Valley of the Dolls (9 page)

She smiled faintly. “At least you give him some code of honor.”

“What honor? He doesn’t need that kind of trouble. There’s too much free stuff thrown at him.”

“And what about me? If I stay engaged, what do I do with Allen?”

“Stall him. You can do it. If you were smart enough to land him, you’re smart enough to stall him.”

“But that’s dishonest. I don’t want to marry Allen, but I still like him as a person. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“You’ll be more fair in the long run. First of all, you’ll be fair to me. I’ll have enough to worry about with the show starting without worrying about you. And you’ll be fair to Allen . . . yes, you will. Because at least he’ll have a chance to make a decent pitch. But most of all you’ll be fair to yourself because right now you can’t see any further than Lyon Burke.” He raised a hand to silence her objection. “No matter what you think, you’re stuck on him. But hang around, start reading the Broadway columns and see how fast he changes girls. The glow will wear off from that wonderful luncheon. And you’ll have saved your virginity and a lot of heartache.” He smiled as she colored. “Look, Anne, you’re pretty rare—we’ve got to take care of you.”

She thought about it a moment, then shook her head. “I couldn’t do it, Henry. It would be living a lie.”

“Anne . . .” His voice was gentle. “In time you’ll learn everything doesn’t have to be black or white. You can be honest with Allen. Tell him New York is still new, that you want to be on your own for a little while, not rush right into marriage. When will you be twenty-one?”

“In May.”

“Fine. Tell him you want to wait until then.”

“And then what?”

“By May another atom bomb could fall. Allen could meet another girl. Lyon Burke could turn into a fag. Who knows, anything can happen. You might even fall in love with Allen. But you can change your mind in May. Remember, you’re never stuck until you’re at the altar. And even then you can make a run for it before the final words are said.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“When you’re climbing Mount Everest, nothing is easy. You just take one step at a time, never look back and always keep your eyes glued to the top.”

She spotted the reporters and cameramen standing in front of her brownstone when she came home. She held her head down and dashed up the steps, brushing through them into the safety of the building. Neely was standing in the hall waiting.

“Anne, oh golly—I almost fainted when my sister called me this morning. Here”—she proudly extended a flat package—”it’s my engagement present to you.”

It was a large scrapbook filled with the newspaper stories and pictures of Anne. “I worked on it all day,” Neely said proudly. “I filled six pages and this is only the beginning. Wait until the marriage and all. . . . Golly, you’re gonna be famous!”

That night Allen arrived with the limousine. “We’re having dinner alone,” he said, “but Gino will join us for coffee. I know I promised we’d be alone, but he insists on taking us to Tony Polar’s opening at La Ronde.”

“Tony Polar?”

He smiled. “Anne—don’t tell me you’re not one of his fans?”

“I’ve never even heard of him.”

Allen laughed. “He’s the biggest singing sensation since Sinatra.” He leaned across and spoke to the chauffeur. “Leon, drive through the park till I tell you to stop.” Then he rolled up the window. “You’re probably starving, but I have a special reason for the drive.”

He took her hand. She pulled it away. “Allen, I’ve got to talk to you.”

“Not just yet—shut your eyes.” He snapped open a small velvet box. “Now you can look. I hope it fits.”

Even in the darkness of the car, with only the intermittent streetlights to give it life, the diamond was overwhelming.

She shrank away. “I can’t take that!”

“Don’t you like it?”

“Like it! It’s the most fantastic thing I’ve ever seen!”

“Ten karats,” he said easily. “But in a square cut it’s not at all ostentatious.”

“Of course not.” She laughed nervously. “Every secretary has one.”

“Which reminds me—have you handed in your notice to Henry Bellamy?”

“No, and I don’t intend to. Allen, you’ve simply got to listen to me. We’re not engaged—”

He slipped the ring on her finger. “It just fits.”

She looked at him intently. “Allen . . . can’t you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

“Yes. That you’re not in love with me.”

“Then why do you go on like this?”

“Because there’s nothing in the world you can’t get if you want it badly enough. And I’ve never really wanted anything—until I met you. I’m determined to have you, Anne. Just give me a chance. That’s all I ask. You’ve seen me for the past weeks as some timid jerk. One month with the real me and you’ll either love me or hate me. I’ll take the chance.”

He rolled down the window. “Okay, Leon. Take us to the Stork Club now.”

She was silent. Did he really think things would change? Rich or poor, his chemistry was the same. Allen was Allen, in a cheap French restaurant or at El Morocco.

She felt the world closing in on her. It was easy for Henry Bellamy to sit behind a desk and deal with facts and offer ultimatums. He wasn’t dealing with people. He couldn’t see the expression in Allen’s eyes.

Her depression lasted through the ride, and she could find little to say as they were ushered through the echelons of captains to the Stork Club’s Cub Room (“It’s the only room”) and presented with a gift-wrapped box (“It’s perfume—Sherman sends it to all his favorites”) and champagne (“We’d better drink it or we might hurt Sherman’s feelings”).

Gino arrived at ten, greeting friends at various tables in a loud voice that brought a slight frown to Allen’s face. At last Gino joined their table and tore into the champagne.

“Dad, you shouldn’t table-hop here,” Allen said quietly. “You know they don’t like it.”

“Who cares?” Gino said loudly. “Listen kid, this here’s your hangout. You can have it. I don’t go for the snob treatment. When someone’s willing to take my money, I want to act the way I feel comfortable . . . not to some crazy set of rules. What you do is your own business.”

Allen seemed relieved when they left the Stork and went to La Ronde.

Judging from the voracious welcome Gino got from all the captains, La Ronde was one of his favorite haunts. He hugged several of them and called them
paisan
as they escorted him to a choice ringside table. It was eleven o’clock and the club was already filled. Gino ordered champagne and a bottle of Scotch. “Adele likes Scotch,” he said. “She’ll be here after her show. She says champagne is too fattening.”

Anne watched the people crowding to the tables, arguing for better locations, palming bills discreetly into the captain’s hand. Photographers hired by the club to service the newspapers came over and took pictures of Anne and Allen and returned to the door to await more celebrities.

Adele arrived at eleven-thirty wearing full stage makeup.

“Whaddaya wearing that crap for?” Gino demanded. “You know I hate it.”

“Gee, sweetie, I powdered it down and took off my false lashes. I didn’t want to miss anything and it takes so long to get this off and put on a new face.” She looked around the room while she spoke. “God, this is the biggest opening of the season. Everyone is here.” She waved gustily at a columnist.

“A couple of years ago it was Sinatra,” Allen said. “Now the women are killing themselves over Tony Polar. I don’t get it.”

“Don’t knock it,” Gino said with a grin. “They’re both our
paisans.”

“Hey, look . . .” Adele pointed. “There’s Helen Lawson at the door. Look at her mink, it’s practically turning red. I bet it’s ten years old. And with all her money. I hear she’s the tightest—Hey, that must be Jennifer North!”

“Maron!”
Gino pounded the table. “Now that’s what I call a build! Hey, Adele—beside her, you look like a boy.”

Anne’s attention had also been drawn to Jennifer North, who was now surrounded by photographers. The girl was undeniably beautiful. She was tall, with a spectacular figure. Her white dress, shimmering with crystal beads, was cut low enough to prove the authenticity of her remarkable cleavage. Her long hair was almost white in its blondeness. But it was her face that held Anne’s attention, a face so naturally beautiful that it came as a startling contrast to the theatrical beauty of her hair and figure. It was a perfect face with a fine square jaw, high cheekbones and intelligent brow. The eyes seemed warm and friendly, and the short, straight nose belonged to a beautiful child, as did the even white teeth and little-girl dimples. It was an innocent face, a face that looked at everything with breathless excitement and trusting enthusiasm, seemingly unaware of the commotion the body was causing. A face that glowed with genuine interest in each person who demanded attention, rewarding each with a warm smile. The body and its accouterments continued to pose and undulate for the staring crowd and flashing cameras, but the face ignored the furor and greeted people with the intimacy of meeting a few new friends at a gathering.

Somehow the captains managed to lead her to a ringside table directly across the room. Anne did not see Henry Bellamy until the party was seated.

“Say, your boss really picks his dates,” Allen said. “Helen Lawson and Jennifer North. That’s some parlay.”

“No, there’s another guy,” Adele said. “See, he’s just sitting down. That must be Jennifer’s date. Hey, he’s gorgeous!”

“That’s Lyon Burke,” Anne said quietly.

“Oh, so that’s Burke,” Allen said.

Anne nodded as she watched Lyon help Jennifer adjust her fur on the back of the chair. Jennifer rewarded this courtesy with a blinding smile.

Allen whistled. “I wonder if that Golden Venus is going to be bouncing around in my old bed tonight.”

“She’s Mr. Bellamy’s client,” Anne said coldly. “I imagine Lyon Burke is just acting as escort.”

“Sure. And he’s making Henry pay him overtime for such a rough assignment.”

“Well, Henry struck it rich with Helen Lawson,” Gino said. “That old bag pays better dividends than A.T.&T. She’s got a lotta mileage on her, but I’ll still pay a broker fifty bucks for a pair of seats to see her. She’s got a great set of pipes.”

Allen pointed out the continuing flow of arriving celebrities, giving a complete rundown on their personal lives. Anne managed a show of interest, but her attention kept returning to Henry’s table. What could a girl like Jennifer be saying that was so amusing? And what was Lyon saying to her? It was obvious he wasn’t telling her about the bombed-out barn and the corporal. She saw him throw back his head and laugh. He hadn’t laughed like that at the Barberry Room. No, she had been the dreary girl from the office who had urged him to write, had gotten him all involved so he remembered the ugly things in his past. She turned away as he lit a cigarette and handed it to Jennifer.

The lights suddenly dimmed. Waiters dashed to take last-minute orders. Gradually all activity stopped, the audience grew expectantly silent, the room went dark and the orchestra played a song identified with Tony Polar. The spotlight centered on the stage and then Tony walked on, to a boisterous ovation. He bowed and accepted the applause with pleasant modesty. He was tall and good-looking, with a boyishness that made him seem vulnerable and appealing. A girl would trust him. A woman would want to protect him.

Although he appeared shy, he sang well and handled the audience with an easy assurance. After his first set of songs, he loosened his tie to show he was really working hard, took a hand mike and walked around the room, spotting various celebrities, singing to them, clowning with the newspapermen, selecting a few matrons and favoring them with portions of a love lyric, smiling shyly as they gushed openly, oblivious to the presence of their embarrassed husbands.

When he passed Jennifer, their eyes met. He missed a lyric and moved along quickly. Then, as if not believing what he had seen, he slowly retraced his steps and finished the song with his eyes riveted on her. The audience, transformed into a body of eavesdroppers, watched eagerly. When he finished his song, he bowed, returned to the center of the room and went through the rest of the performance without looking at her again.

The audience refused to let him off. He took bow after bow. The lights came up but the applause continued, accompanied by stamping and demands of “More! More!” The orchestra, uncertain, played a few bars of his theme as if waiting for some definite order. The applause grew more insistent. He stood there, smiling in boyish gratitude. He pointed to his throat, gesturing fatigue. The applause grew even louder. Then, shrugging good-naturedly, he held a hurried conference with his accompanist and returned to the center of the floor.

When the music began, he turned and sang directly to Jennifer. It was a current love ballad, and like many popular songs, the words could take on a highly personal meaning. It seemed to have been written just so Tony Polar could confess to Jennifer and the eight hundred people in the room that he had suddenly found love.

He finished the song, bowed to the audience, turned back and looked at Jennifer intently for an embarrassingly long moment, and then walked off. There was more insistent applause, but the lights came up and the orchestra went into a loud set of dance music.

Allen asked Anne to dance. As she rose, she noticed Lyon leading Jennifer to the floor. He saw her and waved.

“Anne! And this must be Allen, my landlord.” His smile was quick and warm. Introductions were exchanged as they all swayed to the music. Several times Anne was jostled by couples who pressed closer to stare at Jennifer.

Jennifer smiled warmly at Anne. “Isn’t it murder? Every time I move, at least a hundred beads pop off this dress.”

Anne searched for an answer, but she could only manage a frozen smile. They parted, and Allen danced her off to another part of the small floor.

The crowd quickly thinned out, leaving only the few stragglers who remained to drink out their minimum. Anne noticed that Jennifer’s table had been one of the first to be deserted. She wondered where they had gone. Some place with a larger dance floor, perhaps. Her head ached and she wanted desperately to leave, but Gino showed no inclination to end the evening.