Valley of the Dolls (54 page)

She looked away and hoped the heavy television makeup covered her self-conscious flush.

He held her hands firmly. “I’ve come up zero too,” he said. “It’s my one regret. There is no one like you, Anne—there never could be.” He paused. “I’d like very much to see you while I’m here. I’ll understand if you can’t—Henry says you and this Kevin Gillmore—”

“You can see me, Lyon,” she said evenly.

“Marvelous! When shall it be?”

“Tomorrow night, if you like.”

“Great. Where can I reach you?”

“Let me call you,” she said quickly. “I’ll be on the outside on some appointments during the day.”

He scribbled down his hotel and number. She noticed he was staying just three blocks from her apartment. She smiled and promised to call him at six.

“We’ll plan on dinner,” he said easily. He stood up. “I’ll leave now—I’m sure you want a chance to freshen up before you tackle this thing on camera. I’m terribly proud of you. Till tomorrow, then . . .”

For a long time she sat very still. Lyon was back. Nothing had changed. But it had—she was no longer twenty, and the years had brought changes. There was Kevin, who had given her love, trust—and her career. Kevin needs me, she thought, and in walks Lyon, just for a visit, and I act like an idiot, ready to kick over the traces and forget all the years without a word. Tomorrow I’ll call him and say I’m busy. Or maybe I won’t even call. Let him wait, like I waited so long.

But she knew she would see him.

Kevin didn’t mention it until they had finished dinner. Then he casually asked what Lyon was doing in New York. She explained his assignment. Kevin listened intently as he studied his brandy glass. Then he said, “Well, now that I’ve seen him, I can understand. A girl of twenty would be attracted to a man like Lyon. Of course he’s a bit too obvious—his looks and that phony English charm—but I suppose a young, impressionable girl would find him attractive.”

“Yes.” She sipped her drink. “But part of Lyon’s charm is his unawareness of his looks—”

“Ha! Don’t kid yourself!” Kevin said with a trace of irritation. “That bird knows his power. He operates on those looks. There’s not a wasted movement. He also knows how to make men like him. I’d have liked him, if he wasn’t
your
Lyon Burke.”

She smiled and reached for a cigarette.

“Anne.” His tone was urgent. “Say something. I’m trying to play it cool, like they do in movies, but for God’s sake, help me, give me something to grab at—tell me he left you cold.”

“No, Kevin. I’d be lying if I said that.”

“You’re not going to see him again?”

“If you tell me not to, I won’t.”

“But you want to?” He was pleading for a denial.

She avoided his eyes. “It might be wiser if I did. Wiser for both of us. I might find everything I thought attractive about him kind of childish now. As you say, his appearance hits one—hard—but I don’t know what Lyon Burke is like now. Maybe I never knew . . . maybe I dreamed him into an image. Henry warned me about that. But if we want any chance at happiness, you and I, then I have to find out.”

“You mean I could blow the whole thing because this sonofabitch got some newspaper assignment? If he hadn’t, you’d never have seen him again. You know that!”

“Of course I do. Kevin, I care for you . . . deeply. We have years together that can’t be dissolved. But Lyon was something that ended on a high note. Maybe I’ll find it ends with a flat one after all, but I’ve got to find out.”

“Don’t, Anne. Don’t see him!” It was a harsh croak.

“Kevin . . . please . . .” She looked around the restaurant uneasily.

“Anne.” He groped for her hand, almost spilling a glass of water. “Anne, you’re my life. I can’t live without you!”

“You won’t have to, Kevin.”

His eyes held hers. “Is that a promise?”

She saw tears in his eyes. “Promise,” she said miserably.

She couldn’t come to terms with herself the following day. She reached for the phone a dozen times to call Lyon and cancel the date. But she never finished dialing. Maybe it
would
fall flat. Maybe she
could
just walk away. That would solve everything. She had promised Kevin she wouldn’t leave him, but she hadn’t promised not to see Lyon. She
had
to see him.

They met at the Little Club at seven. He was sitting at the bar when she came in, and he sprang to his feet and led her to a table. “You’re just not the type to sit at a bar,” he said. He looked at her intently after they had ordered a drink. “Anne, you look marvelous. You haven’t changed a bit. No, that’s not true. You are much more lovely.”

“You’ve held up fairly well too,” she said wryly.

“I often wondered about you,” he said. “Sometimes when I longed for you I’d console myself with crazy fantasies. I’d tell myself you were fat, with six or seven sniffly little brats clinging to your skirts. At least it got me back to the typewriter.”

She laughed. “Oh, Lyon—and I used to pretend you were bald.”

It was easy after that. She told him about Jennifer, carefully skirting the real truth. Somehow she felt that Jennifer’s legend must be kept intact—that the body beautiful should not be blemished by cancer. They discussed Neely. Henry had told him about that, but he couldn’t believe it could happen to the bright-eyed Neely he had known.

“She’s such an enormous talent,” he said. “She’s frightfully popular in England. Her pictures were quite wonderful for Hollywood products. In spite of all the tinsel and sugar candy they surrounded her with, she still emerged as a true artist. She will come out of it, won’t she?”

Anne’s eyes clouded. “They say she’s bent for self-destruction, that her kind of illness is never really cured. It may be arrested, and with help she might be able to function again. But she’ll always have that self-destructive urge. At least, that’s what the doctors say.”

He sighed. “Perhaps that’s why I never made it big. Sometimes I think all great artists are a little balmy. I’m much too normal. I fall asleep the minute I hit the pillow, don’t drink to excess and never even take an aspirin.”

She laughed. “I guess I’m second-rate too. Perhaps I smoke too much, but I’m still a one-drink girl, and although I’d never admit it, I sometimes fall asleep right in the middle of the late movie.”

He laughed back. “No, Anne, you’re first-rate—there’s no one like you. There really isn’t, you know. Every girl I met, it always washed out. They just couldn’t stand up to your image.”

They talked through dinner about New York and the changes he noticed. He introduced her to Irish coffee and she became an instant devotee. She was still praising it when he suddenly turned to her. “It’s all the same, Anne. I want to take you in my arms this moment. I feel as if we’ve never parted.”

“I want to
be
in your arms, Lyon.”

He grinned. “It’s a deal. But I think it’s best if I paid the check and we got the hell out of here!”

It was unbelievable. To be lying beside him, watching the smoke curl into the light of the bed lamp. . . . There had been no hesitation, no bridges to cross; they had come together in a fusion of love and desire. This was complete fulfillment. When she held him in her arms she suddenly knew it
was
important to love—more important than
being
loved. And she knew this was a decision she had to make. Lyon loved her, in his own way. Was it enough? Would she miss Kevin’s tender, unselfish devotion, the one-sided way he lived for her? With Lyon she would have to be on her toes every second. Was she up to the give and take of this kind of love?

He reached out and stroked her bare back. “It was wonderful, Anne. It always was.”

“For me too, Lyon—but only with you.”

“Anne, there
is
Kevin Gillmore,” he said quietly. He felt her stiffen and stroked her head. “It’s common knowledge, darling. And everyone knows he wants to marry you.” He paused. “You know I didn’t just happen on the set yesterday, don’t you? I made it a point to look up Jerry Richardson. I wanted to meet this Kevin Gillmore—and I wanted to see you.”

She pulled away and sat up. “What was I supposed to do? Sit around all these years and pray for your return? Lyon . . . not a letter, not a word . . . nothing.”

“Hush.” He put his fingers across her lips. “Of course I understand. I
wanted
to write—oh, God, the letters I wrote and never mailed—but that bloody pride of mine . . . Each book would do it, I’d tell myself. Then I’d return the conquering hero and take my girl away from whatever guy she was with. But I’m
not
the hero—and Kevin Gillmore is
not
just a guy. He’s a good man, Anne, and from what I hear he’s head over heels about you.”

She was silent.

“If I had any character, I wouldn’t see you after tonight,” he said.

“Lyon!” There was fear in her voice,

He laughed aloud. “I said
if
I had any character. I’m afraid I never had very much. And seeing you made whatever shred I had go up in smoke.” Then he said very seriously, “I’ll be here, Anne, for the taking, any time you want me. But that’s all it can be.”

“What does that mean?”

“I return to London after this assignment. I have a new book in the works. The first draft is written.”

“Couldn’t you write here?”

“Possibly. But I couldn’t live, at least not as well. I have a nice flat, and I pick up extra money doing articles. It’s a different life, Anne, but I like it.” Then he added, “And I earn just enough to make it possible to spend those bleak hours at the typewriter, writing what I want to write. It’s a lonely existence, but there’s always the hope that perhaps
this
is the book that will do it. I believe in my writing and what I’m trying to do, and I have you to thank for this. I’ve lost you because of it—but then, it probably couldn’t have worked any other way. . . .”

“Why not?” she said stubbornly. “If I hadn’t opened my big mouth that day in the Barberry Room—if I hadn’t insisted that you write—you might have been the biggest manager in town and we’d have children and—”

“And hate one another. No, Anne, a marriage hasn’t a chance when you’re scrambling for success. And it probably wouldn’t have worked if you had meekly submitted to that wild idea about living in Lawrenceville, either. I’m just cut out to be a loner, I guess. But I am so very glad to have this chance to be with you again. I’ll cherish every second you give me, and stretch out all the memories for those rainy British nights when I’m home again.” He took her in his arms, and her hurt evaporated in the incredible wonder of loving him.

It was dawn when she reached her apartment. As she slipped the key into the door, she noticed the sliver of light.

“How did you manage to tear yourself away so soon? It’s not morning yet.” Kevin was sitting in the living room, smoking.

She walked over and snatched the cigarette from his mouth. “You haven’t smoked since your heart attack. What are you trying to prove?”

He sneered. “Why the big concern for my health? Seems to me that after tonight I have very little future.”

“Kevin, why did you come here?”

“Because I knew you were with him. Tell me about it. Did he release all those inhibitions? Did you both swing from chandeliers?”

“Stop it! It’s not good for you to carry on like this. Come on—if you want to stay the night, go to bed.”

“Would you go to bed with me tonight?” He saw her stiffen. “If you did, you’d be a wet deck. That’s the name for a girl like that. Well, would you?”

“Kevin . . . we haven’t had sex since your heart attack. It’s not that I’ve minded—I understand about your health and. . .”

“And my age—go on, say it.”

“Whatever happened tonight is between Lyon and me. It has nothing to do with my feeling for you.”

“Am I supposed to take that? Let Lyon play the stud, and I play the doddering faithful retainer?”

“You are my friend, part of my life . . . someone I love deeply. Lyon is something . . . different.”

“Well, I won’t stand for it. You’ll have to choose.”

“All right, Kevin,” she said wearily. “If you force me . . .”

He grabbed her. “No—no! Anne, don’t leave me!” He began to sob. She wanted to pull away; instead she stroked his head. It was so terrible to see a man fall apart. Was she responsible, or was it his failing health and his age?

“Kevin, I won’t leave you.”

“But you’ll go on seeing him. Do you think I can go on like that? Knowing you come to me from his arms?”

“Kevin—” She groped for the right words. “We both know I was with Lyon. But he’s going back. And he knows about you. He even said you’re quite a guy.”

“That’s the English in him. Don’t you know that? All the English are decadent. He’d probably get a kick out of sharing you.”

She sighed patiently. This wasn’t Kevin speaking. It was his hysterical fear. “Kevin, I’m staying with you.”

“Why? Doesn’t he want you?”

She turned and went into the bedroom and began to undress. It was unbelievable. History repeating itself. Kevin had suddenly looked like Allen Cooper—the same cowlike expression and the same childish rage. And once again it was Lyon who was sitting back, demanding nothing and promising nothing, while she was being torn in two. How much did she really owe Kevin? Her relationship with him had been far from thrilling. Yet throughout the entire time she had never given him cause for jealousy or concern. There had been many chances—many men younger and more attractive than Kevin—but she had ignored every advance. She had given him fourteen years of happiness—shouldn’t that balance any obligation she owed him? Yet Kevin needed her. He had sat there all night, smoking. She knew how it was to sit and wait for someone. Suddenly she felt a great surge of tenderness and pity for Kevin. Oh, God, he had looked so old, so vulnerable. She couldn’t hurt him.

She returned to the living room. He was sitting there, staring into space—crumpled, defeated.

She held out her arms. “Kevin, I love you. Get undressed, it’s late. Get some sleep. I’m here—I’ll always be here, as long as you want me.”

He stumbled toward her. “You won’t see him again? You won’t?”