Love Me (22 page)

“Diana!” Margo gawped. “Surprised, I guess.”

Diana let out a silvery peal of laughter. “Isn’t she a doll?” she asked no one in particular. “She’s going to be the most charming bride. Being in love suits her, don’t you think? And, Gabby Preston, you brilliant thing.” She clasped one of Gabby’s small, sticky hands in both of her gloved ones. “I am just in awe of you. Absolutely in awe. The voice of Ella Fitzgerald in the body of Clara Bow. You’re an absolute angel, that’s what you are, sent by God to let us all hear a little of heaven.”

“Golly whiz, Miss Chesterfield,” Gabby said, for once in her life seeming at a loss for words. “Thank you so much.”

“Please, call me Diana,” the star replied, smiling warmly. “Now, I know you’ll forgive me, because things have been so busy since I got back, but ever since that glorious night at the Oscars, I’ve been meaning to ask you to lunch and talk it all over.”

“Really?” Gabby squeaked.

Diana nodded seriously. “Absolutely. Now, are they banging down your door with offers? Do you know what your next picture is going to be?”

Gabby shrugged nervously. “No.… I mean, I know there’s some stuff on the table.…”

“Well, think about it carefully. I don’t know who you’ve got advising you”—Margo and Amanda both knew the answer to this, which was no one, followed at some distance by Viola—“but you’ve got to be prudent. You’ve got heat right now, heat that could take you all the way to the top, but not with the wrong picture. It has to be quality.” Diana paused, pouting thoughtfully. “There’s a play opening in New York that might be a good fit.
An American Girl
, I think it’s called. They’ve just started rehearsals, but the writer is Harry Gordon, so I’m sure they’ll be negotiating the picture rights any minute.”

“Harry Gordon! In New York?”

The words were out before Amanda could stop them, so seized was she with an irrational, wild mixture of joy and fear. On the one hand, his office hadn’t been lying, and he hadn’t been avoiding her; he really was away. On the other, if Harry was opening a play on Broadway, he’d be gone for months.
When will I see him again? Will he even come back at all?

Diana turned slowly toward Amanda, looking the redhead up and down as though seeing her for the first time. If there was a flicker of recognition in her ice-blue eyes, it was quickly replaced by a look of impersonal appraisal. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said coolly.

So that’s how she wants to play it
, Amanda thought.
Well, let her
.

“Amanda Farraday,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly.
This
may be Diana’s show, but I can play my part my own way. She’s the star, not the director
.

“What a lovely name,” Diana murmured. “Sometime you must tell me how you thought of it.”

“Diana.” Margo had finally found her voice. “I don’t mean to be rude, but … what are you doing here?”

“Oh my God!” Diana’s hands sprang to her cheeks in a gesture of exaggerated surprise that had the bonus effect of advantageously displaying a diamond ring at least twice the size of Margo’s. “Didn’t Dane tell you?”

Margo stiffened. “Tell me what?”

“That I’ve been asked to join the bridal party. Groom’s side, of course.” She smiled sweetly. “You see, Dane dined at my place last night, and I’m afraid I was being such a terrible
bore
about just how terribly thrilled I am for the both of you and how I wished I could do something to help that he asked me to stand up for him, just to get me to stop flapping my mouth. And for old times’ sake, I suppose,” she added thoughtfully. “Now, don’t worry, darling. I may be the best man, so to speak, but I’m not going to show up in a tuxedo. I mean, really, after Marlene, what’s the point?” She flicked a lazy hand across the tulle of Amanda’s skirt. “I suppose this … is one of the
options
we’re looking at?”

Speechless, Margo nodded.

“Well, this won’t do at all, will it? The guests will mistake us for the wedding cake, and we can’t have that.” Diana poured herself a cup of tea and draped her body languorously across a velvet chaise. “Nicole,” she called, “let’s see something in blue. Something akin to that glorious Mainbocher Wallis Simpson was married in, don’t you think? And bring some champagne.
This is a festive occasion, after all.” She let out a merry peal of laughter. “Just look at the three of us. Me, Gabby, and Amanda. A blonde, a brunette, and a redhead.” She struck a pose, the kind that silently invited the flashbulbs to pop away. “Oh my
goodness
. We’re going to have such
fun
.”

“U
nbelievable.” Margo tore into her steak. She ripped off a huge hunk with her fork and shoved it into her mouth. The bloody juice dripped down her chin. “Absolutely unbelievable.” With a grunt, she hacked off another bite.

“Would you prefer a meat cleaver?” Dane asked over his glass of Scotch. “They don’t usually put them out on the tables at the Polo Lounge, but perhaps they could fetch us one from the kitchen.”

“I mean, the nerve,” Margo went on, as though she hadn’t heard. It was funny, she thought. She used to hang on Dane’s every word, hardly daring to believe that
Dane Forrest
, her erstwhile idol, was addressing her. But familiarity had bred if not quite contempt, then a decided lack of awe. It was getting easier and easier to ignore her fiancé.
Especially when he’s been drinking like this
. “The way she walked into the place? Giving orders to
the salesgirls? Shoving herself into the front of every picture? Telling the cameramen how she wanted to be lit? I mean, my
God
.”

Dane laughed. “Diana’s been a star for a long time. She doesn’t exactly understand what it is to play the second fiddle.”

“Well, she better start learning. I’m the bride, and what I say is supposed to go. As far as this wedding goes, I’m Laurence Olivier. The star and the director. I’m in charge.”

“Darling.” Dane drained his glass and motioned to the waiter for another one. “If you were in charge, there wouldn’t be any wedding.”

Margo dropped her fork and knife on her half-empty plate with a clatter, her heart dropping into her stomach. “What’s
that
supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“Oh, come on, Margo.” Dane rolled his eyes. “Relax. All I meant was that left to our own devices, we might have done things differently. We would have had more time to plan, for starters. Would have waited a little longer. Gotten to know each other a bit better.”

“We know each other pretty well, if you ask me,” Margo retorted.
What is he talking about?
Back in Pasadena, girls eagerly accepted proposals from boys with whom they’d shared no more than a handful of waltzes at a debutante ball, whereas Margo had been with Dane for months.
What else could he possibly want to know?
“Besides,” she added crossly, “if we don’t know each other well enough, it’s not my fault. You’re the one who’s been keeping things from me.”

“Like what?”

“Like
Diana
, for instance,” Margo insisted. “Why didn’t you tell me you asked her to be in the bridal party?”

At least Dane had the decency to look guilty at that.
Finally
. “I was going to.”

“When? The wedding is only two weeks away!”

“I know, I’m sorry.” Dane looked around anxiously for his drink. “But it just happened. We had dinner, and it seemed to mean so much to her, and I owe her.…”

“You might have at least
asked
me first,” Margo said. “I mean, how do you think it will look to have the woman everyone thinks is your great lost love standing there with us at the altar? It’s humiliating! You’re going to look like a bigamist, and I’m going to look like a fool.”

Dane’s drink arrived at last and he took a long, grateful sip. “Well, Larry Julius thinks it’s a good idea.”

“Larry Julius?” Margo cried. “You told
Larry Julius
before you told
me
?”

“Margo, please. The naïveté is no longer charming or convincing. And actually, it was Diana who called him. But he was quite impressed with the idea. Thinks it will send a good message to the public that things are really over between Diana and me, that she’s giving her blessing for them to abandon any reservations they might have about you and me. ‘A stroke of genius’ is the phrase I believe he used. And personally,” he continued, after taking another long slug of Scotch, “I think it’s all rather stylish. Wickedly urbane, like something out of a Noel Coward play. Usually that sort of thing appeals to you.”

“Right, except the separated couple always gets back together in Noel Coward plays,” Margo pointed out. “And the new wife is always some ghastly, undereducated twit her husband can’t wait to be rid of. Is that what you think of me?”

“Margo.” Dane leaned forward urgently, both palms flat
on the table. His green eyes, lately dull with liquor, burned with their old fire. “Diana is my
sister
. I thought at least one of us should have some family at the wedding.
Real
family, that is.”

Family
. It was a word the two of them normally avoided like the plague, and yet here it was, unavoidable, the elephant in the Polo Lounge. As far as Margo knew, the girls Friday in the press office had mailed an invitation to the Pasadena address she had nervously provided just as soon as the thick, cream-colored, gold-lettered cards had come back from the engravers, but as yet there had been no response.
Maybe they’re just not coming
. Maybe her disowning, which in her more honest moments she had to admit had not been without convenience in the past year, was truly permanent. Maybe they really were never going to forgive her for disobeying their wishes and coming to Hollywood.

Or maybe
, Margo thought, staring down at the blood congealing on her plate,
maybe they just don’t care
.

Dane seemed to sense just how deep his remark had cut. “Margo, I’m sorry.”

“Never mind.”

“No, that was wrong. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s fine. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Still. I’m sure you’ll hear from them soon.”

Margo jerked away from his hands as he reached toward her. “I
said
, I don’t want to talk about it!”

“Fine, then don’t. That’ll be a change.” Dane sat back, averting his eyes from her as he flipped open his gold cigarette case inlaid with dark jade that matched his eyes.
The one Diana gave him
. “Finish your steak. It’s getting cold.”

Obediently, Margo picked up her knife and fork. “Aren’t you going to order something to eat?” she asked.

“Actually, I’ve got to run. I’m supposed to meet Clark Gable at the Clover Club in half an hour to play cards with some of the fellows.”

“Gable!” Margo exclaimed, her mouth full of steak. “Isn’t he on his honeymoon?”

Dane gave her a watery smile. “Honeymoon? Don’t make me laugh. He married Carole in Arizona on a weekend, and Selznick had him back on the
Wind
set Monday morning.”

“But I thought we were supposed to have the whole night together.” Margo pouted. “Can’t I come with you?”

“I’m afraid it’s a bit of a boys’ night. Belated bachelor party, really.”

“You might have told me.”

“When? You’ve been ranting about Diana since the moment we sat down. I didn’t think it was gentlemanly to interrupt.” If his grin was supposed to show he wasn’t annoyed, it wasn’t working.

“But I haven’t seen you in days,” she protested. “We’ve got so much still to talk about.”

“Like what?”

“Like where we’re going to live after the wedding, for one.”

“I thought we were going on some sort of romantic Parisian sojourn. Just you, me, and a small battalion of Olympus flacks.”

“After that,” Margo said impatiently, “we need to find a house.”

Dane looked puzzled. “What’s wrong with my house in Malibu?”

“Malibu?”
Margo almost laughed. Sometimes she didn’t know if Dane was making fun of her or if he was really that clueless. “It’s a million miles away, for a start. From the studio, from the city, from all of our friends—”

“I know. That’s why I like it.”

“And besides,” she continued, pretending not to hear him, “it’s totally unsuitable for our needs. After we’re married, we’re going to be expected to properly set up house, to have parties and dinners and things. The place in Malibu barely has a dining room, let alone rooms for entertaining, or for staff. Or a nursery.”

“A nursery?” Dane bolted upright in his chair. “Now I’m really getting out of here.”

“Please, Dane,” Margo begged. “Please say you’ll at least go and see a few places with me this week. Mr. Karp’s realtor has a new house in Bel Air he thinks might be just perfect for us, and there are some things in Holmby Hills.…”

“I’ll think about it.” Dane tossed off the rest of his Scotch and stood up. “Now I’ve got to go. I’ll leave the car here and take a taxi, okay?” He kissed her forehead. “Be a good girl and I’ll call you in the morning.”

Margo watched him go.

He didn’t even tell me he loves me
.

She looked around the room at the small groups of glamorously dressed luminaries ensconced in the Polo Lounge’s famous dark green booths, slurping down plates of the famous spaghetti Bolognese, shouting remotely at unfortunate underlings on one of the famous tableside telephones.
Everything in Hollywood is famous
, Margo thought,
even if nobody’s ever
heard of it before
. There was a time when she would have been thrilled at the scene, and a bit later on, thrilled at how little it thrilled her.