The Love Machine (47 page)

“Well, you musta seen the grosses in
Variety
” Pauli cut in.

“I don’t read the picture news.”

“Look, I know the picture business,” Dip said. “I may not know much about anything else, but when my agent comes to me with an offer for an independent at only one hundred thou, I said, ‘Dip—now’s the time to go!’ “

“Well, with that kind of money you have no worries.” Robin wanted to turn the conversation into more general areas to include Maggie and Jerry.

“Are you kidding!” Dip said. “I bought her old man and old lady a house.”

“A dumperino,” Pauli said. “A small place in Los Angeles. Don’t act like maybe you set them up in Truesdale. …”

“But I bought it outright, didn’t I? Forty-nine thousand isn’t chopped liver. So no matter what ever happens to us, they’ll be fine. And I bought us a house—you should see it. The furniture and decorator set me back a hundred G’s. Right in Bel Air. I hated to leave it. But you got to leave before you cool off. We’ll be a smash with our act and Hollywood will be on its knees, and the Big Dipper will be right back on top.”

“With Pauli right beside you,” she said.

“Right with me. Like I said when we got married. We’re a team—for keeps.”

“See, I won’t take a screen test,” Pauli confided to the table at large.

“I agree.” It was the first word Maggie had said.

Pauli looked at her curiously. “Oh, you in the business?”

“She’s playing the lead in Alfred Knight’s new movie,” Robin explained.

“Oh.” Pauli looked at Maggie as if seeing her for the first time. “Yeah, that’s right, you’re the girl who’s having the big affair with Adam Bergman.”

Maggie’s expression never changed. It was Dip who looked horrified.

For a few moments there was an uncomfortable silence, but Pauli was completely occupied with her hamburger. When she popped the final morsel into her mouth, she said, “Get the check, Dip, I got to get some sleep. We got another eight-hour rehearsal session tomorrow.”

Robin smiled. “It’s my pleasure to buy the hamburgers. Just think, I’ll be able to say I knew
the
Pauli Nelson before she became a star.”

She turned and faced him squarely. “Know something? I don’t have to take this shit from you. Who in hell are you anyway? Dip made me watch the
In Depth
show. Big deal! I noticed they kicked you off it—another guy’s doing it now.”

“Pauli!” Dip grabbed her arm. “Robin, I’m sorry. And listen—I
am
sorry you lost
In Depth
. Got anything in the works?”

Robin smiled. “A new show in the fall, called a Happening.’”

Dip looked genuinely relieved. “I’m glad, buddy boy. You’re like the Big Dipper. They can’t keep us down, right? Same network?” When Robin nodded, Dip said, “Well, listen, how well do you know Andy Parino?”

“Quite well.”

“That’s where you can help me, old pal of mine!” Dip flashed his bright smile. “Before we open at the Plaza, if you could swing it so we get interviewed on the
In Depth
show—Pauli and me?”

“If you want it, you’ve got it.”

“No kidding?”

“My word.”

Dip stood up. “I’ll call you when we get back to town.”

When they left the restaurant, Robin took Maggie’s arm. “Come on, Jerry and I will walk you home.”

“I don’t want to walk.”

“Jerry, hail a cab for the lady,” Robin said.

“Jerry,
don’t
hail a cab for the lady,” she said, imitating his tone; “the lady has her own car.” They suddenly noticed the large limousine that was waiting.

“Thanks for the hamburger and fascinating table talk. I’ll try and return the hospitality if you’re ever in California.”

Jerry watched the car disappear down Third Avenue.

“She really digs you,” he said quietly.

“Sure, she’s mad about me.” Robin’s voice was hard.

“No—I mean it. She’s an actress, don’t forget. And probably a good one, because tonight she was playing one hell of a role.”

“What do you mean?”

“She sure wasn’t the same girl I met at the airport last February. And no girl changes that much in three months.”

“Maybe this Adam what’s-his-name has made the difference.”

“Maybe.”

“Let’s cut over to the Lancer Bar and have a drink.” Robin said.

“No, I’m cutting down to the station; I can still catch the last train home. If I were you, I’d call Maggie Stewart and ask to buy her a nightcap at the Plaza alone.”

“No, thanks.”

Jerry stopped. “Tell me, Robin, is she like the cigarettes?”

“I don’t get you.”

“What in hell are you trying to prove by giving up Maggie Stewart?”

Maggie left town and Robin threw himself into his work. He did four pages on his book every night. Tina St. Claire arrived for a week to promote another picture. He let her move in, enjoyed having her in bed each night, but when she left he felt the same relief at reclaiming his apartment. He worked hard on the Happening series and lost all sense of time or days. And suddenly he stared at his desk calendar and realized that July Fourth was coming up. It fell on a Thursday—that meant a long empty weekend. There wasn’t even anyone he particularly wanted to shack up with. Jerry Moss was elated when Robin lethargically agreed
to come out to Greenwich. Robin realized it meant an endless round of parties, but they had a swimming pool and he might be able to get in a few rounds of golf.

Maggie’s wire arrived July second:

ARRIVING JULY THIRD TO DO SOME TELEVISION PROMOTION FOR THE PICTURE. DO YOU REALLY THINK ELIZABETH TAYLOR STARTED THIS WAY? WILL BE IN TOWN FOR A FEW DAYS. MAYBE YOU CAN CUE ME ON MY AD LIBS. MAGGIE.

He called Jerry and canceled the weekend. On Wednesday he left his office at five. When he got home he called the Plaza. He learned she had checked in two hours earlier but had left to tape
The Johnny Carson Show
. Well, it was a muggy night, and the weekend stretched ahead. No sweat.

He called her on Thursday. She was out. He left a message and went out and shagged some golf balls.

On Friday he left two messages.

On Saturday he didn’t bother to call.

His phone rang Sunday morning at nine. The hell with her! Let
her
spend the day alone. He waited until the exchange picked it up on the third ring. He took a shower, then dialed back his exchange for the message.

A Mr. Jerry Moss had called from Greenwich.

He felt oddly let down. Now, what would Jerry want at nine o’clock on a Sunday morning? He returned the call.

“Are you enjoying yourself in hot sunny New York?” Jerry asked.

“I’m getting a lot of work done.”

“You missed a lot of great parties. Rick Russell threw a big one last night. You know who he is—a big wheeler-dealer who puts corporations together. Even has his own airline.”

“I can see it all,” Robin said. “Outdoors, tents, Japanese lanterns, drunks, mosquitoes.”

Jerry laughed. “All of that, plus a friend of yours who was guest of honor: Maggie Stewart.”

“What was she doing there?”

“Drinking, dancing, slapping mosquitoes like all of us. Rick Russell is celebrating his fifth divorce. He’s not bad-looking, espedaily
when you think of all those millions. Seems they met on the plane coming in from Los Angeles and he’s stuck to her ever since. He’s sending her to Chicago today in his private plane.”

“I like to see a lady travel in style. By the way, Jerry, what did you call me about?”

There was a pause. “Why, I—I thought you’d want to know about Maggie.”

“Why?”

“I, well—” Jerry sounded uncomfortable.

“If you thought I cared about her, this would be a rotten play on your part. Trying to give me some lumps, Jerry?”

“Oh no, I know you don’t care about the girl,” Jerry said quickly.

“Then why waste my time with this call?” And Robin clicked the phone.

He went to a double feature in the afternoon. When he came out it was dark. The streets were empty. Tomorrow the noise of traffic would shriek through the air. But right now the city belonged to him. He stopped at a Nedick’s on Third Avenue and had a hot dog. Then he walked aimlessly crosstown. He reached Fifth Avenue and found himself in front of the Plaza.

“Want some fun, mister?” The remark came from a short plump overbleached woman in her forties. She was holding the arm of a skinny red-haired girl who couldn’t have been more than nineteen. The young girl was obviously a novice. The older woman shoved her toward Robin. “Fifty bucks, and she has a room.”

The girl was wearing a sleazy dress. Her skin was acne-scarred under the heavy makeup. Robin started past them. The blond madam grabbed his arm. “Forty—how’s that? Come on, you look like a fellow who needs a little relaxation.”

“I’m too relaxed,” Robin said and walked away. He hadn’t gotten halfway up the block before he was approached by another girl. Not bad-looking either.

“Fifty bucks for a trip to heaven, mister?”

He laughed and continued to walk. Obviously fifty bucks was the going rate. And Central Park South was now their beat. He passed the Hampshire House. Another girl sidled up but he quickened his pace. He suddenly remembered a bookstore on Seventh Avenue that was open at night. He’d buy something light, grab a sandwich and go home and read.

“Want a good time, mister?” He was standing face to face with an Amazon.

She was a mean-looking broad—she had to be over six feet tall. Her dyed jet-black hair was teased into a massive beehive. It was a warm night but she carried a mink stole. Her black eyes were beady, her nose was long and narrow. A big woman … big tits… . Suddenly a thousand lights seemed to explode in his head. His smile went slack.

She smiled too. “Fifty bucks and I got a room.”

“I got a better offer down the street.”

She shrugged. “Elsie’s breaking in a new one. She’s only turned three tricks since she got here. And from what I hear, she still belongs back with the coal miners in Scranton. I can really give you a good time.”

“Maybe I should make you pay me,” he said. “I’m supposed to be a pretty good stud.”

“With me it’s women for pleasure, men for business,” she said.

“A dike, huh? Well you’re an honest cunt, at that.”

“And you’re a good-looking bastard. Okay, I’ll make it forty bucks.”

“No favors. I’ll pay the full rate. Where’s your room?”

“Come with me, lover.” She tucked her arm through his and they walked toward Seventh Avenue. She had a room in a dark building on Fifty-eighth Street. It was obvious she didn’t live there. From the darkness of the building, it was also obvious that most of the rooms were rented for a similar purpose. The lobby was deserted and a self-service elevator wheezed its way to the third floor. There was a dampness in the hall and the paint was peeling off the small door she opened. “It’s not a palace—I call it my work room.”

He stepped into the narrow bedroom. A black shade covered a
curtainless window. There was a bed, a sink and a small bathroom with a stall shower and a toilet. The overhead light seemed unnaturally bright. She smiled and methodically began to undress. Everything she wore was designed for her trade. The black lace brassiere with holes that bared the large brown nipples. She wore no pants, just a tight black lacy garter belt that left an ugly red mark against her large white stomach.

“Like it with the black stockings on or off?” she asked.

“Everything off.” He hardly recognized the voice as his own as he began undressing quickly.

She took a dirty towel and wiped the bright lipstick off her mouth. Her massive body was amazingly well proportioned. “Hand over the fifty, lover, that’s ground rules.”

He went through his pants and handed her two twenties and a ten. She tucked it into her purse. “Okay, lover, do anything you like. Just try not to muss the hair or the eyelashes. The evening’s young and I’m hoping to turn a few more tricks tonight.”

He grabbed her and threw her on the bed. His movements were strong and direct. She whimpered slightly. “Hey, lover—take it easy. What are you trying to prove?”

Just as he reached his climax, he withdrew.

“You didn’t have to do that. I’m wearing something,” she said.

“I wouldn’t chance letting a little bastard get born like this,” he muttered.

She looked at her watch. “You did that in three minutes flat. You’re entitled to another shot.” She leaned over and began to run her tongue along his body. He pushed her away, turned her on her stomach and stabbed into her again.