The Love Machine (43 page)

She hesitated. “You really want me to go with you?”

“Yes, I do.”

She laughed and her voice lost some of its reserve. “Well, it just so happens that I have a smashing dress that I’m dying to wear.”

“Thanks, Maggie. Wire the time of your arrival. I’ll send a car to meet you at the airport. And I’ll book a reservation for you at the Plaza.”

He called the Plaza to reserve a room, and suddenly decided to change it to a suite. Business Affairs would probably chew his ass off, but she rated it. Everyone lived well on IBC’s expense account—why not Maggie?

Her wire arrived on the morning of the twenty-eighth:
ARRIVING
AT IDLEWILD AT 5. NORTHEAST AIRLINES FLIGHT 24. MAGGIE STEWART.

He ordered a car; then on a last-minute impulse he called Jerry Moss. “Can you be loose at four? I have to meet a girl at Idlewild. I have a car—”

“And?”

“And I don’t want to meet her alone.”

“Since when did you need a chaperone?”

“Jerr—I have my reasons.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you in front of the IBC building at four.”

It was close to eleven o’clock and Robin was drinking slowly and steadily. Jerry finished his coffee. The whole evening had been crazy. This Maggie Stewart was the most incredibly beautiful girl he had ever seen. Yet she had greeted Robin as if she barely knew him. And when Jerry suggested they all have a drink at the Lancer Bar, both Robin and Maggie had refused simultaneously. They had dropped her at the Plaza and then Robin had dragged him to Louise’s for dinner. The restaurant had almost emptied, yet Robin sat toying with his drink. Long John Nebel stopped by on his way to do his all-night show.

“I listen to him when I can’t sleep,” Robin said. “He’s tied to another network or I’d use him on the saucer show. He knows all about that jazz.”

Robin ordered another drink and lapsed into silence. Jerry sensed Robin’s mood and didn’t try to pry. But what was all this about listening to Long John Nebel? That meant he wasn’t sleeping well—it also meant he wasn’t bedding down with a chick. You listened to Long John when you were lonely, or afraid of sleep. Robin an insomniac? This was a new twist.

Suddenly Jerry said, “Look, Robin, I don’t know what’s bugging you, but this Maggie Stewart is really special. If you blow this, there’s something wrong with you.”

“There’s not a God-damned thing wrong with me,” Robin snarled. “And get this straight. There’s nothing between Maggie Stewart and me. I just brought her here because she’s good at her job.”

Jerry got up. “If you want to stay and drink all night, do it alone. I sat with you because I thought you needed me.”

“I don’t need anyone,” Robin answered. “Run home to your wife.”

Jerry started from the table, then he turned back. “Look, Robin, I’m not going to blow off at you, because I realize there’s something eating you. You haven’t been the same since Florida. And whether you admit it or not, it’s tied up with that girl.” Then he walked out.

Robin sat and drank until the restaurant closed. Then he walked home and turned on the radio. It was easier to fall asleep with the radio, you didn’t wake up with the light of television glaring at you. He poured himself another stiff vodka. This was the first night he had tied one on since his visit to Archie. He got into bed and listened to Long John, He drifted off to sleep just as Long John was talking about some water you had to drink. Water… . That was a nice thought… . Think of a boat, he told himself, a boat and water. … A nice bunk… . Sleep… . Sleep. … He was on a boat, in a bunk. The bunk turned into a large bed. Maggie was holding him, stroking him, telling him everything was going to be all right. He felt good. He believed her. Then she slipped out of bed and Jerry was waiting in the other room. She was balling with Jerry! He came running in—she led him back to bed and snuggled against him and told him it was just a bad dream. She kept stroking his head. … He relaxed… . She was warm… . Then he heard her leave the large bed again, heard her giggling in the other room. He walked in … Jerry was gone. She was sitting on the couch with Danton Miller. Dan was sucking at her breast … Danton looked up and laughed. “He’s jealous,” Dan said. Maggie didn’t smile. Her face was serious. “Go back to bed and stay there.” It was a command. And for some crazy reason he knew he had to obey her.

He woke up. Christ, it was four in the morning. Another one of those dreams—John Nebel was still talking. Robin switched to an album station and finally drifted off to sleep.

He picked up Maggie the following evening. She was right, the dress was a knockout and he felt guilty because the dinner party at the Austins’ was stiff and formal and dull. Everyone was pleasant,
but small talk always got him down. He sat at Judith Austin’s left and struggled to keep his attention from straying. Somehow he managed to be attentive, ask the proper questions when she spoke of her charities or the weather at Palm Beach. His eyes roamed down the long table to Maggie. She was stashed between a neurosurgeon and a stock-market specialist. He envied her easy graciousness and wondered what the hell she was finding to talk about with them.

Later, when he stood in the lobby of her hotel and thanked her for “helping him out,” he noticed that every man who passed turned to stare at her. Why not? She looked better than any movie star. Suddenly he said, “How about a drink? I think you deserve one.”

“I take it you’re on the wagon—I noticed how you toyed with the sauterne at the Austins’. Are you even afraid to have wine when you’re with me?” The green eyes stared at him with a tinge of mockery.

He took her arm and led her to the Oak Room.

He signaled the waiter. “The lady will have Scotch. Bring me a double vodka.”

“You don’t have to prove anything,” she said. “I’m aware of your weaknesses.”

“Drinking is not one of them,” he said tightly.

“Oh, I was beginning to think you had lost that talent, too.”

He waited until the waiter put down the drinks. Then he reached out and took her hand. “I want us to be friends, Maggie.”

She let her hand remain in his and their eyes met. “We can never be friends, Robin.”

“You still hate me?”

“I wish I did. Oh God, I only wish I did… .”

He withdrew his hand abruptly and drank the vodka straight, in one long swallow. Then he signaled for the check.

“I have a lot of work piled up at home,” he said as he signed the check.

“You don’t have to lie,” she said. “You haven’t so far. Why start now?”

“No, it’s true. I’m moonlighting—working on a book. I’ve set a goal to write five pages every night, no matter when I get home.”

She looked at him with interest. “Is that your secret ambition?”

“I try and tell myself it is.”

“Isn’t it?”

He suddenly looked very tired. “Maggie, I don’t know what the hell I want or don’t want.”

Her expression softened. “Are you unhappy, Robin?”

“Who said I was unhappy?”

“Anyone who doesn’t know what he wants is afraid to find out. It’s as simple as that. Unless he’s frightened of his own secret thoughts.”

“Thanks, Doctor, I’ll call you when I need your couch again.” He stood up and helped her with her coat.

Maggie went to her room and tossed her evening bag on the bed in anger. Just when everything had been going so great! Her eyes dimmed. Why kid herself? Everything was going nowhere. It was all in her mind. And she was going to put him right out of her thoughts. His invitation to the Austins’ had stirred false hope. He had just needed a presentable date. It was as simple as that. Well, she had the whole weekend to herself and she was not going to sit in her room and hope he’d call! She’d get up early—see a matinée—see a double feature at night. She would not be here if he called. And when she walked into the office on Monday, she’d act as if she barely knew him. She took a sleeping pill, left a
DO NOT DISTURB
sign on the door, and a wake-up call for ten.

It seemed as if she had only slept a few minutes when she heard the wake-up call. She tried to reach for the receiver, but the sleeping pill made her arm as leaden as her head. It rang again. With a supreme effort she managed to pick up the receiver. The impersonal voice of the operator said, “I know you have a
DO NOT DISTURB
sign but a telegram has arrived marked ‘Urgent, deliver at once.’”

She sat up and switched on the light. It was only seven fifteen. “Send it up,” she mumbled. She got out of bed and put on a robe. She still slept in the nude—even the cold weather could not change that.

She signed for the telegram. As she walked back into the bedroom a sudden feeling of apprehension took hold of her. She had
been too sleepy to think, but who would send her a telegram? Was her mother or father ill? She ripped it open. She read it quickly—she couldn’t believe it!

STELLA LEIGH PREGNANT. MUST BE REPLACED IMMEDIATELY. HAVE SOLD CENTURY PICTURES ON USING YOU. TRIED TO REACH YOU BY PHONE FOR THE LAST SIX HOURS. NO ANSWER. CALL COLLECT AS SOON AS YOU RECEIVE THIS. HY MANDEL.

She put in the call to Hy Mandel and did not reverse the charges. Let Mr. Robin Stone and IBC pay for that too! She heard Hy’s voice as the operator informed him long distance was calling. Poor Hy—it was only five in the morning out there. Well, he said to call immediately.

“Maggie!” He had snapped awake immediately. “How fast can you get out here?”

“Hold on,” she said easily. “What is the part? And how much does it pay?”

“What is the part? Does Stella Leigh play bit parts? It’s the lead—opposite Alfie Knight. They’ve been shooting around Stella for a week. She thought she had a virus, throwing up all the time. The shmuck didn’t even know she was pregnant. Now look, Century is way behind schedule as it is. I’ve gotten them to give you a straight twenty thousand for the part, plus an option for another picture at terms to be discussed. They’ll also pay for a suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel.”

“Oh, Hy, how did you ever swing it?”

“To tell the truth, I had almost given up. You and your attitude about no screen test. I raved about you in the O’Neill play, but no one would listen. And yesterday when we got the news about Stella, I tried again. Frankly I didn’t think we had a chance, but the director got excited and said you were exactly what he wanted—a new face.”

“Who is he? And how does he even know what I look like?”

“Haven’t I got your pictures spread all over Hollywood?”

“Oh, Hy-I hope I don’t let you down.”

“You won’t. Listen. In the O’Neill play you didn’t exactly give Geraldine Page anything to worry about. A big dramatic stage
star you’re not. But you’ve got something: personality, a flash, and
that’s
star quality. It doesn’t always take talent to be a star, but it takes some intangible thing. I think you got it. I remember when Ava Gardner came out here—she was just a kid, but she had that same something you’ve got. The way she moved. You remind me of her. That’s what I told the director.”

“Oh Lord,” she laughed. “That poor man—he’s going to be disappointed.”

“Nah, wait till he sees you. And he’s about the hottest director in town right now. He just finished a smash picture and Century nabbed him for Alfie: Adam Bergman.”

“Adam!”

“You know him?”

“I worked with him once, way back, in a little-theater group. Oh, Hy, I’m so thrilled.”

“Listen, can you get here tonight? It would give you all day Sunday to read the script and get set. Monday they want you right away for wardrobe and makeup tests. I’ll make the reservation at the hotel out here.”

“Yes! Yes! I can leave today.”

“Okay. As soon as you get the flight, wire me the number and the time of your arrival. I’ll meet you.”

She hung up and tried to assemble her thoughts. She felt exhilarated. She would see Adam again! She was delighted about that. But she was even more delighted to be walking out on Mr. Robin Stone.

Robin returned to his office after viewing the saucer tape. The more he thought about the show, the more he was convinced that it should go on in September and be the first of a series of a new type of show. He could make it a happening. That was it! He got up and paced his office. A
Happening
—that would be the title! If he could only sell Gregory on it—but he needed some other “Happening” ideas to throw at him at the same time. He thought about Christie Lane: What was the chemistry that had suddenly turned him into a national idol? Why hadn’t he been an idol five years ago when he was doing the same songs in saloons?
It would make a great hour.
The Happening of Christie Lane
. He’d do interviews with nightclub owners who had played him when he was a second-rater, interview his “gofors,” Christie’s family—he had to have some kind of a family—even interview that awful Ethel Evans he was going with. And there had to be all kinds of interesting characters connected with his past.

He put his plan into action by making an unofficial visit to the penthouse floor the following morning.