The Love Machine (26 page)

Suddenly Amanda crossed the room to greet him. He had forgotten how lovely she was. Death couldn’t be lodged in that slim wonderful body!

“Robin!” She threw her arms around him. He was surprised at her open display of affection. “Robin, you’re here! It’s wonderful to see you. Oh, but you don’t know many people.” She broke the embrace, took his hand and shouted, “Hey, everybody—
quiet!”

The room grew still.

“I want you to meet Robin Stone. He came all the way from New York. You all know who Robin Stone is.” Her voice was derisive. “You must know—he’s the star of
In Depth!”
Her gaze was innocent. “None of you seem impressed, but he’s a very big man in New York.”

A few people pretended to recognize him with feeble nods, then turned back to their own conversations. Robin’s lack of expression hid his surprise at her odd behavior. But Amanda merely shrugged.

“That’s Hollywood for you,” she said lightly. “They still refuse to recognize that television is here to stay. And as for news programs—darling, news is something they only hear on radio when they drive to the studio, and only if it butts into a music program. So forgive them, angel, if they don’t recognize and fawn over you. Paul Newman, Gregory Peck, Elizabeth Taylor—that’s the name of the game in this town.”

She led him to the bar for a drink. Ike Ryan greeted him warmly, then crossed the room to greet a director who had just entered. Amanda handed Robin a glass. “Filled with your favorite brand of ice water—only this is one-hundred proof, imported.”

Suddenly there was silence. Then a swelling murmur grew as everyone stared at the handsome young man who had entered.

“Oh, look!” Amanda cried. “Ike even got the Big Dipper to
come.” Her eyes shone as Ike led the handsome, bronzed man to the bar.

“You know this good-looking bum?” Ike asked with a grin.

Amanda’s smile went coy. “Oh, Ike, everyone knows Dip Nelson. I’m honored that you came, Mr. Nelson. Ike ran your new picture for me when I was in the hospital.”

Dip looked slightly embarrassed. Robin was embarrassed too. He wondered what in hell had gotten into Amanda. Then she said, “Oh, Dip, this is Robin Stone, an old, old friend. He’s like family, aren’t you, Robin?”

Dip shook hands with Robin, then several women crowded around him and he was literally carried across the room.

“Poor Dip, he hasn’t a chance with those women,” Amanda said.

Ike smiled. “The Big Dipper can take care of himself. No talent—just brawn, dimples, and looks. But he’s hot box office now, and that’s all that counts.”

Amanda nudged Ike. “Darling, speaking of box office … look who just came in!”

Robin watched as Ike and Amanda went to greet a slim good-looking man—Alfred Knight, the English actor who had made such an impact on Hollywood. He searched the crowd for Chris Lane and spotted him across the room in a corner. Poor Chris—he not only looked like an outsider, but he’d soon need a program to be able to tell the players. He still thought he was engaged to Amanda. Robin finished off the vodka, got a refill and remained at the bar. It promised to be a very entertaining night.

The caterers began setting up tables around the pool. And suddenly it hit Robin that Amanda’s birthday was in February. Or was it January? It had to be one of those months—he remembered celebrating it during a snowstorm.

He was just starting on his fourth vodka when there was a loud roll of drums. Amanda was standing in the center of the room.

“Everyone! I—we—have an announcement!”

Amanda held up her hand. There was a large diamond on her finger. “Ike gave this to me today—but it’s not a birthday present. In fact it’s not my birthday at all, it’s just our way of announcing our engagement!”

Everyone began to talk at once. Christie Lane looked like an
animal that had been impaled. He stood there, mute and glassy-eyed. One of the guests ran to the piano and began to play
Lohengrin
. Gradually the crowd returned to their original groups and resumed their conversation and drinking. From across the room, for one instant Amanda’s eyes met Robin’s. Their glance held; her eyes were dark with triumph. He raised his glance in a silent toast. Then she turned and let Alfie Knight waft her to another part of the room. Robin saw Ike crossing to the den. He put down his drink and went after him.

Ike smiled as Robin approached. “Well, you gotta admit I’m a barrel full of surprises.”

“I want a few words with you, chum.”

“What? No congratulations?”

“Where can we go? This won’t take long.”

Ike signaled a waiter for drinks, then he led Robin to the pool area which was deserted.

“Okay, shoot. What’s on your mind?” Ike said.

“Amanda.”

“That’s right, you had a swing around with her once.” Ike swallowed his shot of bourbon neat. Then he stared at Robin’s untouched drink. “Aren’t you going to toast the groom?”

“I know about Amanda,” Robin said quietly.

Ike’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know?”

“Jerry Moss is a friend of mine.”

“I’ll kill that little punk. I told him to keep his mouth shut.”

“Stop playing the tough guy. Jerry did what he thought was best. I came out here to ask Amanda to marry me.”

“She doesn’t need your charity,” Ike snapped.

“Is that what you’re giving her?”

“You said it—I didn’t.”

“Ike, we’ve shared the same scene, and I’m not knocking it. I like it too. But Amanda won’t go that route. She can’t, and especially not now.”

Ike’s smile was cold. “If I didn’t like you so much I’d knock the shit out of you. Just what kind of a bastard do you think I am?”

“No special kind, just a bastard. I don’t want Amanda to get hurt.”

Ike looked at him curiously. “Are you in love with her?”

“I care about her—I care about making the rest of her life happy.”

Ike nodded. “Then we’re both coming in on the same beam.”

“You mean that?”

Ike leaned across the table. “Look, this is no time for fun and games. This is the truth game. Are you in love with her? Just tell me that, tell me you love her and I’ll send for Amanda right now and give you your shot. Let the best man win. But if you’re here to make some grandstand gesture, forget it. She doesn’t need any favors from you—when the time comes, I think I have a better setup to give her what she needs.”

“All right, chum, since we’re playing the truth game”—Robin’s face was grim—”are
you
in love with her? Seems to me you haven’t answered that question.”

Ike stood up and stared at the dark pool. “Of course I’m not in love with her,” he said quietly. “But then, neither are you.”

“That’s the way I figured it from the start,” Robin said. “Then why the marriage bit?”

“Why not?” Ike asked.

“As I see it, she’ll tie you down. Stop some of your action.”

Ike smiled. “She can help my image.”

“I don’t get you.”

“Maybe you didn’t read the newspapers. Last month my wife—my ex-wife, we’ve been divorced for five years—did the Dutch act: pills. Thank God she did it in Wisconsin. She was there visiting my son over the Easter holidays. He goes to school there. She took pills—a whole fucking bottle—and left a note saying she couldn’t live without me. Thank God for Joey, that’s my kid. He grabbed the note and sent for me. I schmeared around some money and we made it look accidental.” Ike sighed. “Five years I haven’t seen that broad. I never loved her—we went to school together, and she gave me her all in our senior year. We got married, only she never grew with me—always chewing my ass off, wanting me to sell ties for her uncle. I stuck it out till Joey was twelve—then I walked. I’ve been sending her all the money a dame could use. Christ, I even agreed that her alimony would continue if she remarried. So she spends all this time living in the past, then decides to get back at me by taking her life.

“You should have seen that note—made me the biggest shit
ever. Joey and I burned it, but there have been snide rumors around this town that she committed suicide. Then there were two crazy broads who also tried it—I don’t get it, what’s with these dames and sleeping pills? I’m not that big a lover. Then a scandal magazine tagged me: ‘For Ike Ryan—dames are dyin’.’ It’s just this crazy business: there are no men out here. They’ll latch on to a doorknob if it wears pants. Half the big stars in there, the women, are here with their fag hairdressers. Anyway, my reputation isn’t exactly sympathetic. I can use a little good press. When Amanda goes, people will look at me in a different light. They’ll realize I made the last months of a doomed girl happy ones–great ones. I’m gonna give her the biggest razzle-dazzle whirl any girl ever had. And when they close the lid on her pretty puss, at least she’ll have gone out in style.”

Robin sat in a stunned silence. Then he said hoarsely, “You’re using her. You son of a bitch—you’re using her.”

“Let’s say I need her, but not half as much as she needs me.” Ike came close, his face hard. “Listen, I’ve seen
you
operate. You have ice water for blood, so don’t sit in judgment on me. She digs me, and I’m going to make her goddam happy. I’ll charter planes, fly her all over the world. I’m gonna load her with diamonds. What can you do for her? Fuck her? So can I. Although God knows how long she’ll have the strength for that. But can you let her go out in the style I’m offering? I know about her past—and I think she rates Roman candles right now. Can you top it, newsman?”

Robin stood up. His eyes were as hard as Ike’s. The two men faced one another. “No, I can’t. But you better live up to it. Make damn sure it’s not just talk. Otherwise, I’ll find you, Ike—no matter where you are—and I’ll break every bone in your body.”

For a moment their eyes locked in tense silence. Ike smiled and held out his hand. “It’s a deal.” He turned and went back to the house. Robin hadn’t taken his hand. He sank into a deck chair and sipped his drink. He felt wrung out and empty. Ike didn’t care for Amanda; Ike cared for his own image. Yet what difference did “caring” make? Results were all that counted. He looked at his watch. It was still early; he could get the midnight plane out.

“Too late for a tan.” He looked up. It was Dip Nelson.

Robin grinned. “I guess I could use some sun.”

Dip lit a cigarette. “Boy, is that a grind in there! You from New York?”

Robin nodded.

“I thought so. Are you in this racket?”

“No, thank God.”

He stared at Robin speculatively. “Let me guess—a relative of the bride?”

“Distant.” Then he added, “Incidentally, count me as one of your fans. I’ve seen some of your pictures. You handle a horse very well.”

Dip looked at him oddly. “You putting me on?”

“Not at all.”

“Then what kind of a line is that? What about my acting?”

“That’s pretty lousy.” Robin smiled.

For a split second Dip wavered between anger and action. Then he laughed and held out his hand. “Well, at least you’re an honest man.”

“I don’t think acting really counts,” Robin said. “It’s star quality that makes it in pictures, and from the reception you got in that room, you obviously have it.”

Dip shrugged. “Like you said, I did the horse routine for years. One crappy Western after another, then suddenly they came into vogue, and I’m a star. But it’s my new picture that’s causing all the excitement. It opens in New York next week. I play a Madison Avenue anti-hero type. The works: skinny tie, gray suit, like you. Hey, is that your racket?”

“In a way.”

“Oh-oh, here comes Bebe. Let’s duck out of here.”

“Who’s Bebe?”

“Her husband’s a top producer. Come on, want to blow this party?”

“You must be reading my mind,” said Robin.

“Follow me!” Dip headed for the cabanas. They slipped into the dark dressing room. “Now stay very quiet. She’s too loaded to come this far.”

They stood quietly in the silent darkness while the producer’s wife wobbled around the pool calling for Dip. Finally she gave up and went inside.

Dip loosened his collar. “Boy, there’s nothing worse then a menopause broad in heat. Listen: between you and I, don’t let the movie-star bit put you off base. I’m a one-woman man. Oh, I may have to fuck a little to get certain parts, but I don’t go after a broad like Bebe like some of these male whores out here.”

He shivered. “There’s nothing worse: a forty-year-old with the figure of a twenty-year-old until you get them in the sack—then it’s like Jello. Everywhere you touch, you sink in—soft thighs, flabby belly, flopping tits.”

“Sounds like you’ve had experience.”

“It was either ‘ride a horse’ forever or ride Claire Hall for one picture. So I rode Claire and became a star. Come on, the coast is clear. We can duck out through the hedge.”