Winning is Everything (34 page)

Breakfast was being served indoors, laid out across the dining-room table. Only two other couples were already awake. It was half-past noon by the time Casey finally made it to the living room.

Ron walked over to Casey, not knowing whether to be warm or cold.

“Good morning,” he said with a feeble kiss to her cheek.

Casey smiled and put her hand out to Sharon, who was walking out of the kitchen with a mug of coffee. “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver,” she told her hostess, and turned to walk into the living room.

“Hey …” Ron took Casey by the elbow. “Remember me?”

“’Course I remember you.” Casey sipped her coffee. “You’re the guy who was snoring next to me in bed last night.”

“Right!” said Ron. “Can we go for a walk? I’d like to have a little talk with you.”

“Sounds fine.” Casey shrugged. “Lead the way.”

Ron took Casey to his secluded spot atop the cliff, by the stone bench between the trees, as planned. It didn’t matter to him that she’d been there already. What mattered was that he was going to straighten things out. To tell her she was no longer going to have the opportunity of staying out, playing around till all hours of the morning. She was going to prepare herself for settling down. She was going to become his woman. His fiancée. His wife.

“Sure is pretty here,” said Casey. “Even when it’s overcast, blustery.”

“Yeah …” Ron agreed. “Why don’t we sit down?”

“Naw,” said Casey. “Let’s keep walking. How’s your sunburn?”

“Now I know how the people of Hiroshima must have felt the day after the bomb was dropped,” said Ron. “
You
got some nice color, though.”

“I protected myself,” said Casey, walking slowly away from the cliff, down the bluff.

Ron walked alongside her. “How come you were out so late last night?” he asked calmly.

“Party didn’t break up till late,” said Casey with one of her now-famous shrugs.

“Kids in the living room said the party ended a little after one.”

“Kids in the living room weren’t at the same party as me, I guess,” Casey responded without a blink.

“And just where were you?” Ron asked.

“Oh …” Casey waved her hand in the air, like it was unimportant. “Bud and I came out here to talk.”

“Here?” Ron raised his voice indignantly. “To the bench?”

“Right.”

“You brought him here, to
our
bench?” Ron was astounded.

“Our
bench? Bud and I found it before you and I ever got here.”

“Never mind!” said Ron, stepping up his pace. “What matters is us. Casey … I think it’s time you and I—”

“Ron …” Casey held up an open hand. “There’s something I have to tell you. I’m not going back on the plane with you to New York this afternoon.”

Ron stared into Casey’s face several seconds. “You’re what?”

“I’m not going back to New York. Not just yet.”

“Oh?” Ron tried to control his temper. “Why exactly not?”

“Bud and I have decided to spend a little time together, is why. He doesn’t have to be back in New York until Thursday. We thought we might go to Palm Beach or something.”

“Palm Beach?” Ron shouted. “Why?”

“Because we like each other. We want to spend some time together.”

“What about Eileen?” Ron yelled. “What about me?”

“What about you?” Casey shrugged. “You have your plane ticket back, don’t you? I paid for it.”

“Wait a minute!”

“And Bud’s planning to have a talk with Eileen. Right after lunch. He’s hoping she won’t make a scene.”

“So you’ve been fucking with this guy behind my back, is that it?”

“You can be so crude, sometimes,” said Casey.

“Really?” Ron protested. “You never complained before!”

“Ron, please. Don’t be childish about this. I was hoping you might behave like an adult. That’s what I told Bud.”

“Oh, really?” said Ron facetiously. “Well, I hope he won’t be too disappointed.”

“All right, Ron. Forget it. Let’s not even talk about it.” Casey tossed her hair back and began to walk away from him.

Ron reached out and grabbed her hand. “No!” he exclaimed. “I want to talk about it. Just what the hell happened?”

“Nothing.” Casey shrugged her shoulders. “I met someone I’d like to spend a few days with. It’s as simple as that.”

“But what about
us?”

“What about us? It was a great time, wasn’t it? We were the New York couple for how many months? Jeez, Ron, I gave you everything. You never loved me. You loved the parties and the people and my circle of friends.

“Not true!” said Ron, feeling his ship sinking. “I do love you. Ask your father if you don’t believe me!”

“My father?”

“Yeah! I told him I loved you. Told him on Thanksgiving. He’s expecting us to get married!”

“You fool!”
snapped Casey, stopping in her tracks. “Every time I’m seeing a guy Daddy doesn’t like, he takes ‘em into his office and comes out with some cock-’n’-bull story about giving his empire away if he could only have a grandson. He gets them to get all heated up about me, ‘cause he knows nothing’ll turn me off faster. And I thought you were brighter than that, Ron, really I did. You fell for it lock, stock, and sterling-silver wheelbarrow.”

“Wait a minute …”

“You wait a minute. I’m going back to my room to start packing. I’m sick of this lousy weather. I’m heading for the sun.”

“But I was going to ask you to marry me!”

“Marry you? Why? Because Daddy thought it would be a good idea? Boy, are you dumb! Don’t let anybody sell you the Brooklyn Bridge, sonny. It’s not for sale!”

“But, Casey!”

“Listen. I’ll call Priscilla, tell her you’ll be coming by to pick up your stuff. Now you can be grateful you’ve kept up on the rent on that other apartment with those two guys. At least you’ll have someplace to go.”

“You’re telling me that we’re finished?”

“You know something?” Casey winked at him. “You catch on fast.”

“Casey … I …”

Casey wiped a raindrop from her nose. “We should sue the Chamber of Commerce. Let’s go back to the house, okay? And don’t make a scene, Bud is very strong.”

“But what’s going to happen?”

“Nothing,” said Casey. “We’ll all be very discreet. We’ll pack our stuff, tell everyone we’re catching an early plane; then you, me, Bud, and Eileen will taxi together to the airport. Bud and I will head for Florida and you and Eileen can go back to New York. Simple!”

“I mean, what’s going to happen to us?” asked Ron.

“Nothing,” said Casey. “I’m hoping we can remain friends.”

“Friends!”
screamed Ron. He grabbed Casey with one arm and pulled back an open hand with the other, about to smack her right across the mouth.

“Don’t you hit me!” Casey yelled, and took a step away from him. “I’ll see you in the room.” She turned to head back to the house.

The rain got heavier and Ron stood there trying to make believe all this wasn’t happening. Then it dawned upon him. “Of course!” he screamed to the dark gray, wet clouds. “Of course!”

It was the sex, Ron realized, the lovemaking. As long as he’d been vulgar and distant and mean to her, unapproachable, she’d been mad for him. But as soon as he began to love her, he had become no different than anybody else. Obviously the girl who had everything wanted only what she couldn’t have, and as long as Ron had been inaccessible, he had been wanted. The minute he told her he loved her, he was no longer worthy of pursuit.

Ron watched Casey walking along the path, approaching the house. He saw his entire future washing away with the rain. For the first time, the Prince had actually lowered his guard, and for his efforts, he’d gotten kicked in the teeth.

He clenched his fist, licked the rain from his chin, and vowed to himself he would never ever again be caught with his pants down.

70 

“Phyliss Dodge’s!” said Kip on cue as he answered Phyliss’ phone in her apartment late Friday morning.

“Hi, Kip, it’s Sandy. Hold on a minute for Phyliss….”

Kip waited as Sandy buzzed his boss and Phyliss came on the line. “Hi, hon. How we doin’?”

“Fine,” said Kip. “How’s show biz?”

“Show biz sucks,” said Phyliss. “What else is old? Dry cleaner’s get there yet?”

“Not yet,” said Kip.

“Damn! I’m going to have to stop giving them my business again. Do me a favor, hon. Go down there, pick it up, will ya; Broadway and Sixty-third? Receipt’s on my vanity table. I’ve got to have my blue dress for the big dinner. I want no slipups. You will get it for me? Huh, hon?”

“Sure,” Kip said quietly.

“You’re a doll,” said Phyliss. “I just had my final meeting with the caterers about Sunday night. We decided to have the beef Wellington, after all. I mean, it’s not every day the world’s future-most-powerful agent gets to entertain royalty, is it? And I spoke to Bobby Zarem, the publicist. He says he’ll be sure I get written up in Suzy’s column and with Eugenia Sheppard, maybe even a mention in
Newsweek.
I can hardly wait. Did you have your dark suit cleaned, hon? I want you looking like a movie star!”

“It’s hanging in the closet,” said Kip. “Not a wrinkle on it.”

“Good. Now, then … the flowers will arrive tomorrow afternoon; gives ‘em a day and a half to open up, blossom, start stinkin’ up the place. I ordered some quince flown in from Atlanta, because I read that that was one of Princess Grace’s favorites. And tulips and mums and anemones, and it’s a good thing the agency’s paying for this fahkackta dinner, or we’d both be headin’ for the poorhouse.”

“Got’cha.”

“I’ve changed the seating arrangements slightly, hon. Hope you don’t mind. Instead of putting you next to Barbra Streisand, I’m going to sit her next to Niven. Seems she’s been taking French lessons and David speaks it fluently, so this’ll give her an opportunity to give it some practice. You don’t mind, do you? Of course you don’t. Okay. Listen, I’ve got forty-five more calls to make before lunch. Water all the plants and call me when you’ve returned from the cleaner’s.”

“What about that appointment with those people from Universal?” Kip reminded Phyliss of another of her many promises.

“Honey!” Phyliss scolded. “I’m trying to put together the dinner party of the century, and all you can think of is your career! Are all actors alike? Me-me-me-me-me!”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Forget it. We’ve got all the time in the world after Sunday. For now I’d appreciate a little help in my corner, that too much to ask?”

“’Course not,” said Kip, annoyed with himself for egging her on in the first place.

“Good. I gotta run. Lunch at Orsini’s with Mike Nichols. I’ve sworn to sit on my hands throughout the entire meal. Call this afternoon. Let me know how we’re doing. ‘Bye!”

Without waiting for Kip to say good-bye, Phyliss clicked off the line and took another call.

By Saturday Phyliss was a total pain in the ass. She kept Kip busy painting the trim in the living room, putting up shelves in the bedroom, installing a new shower curtain in the bathroom, rearranging furniture, installing new fixtures in the kitchen, and Kip was sick of it. He could hardly wait for this damn dinner party to be over, so he could get on with his career.

“Perhaps I shouldn’t put Julie Christie next to Peter Ustinov,” said Phyliss, going over her seating arrangement for the thirtieth time that day. “He and the princess are friends. Maybe Her Serene Hynee wants to sit next to Usty. He’s so bright.”

“Why don’t you just set the seating plan and leave it alone?” asked Kip.

“Never mind/’ said Phyliss. “I’ll tend to it myself. You’re too unemotional, make too much sense. Everything’s got to be just right. You know that.”

“Yes …” Kip agreed. “I know that.”

“What if Streisand doesn’t like beef Wellington?” Phyliss asked herself aloud as she crossed into her bedroom. “What if Julie Christie finds Elliott Gould boring as dishwater? What if …?” And she slammed the door behind her.

On Sunday Phyliss ran around the apartment in her bathrobe and her furry muckalucks with her hair in curlers, shouting orders like a marine sergeant.

You’d think she’d had another injection from the fat doctor, she was so intense. She snapped at Kip; at the cook, who arrived twenty minutes late; at the butler-bartender, whose hair, Phyliss complained, was too long, and whose pants, Phyliss was convinced, were too short.

Everyone in the apartment was enormously relieved when she announced she was going up the block to the beauty parlor in the Plaza Hotel, for a comb-out. Her beautician was coming in, opening the shop, just for her.

She returned at four in the afternoon and found Kip helping the butler set the table.

“Honey! Honey!” She kissed Kip hello. “Come with me into the bedroom, darling. We’ve got to talk!”

Phyliss took Kip by the hand and led him into the other room. “Guess what?” she asked.

“What?”

“Warren Beatty called to say his trip was postponed till tomorrow, so he
can
come for dinner tonight. It’s all
too
perfect now, isn’t it?”

“That’s great, Phyliss. Just great!”

“Bet your ass!” said Phyliss, taking Kip in her arms and giving him a big hug. “It is great, isn’t it? The best dinner party in town?”

“Maybe now you can calm down,” said Kip.

“Either that,” said Phyliss, “or I may just have a heart attack!”

“Everything’s going to be fine,” said Kip. “You’ll see. The world’s most successful dinner party.”

“All the elements are coming together, aren’t they?” said Phyliss. “Oh … there’s just one small problem left now. Seating. I hate to do this to you, hon … but now we have eight people … you’d be the ninth. Table only seats eight comfortably. You do understand, don’t you? Of course you do! If it weren’t so damned important for my career … you know …”

“Phyliss, we’ve been planning this party for three weeks! I’ve been working my butt off—”

“I know,” said Phyliss, unbuttoning her blouse. “And you’ve been an absolute angel. You’ll see. I’m going to call those people from Columbia first thing tomorrow morning and tell them
all
about you. Promise. I know you must be disappointed, but honest, hon … I know about these things, really. It’s for the best. Scout’s honor!”

“Phyliss … I—”

“Listen!” Phyliss stepped out of her skirt. “I haven’t got all afternoon to argue with you.”

“Who’s arguing?” Kip wanted to know.

“Anyway …” Phyliss toyed with a button on Kip’s shirt as she tried relieving some of her own guilt. “You didn’t really belong with this group, you know. They’re all stars. You were just coming as a … you know … well, just as my date … you know?”

Kip was too furious to respond to her in any intelligent fashion, so he just turned and walked away.

Phyliss walked over to her purse, opened it, and pulled out a snapping fresh one-hundred-dollar bill. “You take this and go out on the town tonight, have yourself a ball, wadda ya say?”

“I couldn’t accept that!” said Kip.

“Don’t be silly. ‘Course you can. You don’t think it’s my money, do you? I’ll just toss it onto the expense account for the party. Here …” Phyliss tucked the bill into Kip’s shirt pocket. “You go out and have some fun. You’ve earned it.”

She hurried into the bathroom and Kip walked into the living room, feeling cheap and used. He’d had it. He went into the bedroom, took his valise from out of the closet, and quickly threw his clothes into it. Then he opened the bathroom door. Phyliss was sitting in the tub, surrounded by a sea of suds, singing “We’re in the Money.” Perched before her, atop a lucite tray which spanned the width of the tub, was a chocolate birthday cake with thick chocolate icing.

Bit by bit Phyliss was scraping the icing off the cake with her fingers.

Embarrassed at being caught mid-fat attack, Phyliss stopped singing. “I was a little nervous about tonight,” she said, her index finger still stuck in her mouth, chocolate icing decorating much of her chin. “Thought if I filled up now I’d behave like a lady at the dinner table and not be stealing crumbs off Princess Grace’s plate.”

Kip looked down at Phyliss fingering her way across the top of the cake and suddenly felt profoundly sorry for her. “It’s nothing,” he said softly, and closed the bathroom door.

He walked over to his suitcase, closed it, and turned to leave the apartment. As he got to the front door, he remembered the hundreddollar bill in his shirt pocket.

He looked all around the living room and then walked over to the one spot where he knew Phyliss was certain to find it—beneath the telephone receiver. It would serve as his note of farewell. Phyliss would know the houseboy had quit.

Thus, suitcase in one hand, Kip opened the front door and walked out of the apartment.

As he walked toward the elevator, he could hear, through the walls, two telephone lines ringing back in Phyliss’ apartment at the same time.