Linda raised her glass. “You also know you have to leave in ten days and you’re getting panicky.”
January raised her glass and smiled. “To your trip, Mr. Bailey. And to you, Linda.”
Linda shook her head. “No, this one’s for you. Here’s to Ms. January.”
Seven
JANUARY SAT propped up in the Castro bed, surrounded by a pile of back issues of Gloss. She was working on her first assignment, an article called “Breakfasts of the ‘B.T.W.’” B.T.W. stood for Beautiful Thin Women. She hadn’t been able to get to Babe Paley or Lee Radziwill. But Dee had given permission to quote her as saying, “Who gets up before lunch! Only children eat breakfast.” She also had quotes from a skinny lady poet, a skinny screen starlet, and a writer who was a militant member of Women’s Lib. She was still trying to contact Bess Meyerson and Barbara Walters. Did Barbara Walters eat breakfast before or after the Today show? Just trying to reach these people was practically a full-time assignment.
She had made a careful study of all the current articles in the leading magazines and found the stories that caught her attention had openings that hooked the reader. She had tried ten different approaches, but none of them seemed right. Of course Linda expected to put a rewrite girl on it, but January wanted to surprise her and have the article stand on its own. Working on the magazine had given her the first identity she had ever known. The little windowless cubbyhole she went to every day was her office. Mr. Bailey’s sublet was now her apartment. She paid the rent with money she earned.
The past three weeks had been hectic. But they had been three weeks of being on her own; making her own decisions. Getting through the first week had been the roughest. Especially breaking the news to Mike and Dee that she was moving. Dee’s eyes had narrowed angrily, but before she could voice any objection, Mike had cut in and said, “I figured you’d want your own pad. Most girls do. And if that’s what you really want . . . well, you sure as hell are entitled to it.”
Dee insisted on looking at the apartment before January signed the lease. Edgar Bailey seemed stunned when she walked in. “Oh, Miss Granger . . . I mean Mrs. Wayne . . . Oh . . . I had no idea January was your daughter.” January knew he was ready to collapse for settling for two hundred and twenty-five dollars.
“You mean it only has one room?” Dee asked.
“But it’s so spacious,” Edgar Bailey insisted. “And I’m so pleased to have someone like January live among my things in my little home.”
Dee walked past him, pulled the drapes and groaned. “Good Lord, January. It’s on the court!”
“A garden?” Edgar Bailey said timidly.
“No sunlight and only one room. But I suppose this is the new generation.” Dee sighed. “Leave a luxury apartment for a slum.”
Edgar Bailey came to life. “Mrs. Wayne, this is a very fine building.”
Dee waved him off. “Well, I suppose we could make it more cheerful. Get rid of those awful drapes . . . change the rug . . . get some new throw pillows—”
“Mrs. Wayne.” Mr. Bailey’s voice cracked in near hysteria. “Nothing can be changed. Those drapes were made for me by—”
But Dee had already disappeared into the kitchen, and January followed her after quickly assuring Mr. Bailey that everything would stay intact and that she adored venetian blinds and his flowered drapes.
She had signed the lease and moved in October first. David sent her a Dracaena plant. Mr. Bailey had left a small bunch of rosebuds (which never did bloom), along with a little note wishing her luck. Linda sent her notepaper from Bergdorf’s engraved with her name and her address. And at five o’clock, Mike arrived with a bottle of champagne. They drank it over the rocks, and Mike looked at the apartment with a smile. “Know something? I think it’s great. You’ve been living with people all your life. In school, at the hospital. It’s time you had some privacy.”
Dee arrived at seven to pick him up. They were going to an exhibition at an art gallery, but she brought a basket of cocktail hors d’oeuvres. “You never know when you might need them. There are several tins of smoked oysters . . . now don’t make a face. David adores them. You just put them on these little imported crackers. By the way, David also adores what I call rat cheese. Cut it in cubes and put toothpicks in it and he’s happy as a clam. Which reminds me—how are you two getting on?”
“He sent that plant,” January answered.
Dee smiled complacently. “Mike and I are leaving for a quick trip to Europe. There’s a backgammon tournament in London that I’m entering. We’ll be back soon. But we feel dreadful leaving you here with this grubby little apartment and job. Before I leave, is there anything I can do, other than reveal for your magazine that I don’t eat breakfast?”
January hesitated. “Is . . . is Karla in town?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I’d love to do an interview with her.”
Dee’s laugh was cold. “She never does interviews. And it’s not that she’s pulling a Garbo or a Howard Hughes. She’s just a stupid Polack. Oh, come now, January. Don’t give me one of those ‘everyone is equal’ looks. I know Karla, and she is stupid. She’s never read a book. She’s never voted. She isn’t aware of anything that’s going on except her own creature comforts. She’s in town. She called the other day. But to tell you the truth I’ve been too busy to see her. A little bit of Karla goes a long way. I mean, she won’t lunch anywhere civilized. If she comes to dinner one must give her the entire guest list. It’s ridiculous. It’s not as if she’s Nureyev or Princess Grace. She’s just a has-been actress who for some insane reason still attracts incredible publicity.”
So much for an interview with Karla.
She had written David a note thanking him for the plant. He had called and told her he was going out of town on business but would call her as soon as he returned. That was ten days ago. She went to dinner with Linda or some of the other girls at the office. But she was perfectly content to come home and work on her article and read. She bought a portable typewriter and taught herself to type with two fingers. Linda saw Keith occasionally, but they weren’t officially “back together.” He stayed at her apartment most of the time but insisted on keeping his things at the “commune.” “Personally, I think he only stays with me because he likes my stall shower,” Linda confided. “We’re together . . . but it’s just not the same.” She refused to go downtown to see the show, but she did go along with the new health kick Keith was on. Organic food, twenty different vitamins a day, plus massive vitamin shots twice a week from a new doctor Keith swore was a genius. Obviously it worked, because Linda, who had always been enthusiastically energetic, was now supercharged. She never seemed to sleep. Sometimes she’d call January at three in the morning and shout, “Hey, don’t tell me you’re asleep! There’s a divine Bogart movie on Channel Nine.”
Mike had sent a card announcing that Dee was in the finals of the tournament. Somehow it didn’t sit right. Mike, the gambler of all time, standing by, watching his wife throw the dice.
Now as she sat in the Castro bed, trying to get an opening paragraph, she found herself wondering if it was possible to write an amusing article without being bitchy. She stared at the quote she had from the vapid-faced model turned actress who had just made her first (and last) movie. Her part had been cut to ribbons because of her flat delivery, but she didn’t seem to mind. “Oh, they were so nice to me out there. They got me real calves’ liver for breakfast and I’ve never been more thinner.” God, what Sara Kurtz would do with a quote like that.
She sighed and went to her typewriter. Even Dee’s quote sounded snide. Yet when she had said it in her lazy way it had been amusing.
She put a fresh piece of paper into the machine and made a stab at a new opening. Maybe if she said the model was anemic and had to have liver . . . or maybe if she started it with, “The reason Deirdre Wayne is so beautiful . . .” No. She tore the paper out. There had to be a better way to get into it.
She was just putting in a fr
esh piece of paper when the phone rang. The sound vibrated through the room. She had forgotten to turn the bell to low. Probably Linda with another flash about a Bogart picture. She couldn’t believe it when she heard the familiar, “Hi, babe!”
“Daddy! Where are you?”
“P. J. Clarke’s!”
“What!”
“We just got off the plane, and I had a big yen for chili. So we came here right from the airport. How about joining us? I’ll send the car for you.”
“Oh, I’d love to. But I’m undressed and I’m working on a story that has to be done by the end of the week.”
“You really writing it?”
“Yes. And I think it’s going to be all right.”
“Hey, that’s really great. Well, I’d better get back to Nick the Greek—that’s my new name for Dee. The broad came in third and won fifteen thousand dollars. How about having lunch with me tomorrow? Just the two of us.” He was shouting above the noise in the restaurant.
“Oh, Mike, I’d love it.”
“Well, you dream up wherever you want to go. I’ll call you at the magazine at noon. Oh, wait a second. Dee’s coming over. I think she wants to say Hello.”
“January . . .” It was Dee’s crisp voice.
“Congratulations! I’m very impressed,” January said.
“Oh, we had a marvelous time. Are you coming here?”
“No. I told Mike . . . I’m all piled up here with work.”
Dee laughed. “Oh, you big career girl. Oh, Mike . . .” Dee’s voice went off the phone. “Better get back to our table. Someone might grab it. Order your bloody chili and a spinach salad for me. January, are you still there?”
“Yes, and you’re making me hungry.”
“It’s a mob scene here tonight. I don’t know why everyone is suddenly staring at the door. Someone must be coming in. Probably Onassis and Jackie. Tell me, January. Are you having a marvelous time living your career-girl life?”
“I’m enjoying it, Dee. I think I can really write . . . a little.”
“Well, that’s nice and—” Dee’s voice had suddenly trailed off. At the same time January heard a great swell of voices from the people at P.J.’s.”
“Dee . . . are you still there?”
“Yes . . .” Dee’s voice seemed strained.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes . . . I’m fine. Tell me, January. When was the last time you saw David?”
“Why, I–”
“There’s a near riot here—he’s just walked in with my old friend Karla.”
“Karla at P.J.’s?”
“Oh, she does that now and then—pops up where no one would ever expect her.” Dee’s voice was easy. “But don’t you fret, darling. Karla’s no competition for you.”
“I’m not fretting, Dee. Actually I’m very impressed with David.”
“You go back to . . . whatever you’re doing, angel. I’ll take care of things. It will take me a few days to get organized now that I’m back. So why don’t we plan on brunch . . . Sunday . . . around one-ish.”
January hung up. She wasn’t bothered about David being with Karla. But she was bothered that he was back in town and hadn’t called her. She went back to her typewriter, but she couldn’t concentrate on the article. She got up and went to the kitchen for a Coke. She saw the new watering can she had bought for David’s Dracaena. She had just watered it yesterday. The florist said it should only be watered twice a week. She grabbed the can and filled it. Then she marched into the living room and poured it on the plant. “Drown, you bastard,” she said. “Drown! Drown!!”
When Dee came out of the phone booth she managed to collide accidentally with David and Karla who were heading toward a small table in the back of the room.
“Karla, I can’t believe it. You, braving P.J.’s,” Dee said lightly.
Karla smiled. “There was a showing of Red Shoes at a little movie house near here. I have seen it so many many times, and always it is entrancing. And it was such a beautiful night I wanted to walk. And then I got hungry.” She turned and looked at Mike, who had left the table and come to Dee’s side. “And is this your handsome new husband?”
“Yes, and you are a lady I’ve always wanted to meet,” Mike said.
Karla held out her hand. “And now . . . you see how easily it has happened.”
“How long are you staying in town?” Dee asked.
Karla shrugged her broad shoulders. “That is the lovely part about not working. I stay where I like . . . as long as I like.”
“We’re opening the house in Palm Beach in about ten days. Perhaps you’d like to come down. I can give you the east wing you had before.”
Karla smiled. “That is so kind. Perhaps I shall . . . Or perhaps I go to Gstaad to ski. Who knows? But even ten days is so far off. Right now I can only think of my stomach and I am very hungry.” She turned to Mike. “It was so very nice to meet you.” Then she smiled and walked off to her table with David following.
Dee sat down with Mike and rummaged through her bag for her cigarette case. “Mike, I don’t like to pry, but do you think January has discouraged David?”
He smiled. “Karla is heavy competition.”
“Ridiculous. Karla is old enough to be David’s mother.” Dee sighed. “I thought David would be mad for January. They look so perfect together.”
“Dee, I learned a long time ago that looking the part doesn’t always mean you can play it.”
“But January should try to encourage him. After all, she’s not a baby. She’ll be twenty-one in a few months.”
He laughed. “That’s not exactly over the hill. Besides, the girls of today don’t rush into marriage. Half of them don’t even believe in it.”
“January is not today’s girl. She’s caught between two worlds. The isolated one she just left . . . and the new one she doesn’t quite know how to enter. If she ever really fell in love and it didn’t work out, she could crack up.”
“She’s not going to crack up, and it seems to me she’s adjusted just great. She’s got a job, her own apartment. What more do you want? She’s only been here a little over a month. Look, you can’t wrap people up like Christmas packages. And that goes for David as well as January.” He looked toward the back of the room. “Karla is one hell of an exciting woman.”
“She’s a stupid uneducated peasant.”
He shook his head. “You dames really kill me. She’s been to your place in Marbella, she’s been on your yacht, you’ve just invited her to Palm Beach . . .”
“Darling, I always have houseguests. It’s always good to have a ‘live-in’ celebrity. Besides, I feel sorry for Karla. She’s really a very lonely lost soul.”
He started to laugh. “What strikes you so funny?” Dee demanded.
“You women, the way you waste your pity. Worrying about January ‘getting on,’ Karla being lost and lonely. Look, my daughter will find her own way. And as for Karla, she’s far from being lost. It’s easy to see why David would go for her.”
“Really?” Dee’s voice was cold. “Then why did you ever wind up with plain old me?”
He reached out and patted her hand. “Sweetheart, I cut my teeth on the top beauties in Hollywood. And you’re something special. The question is . . . why did you want me?”
“Because—” and her eyes grew distant.
“Because what?”
“Because I loved you,” she said seriously. “Oh, I know we could have been together without marriage. But I think that kind of thing is grubby. I’m not old-fashioned. God, the way things are today, you’re labeled archaic if you have any standards. If you have money you’re supposed to play it down. If you have a luxurious home you’re committing some kind of crime. But what’s wrong with having a big estate? I keep a full staff of servants at all my places all year round. I’m giving these people work. The pilots of my plane have families. I’m responsible for their children being able to go to college. The captain of my boat gets paid fifty-t
wo weeks a year and so does the crew. When I give big parties in Palm Beach I’m giving work to caterers, musicians, designers . . . I like to wear beautiful clothes . . . I like to see other people wearing them. I like gracious dining and pretty people. I hate this place and all places like it that people claim are so ‘in.’ And when I see Karla walk in here I know it’s not just a casual evening with David. Even a woman like Karla gets lonely. It’s no fun living alone. David could offer Karla an exciting life, sex, good companionship—all the things I want for your daughter.”
Mike glanced over at Karla. David was whispering something in her ear. “Well, it looks like David has his own ideas.”
Dee stared staright ahead. “It’s up to January to change his ideas.”
“Really?”
“Oh, Mike, don’t you know that a woman can make a man think her idea was really his?”
“She can?”
“I bet you thought you wooed and won me,” she said.
“Well, if I didn’t, I sure wasted a lot of money in Marbella.”
“I’ll tell you a secret,” she said. “I decided to marry you the second evening we spent together. I just had to let you go through the motions.”
He laughed and signaled for the check. “I still don’t know how I got so lucky.” He leaned across the table and took her hands. “Why, Dee? I mean, why did you pick me?”
Her eyes met his and held them. “Because I wanted you. And I always try to get what I want.”
David arrived at the Côte Basque at one the following day. Dee’s call had come at ten that morning. “David darling, I’d love to see you. How about having lunch today?” For the rest of the morning he had definite signs of an ulcer attack.
They sat at a banquette table. He asked all the proper questions. About the backgammon tournament, about London, about the new shows she had seen in the West End. He sat there with a forced smile, waiting for the whiplash. But when they finished lunch and her conversation drifted to the current state of the market, he lit a cigarette and began to relax. Maybe she just had no luncheon date. Maybe it was just his own guilt that made him so uptight. He signaled for the check. In a few more minutes it would all be over. He’d walk through that door and out into the sunlight.