The Lonely Lady (37 page)

Her mother was silent for a moment. “It’s about time you came to your senses,” she said finally.

JeriLee didn’t reply.

“What about your play?” her mother asked. “Did you finish it?”

“Yes,” JeriLee answered. “It’s not good. I took it to Fannon. He won’t do it.”

“There are other producers.”

“It’s not good, Mother,” she repeated patiently. “I reread it. Fannon was right.”

“I don’t understand it. Couldn’t you have seen that while you were working on it?”

“No,” JeriLee answered.

“I don’t know, JeriLee,” she said, sounding discouraged. “Why can’t you be like other girls? Get a job, get married, have a family.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. I wish I could be. It would be a lot easier all around. But I’m not.”

“I can let you have a hundred dollars,” her mother said finally. “The market went down and there isn’t much money coming in.”

“It won’t be enough. The rent alone is a hundred and seventy-five.”

“That’s all I can spare this month. If things pick up, maybe I can give you a little more next month.”

“At least give me the money for the rent. They gave me an eviction notice today.” JeriLee was angry with herself for pleading but she felt she had no choice.

“You can always come home to live.”

“What would I do? There’s no work for me.”

“You’re not working anyway.”

JeriLee lost her patience. “Mother, either you’re going to give me the money or you’re not. There’s no point in our going around in a circle.”

“I’ll put a check in the mail for a hundred dollars,” her mother said coolly.

“Don’t bother!” JeriLee said, slamming down the phone. It happened every time they spoke to each other. There seemed to be no way they could communicate.

She went back to the couch and started flipping through the pages of
Casting News
. Nothing. The business was dead and the few things that were going were all locked up by the agents.

On the last page was another ad for the Torchlight Club. It was in the paper all the time now. The turnover in girls was obviously tremendous. On an impulse she picked up the telephone and dialed the club.

“Torchlight Club,” a woman’s voice said.

“Mr. DaCosta please.”

“Who is calling?”

“JeriLee Randall.”

“Just a moment, please.” There had been no sign of recognition in the woman’s voice.

There was a click, then he came on. “Hello,” he said cautiously.

“Vincent, this is JeriLee.”

“How are you, baby?”

“Okay,” she said. “You?”

“Never been better,” he said. “How come the call?”

“I need a job.”

He was silent for a moment. “You still got that nigger living with you?”

The question took her by surprise. She had not known that he knew about Fred. “No.”

“It’s about time you came to your senses,” he said. “A guy like that is nothing but bad news.”

She didn’t answer.

“What about the play you were writing?”

“It didn’t work. I’m junking it.”

“Too bad,” he said, but there was no sound of sympathy in his voice. “What kind of a job are you looking for?”

“Anything,” she said. “I’m busted.”

“Your old job is filled. We got a guy doin’ it.”

“I said anything,” she replied. “I know the whole setup. I can fit in anywhere.”

“Okay. Come on over an’ we’ll talk about it.”

“What time?”

“Just a minute, let me check my book. I’m locked in tight all afternoon,” he said. “How about seven o’clock at the apartment? We can have a drink and talk there without anybody bugging us.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be there.”

She got up and went into the bathroom. There was one Valium left in the bottle. She swallowed it and looked at herself in the mirror.

Her eyes looked strained and red but a few drops of Visine would clear them up. Maybe things weren’t so bad after all. If she did get a job she was sure that Vincent wouldn’t mind giving her an advance on her salary.

Chapter 8

A woman let her into the apartment. “Vincent’s in the shower,” she said without introducing herself. “He’ll be out in a minute.”

“That’s okay,” she said.

“Would you care for a drink?”

“Thanks. Vodka and tonic.”

The woman nodded and went behind the bar. JeriLee watched her. She was very pretty in a showgirl way—heavy eye makeup, lots of false eyelashes and carefully styled shiny black hair that fell to her shoulders. “Okay?” she asked as JeriLee tasted her drink.

“It’s fine.” JeriLee smiled.

The woman went back to the bar and picked up her own drink. “Cheers,” she said, raising her glass to her lips.

“Cheers,” JeriLee replied.

“Sit down,” the woman said, gesturing to the couch. She climbed up on the bar stool and swung around facing JeriLee.

The telephone began to ring. Automatically the woman made a gesture toward it, then checked herself. It rang again, the sound cutting off in the middle. “He doesn’t like anyone to answer his private phone for him,” the woman explained.

JeriLee nodded.

“He’s crazy. You know that, don’t you? His whole family is crazy.”

JeriLee didn’t answer.

“His brothers are worse.”

“I don’t know them,” JeriLee said.

“Consider yourself lucky then.” She took a bottle of scotch from the bar and refilled her glass. “Jesus, what a family.”

She fell silent, the woman staring morosely into her glass. Through the closed door there was the faint sound of Vincent’s voice on the telephone. Then abruptly the bedroom door opened.

He was wearing the white terry cloth bathrobe that she remembered. “You’re here,” he said.

“Yes.”

“I thought I told you to tell me when she got here,” he said to the woman in a harsh voice.

“You were in the shower,” she said. “Then you got on the phone.”

“Stupid cunt,” he said. “Fix me a drink.”

Silently the woman got down from the stool and poured some scotch over the rocks. He took the drink and walked over to JeriLee. “You don’t look so good,” he said abruptly.

“I’m tired.”

“The nigger fuck you out?”

She didn’t answer.

“Everybody knows about them,” he said. “All their brains are in their cocks.”

She put down her drink and rose from the couch. “I don’t have to listen to that shit,” she said.

His hand gripped her arm tightly. “You want a job, you listen whether you like it or not.”

It was not until then that she saw the glittering brightness in his eyes and knew he was coked to the ears. He had probably taken a few snorts before he came out. “What about the job?” she asked.

He let go of her arm. “I told you you’d come crawling back.”

She didn’t answer.

“What makes you think I’d give you a job?” he asked. “What can you do better than anybody else?”

She kept her silence.

“Maybe the nigger taught you some new tricks.” Abruptly he pulled at his belt and the robe fell open. “Show me,” he said. “Get it hard. I got room for a good cocksucker up in the massage parlor.”

“I think I’d better go,” she said.

“What’s the matter? Isn’t it big enough for you anymore?” He laughed harshly. “Everybody knows they’re hung like horses.”

She turned and started for the door. He caught her arm. “Maybe I was all wrong. Maybe you’d rather make it with her than with me?” He called over his shoulder to the woman. “Come here.”

“Jesus, Vincent,” the woman said in a disgusted tone of voice.

“Come here, bitch!” he said angrily.

Slowly the woman got down from the stool and came over to him. He turned back to JeriLee. “Would you like to go down on her?” he said.

“I told you he was crazy,” the woman said.

Vincent stared at the woman wildly and for a moment JeriLee thought he was about to strike her. Then abruptly he dropped JeriLee’s arm and walked back to the bar, where he refilled his drink. “Go on, get out of here. Both of you,” he said. “You cunts are all alike.”

Silently JeriLee opened the door and the woman followed her out into the hall.

“He’s got to be higher than the Empire State Building,” the woman said as they waited for the elevator. “He’s been snortin’ coke ever since he got home.”

When they came out of the building, the woman signaled for a cab. “Can I give you a lift?” she asked.

“No, thanks. I think I’ll walk.”

The woman fished in her purse, then held her hand out to JeriLee. “Here’s my phone number,” she said. “Give me a call sometime.”

Automatically JeriLee’s hand closed over the folded paper. The cab door closed and the taxi took off. JeriLee looked down at her hand. The folded twenty-dollar bill lay flat in her palm.

“Oh, no!” She took a step after the cab. But it had already turned the corner. She stood there for a moment, blinking back the tears that suddenly came to her eyes.

“Taxi, miss?” the doorman asked.

“No, thank you.” The evening breeze was beginning to come in off the river as she boarded a cross-town bus on Fifty-seventh Street.

The driver looked down at her hand as she held the bill toward him. A tone of disgust came into his voice. “For Christ’s sake, lady,” he said. “Can’t you rich East Side broads get it through your heads that there are poor people in this world?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, searching in her bag and finding a quarter. She looked out the bus window and blinked. It really would be funny if it weren’t so sad.

The only kindness she had known during the whole depressing day had come from a stranger, a woman whose name she had never thought to ask. But then they were both female in an alien world. Only a woman who had been there herself could sympathize with one who was there now. She was sorry she hadn’t taken the cab with her. It would have been good to have someone to talk to.

Suddenly she thought of Licia. There was something about her that was solid and strong. Fred had said that she was into a lot of businesses. Maybe she would be able to help her find a job. She made up her mind to call her when she got back home.

***

The downstairs buzzer sounded. She took a last quick look around the apartment as she went to press the button that unlocked the outside door. It looked as good as it ever could. She opened the door and waited.

The sound of footsteps came from the landing below. “Up here,” she called. “One more flight.”

Licia’s head appeared as she came up the stairs.

“I forgot to tell you there was no elevator,” JeriLee said.

Licia grinned. “That’s all right,” she said easily. “I never knew there was such a thing as elevators until I was fourteen years old.”

JeriLee closed the door behind her. “I didn’t mean to interfere with your work.”

“You’re not,” Licia replied. “I usually take Tuesday nights off.”

“Would you like a drink?” JeriLee asked.

“Do you have any fruit juice?”

JeriLee shook her head. “Some white wine?”

Licia hesitated. “Okay.”

JeriLee quickly filled two glasses and gave her one. Licia sat down on the small couch and put the glass on the cocktail table. JeriLee sat opposite her, suddenly feeling awkward and embarrassed. She took a quick drink of the wine. “I shouldn’t have called you,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

The black girl looked at her steadily. “But you did.”

JeriLee’s eyes fell. “Yes. The roof was caving in. I felt I had to talk to somebody. The only one I could think of calling was you.”

“What happened to the play? Fred told me that Fannon was going to do it.”

“It wasn’t any good. I didn’t know it then but I know it now. I fucked up.”

Licia’s voice was easy. “Those things happen. I put some money into a few shows. Nothing happened.”

“Now I’ve got to get a job. I can’t fool around anymore.”

“Fred told me that you wouldn’t take any more from him.”

JeriLee nodded.

“Why?”

“Fred had his own plans. I had mine. They didn’t go together. It wouldn’t be right to take his money.”

Licia was silent for a moment. “What kind of a job are you looking for?”

“I don’t know,” JeriLee said. “I’m an out-of-work actress and an unsuccessful writer. The only thing I know is that I want to make enough money so that I can continue writing.”

“How much would that take?” Licia asked.

JeriLee laughed, embarrassed. “A lot more than I’m probably worth on the job market. At least a hundred and fifty, two hundred a week.”

“That’s a lot of bread,” Licia said.

“I know,” JeriLee said. “But this place costs me over two hundred a month with the utilities.”

“What you need is some man to keep you,” Licia said.

“Is that how you did it?”

“Yes,” Licia said evenly. “I have an eight-year-old son. When he was born his father gave me twenty-five grand to get lost. He didn’t want his nice white world to get fucked up.”

“I’m sorry,” JeriLee said quickly. “I had no right to say something like that.”

“It all worked out,” Licia said quietly. “My boy lives in the country with my mother. And the friends I made when I was with his father helped me get started in business.”

JeriLee emptied her glass and refilled it. “You don’t drink?” she asked, noticing that Licia’s wine was untouched.

“Never liked it,” Licia said.

“What’s happening with Fred?” she asked.

“He’s working,” Licia said. “He’s in L.A. right now. He’s getting an album together for one of the record companies. When that comes out, they’re goin’ to send him around the country on a tour. They think he’s got a real good chance.”

“I’m glad for him,” JeriLee said. “He’s a good person.”

“You haven’t changed your mind about him?” Licia asked. “He still wants to marry you.”

“No.” JeriLee shook her head. “It wouldn’t work. We make it in bed and we make it as friends. But that’s as far as it goes. If we did get married we’d only wind up tearing each other apart. There’s only room for one career in Fred’s life.”

“You wouldn’t consider giving up yours?”

“I would have remained married to my first husband if I felt that way.”

Licia was silent for a moment. “Have you had dinner yet?”

“No.”

Licia smiled. “What do you say we get something to eat? Somehow problems never seem as heavy on a full stomach.”