Jacqueline Susann's Shadow of the Dolls (12 page)

She went downstairs to make a fresh cup of tea; two more cups of tea and she’d be able to get through the morning without eating. A stack of newspapers and mail was piled up on the counter. Invitations to parties … another manila envelope from Liza … some magazines that Dave had picked out for her.… She grabbed the New York dailies and got back into bed, turning past the news to the gossip columns.

Vanity Fair’s
profile of actress
Helen Lawson
, scheduled to hit newsstands next week, has made its way into the hands of several film producers. Lawson died last November at age 62, just two days after taking the final curtain call for her wildly successful revival of
Hit the Sky
. If you ask us, there’s enough material in this great lady’s life for six movies; they don’t make dames like Helen anymore.…

A movie based on the life of Helen Lawson! As if anyone still cared about that dried-out has-been bitch. At the end, her voice had been a mere quivering ghost of its former self, full of vibrato and whispery high notes. Much of the score of
Hit the Sky
had been reorchestrated because Helen’s vocal range was about half of what it once was. In two of her big numbers, she had even been reduced to talk-singing her way through the more difficult verses. Still, she had performed to a sold-out house every night.

The fags always did love Helen
, Neely thought, and then,
I wonder if there will be a character based on me?
Neely had gotten her first big break in one of Helen Lawson’s shows, back when she was a pudgy teenager fresh off the summer-stock circuit. Neely tried to imagine who could possibly play her. They would have to get an unknown, a young girl who would steal the movie, like Judy Garland singing “Dear Mr. Gable” in
Broadway Melody of 1938
. Even in death, Helen would be upstaged!

The microwave buzzed; her hot water was ready.
Poor Helen
, she thought, smiling a little,
poor old Helen
.

J
une came and went without a ring. Neely was spending the summer in New York, working on songs for a new album. On Thursday afternoons, Dave picked her up and they drove out to East Hampton, with a cooler full of cheese on the backseat. Dave had stopped smoking cigars and was now into various kinds of imported cheese that could be gotten only in the city. After dinner he would bring out the cheese and discuss each one with their guests. Neely was on a new diet that didn’t allow her to eat any dairy, so she would just sit and smile and nibble at a plate of grapes. Some nights the cheese smelled even worse than the cigars.

Tonight they were going over to George and Sandy Dunbar’s house for a small informal dinner party. Just eight people! Neely was wearing a V-neck purple T-shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of black leather sandals with thin straps that buckled around her ankle. She wrapped a navy-blue sweatshirt around her shoulders for when it got cooler. A pair of large gold hoops was her only jewelry, a little bit of mascara and a soft mauve lipstick her only makeup.

She wished the whole world could see her, going over the Dunbars wearing nothing special, because she had learned, over the last two years, that was the way to do it: the less effort you put into your clothing, the more it showed how close you were to your hosts. But
that was the problem with these small get-togethers: no one ever saw you—no press, no photographers, no one to make jealous. It would be just like one of those interviews in
People
, the ones where someone famous, someone with all the money in the world, keeps telling the reporter that what they really like to do is stay home with a few close friends. And now, because of Dave, Neely was one of those friends.

And Sandy would even be cooking! Though Neely had learned what that meant, too. It meant she would be expected to help carry things and possibly even chop a vegetable. Well, that was how these people did it. The ones with the most money were the ones who were allowed to act as if they didn’t have any money at all.

They were the first to arrive. George thanked them for the two bottles of Merlot and the wheel of Roquefort that Dave had picked out for after dinner. Sandy hugged Dave and offered her right cheek to Neely for the briefest hello kiss.

“Come into the kitchen,” Sandy said after the first glasses of wine were poured. “You can help me with the salad.” The kitchen smelled of onions and garlic. Dinner was some sort of Spanish dish that Neely had never heard of. Fish stew was what it looked like. Stew! That was the other thing she had noticed about these rich women: they loved to make stew. And out on the deck, covered with plastic, was an enormous gas grill, top of the line, perfect for steaks.

“So, how’s everything?” Sandy asked.

“Well, my boys are coming next week, so we’re getting the house ready for them.”

“How old are they now? Seventeen?”

“Sixteen,” Neely said. “Beverly Hills sixteen, if you know what I mean. Ted gives them everything they ask for.” Ted was doing production design now and often worked late into the night. As far as Neely could tell, the boys were pretty much raising themselves.

“Time to start thinking about college,” Sandy said.

“Judd’s already taking college courses. He’s this total computer genius, and he’s been in this special program since ninth grade. I don’t know where he gets it from, Ted and I are both lousy with numbers. And he’s just the sweetest kid.”

“And—I’m sorry, I’m so bad with names.”

“Dylan.”

“Dylan. Of course. That’s a beautiful name.”

“Well, actually his name is Theodore, after Ted, and we always used to call him Buddy, but when he turned twelve he started insisting everyone call him Dylan. Dylan Casablanca, can you imagine? The girls just eat him up. He’s my wild one.”

“Well, that’s what sixteen is all about. Ashley is fourteen, and I keep telling George, Watch out, you have no idea what’s about to happen.” Like other second wives Neely had met, Sandy had bred quickly and often to secure her position. She and George had five children, each less than two years apart.

“Yeah, well, if you ask me, Ted gets a little kick out of Dylan’s bad-boy behavior. Not that he would ever admit it.”

“They never do,” Sandy said. “Here, help me with this pepper.”

Neely stared at the bell pepper, unsure of what to do. Wash it? Carve out the stem? She sliced it around the middle and stared at the seeds, what looked like hundreds and hundreds of seeds. She began picking them out with her fingers.

“Oh, here, it’s faster if you just rinse it,” Sandy said, taking the pepper pieces back. “Could you grab a stick of butter from the refrigerator?”

There appeared to be two refrigerators. Neely chose the closest one and was relieved to find a box of butter sitting on the second shelf. On the top shelf were large bowls of various kinds of fish cut up into pieces, and shellfish cleaned and ready to go. There was also a bowl of chopped garlic and a bowl of diced onions. Everything that might have left a smell on Sandy’s freshly manicured fingers had been taken care of earlier in the day by the cook.

Dinner was the usual mix of industry gossip and political disagreements, though Neely never understood what they were arguing about, since they were all Democrats and always supported the same candidates. All the men wore rumpled chinos: George, Dave, Terry, and Brian. Terry was a character actor who had made his mark in the New York theater before moving out to California. Brian was a partner at the agency that represented Neely. Their three wives looked so alike, they might have been sisters. Same shoulder-length blond hair, streaked with foils, with bangs and layers in front cut to look as if they were growing out. Same pinkish-brown lipstick. Same noses. Neely guessed none of them had been born with that nose. The only woman she had ever met who had that nose naturally was Anne Welles.

After dinner they put on another layer and went out to the deck for coffee, dessert, and Dave’s fabulous cheese. The moon was up, and Ella Fitzgerald was playing.

“Neely, let’s go for a walk down by the pond,” George said when the coffee refills came around.

Neely looked at Dave, who leaned back and nodded. “Sure, okay,” she said.

They walked down to the dock. George was telling her about his new movie. They were going to be shooting in Australia starting in October.

“So, how’s your movie business going?” he asked.

“Well, I’m sure you already know. It’s not going. At first I thought I was just getting all the lousy scripts. Now I’m beginning to think there’s nothing out there
but
lousy scripts.”

“You turned down the Helen Lawson story.”

“You bet I did. I’m not going to take a bad part just for the sake of taking a part. I haven’t made a movie in, in how many years?—it feels like a million years. So everyone is watching, you know? They ought to just call it
Helen Dearest
. I knew her, and she was the meanest woman alive.”

“You know we bought the rights a couple of weeks ago.”

“You’re gonna direct it?” Neely asked. “Really?”

George chuckled. “No, we’ll get someone else to direct it. My production company bought it. I think there could be a great film there.”

“Really?”

“The early material is fantastic. Some of the best dialogue for women I’ve read in a long time.”

“Well, they must have made it all up, because half of everything Helen ever said was a lie, and the other half was nothing but four-letter words.”

“You really hate her.”

“She hated me first!”

George laughed.

“No, I mean it!” Neely said. “First she tried to ruin my career, then she tried to take credit for discovering me. She was the worst backstabbing cunt I ever met.”

“Well, that’s not how we’re making the picture. Helen is incredibly sympathetic. She gives up everything to make it on Broadway, only to learn that she’s trusted the wrong people all along the way. Think
All About Eve
, with musical numbers.”

“But that’s bullshit! That isn’t how it was at all.”

“It’s the movies, Neely. How it was is whatever we decide to show the audience. Ten years from now, do you think anyone will remember the real Helen Lawson? All they’ll remember is this movie. And this movie has a great part for you in it. You could win an Oscar for this role.”

“Come on.”

“It could be your
Coal Miner’s Daughter
. Your
The Rose
. The sound track alone could make you a fortune.”

“Geez, George. You’re quite the salesman. But I’d rather wait for a good dramatic part.”

“I think that might be an awfully long wait.”

“And what does that mean?” she asked.

“You know how many thirty-plus actresses are out there competing for the same parts? This is going to sound harsh, but I’m saying it as your friend. Actresses with better credentials than you have. Do you think you’ll get anything half a dozen of them haven’t already turned down?”

“Well, thanks a lot.”

“Be realistic, Neely. You’re an expensive risk.”

“I’m not so expensive! I have my own production company now. I don’t need to get a ton of dough up front.”

“The insurance companies don’t see it that way. Your last three pictures came in wildly over budget because of shooting delays, and in every case you were the reason for those delays.”

“I’ve been clean for four years. Maybe I have a glass of wine now and then, but alcohol was never my problem.”

“You know how much cast insurance costs now? Last year I shot an eighty-million-dollar picture, and four million went straight to the insurance company. No one can afford to bet on you, even if you do think you are a safe bet.”

“Geez, if this is supposed to be a pep talk, you aren’t doing a very nice job of it.”

“We’re willing to take a risk on you, because you’re a friend, and, to be absolutely honest, because I think you’re the only person with the voice to carry the picture. But with insurance costing what it does now, producers aren’t lining up to make another Neely O’Hara movie. I’m just telling you like it is. You can ask Brian, he’ll say the same thing.”

“Oh, yeah, the agents, the agents. All they care about is their damn packages. They’re looking out for the director, they’re looking out for the screenwriter, they’re looking out for themselves, meanwhile who’s looking out for me?”

“Neely, you have to think about this part. At least take a look at
some of the script. Everyone is going to love Helen Lawson when this movie comes out. Every woman who has ever been betrayed by a friend, every woman who ever lost a man to another woman, every woman who ever dreamed of a glamorous life, every woman over the age of thirty who wonders whether she’s made the right choices, they’re all going to watch this movie and say, That’s me! Those are my mistakes! Those are my dreams!”

“Enough already. I’ll think about it.”

“We really want you to do this.”

“We?”

“Me and Dave. We’ve talked about it.”

“You talk about me with Dave behind my back?” Neely said, her voice growing louder.

“Dave and I are old friends. I talk about Sandy, he talks about you, what do you think we talk about?”

“You’re ganging up on me. I can’t believe you’re ganging up on me! It isn’t fair!”

“We just want what’s best for you.”

“And what’s best for your production company.”

“Maybe it’s the same thing.”

“Man oh man. I can’t believe Dave is doing this to me.”

“Neely, sit down.” They sat facing each other on the long wooden bench that lined the dock. “I’m only going to say this once. Promise me you’ll listen without interrupting. Promise me you’ll listen with an open mind.”

“Okay, okay.”

“You have one of the great voices of the century. You have an amazing talent, a gift from God, really, a talent that you’ve nearly destroyed more than once. But you’re still here. You can still sing, and you’re still beautiful.”

He took her hand and continued. “In some ways, you and Helen are very much alike. Don’t make that face, just listen. Because deep
down, Helen knew she was alone, and she knew the only thing she could really trust in life was her own talent. And deep down, I think you’re the same way.”