She started into the bedroom. He ran after her and spun her around. “I’m not through talking. Don’t you walk out on me. Haven’t you been listening? That’s all over, that grande dame act.”
“Kevin, you really hate me, don’t you?”
“No, I feel sorry for you. Like you have for me.”
“If you mean that, please leave—for good, Kevin.”
“Oh no.” He smiled with confidence. “Not until I see you really go down the drain.” He picked up the phone. “Call him. I’m sure you’ve memorized his number. If you don’t, I will. I’ll tell him you didn’t eat any dinner, that you were sick with jealousy. Sure, I’ve memorized his number too. We’ve both been thinking of him for two weeks, haven’t we?” He picked up the phone and started to dial.
She pulled the phone away from him. He shoved her and grabbed it back.
“Kevin!” He had actually dialed and was asking the hotel operator for Lyon Burke.
“All right.” He handed her the phone. “Talk to him. Go on—or I will.”
She took the phone. They were ringing his room. She prayed he wasn’t there. This couldn’t be happening. It was a nightmare. She heard the click. . .
“Hello?” It was Lyon.
“Lyon?” Her voice faltered.
There was a pause. “Anne?”
“Go on,” Kevin hissed. “Tell him you want to come over.”
She shot him a beseeching look, and he made a motion to grab the phone. She pulled away. “Lyon . . . I’d . . . like to come over.”
“When?”
“Now.”
There was a fraction of a pause. Then, in a bright voice, he said, “Give me ten minutes to reorganize things a bit, then come directly.”
“Thank you, Lyon. I’ll be there.” She hung up and looked at Kevin. His face was pasty.
“Sure,” he shouted. “I should have known. It’ll be a three-way bit—you, Lyon and the broad. I told you the English were decadent. . . . And you’ll go along—because you have no choice!”
“Oh, Kevin,” she moaned. “What have we done to each other?”
“I just found I’ve wasted a lot of years of my life on a bum! A bum who’s been passing as a lady.” He walked out, slamming the door.
For a moment she stood motionless, as her anger gave way to mingled feelings of sorrow and relief. Kevin had made the decision. God, what a terrible thing jealousy was—it could transform a strong man like Kevin into an emotional cripple. But she felt no animosity. She was suddenly flooded with relief. She felt almost light-headed, as if a great weight had been lifted. No matter how it turned out with Lyon, she would never have to marry Kevin. That was finished . . . she was free!
She freshened her makeup and quickly walked the three blocks to Lyon’s hotel.
The door swung open. “I was beginning to give up hope,” Lyon said.
Her eyes quickly swept the room.
“She left,” he said quietly.
She pretended not to understand.
“I saw you when you were leaving ’21.’ My glorious little date squealed, ‘Oh, isn’t that Anne Welles!’ She adores you on television.”
“Yes, I saw you, Lyon.”
“Good, at least it brought you to me!” He crossed the room and mixed two drinks at a card table that served as a makeshift bar. “You know, it’s a new kind of show business today,” he said. “I confess I don’t understand it. But mine is not to reason why. Connie Masters’ last two records sold in the millions, and the British public adores her. So I have to write about her thrilling life.”
“Who is Connie Masters?”
“The charmer I was with tonight. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of her?” Anne shook her head and he smiled. “We’re the lost generation, you and I. We both think of Dinah and Ella or Neely when someone mentions singers. But Connie Masters is today’s sensation. She’s nineteen, and every picture company is after her, but I can’t listen to one of her records without a stiff drink.”
She smiled. “I know. Every day I hear of people I never heard of before. I guess the teen-agers support them.”
“Well, I’ve done my bit for the British press and the music lovers of the world. And your call kept me from serving beyond the call of duty.”
“You mean you would have made love to her?”
“Why not? It gets very lonely sitting and waiting for your call that never comes. Oh, I understand . . . I really do. But there she was, all curled up on that very chair you are sitting on, telling me she just adores older men. What was I to do? Turn her out into the hot night?”
Anne laughed. “Come on, Lyon, you’re not that helpless.”
“No, but this new breed catches one off guard—the young barracuda.” He crossed the room and pulled her to her feet. “Now, you’re beautiful, glamorous and dangerous, yet I feel safe with you.” He kissed her and held her close. Their embrace was suddenly shattered by the ringing of the phone.
She smiled. “The barracuda.”
He picked up the receiver. She saw his eyes narrow. Then in a cold voice he said, “I suggest you speak to the lady herself.” He turned to Anne and extended the phone. In answer to her mute question, he said clearly, “Kevin Gillmore.”
“I don’t want to talk to him.” She backed away.
“I suggest you do,” he said, and she was aware that during this exchange he had made no effort to cover the phone. Kevin was listening.
She took the receiver gingerly, as if it had a physical power of its own. “Kevin?”
“Anne! Anne, forgive me! I just told Lyon Burke, something happened to me tonight. I went crazy. Anne, tonight never happened. I didn’t mean a thing I said. Anne, are you listening?”
“Kevin, it’s no good. It’s over.”
“Anne, please . . . come home. I didn’t mean a word. You can go on working . . . you can do anything you want—” His voice broke. “I’ll marry you tomorrow—or whenever you choose. I’ll just hang on. You call all the shots. I’ll do anything. Please! It was just seeing you look so unhappy because he was with that girl—you never looked at me that way—I guess I went crazy. I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me.” He was actually sobbing. “Please, Anne . . . I know I’m old. If you want to see Lyon Burke on the side, I’ll even let you do that—just don’t tell me. You can do anything, just forgive me and don’t go out of my life.” He began to choke.
“Kevin, is anything wrong?”
“No. I guess I walked too fast. I’m at your apartment. I ran all the way. Anne, please . . . To Lyon you’re just another lay, but to me—you’re my whole life!”
“Kevin . . . we’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Anne, I won’t sleep. Not tonight, with you there, knowing what you’re doing—” She heard him gasp again. “Anne . . . please. Tonight . . . just come back tonight. Let me sleep in the next bed. Just so I know you’re back. From here in I won’t check on you. Just stay with me. Please Anne . . . I can’t fight him—I’m not young or healthy. Please . . . please!”
“All right, Kevin.” The phone was like lead in her hand.
“You’ll leave?” The hope in his voice was even more heart-rending than his tears.
“Yes . . . right away.” She hung up and turned to Lyon.
“In the middle again?” His back was to her as he freshened his drink.
“Lyon, what should I do?”
He shrugged. “I’d say it was a matter of whom you wish to please. Yourself—or your conscience. What are you searching for? Happiness—or peace of mind?”
“Aren’t they the same?”
“No. Peace of mind does not always come with love. I’m sure you’ll have peace of mind with Gillmore, and a good conscience. With me, you might have to battle that conscience. But then, love is always a bit of a struggle, isn’t it?”
“Are you saying you love me?” she asked.
“Good God, must it be put in neon lights to get through to you? Of course I love you!”
“But how could
I know? You’ve never called me during these two weeks, or tried to convince me.”
“I’m talking about love,” he said hotly. “Not begging! Love shouldn’t make a beggar of one. I wouldn’t want love if I had to beg for it, to barter or qualify it. And I should despise it if anyone ever begged for my love. Love is something that must be given—it can’t be bought with words or pity, or even reason. I shall never beg you, Anne. I love you. You must know that. I shall always love you—”
“Lyon, you know I love you. I always have . . . I always will. . .”
“Then why are we standing here batting the subject around? You’re here, and I want you here.” He smiled but remained across the room.
“But you’re returning to England . . .”
“And Kevin is in America.” He smiled. “I was talking about love—you are talking about geography. It sounds very familiar, somehow.”
“But love means planning together . . . being together.”
“Love is an emotion. To you it’s a contract with unbreakable riders and rules attached to it.” He took her hands. “Anne, it’s too late for that. Yes, I will return to London, I’ve made my way of life there. You have all this. Perhaps you should go to Kevin. He fits in with your kind of life. The best I could offer you is a few more weeks.”
“Maybe I’d like London, Lyon. Did that ever occur to you?”
“Anne, I’m a writer—maybe not the best, but I work at it. You’re not the eager twenty-year-old girl who typed up my manuscripts. You’d be bored in time, and you’d grow to hate it.”
She turned and ran out of the room. She raced down the hall and rang for the elevator. Perhaps he’d come after her. If he did—The elevator opened. She turned and looked back at his closed, silent door, then stepped into the elevator.
She walked slowly back to her apartment building. When she got there, she deliberately walked past the entrance. She had to think this out. Lyon loved her, but he was offering her no future. Kevin needed her, and was offering her a lifetime of devotion. Kevin put things into contracts, with all the riders she wished—but what good was a contract that paid off in a devotion she didn’t want? She was always forcing Lyon’s hand, crowding him. So what if he didn’t ask her to come to London? She could always follow him. London wasn’t the end of the world. But that would be begging—Lyon would hate that. “Love has to be given”—not pursued.
She returned to the entrance of her building. Kevin was up there, and he needed her. How could she hurt him for just a few weeks of happiness? But suddenly all the wasted years with him came to mind—and all the years just like them that would follow—after Lyon left . . . But Lyon was here now—and she had the chance to be with him. Yes, that was the solution. Don’t crowd Lyon—take the few weeks he had to offer and let it end. Then if Kevin still wanted her, all right—they’d be as he said, two rejects. But meanwhile, there was Lyon. And she was going to be with him—every second, every minute—as long as she could!
She turned and walked quickly. Then she began to run. She never stopped running until she reached Lyon’s hotel. The elevator ride was agony. He opened the door—he threw his arms around her and held her close. She clung to him. “Lyon, as long as you are here, I’m here. No questions, no tomorrow—just every second that we can have together now is what will count. I love you.”
He held her face in his hands, looked into her eyes and said quietly, “We’ll make every moment into an hour. I love you, Anne.”
She met with Kevin the following day. He looked haggard. She tried to explain how she felt, that she had to see Lyon. After he left, if Kevin still wanted her . . . If not . . . well, she would understand.
Kevin stared at her silently. Then his face became splotched with color. He paced up and down her living room. “Why, you’re as decadent as your English stud!” His anger seemed to flood him with strength. He slammed out of her apartment, shouting that he would make her pay for this humiliation.
This time Kevin did not call back with tearful entreaties. In the days that followed he took childish pains to appear everywhere with a variety of well-known glamour girls. Kevin, who hated nightclubs, now sought the most prominent ringside table and made a delayed entrance with the most flamboyant-looking girl he could find. The moment a new starlet arrived in town, her name was linked with Kevin’s. There was an inside joke around that Kevin read Celebrity Service and rushed to meet the planes to book a date with the newest arriving celebrity.
His final and most desperate act was his attempt to cancel Anne’s contract with Gillian. Since he still sat on the board of directors, he insisted he had a right to protect the image of the company he had created. He claimed Anne was “over the hill,” that the Gillian Girl should be younger, fresher, a new face.
His protests forced a board of directors’ meeting. It was an unfortunate move for Kevin. He was outvoted, and Anne received a new two-year contract with a ten-thousand-dollar raise. And it was an exclusive television contract—another victory for Anne, who had been fighting against continuing with the strenuous schedule of newspaper and magazine advertising.
Anne was aware of Kevin’s actions, but she could never hate him. She felt nothing now but pity—and a heavy sadness that it had to end this way.
In the weeks that followed, the excitement of her relationship with Lyon surpassed any emotion she had ever experienced. Lyon enjoyed her casual fame, the instant recognition by fans, but she played it down and concentrated her attention on his work. How was the series coming? She listened to his ideas on the way he hoped to present them. He didn’t want to pan television in America, but he wanted to do the articles in a tongue-in-cheek style. She read his copy and often offered valuable suggestions.
Although they maintained separate residences, Lyon spent every night at her apartment. One night he said, “I shall pick you up at seven, but first I must go to the closet for a change of clothes.” From then on they jokingly referred to his hotel room as The Closet. But as the weeks passed, she knew his assignment was drawing to an end. He hadn’t mentioned leaving, but she knew the time was slowly running out. She felt the desperation closing in on her—heavy and oppressive.
And then, one evening in July, she was suddenly filled with new hope.
They were having dinner in a garden restaurant in the Village. “This was a wonderful suggestion,” Lyon said. He looked at the clear sky and smiled. “This is what I miss about New York when I’m in London—the marvelous weather. We could never be sure of an evening like this—there is always the inevitable rain.”
“It’s the first nice thing you’ve ever said about New York.” She kept her voice light.
“I love you so much I’m beginning to see some of its finer points,” he said. “But how do you feel about rain? We have a great deal of it in London, you know.”
It was happening! He didn’t want to leave her. She had to be careful—she mustn’t force anything. It had to be his idea. She studied the ash on her cigarette. “I’ve never been to London.”
“Think about it.” And that was all he said.
It was all she could think about. She discussed it with Henry.
“It would never work,” Henry insisted. “I’ve seen Lyon’s flat. I visited him last year. He thinks it’s a palace, but there’s no central heating, Anne, and only four tiny rooms—a walkup.”
“But I have all the money in the world. We could have the best apartment—”
“Haven’t you had your lesson?” Henry said sternly. “No one pays Lyon’s way—you’d have to live on what he makes.”
“Then I will,” she said with determination. “I’ll live wherever he wants—I can’t live without him, Henry. I’d be happy with him anywhere—even Lawrenceville.”
“What about your contract with Gillian? If you broke it you could never work on TV again.”
“Henry, how much am I worth?”
“Over a million.”
“Then why should I work?”
“And what will
you do in London?”
“I’ll be with Lyon.”
“Look, Anne—you’re not a kid about to plunge into a new life. Neither is Lyon. He’s set in his little world over there. You’ll have no friends—he sits at that typewriter all day—what will you do?”
“I don’t know—I only know I can’t live without him.”
Henry was thoughtful for a moment, then he said, “There’s only one solution. You’ve got to keep him in New York.”
“But how? His assignment is finished. And he likes London.”
“Stall for time. Each day that he stays here, he gets more used to New York. Let me think. I’ll call a few guys I know at Barter Publications—maybe we can get him an assignment to write a few articles for their magazines. Only it has to look like an accident.”
“What good would that do?”
“He’d stay on for a while, and time will work for you.”
It was Neely who accidentally came up with the idea. Anne had driven out for her bi-weekly visit, and they were sitting on the well-kept grounds and talking. It was uncomfortably warm, but Neely wanted to be outside. She was fat, but she seemed undeniably well on the road to recovery. She was at Ash House, only one step removed from the outpatient clinic.
“When I get there,” she said happily, “I’ll be able to come to New York for weekends.”
“Neely, do you think that’s wise?”
“Sure. It has to work that way. Geez, you can’t be penned up like this for six months and then suddenly be turned loose. They got to do it gradual. First you get to the out-patient cottage. Then, after a month there, they let you go into the local town one night to a movie or to the beauty parlor. Then, if that goes all right, they try you with one weekend back in New York. You have to come back here on Monday and they check you to see if you’re disturbed. After a while, they let you go home for a week. Then they let you go for good, but you still have to see a headshrinker they assign you to every day. It’s the pressure that hits you on the outside that you have to worry about.”
Valley of the Dolls Page 44
