Valley of the Dolls by Jacqueline Susann
Jennifer nodded.
”You. . . and Winston Adams!”
Jennifer leaped up and spun around the room. “Yes! Winston Adams. Senior senator, Social Register, millionaire—comes from generations of millionaires. But Anne, if he didn’t have a dime, I wouldn’t care. I love him.”
Anne sat back. Winston Adams! He was about fifty—attractive, brilliant and immensely popular. “But Jen, I heard he was the Republicans’ big white hope, that they’re grooming him for—”
Jennifer nodded. “They are. And he’s willing to give it all up for me.”
“How did it happen?”
Jennifer’s eyes grew soft. “Well, like I said, we met I met dozens of senators and had my picture taken with all of them—you’d be surprised how obliging some of those senators can be. They’re bigger hams than actors. Except Winston Adams—he refused to be photographed with me.”
“Good for him!” Anne said. “That’s one way of attracting your attention.”
Jennifer shook her head. “He meant it. On the day before I left, when all the hoopla was over, he phoned me. He said he wanted to talk to me—asked me to dinner. I went to his apartment that night. I thought maybe it was a big party, but it was just us.”
“He must be a democrat at heart,” Anne said, smiling.
“No, nothing happened. I mean, no sex—he didn’t even try. He had a servant who was there all the time—not hovering over us, but you knew he was there. He explained that he hadn’t meant to be rude in refusing to pose, but that he just didn’t go for that kind of thing. Then we talked. He asked me a lot of questions, and he actually listened to me. We talked about Paris. He went to the Sorbonne when he was young, and he wanted to know how Paris had changed since the war.”
“Why have you kept it such a secret?” Anne demanded. “He’s not married.”
Jennifer grinned happily. “It’s not going to be a secret any longer. Last week marked two years since the death of his wife. He felt it wouldn’t have looked proper until now.”
“Oh, that’s right. They were very devoted.”
“Only on the outside. It was one of those arranged marriages, like you would have had if you had stayed in Lawrenceville. Both from good snooty families with money. Oh, he thought he loved her at the time. But she was the frigid type—hated sex. But that’s not the important thing to him with me,” she said quickly. “He went with me for two months without even trying. We’d sneak and meet in out-of-the-way places—Kansas City, Chicago . . . I’d wear a black wig. Then he came to California for a week—and we did it! Anne, he’s divine. He’s so gentle. He loves me, but for me! He was stunned when he saw my boobs—he had always thought they were padded! He had never even seen any of my foreign films. Anne, he’s the first man who ever fell for me, not just my body. And he was so shy. At first he was even afraid to touch my boobs. But I’ve taught him, and now—wow!”
“He’s discovered sex,” Anne said with a smile.
“Discovered it—he acts like he invented it. But don’t you see, I don’t mind it this way, because he was originally attracted to me without it. And Anne, he wants children. His wife was the flat-chested, horsey type from Maryland, and she never had any.”
“But Jen, he’s not really young—and what makes you so sure you’ll conceive just like that?”
“Well, I’ve had seven abortions. My insides are ready, willing and able all the time. And when I told Win I wanted to get out of pictures and have children he was so happy he cried. He actually cried, Anne. He felt life had passed him up on all the things he really wanted—a girl he could love, children. That’s why he buried himself in his work. He doesn’t give a damn if I louse up his career. He says the Republicans won’t get a President in office for at least eight years, and they can’t fire him from being a senator just because he marries a movie star. He just wants what I want—a home and kids.”
“Does Winston know your real age?”
Jennifer nodded happily. “He was delighted. Of course, I didn’t tell him about the little tucks behind my ears. I mean, let’s not scare the man. He’s liable to think I’m something out of Shangri-La. But he was glad I wasn’t in my twenties. He thought I’d think he was too old. And once when I visited him on his farm, I sat around all weekend in pigtails and no makeup and he said I was gorgeous. Oh, Anne—it’s all so wonderful. I’m going back to the Coast next week to drop the bomb. I’ll finish the next picture—they’ve already shot the exteriors and fitted the costumes—but that’s it! Let them scream. So I’ll never work again, who cares? I’m through with the whole scene.”
“When will you get married?”
“Well, starting tonight we’re going out publicly. We’re going to the theatre, then to a supper party at ’21’ with Senator Belson and his wife. We’ll probably make all the papers tomorrow, and Win will shyly admit we’re engaged.”
Anne smiled. “I’ll probably see you tonight. We’re going to ’21’ too. It’s a late dinner, so we’ll probably be there when you arrive. This will be one of those long dreary ones, with some of the people who are buying Kevin’s company.”
Jennifer impulsively pressed Anne’s hand. “Oh, girl friend, isn’t it wonderful! We’ve both wound up at the top, with success, security and a man we love and respect.”
Anne smiled, but she felt the familiar weight descending.
When she saw them at “21” that night, Jennifer was glowing, and she had to admit that Senator Winston Adams was an imposing-looking man. He was tall, with clipped steel-gray hair and a flat stomach that suggested daily workouts at the athletic club. Jennifer stopped at their table. Introductions were exchanged, and the Senator went out of his way to be gracious. “I feel as if I know you,” he said to Anne. “I’ve seen you so often on television—and of course, Jennifer talks about you constantly.”
She watched Jennifer all evening. Jennifer’s eyes never left the Senator’s face. They were adoring, the eyes of a girl genuinely in love. Anne envied her. She looked at Kevin. Thank God he had recovered. He was so good and kind. Oh, God, why couldn’t she feel anything for him? If she had, she would have been married to him ages ago. Look how she had pestered Lyon, even offered to support him. But with Lyon there was more to it than just sex. She had wanted to be close to him every second, to crawl inside his thoughts. . . . Oh, God, what am I doing, she thought. There is no Lyon. Like Henry says, I’m in love with an image. . . .
Jennifer was on all the front pages the following day. And Senator Winston Adams acknowledged they would marry early in 1961. In a flurry of ecstasy, excitement and headlines, she returned to the Coast to make her final picture.
1961
Jennifer returned to New York the first week in January. Senator Adams was detained in Washington for a few days, and Anne went with her as she bought her trousseau.
“Everything must be different,” she insisted. “Striking, but—you know—subdued. You’ve got to help me, Anne.”
They were in the fitting room at Bergdorf’s when Jennifer suddenly leaned against the wall. “Anne . . . have you an aspirin?”
She was ashen and the pupils of her eyes were dilated. The fitter rushed for the aspirin. Jennifer sat down. “Stop looking so terrified, Anne.” She managed a smile. “It’s the curse. It came early, from all the excitement, I guess. I get stabbing pains.”
Anne relaxed. “You scared me to death.”
Jennifer lit a cigarette. “It’s passed now. But that pain—it was a real bonecrusher. I guess that’s what labor feels like. If this is a sample, I’m going to find a nice painless doctor when I have my babies.”
The fitter returned with the aspirin and the head saleslady came rushing in, visibly concerned.
“I go through it too,” the woman said. “I crawl up walls. Thank God it only comes once a month.”
“You’re lucky,” Jennifer said. “Lately I’ve been getting it every two or three weeks.”
The salesgirl shook her head. “It’s better than my girl f
Jennifer selected three dresses. The salesgirl thanked her, got her autograph for her niece and wished her luck.
Later, when they were sitting at the Palm Court having a drink, Anne said casually, “By the way, Jen, when was the last time you had a checkup?”
Jennifer was thoughtful. “Let’s see, the last abortion was in Sweden—it’s legal there—that was four years ago. The doctor said I was sound as a rock.”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to check. My doctor is excellent.”
Jennifer nodded. “Maybe I will.”
Dr. Galens was calm and easy as he made out her card. The internal examination was over; she was dressed and seated across the desk from him. “How long has this been going on?” he asked.
“A few months. I wouldn’t even have thought about it, but Anne’s been on my neck. And then, when the curse continued—it’s been ten days. I’m getting married next week, so I wanted to be sure everything was in order. After all, I intend to start having babies right away.”
He nodded. “Is the Senator in town now?”
“No, he’s in Washington. He’ll be here next week.”
“Well, then suppose you check into the hospital tonight.”
“Tonight?” Jennifer crushed out her cigarette. “Is anything wrong?”
“Absolutely nothing. If you weren’t planning on getting married next week, I’d say let’s wait and watch your next period. You have polyps in your uterus. It’s very common. You go in for tonight, have a scraping tomorrow and leave the hospital the following day. You will stain for a few days, but if you go in now you’ll be fine for your wedding day.”
Alarmed, Anne checked with Dr. Galens. He was hiding nothing from Jennifer. It was a simple “D and C.” She helped Jennifer pack a bag and went along to the hospital with her.
Anne sat in the empty hospital room after Jennifer was taken up. She was glad it was nothing serious—Jennifer wanted a baby so much. And she deserved one. Funny . . . as close as they were, Jen had never explained why she had gotten rid of Tony’s baby.
Dr. Galens was down in an hour. Anne sensed instantly that something was wrong.
“She’s sleeping off the anesthesia,” he said.
“What is it?” Anne demanded. “I can tell—something’s wrong. It wasn’t just polyps.”
“It was just polyps—exactly as I thought. There’s nothing wrong with her insides,” he said. “But while the anesthetist was checking on her heartbeat, he found a lump in her breast the size of a walnut. She must have known about it.”
Anne felt weak. “But lots of lumps mean nothing. I mean—some are only cysts, aren’t they?”
“I took the lump out,” he said quietly. “It was a simple, tiny incision that wouldn’t leave a noticeable scar. I had an immediate biopsy performed. Anne, it’s malignant. She must go up tomorrow and have the breast removed.”
Anne went cold with horror. Oh, God, why Jennifer? And why now? She felt tears running down her face. “You tell her,” she sobbed. “I can’t!”
Jennifer opened her eyes slowly, struggling to wake. It was over. She smiled at the hazy figure of the nurse beside her. “Is everything all right?”
“Here’s Doctor Galens now,” the nurse said brightly.
He touched her forehead gently. “Coming out of it?”
“Mmmm . . . tell me, it was just as you thought—polyps—wasn’t it?”
“Yes, everything is fine in that department. Jennifer, why didn’t you tell me you had a lump in your breast?”
Instinctively her hand reached to her breast. She felt the small bandage.
“I took out the lump. How long have you had it?”
“Dunno . . .” She was getting drowsy again. “ ’Bout a year . . . maybe longer.”
“You go back to sleep. We’ll talk about it later.”
Through the haze of anesthesia she felt the fear. She reached out and grabbed his arm. “Talk about what later?”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to bring you up here again tomorrow . . . to do a little more cutting.”
“Cutting? Like what?”
“We’re going to have to perform a mastectomy. Dr. Richards will do it. He’s one of our top breast surgeons.”
“What’s a mast—what you said?”
“We have to remove your breast, Jennifer. That lump was malignant.”
She struggled to sit up. “No! Never! Oh, God—no!” She fell back, her head spinning. Something was shot into her arm.
She fell asleep, fitfully, waking some time later and clutching at the nurse, pleading, “It was a dream, wasn’t it? I just dreamed it under gas, didn’t I—what he said about my breast? Tell me . . .”
“Now, now . . . relax,” the nurse said softly.
She saw sympathy on the woman’s face. It was no dream. Oh, God, it was true!
Anne had rushed to Kevin’s office and sobbed out the story. He had listened in silence, then asked. “Did Dr. Galens say the prognosis looked hopeful?”
Anne stared at him impatiently. “Hopeful? Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?”
“I heard everything. She must lose her breast. It’s dreadful, but it’s not the end of the world. Anne, do you know how many women live long and happy lives after successful breast surgery? The point is to catch it in time.”
She looked at him gratefully. That was Kevin. Always taking hold, finding the hopeful side of everything. He got Dr. Galens on the phone. The doctor said he had every reason to believe the prognosis would be good. Dr. Richards had agreed. It was a small tumor, and the survival rate in breast surgery was high. If there was no metastasis, the prognosis would be excellent—but that could not be determined until the breast was removed and the lymph glands examined.
Somewhat reassured and calmed by Kevin’s matter-of-fact reaction, Anne returned to the hospital. Jennifer was wide awake and oddly emotionless. She reached out and clutched Anne’s hand. “Dr. Galens called Win,” she whispered. “He’s flying here immediately.”
“Did he tell him?” Anne asked.
Jennifer shook her head. “I told him not to say a word. I feel I should be the one to tell him.” She smiled weakly at the nurse. “I’m all right Would you leave me alone with my friend?”
“Don’t let her drink any fluids for at least two hours,” the nurse said. “Do you want a special nurse ordered for tonight?”
“No, the operation isn’t until tomorrow and Dr. Galens ordered round-the-clock nurses starting then. I’m fine—please just leave us alone.”
She watched the nurse leave—then she jumped out of bed.
“What are you doing?” Anne asked, alarmed.
“I’m getting out of here—right now!”
Anne seized her arm. “Jennifer, are you crazy?”
“Look, they’re not going to disfigure me. How could Win want to come near me!”
“You said yourself he fell in love with you, not your breasts. Now don’t be ridiculous.”
But Jennifer was at the closet, pulling out her clothes. “I’m getting out of here. I’ll take the chance. He got the cancer out—he’s not taking off my breast!”
“Jennifer—it’s the only way they can be sure. It might have spread to another part of the breast.”
“I don’t care! It’s bad enough that I won’t be able to give Win any children, but I won’t come to him deformed.”
“It could be suicide if you leave. Do you think that’s fair to Win? To marry him and perhaps a year later put him through this? His last wife was sick. And what has this got to do with having a baby? You can still have children. Dr. Galens said you were fine inside.”
“But I mustn’t get pregnant. Dr. Galens said so. A pregnancy might stir up some malignancy in the ovaries. There’s some direct connection with the breast and ovaries. In fact, he said after the operation he may give me some X-ray treatment on my ovaries to insure sterility! What wo
“You offer him you! That’s all he really wants. Look—you said you were sick of living for your body. Well, prove it. And if you want children you can adopt them.”
Slowly Jennifer climbed back into bed.
Anne rushed on. “No one need ever know—just you and Win. He’ll love you and won’t mind about the babies. I’m positive of that. And if you adopt a child it will be the same as your own. And the operation will be nothing. Honest, Jen, with the pain killers today—and with the wonderful falsies you can buy—Jen, it’s not the end of the world.”
Jennifer stared at the ceiling. “You know, it’s funny. All my life, the word cancer meant death, terror, something so horrible I’d cringe. And now I have it. And the funny part is, I’m not the least bit frightened of the cancer itself—even if it turns out to be a death sentence. It’s just what it’ll do to my life with Win—not being able to give him children. And the disfigurement.”
“It won’t show, Jen. Some people have automobile accidents, have their faces disfigured. Some women are naturally flat-chested, and they manage. You’re the one who’s been saying all along you didn’t want to live for your body. Well, have some guts, some belief in yourself—start proving it. And start believing in Win.”
Jennifer smiled faintly. “Okay, then I’d better get out of this hospital gown. And get me my makeup. I want to look my best when I tell him.” She sat up and combed her hair. As she slipped into the filmy nightgown, she stared down at the breast with the small bandage. “Good-by, Sam,” she said. “You don’t know it, but you aren’t going to be around much longer.”
Kevin joined Anne, and they were both there when Winston Adams arrived at seven. Anne had arranged the lights. Jennifer looked every inch the movie star, and she was almost cheerful. After a brief exchange of greetings, Kevin and Anne left.
The moment they had gone, Winston dashed to the bed and took Jennifer in his arms. “God, I almost died of fear. The doctor was so strange on the phone—said you needed an operation, hinted that the wedding might have to be postponed. And now, to see you looking so beautiful. . . What kind of an operation, darling?”