Valley of the Dolls

by Jacqueline Susann

  The phone rang timidly, as if frightened to interrupt anyone at such an hour. She picked it up hopefully. Sometimes Tony stayed up till dawn, too. But it was the Cleveland operator. She sighed and accepted the reverse-charge call.

  “Jen . . .” It was her mother’s whining voice. “I’ve been trying to get you all night.”

  “I just got in, Mother. I thought it was too late to call you back.”

  “How could I sleep? I’m so upset. There was a big story about you in the Cleveland papers. Said you didn’t get a cent out of your annulment from the Prince.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Jen, are you crazy? You know John is going to be retired next year. And we’ll never be able to live on his pension. As it is, we can’t make ends meet.”

  “I sent you fifty dollars last week, Mother. And I’ll send fifty more as soon as I get my pay check this week.”

  “I know, but Gran’s been sick. I had to take her to the doctor, and then we had a bad leak with the oil burner, and—”

  “I’ll see if I can dig up some more, Mother.” She thought of Robby again. “But I only make a hundred and twenty-five in the show—less Social Security and income tax.”

  “Jen, I didn’t starve and do without to send you to school in Switzerland just so you’d wind up as a showgirl making that kind of money.”

  “You never starved, Mother. It was money Daddy left me. And you only sent me to Switzerland for that year to break me up with Harry.”

  “Because I was determined you weren’t going to wind up as poor little Jeannette Johnson, marrying a garage mechanic!”

  “Harry was not just a garage mechanic. He was studying to be an engineer and I loved him.”

  “Well, he’s still a mechanic, with black fingernails and three grimy kids. Harriet Irons was once one of the prettiest girls around; she’s your age but looks forty now, married to him.”

  “Mother, how can a girl twenty-five look forty?”

  “When a girl has no money and marries for love, she ages real fast. Love doesn’t last. Men only care about one thing. Remember your father!”

  “Mother, this is long distance,” Jennifer said wearily. “You didn’t call me just to complain about Daddy. Besides, John’s been a wonderful husband to you. I don’t even remember Daddy, but I’m sure he couldn’t have been as nice as John.”

  “He was a louse, your father. Rich, handsome and a louse. But I loved him. Our family never had money, but we had a name. Don’t forget—Gran is a Virginia Tremont. And I still think you should have taken Tremont as your stage name instead of that ridiculous North.”

  “Didn’t we agree that I was to take a strange name so no one could trace me? If I’m to pass as nineteen, I have to be Jennifer North. If I took Tremont, someone in Virginia would trace me. If I took Johnson, everyone in Cleveland would remember me.”

  “With your publicity, they all remembered you. The whole town’s been talking about you since you eloped. One paper sniped about your claiming to be only nineteen, but they were all so impressed with the Prince that it didn’t matter. And I felt it didn’t matter because you were safely married. Now you go and throw it all away without collecting a penny.”

  “Mother, why do you think I ran? Just before we were to go to Italy, I found out he had no money.”

  “What do you mean? I saw the pictures in the papers! The diamond necklace, the mink coat. . .”

  “The necklace belongs in his family. He bought me the mink, but I think he got it free for the publicity we gave the furrier. He had a whole floor at the Waldorf, but a wine company was footing the bill. He was like a good-will ambassador for them. His title is legitimate—very royal—but he hasn’t a dime. They lost everything when Mussolini took over. They have some horrible big castle outside of Naples. I could live there, scrounging among the international set, wearing the family jewels . . . living in genteel poverty. I was lucky I found out in time. He told me he was rich because he thought a beautiful American wife would be an asset over there. After we were married I learned the bitter facts. Then he started telling me of some rich Italian wine merchant I had to play up to—go all the way if the guy wanted me. Mother, he was a high-class pimp, when you get down to it. I was lucky to be able to keep the mink coat.”

  “Well, what about this Tony Polar?” her mother asked.

  “He’s real cute.”

  “Jen!”

  “Mother, he is cute . . . and I like him. And he also happens to have a lot of money. Besides, my lawyer thinks I may get a movie contract.”

  “Forget about pictures!”

  “Why? I might make it.”

  “It’s too late. You’re not nineteen. Look, you’re lucky—you have a gorgeous face and the kind of body men go for . . . though your kind of figure doesn’t last. What have you told this Tony Polar about your background?”

  “An airtight story, based on some truth. That my father was wealthy and was killed in a bombing in England, that he left everything to his second wife—”

  “That’s true . . . what else?”

  “That my father had left me a small inheritance, enough to see me through school in Switzerland. Since I’m supposed to be nineteen, I left out about staying in Europe for over five years.”

  “What did you tell him about me?”

  “I said you were dead.”

  “What?”

  “Mother, what should I tell him? That I have a mother and a stepfather and a grandmother living in Cleveland who can’t wait to move in with us?”

  “But if you marry him, how do you explain me?”

  “You’ll be my aunt—my mother’s dear sister whom I support.”

  “All right. Are you watching your weight?”

  “I’m very thin, Mother. . . .”

  “I know, but don’t gain and lose. That’s the worst thing for your breasts. Big breasts like yours are going to drop soon enough, and then they’ll be an eyesore. Make them pay while you have them. Men are animals—they seem to like them. Maybe I wouldn’t have lost your father if I hadn’t been flat-chested. Then I could have had a decent life. . . .” She started to sob. “Oh, Jen, I can’t take it any more. I want to leave and be with you, baby!”

  “Now Mother—you can’t leave John or Gran.”

  “Why can’t I? Let John stay with Gran. He and that piddling job of his. Where else could he go? He could never even afford to buy a house.”

  “Mother!” Jennifer clenched her teeth and held onto her patience. “Mother, please. Let me marry Tony first, then I’ll take care of you.”

  “Has he mentioned marriage?”

  “Not yet—”

  “What are you waiting for? Jen, in five years you’ll be thirty. I was twenty-nine when your father got tired of me. Jen, you haven’t got much time.”

  “It’s not that simple, Mother. He has a sister. She manages him, writes all his checks. Their mother died when Tony was born. She’s raised him and she loves him. And she hates me.”

  “Jen, you’ve got to be tough. Get rid of her. Take her place. You can’t let her move in with you if you marry him. It would ruin your life—and she’d never let me come. Baby, use your head. Be smart. If a woman has money, nothing can ever hurt her. I only want the best for you, baby . . .”

  The radiators began to crackle; the sun was sneaking in under the blinds. Jennifer was still awake. Her mother’s call had not particularly disturbed her. She was used to it. But she worried about not sleeping. The one way to hold your looks was plenty of rest. Even if you didn’t sleep, lying in bed and resting was almost as good. She had read that somewhere. She lit another cigarette. But what kind of rest was it if you paced around and smoked an entire pack of cigarettes during the night? She walked to the bathroom and put some more cream under her eyes. No lines yet, but how long could this go on? She hadn’t averaged more than three hours sleep a night since—since those last weeks in Spain. She sighed. Before that she had always been able to sleep. In fact, sleep used to be a
n escape. When problems became insurmountable, she would look forward to the night. Until those last weeks in Spain with Maria . . .

  Maria . . . Maria had been the most beautiful girl in school, and Jennifer, along with the other polyglot firsttermers, had idolized the glacial Spanish beauty. Maria was a senior, and she spoke to no one. And if she was aware of the hero worship she inspired in the other students, it failed to touch her; she made no friends. This hauteur only added to her glamour with the younger girls, and to the speculation and envy among her contemporaries. It looked as if Maria would graduate and leave Switzerland without allowing anyone to penetrate the imperial barrier. Until that day in the library. . .

  Jennifer was in tears, reading a letter from her mother. The money had run out; she was to return home at the end of the term. Had she made any valuable contacts? Cleveland was still feeling the depression, although the war in Europe was opening new factories. Harry had married Harriet Irons and still worked in a gas station. It was the part about Harry that had brought on the tears. . . .

  “Come, nothing can be that bad.”

  Jennifer looked up. It was Maria. The majestic Maria, talking to her! Maria sat down, Maria was sympathetic. She listened while Jennifer talked.

  “I don’t know what my mother expected,” Jennifer finished wearily. “Maybe she thought the English teacher would be a lord with a manor . . .”

  Maria laughed. “Parents . . .” Her English was stilted but excellent. “I am twenty-two. I will be expected to make a marriage with a man of my father’s choice. It will be a matter of his land adjoining ours, or other mutual family interests. Since our civil war our country is devastated. It is the duty of the few remaining families in power to unite. I agree with these decisions, but unfortunately, as a woman, I am expected to sleep with this pig . . .”

  “I was in love with Harry,” Jennifer said sadly. “But he didn’t suit my mother.”

  “How old are you, Jeannette?” Jennifer had been Jeannette then.

  “Nineteen.”

  “Have you ever had a man?”

  Jennifer blushed and stared at the floor. “No, but Harry and I. . . we went pretty far. I mean—I let him touch me . . . and once I touched his . . .”

  “I have gone to bed with a man,” Maria stated.

  “All the way?”

  “But of course. Last summer. I vacationed with an aunt in Sweden. I met a beautiful man. He had been in the Olympics. He was working as a swimming instructor. I knew the men my father was considering. It would be a fat German who escaped with all the art treasures, or one of the Carrillo family. None of the Carrillo boys have chins. So I decided to at least try it for the first time with a beautiful man.”

  “I wish I had done it with Harry. Now he’s married to another girl.”

  “Be glad you didn’t! It was awful! The man . . . he mouths your breasts . . . he pushes into you. It hurts. Then he perspires and breathes heavily like an animal. I bled—and I got pregnant.”

  Jennifer couldn’t believe this was happening. Maria, the unapproachable school goddess, confiding in her!

  “Oren!” Maria spat out the name. “He took care of things. A doctor . . . more pain . . . and good-by pregnancy. Then I got the fever and was very sick. I was taken to the hospital . . . the operation . . . I can never have children.”

  “Oh, Maria, I’m so sorry.”

  Maria smiled slyly. “No, it is good! I will let my father make all the arrangements he wishes. Then I will tell the man. No man wants to marry a woman who cannot have children. I will never have to marry,” she said triumphantly.

  “But what will your father say?”

  “Oh, my aunt has taken care of the answer. She had to learn the truth. But I was her responsibility, so she must stand behind me. I shall say I was ill, that I had a tumor in my uterus and it had to be removed.”

  “Was it?”

  Maria nodded. “Yes, my uterus was removed—peritonitis had set in. But it is wonderful. I am no longer bothered with the monthly period.”

  Jennifer wanted to say she was sorry, but she couldn’t offer sympathy to a girl who regarded the incident as a stroke of marvelous luck. “Well, at least you’ve got everything settled,” she said. “But I still have to return to Cleveland.”

  “You do not have to return,” Maria said emphatically. “You are too beautiful to spend your life waiting to be mauled by the first available man.”

  “But what can I do?”

  “In two weeks the term is ended. You come back to Spain with me for the summer. We will think of something.”

  “Maria!” It was too wonderful. “But I have no money—just a return ticket home.”

  “You will be my guest—I have more money than I can use.”

  The last two weeks in school had been a personal triumph for Jennifer. The news raced through school—Little Jeannette Johnson had been befriended by Maria. The girls stared in envy. Maria continued to keep her imperial distance, even with Jennifer, except to stop and chat briefly whenever they passed in the hall.

  The moment they left school, Maria’s attitude changed. She became warm and friendly. It began when they took the cab to Lausanne. “We can’t leave for Spain right away. My father’s cable . . .” She handed it to Jennifer. It advised Maria to spend the summer in Switzerland. Spain was still feeling the devastation of the war. With one million dead and several hundred thousand injured, it was impossible to staff the house at present, so they had closed it and were staying at a hotel. But things would soon return to normal. Meanwhile she was to enjoy herself abroad. He had cabled the number of a Swiss bank account.

  “We have plenty of money,” Maria said. “Enough to travel around the world and back. But the war is on in Europe, so France is out. So are Germany and England.”

  “Let’s go to America,” Jennifer suggested. “We could go to New York. I’ve never been to New York.”

  “How? I am not a citizen. Travel is impossible with Europe at war. You might make it on a Red Cross boat—as an American citizen you would have priority—but there would still be the mines and submarines. Anyway, I have no desire to go to New York. We shall stay here for the summer. Hitler will win any day and the whole thing will be over.”

  They were to remain in Switzerland three years.

  They became lovers the first night. Although Jennifer had been startled at the proposal, she felt no revulsion; in fact, she was even a little curious. Maria was still the exalted school-girl heroine. And Maria’s logical explanation removed any taint of abnormality. “We like one another. I want to make you know about sex, to feel thrilling climaxes—not let you learn about it by being mauled by some brutal man. We are doing nothing wrong. We are not Lesbians like those awful freaks who cut their hair and wear mannish clothes. We are two women who adore one another and who know about being gentle and affectionate.”

  That night Maria undressed and stood before Jennifer proudly. She had a lovely body, but Jennifer felt a secret delight in the knowledge that her own was superior. She dropped her clothes to the floor shyly. She heard Maria’s startled gasp as she exposed her breasts.

  “You are more lovely than I dreamed,” Maria said softly. Her hands stroked Jennifer’s breasts lightly and endearingly. She leaned over and rested her cheek against them. “You see, I love your beauty and respect it. A man would be tearing into it now.” She ran her fingers gently over Jennifer’s body. To her amazement, Jennifer began to feel a sensation of excitement . . . her body began to vibrate. . . .

  “Come.” Maria took her hand. “Let us lie down. We will have a cigarette.”

  “No, Maria. Keep touching me,” Jennifer pleaded.

  “Later, I will touch you and hold you to your heart’s content. But I want you to feel comfortable with me. I will be gentle. . . .”

  Maria had been gentle, and very patient—taking more liberties each night, slowly teaching Jennifer to respond, erasing any embarrassment. “You cannot just be loved, you must love back,” Maria wou
ld insist. “Make me thrill as I thrill you.” Each night Maria urged her on, until at last Jennifer found herself responding with equal ardor and reaching peaks of exaltation she never dreamed existed.

  She enjoyed a dual relationship with Maria. At night she was eager for Maria, demanding and ecstatic. But during the day she regarded Maria as a friend. She felt no other personal attachment. When they shopped together or explored strange little towns, Maria was just another girl. She felt no involvement. Often they met attractive men—ski instructors, students—and Jennifer found these encounters quite difficult. Maria remained aloof to their advances, but Jennifer found some of the young men quite appealing. Many times as they danced, she felt her body thrilling to the touch of the strong masculine one that held her close. When a boy whispered an endearment, she found herself longing to respond.

  Once she had slipped out for a brief walk with a particularly handsome Panamanian boy. He was a medical student, and he was going to New York after the war for further studies. He wanted her. They kissed, and she found herself clinging to him, responding to his kisses with equal passion. It was wonderful to hold the strong shoulders of a man, to feel a man’s chest against her own . . . the strength of a man’s hand after Maria’s soft, tender one . . . the firmness of a man’s lips. She wanted this boy desperately, but she tore away from him and returned to the café. Maria had noticed her absence; there was a slight scene that night when they were alone. Jennifer swore it had been a headache, that she had just wanted some air. At last, in bed, Maria relented. . . .

  But most of the time it was wonderful. Maria was wildly extravagant. She bought Jennifer beautiful clothes. Jennifer learned to ski. Her French grew fluent and effortless. When they grew bored with Lausanne they moved to Geneva.

  After three years in Switzerland Maria’s father wanted her to return, but she refused. Then, in 1944, he stopped her checks. She had no choice.