The Love Machine

by Jacqueline Susann

  The woman smiled as she led Judith into another booth to await her hair set. As Judith thumbed through a back issue of Harper’s, the woman whispered to the young man outside the booth, “You’ll get a big tip from this one, Dickie—it’s Mrs. Gregory Austin under a phony name with a brand-new set of scars. Take it easy with the clips.”

  Judith smoked nervously as the slim young man coiled her hair into the large rollers. She caught him looking at her ears. “I had mastoids last year,” she said casually.

  He nodded. “My roommate had them too.” His voice was sympathetic.

  She relaxed under the drier. She would go to the booth after Dickie combed her out, and put on fresh makeup. She was wearing that wonderful underwear she had picked up in Paris. Thank God the scars under her breasts didn’t show. The breast and thigh lift had really been painful, but it was all worth it. Tonight she’d strip off her clothes and stand before Robin. She was a match for any airline hostess now!

  She left the beauty parlor at five thirty. She didn’t want to walk and ruin her hair. She looked marvelous—Vidal had cut her hair so well that even Dickie had been able to follow the line. She had given him a ten-dollar tip. She hadn’t felt this exhilarated in years. She wanted to shout … to sing, but she merely went to a drugstore and had a cup of tea to kill the time. At five of six she took a cab to Robin’s.

  The doorman glanced at her casually, but she felt that her large sunglasses hid her identity. Of course he wouldn’t recognize her—she had been away so long.

  She felt short of breath from excitement and nerves as she buzzed Robin’s door. He opened it and beckoned her in and returned to the telephone. God, this was an anticlimactic greeting! He was talking to California—he sounded like Gregory with all those damn ratings. She looked around the room. She had only been here once, but during the past year she had relived every second they had shared together. Every word, every piece of furniture in his apartment, was etched in her mind. She felt slightly uncomfortable in the new underwear. The naked beige bra and the tiny lace pants scratched. But any annoyance would be worth it when she watched his face as she undressed. She planned to do it slowly, deliberately. She was wearing a suit—Valentino had outdone himself on this one: the silk blouse buttoned down the front, nothing had to go over the head, and she had those marvelous individual false eyelashes—no worry about the stripped ones coming off.

  Robin hung up, came and grasped her hands in welcome. He tried to smile but there were two lines between his eyes.

  “Trouble?” she asked.

  “Roddy Collins.”

  “Who is he?” she asked.

  This time he really smiled. “Not only have you been away, but it’s a cinch you haven’t watched the box since you got back.”

  “No. And neither has Gregory, thanks to you.”

  He sat down and offered her a cigarette. The lines returned to his eyes. “Our new star, Roddy Collins—his series has zoomed to the top ten. It’s a Western. He plays the fastest gun alive for law and order. A beautiful guy, six foot six and all brawn. I’ve just learned he’s a flaming faggot.”

  She shrugged. She wanted Robin to take her into his arms. He was pacing the room and had scarcely looked at her. His mind was still on the phone call. “Isn’t a star’s private life supposed to be his own?” she asked.

  “Sure, if he’d keep it private, I don’t care who he goes to bed with. But it seems sleeping with a boy is not his bag. He likes to dress like a woman and go out cruising to pick up a guy. Do you get the picture—six foot six, the newest all-American sensation, sponsored by a family-type product, walking into a bar in drag trying to pick up a guy?”

  She started to laugh.

  “It’s not funny, Judith. It seems a guy five foot eight took a poke at him and the cops arrived. Our lawyers rushed in. We got three people to swear he did it on a bet, and that they were following him. We covered it this time, but we can’t keep a guard on him every second.”

  “Robin, I’ve been away from all this for so long. I know I’ve got to start living with it again soon. But not now, not our first time together?”

  He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Of course—would you like a drink?”

  “Yes.” God, anything to break the ice.

  He mixed two Scotches. “Gregory looks good,” he said as he handed her the drink. “I’m very pleased that he wants me to keep running things, but you’ve got to make him take some interest.”

  “Doesn’t he?”

  “No. He called a meeting today and told everyone how proud he was of me. Tomorrow he’s playing golf. And the following day he’s going to look at some new horses.”

  She shrugged. “It’s your network now, Robin.”

  “Yes, it is,” he said quietly.

  “Then let Gregory play with his horses and golf clubs.”

  “Judith, I thought he’d come back and try and take over completely. I was prepared to fight him on that—thirty percent of the programming consists of shows I’ve personally brought in. But he has no interest at all, and that’s not healthy. I like Gregory. I want to work with him hand in hand, toss ideas around, make him argue with me when he thinks I’m wrong. It will make for better programming. Besides, the word is around that it’s my network—and I don’t want him to be upset.”

  She put down her drink and stared at him intimately. “Let me take care of that. It’s my network too, you know.”

  “Judith, it’s easy for you to say that now, but wait until you get into the swim of things. I don’t give interviews. I’m not the most lovable guy in the world, according to the press. And unless Gregory is in there punching with me, he’s going to be the forgotten man. As long as he was away, it was okay, but if he comes back and doesn’t roll up his sleeves, then the papers will have a field day and it will really be my network. There’s one columnist in particular who hates my guts. I refused to let him be a panelist on one of our game shows—he’s a fat slob who is a hater. He’s been writing about me every day, calling me the Love Machine!”

  Her eyes narrowed. “How about living up to the title?”

  He swallowed his drink. “Give me a chance to get healthy. You’ve been swimming on the Riviera. I haven’t even had time to catch a weekend at the Hamptons.”

  “You look strong enough to me, Robin.”

  He walked over and pulled her to her feet. Her arms went around his neck. Suddenly there was the shrill interruption of the telephone. “Don’t answer it,” she said.

  “It’s the IBC line!” He removed her arms from his neck gently and walked over and took the call. “Hello. Yes. Oh, no kidding, Dip. Did Dan see it? No, I’ve never heard of Preston Slavitt. Oh yes, he’s that off-Broadway writer who looks like he never takes a bath. Well, his talent is in his ass… . Really great, huh? Well, how long have you got the viewing room? … Okay, in twenty minutes.” He hung up.

  “You don’t have to go somewhere?” She couldn’t believe it.

  “Dip Nelson latched on to a pilot that just might be great.” He picked up his glass and drained his drink. “Dip claims he can get me first crack at it tonight. The other networks are viewing it tomorrow.”

  She looked surprised. “Who is Dip Nelson?”

  “It’s a long story, baby. He’s an ex-movie star turned producer. We bought a series from him and Dan Miller.” He held out his hand to help her up from the couch. “Look, Judith, you better go down first. I’ll follow in a few minutes.”

  “When will I see you?”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow, around eleven.” Then he kissed her lightly and walked her to the door but she felt his thoughts were already at the viewing room. She went down in the elevator, took a cab, and got home in time to find Gregory mixing a martini. He looked at her with genuine pleasure. “I’m so glad you’re back early. I found your message and was afraid I’d have to eat alone. God, you look beautiful.”

  She took the martini and sipped it absently. And suddenly it occurred to her th
at Robin Stone hadn’t even commented on the change in her looks.

  When he hadn’t called by one, she was furious. He probably had a lunch date so that meant he probably wouldn’t call till three. But he had said he’d call at eleven! Well, he could have gotten jammed up. She stalked around her bedroom. She was all made up, but still in her negligee. She had hoped he might invite her to lunch, a long quiet lunch where they could talk and catch up on the past. Now it would have to be cocktails. She could manage to stay with him until nine. Leave word for Gregory that something had come up regarding the Orphans’ Ball.

  She stretched across the bed and began playing solitaire—she told herself that if five cards came up, he would call at four, just to talk. If ten came out, he would call at three, just to talk. Fifteen, he would ask her for a drink. Twenty, he would ask her for the evening. And if the game came out he would tell her that he was really mad about her and the whole thing would be as she dreamed.

  Eight cards came out. She tried again. Fifteen this time—no, that wasn’t fair. This time she’d do it and take the results seriously. No cards came out. Good Lord, did that mean he wasn’t going to call?

  At five o’clock she was desperate. She put in a call to him on his private wire. There was no answer. That meant he wasn’t at his desk. When Gregory came home at six she was still in her negligee. “Are we going somewhere?” he asked as he noticed her perfect makeup.

  “I wish we were,” she said.

  He smiled faintly. “We’ve been away a long time. People don’t know we’re home yet.”

  “You’re right. I guess I’d better start phoning around.”

  He sighed. “I like it like this. We can have a quiet dinner and watch TV.”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing for a year and a half?” she asked quietly.

  He looked contrite. “All right, why don’t you put on something nice and we’ll go to the Colony.”

  “Alone?”

  “Together,” he said.

  “How will that look?” she demanded.

  “Like we’re having dinner at the Colony.”

  “Also like we haven’t a friend in the world.”

  “Maybe we haven’t, Judith. Most people don’t, you know.”

  “That’s nonsense, we’ve always been invited everywhere.”

  “Invitations,” he said wearily. “Invitations to openings, to parties after the theater. Returning the parties—I guess we’ve been out of circulation.”

  “Let’s get back,” she insisted.

  He shrugged. “All right, you start things going—that’s always been your end.”

  She thought about it that night as she lay in bed. How did one get things going again? She had no real close women friends, just women she knew well enough to lunch with, discuss clothes and charities and listen to their troubles. Judith had never made a confidante of anyone and she had never been out of circulation before. Invitations for dinner parties, openings, art shows, charity balls—they had always kept pouring in. Suddenly she realized that their entire social life had centered around Gregory’s work. When a Broadway show opened, there were opening-night seats from the producer, because the producer or director hoped to work for Gregory or get one of his stars on an IBC show. When stars came to town they called Gregory and invited them out. The phone hadn’t rung since she had returned. But it was her own fault. She had done nothing but center her thoughts and plans on Robin. Well, she’d start things going tomorrow. Perhaps she’d give a small dinner party. She’d call Dolores and John Tyron. They were always “in” on everything.

  Dolores was delighted to hear from her. “Oh, Judith angel, how divine that you’re back. Are you going to the party for Joan Sutherland next week?”

  “Well, to tell the truth, Dolores, I haven’t made any dates, you’re the first person I’ve called. I’m barely unpacked.”

  “You must be exhausted, all those parties in Europe. I’m dying to hear about it. Did you see Grace when you were in the south of France? I heard she gave a marvelous gala.”

  “We were in Capri then.”

  “Oh, then you were at the Korda ball? Was it divine?”

  “I’ll tell you all the things we did when I see you. But I’m more interested in you and all the friends I haven’t seen in so long.”

  “Well, you must really have had a tremendous time to stay away this long! And isn’t Gregory lucky having that marvy man running things for him? Tell me, Judith, I hear such wild things about him—are they true?”

  “What do you hear?”

  “Everything, darling—orgies, and also that he’s AC-DC. He’s always with that handsome ex-movie star, Pauli Nelson’s husband.”

  “Who is Pauli Nelson?”

  “Darling, you have been away. She was the biggest sensation on Broadway last year. But Robin Stone sounds so wicked. I’d just adore to meet him.”

  “Well, I’m planning a small dinner party and I’ll invite him along. How about one night this week?”

  “Darling, we’re dead until a week from next Thursday. But get Robin Stone and arrange your little dinner—say in two weeks. Call me back and give me the date and I’ll put it right down in my little book. Oh, angel, my other phone is ringing, and Freddy has just come to comb my hair and—good Lord, look at the time, I’m due at La Grenouille in an hour.”

  Judith made several calls. Everyone was delighted she was back, but each woman was booked and chatted endlessly about the excitement of the new season, and everyone naturally assumed she and Gregory had been invited everywhere. Well, a small dinner party at the Colony wasn’t going to work. The solution was a large black-tie party in her home.

  She decided on October first. She called Dolores back. Dolores was flying out of the door, but of course she’d look at her appointment book. “Angel—not October first! That’s the opening of the New Regal Club. You’ve joined of course? Well, look through your mail—it’s a closed membership but I’m sure they’ve sent you an application. Why not make your party, let’s see, how about October eighth? That’s open for us—I’ll pencil it in lightly and you call back and confirm. I’ve got to dash, angel, but of course I’ll see you before then.”

  Judith tried Betsy Ecklund. October eighth! Wasn’t Judith going to the private showing and black-tie dinner at the Berner Gallery? The Duchess of Windsor was supposed to be coming in for it. Judith should check her mail—her invitation had to be there.

  She hung up and stared at the mail on her breakfast tray. Some assorted bills, an ad from Saks, a letter from her sister. It was unbelievable! She was out of everything. To have to check with Dolores and Betsy on their availability—! In the past, she had just picked a date and given the list to her secretary. When her invitations went out, everyone came. Now she had to make dates fit in with their social life. Could a year and a half change things so radically?

  It was twelve thirty. She had nothing to do. She dialed Robin’s number with new determination. He picked up on the third ring. She heard talking in the background—his office sounded as if several men were there. “Oh yes.” He made his voice impersonal. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, things have piled up. Can I get back to you, either late this afternoon or first thing tomorrow?”

  She replaced the receiver. Now what? She was all made up. She had to see him. Once he saw her, he’d respond. She had seen the look of admiration in his eyes when she came to his apartment—until that damn phone call!

  She’d run into him! Make it appear accidental! Yes, that was the thing to do. Today. Let’s see—he’d probably go to lunch at one and return around two. She’d manage just accidentally to pass the IBC Building at that hour and bump into him.

  She dressed carefully—no hat; the beige coat with the sable boa. She arrived at IBC at ten minutes to two. She went to a phone booth and called his office. When his secretary asked who was calling, Judith said, “Miss Weston of the Nielsen office.”

  “May I have him return your call, Miss Weston? He’s expected back
shortly.”

  “No, I’ll call back.” Judith clicked the phone. Good, that meant he was still out for lunch. There was a bookstore next to the IBC Building. She took her post there and pretended to be looking at the titles. She’d stand there until Robin returned and then as soon as she spotted him, she’d pretend to be walking by and accidentally bump into him. She waited ten minutes. How long could you stare at books? And it was windy—thank God she had her hair loaded with spray net. She wondered if the doorman noticed or recognized her. It was getting chilly, downright cold. She felt her eyes tearing. Some of the mascara began to run. There was a mirror near the doorway, and she saw that the mascara specks dotted the whites of her eyes. Half her bottom lashes had disappeared. That was the awful part of having once been a natural blond—your hair darkened with age, but your lashes never did. She got out her handkerchief. The mascara had caked in small lines under her eye. She tried to wipe it away.

  “Something in your eye?”

  She turned. It was Robin.

  In the daylight with his tanned face close to her own, she suddenly felt that the entire operation had been a farce. But she turned and managed a weak smile. “Just mascara and wind. I had a luncheon date and thought it was such a divine day I’d walk, so I dismissed my car. It suddenly seems to have turned into winter.”

  “Want me to hail a cab?”

  “Please.” She tried not to show her dismay.

  He led her to the curb and signaled a taxi. “Judith, I meant to call you, but I got so bogged down.”

  “I understand, but …”

  The cab arrived and she was furious—usually you could never find one, but this damn fool had driven up as if he was practicing for the Indianapolis 500. Robin opened the door. “I’ll call you, Judith.”

  As soon as she got to her bedroom, she flung herself on the bed, sobbing off all her brand-new false eyelashes.