The Love Machine

by Jacqueline Susann

Sid Goff moved off discreetly, but Maggie knew he was dreaming of the turkey dinner and his family. “I’ve got to leave,” she said. “I have some other appointments.”

  His grin was filled with understanding. “I’m here on business too. I’m trying to talk Diana Williams into doing a Happening show. It’s a murderous project, even if she agrees, but Ike Ryan is a friend of mine. I’d film the first day of rehearsal on the bare stage with the work light, then catch Philadelphia and the dress rehearsal and the New York opening night, and cut to interviews with Diana and Ike and the cast—” He stopped. “I’m sorry, Maggie—this is a hell of a way to tell you I’m glad to see you.”

  Maggie laughed, then she turned and looked at Diana. “Do you think she still has it?”

  Robin’s expression was odd. “I thought you’d be the last person to judge talent by Hollywood standards. Diana Williams is one of a kind. Diana bad is better than most Hollywood stars good. She started on Broadway almost twenty years ago when she was seventeen. Diana wasn’t created with camera angles, Klieg lights and press agents.”

  “I think I really must leave now,” she said coldly.

  He caught her arm. “I must say this is a great start. How did we get into all this?” He smiled. “Let’s get to more important matters. When can I see you?”

  “I don’t know.” Suddenly she smiled challengingly. “The premiere of my new movie is tomorrow night. Maybe you’d like to see what Klieg lights and press agents can do. Would you like to escort me?”

  “I don’t like wearing black tie to movies. I enjoy seeing my movies when I eat popcorn. How about the next night?”

  She looked at him evenly. “I’m talking about tomorrow night. I never plan too far ahead.”

  Their eyes held for a moment. Then he flashed the familiar grin.

  “Okay, baby, for you I’ll give up the popcorn. What time shall I pick you up and where?”

  “Eight o’clock at the Plaza. The movie starts at eight thirty, but there is television coverage first. Unfortunately I have to be there.”

  “No sweat. I’ll be there at eight.”

  The press agent reappeared and escorted her to the door. Robin watched her leave, then he made his way across the room to Diana Williams.

  At five to eight she began to get nervous. It was ridiculous to worry, she told herself. Above all, Robin was a gentleman. He wouldn’t stand her up—and besides he wasn’t supposed to arrive until eight. At three minutes to eight she wondered if she should put in a call to Sid Goff and have him stand by.

  The phone rang sharply at eight. Robin was in the lobby. She took one last glance at herself in the mirror. He would probably loathe the way she looked: the white beaded dress (borrowed from the studio), the white mink coat (on loan to the studio from a Hollywood furrier), and the long black hair, lengthened by a “fall” (courtesy of the studio hairdresser who had arrived at her suite to recreate a hair style she wore in the film). It was crazy, she decided as she rode down the elevator. She had tons of hair—why did it have to hang down the middle of her back? And the large diamond-and-emerald earrings (also on loan and heavily insured) made her feel topheavy.

  Robin smiled when she stepped out of the elevator. Oddly enough the slight nod that accompanied his smile seemed filled with approval. They didn’t speak until they got through the autograph fans in front of the Plaza who braved the cold and snapped her picture and demanded autographs. When they were finally settled in the limousine, she leaned back, then sat forward quickly. “Good God, I’ll lose my hair.”

  He laughed with her. “I thought it had grown since yesterday.”

  “Is it too much?” she asked hesitantly.

  “It’s marvelous,” he said. “Look—regard the entire thing as a costume ball. That’s what it is really. You’re playing a movie star—give ‘em their money’s worth. If you’re going to do it, go all the way.”

  The crush at the theater was frightening. Their limousine had to stand in line for fifteen minutes as bejeweled occupants of other cars alighted. When the mink-clad women who stepped out were unrecognized by the fans, there was a groan of disappointment. Maggie peered at them cautiously from the safety of the car. Wooden barricades and police forced back the crowd. Across the street a truck held a huge Klieg light. A red carpet was actually on the sidewalk. Newspaper cameramen were waiting anxiously, looking curiously disoriented in their tuxedos. As her car finally reached the entrance, the press swarmed forward. The crowd cheered and surged forward breaking through the police line. A few hands reached out to touch the white mink, voices yelled “Maggie, Maggie—” Sid Goff and another press agent surrounded her protectively. She looked for Robin. He had disappeared. She was frantic. She felt herself being swept toward the tall man who was handling the microphone. She was standing beside him. Bulbs were flashing. The television lights were being held by hand. The TV camera moved in. Oh God, where was Robin?

  And then somehow, Sid Goff was helping her off the stand and she was ushered into the lobby and Robin was waiting with that wonderful grin that said he understood just how it was. He held her arm and they braved the well-dressed audience who were all congregated in the lobby staring at one another. She made her way to her seat, which seemed to be a cue for the audience to follow and begin the frantic search for their seats as the lights went low and the music and credits began to roll.

  When the final scene came on, Sid Goff sneaked down the aisle and beckoned to them. In a half crawl they ducked out of their seats and rushed up the aisle. They reached their car just as the doors of the theater opened and disgorged the glittering audience.

  Robin took her hand. “I think you handled it beautifully. And you were excellent in the picture. Now tell me—is there more to this awful night, or are you free?”

  “There’s a champagne supper at the Americana Hotel.”

  “Naturally.”

  Then they both laughed. Suddenly the idea of sitting in the brightly lit ballroom at a table with Karl Heinz and the leading man and his wife and posing for more pictures seemed unbearable.

  “I’m not going,” she said suddenly.

  “Good girl. How about the Oak Room of your hotel?”

  “No, I have a better idea. These earrings have to go into the vault anyhow, and if I don’t take off some of this hair, I’m going to have a blinding headache. Suppose I change into slacks and we go to P.J.’s?”

  “You are the most brilliant girl in the world. But you can’t be the only one who gets out of these trappings. Tell you what—I’ll drop you and leave the car. When you are ready, you can come and pick me up.”

  Twenty minutes later she was back in the car, bundled in slacks and a white lamb sport coat. She wore dark glasses and smoked nervously as they drove to his apartment building on the East River. He was waiting outside, and he walked briskly to the car. He was wearing a white sweater and gray pants and no overcoat. As he slid in beside her, he said, “Even P.J.’s isn’t private enough. How about the Lancer Bar?”

  She nodded and the driver headed toward Fifty-fourth Street. The place was empty except for a young couple who sat in the back booth drinking beer and holding hands. Robin ordered a Scotch for her, a martini for himself, and two large steaks.

  Then he led her to a secluded table. He raised his glass: “This picture will do you a lot of good, Maggie.”

  “But did you think I was good?”

  “Let’s put it this way—you’ll convince the critics that you can act.”

  “That means you don’t think I can?”

  “Does it matter?”

  She smiled. “I’m curious.”

  He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Baby, you can’t act your way out of a barrel. But it doesn’t matter—you photograph like a goddess. You’ll have a big future.”

  “Don’t you believe there is any such thing as star quality? That’s all I hear out there.”

  “Yes, but she’s got to be a genius or a nut.”

  “Maybe I still qualify.”
>
  He laughed. “I don’t mean IQ genius—I mean emotional genius. Maybe there’s a thin line between genius and madness, and thank God you don’t fit into either category. Diana Williams is a genius and a nut. And a poor lost soul. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever met a happy adjusted genius.” He reached across the table and took her hands. “Thank God you’re just a beautiful lady who through some crazy fluke has fallen into an incredible bit of luck. But you’re not a nut—you’re everything a man thinks of when he dreams of the ideal girl.”

  She held her breath and waited for the disclaimer, the veiled insult that would knock her down. But their eyes met and he did not smile.

  It was one o’clock when they left the Lancer Bar. “Do you have many appointments for tomorrow?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I’m on my own from here on in.”

  His pleasure was real. “How long can you stay in town?”

  “Until the fourteenth of January, if I wish.”

  The car had pulled up to the Plaza. He looked at her earnestly. “I wish it. Can we have dinner together tomorrow?”

  “I’d love it, Robin.”

  He kissed her gently and led her to the elevator. “I’ll call you before noon. Sleep well.” And then the elevator door closed and he was gone.

  She heard the phone ring at eleven. She let it ring a few times. It had to be Robin and she wanted to be fully awake. When she answered it, the even tones of the desk clerk asked her at what time she expected to check out.

  “I’m not checking out,” she said angrily. “I’m staying on for at least two weeks.” Then she hung up and punched the pillow into place. She would go back to sleep—she didn’t want to wake up until Robin called. But the phone jangled again. This time it was the assistant manager.

  The smooth voice was apologetic. “Miss Stewart, your reservation ends today. We were told that you would notify us if you intended staying on. Unfortunately the hotel is one hundred percent booked. Had you told us—”

  She was wide-awake now. Good Lord, she had forgotten. Well, she’d find another hotel. The assistant manager was eager to be helpful. He would personally try to relocate her. Fifteen minutes later he called back. “Miss Stewart, the situation is very tight. The Regency, Pierre, St. Regis, Navarro, Hampshire House—all of them are booked solid, not even a double room is available, let alone a suite. I haven’t tried the commercial hotels, I didn’t know how you would feel.”

  “Thank you very much. I’ll see if Century can do something.” She put in a call to Sid Goff. When she told him the situation, he seemed totally defeated. “Maggie, I warned you to let them know. Let me get on the phone and see what I can do.”

  She was packing when Robin called. She explained her predicament. “I’ll probably wind up in Brooklyn, the way things look. Sid Goff hasn’t called back yet, and if he can’t come up with something, no one can.”

  “Tell Sid Goff to forget it,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Twenty minutes later he called from the lobby and told her to send down her bags.

  The limousine was waiting. When they were settled in the car he gave the driver his home address. She looked at him curiously.

  “It isn’t the Regency,” he said. “But a maid does come in every day and it’s comfortable enough—even for a star like you. I’ll stay at the club.”

  “Robin, I can’t do this to you.”

  “You haven’t. I’ve done it.”

  She liked the apartment. Unconsciously her eyes drifted toward the king-sized bed and she wondered how many occupants it had known. He handed her a key. “Feel free to come and go as you choose. I’ll come by to take you to dinner.” He pointed to the bar. “All I ask in lieu of rental is your services as a bartender. If you want to be my girl you’ve got to learn to make a vodka martini. Three ounces vodka, a drop of vermouth, and no lemon peel. I like olives.”

  She started obediently toward the bar. “Maggie!” He laughed. “It’s just past noon. I’m talking about this evening.”

  She had the martinis ready at seven. She had also bought two steaks and some frozen asparagus. After dinner they watched television and he held her hand as they snuggled on the couch. When the eleven o’clock news came on, he went to the kitchen and brought back two cans of beer. Then he said, “This is your place. Tell me when you want me to leave.”

  “Whenever you want to go,” she said.

  He pulled her to him. “I don’t want to go—”

  He took her in his arms and kissed her. All right now, she told herself: tell him you don’t feel in the mood and he doesn’t rouse you! But she clung to him and returned his kiss and when they went to the king-sized bed they came together eagerly. But this time his tenderness was not caused by the vodka, and when the moment came and his body went tense he didn’t shout Mother—and she didn’t throw the pitcher of cold water on him.

  The next five days with Robin were unbelievable. They went out to dinner each night. Sometimes they bundled up and took a long walk and once they went to a double feature at a local movie, but each night they made love and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

  She thought about it now as she watched him sleep. She slid out of bed, put the coffee on and stared out at the grayness of the East River. She had never been this happy and she had fourteen more days. But why only fourteen days—why not forever? Robin was in love with her, there was no doubt about it. They had never discussed that terrible morning in Miami; somehow she sensed it was a closed subject. But what they were having now was no one-night stand. He was comfortable with her, he enjoyed being with her—maybe it was up to her to make the first move. Of course it was! How could he ask her to give up her career? She’d have to make him understand that for the first time in her life she was happy.

  “It is a terrible-looking river on a gray morning.” He had come into the kitchen and was standing behind her. He leaned down and kissed her neck. “Come to think of it, it’s a lousy-looking river even on a beautiful day. The sun seems to point out its failings. Those awful little islands, and the tugboats.”

  She turned around and hugged him. “It’s a beautiful river. Robin, I want to marry you.”

  He held her off and smiled. “I must say this is an auspicious way to start a new year.”

  “It would work, Robin, really it would.”

  “Perhaps. But not right now—”

  “If you’re thinking about my career, I’ve thought it all out.” He smiled and reached for the coffee. “I’ll make eggs,” she said quickly, “and there’s orange juice.”

  “Stop making noises like a wife,” he said easily. Then he took his coffee cup and disappeared into the bedroom. She didn’t follow him. She sat at the small table and stared at the river and sipped her coffee. Well, he hadn’t said no—but he certainly was far from enthused at the idea.

  Ten minutes later he came into the kitchen. She looked up in surprise. He was wearing a turtleneck sweater and had his overcoat on his arm. “I’ll be back in an hour, I have some work to do.” He leaned over and kissed her head.

  “On New Year’s Day!”

  “There’s a tape at the office I have to edit. I work better when I’m alone, especially when the whole building is empty—it gives me a sense of privacy. And, Maggie, I hate to impose on you, but do you think you could face an eggnog party at five?”

  “An eggnog party?”

  “Mrs. Austin’s New Year’s Day party—I’ve blown it three times in a row. At least I remembered to send a wire last year. But I’ve got to make an appearance this time.”

  “Oh, Robin, I sent back most of the fancy wardrobe. It was all borrowed finery and I’ve been living in a beach house—all I own is slacks and a few black dresses. What is in that closet is it!”

  “I like a girl who travels light. The black dress will be fine.”

  “But it’s a wool dress—”

  “Maggie”—he came to her and stroked her face—“you’d pass anywhere in anythin
g. Now, go do the dishes and help earn your keep.”

  Then he left the apartment.

  It was cold but he walked. Archie Gold hadn’t wanted to come out, but Robin had been insistent. He was sure Maggie hadn’t heard him on the phone, the kitchen was at the other end of the apartment and he had kept his voice low.

  He reached the office just as Archie arrived. “Robin, I don’t come out like this for my regular patients. You walked out on me a year and a half ago, and now you suddenly call and tell me an emergency has come up.”

  Robin eased into a chair. “I need your advice. Maggie Stewart is in town. We made it together. It was great—she’s living with me.

  Archie lit his pipe. “Then there is no problem.”

  “The hell there isn’t! She wants to get married.”

  “Most girls do.”

  “It wouldn’t work. Look, there’s more to marriage than shacking up with a girl. That is, for a girl like Maggie. In the past five days she’s told me everything about her life—her first marriage, her past relationship with Parino, the guy in California, and the beach house. She’s leveled all the way.”

  “And what have you done?”

  “I’ve listened, chum. And I’m not about to talk. Let’s see, how would I start? Oh by the way—my name isn’t really Robin Stone.”

  “It is legally your name.”

  “Sure—but somewhere inside of me there’s a little bastard named Conrad. That’s me, too. And Maggie wants kids … the whole works,” Suddenly Robin slammed his fist on the desk. “Dammit, Archie! I was going great until I met you—I enjoyed sex, I operated just fine!”

  “You operated as a machine. Now Conrad is fighting to merge with Robin. The man that kept Conrad locked away wasn’t alive—he felt nothing. You admitted that yourself. And now for the first time you’re at odds with yourself. But it’s a healthy sign: You’re feeling emotions, conflict, worry. And that’s normal.”

  “I liked it better the other way. I told you when I walked out of here last time that I’d make the name Robin Stone count for something. And I will. But I don’t need Conrad! I want to forget about him.”