She also adored television. She had a set in every room. She wasn’t interested in the news . . . she hated the war . . . pictures of it made her shudder. David realized she had lived through World War II in an occupied country. She refused to talk about it and he never pressed it. He was not eager to remind her that in 1939, when Poland was occupied, he had not even been born.
He finished dressing and looked at his watch. Six forty-five. He walked into the living room and mixed himself a short martini. In less than an hour he had to be at Dee’s to meet this stepdaughter she had inherited. Dee hadn’t sprung this dinner engagement on him until yesterday. And when he told Karla about it last night, she had smiled and said she understood. “Do not be upset. I shall invite an old friend over to eat your steak tomorrow.”
She hadn’t called today. Because she had no reason to call. She had told him to come by at the usual time tomorrow. If only he could call her now. This was the most frustrating part of their relationship. How could he play the man if he had to sit like a love-sick girl and wait for her to call the shots? He sat back and sipped his drink. He felt oddly unsettled. He wasn’t quite sure what bothered him the most—the idea that he wasn’t going to see her tonight, or the realization that she wasn’t in the least upset. And now he was racked with a frantic kind of desperation, a sensation he had never known until he met Karla. If only he could call her and tell her he missed her, that perhaps it would be an early evening and they could still be together. He swallowed his drink. It was an impossible situation, not being able to call her; she had even taken the precaution of removing the number from the dial of her phones. It robbed the affair of some of its intimacy. What intimacy? He made love to her and she enjoyed it. He was the one who was emotionally involved. Actually she didn’t give a damn. But it didn’t matter. All he lived for was to be with her, and tonight he had been forced to break the date because of Dee. Dee didn’t know what it meant to feel like this. Goddammit but he hated Dee!
His mood was still heavy when he pressed the buzzer to Dee’s apartment. Mario, who doubled as chauffeur and butler when Dee was in New York, answered the door. Mike greeted him, and Mario set about to fix him a martini.
“Dee’s having her hair combed,” Mike said. “One of those guys with the tight pants comes up every night.” Then the door opened and Dee swept into the room. She put her cheek to Mike, who dutifully kissed it, floated over to David and told him how perfectly marvelous he was looking, and he in turn kissed her cheek and told her how marvelous she looked. Then he sat on the edge of the couch; made the proper small talk with Mike and wondered where in hell the daughter was.
He had almost finished his martini when she came into the room. He heard himself accepting the introduction, asking the stock questions—How was her trip? Did she feel the jet lag everyone talked about? But he knew he was staring like an idiot. Holy God! She was a real knockout!
He heard himself promising to take her to Le Club, to Maxwell’s Plum, Daly’s Dandelion—to all the places she hadn’t seen. Good God, he was saying he’d get tickets for Hair. He lit a cigarette and wondered how he would ever manage to extricate himself from all these offers he had suddenly made. He had been talking from nerves. Well, he was plenty unnerved. He hadn’t expected anything like this. He sat back and tried to think rationally. Okay, January was an exceptionally beautiful young girl. But she wasn’t Karla. Yet one day Karla would pick up and leave again. He must realize that. Karla was just something insane and wonderful that was happening in his life.
Suddenly he realized he was just staring. He had to say something.
“Do you play backgammon?” he asked.
“No, but I’d like to learn,” January said.
“Fine. I’d be delighted to teach you.” He finished his drink. (Oh, great! Now he was going to teach her backgammon!) He’d better shut up and go easy on the martinis. He decided to keep it impersonal and began talking about the backgammon tournaments in Vegas, London, and Los Angeles. Dee was their family champ. She always did well. He heard himself explaining how the tournaments went, about the betting . . . Suddenly he stopped. He had a feeling that she really didn’t give a damn about backgammon and was just listening to please him. This couldn’t be happening! He was Karla’s lover. And this young girl was throwing him off base. It was her incredible cool. That easy half smile that was making him run off at the mouth like an idiot.
The doorbell rang and Mario admitted two couples who had arrived together. David found himself accepting another martini. He knew he shouldn’t, but the girl had a disconcerting effect on him. He watched the easy nonchalance with which she accepted the introductions. And always that quick smile . . .
He also noticed that her constant focal point was her father. Her eyes followed him wherever he moved, and occasionally they would exchange a wink as if they shared some private joke.
Dee’s guests were paying January extravagant compliments. She accepted them quietly, but he could tell she wasn’t impressed. Then it hit him that maybe she wasn’t overly impressed with him either. This was a new experience. Like when the Dutch girl told him he wasn’t great in bed. Was he allowing Karla to swallow him alive? Drain him of all of his personality? For the rest of the evening he made a concerted effort to put Karla out of his mind and concentrated on January. Yet as the evening progressed, he had the uneasy feeling that he wasn’t reaching her in any way.
Actually he was having an extremely disconcerting effect on her. After Dee’s “selling job” she had been prepared to dislike him on sight. Instead she found this marvelous-looking young man who didn’t seem at all taken with himself. He was very tall. Ordinarily she didn’t like blond men, but David’s hair was dark brown and sun-streaked. He was tanned and his eyes were brown.
She liked him. She really did. And that half smile that bothered him had been the nearest thing to a mask that she could manage. The muscles of her face actually ached, trying to hold that smile as she watched Mike in the role of “Dee’s husband.” Because from the attitude of everyone—Dee’s friends, even the waiters and maitre d’ at the restaurant—she was still Deirdre Milford Granger . . . and Mike was just her newest husband.
They had gone to dinner at Raffles, a discotheque restaurant next door to the Pierre. Dee directed the seating arrangements at the large round table. Mike was wedged in between two women: a Rosa Contalba, a middle-aged Spanish lady whose escort was a young Yugoslavian artist she was sponsoring, the other woman was plain and a bit on the large side. Her diamonds were also large. And her husband was enormous. He sat to the left of January and felt it was his duty to make small talk. He went into an endless story about their ranch in Montana. At first she tried to appear interested but soon realized that an “Oh, really!” or “That’s very interesting!” was all he seemed to need. There was cross-talk back and forth—summer vacations and winter plans. Rosa was going on a photographic safari to Africa. The stout woman was too tired after the season in East Hampton to even think of the winter yet. And everyone asked Dee when she was opening the Winter Palace in Palm Beach.
“In November. But I’ll play it loose with houseguests. They’ll have to understand that we’re going to pop off for all the backgammon tournaments. Of course, we’ll always be in residence for the holidays. January will probably come down for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but I imagine she’ll spend most of her time in New York on a fun job.”
Fun job? Before January could speak, the large man said, “Now Dee, don’t tell me this gorgeous creature is going to work.”
Dee smiled. “Stanford, you don’t realize. Today the young people want to do things—”
“Oh, no,” Stanford groaned. “Don’t tell me she’s one of those types who wants to change the world. Give the land back to the Indians, or march demanding equality for females and blacks.”
“What about those religious nuts who paint their faces and shave their heads?” the large woman added. “I saw a group of them beating tom-toms and chanting. Right on Fi
fth Avenue in front of Doubleday’s.”
“They’re no worse than the weird types we see on newsreels on the college campus,” Rosa cut in. “And they march, too. Arms around each other . . . boys and girls . . . boys and boys . . . you can’t tell the difference unless one of them has a beard.”
“Oh, that reminds me”—the stout woman leaned into the table and everyone knew a choice bit of gossip was coming. “Pressy Mathews is not really at a spa at all. She’s having a complete nervous breakdown at some sanitarium in Connecticut. It seems that this summer her daughter ran off with a Jewish boy. They bought a secondhand truck and loaded it with supplies and a big mongrel dog and traveled across the country, staying at communes. Pressy’s psychiatrist told her to be permissive about it, that little Pressy would get the rebellion out of her system. But this fall little Pressy will not return to Finch. She’s having a baby with this Jewish boy and they’re not going to get married until after the baby is born because little Pressy wants the baby at the wedding. Well, you can imagine! Big Pressy just collapsed . . . they’re trying to keep it a secret . . . including the sanitarium thing . . . so let’s keep this among ourselves.”
Then the stout man said, “Well, at least, it’s not all guitars and hard rock. Look at January.”
Everyone murmured that January was indeed a beauty, but then as Dee pointed out, January had studied abroad. Rosa asked her what she had majored in, and Dee quickly said, “Languages. January speaks French fluently.” Then Dee launched into a story about some darling little nursery school where the wee ones were taught languages immediately. January watched her father snap to attention with his gold Dunhill lighter every time one of the women on either side of him picked up a cigarette. He was even nodding and smiling at a story the Yugoslav artist was telling. He sure was paying his dues. She watched the way he leaned his handsome head in a listening pose as the large woman rambled on and on. Once he caught her staring and their eyes met. He winked and she managed a smile. Then he went back to his work. Suddenly she heard Dee saying, “And January will love it.”
January will love what? (You couldn’t leave this conversation for a second.)
Dee was smiling and explaining in detail about the nursery school. “The idea is—teach the tots early. Make them bilingual. That’s why Mary Ann Stokes had made such a hit out of La Petite École. Mary Ann and I went to Smith together. The poor girl got polio in her junior year. Then her family lost everything . . . and with no money and a shriveled arm . . . Well, naturally poor Mary Ann’s chances of a decent marriage were nil. So when she wanted to start this school some years ago, I agreed to back her. It’s practically self-supporting now.”
“Oh, Dee, darling,” the stout woman boomed, “you are so modest. All these years . . . I never knew you started Mary Ann. It’s a divine school. My grandniece goes there.”
Dee nodded. “And of course the minute I told her that French was January’s second language, she leaped. After all, that’s part of the premise—beautiful socialites teaching the tots. They’ll adore January.”
“Me teach?” January knew her voice had actually cracked.
David was watching her carefully. “When does she start?” he asked.
Dee smiled. “Well, as I told Mary Ann, it will take at least two weeks to get January’s wardrobe in shape. I’d say we’ll shoot for the beginning of October. Mary Ann is coming by for tea tomorrow. We’ll settle it then.”
The music switched from rock into standards. January looked toward Mike. Their eyes met. He gave her a slight nod and stood up. But Dee rose at the same moment. “Oh, Mike . . . and I was afraid you wouldn’t remember. They’re playing our song.”
Mike looked slightly startled, but he managed a smile. Dee turned to the table as she led him toward the floor. “‘Three Coins in a Fountain.’ They were playing it in a little restaurant in Marbella when we first met.”
Everyone watched them leave. Suddenly David stood up. He tapped January on the shoulder. “Hey, I’m your date.” He led her out to the floor. The crowded floor made actual dancing impossible. They moved among the other couples. David held her close and whispered, “This will be over soon, and then we’ll cut out.”
“I don’t think I can.” She glanced toward her father who was whispering into Dee’s ear.
“I think you’d better,” he said evenly.
He led her back to the table when the set was over. There was espresso, after-dinner drinks, more talk and somehow the evening finally ground to an end and everyone was standing up telling Dee how marvelous it had all been.
“I’m taking January for a nightcap,” David said. Then he quickly thanked Dee and Mike for the evening, and before January could voice any objections, they were in a cab, heading for Le Club.
The place was jammed, the music was loud. David knew almost everyone in the room. There were several couples who were friends of his, standing at the bar. David suggested they join them. “We’re not staying long, so we really don’t need a table.”
She accepted introductions, danced with some of his friends. Dee’s chains felt like an anchor, but it seemed every girl on the dance floor wore them. Some wore twice the amount of chains, but they didn’t appear cumbersome. The girls’ long hair swished as they moved, and the necklaces clinked in rhythm. She was in the midst of being shoved around the floor by an effeminate-looking boy who held her too close and insisted on making a date for the following night. She was trying to be politely evasive when David cut in. “I had to save you from Ned,” he said. “He’s a real closet queen but feels he has to score with all the beautiful girls to prove otherwise.”
Miraculously the music changed and some Bacharach-David songs came on. They moved closer. He obviously felt her relax, because he whispered, “I like this kind of music too. I have most of these records at home.”
She nodded and felt his hand stroke the back of her neck. “I’d like to sleep with you,” he said.
They continued to dance. She couldn’t believe the matter of-fact tone he had used. No ardent pleading like Franco. No promises. Just a statement. Weren’t you supposed to be insulted if a man said this on a first date? At Miss Haddon’s, you were. But this wasn’t Miss Haddon’s. This was Le Club, and David was a sought-after, sophisticated man. Besides, the way he had said it—not like a question, but almost like a compliment. She decided that no answer was the best course.
When he led her back to the bar he joined in the conversation, and everything seemed casual and impersonal. They talked about the upcoming World Series. The girls discussed their summer vacations, how the “season” was really on, the cost of lengthening a sable coat—Women’s Wear said the mini definitely was not coming back . . .
January smiled and tried to appear interested, but she was suddenly very tired. She was relieved when David finished his drink and suggested they leave. Once they were in the cab she kept up a steady barrage of conversation—How interesting Le Club was . . . How nice his friends seemed to be . . . Why did they play the music so loud? . . . She never stopped until she saw the canopy of the Pierre. David told the driver to hold the clock. And he walked her to the door.
“I had a wonderful time,” she said.
“We’ll have a lot of them,” he said. Then, without any warning, he pulled her to him and gave her a long kiss. She felt his tongue prying her lips apart. She knew the doorman was tactfully looking the other way. And she was dismayed that she felt the same revulsion she had always felt when a man tried to kiss her.
When he broke the embrace, he smiled. “It’s going to be great between us. I can feel it.” Then he turned and walked back to the cab.
Mike and Dee were huddled over the backgammon board when she came in. “I beat her,” he called out. “For the first time, I beat her!”
“He broke every rule,” Dee drawled. “He just had incredible luck with the dice.”
“I always break rules.” Mike grinned.
Dee turned her full attention toward January. “Isn
’t David divine?”
Mike stood up. “While you two broads rehash the evening, I’m going to get a beer. Anyone want anything. A Coke, January?”
“No thanks.” She began taking off Dee’s jewelry.
The moment Mike left the room Dee said, “Wasn’t I right about David? He is beautiful, isn’t he? When are you seeing him again?”
January suddenly realized he hadn’t actually made a date. She handed Dee the earrings and began taking off the chains. “I want to thank you for the jewelry . . .”
“Anytime. Now tell me about David. Where did you go?”
“To Le Club.”
“Oh, that’s a fun place. What did you two young things talk about?”
January laughed. “Dee, no one talks at Le Club. Unless you use sign language. We danced, and I met a lot of his friends.”
“I’m so glad. David knows all the right young people and . . .”
“Dee, I’ve got to talk to you about the tots.”
Mike walked into the room. “What tots?”
Dee wandered back to the backgammon board. “Oh, January and I have a project in mind. Now set up the board, Mike. I’ve got to beat you before we go to bed to prove you don’t really know the game at all. Run off to sleep, January. We’ve got a lot of chitchatting to do tomorrow.”
She blew a kiss at her father and slipped into the bedroom. For a moment she stared at the closed door. Mike Wayne . . . sitting up playing backgammon. She thought of David . . . Maybe he had just meant the “I want to sleep with you” as a compliment. And she had gotten all uptight over it. After all, it wasn’t as if he had tried to grope her, or said it in a slimy way.
But it still wasn’t right!
Or was it?
Things had changed since Miss Haddon’s. Mike had changed, the whole world had changed. Maybe it was time for her to change.