The Slipper (40 page)

“I love your dress,” Julie said. “Hardly suitable for January, though.”

“Perfect for California. You wouldn't believe the weather. Snow? Out there they don't know what it is. I—I'm halfway thinking of getting a permanent place in L.A.”

“Oh?”

“Remember James Hennesy? Remember me telling you about meeting him at Copenhagen the day before I left the agency?”

“If I recall, you found him very attractive.”

“I'm seeing him. I met him at a party in Beverly Hills.
With These Regrets
bombed, you know. Prentice-Hall gave it a big send-off, and the reviews were terrific, but it barely sold three thousand copies and there wasn't a paperback sale. He's working on a screenplay for the studio, a vehicle for Patricia Owens and Jeffrey Hunter, romance and industrial espionage in the pharmaceutical business. He drove me back to the hotel after the party and, well, I've spent a couple of weekends with him in Malibu.”

“Serious?”

“It could be.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“I'm not sure. He's the most exciting man I've ever met, brilliant, mercurial, magnificent in bed, but there's a lot going on beneath the surface. I—I'm never quite sure where I stand with him.”

“Be careful, darling.”

“Caution's my middle name,” Nora told her, finishing her wine. “By the way, I brought that package up—they were holding it downstairs. It's from Paris, addressed to Danny. Carol sent it. It weighs a ton.”

They removed twine and heavy brown paper to discover a large oblong box handsomely wrapped in birthday paper. Julie set the present with the others on a card table she had moved in earlier.

“
Knaves Like Us
was playing at the Thalia last weekend,” she said. “Jim and I went to see it again. Carol was absolutely marvelous, so was Sir Robert. It's a pity it didn't have wide release over here.”

“Too British for the general public,” Nora said. “She
was
marvelous. Carol has developed into a superb actress. Hollywood's going to wake up one day and see what they're missing. They still think of her as the amateur who wrecked
Daughter of France
.”

Nora had flown to Paris last September and spent three weeks with Carol, meeting her early idol Gaby Bernais and enjoying the glamorous Parisian nightlife. Although her French was wretched she had enchanted the Frenchmen with her vitality, her wit, her flashy American chic. They were loath to let her go, but she had returned to New York with a plethora of gifts for Julie and Danny and a stunning new Parisian wardrobe.

“I wonder if she's started the new film yet,” Julie said.

“That madman was still trying to find financing, the last I heard. I met him in Paris—did I tell you? Guy Masson. He's supposed to be some kind of genius, but he looked like a hoodlum to me. Thin as a rail, pockmarked face, dark glasses, moth-eaten T-shirt and a shabby black suit that looked vintage 1945. He hasn't ever made a film before, but Carol says the script is brilliant and wildly innovative. If they ever get it off the ground, her costar's going to be a former wrestler making
his
first film. What can I tell you?”

“Is—is she still pining over Norman Philips?” Julie asked.

“She hasn't gotten over him yet,” Nora said. “I doubt she'll ever completely get over him. She blames herself for not coming back to America with him, not marrying him. She feels he needed her, feels she let him down. She's kept very, very busy, socially and professionally, but the sadness is still there inside.”

“Poor Carol.”

“She's strong. She'll survive. She'll come out on top, too, just you wait.”

“I've no doubt she will,” Julie said quietly. “I just wonder if it will all have been worth it.”

Jim rapped noisily on the door then, and Julie got up to let him in. He gave her the ice cream, gave Nora a grin and handed her the box from the bakery, unwinding the muffler from his throat.

“How's the Hottest Young Writer of the Decade?” he inquired.

“Cool,” she said.

“Been gettin' any in California?”

“You've been spying, you son of a bitch.”

“You look fabulous, babe.”

“You look every bit as obnoxious as you looked back at Claymore when you were giving Julian Compton such headaches. That leather jacket's definitely passé, darling, and so are those boots.”

“They're part of my image.”

Nora took the cake out of the box and set it on the table in the small dining nook adjacent to the living room. It was set for five with festive paper hats and napkins, Danny's high chair at the head of the table. Julie put away the ice cream and returned to the living room to find Jim mixing himself a scotch and soda. She longed for a second glass of wine or something even stronger but knew both Jim and Nora would look askance. She rearranged the presents on the card table. Nora had added two to the collection, both huge and handsomely wrapped, and Julie was still curious about the gift a grinning Jim had brought earlier. The three of them sat down and chatted, close friends, comfortable, utterly at ease with each other. Julie wished she felt less weary, more in a party mood.

“So how's Hollywood?” Jim inquired.

“Glorious. Sunshine. Palm trees. Jewelry stores. Paradise.”

“You really
like
it out there? I hear the place is full of phonies.”

“That's New York provincialism speaking. Some of the most brilliant, inventive and stimulating people I've ever met are living in L.A. They have style and sophistication New Yorkers can only dream about.”

“Sounds to me like you've been brainwashed, babe.”

“Come on out. See for yourself.”

“I just might do that one of these days.”

Hannah let herself in with her key at five-thirty, Danny toddling behind her, plump and sturdy in a pale blue jumper with a fading Howdy Doody across his chest. Spying Nora, he let out a lusty “No-No!” and charged, wrapping his arms around her legs.

“Mind the dress, sweetheart. It set me back three hundred bucks in the swankiest shop in Beverly Hills.”

Hannah sighed wearily. A large, amiable soul with silvering black hair, woeful brown eyes and a generous nose, she exuded comfort and compassion, rather like an oversized Molly Goldberg. A shapeless purple wool tent dress failed to minimize her considerable girth. She carried an enormous brown bag as shapeless as her dress. Nora felt sure it contained any number of home remedies and a quart jar of chicken soup just waiting to be heated up. Jewish mother she might be, but Hannah was remarkably unlike Sadie, who, to Nora's eternal relief, had moved to Miami with Irving several months ago. A hunk of Nora's movie sale money had gone toward the purchase of their condo and a mink stole for Sadie.

“Bah-woons!” Danny exclaimed, noticing them for the first time.

“You betcha,” Nora said.

“And pwe-sents! For me?”

“A couple of them might be,” Nora confessed.

“'Cause it's my birthday! Wight?”

“Right,” Jim said.

“That's whutta said.”

Releasing Nora's legs, Danny grinned at Jim and Jim made a fist and feigned a blow and Danny put up his dukes and Hannah's eyebrows shot upward in exasperation. Jim leaped up, grabbed Danny around the waist and heaved him up over his shoulder, Danny squealing with rapturous delight. Jim was really quite marvelous with Danny, Julie thought. In many ways he was still a child himself. They delighted in each other's company, romping and roughhousing together, and many a time a sleepy Danny had crawled into Jim's lap to be tenderly held and crooned to until he dozed off to sleep.

“How 'bout it, buddy?” Jim cried, swinging a squealing Danny around. “Wanna party? Wanna have some cake and ice cream?”

“Yeeeess!”

“Jesus,” Nora said, “this is disgusting.”

“Does he
need
this stimulation?” Hannah inquired. “Was he a good boy today? Did he eat his spinach? No! Did he throw it across the room? Yes. Did he take his nap? No. He wants to watch his mommy on the television and I tell him she's already off and he says he wants to watch cartoons and I tell him there aren't any on and he says he'll settle for Captain Kangaroo and I pick up a pillow and I tell myself if I smother him to death any judge in the country will call it justifiable homicide.”

“I hope you spanked him,” Julie said.

“Lay a hand on that precious child? I should say not!”

A rambunctious Danny was finally settled into his high chair by an equally rambunctious Jim, paper hats were donned, then Julie lighted the two candles atop the cake. “Happy Birthday” was sung and Danny blew out the candles and then scooped a fingerload of icing off the cake and popped it into his mouth. Hannah's eyes flew heavenward, as though for support, and Julie lighted a cigarette, smoking it nervously while the others had their cake and ice cream, much of Danny's winding up on cheeks and chin. He was so like his father, she thought, the same eyes, the same dark-brown hair, the same handsome features clearly discernible beneath the chubby flesh. For a second time that day she fought back an impulse to burst into tears. Instead she cleaned Danny's face with a dampened napkin and lighted another cigarette.

“Now!” Danny cried. “Pwe-sents!”

Jim and Danny sat on the living room floor and Hannah sat on the couch and Julie poured herself another glass of white wine and watched as Nora handed presents to Danny, one by one. Ribbons were ripped aside. Colored paper was torn off with glee. Carol had sent him a beautiful set of tin soldiers, exquisitely hand-painted, each one with its own resting place in the hinged, triple-layered velvet-lined box. Auntie Carol was the lady on the phone, Julie reminded Danny. He had talked to her a number of times. Danny nodded and grabbed the next package, a huge stuffed Mickey Mouse almost as large as he, from Nora. She told him that she had gone all the way to Disneyland to get it for him and he'd bloody well better appreciate it. Danny said he bloody well would. There was a stuffed Goofy, too, also from Disneyland. Hannah gave him coloring books and Crayolas, and Julie had bought him several new shirts, pants, a new coat and winter boots, all of which Danny sullenly disdained. “I wanted a toy!” he informed her. Jim's gift was the last, and Danny yelled with delight when he discovered four battery-run race cars with their own plastic track ready to be assembled.

“Wowweee!” he shouted. “Let's race 'em, Jim!”

“Bet I beatja!” Jim challenged.

“Betja don't!”

Julie fetched a trash bag, and Hannah and Nora helped her clear up the litter of ribbon and paper while Jim, on hands and knees, patiently assembled the plastic tracks, frowning as he consulted the directions. An exhausted Hannah gave Danny a hug, squeezed Julie's hand and went upstairs to her own apartment. Nora and Julie cleared the dining room table and washed the dishes, squeals sounding from the living room as the races began. Putting the last dish away, Julie dried her hands and lighted yet another cigarette.

“You're smoking too much,” Nora said.

“I know.”

“You really should try to cut down.”

“I will.”

“I noticed that second glass of wine, too. You never used to drink anything at all. Is something wrong, Julie? Is there something we should talk about?”

Julie shook her head. “I—it's just the strain, Nora. I never seem to have any time for the things that matter. I'm always working, always memorizing lines, always going to classes, going to auditions. Danny's getting out of control, and I—it's nothing. I just need some rest. I'll be all right.”

“We'll talk tonight, love, after I get back.”

“You're going out tonight?”

“I talked to Ross earlier. The Literary Guild is having a party tonight and he thinks I should make an appearance. He's sending a limo for me at seven. We're having drinks at the Plaza beforehand with Rona and her beau.”

Julie looked at her friend and she felt a great rush of affection, gratitude as well. Nora had stood by her from the beginning, through the divorce, through the pregnancy, Danny's birth and the difficult months that followed until she finally got a job and could pay her share of expenses. They had indeed been closer than sisters, and Julie knew she could never have made it without Nora.

“I—thank you for being concerned, Nora,” she said.

“What are sisters for?”

“I—I'm so happy for you. Have I ever told you that? You've struggled so hard for so many years and—and now you have everything you always wanted.”

“Not everything. Not yet—but I'm working on it.”

“I'm so glad you're my friend.”

“You'll do yourself in a pinch, love.”

“Have a good time at the party.”

“I intend to, and when I get back I've got a couple of things to show you, a couple of frocks. I couldn't resist 'em. They're you, darling. You're gonna be gorgeous in 'em.”

The races were still progressing noisily when Nora left, looking stunning in a patterned red-and-black velvet Dior with a matching black velvet cloak. Danny cheered lustily as his car zipped ahead of Jim's, and Jim wore a chagrined expression, brow furrowed, mouth turned down, very intent, cursing his car. Danny won and Jim accused him of cheating and they had a hearty, amiable squabble. Jim insisted they have one more race, determined to win this time, and Danny was elated at this opportunity to beat him again. Jim suggested they trade cars, Danny said “No way!” and Julie tactfully reminded Jim that he had a performance tonight. He sighed and stood up, looking disgruntled.

“We'll have a rematch later,” he promised Danny, “and if I
catch
you cheating you're gonna get a fat lip.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! You all right, babe? You look a little tired.”

“It's been a long day. Thanks for all the help, Jim. I don't know what I'd have done without you.”