Winning is Everything (54 page)

102 

Kip, Ellenor, Gary, and Michael had been seated at their table at the Four Seasons for almost an hour when Ron suddenly stood before them. “Maitre d’ said I’d find the Bramer party here.”

Everyone whooped at once.

“Ron!”

“Welcome home,” said Kip as both he and Gary stood to hug Ron hello.

Ellenor leaned her cheek forward for Ron to kiss it as he sat down.

“Would you like a drink?” asked Gary after he’d introduced Michael.

Ron beckoned for the waiter. “This reunion calls for a celebration. Bring us a bottle of Dom Perignon, please. And put it on my bill.”

“Well,” asked Gary, “how’s it going?”

“Oh … I don’t know.” Ron leaned forward in his chair. “You know how it is. So much to do, so little time to squeeze it all in. After breakfast with my publicity people at the Regency, I raced over to the Warner Communications building to fight with a few flunkies about how they’re handling my film. Then I dashed over to Bloomingdale’s to set up my winter wardrobe and then thought I’d drop by, see how you children were doing at the Seasons Four. Besides, I gotta be real nice to our Kippy here. His agent and I are haggling over his ridiculous price just to have him star in my upcoming detective thriller … which is only going to turn him into a household name.”

“Really?” asked Kip. “Phyliss still hasn’t mentioned anything about any script from you.”

“Honest?” Ron looked stunned. “She swore on her tits she’d be sending you a copy immediately. Not to worry, though.” Ron whipped out a small attaché case. “Here you go.” He dropped the script onto Kip’s lap. “Just happen to have a copy with me. Okay, Kipper, no rush as to what you think of it. Take your time. Whenever. Anytime before I wing back to le coast day after tomorrow will be more than okay. Hey! Don’t thank me, all right? It’s the least I can do for my ex-roommate.”

Ellenor reached forward and took the script from Kip. “Why don’t I just take care of this?”

“You?” asked Ron. “Whatever for?”

“Well”—Ellenor smiled—”among other things, I’m Kip’s manager. I usually take a first look through things before troubling Kip. There’s just so much junk around these days!”

“Junk!” Ron blanched, practically losing his Beverly Hills tan. “If you think I’m going to let an outsider tell me who is or is not going to read a script I’m developing, you’ve got another thing—”

“Hold it!” Kip held up a stern finger before Ron’s face. “Let’s straighten a couple of things out right away! In the first place, Ellenor is no outsider. Not only is she my manager, she also happens to be my fiancée and the future mother of my child. Are there any questions?”

“Just one,” said Ron, cross-eyed from Kip’s barrage. “How come I don’t remember her being so thin and having such dynamite tits?”

“I was a late bloomer.” Ellenor smiled as she opened her large menu and stuck her face inside.

“Where’s that champagne?” Ron raised his voice, just as the waiter came over with the Dom Perignon. “That’s more like it,” said Ron. “Now, any caviar?”

“Of course, sir!”

“Well, bring some out. Beluga. Put it on my tab!”

“Yes, sir!” The waiter hurried off to the kitchen.

“Here goes,” Ron said, raising his glass as soon as it was filled. “To the future bride and groom!”

They all sipped the costly beverage and then Ron asked, “You’re really going to get married?”

“Right.” Kip clicked his glass with Ellenor’s. “At first, Ellenor wouldn’t hear of it. But after she read a few books, she’s decided she doesn’t want to bring up our kid in anything that might one day be construed as a broken home.”

“Well …” said Ron, surprised by the depth of their relationship. “Guess the ex-roommate is the last to know. And what about you?” Ron turned to Michael. “What brings you to this reunion of roommates? You one of those editors who go everywhere with their authors?”

“I do,” said Michael. “When the author happens to be Gary Sergeant.”

“Michael and I have taken a place together,” said Gary. “But it’s a bit more complicated than that. We’re also lovers.”

“You mean as in h-o-m-o-s-e-x-u-a-1?” asked Ron, feigning horror.

“Yes,” said Gary. “Does that bother you?”

“Listen, kiddo, I’ve been in Hollywood so long, it’s all the same to me by now. Who cares, right? Besides, after eighteen months with Dale Kirkland, I find
anything
else normal.”

The caviar arrived and Ron sighed. “Champagne and caviar. I suppose it does beat tuna fish for lunch.”

“Speaking of which,” said Kip. “May I suggest we order the rest of our meal? We are supposed to go back to the apartment after this, pack up last-minute items, and move out.”

Gary and Michael and Kip had the Dover sole for lunch. Ellenor ordered the steak tartare for protein, and Ron just couldn’t resist asking for another bottle of champagne, plus the most expensive item on the menu, the lobster fricassee in bourbon and ginger. When the check was delivered to the table, three hands reached for it at once.

“Let me pay,” Ron insisted. “I ordered the most.”

“I wanted to pick up this tab,” said Gary over Kip’s objections.

Ellenor lifted the crumpled check from their hands. “Never thought I’d live to see this day,” she said with a smile. “Here’s a thought. Why don’t you split the bill three ways?”

Agreed.

103 

After lunch, Ron retrieved a shopping bag from the coat-check room and then the five of them piled into a yellow Checker cab and taxied uptown to East Sixty-seventh Street.

“What a dump!” proclaimed Ron as they walked into the apartment.

All the furniture had been picked up by Goodwill or moved out, and only a small number of boxed cartons remained.

“Have a seat,” said Kip, pointing to the floor.

“Voilà!” said Ron, opening his shopping bag and removing a bottle of Moët et Chandon. “Brought this along to help you get through the last of your packing.”

“How nice,” said Ellenor, taking the bottle from Ron. “I’ll unpack some glasses.”

Several minutes later they were all seated in a circle on the floor, sipping champagne.

“I must remind myself to go easy on this stuff,” said Ron. “After I leave here, I first go for cocktails at Candice Bergen’s. Then I hightail it up to Fifth Avenue, where Jackie O, my soon-to-be newest and dearest chum, is having a hundred or so drop-ins for potluck; still, you can bet it won’t be meatloaf. I suspect a casual blend of theater and politics. The token black, the odd hippie, a few names off the Internationale circuit just to keep the place abuzz with jet-setery. Took me close to a dozen phone calls around town before I finally got myself invited to this souped-up soiree, so it better be gala or I’m going to start voting Republican. I wonder if John-John and Caroline will be there?”

“Sounds like a busy schedule,” said Kip.

“Brother,” said Ron. “You ain’t heard nothin’ yet! Let’s see … after Jackie O’s, it’s a dart over to Lincoln Center for a minor-major gala for the New York City Ballet. Afterward, Marion Javits—who I used to wait on at Arthur—and I taxi uptown to Elaine’s to sit at a table near the door, to see and be seen.”

“I’m exhausted from that itinerary, and you haven’t left here yet,” said Gary.

“It does take a mite of energy.” Ron reached into his jacket pocket and took out a small brown bottle with a black plastic cup. “Got a small hand mirror around?”

“It’s packed,” said Ellenor.

“Well, never mind,” said Ron as he unscrewed the top and dribbled out a row of what looked like superfine sugar. “This is very special stuff … comes all the way from Colombia. The country, not the studio.”

“Can I ask you a personal question?” asked Ellenor.

“Of course.”

“What is it?”

“What is it?”
Ron was astounded. “And you call yourself cosmopolitan New Yorkers?”

“No,” said Kip. “We call ourselves provincial country folk.”

“It’s cocaine!” said Ron as he shaved down his white powder into a long, thin line. “Only
the
glamour drug of the hour. Lasts half an hour, is ridiculously expensive and hopelessly addictive, ruins your appetite, destroys your taste buds, lowers your resistance, dulls your sex drive, and is guaranteed to give you insomnia. You’ll love it!”

“Don’t you have to snort that talcum powder?” asked Gary.

“Right!” said Ron, raising a rolled dollar bill into the air. “This is usually done with a hundred-dollar bill. But I figure I’m with old friends, I don’t need to toss my nouveau wealth around. I’ll snort first, you follow.”

Ron leaned over on the wooden floor, brought his rolled dollar bill down to the white powder, and vacuumed some cocaine up into his nostrils.

“Man … that’s some fine shit!” he said, once his heart had stopped palpitating. He turned to Ellenor. “Take it, dude!”

Kip reached out and snapped the dollar bill out of Ellenor’s hand. “No … I don’t think this is what the little mother needs, thank you.” He squeezed Ellenor’s hand. “I’d prefer my kid not be born an addict.”

“Don’t you want any?” asked Ron, stunned there might actually be people in this world who would turn down a taste of $150-a-gram coke.

“No, thanks,” said Kip. “I don’t care to put anything into my nose that has to be sucked off the floor.”

“It is an inelegant drug,” Ron agreed. “But then again”—he stared down at the powder on the floor—”I do hate to see quality goods going to waste. Guess I’ll just have to have another hit.”

Ron’s head dropped to the wooden floor again. “What about you guys?” he asked Gary and Michael once he had surfaced.

“None for me, thanks,” said Gary. “I’ve got to work tonight.”

“You, Michael?” asked Ron, offering him the dollar bill.

“Naw.” Michael smiled. “I had too much to drink at lunch. This champagne will more than put me over the top.”

“Well, then … I guess it’s up to me to clean up the mess I made, huh?” said Ron, taking another nose dive to the wooden floor.

Ellenor, Kip, Gary, and Michael just sat watching. Ron closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, his face seemed relaxed, placid. “You see how calm it makes me?” he said.

“Yes,” said Kip. “Just like watching Dr. Jekyll turn into Mr. Hyde.”

“Why do you do it?” asked Gary, with enough compassion so that Ron could tell he was not being judgmental.

Ron breathed a huge sigh. “Wish to hell I knew. It’s ruining me … honest it is. But I found that when I stopped taking drugs for a while, I got depressed. So I started taking drugs again. And here I am, at four in the afternoon, ripped to the teeth!” Ron looked up at Kip. “Maybe you can explain it. I spent all these years, desperate to make it to the top. And now I’m nearly there, and I can’t survive without drugs.”

No one had any answers.

Finally Ellenor stood up. “We’d better pack the last of our things.”

“Right!” said Kip. “We’re driving to Connecticut. I don’t want to get there after dark.”

“Well, then,” said Ron, “if you kids are all about to start some heavy lifting, I’ll be on my way.”

“Relax,” said Kip. “You don’t have to do any carrying. My pregnant fiancée and I can manage the twelve flights of stairs by ourselves.”

“Pheww!” Ron wiped his brow. “For a moment, there, I thought I might actually be pressed into service. You really have to walk down?”

“Just kidding,” said Kip. “We’ll take the elevator. You stay here, visit with Gary and Michael. We’ll load the Mustang. And, Ron, there’s another bottle of champagne in the refrigerator. We were going to have it before taking off. Why don’t you guys crack it open?”

Kip and Ellenor picked up several boxes and left the apartment.

Ron waited for the door to slam before he jumped to his feet. “Champagne! Why don’t I just mosey into the kitchen and fetch the vintage from the fridge?”

“Don’t you think maybe we should wait for Kip and Ellenor to come back?” asked Gary.

“Wait?” asked Ron, astounded. “Look at all these boxes. It could take them forever. Tell me, Gary,” he asked as he poured, “how is
First off the Ark
doing?”

“Not too bad,” Michael answered for Gary, saying proudly, “The Literary Guild has taken the book for their main November selection; Fawcett and Ballantine are battling out the auction for the paperback rights, with the bidding currently over a hundred and seventy-five thou. He’s got five Hollywood producers talking with him about movie rights, and he’s currently hard at work on his third book!”

Ron pretended to faint dead away on the floor. Lifting his head, he smiled benignly from the combination of champagne and cocaine swimming inside his system and said, “In the first place, I want to get in on the bidding for the movie rights. And in the second, I’d sure like to hear about the new book.”

“It’s another novel,” said Gary.

“What about?” asked Ron.

“This one’s about three guys who meet at the New York World’s Fair in 1964 and take an apartment together in Manhattan.”

“Sounds familiar,” said Ron.

“Imagine that,” said Gary.

“Just remember,” said Ron. “I don’t mind being cited for what I am. But should you miss even a beat, I’ll sue your ass off!”

Kip and Ellenor had to make only three trips back and forth from the apartment to the street before they were ready to leave.

“Lovely as this get-together is,” said Kip, “I think Ellenor and I had better run. I don’t want to leave the car downstairs with all our stuff in it.”

“Just as well,” said Ron, checking his new Cartier watch. “I’m twenty minutes late for my first cocktail party
now.
I hope dear Candice won’t be too distressed.”

“Well, I guess that’s it, then,” said Gary, draining the last of his champagne. “Good-bye, apartment!”

“Good-bye, apartment!” they all repeated.

They walked out the front door and Kip double-locked it behind him for the last time.

The elevator door opened, and out stepped the building’s superintendent, and behind him, three young women fresh from the sticks.

“Good!” cooed the superintendent. “You’ve cleared out. I’m showing the place to these lovely ladies.”

Ron reached out and placed fatherly hands upon one of the girls’ shoulders. “Sign up!” he said with a smile. “The rooms are too small, the rent is too high, the place is too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter. But ah …” He sighed as he stepped into the elevator. “That view …”

“Don’t forget,” Ellenor reminded Gary when they reached the street and exchanged kisses. “You and Michael are coming to Connecticut weekend after next.”

“Hopefully by then the house will be livable,” said Kip. “Maybe even the rest of our new furniture will have arrived.”

Kip and Ellenor got into their Mustang and took off for the country.

Gary and Michael grabbed a taxi and headed over to their new apartment on West Eighty-third Street.

And Ron, the once and past Prince of Buffalo, darted crosstown for what he knew would be Miss Bergen’s absolutely smashing, very-top-of-the-A-list cocktail soiree about which he was now growing so excited, he was already thinking about which further combination of drugs he was going to need to take to calm his ever steadily rising attack of anxiety.