Once Is Not Enough (8 page)

He looked at her. And this time he didn’t smile. “You tell
me
something. Are you still the most resilient girl in the world? Because you’re gonna find a lot of changes and—”

“We’re together,” she said. “And as long as that never changes, nothing else matters. Now tell me—is it a movie or a play? And can I work with you? In any capacity—a walk-on, a script girl, a gofer . . .”

“January, did it ever occur to you that there are better things in life than the theater and tagging along after me?”

“Name one.”

“Well, like you finding the right guy . . . getting married . . . making me a proud grandpa . . .”

She laughed. “Not for a long time. Listen—beside you sits a lady who has spent three years just learning to walk and talk again.” She reached out and touched his face tenderly. “Oh, Mike . . .” Her sigh was happy. “I want to do all the things we’ve always dreamed of doing together.”

“Sometimes we change our dreams,” he said. “Or perhaps I should say . . . exchange them.”

“Fine. What have you in mind?”

“Well, as you know, I was in Spain,” he said slowly. “But it wasn’t for a movie.”

“A TV series,” she said. “That’s what it is! Right?”

He looked out of the window. His words were measured. “I’ve made some pretty good moves in my life and this is about the best I’ve ever made. I’ve got some big surprises for you. Tonight you’re going to—”

She cut in. “Oh, Mike, please, no surprises tonight. Just us and the champagne. If you knew how many months I’ve dreamed of being with you in our suite at the Plaza, looking out at the park, seeing my old wishing hill and toasting to—”

“Will you settle for the Pierre?”

“What happened to the Plaza?”

“Mayor Lindsay donated it to the pigeons.”

She smiled, but he saw the disappointment in her eyes. “The view is almost the same,” he said quickly. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to forget about your wishing hill. Drunks and junkies have claimed it now. Along with a few large dogs who use it as a lavatory. Everyone has large dogs now. Not for pets—for protection.” He knew he was talking too much. He stopped and stared at the approaching skyline, the uneven beauty of the buildings shrouded in smog. Lights beginning to glow in tiny square windows . . . evening in New York.

And then the skyline was gone and they merged into New York’s traffic. As they made their way down Sixtieth Street, Mike called out to the driver. “Stop at that cigar store on the corner opposite Bloomingdale’s.” They pulled up and before the chauffeur could get out, Mike jumped out of the car. “I’m out of cigarettes.” He turned to the chauffeur. “You can’t double-park here. Drive Miss Wayne around the block. I’ll be out by then.”

He was standing on the corner when the car rounded the block. He lit a cigarette when he got into the car. Suddenly he extended the pack as an afterthought. “Do you?”

“No, I don’t. But did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Make the call.”

“What call?”

She laughed. “Oh, Mike . . . there’s a whole carton of cigarettes right here in the bar area of the car.”

His jaw tightened. “Okay . . what call did I make?”

She slipped her arm through his. “To order the caviar and champagne. I could tell by your face that you forgot.”

He sighed. “Maybe I forgot a lot of things.”

She put her fingers across his lips. “Just tell me one thing. Did I guess right about your call?”

“Yep, you guessed right.”

Her voice was soft. “Mike, you haven’t forgotten anything.”

When she opened her eyes, she thought she was still at the Clinique. But the darkness in the room was unfamiliar; the dark shapes of the furniture were different. And then consciousness took over and she realized she was in her new bedroom at the Pierre. She switched on the lamp on the night table. Midnight. That meant she had been asleep only two hours. She stretched and looked around the bedroom. It really was beautiful. It didn’t look like a hotel bedroom at all. The entire suite was luxurious and huge. Bigger than anything Mike had ever had. He had explained the hotel had co-op apartments and some people sublet their suites. Well, the people who owned this one sure had taste. The living room had been so beautiful when she arrived. Candlelight, caviar, and champagne all iced, the velvet darkness of the park so many stories below. Then they had toasted one another, eaten the caviar . . . And, after just one glass of champagne she had suddenly gotten drowsy. He had noticed it immediately. “Look, babe, it’s only nine o’clock here, but by Swiss time it’s two or three in the morning. You go right to bed. I’ll take a little walk . . get the papers . . . watch some TV and turn in early too.”

“But we haven’t talked about you . . . what you’re doing . . . or anything.”

“Tomorrow.” His voice had been firm. “We meet in the living room at nine and have breakfast together and do a
lot
of talking.”

“But Mike—”

“Tomorrow.” Again that strange quality in his voice. Almost like a cut-off. An odd new hardness. The way it had been with the photographer in the lobby who had snapped a picture of them. He had seemed like a nice young man. He had followed them to the elevator and said, “Tell me, Mr. Wayne, how does your daughter feel being the—”

But he had never finished the question. Mike Wayne pushed January into the elevator and snapped, “Beat it. This is no time for any on-the-spot interview.”

She thought about the incident now. The whole thing had been so unlike her father. To him publicity had always been a way of life. She had been on the cover of a national magazine with him when she was nine. And she had felt so sorry for the young man in the lobby.

When she had asked her father about it, he shrugged. “Maybe Rome did it to me. I don’t go for these guys who take pictures on spec—pictures that can turn up anywhere, in any cheap magazine. I’m all for giving an authorized interview or posing for a photographer for pictures to
accompany
a story. But I don’t like guys popping out from dark corners at me.”

“But he was waiting in the lobby. He looked very nice.”

“Forget it.” (Again that cold determined cut-off tone.) Then he had opened the champagne. When she toasted and said, “To us,” he shook his head. “No . . . to
you
. It’s your time now, and I’m here to see that you get it.”

She lay in the dark bedroom. She had the whole night ahead of her. She should try to go back to sleep. But she was wide awake and thirsty. She was always thirsty after caviar. She slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom. The tap water was lukewarm. She decided to forget it and got back into bed. She switched on the dial of the radio beside her bed to an album station. She was just drifting off to sleep when the commercial
break came, and an enthusiatic announcer began his pitch on a new diet cola. The way he began to sell that damn soda—suddenly she
had
to have a glass of cold water!

She got out of bed. There was a big kitchen in the suite. She could get some ice . . . She started for the door and stopped. She had no robe! And she was wearing the short see-through nightgown. She opened the bedroom door cautiously and called out, “Daddy?”

The living room was empty. She tiptoed out. She looked into the darkness of the dining room . . . the large den . . . and down some long corridor off the kitchen. Mike had said there were servants’ quarters. But the apartment was empty. She went to his bedroom door and knocked. Then she opened it. Empty. For a fleeting second she thought of Rome . . . and Melba. But he wouldn’t do that, not on her first night home. He had probably gone for a walk and run into some friends. She went into the kitchen. The refrigerator was stacked with Cokes, 7-Up, ginger ale, along with every kind of sugar-free diet soda. She took a Coke and poured it into a glass. Then she ambled into the living room. She stood staring out at the park. The tiny sparkling lights gave it a Christmas-tree effect. It was impossible to believe there was anything to fear in that soft darkness.

Then she heard the click. Her father was fitting the key into the lock. Her first impulse was to run and greet him. Then she looked down at her nightgown. It was ridiculous to have bought something so short and sheer. But after three years of flannel pajamas at the Clinique, the sheer gown had been a symbol. Part of being well . . . and leaving. Well, she’d better tell him to keep his eyes closed and lend her one of his robes.

The door opened and she heard the woman’s voice. Oh, good Lord . . . he had company. She looked frantically across the long living room. If she tried to make it back to her bedroom, she’d have to pass the foyer and run right into them. The nearest door led to his bedroom. She dashed inside just as they came into the living room. His bedroom was dark. Oh, God . . . where was the light? She groped along the wall searching for the switch.

“Mike, this is absolutely ridiculous for me to have to sneak in here.” The woman’s voice was petulant. “After all, she’s not a child.”

“Dee”—his voice was firm but cajoling. “You’ve got to understand. For three years she looked forward to the way she wanted to spend her first night back.”

The woman sighed. “But how do you think I felt when you called and told me to get out of the apartment after I had gone to such pains, getting the best caviar, the right champagne. It was going to be my ‘getting to know January night.’ Instead I’m dismissed like some chorus girl. Thank God I was able to catch David. We sat in that bar at the Sherry for hours. I’m sure I dragged him out of the arms of some beautiful young thing—”

“Come here,” Mike said softly.

There was silence, and January knew he was kissing the woman. She didn’t know what to do. It was wrong to stand in the darkness and listen. If only she had a robe.

Her father spoke softly. “January and I are having breakfast tomorrow. I want to have a long talk with her before you two meet. But believe me, I was right . . . handling it the way I did tonight.”

“But Mike—”

“No buts. Come on, we’ve wasted too much time already.”

The woman laughed. “Oh, Mike, you’ve ruined my hair. Oh, would you be a love and pick up my purse . . . I left it on the table near the hall.”

January stood very still. They were coming into the bedroom! The door opened and there was a sudden burst of light as the woman flicked on the wall switch. For a split second they both stared at one another. For some reason January felt she looked strangely familiar. She was tall and slim with frosted hair and incredibly beautiful skin. The woman recovered first and called out, “Mike . . . come on in. We seem to have company.”

January didn’t move. She didn’t like the funny smile of composure on the woman’s face, as if she had the situation well in hand and had her next move planned.

Mike’s first reaction was surprise. Then an expression came
to his eyes that she had never seen before. Annoyance. And when he spoke his voice was cold. “January, what the hell are you doing snooping around in here?”

“I . . . I was having a Coke—” She pointed toward the living room where she had left her drink.

“But what are you doing in here . . . in the dark . . .
without
the drink?” the woman asked.

January looked toward her father, waiting for him to end this horrible scene. But he stood beside the woman, waiting for the answer.

Her throat was dry. “I heard the door . . . and voices . . .” She forced the words out. “I had no robe, so I dashed in here.”

For the first time they both stared at the filmy nightgown. Her father walked into the bathroom quickly and returned with one of his dressing gowns. He tossed it to her without glancing up. She struggled into it and started for the door. The woman’s soft voice called out, “Stay a moment, January. Mike, you can’t let your daughter go without introducing us.”

January stood with her back to them waiting for her release.

“January—” her father’s voice suddenly seemed weary. “This is Dee.”

January forced a slight nod in the woman’s direction.

“Oh, come now, Mike,” the woman slipped her arm through his. “That’s not really a proper introduction.”

Mike looked at his daughter and said quietly, “January . . . Dee is my wife. We got married last week.”

She heard herself congratulating them. Her legs felt like weights, but somehow she managed to walk out of that room . . . through the living room and into the safety of her own bedroom. Only then did her knees begin to shake . . . and she rushed to the bathroom and was violently ill.

Two

S
HE SAT
by the window for the rest of the night. No wonder the woman looked familiar. Dee wasn’t just Dee. She was Deirdre Milford Granger, often reported as the sixth richest woman in the world! No one really knew whether she was the sixth or sixtieth. It was obviously a tag some reporter had dreamed up, and it stuck. The girls at Miss Haddon’s used to kid about the title whenever her picture appeared in the newspapers or magazines. And in those days, Deirdre’s marriages kept her in print constantly. First there had been an opera singer. Then an author, followed by a top designer. That marriage had made
Vogue
in January’s time. He had been killed four years ago in an automobile accident in Monte Carlo. There had been newsreel pictures of Deirdre in heavy widow’s weeds at the funeral, tearfully claiming the dead man to be the only man she had ever loved, swearing she’d never marry again. Unfortunately, she had changed her mind.

Or had Mike changed her mind! Of course! She had been his big new project. All those postcards from Spain. Dee had a house in Marbella—she had seen that in
Vogue
. Dee also had a Palm Beach estate where she kept forty in help—she had seen that in
Ladies’ Home Journal
. And there was a yacht in Cannes—that had come into the news when Karla had been Dee’s guest at sea. Karla had retired from the screen in 1960 and was more of a recluse than Garbo or Howard Hughes. So much so that her appearance as a guest on someone’s yacht made
Time
magazine. All of the girls at Miss Haddon’s had been fans of the Polish actress. In 1963 January’s biggest claim to
fame came when her father offered the great Karla a million dollars to come out of retirement. She never accepted or declined, but it had gotten Mike a great deal of publicity. Later her father had told her that it had been one of his big dreams just to meet the great Karla.