“What about you?” Jennifer asked. “Will you go insane?”
Miriam shook her head. “We had different fathers. Tony doesn’t know that either. Please, Jennifer—for your own sake—get rid of the baby.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
“I have the medical reports with me.” She fumbled in her bag and took out a bulky envelope. “I didn’t figure you’d believe me. Why should you? I never been especially nice to you.” She handed over the envelope. “Take these to any neurologist. But do me one favor, Jennifer. Please don’t blab this around town. It would finish Tony’s career. And that would finish Tony. I know he’ll probably wind up in a mental institution some day, but if this got out it would send him there now. That’s why I save. You thought I was cheap, but I’m building an annuity for him. I stash every cent I can into it. I don’t want him landing in some terrible charity place after I’m gone. I want him to have enough to keep him at a fancy joint for the rest of his days. But meanwhile, maybe he’s got fifteen good years—I hope, anyway . . .”
Jennifer handed back the envelope. “I believe you, Miriam. No one could invent such a terrible story.”
Miriam had tears in her eyes. “Jennifer . . . I really wish you well. You’re welcome to come back to Tony, but you deserve a better life. And please keep it a secret, for him. You’ll find someone else. Please be kind to Tony. Get rid of his baby and forget him.”
Jennifer sat and stared into space for several hours after Miriam had gone. Then she took three red pills and went to sleep.
She never gave Anne or Henry any reason for her sudden decision. She found the doctor by herself, a nice, antiseptic-looking man in New Jersey. There was a clean operating table and an efficient nurse. It cost a thousand dollars. The nurse jabbed her arm with the needle—sodium pentothal, it was called, and it was a greater sensation than even Seconals. When she woke, it was over. Two weeks later it was as if it had never happened. Her waistline returned to normal and she flew to Mexico for the divorce. On her return she entered into the excitement of the new fall openings and went on a shopping spree for new clothes. Dresses were getting longer and everyone was fascinated with an eight-inch screen called television. You couldn’t see much except wrestling matches, ball games and roller derbies on it, but everyone went around saying it would kill radio.
Jennifer registered with the Longworth Agency again and began modeling. Soon Anne’s closets were bulging once more with Jennifer’s discards. The phone was always ringing and Jennifer was firmly entrenched in her new social life, dragging Anne along.
Jennifer saw several men, but she favored Claude Chardot. He was a French film producer—Gallic, charming and amorous. Anne didn’t like him, but Jennifer plunged into a violent romance. There were three-hour luncheons, finger kissing, dancing at the St. Regis. He spoke little English, and Anne was amazed at Jennifer’s fluent French.
On Christmas Eve, Jennifer and Anne trimmed a small tree. Claude and a few of his friends were coming by.
“He leaves in ten days,” Jennifer said wistfully.
“Do you really care for him? I mean really?” Anne asked.
Jennifer wrinkled her nose. “Well . . . he’s different. What do you think of him? Now be honest.”
“I can’t say. Half the time I don’t understand him, and the other half you two are jabbering away in French while I sit trying to understand his buddy’s broken English. But I did manage to decipher from his pal François that your Claude has a wife stashed away.”
“Naturally. Probably a mistress, too,” Jennifer said easily. “Whenever I get stuck on a man you can be sure he’s some kind of a louse. He wants me to come to Paris.”
“You’re not thinking of going!”
Jennifer shrugged. “He wants to star me in pictures over there. Says I’d be a smash, looking so American and speaking French.”
“But you’ve always said you couldn’t act.”
“He wants me to do sex pictures. Artistic—but seminude.”
”What?”
“It’s accepted over there, Anne. A lot of the big stars do it. It means nothing. Oh, I don’t mean dirty pictures—I mean movies with a real plot. Only when you take a bath in a scene, they photograph it.”
“But why should you?”
“Why shouldn’t I? What have I got going for me here? I was last season’s sensation. Soon I’ll be twenty-eight, and I have two bad marriages behind me. I won’t meet any real guy here. I’ve got a reputation now. Married to a prince and then to a movie star—men feel I’m too rich for their blood. Maybe Paris is the answer. I know Claude is a phony. He’s been giving me this whole romance buildup just to get me to sign with him. He expects to make money with me. But so what? What have I got to lose?”
“But you’ve only been in New York such a short time—why not give it a chance?”
“I’m too well known. Nothing new is going to happen to me. Oh, I could get into another show, but it wouldn’t be a good part. And then what? I’m not that great as a model. I have enough money from my alimony, but I’m sick of Morocco and the Stork and the same stale faces. What about you? Are you still carrying on the love affair of the ages with New York?”
Anne shook her head. “No, it kind of fell flat after Lyon left. I read in the Times that his book comes out next month. He’s probably working on his next one.”
“Have you gone to bed with anyone since?”
“No. I couldn’t. I know it’s foolish, but I still love Lyon.”
Anne
January, 1948
There was a three-hour luncheon at “21” on the day of Claude’s departure. When Anne arrived the party was well on its way. There was a large tin of Iranian caviar and the inevitable iced bucket of champagne. Jennifer, looking radiant, played hostess to Claude, his friend François and another man Anne had never met.
“I’m Kevin Gillmore,” the stranger said.
Jennifer grinned. “Now, Anne, you must have heard of Kevin Gillmore. He owns Gillian Cosmetics.”
“Of course. Your products are excellent.” She helped herself to some caviar.
“Are you going to Paris too?” he asked.
“No, it’s Jennifer who’s going to be the new French sensation.”
“She will take the town by storm,” Claude said in his thick accent. “But please, Anne . . . I depend on you to see she get on the boat. She must be there by the end of the month.”
Jennifer laughed merrily and snuggled close to Claude. “I’ll be there, as soon as I get my passport and tidy up a few things.”
“Isn’t it exciting?” Anne said to Kevin, trying to hide her lack of enthusiasm.
“I suppose so. Are those your teeth?”
“What?”
“Yours? Or caps?”
Anne smiled. His directness was disarming. “They’re my own. Why?”
“And your hair?”
She felt the color come to her face. “It’s natural,” she said quietly.
“I know that. I know enough about coloring to realize that. But is it all yours?” He tugged gently at her long hair. “I mean, are you wearing a fall?”
“A what?”
“A fall. A false piece under to give it that thickness.”
“Why should I?”
He smiled suddenly. It was a smile completely out of context with his bold questions. A humble smile. “Because most girls need one to get that kind of look.” He shook his head sadly. “That’s the big trouble in finding the right girl—either they have good hair and lousy teeth or good hair and teeth and a bad nose. I suppose you’re pretty well booked. I mean, you wouldn’t consider working for us on an exclusive basis?”
“As what?” Anne looked toward Jennifer for assistance, but she was busy whispering some French endearment to Claude.
“Well, you see, with television coming in, I figure radio will be finished in another year—as far as the big shows are concerned. I want a ‘Gillian Girl.’ I want to feature that g
irl in all my ads—hair, nail polish, lipstick, the works. I’ve seen several girls I like—” He reeled off the names of five of the top models. “But they make too much money to work for me exclusively. I don’t want the Gillian Girl posing for Ted Casablanca’s clothes in Vogue or for Chanel’s perfume in Harper’s. I want her to be identified with Gillian products only. And all I can pay to start with is three hundred a week.”
Anne sipped at her champagne. She didn’t know what to say.
He took her silence for refusal. “I’d give you a year’s contract, with an option for five hundred the second six months. And extra money if we use you when we go on television.”
Jennifer suddenly came to life. “Did I hear mon-ee?” she asked.
“I’m telling your friend I’d like to make her the Gillian Girl.”
Jennifer’s eyes widened. “But of course! Anne would be perfect.”
“She sure would. She’s beautiful, but not too sexy. The All-American Girl,” Kevin said.
Claude threw up his hands. “There is that word again! You Americans! You don’t know what to do with a beautiful girl. You keep trying to make everyone look like the girl next door. If that is what the public want, no one would go to the movies. Take Jennifer—she will be the big hit because she is not the girl next door—she is the girl every man dreams of having.”
“I agree. But it doesn’t work that way in advertising,” Kevin insisted. “Oh, we use sex—but in a subtle kind of way. Anne is beautiful. But she has the type of beauty women can identify with. A college girl or young matron will think she can look like Anne if she uses our product, but she would never think she could look like Jennifer. You’re selling escapism in pictures—I’m selling a product. Anne is right for my product. People won’t stop to think that it’s her fine bone structure that does it, or the way her eyes are spaced, or the thickness of her own lashes. They’ll think if they use the same product it will happen to them. Her kind of beauty doesn’t frighten them. Jennifer’s would.”
“Well, I’m taking my frightening beauty to Paris,” Jennifer said. “But Anne, I think you should take Kevin’s offer. You need a change. We all need one.”
Anne frowned. “I’m not a model, and I’m very happy working for—”
Jennifer nudged her and stood up. “I think it’s time to powder our noses. Come on, Anne.” As she followed Anne out of the room, she turned and tossed Kevin a reassuring wink. He nodded and held up crossed fingers.
They sat in front of the large mirror while the attendant stood by, carefully acting bored and disinterested.
“All right.” Jennifer began her attack instantly. “Why not?”
“I know nothing about modeling—”
“I know nothing about movies, but that’s not stopping me. And in Paris, yet!”
“You’ll be wonderful—”
“Don’t change the subject. What are you making with Henry?”
“A hundred and fifty a week now. But that’s not important. I just sold the house and got a wonderful price, and Henry invested that and my stock’s gone way up. Money is the last thing I need.”
“But this will be exciting.”
“I can’t leave Henry—”
“Henry?” Jennifer’s eyes were accusing. “Anne, you’re talking to me, Jen. You mean you can’t leave that office because it’s still a link to Lyon Burke. But he won’t come back to you. Stop dreaming that some day he’ll stride in, and whisk you off. That’s over! Finished!”
“How do you know? I mean, next week his book comes out . . . well . . . he’ll have to be here for it. Most authors do, don’t they?”
Jennifer studied her bag. She played idly with the handle. “Anne . . . I wasn’t going to tell you, but now I think, you should know. He’s—gone back to England.”
“Back?” Her mouth felt dry. She was afraid she was going to be sick. “You mean he was here?”
Jennifer’s nod was solemn. “For a week. To see his publisher. He did a complete rewrite—threw out practically everything he had written here, then went back there and wrote from scratch. That’s why it’s taken so long. But it’s a good book. Henry told me. He saw Lyon.”
“Henry saw him?”
“They met for lunch. Lyon has already started his second book. He got a fairly good advance from his publisher. And he went back to London. He’s taking a flat there.”
“He saw Henry . . . he was here . . .” She stopped. The tears ran down her face.
Jennifer threw her arms around her. “Anne, don’t take it that way. Henry said Lyon thinks about nothing but his writing. It’s the only thing that matters to him now.”
“But Henry knows how I feel. Why didn’t he tell me Lyon was here?”
“Because he’s a man, and men stick together. Anne, you owe Henry nothing. And you need a change. This is fate. Claude didn’t invite Kevin Gillmore today. He just wandered in alone and joined us. I think it’s meant to be.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Anne said slowly. “I’ve got to get out of the office. It’s like a living shrine.”
“Now you’re making sense. And unload that apartment, too! Now . . . fix your face. Don’t lose the job before you get it!”
At first Henry was upset. But he grudgingly admitted the Gillian offer was excellent. “This is your doing,” he said to Jennifer, who had come with Anne to break the news.
“You know it’s best for her,” Jennifer said merrily. “Now come on, Henry. How long did you expect to keep Anne chained here? She isn’t Miss Steinberg, you know.”
“Okay, but bring the contract to me before you sign it,” he grumbled. “Let’s see if we can’t get some extras in the deal. Television is coming in strong. I don’t want anything left for later negotiation. If he wants you for his ads now, he has to guarantee to use you on the commercials.”
“But Henry,” Anne protested, “I’d faint in front of a television camera.”
“It’ll be no different from a photographer’s camera, and you’ll have had about a year’s experience by then. Incidentally”—he scribbled a name on a pad—”start seeing Lil Cole. Take at least two private lessons a week. It’s expensive, but you can afford it.”
“Who’s Lil Cole?” Anne asked.
“The best speech and diction coach there is.”
“What do I need her for?”
“Because I have a hunch the commercials will wind up being more than just posing. You’ve got to get rid of that Boston accent.”
“Henry, I’m just going to model, not be an actress.”
“Listen, Anne.” His voice was stern. “If you’re going to do something, do it a hundred per cent. There’s no halfway business about any job. You were a great secretary—now, if you’re going to be the Gillian Girl, be the best there is. Besides, what else have you got to do? Maybe keeping busy is the best thing for you right now.”
He suddenly looked very tired, as if all the strength had drained out of him. Impulsively, Anne threw her arms around him. “Henry, I love you.”
He scowled to cover his emotions. “How do you like that?” he said to Jennifer. “I’ve had a giant crush on this girl for two years, and now that she’s walking out on me she tells me she loves me.”
“I do, Henry. And I always shall. And please . . . always be my friend.”
“Just try and lose me. You’re one in a million, Anne. They don’t come like you. Now scram. I got to call the agencies. Who knows, maybe another Anne Welles might walk in.”
“Don’t you want me to stay until you find someone? I could help break her in.”
“Nope, beat it. Jennifer’s only gonna be here a short time. You two girls live it up. Incidentally, Jennifer, your alimony comes to seven hundred after taxes. Knowing you, I’ll take the taxes out right away. This picture deal will complicate things. Do you want your checks sent on to you?”
“No, keep my money here. Invest it. Make me rich like Anne.”
He laughed. “Two Rockefellers I got here. Whoever said it
was a man’s world?”
“I’m getting mine the hard way,” Jennifer said grimly.
“Sure. You had to sweat out five months at a swimming pool. Real rough.”
Jennifer flashed her brightest smile. “Yes, it was all just fun and games.”
“Listen, all I ask in the next life is to come back as a beautiful broad,” Henry insisted. “And now you got Paris ahead. You’ll wind up as the French Lana Turner. But do me a favor—don’t spend all your money. You owe me two thousand. I’m deducting it from your alimony. And for Christ’s sake, don’t send for it. Give me a chance to save some of it for you. Clients like the two of you I sure need!”
“Which reminds me,” Jennifer said sweetly. “Advance me another thousand, Henry—”
“Oh come on, Jennifer . . .”
“I need clothes. After all, I’ve got to make a big entrance in Paris.”
February, 1948
Anne rushed into “21” and joined Henry at his usual front table. “Sorry I’m late, but Lil Cole is a slave driver.” She sat down.
Henry noticed that every man in the room had turned to look at her. Three weeks of grooming with Kevin Gillmore’s makeup experts had created an indefinable yet eye-catching change. They hadn’t tampered with her natural beauty, yet somehow they had succeeded in heightening it. Before, it used to creep up on you. Now you noticed it immediately. She wore eye makeup and her hair was fuller, like a lion’s mane. She still looked every inch the lady, but she was exciting now.
“I got a long letter from Jennifer this morning,” she said, unaware of the stir she had created.
“I got a short one, asking for money. Anne, how fast can she spend it?”
Anne laughed and ordered a salad. “No matter how much she has, she’ll always be in debt. Jennifer is a compulsive spender. I don’t know why—it’s not as if she enjoys the things she buys. She gives most of them away.”
Henry shook his head. “I hope she finds a guy—a good guy—over there. I don’t think she’s much of an actress, but she has one hell of a face and body. I hope she makes it pay off. Because that’s all she’s got, and when that goes . . . that’ll be the end of Jennifer.”
Valley of the Dolls Page 28
