The Lonely Lady (17 page)

He shook his head. “I promised my agent I would meet him for a drink at the Polo Lounge at five.”

“Okay.” She opened the door and got out. “Thanks for coming to pick me up.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to become such a big deal.”

“It’s not a big deal,” she said. “Haven’t you heard? It’s easier than curing a cold.” She walked around to his side of the car. “Sure you don’t want to come in?” she asked, playing with his false mustache. “We can’t fuck but I can give you head. The doctor said so. And you always say I give the best head in town.”

“Well,” he said, “maybe. I can always be a half hour late. My agent won’t mind.”

She laughed and pulled the false mustache from his lip and stuck it in the center of his forehead. “Oh, George,” she said. “Why do you have to be such a shit?”

Then she turned and, half laughing, half crying, walked up the driveway to her house. Locking the door behind her, she leaned back and let the tears run down her cheeks. What was there about her that always seemed to attract the shits?

It hadn’t always been like that. Walter was not a shit. Not really. He was just weak. He needed even more reassurance than she did.

She walked through the house to her bedroom and fell on the bed with her clothes on. She stared up at the ceiling, her eyes dry once again. The telephone began to ring but she lay there making no move toward it. After three rings the answering service picked up.

She reached for the cigarette box at the side of the bed and took out a rolled joint. Slowly she lit it and inhaled deeply. The sweet calm went down into her lungs and spread through her body. She pressed a button and the tape deck went on, the music filling the room. She took two more tokes from the joint, then placed it in an ashtray, rolled over on her stomach and covered her face with her hands. Once again the picture of the little girl sitting at the top of the stairs and crying flashed before her eyes. Then it was gone. Abruptly she sat up on the bed. She was no longer that little girl. And she had not been for a long, long time.

Not since the day she and Walter were married and he had taken her down to New York and up, up, in the elevator to the apartment at the top of the building which looked out over the city.

Book Two

BIG TOWN

Chapter 1

It was springtime in New York. The young green of the new leaves on the trees in Central Park fluttered in the gentle wind and the children were playing in the first flush of May warmth. We walked past the benches filled with idlers. We neither spoke nor looked at each other, together yet not together, each thinking our own silent thoughts.

He didn’t speak until we came out at the Avenue of the Americas exit at Fifty-ninth Street. We stood waiting for the light to change. As usual the traffic was backed up on both streets. “You can take your time about moving,” he said. “I’m making the ten o’clock flight to London tonight and I won’t be back for a month.”

“It’s okay. They told me the apartment would be ready.”

He took my arm as a truck making a turn came uncomfortably close, then as quickly let it go as we stepped out of the gutter. “I just wanted to know,” he said.

“Thanks, Walter, but I’m going home over the weekend. By Monday I’m sure everything will be in.”

The doorman who held open the door looked at us strangely. “Mr. Thornton,” he said. “Mrs. Thornton.”

“Joe,” I said. I was sure he knew about it. By now the whole world had to know. It had been in all the columns. The Thorntons were getting a divorce.

We were silent up in the elevator to the penthouse. We stepped out into the corridor. “I have my key,” Walter said.

His bags were already packed and in the foyer. He closed the door and stood silently for a moment. “I think I could use a drink,” he said.

“I’ll fix it for you,” I said, automatically starting for the bar in the living room.

“I can do it.”

“I don’t mind. Matter of fact I can use one myself.”

I threw some ice in the two glasses and poured the scotch over it. We faced each other across the bar. “Cheers,” he said.

“Cheers.”

He took a long swallow, I just took a sip. “Six years,” he said. “I can’t believe it.”

I didn’t speak.

“They went so fast. Where did they go?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you remember the first time I brought you here? It was snowing that night and the park was white in the darkness.”

“I was just a child then. A child in a woman’s body.”

There was a bewildered expression in his eyes. “When did you grow up, JeriLee?”

“It was happening a little bit every day, Walter.”

“I didn’t see it.”

“I know,” I said gently. That was it. More than anything else. To him I would always be the child bride.

He finished his drink and put the empty glass on the bar. “I’m going upstairs to try to get a nap. I never could sleep on those night flights.”

“Okay.”

“The car’s picking me up at eight thirty,” he said. “Will you be here when I come down?”

“I’ll be here.”

“I wouldn’t want to go without saying goodbye.”

“I wouldn’t want that either,” I said. Then the dam broke and my eyes filled with tears. “Walter, I’m sorry.”

His hand touched mine for a brief moment. “It’s all right,” he said quickly. “It’s all right. I understand.”

“I loved you, Walter. You know that.”

“Yes.”

There was nothing else to say. He left the room and I heard his footsteps going up to the bedroom. A moment later the sound of the closing door echoed through the silent rooms. I dried my eyes with a Kleenex and went over to the window and looked down at the park.

The leaves were still green, the children were still playing, the sun was still shining. Spring was here. Damn! If that was true why was I shivering with the cold?

***

The apartment was empty after he left. I was on my way from the door to the kitchen to get myself something to eat when the telephone rang.

It was Guy. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. I was just going to fix myself some dinner.”

“Walter gone?”

“Yes.”

“You shouldn’t be alone tonight,” he said. “I’ll take you out to dinner.”

“That’s sweet of you.” I really meant it. Guy was a good friend to both of us. He’d directed me in my first play—Walter’s play, the one he had been writing when we met. “Can I get a rain check? I really don’t feel up to it.”

“It’ll do you good.”

“No, thanks.”

“Then let me bring up some sandwiches. I’ll stop off at the Stage,” he said quickly.

I hesitated.

“Besides I have some ideas for the rewrite on your play,” he added. “We can talk.

“Okay.”

“That’s better. I’ll bring a bottle of wine and some grass. We’ll have a nice quiet evening. Half hour okay?”

“Fine.” I put down the telephone and went up to the bedroom. I started for the closet to get a pair of jeans when the telephone rang again.

It was my mother. “JeriLee?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“When did you get back?”

“This afternoon.”

“You could have called me,” she said in a peeved voice.

“I didn’t have time, Mother. I went to the lawyer’s office right from the airport. Walter and I still had some papers to sign.”

“Then the divorce is final,” she said disapprovingly. “I didn’t think Mexican divorces were legal in New York.”

“It’s legal.”

“You should have called me. I’m your mother. I’m entitled to know what’s happening.”

“You know what was happening. I explained all that to you before I went to Juarez. Besides I’ll be there all weekend and I’ll tell you all the gory details.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” she said stiffly.

I tried to keep from getting angry. I don’t know what it is but she always had the ability to get me on the defensive. I looked around for a cigarette but couldn’t find one. “Damn,” I muttered.

“What did you say?”

“I can’t find the damn cigarettes.”

“You don’t have to swear,” she said. “And you smoke too much.”

“Yes, Mother.” I finally found one and lit it.

“What time will you be out here?”

“Sometime in the morning.”

“I’ll have lunch for you. Don’t eat too much for breakfast.”

“Yes, Mother.” I changed the subject. “Is Daddy there?”

“Yes. Do you want to speak to him?”

“Please.”

His voice was warm and gentle on the telephone. “How’s my little girl?”

That did it. I could feel the tears start to my eyes again. “Big and hurting,” I said.

All the sympathy in the world was in the one word “Rough?”

“Yes.”

“Hold your head up. You’ve got us.”

“I know.”

“It’ll be all right. Takes time. Everything takes time.”

I was under control again. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I can’t wait to see you.”

I had just enough time to take a quick shower and dress before Guy came.

He stood in the doorway with a silly smile on his face, a shopping bag in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. He pushed the flowers into my hands and kissed me on the cheek. Even before he spoke I could tell from his breath that he was smashed. “Happy, happy,” he said.

“You’re crazy,” I said. “What are the flowers for?”

“Celebrate,” he said. “It’s not everyday that a man’s best friends get divorced.”

“I don’t think that’s funny.”

“What do you want me to do? Cry?”

I didn’t answer.

“I cried at your wedding,” he said. “For all the good it did me. Now you’re divorced and you’re both happy. I guess that’s worth a celebration.”

“You do everything backwards.”

“What the hell?” he said. “It’s just as good.” He walked into the living room and took a bottle of champagne out of the shopping bag. “Get the glasses,” he said. “Dom Perignon. Nothing but the best.”

Raising his glass, he said, “Drink up to better times.”

I sipped. The bubbles tickled my nose.

“All of it.”

I emptied my glass and he refilled it. “Again.”

“You’re trying to get me drunk.”

“Right.” He nodded. “And it won’t hurt you one bit.”

It went down like champagne was supposed to. I began to feel warm. “You’re really crazy,” I said.

He looked at me out of those pale blue eyes and I suddenly realized that he wasn’t as drunk as I thought. “Feel better?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then we’ll eat. I’m starved.” He began emptying the bag on the bar. In a moment I was surrounded by the wonderful odors of hot corned beef and pastrami and garlic pickles. My mouth began to water.

“I’ll set the table.”

“Why?” He picked up a sandwich and bit into it. He mumbled with his mouth full, “You don’t have to impress nobody.”

I stared at him. With Walter everything had to be in place. We never once had eaten in the kitchen.

He refilled my glass. “Eat, drink and be merry.”

I picked up a sandwich and took a bite. Unexpectedly my eyes began to moisten.

He picked up on it right away. “No. Please. No.”

There was a lump in my throat. I couldn’t swallow. I couldn’t speak.

“Don’t cry,” he said. “I love you.” Then he smiled and his face took on a mischievous look. “That is, I love you as much as any queen can love a girl.”

Chapter 2

I was a little bit smashed, a little bit stoned and there was a pleasant buzz to my high. I sprawled back on the couch and looked down at Guy, who was stretched on the floor at my feet. “Why don’t you get up?” I asked.

He rolled over on his back and reached up to take the joint from my fingers. “I don’t know whether I can,” he said, taking a drag.

“Try. I’ll help you.”

“What for? I’m happy here.”

“Okay. What were we talking about?”

“I don’t remember.”

“The play. You had some ideas for the rewrite.”

“I can’t talk about it now. I feel too good.”

I looked toward the windows. The night sky over Central Park was gray with the reflected light. “Do you think the plane took off already?”

“What time is it?”

“Almost midnight.”

“It’s gone,” he said.

I got to my feet and went over to the window. I held up my hand and waved at the sky. “Goodbye, Walter, goodbye.” Then I began to cry. “Have a nice flight.”

Guy struggled to his feet and weaved toward me. “Hey, this is a celebration,” he said. “Don’t cry.”

“I can’t help it. I’m alone.”

“You’re not alone,” he said, putting an arm around my shoulders. “I’m here.”

“Thank you. That’s very nice.”

He led me back to the couch. “Have another glass of champagne.”

I took a sip from the glass he put in my hand. Suddenly it didn’t taste good anymore. I was coming down. I placed the glass on the cocktail table. It made a small wet ring on the polished surface. I starred at it. Usually I would wipe it quickly and place the glass on a coaster. Walter hated drink stains on his precious antiques. Now I didn’t give a damn. “I think I’ll go to bed,” I said.

“It’s early,” he protested.

“But I’m tired,” I said. “It’s been a long day. I was in court in Mexico at eight thirty this morning. By eleven I was on the plane on my way back. I haven’t had any rest in two days.”

“What did you do with your wedding ring?” he asked.

“I’m wearing it.” I held out my hand. The tiny gold band glimmered in the light.

He shook his head solemnly. “That’s bad. You have to get rid of it.”

“Why?”

“It’s a symbol. You won’t be free until you get rid of it.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. In Reno there’s a little bridge over a stream. When the women come out of the courthouse, they stand on the bridge and throw their rings in the water. That’s what we have to do.”

“But we’re not in Reno.”

“It doesn’t matter. I know just the place. Get your coat.”

A few minutes later we were downstairs getting into a taxi. “Central Park Lake,” he told the driver. “The dock near the boathouse.”

“You crazy, mister?” the cabby asked. “They don’t rent out boats at night.”

“Drive, my good man,” Guy said with a lordly wave of his hand. He sank back into his seat as the cab started off with a jerk, made a U-turn and went into the park at the Avenue of the Americas entrance. He stuck his hand into his pocket and came up with another joint, which he promptly lit. He blew the smoke out contentedly.