Valley of the Dolls

by Jacqueline Susann

  Her stomach lurched. It couldn’t be! But Lyon had said that Neely had dropped a lot of weight. She felt that she was going to be sick—or faint. Wait, she told herself. All right, maybe Neely has fallen for Lyon. That’s not hard. But it doesn’t necessarily mean Lyon cares about Neely. Lyon might be holding her at arm’s length. Perhaps he realized all along that this would happen. That would account for his reluctance to have her join him in Europe. He might be trying to protect her. It might be that Lyon was having a dreadful time. . . . But where was he now?

  She reached for the phone and on an impulse placed a person-to-person call to the Beverly Hills Hotel in California. She prayed she was wrong. She got the operator at the other end. Yes, Mr. Lyon Burke was registered—he had checked in three days ago. No, he was not in. Yes, Miss O’Hara was also registered. Her room did not answer. It was only nine o’clock in California—did the party wish to try later? Anne canceled the call and fell back against the pillows. He had been in California three days! He hadn’t phoned! She threw on some slacks and rushed out into the night.

  Henry took ages to answer the door. “Jesus, what’s up?” he said sleepily. He tied the sash of his robe and led her into the living room. Switching on the lights, he motioned toward a chair. “Sit down. What’s the matter?”

  Anne was hysterical. “You saw it!” She pointed to the morning papers on the floor. “Henry, don’t play dumb with me. I just found out Lyon has been back for several days. He’s in California with Neely. He hasn’t even called me.”

  “Let’s have a drink,” Henry suggested.

  “Henry . . . help me!” She sank into a chair and began to sob.

  He calmly mixed a Scotch and brought it to her. “Now let’s cut the hysteria and face facts. You want to save your marriage, don’t you?”

  “Then you believe it too!”

  “Of course. I’ve known it for some time.”

  She couldn’t speak. She stared at him as if the last friend in the world had betrayed her.

  “Now grow up,” he said. “This was in the cards. You have several alternatives. One, you can walk out with your pride intact. Or two, if you want him badly enough and have enough guts, you can ride it out and get him back.”

  “I can’t live without Lyon,” she sobbed.

  “Then start getting some control. Make scenes with him and you throw him right into Neely’s arms.”

  “But she’s fat as a pig. He can’t care for her.”

  “Not any more.” His voice was weary. “I just got back from the Coast last night. I ran into Neely and Lyon at Chasens. She looks marvelous. She barely weighs a hundred pounds.”

  “Neely?”

  “Love can do it, I guess. She dropped about ten pounds in Los Angeles on her first trip, maybe ten more in Frisco and Washington, and the three months in Europe did the trick. She doesn’t eat a thing. I watched her. She looks like she’ll go up in smoke any second. But she’s insane about Lyon. She doesn’t take her eyes off him—clings to him every second. . . .”

  Anne buried her face in her hands. “Henry, stop it! What are you trying to do—kill me?”

  “No, I’m trying to give you the truth. Once you know the facts, maybe you’ll know how to fight. Surprise could defeat you. So you might as well have it straight. Now—grit your teeth. This is really the bonecrusher—Lyon is not exactly fighting her off.”

  “No . . . no . . .” It was a wail.

  “Now stop the hysterics and let’s figure out a plan.”

  She looked at him in total disbelief. “Henry, you must be mad! It’s finished—over.”

  He shrugged. “Fine. I’ll handle the divorce for you. Lyon will have to pay plenty of alimony, and child support. I’m sure he’ll agree to everything.”

  She began to sob more violently. “No . . . no . . . I won’t give him up.”

  “Then pull yourself together. Drink your drink and let’s figure this out. You’re not the first girl whose husband balled around, and you won’t be the last. You just have to figure out what means the most to you, Lyon or your pride.”

  “But it could never be the same.”

  “No, it won’t. Some of the stardust will be gone. But you’ll have him. And if I know you as well as I think I do, a little of Lyon is better than no Lyon at all.”

  “Henry, how could he respect me if he knew I accepted this?”

  “That’s just it,” he said impatiently. “He must never know you know. If he did you’d have to ask for your freedom. That’s just what Neely’s gunning for. Look . . . Lyon entered into this innocently. You must realize that. But it’s pretty heady stuff, being a Svengali, and the timing was right. Lyon needed something like this for his ego. He’s a creative guy, Anne. He feels you sold him down the drain creatively and tricked him into this new career. Which is bullshit—if he really had it, no one could stop it. But now he’s creating again. From a large mass of blubber he’s etched a slim, vibrant star, a star who seems to depend on him for the very air she breathes. He’s not just a manager now, he’s a creator. He feels larger than life. It’s a great feeling of power. No man can resist it. And Neely plays into his hands by acting helpless. She’s as helpless as a cobra, but that’s not the way it appears to him. To Lyon you’re the strong one, the tycoon—his Svengali. Actually, Anne, you’re not half as strong as Neely—the Neelys of this world are indestructible—but with your poise and self-confidence you make Lyon feel less a man than Neely does. He probably feels that you castrated him—and not once, but twice. The first time when you refused to give up a city for him, and now by buying him an agency.”

  “If you only hadn’t told Neely,” she moaned.

  “It was the end of December. You and Lyon were happy, and Neely was your best friend—or so I thought. She came to me because she knew you listened to me. She wanted me to convince you to travel after the baby was born. She sobbed, swore she wouldn’t go without Lyon, carried on. . . . She said you wouldn’t listen to reason because you were a millionaire and didn’t give a damn about the agency, that you probably wanted Lyon to retire. So I explained she had the picture all wrong, that it was your money at stake. After all, I was going to have to tell Lyon in a short time anyway. How did I know Neely of all people would use it against you? Christ, do you know how many times she’s told me she owed her whole life to you? You got her put back in Hit the Sky by having Lyon intercede. You talked to Gil Case about her replacing Terry King. You paid the freight for her at Haven Manor. I never thought of Neely as a girl who would turn against you, let alone as a rival for Lyon. It was a big mistake on my part, but done with the best of intentions. And now the thing for you to do is face facts. With you Lyon didn’t feel like a big man—then Neely came along and built him to new heights. You’ll just have to wait till it levels out.”

  “How?” she begged.

  “By sitting tight. Stop playing God and be a woman for a while. Let the cobra in Neely come out. Lyon’s no fool.” He paused. “You know, this thing with you and Lyon—it was wrong from the start. But you wanted him. All right, you’ve got him. And you’ve gone through too much to throw in the sponge now. Your cue is to act as if nothing has happened. It’s not going to be easy—in fact, it may be almost impossible at times, because this thing with Neely will get hotter before it cools down. But if you can hold out the cycle will reverse itself. And he’s got to wind up hating her. She’ll castrate him—she does that to all men. You ought to hear Ted Casablanca sound off on her. She’s all syrup and softness in the beginning, but like all stars, she’s solid steel underneath. In time, if you can ride with the punches, you’ll wind up as the soft female he has wronged, and he’ll feel protective and guilty about you. The marriage will be bruised a bit, and you may not even want him by then—but if you do you’ll have him. It’s going to be a battle of nerves, but I think you can do it.”

  “I’ll try,” she said wearily. “Henry . . . my world’s just collapsed. I think tonight I may take my first doll.”

  �
��A what?”

  “A Seconal.” She smiled faintly. “Jennifer and Neely called them dolls. I’ve never taken one in my life, but I think I’ve earned one tonight. I wonder where I could get some.”

  He went to his medicine cabinet and returned with a bottle. “Here . . . there’s a two-month’s supply. I just took one out for myself.”

  She smiled faintly. “You too?”

  “For twenty years. It’s standard equipment for this business. Take one and get into bed. Don’t smoke. If you’ve never taken one before it will act quickly.”

  She took the bottle and left. Her legs felt leaden, and during the cab ride unwelcome pictures of Neely and Lyon flashed through her mind.

  At home she stood in the bathroom and stared at the bottle for some time. It was packed with gleaming red capsules. She took them out and counted them. Sixty-five. Henry certainly trusted her. Well, why not? She wasn’t about to throw in the towel. She had a child who needed her and a husband she had to get back. All she wanted was a few hours of escape, a few hours to blot out this nightmare that had suddenly erupted. She swallowed one of the capsules. “All right, little doll. Let’s see what all the shouting is about.” She got into bed and picked up the papers she had tossed on the floor. She began to read. In ten minutes the print began to blur. It was fantastic . . . her head grew light. . . her eyes closed. . . . It was a doll . . . she was going to sleep. Tomorrow she’d think it all out.

  Lyon arrived a week later. He said they had taken the polar route home and stopped off in California. She pretended surprise. He looked at her peculiarly. “You mean you didn’t know I was in Los Angeles?”

  “How would I know?” she asked. “I assumed you were detained in Europe.”

  He turned away, but not quickly enough for her to miss the surprise in his eyes. He had returned expecting trouble, loaded with explanations—and none were required. They had dinner at The Colony, then spent their first evening alone. She was tender and devoted in their lovemaking. It was difficult; she wanted to reach out and claw him, to leave evidence that he belonged to her. She was tortured with visions of him and Neely in bed, but somehow she pushed the thoughts away and returned his embraces with passion.

  They had five wonderful days together. She almost began to believe that nothing was wrong, that whatever had happened was in the past. Then Neely arrived. She was signed for ten monthly television specials, and she would have to begin taping in August, since the first show went on in September. But there was still half of July with nothing to do, so she came to New York looking for action.

  It was a Thursday. Anne knew nothing about Neely’s arrival. She and Lyon had theatre tickets and a date afterward at the Copa with the agent of a new male singer. It seemed that every agent in town was trying to get his client a guest shot on Neely’s show.

  At five o’clock Lyon’s secretary called. Mr. Burke had been called to a meeting with the sponsors, and he would not be able to make it to the theatre. He was sending Bud Hoff to escort her. He would join them later at the Copa.

  It never occurred to Anne that anything was amiss. She played with the baby, had a leisurely bath and dressed. Bud arrived and took her to the theatre. They went to the Copa, where the agent was waiting, holding a choice table on the balcony. Anne explained that Lyon was detained and would join them.

  The agent nodded. “I was afraid he’d get tied up with Neely arriving today.”

  She felt her face grow warm, but she managed an impassive smile. “Oh yes . . . that’s right. What time did Neely get in, Bud?” she asked, trying to give the impression that the news was no surprise.

  Bud seemed uncomfortable. “About noon, I think. Anyway, that’s when the first call came in.”

  Anne ordered a drink. “Poor Lyon. He was hoping she’d stay in Arizona with her sons.” Was there an exchange of glances between Bud and the agent or did she imagine it? How many people actually knew the truth?

  She forced herself to watch the show and comment favorably on the singer. Lyon’s empty chair seemed to smirk at her. The smile was glued to her face as she made wifely excuses for his absence. She could see how disappointed the agent was, but his misery was no match for her own. “Probably something came up about Neely’s show—she relies on Lyon so much. I’m sure he feels dreadful about missing the show, but Bud will give him a full report, won’t you, Bud?”

  Of course Bud would. Again there seemed to be an exchange between the two men.

  It was three in the morning when Bud dropped her off at the apartment. She knew Lyon would not be there. She tiptoed in and kissed the baby and covered her. Darling, darling little Jennifer, with her father’s black hair and blue eyes. She was so beautiful. She felt the tears begin with the closing of her throat. No—she had to be calm when Lyon came in. No tears. She had to swallow whatever story he gave her.

  At five o’clock she tiptoed into the living room. Perhaps he had come in and didn’t want to disturb her. Maybe he was sleeping in the den. But the living room and den were empty. Oh God, Lyon, why? And Neely—how could you do this to me? She walked to the bathroom and took a red pill—she had taken one every night for a week until Lyon had returned. She had the feeling that it had been the only thing that had saved her sanity. She hadn’t taken one since his return. But here we go again, she thought. Thank God for the lovely red dolls. They made the nights bearable. It was easier to get through the days; there was the baby, and she could usually have lunch with Henry or casual acquaintances.

  She knew many women who lunched at “21” or The Little Club and who were equally frantic to fill their days, wives of Lyon’s assistants, or of directors or clients. But she had never formed a close friendship with any girl since Neely and Jennifer. Close friendships with girls come early in life. After thirty it becomes harder to make new friends—there are fewer hopes, dreams or anticipations to share. Still, there was always someone to fill an afternoon, to lunch or shop with. But the nights! Long after little Jen and Miss Cuzins were asleep she’d find herself awake, thinking of Lyon, seeing his face, his smile—and imagining him with Neely. When it was more than she could bear, she would dash for release in the form of the faithful little red doll. Soon Neely and Lyon would be blotted into nothingness by a dreamless sleep. That’s how it had been that week.

  And now it was all starting again. She lay in bed and wondered how long Neely was planning to stay. Perhaps it would just be for a few days. The room began to slip away. Thank God the pill was working.

  She did not know how long she slept, but she was vaguely conscious of Lyon’s presence, his quiet movement in the room. She forced her eyes open. . . . It was daylight. He was in the bathroom.

  “Lyon?” She sat up. She saw the clock—eight o’clock! Had he just returned? She saw his suit lying on the chair.

  He came out of the bathroom in his shorts, smiling. “Sorry I woke you.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Eight. I’m getting dressed.” He walked across the room and quickly sat on his untouched bed to hide the freshness of the sheets. He was actually trying to pretend he had been here!

  “What time did you get to sleep?” he asked casually as he put on his shoes.

  “About three,” she lied. Damn the pill—she was so groggy.

  “I came in about four,” he said lightly. “You were dead asleep.”

  She fell back against the pillow.

  “Neely got into town,” he said as he put on a clean shirt.

  “Yes, Bud told me.”

  She knew he was watching her reactions. She kept her eyes shut.

  “She joined me and the sponsors. There are some changes she wants made in the format, and a few problems that had to be ironed out. She wants more strings in the band and wants them to pay for it, and she insists that the network absorb half the below-the-line costs. It took hours to work out.”

  Till eight in the morning? She kept her eyes closed.

  “Then I went on to a late dinner with the sponsors. I had to
soothe them—and that Ted Kelly . . . you know how he likes to drink. Oh, that’s right, you haven’t met him. He’s with the agency. I sat with him at P. J.’s till three-thirty, calming him. I wanted to call you at the Copa, but he would have insisted on joining us and he was terribly drunk then, so I just sat nursing him along. Thank God P. J.’s closes at four. I came directly home.”

  Oh, God, I can’t stand this, she thought. I’ve got to scream. But she bit her lips and remained silent.

  “Are you awake, dearest?” When she nodded faintly, he smiled. “You must have had a bit yourself to be this done in. By the way, tonight try to arrange something with some of your girl friends. I have to take Neely and some agency people down to the Village and catch some acts.”

  She was wide awake now. “Can’t I go along?”

  “You’d hate it,” he said quickly. “And it’s business. None of the chaps are bringing their wives. If you came it would put a social connotation on it, and then they’d all bring their wives and we’d have a big party. One can’t rush from spot to spot with an entourage.”

  “But Neely will be there,” she argued.

  He looked surprised. “But of course. It’s her show. She must approve any act that goes on.” Then he smiled and said, “I hear Jennifer. I swear it sounds like she said ’Dada.’ I think I’ll join our beauty for breakfast. Now you go back to sleep.”

  She didn’t see him for five nights, though she heard him come in early in the morning to change. Sometimes she’d wake and pretend to go along with the idea that he had just awakened. He took care to muss the bed when he came in, and there was always a valid excuse—more acts to see, a meeting with the agency, a recording session with Neely, listening to songs for Neely’s new album. And each night she’d take the red pill and sink into merciful oblivion.

  On the sixth day she faced a new crisis. He had just gone. He had been out with Ted Kelly again, he said. Just the two of them. She had pretended to swallow it, and now sank back against the pillows. But she couldn’t go back to sleep. She walked into the bathroom and took another red doll.