Valley of the Dolls (7 page)

Ronnie whistled. He looked at Anne with curious respect. “Big story, all right. New model in town lassos big prize. Or actress? Now don’t tell me—see if I can guess. Texas?”

“I’m from Massachusetts and I work in an office,” Anne said coldly.

Ronnie’s eyes twinkled. “Next thing I expect you’ll even tell me you can type.”

“I hardly think that’s news for your column. And I also think you should know that Allen and I—”

“Now Anne,” Gino said quickly. “Ronnie’s a friend.”

“No, let her go on.” Ronnie was looking at her with something close to respect.

“Aw, have some more champagne,” Gino said, refilling her glass.

She picked up her glass and sipped it in an effort to control her anger. She wanted to insist she was not marrying Allen, but she knew Gino had deliberately stopped her and probably would again. It would be embarrassing to him to be contradicted in public. The moment Ronnie Wolfe left she would tell Gino not to make any more statements. She had told them both—father and son—that she was not going to marry Allen. Did money give people a blind spot? Rob them of their hearing?

“Who do you work for?” Ronnie asked.

“Henry Bellamy,” Allen said. “But that’s temporary.”

“Allen!” She turned to him angrily, but Ronnie interrupted.

“Look, Miss Welles—questions are my job.” He smiled in a frank and friendly way. “I like you. It’s refreshing to run into a girl who didn’t come to New York to be an actress or a model.” He looked at her closely. “Great cheekbones. You could make a fortune if you wanted. If Powers or Longworth ever saw you, you might even get richer than your boyfriend.” He winked at Gino.

“If she wanted to work we’d buy her a modeling agency,” Gino bellowed. “But she’s gonna settle down and raise babies.”

“Mr. Cooper—” Anne’s face was burning.

Allen broke in. “Dad, let’s take first things first.”

Ronnie laughed. “Here comes your friend, Gino. Does she know the news?”

They looked up as a tall, stunning girl approached the table. Without rising, Gino moved over and patted the seat. “This is Adele Martin. Sit down, baby, and say hello to Anne Welles, my son’s fiancée.”

Adele’s penciled brows shot into a higher arch. Without acknowledging Anne, she looked from Allen to Ronnie for verification.

Ronnie nodded, his eyes bright with amusement at Adele’s consternation. But the girl’s recovery was quick. She snuggled beside Gino and offered Anne a weak smile. “How’d you swing it, honey? I’ve been trying to drag this baboon to the altar for seven months. Give me the magic word and we can make it a double ceremony.” She looked up at Gino adoringly.

“You’re a career girl, Adele,” Ronnie said, winking at Gino.

Adele stared at him murderously. “Listen, Ronnie, it takes a certain amount of talent to be a showgirl. Don’t knock it.”

Ronnie smiled and tucked his notebook away. “I think you’re the best showgirl in town, Adele.”

“You can say that again,” she said, somewhat mollified. “I’ve turned down two movie offers to stay with my baby here.” She leaned over and kissed Gino’s cheek.

Ronnie rose and jerked his head in farewell. Anne watched him join another table as another waiter swiftly appeared with a fresh pot of coffee. Ronnie sipped the coffee slowly and took out his black book, his eager eyes constantly darting to the door to scan each new arrival.

Allen followed her glance. “Ronnie’s a nice guy. No legmen . . . gets all his own items.”

Adele sneered. “He’s a busybody.”

“You’re just mad because he printed we’re engaged to be engaged,” Gino said.

“Well, it’s a hell of a line. Made me look like a fool.” Then she smiled. “How about it, baby? You can’t let your son beat you to the altar.”

“I been to the altar,” Gino said. “After Rosanna died, that was the end of my married life. A guy can only have one wife. Romances? Plenty. But one wife.”

“Who made that rule?” Adele demanded.

Gino poured the girl some champagne. Anne sensed that they had covered this ground many times. “Adele, forget it.” His voice was cold. “Even if I did remarry, it couldn’t be you. You been divorced.”

Then, as Adele sulked, he said, “Oh by the way, I told Irving to bring two coats to your place tomorrow. Take your pick.”

Adele’s expression changed instantly. “Both mink?”

“What else? Maybe muskrat?”

“Oh, Gino . . .” She snuggled close to him. “Sometimes you get me so mad, but I have to forgive you. I love you so.”

Gino looked down at Anne’s silk coat lying crushed on the seat. “Hey, Allen. Okay with you if I send one over to Anne as an engagement present?” Then, without waiting for an answer, he turned to Anne. “What color do you like?”

“Color?” Anne had always thought mink was brown.

“He means ranch or wild, honey,” Adele explained. “I think wild mink would go great with your hair.”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t accept it,” Anne said quietly.

“Why not?” Gino snapped.

“Perhaps Anne would like her coat to come from me—after we’re married,” Allen said quickly.

Gino laughed. “You mean when you get your mink you want it to be legal?”

“What’s illegal about taking a mink coat?” Adele asked. “I think it’s illegal to turn one down.”

Anne felt uncomfortable. The champagne made her feel warm. The club was packed; the dance floor had shrunk as waiters frantically placed dime-sized tables on the floor for important new arrivals. People were mashed against the velvet rope and there wasn’t an inch of space on the side of the room where they were sitting—yet curiously enough there were some empty tables on the other side. Allen explained that that was “Siberia.” If you sat on that side of the room no one respected you. Squares and out-of-towners sat there. They didn’t know the difference. But a “regular” would die of embarrassment if he had to sit there.

There was a constant swirl of people, a continuous flow of introductions. At some point another columnist joined them briefly and someone took their picture. Gino ordered more champagne. Girls who looked like exact replicas of Adele stopped by the table and congratulated Allen and tossed sympathetic winks at Adele. Some greeted Allen with familiarity—a hug and a kiss, explosive declarations of eternal devotion or “Did Anne realize how lucky she was,” stares of envy, and of curiosity.

She sat quietly, her outward calm denying her mounting panic. She had to straighten this out with Allen on the way home. Then he could call Ronnie Wolfe and the other columnist. She had to make him understand.

She tapped his arm quietly. “It’s one o’clock, Allen. I should be getting home.”

Gino looked amazed. “Home? That’s a dirty word. The party’s just getting going.”

“I have to work tomorrow, Mr. Cooper.”

Gino smiled expansively. “Little lady, you don’t ever have to do anything again except be good to my boy.”

“But I have a job—”

“So quit it,” Gino said, pouring champagne all around. “Quit my job?”

“Why not?” This time it was Adele Martin who asked the question. “If Gino asked me to marry him, I’d give up my career in a second.”

“What career?” Gino laughed. “Standing around as a back-drop two hours every night?” He turned to Anne. “Miss America here has to show up for work. She belongs to some kind of an actors’ union. But you got no contract.”

“I like my job and I wouldn’t walk out on anyone,” Anne replied.

Gino shrugged. “Okay, I go along with that. You’ve got class. A guy should get notice. Tell him tomorrow, give him a chance to find someone else.” He signaled for the check. “Guess we could all stand one early night for a change.”

Anne slipped into her coat. She’d straighten this out when she got Allen alone in the cab going home. . . .

But there was no cab. A long black chauffeured car was waiting. Gino motioned them inside. “Get in,” he said. “We’ll drop Tillie the Toiler first.”

When they reached her brownstone, Gino and Adele waited in the car and Allen walked her to the door.

“Allen,” she whispered, “I’ve got to talk to you.”

He leaned over and kissed her lightly. “Anne, I know tonight has been wild, but it won’t be like this again. You had to meet Gino. That’s over and done with. Tomorrow we’ll go out alone.”

“I like Gino. But Allen, you’ve got to tell him!”

“Tell him what?”

“Allen, I’m not marrying you! I never said I would.”

He stroked her hair lightly. “I don’t blame you for panicking. Tonight would scare anyone. But tomorrow everything will be different.” He took her face in his hands. “And believe it or not, you
are
going to marry me.”

“No, Allen.”

“Anne . . . are you in love with someone else?”

“No, but—”

“That’s enough for me. Just give me a chance.”

“Hey!” Gino bellowed out of the window. “Cut the gab and kiss her good night!”

Allen leaned over and kissed her lightly. “I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty tomorrow night.” He turned and ran down the steps.

She stood there shivering as the car rolled away. Well, she had tried. If Ronnie Wolfe printed it, he’d have to retract it. She ran up the stairs to her room. There was a white envelope pasted on her door. The childlike printing said:
Wake me no matter what time you come in.
Urgent!
Neely.

She looked at her watch. It was two o’clock. But the “urgent” was underlined. She made her way slowly down the stairs and tapped lightly, half hoping Neely wouldn’t hear her. She heard the bed creak, saw the sliver of light appear under the door. The door opened and Neely rubbed her eyes.

“Geez, what time is it?”

“It’s late, but your note said urgent.”

“Yeah. Come on in.”

“Can it wait until tomorrow? I’m awfully tired too, Neely.”

“I’m wide awake now. And freezing!” Neely balanced from one bare foot to the other on the cold floor. Anne followed her into the room as she bounced back into bed and under the covers. She bunched up her knees and grinned. “Well, guess what!”

“Neely—either tell me or let me go to sleep.”

“We got the show!”

“Fine. Now Neely, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to—”

“That’s it? Fine? And good night? The biggest thing that ever happened to me? We land
Hit the Sky
and you dismiss it?”

“I
am
thrilled for you,” Anne said, trying to force some enthusiasm into her voice. “It’s just that this has been a terrible evening.”

Neely looked instantly concerned. “What happened? Did Allen try to get fresh or something?”

“No. He asked me to marry him.”

“What’s terrible about that?”

“I don’t want to marry him.”

“Then tell him.”

“I did, but he won’t listen.”

Neely shrugged. “Tell him again tomorrow.”

“But it will be in a column.”

Neely looked at her strangely. “Anne, you’re acting funny again. Why on earth would any columnist print that you are marrying some jerky little insurance guy?”

“Because that jerky little insurance guy is a millionaire.”

When Neely finally understood, she was ecstatic. “Anne!” She leaped out of bed and danced around the room. “Anne! You’ve made it!”

“But Neely—I don’t
love
Allen!”

“With all that money it will be easy to learn,” Neely insisted.

“But I don’t want to get married, or give up my job. I’m on my own for the first time, and I’m not ready to give it up. I’ve only had two months of freedom—”

“Freedom! You call this freedom?” Neely shrieked. “Living in a hall bedroom, getting up at seven and rushing to the office, eating lunch at the drugstore, maybe tagging along to ‘21’ once in a while with Bellamy and some client and freezing in that black silk coat? You want to stay free for this kind of gloriousness? Tomorrow is November first. Wait until January and February. Boy, it’s gorgeous in New York in February! Nothing but black slush. And that one little stinking radiator in your room is gonna seem like a matchstick. What are you giving up? Just tell me!”

“My identity, maybe my future, my whole life. Giving up before it begins. Neely, nothing ever happened to anyone in my family. They married, had children, and that was it. I want things to happen to me. I want to feel things, to—”

“But it’s happened!” Neely hollered. “Only you hit the jackpot right away. Are you angry because you didn’t have to slave away for years, wear six-dollar shoes and bargain-basement clothes? Anne, if you blow this it won’t happen again. Do you think when you’re bored playing secretary another millionaire will suddenly appear on the scene and say, ‘Okay, Anne, time to get married’? Ha!”

“I’m not especially looking for someone rich. That’s not important.”

Neely sneered. “You’ve never been poor.”

“Neely . . . let me put it this way. You’re thrilled because you’ve landed
Hit the Sky.
Suppose after a few weeks of rehearsal someone like Allen came into your life and asked you to marry him and chuck the show before it even opened. Would you?”

“Would I? But so fast it’d make your head spin. Look, let’s say I have real talent. And let’s say someday I get a chance to prove it. If I work real hard for years, what will I wind up with? Money, position and respect. That’s it. That’s all there is. And it could take me years of hard work to get that. Allen is handing you the works on a silver platter.”

Anne couldn’t believe her ears. Neely with the scrubbed face, looking younger than her seventeen years, pinning everything down so cynically. She started for the door. She was too tired to argue. “Good night, Neely. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“Talk, nothing. You marry him! Maybe I’ll come live with you if
Hit the Sky
bombs.”

November, 1945

When the alarm went off, Anne woke with her usual sense of well-being. But as she stretched and came into full consciousness she felt a sudden stab of apprehension. Something was wrong . . .

Allen! Last night! Ronnie Wolfe! Then her apprehension changed to anger. She had done her best. How many ways were there to say no?

She dressed quickly. She’d phone Allen the moment she reached the office. She would settle it once and for all.