Valley of the Dolls (22 page)

The Philadelphia opening of
Hit the Sky
was a much smoother and glossier version of the New Haven premiere. Anne was amazed at the changes that had been accomplished in such a short time. She sat beside Lyon, identifying with the cast rather than the audience. He held her hand, and she wondered if he had noticed the absence of the large diamond. It was resting in a plain manila envelope in her new safe-deposit box. It had seemed cruel leaving the large solitaire all alone in that cold tin box. It had seemed to glitter in outraged anger, as if it were protesting its uncalled-for rejection.

Lyon’s whisper snapped her thoughts back to the stage. It was Neely’s big moment. The ballad had been reinstated. Anne sat on the edge of her seat when Neely began to sing. It was a completely different interpretation. Terry King in her slinky red satin dress had seemed disenchanted and sultry. Neely in a blue dress with a Peter Pan collar was haunting, forlorn and alone. There was a vibrant wail to her voice. Now it
was
a torch song, very different and more plaintive. She received a tremendous ovation.

Several times during the show Anne glanced nervously at the three empty seats in the fourth row. Helen had reserved those seats. And she was supposed to be sitting there, between Allen and Gino. She had not broken the news to Helen. She felt it might hurt her performance.

The curtain came down at eleven-fifteen. There was no doubt of the show’s success. Even Henry Bellamy’s usual look of harassment had evaporated. He passed Lyon and Anne as they came backstage. “The party will be at the Warwick.”

Lyon looked at his watch. “You don’t really care about going, do you?”

She hadn’t thought about it. She had assumed Henry had reserved rooms for them at the hotel. They had come to the theatre directly from the train. She had an oversized handbag in which she had crammed a nightgown and a toothbrush. She suddenly realized Lyon was without his usual attaché case.

“If we make a fast dash backstage and congratulate Helen and Neely, we can catch the twelve-twenty-five back to New York.”

“Whatever you say, Lyon.”

“I think I’d rather have my drink in the club car with you. We both need one good night’s sleep, and this party is bound to last way into the morning.”

They elbowed their way through the crowd cluttering the hallways of the dressing rooms. Anne went directly to Neely’s room. She was standing outside the door, surrounded by a few newspapermen. Members of the cast stopped by, offering congratulations. Mel stood at her side, silent and beaming with pride.

Anne embraced her. “Neely, you were wonderful!”

“Was I really? Honest? It’ll be even better after I get used to it. And these were makeshift costumes. I’m getting a new set for New York.”

Lyon offered his congratulations. Neely looked startled. “Where’s Allen?”

“I’ll tell you some other time,” Anne said quietly.

“Nothing’s wrong, is it?” Neely insisted. “Gosh, Helen was like a school girl because Gino was out front tonight. And you’re supposed to be with Allen.”

Anne felt herself coloring. Neely’s clear voice carried halfway down the hall.

“Allen isn’t here,” Anne said through her teeth.

“That’s obvious,” Neely said. “Hey—the ring!” She grabbed Anne’s hand. “Where’s the ring?”

“Neely, we’ll talk about it another time. I’ve got to go down and congratulate Helen.”

“If Gino isn’t here, you better get out of town fast.”

They pushed their way through the crowd into Helen’s dressing room. Helen broke away from several people and came toward Anne with her arms outstretched. “Hi!” she said merrily. Then her eyes went past Anne expectantly. When she saw Lyon she looked at Anne questioningly. “Where is everybody?”

“They didn’t come.”

“What?”

“It’s a long story, Helen.”

“That sonofabitch! What happened?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“It had better be good. Come on inside while I change and tell me.”

“Helen . . . we’re—Lyon and I—we’re taking the twelve-twenty-five back to New York.”

“You’re kidding!”

Anne shook her head mutely.

“You mean you’re not coming to the party?”

“I have to be in the office tomorrow, Helen.”

“Balls! If I say I want you here, then that’s it! It’s the least Henry can do for me. He went back tonight, so you stay.” Then, turning to everyone in the room, she shouted, “Hey, the party’s at the Warwick. You’ll have to scram now so I can change.”

There was the usual hum of good-bys mingled with more congratulations.

When they were alone, Helen turned to Anne and Lyon. “Lyon, you wait in the hall. Anne can sit here while I change.”

He looked at his watch. “We’d best be leaving, Anne, if we want to catch the last decent train.”

“Oh, swell! Henry doesn’t even leave you as a replacement? Next thing I know he’ll be sending me that owl-faced George Bellows. He’s gonna hear from me! Who in hell is going to escort me to the party?”

“Why didn’t Henry stay?” Anne asked.

“Because I told him Gino would be here,” Helen snarled. “I wanna hear about that. What in hell happened?”

Lyon glanced at his watch again. “I’ll hail us a cab, Anne.” He smiled briefly at Helen and left the room.

“Boy, am I getting stood up all around tonight,” Helen said. She sat at the dressing table and began powdering down her makeup.

“Helen, the show was just great tonight,” Anne said. “I’m sorry I have to leave now, but Lyon wants to make that train. . . .”

“Then let him, for Chrissake. What’s that got to do with you?”

Anne searched for an excuse. “I have no hotel reservation.”

“So what? I have a suite with two beds. You can stay with me.”

“But I came with Lyon.” She looked longingly toward the door.

Helen’s eyes widened. “Oh, I get it. Still playing footsies with Lyon. Jesus, you’re like all the rest. You, the one girl who had class, who I cared about—my buddy-buddy—running out on me. But go on. Hell, that’s the story of my life. I give all of myself . . . I always trust people. . . .” Tears began to roll down her face. “I believed in you, Annie . . . my one friend. But you’re like all the others, kicking me in the ass, walking out when I need you. Here I am, alone on my opening—no guy, and my only girl friend wants to take a powder. . . .”

“Helen, I
am
your friend. Maybe there’s a later train. Let me talk to Lyon . . .”

“Nah, anything after the twelve-twenty-five is a milk train.” Helen began to blot at her running mascara. “But go on. I was crazy to expect you to be different.”

“Wait . . . let me talk to Lyon.” She dashed out of the room.

Lyon was holding a cab. She rushed to him. “Lyon, we can’t leave her alone. She feels so hurt.”

He stared at her. “Anne, nothing can hurt Helen.”

“You don’t understand her. She was crying. She feels so alone on her opening night.”

“Helen’s tears come easily. And go quickly. Look, Anne, the Helen Lawsons of this world create their own loneliness.”

“But we can’t do this to her.”

“We owe Helen nothing other than a business loyalty. Simple things like the crucifixion of Terry King. That she understands—and demands. But there is nothing in my contract that states I must escort her to parties.”

“But Lyon, she’s my friend.”

“And you choose to remain?”

“I feel we should . . .”

He smiled. “Okay. Good-by, friend,” he said lightly. Then he jumped into the cab.

At first she couldn’t believe it. But the cab was gone. She didn’t know whether to be angry or frightened. Had she let Lyon down? Or had he let her down? If she had gone with him, she certainly would have let Helen down. God knows she had let Allen down. She suddenly felt tears coming to her eyes. Everything seemed to be crumbling around her. She was hurting everyone—most of all herself.

The party at the Warwick was a repetition of the party in New Haven, except for Neely’s appearance as a full-fledged principal. There were more people from New York, different newspapermen—and Helen, drinking heavily, was still every inch the hearty, good-natured star. There had been people in the dressing room when Anne had returned, and she had not been able to explain about Gino. So she sat through the festivities, watching, feeling outside of everything, worrying about Lyon—and feeling numb. At two in the morning, when she saw Neely and Mel steal away, she felt a stab of envy. Lyon would be just arriving in New York now. She wondered if he was angry—or did he feel miserable, too?

They returned to Helen’s suite at three in the morning, and Helen opened a split of champagne. She poured herself a large glass. “Okay, now tell me—what happened to Gino?”

Anne searched for the right words. “It’s all my fault, I suppose,” she said carefully. “You see, I broke up with Allen.”

“Why?”

“Well—Lyon and I. . . we were together. . .”

“So?” Helen asked. “I knew you were balling Lyon in New Haven. What’s that got to do with Allen?”

“I couldn’t see Allen any more if I’m in love with Lyon.”

Helen’s eyes narrowed. “Are you kidding? You don’t think just because he’s banging you he’s gonna marry you, do you?”

“Of course he will—”

“Has he mentioned marriage?”

“Helen, this all just happened three days ago.”

“So where is your big Romeo now? I notice he didn’t stick with you.”

Anne didn’t answer. Helen rushed on, driving her point home. “Listen, a guy who is in love with you sticks with you. Allen stuck—and he probably feels awful. That’s why Gino didn’t come, I bet. He probably thinks I’m as cheap as you.”

“Helen!”

“You think you’re classy, acting this way. You wear a guy’s ring and leap in the feathers with that limey! And fuck me up with Gino. Sure, he thinks we’re the same kind. He’s afraid to see me now—afraid I’d hurt him like you hurt his son.”

“What I did with Allen has nothing to do with you and Gino.”

“Then why isn’t he here? He dug me pretty good. I can tell. We had laughs together. If it wasn’t for you throwing yourself at Lyon Burke, he’d be here with me now. I’ve lost a guy I love because you’re a little tramp.”

Anne dashed across the room and grabbed her coat.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Helen asked, refilling her glass.

“Any place—just to get away from you!”

“Ha!” Helen sneered. “Honey, you got no place to go but down. Do you think anyone cares about you? You and your prissy blue nose? At least I come out and call a spade a spade. But you played it the great lady. Sure, as long as you wore that diamond you were someone. I put up with you. I figured you must have something if Allen Cooper wanted you. It was your only claim to fame. You’re nothing now—just another broad who’s been balled by Lyon Burke.”

Anne stared at her. “And I thought you were my friend—”

“Friend! What in hell have you got that I should be your friend! Who in hell are you? A stinking secretary and a big bore! And I lose a guy who digs me because of you, yet!” Helen stood up, her legs wobbling. “I’m going to bed—sleep on the couch if you like.”

Anne’s rage made her calm. “Helen, you’ve just lost the only friend you ever had.”

Helen’s face twisted. “Things would be pretty rough if I had to rely on you for laughs and kicks.”

Anne went to the door. “Good-by, Helen. And good luck.”

“No, sister, you’re the one who needs the luck. All you got left is maybe a few more bangs from Lyon Burke before he gets bored with you. And he gets bored easily. I know—I had my innings with him six years ago.” She smiled at Anne’s incredulous stare. “That’s right, me and Lyon. I was doing a new show and he had just joined Henry Bellamy. He was playing it smart—gave me the big romance treatment. He liked being seen with me. But at least I wasn’t a jerk like you. I took it for what it was worth—enjoyed him in the kip and when it petered out that was it. And believe me, I had more to offer him than you, a two-bit secretary.”

Anne opened the door and rushed out, sick with disgust and anger. She reached the elevator and suddenly stopped. Her panic grew as she frantically searched through her bag. She had no money. She had rushed to meet Lyon so quickly that she hadn’t bothered to cash a check. She made a final search and found eighty-five cents. It was after four—she couldn’t call Neely. But she couldn’t walk to New York, either.

She sat on a chair near the elevator in the hall. If she went to the lobby and sat—till nine maybe—then she could call Neely. Oh, God, she had ruined everything. She felt an overwhelming sense of loss. Helen was no longer her friend. But then it seemed Helen had never been her friend. . . . Everyone had warned her. She had been warned about Lyon, too. Lyon and Helen. No—it couldn’t be! But Helen wouldn’t make up an outrageous lie like that. Oh, God! Why had Helen told her? She began to sob, muffling the sound in her hands.

She heard the elevator stop. She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and kept her head down. A girl got off and walked past, then stopped and turned around.

“It’s Anne, isn’t it?”

Anne dabbed frantically at her eyes again. It was Jennifer North.

“What’s wrong?” Jennifer asked.

Anne looked at the radiant girl. “Just about everything, I’m afraid.”

Jennifer smiled compassionately. “I’ve had days like that. Come on, my room is right down there. Maybe we can talk about it.” She took Anne’s hand and led her firmly down the hall.

Sitting on the bed, chain smoking, Anne found herself telling Jennifer the entire story.

At the end Jennifer grinned. “Wow, have you had a weekend!”

“I’m sorry I put you through all this,” Anne said. “And at such an hour.”

“That’s all right, I never sleep anyway.” Jennifer smiled. “That’s
my
big problem. But one of your problems is solved, anyway. You stay here tonight.”

“No—I really want to get back to New York. If you would lend me the money, I’ll mail you a check tomorrow.”

Jennifer reached into her bag and tossed over her wallet. “Help yourself. But I think you’re mad. I’ve got two beds. You can get a good night’s sleep and go back tomorrow on a decent train.”