The Love Machine (34 page)

When they returned to Philadelphia and settled in the beautiful home near Paoli, she had thought things would be different. Hudson returned to work, she hired a staff, gave dinner parties, went to the club for golf lessons, and joined committees of various charities. Her pictures made the society sections of all the newspapers. She was the new young leader of Philadelphia society. Hudson was like a stallion, methodically taking her in bed each night. He never bothered to kiss her or touch her breasts anymore. In the beginning, she had felt she was at fault for not reaching her climax, but as the months passed she lost hope. She only longed for some display of affection in their nightly ritual. When she tried to feel Lucy out, she was answered with a shrug. “Sometimes it works with me, sometimes it doesn’t. But I moan and pretend it’s wonderful anyway. How is it with you and Hudson?”

“Oh great,” Maggie had said quickly. “But as you say, it doesn’t happen with me all the time either.”

“Look—it hasn’t happened with us for three months.
My
climax, I mean. Yet I’m two months pregnant. So obviously it doesn’t have anything to do with making babies. But you’d better make Hudson go easy on his drinking. That can make a man temporarily impotent.”

Maggie felt that a baby would change things between them. On the surface everything was fine. He was polite in public, he held her close when they danced, but they had nothing between them when they were alone.

She learned about Sherry at the end of their first year of marriage. Hudson had been going to New York alone on business frequently the last two months. On this night she was in the bedroom, dressing for dinner. Hudson was waiting downstairs. The phone rang. She was late, and continued to fuss with her hair knowing that the maid would pick it up. It continued to ring. Then through one of the odd timings of fate, she picked it up just as Hudson picked up the extension downstairs. She was about
to hang up when she heard a female voice whisper; “Huddie? 1 had to call you.”

She felt oddly calm as she listened. Hudson’s voice was also conspirational. “Dammit Sherry, I told you never to call me at home.”

“Huddie—this is urgent.”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow? Call me at the office.”

“I can’t, because I’ll be at work then, and I can’t call long distance—even if I reverse charges some of the girls would hear. Can anyone hear me? Is your wife around?”

“She will be soon. What do you want?”

“Huddie, the test came back, I’m definitely preg.”

“Christ, again!”

“Well, I can’t help it if the diaphragm slips. And you won’t wear anything.”

“Same doctor still in Jersey?”

“Yes, but he’s upped his price to a thousand.”

“Well-do it.”

“Huddie, he wants cash. I made an appointment for next Monday.”

“Okay. I’ll get to New York on Sunday and give you the cash—no, I better make it during the week. Maggie might get suspicious if I go on Sunday. Make it Thursday. I’ll be at your place at eight. God, I wish my wife was as fertile as you. Your baby is costing me a thousand to unload—hers would get me a million.”

He clicked the receiver. Maggie stood and waited until the girl’s phone clicked. Then she hung up slowly. She felt numb. Something like this had never occurred to her. She read about it happening to other people—but it couldn’t happen to her. Yet if she confronted him, what good would it do? She was twenty-two, equipped to do nothing. A divorcee in Philadelphia, even with alimony, was a lonely woman. She was stuck. There was no place to go.

She remained silent about Sherry but she joined a little-theater group. Hudson didn’t object. He was delighted with the avalanche of free evenings. The program director from the local IBC station came backstage after the second production and offered her a television job as a Weather Girl. Her first impulse was to turn it
down, until he realized it would give her something to do every day.

She took her job seriously. She watched television, especially the network shows. She went to a diction teacher every day and her improvement was swift. After six months she was promoted to the news department and a daily half-hour show of her own. It was called
Maggie About Town
. She did interviews with celebrities—local and national—covering everything from fashion to politics. Within a short time she became a personality in her own right. Heads turned as she entered a restaurant or theater with Hudson. His attitude toward her success was one of scornful amusement.

He had replaced Sherry with a girl named Irma who worked in his office. He no longer bothered with elaborate excuses on his evenings out. Yet he methodically made love to her three times a week. She submitted with impassive silence. More than ever, she wanted a child.

So the marriage had stretched out—for almost three lifeless years. But she did not get pregnant even though all the tests proved she was thoroughly capable. She sometimes wondered if they could just go on drifting like this. Something had to end this aimless relationship.

It came about by accident. For months the Man of the Year dinner had been extensively planned. It was scheduled for the first Sunday in March. As a local celebrity, Maggie was on the committee and required to sit on the dais. The mayor would also be there, and Judge Oakes who was about to retire was to be honored. Robin Stone had been booked as guest speaker.

Maggie had read Robin Stone’s columns. In her small experience in Philadelphia with interviews, she had learned that people rarely resembled the image projected in their work. But Robin Stone’s picture fit the image of his column: strong, clipped, virile, hard-hitting. She wondered what the man himself would be like.

At six o’clock she was dressed and waiting. Hudson had not come home. He always spent Sunday at the country club. She called and found that he had not been there all day. She should have known—that was just another excuse to be with his girl of the moment.

Well, she was
not
going to miss the cocktail party. It might be her only chance to actually meet Robin Stone. After the dinner, the guests of honor usually dashed for a train. She looked at her watch. If she left immediately, she could make it. That meant Hudson would have to come in on his own.

When she got to the hotel, she went directly to the Gold Room. Robin Stone was surrounded. He was holding a martini and smiling politely.

Maggie accepted a lukewarm Scotch with soda from one of the trays. Judge Oakes came to her. “Come with me, I’ll introduce you to our guest speaker. We’ve all lost our wives to him.”

When Judge Oakes presented her, Robin smiled. “A newsgirl? Come now—you look too beautiful to be an egghead.” Then with no warning, he inched her away from the group and took her arm. “There’s no ice in your drink.”

“It is pretty dreadful,” she answered.

He swallowed the rest of the martini. “So was this.” He put his glass in the Judge’s hand. “Take care of this for me. Come on, newsgirl, we’ll get you some ice.” He led her across the room. “Don’t look back,” he muttered. “Are they following us?”

“I doubt it, just glaring in stunned surprise.” She laughed.

He walked behind the bar and said to the surprised bartender, “Mind if I make my own?” Before the man could answer, Robin was pouring a large amount of vodka into the pitcher. He looked at Maggie. “Want me to reinforce your Scotch—or will you try a Stone special?”

“The Stone special.” She knew she was being stupid. She hated martinis. She also knew she was staring at him like an idiot.
Enjoy this second, she thought. Tomorrow you’ll be sitting with Hudson—back in your own dreary world, and Robin Stone will be in another hotel, in another city, mixing another martini
.

He handed her the glass. “Here’s to you, newsgirl.” He took her arm and they crossed the room and settled on a small couch.

She knew every woman in the room was staring at her. But once again she felt that odd new reckless freedom. Let them stare! But
she
couldn’t just sit and stare at him. She had to say something.

“I read that you’d given up your column and gone on a lecture
tour. But I miss the column.” She felt it sounded forced and unnatural.

He shrugged. “They were probably chopped to mincemeat when they got here.”

“No, sometimes they were quite long. But I suppose you like doing this better.” He swallowed his drink and then reached over and took her untouched martini. “No, newsgirl—I don’t like this better. I just do it for money.”

He offered her a cigarette and lit it. “And what do you do on that little box?”

“News—women’s angle mostly.”

“And I’ll bet they watch you and listen to you.”

“Is that so incredible?” she asked.

“No, it’s television. Wonderful thing, that little box,” he said. “It’s created a race of beautiful people.”

“But don’t you think
seeing
people makes it more personal-creates a better understanding?”

He shrugged. “Oh, it creates a love for certain people. The whole world loves Lucy, Ed Sullivan and Bob Hope. At the moment. But they’re fickle—remember how they loved Uncle Miltie? Tell me, newsgirl, whom do
you
love on television?”

“I’d love you—” She stopped, horrified.

He grinned. “You’re the first sensible girl I’ve ever met. You get right to the bottom line.”

“I mean I’d love your thinking, your views.”

He finished the drink. “Don’t qualify it, newsgirl, or you’ll ruin everything between us. The world is full of hedging broads. I like your style. Come on, let’s get a refill.”

She followed him as he carried the empty glasses back to the bar and marveled at the ease with which he had polished off both their drinks. He made two more and handed her one. She took a sip and tried not to make a face. It was almost straight vodka. People joined them and most of the women gradually drifted back; once again he was surrounded. He was polite, answered their questions, but he held her arm and never left her side. Her eyes kept drifting to the door. Suddenly she prayed that Hudson wouldn’t appear.

There was a small tinkling chime. The chairman of the committee clapped
his hands.

“Where do you sit, newsgirl?” Robin asked.

“I guess at the other end.” She heard her name. “That’s me.” She broke away and got into line.

Robin tapped the chairman who stood beside him. “How would you like to change seats with my newsgirl? Both you and Judge Oakes are very attractive but I didn’t travel ninety miles to sit between the two of you when I have a chance to have a lovely lady at my side.”

As they entered the ballroom, Robin steered her to the seat next to his on the dais. Maggie felt the entire audience was staring. Robin ordered fresh martinis. His capacity seemed unlimited. Three martinis and Hudson would be clobbered. Robin appeared absolutely sober. But no one could consume so many martinis without feeling something.

She saw Hudson enter and take his seat at the far end of the dais. As he sat down, she knew the man next to him was explaining the unexpected change in the seating arrangements. And she couldn’t help but be pleased at the surprise on his face.

She heard the chairman introduce Robin. Just as Robin was about to stand, he leaned over and whispered to her, “Listen, newsgirl, I’m going to pack this in as quickly as I can. I have a suite here if I want it. They’ve been more than generous, your Philadelphia organization. If you’ll cut out and meet me there, I’ll stay over. Otherwise, I’m going to run for the eleven-thirty train when all this is over.”

He rose and waited for the applause to die down. Then he leaned over and said in her ear, “Come on, newsgirl, give me the bottom line.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Good girl, Suite 17B. Wait a decent interval after I leave—and then come up.”

He made his speech, and the award was finally presented to Judge Oakes. Guests from the ballroom congratulated the judge. Newspapermen asked him to pose with Robin and the women surrounded him. He signed a few menus for them, looked at his watch and said he was expecting an overseas call. He shook hands with Judge Oakes, waved at everyone and left.

It was eleven o’clock. Hudson walked down from his spot on the dais and sat in Robin’s empty seat. “Was the cocktail party a big thrill?”

“I enjoyed it,” she said.

“Let’s go.”

She was suddenly frantic. How could she have promised Robin Stone? What had gotten into her? She couldn’t even blame it on the martini … she had just sipped it. She had no intention of going to his room!

“This is the last dinner I’ll ever come to,” Hudson said. “And you complain about Saturday night at the country club. At least I have a few laughs there. And we mingle with our own kind.”

“It’s part of my job,” she said.

“Job?” he sneered. “Which reminds me—we’re going to have to do something about that. Too many people are talking about it. Dad says some of his friends think it looks bad, you sitting across a mike interviewing all those types. That writer you talked with last week looked like a real Commie.”