Valley of the Dolls by Jacqueline Susann
They returned to Helen’s suite at three in the morning, and Helen opened a split of champagne. She poured herself a large glass. “Okay, now tell me—what happened to Gino?”
Anne searched for the right words. “It’s all my fault, I suppose,” she said carefully. “You see, I broke up with Allen.”
“Why?”
“Well—Lyon and I. . . we were together. . .”
“So?” Helen asked. “I knew you were balling Lyon in New Haven. What’s that got to do with Allen?”
“I couldn’t see Allen any more if I’m in love with Lyon.”
Helen’s eyes narrowed. “Are you kidding? You don’t think just because he’s banging you he’s gonna marry you, do you?”
“Of course he will—”
“Has he mentioned marriage?”
“Helen, this all just happened three days ago.”
“So where is your big Romeo now? I notice he didn’t stick with you.”
Anne didn’t answer. Helen rushed on, driving her point home. “Listen, a guy who is in love with you sticks with you. Allen stuck—and he probably feels awful. That’s why Gino didn’t come, I bet. He probably thinks I’m as cheap as you.”
“Helen!”
“You think you’re classy, acting this way. You wear a guy’s ring and leap in the feathers with that limey! And fuck me up with Gino. Sure, he thinks we’re the same kind. He’s afraid to see me now—afraid I’d hurt him like you hurt his son.”
“What I did with Allen has nothing to do with you and Gino.”
“Then why isn’t he here? He dug me pretty good. I can tell. We had laughs together. If it wasn’t for you throwing yourself at Lyon Burke, he’d be here with me now. I’ve lost a guy I love because you’re a little tramp.”
Anne dashed across the room and grabbed her coat.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Helen asked, refilling her glass.
“Any place—just to get away from you!”
“Ha!” Helen sneered. “Honey, you got no place to go but down. Do you think anyone cares about you? You and your prissy blue nose? At least I come out and call a spade a spade. But you played it the great lady. Sure, as long as you wore that diamond you were someone. I put up with you. I figured you must have something if Allen Cooper wanted you. It was your only claim to fame. You’re nothing now—just another broad who’s been balled by Lyon Burke.”
Anne stared at her. “And I thought you were my friend—”
“Friend! What in hell have you got that I should be your friend! Who in hell are you? A stinking secretary and a big bore! And I lose a guy who digs me because of you, yet!” Helen stood up, her legs wobbling. “I’m going to bed—sleep on the couch if you like.”
Anne’s rage made her calm. “Helen, you’ve just lost the only friend you ever had.”
Helen’s face twisted. “Things would be pretty rough if I had to rely on you for laughs and kicks.”
Anne went to the door. “Good-by, Helen. And good luck.”
“No, sister, you’re the one who needs the luck. All you got left is maybe a few more bangs from Lyon Burke before he gets bored with you. And he gets bored easily. I know—I had my innings with him six years ago.” She smiled at Anne’s incredulous stare. “That’s right, me and Lyon. I was doing a new show and he had just joined Henry Bellamy. He was playing it smart—gave me the big romance treatment. He liked being seen with me. But at least I wasn’t a jerk like you. I took it for what it was worth—enjoyed him in the kip and when it petered out that was it. And believe me, I had more to offer him than you, a two-bit secretary.”
Anne opened the door and rushed out, sick with disgust and anger. She reached the elevator and suddenly stopped. Her panic grew as she frantically searched through her bag. She had no money. She had rushed to meet Lyon so quickly that she hadn’t bothered to cash a check. She made a final search and found eighty-five cents. It was after four—she couldn’t call Neely. But she couldn’t walk to New York, either.
She sat on a chair near the elevator in the hall. If she went to the lobby and sat—till nine maybe—then she could call Neely. Oh, God, she had ruined everything. She felt an overwhelming sense of loss. Helen was no longer her friend. But then it seemed Helen had never been her friend. . . . Everyone had warned her. She had been warned about Lyon, too. Lyon and Helen. No—it couldn’t be! But Helen wouldn’t make up an outrageous lie like that. Oh, God! Why had Helen told her? She began to sob, muffling the sound in her hands.
She heard the elevator stop. She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief and kept her head down. A girl got off and walked past, then stopped and turned around.
“It’s Anne, isn’t it?”
Anne dabbed frantically at her eyes again. It was Jennifer North.
“What’s wrong?” Jennifer asked.
Anne looked at the radiant girl. “Just about everything, I’m afraid.”
Jennifer smiled compassionately. “I’ve had days like that. Come on, my room is right down there. Maybe we can talk about it.” She took Anne’s hand and led her firmly down the hall.
Sitting on the bed, chain smoking, Anne found herself telling Jennifer the entire story.
At the end Jennifer grinned. “Wow, have you had a weekend!”
“I’m sorry I put you through all this,” Anne said. “And at such an hour.”
“That’s all right, I never sleep anyway.” Jennifer smiled. “That’s my big problem. But one of your problems is solved, anyway. You stay here tonight.”
“No—I really want to get back to New York. If you would lend me the money, I’ll mail you a check tomorrow.”
Jennifer reached into her bag and tossed over her wallet. “Help yourself. But I think you’re mad. I’ve got two beds. You can get a good night’s sleep and go back tomorrow on a decent train.”
“I want to get back now.” Anne took a ten-dollar bill from the thick wallet. “I’ll mail you a check.”
Jennifer shook her head. “No, wait till I get back to New York—then you can take me to lunch. I want to hear the end of this.”
“This is the end.”
Jennifer smiled. “Sure, with Helen—and possibly Allen. But not with Lyon. Not the way you look when you mention his name.”
“But how can I go back to him now, after what Helen said?”
Jennifer looked incredulous. “You mean that bothers you? You didn’t think he was a virgin, did you?”
“No, but Helen. . . He seems to think so little of her as a woman.”
“Maybe he thought more of her six years ago. He was probably impressed with her. You know, working for Henry Bellamy, trying to be a success. I don’t blame him if he did it with Helen—he probably had to. But I blame her for being such a rat as to throw it at you when she knows you care.”
“But she says he hits and runs . . .”
“Anne, I’m sure every man hits and runs with Helen. And she salves her pride by believing that the man acts that way with everyone. She’ll even con herself into believing that Gino adored her. Anne, I’m sure Lyon is really stuck on you. Maybe not in love, but really stuck.”
“But I’ve ruined everything now. He walked out on me.”
“He probably feels you walked out on him. In a way you did, choosing Helen over him.”
“I didn’t choose. I felt sorry for her. She was my friend.”
“Some friend!” Jennifer made a face. “Look. Tomorrow when you see Lyon, be really nice. Let your eyes fill with tears. Tell him you just learned how stupid you were to feel anything resembling friendship for Helen. Play it sweet—sweet and wounded. And for heaven’s sake, don’t dare mention what Helen told you about him!” She followed Anne to the door. “Remember, there’s only one way to own a man—by making him want you. Not with words. Now sleep on it. In fact, I should chain you up here for a few days so you don’t mess things up.”
“No. I want to go back.”
“Anne . . .” Jennifer followed her to the door. “I like you. We??
Anne smiled weakly. “I’ll try, Jennifer, I’ll try. . . .”
The ride back to New York seemed endless. The sun was shining when she finally reached Penn Station. It was morning . . . people were pouring out of the Long Island section. She’d just have time to bathe, have breakfast and get to the office. Her eyes felt gritty in the cab and her legs were like lead as she climbed the stairs to her room.
She saw the telegram sticking out under her door. Lyon! It had to be! She tore it open.
AUNT AMY PASSED AWAY IN HER SLEEP LAST NIGHT. FUNERAL WILL TAKE PLACE WEDNESDAY. IT WOULD BE NICE IF YOU COULD ATTEND. LOVE. MOTHER.
She stared at the telegram. How like her mother. Not “Please come,” or “I need you,” but “It would be nice . . .”
Well, she wouldn’t go. Her mother didn’t really care. Didn’t really want her there. It would just “look nice” for Lawrenceville. But she belonged here . . . she belonged to Lyon. She reached for the phone and impulsively dialed him. After four rings he answered. His voice sounded sleepy. She felt a twinge of anger. She had sat up all night on a cold train while he had been sleeping. . . .
“Hello?” He was awake now, and irritated. She realized she was holding the receiver and not speaking.
“Hello . . . is someone on?” Lyon’s voice clipped through the wires.
She was frightened. He sounded angry.
“Is it Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth! She stared into the phone stupidly.
“Come now, this is a juvenile thing to do,” Lyon said coldly. “Elizabeth, if you want to talk, say something or I’ll hang up.”
He waited a moment, then put the receiver down with a click.
Elizabeth? Who was Elizabeth? She felt sick at the sudden realization that Lyon had a complete life she knew nothing about. She had really only known him four days. God, was it just four days! Of course there was an Elizabeth—probably many Elizabeths.
She called Western Union and wired her mother that she would come immediately. Then she checked the trains. The next train to Boston left at nine-thirty. She threw some things into a bag. It was eight-thirty—she would have time to get to the bank and cash a check. But the office wasn’t open yet. She had to let Henry know she wouldn’t be in. She dialed Western Union again.
DEAR HENRY. PERSONAL CIRCUMSTANCES CALL ME AWAY. WILL RETURN AND EXPLAIN ON FRIDAY. ANNE.
She left for Boston, never realizing her formal wire would be misinterpreted.
Henry had crushed the wire angrily. “Goddammit—she probably eloped with Allen Cooper.” He kept his suspicions to himself, but found himself being unusually short with Miss Steinberg and the rest of the office staff. On Friday, when he walked in and found her at her desk, he stared in delighted astonishment.
“You’re back!” he shouted.
“I said I would be back on Friday.”
“I was positive you were married,” he said.
“Married?” She stared in amazement. George Bellows had come in. He seemed surprised to see her, too. “Married?” she repeated. “To whom?”
“I just thought . . .” Henry looked foolish. “I was afraid you had eloped with Allen.”
“Eloped? My aunt died. I had to go to Boston. The office wasn’t open, so I sent you a wire. Who said I eloped?”
Henry threw his arms around her. “Never mind. You’re back. And I’m so glad.”
It was at this moment that Lyon entered. He stopped abruptly when he saw her. Henry released her and turned in boyish relief. “She’s back, Lyon . . .”
“Yes, I see.” Lyon’s voice was emotionless.
Anne dropped her eyes. “I’m sorry if you all got the wrong impression.”
“Her aunt died,” Henry said jubilantly. Then, forcing a sober expression, he added, “I’m sorry, Anne.” He turned to Lyon. “She only went to Boston for the funeral.”
Lyon smiled and went to his office.
“Come on in,” Henry said insistently. “Here, want some coffee? A Danish? A raise? Anything—I’m so happy—just name it.”
The buzzer on his desk sounded. He flipped a switch and Anne heard Lyon’s clipped voice. “Henry, could you please send Anne in with the management contract for Neely O’Hara?”
Henry winked and clicked off the intercom. He opened his file cabinet and shuffled through some papers. “We’re handling your little friend. She hasn’t any agent. She has only a small kind of future—strictly on the stage—but we’re taking her on because of you.” He handed Anne the papers and motioned her toward Lyon’s door.
Lyon stood up when she entered. “I suppose Henry told you we’re taking Neely on. She insists—says it will make her feel like a star.”
Anne kept her eyes on the contract. “Yes, Henry told me.”
He came over to her and took the papers. “Has he also told you that I’ve been a lost soul for the past four days?”
She looked at him and he took her in his arms. “Oh, Lyon, Lyon . . .” She clung to him.
“I’m sorry about your aunt. None of us knew why you had gone—Henry acted as if you were actually never coming back. I couldn’t believe that. I refused to believe you had gone out of my life. I know I acted badly, Anne—I should have waited that night. Helen is your friend, and . . .”
“No, I was wrong. I’ll never put anything before you again. Helen wasn’t worth it. No one is worth it. Oh, Lyon, I love you so much.”
“I love you, Anne.”
“You do! Oh, Lyon, do you really?” She clung to him even harder.
He kissed the top of her head. “Really, really,” he said lightly. But when she looked at him she knew he meant it. And once again she told herself she could never be as happy as she was this moment.
She spent the weekend at Lyon’s apartment. She responded eagerly to his lovemaking. On the second night she fell back, shaking and weak. He held her gently and stroked her hair.
“Oh, Lyon—it happened.” She shivered a little.
“For the first time,” he said.
“I was beginning to worry about myself.”
“Not at all—it’s very rare for a girl to actually feel anything or reach a climax in the beginning.”
She kissed his face eagerly. “I function, Lyon—I’m a woman!”
That night she was aggressive in her lovemaking. She had never dreamed her physical passion could match her emotions, and she was glad and frightened at the same time. She not only loved Lyon because he was Lyon, she hungered for him physically. Her love seemed insatiable.
There was only one nagging thought that crept through the perfect weekend. On Monday she was to go to court and testify for Jennifer’s annulment.
“I know you hate to do this, Anne,” Henry had said. “But you’re the only one I can trust. Jennifer’s a stranger in New York. She doesn’t know any girls. It’ll be over and done with before you know it. Don’t worry about it. Just be in the office at nine-thirty. We’re due in court at ten-thirty. Jennifer is coming in from Philadelphia for the day. We’ll rehearse the whole deal before we leave the office.”
She mentioned it several times during the weekend. And there were times she even thought about it when she was in Lyon’s arms.
“Look, if it really bothers you, you don’t have to do it,” Lyon said.
“I know it’s silly, Lyon, but I’m scared. It is perjury, isn’t it?”
“Technically, yes. But it’s done every day. I mean, no one really cares. Not even the judge. But if this is against your principles, just tell Henry so. If necessary, he can get Miss Steinberg.”
“Why didn’t he ask her in the first place?”
“He thought about it. Naturally she was our first thought. But how far could we go, even with a sympathetic judge? Would Jennifer North look like the kind of girl who made Miss Steinberg her chum and confidante?” He reached for the phone. “But don’t fret about it. I’ll ring Henry now. You don’t ow
“Oh, Lord!” She sat up in bed. “Lyon, don’t call Henry.”
“Why not?”
“I owe Jennifer a great deal—ten dollars among other things. I completely forgot. She loaned me money for train fare from Philadelphia.” She had told him the Helen Lawson incident, carefully omitting Helen’s reference to him. But she had forgotten to tell him how Jennifer had sympathized and bailed her out. “I meant to send her the money. But when I got back to New York, there was the wire, and I just took off for Lawrenceville.”
“Well, you can relax. I’m sure Jennifer isn’t worried about ten dollars. I’ll give it back to her tomorrow.”
“Still, she was awfully nice to me that night. I guess the least I can do is testify for her.”
“Very well, if you think it will even the score.”
She looked at him. “That’s such a final expression, Lyon. As if it finishes you off with a person, like a paid bill. I remember when you used it with me. It was like closing a door in my face.”
“With you? When?”
“When I thanked you for Neely, for getting her the job. You said it evened the score for getting you this apartment.”
“Our apartment now,” he said.
She looked at him mistily “Our apartment?”
“Why not? Unless you’re attached to that room on West Fifty-second Street. I think we have ample closet space here. And I’m quite neat to live with.”
She threw her arms around him. “Oh, Lyon! We haven’t known each other long, but I think I knew. I knew the moment we met that you were the only man I’d ever want to marry.”
He broke the embrace gently. “I’m asking you to move in, Anne. That is all I can ask—for the present.”
She turned away from him, more embarrassed than hurt. Lyon took her by the shoulders and turned her gently to face him. “Anne, I do love you.”