hypnosis. Every word you hear on that tape will be your voice. At times it may even sound strange because I took you back to your childhood and you even spoke as a child. But I want you to listen with an open mind and not fight anything you hear.”