She looked at the clock. Almost eight o’clock. It had to be Tom . . . offering some explanation for being so late. She reached for it but changed her mind. No. She had waited all day. Let Tom and the operator have a little trouble finding her. She knew how it worked. Now they’d try the Polo Lounge, then page the lobby . . . Okay. Now she’d let them find her. She picked up the phone. “Hello . . . Operator, this is Miss Wayne. You have a call for me?” She began to laugh again. The whole thing seemed so terribly funny.
There was a pause while the operator connected the call. Then she heard Mike’s voice. “January . . .”
“Mike.” She began to laugh harder. It was Mike . . . not Tom. She kept laughing. But it wasn’t funny . . . only she couldn’t stop laughing. She wanted to stop . . .
“January, what is it? What’s the big joke?”
“Nothing . . .” She was doubled over now. “Nothing. It’s just that I had a shot and some bourbon and I . . . I feel . . . so marvelous . . . and . . .” She broke into spasms of laughter again.
“What kind of a shot?”
“Vitamins. They’re . . . heaven—ly . . .” Now she had stopped laughing and felt she was drifting on a cloud. The vitamins had conquered the bourbon. She felt silken inside . . . the bed was a cloud floating in space . . .
“January, are you all right?”
“Oh, my beloved father . . . I’ve never been better. Never . . . never . . . never . . .”
“Who are you with right now?”
“No one. I’m just waiting for Tom.”
“Tell me something,” he said. “How come the magazine sent you to do this interview? Since when did you become their star reporter?”
She began to laugh again. Mike sounded so serious. So stern. If he only knew how happy she was. How happy everyone should be. She wanted him to be happy. She wanted him to know how it felt to float. “Mike . . . are you happy?” she asked.
“What are you talking about?”
“Happiness. It’s the only thing that matters. Are you happy with Dee?”
“Never mind about me. What are you doing there? What are these shots you’re talking about?”
“Just vitamins. Heavenly wonderful vitamins. Oh, Mike, there’re palm trees out here, better than the palm trees in Florida. And Bungalow Five is like my own private home. Did you ever stay at Bungalow Five when you were here? I bet you did . . . because you and he are a lot alike. After all, he even had our suite at the Plaza.”
His voice was hard. “I want you to leave Los Angeles immediately.”
“No way. And after Los Angeles I go to my big new apartment with a garden terrace on the river and—” She suddenly couldn’t remember what she had been talking about. “What was I just saying?” she said.
“Too much. Goodbye, January.”
“Goodbye, my magnificent father . . . my lord . . . my handsome one . . . my. . . .” But he had hung up.
She was stretched out on the bed without any clothes when Tom came in at nine. He stared at her for a moment, then smiled. “Now this is what I call a real greeting.” She held out her arms but he shook his head as he sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m too weary. It’s been a rough trip. And today was another ball-breaker.”
“You mean you’re tired from playing with the baby?”
He laughed. “Actually, I held the baby for exactly twenty minutes. Then he threw up and the nurse gave me a dirty look and whisked him off. I got to see him once again after his bath.”
“Then what did you do all this time?”
He stood up and took off his jacket. “You’re making noises like a jealous wife. And you have no cause to be. I told you it was part of my deal to keep up a semblance of a marriage. So today I had to be nice to a lot of people that Nina Lou had in for brunch, cocktails and . . . well . . . the whole deal was like a twenty-four-hour open house—welcoming the big author bit.”
“I feel shut out,” she said suddenly. “Like you have a whole other life going for you. And to me, you’re my whole life.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed again. “Look, baby, writing is my life. Right now you’ve come into it in a very big way and you can stay as long as you like. I love you. But no woman can be my whole life. Except for now while I’m on this circus of promoting. Because through all this you’re the only thing that is real. But once I start writing—you’re going to have to accept the fact that the writing comes first.”
“But no other woman.”
“No other woman. I swear to that.”
She grinned happily and jumped off the bed. “I accept those terms and now you must accept mine . . . for tonight.” She pulled him to his feet and began unbuttoning his shirt. “And now that you’ve done your husbandly duties, your loving geisha girl awaits.” She stroked his chest and ran her fingers up his back. He took her hands and held them.
“Baby . . . I’m not up to it. I’m just too tired. But if you want, I’ll make love to you.”
“No . . . Let’s just stay up all night and talk and be together in each other’s arms.”
“Fine. But I think I’d better order some dinner for you.”
“I don’t need food . . . I’ve got you.”
He smiled. “I wish I knew what you were sniffing. I’d like some too.”
“Vitamins,” she said. “You should try them.”
He laughed. “God, it’s wonderful to be young. You can turn on and recharge yourself. I could do it too when I was your age.” He sighed heavily. “It’s rotten getting old. I never thought it would happen to me. I felt I’d always be strong . . . always be young . . . able to get by with too much booze and too little sleep. Health and stamina were just things I took for granted. But it creeps up on you—” He sighed again. “It’s hell to know you’re creeping up to sixty.”
“You’re not old,” she said. “And I do take vitamins. Shots . . . here . . . look at my arm.” She held it out and pulled off the adhesive. He saw the tiny prick on her arm. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.
“It’s a vitamin shot.”
“You get them in the ass.”
“I got one that way once . . . but it didn’t work as well. That’s intramuscular. This is intravenous.”
“Okay, Dr. Kildare. Now tell me something. Where did you get this shot?”
“Dr. Preston Alpert. He’s out here now. In New York his brother takes care of me.”
“And just what do these shots do for you?”
“Make you feel like you own the world.”
“Send for him,” he demanded.
They reached Dr. Alpert in the Polo Lounge. Within fifteen minutes he was at their bungalow. When he met Tom he was so visibly impressed that his hand shook as he attached the disposable needle to the syringe. January sat huddled on the bed in one of Tom’s robes. Tom was shirtless . . . still in his white denim pants. He was tanned from the beach. In contrast Dr. Alpert looked like a spindly green grasshopper as he bent over his syringe. Tom watched the doctor carefully. January looked away as Dr. Preston plunged the needle into his arm. But if Tom felt anything, his expression never changed. He waited silently until Dr. Alpert finished. He stared at the small bandaid on his arm and reached into his pocket. “What do I owe you?”
“One hundred dollars.”
“One hundred dollars!” January shouted. “Why that’s crazy. Your brother only charges me twenty-five.”
Dr. Alpert looked at her nastily. “That’s an office visit. This is a house call. And after hours at that.”
Tom slammed the money into his hand. “Look, take your money. And if I ever see you around here, I’ll break every bottle you’ve got in that case.”
Dr. Alpert was stunned. “You mean you’re not pleased with the shot? Don’t you feel anything?”
“I feel plenty. Too much for just a vitamin shot. That shot is loaded with some kind of speed.”
Dr. Alpert started for the door. Tom went after him and grabbed him by the jacket. “Remember, I don’t wa
nt you to go near her or I’ll run you out of town.”
Dr. Alpert pulled himself together. “Mr. Colt, if they did a blood analysis on you right now, they’d find heavy doses of Vitamin A, E, C, and all the B’s.”
“And some meth as well, I’m sure. I don’t doubt that you’ve got some vitamins in it. But it’s the speed that makes the patient feel good.”
Dr. Alpert tripped over the door ledge in his hurry to leave the bungalow. Tom turned to January. “How long have you been on these things?”
“I’m not really on anything, Tom. I mean . . . I’ve taken a few shots . . . Linda told me about it. . . .” Then she went on to explain about Keith and all the important people who used the two Dr. Alperts.
Tom took her in his arms and held her close. “Look, baby, right now I feel like I could make love to you all night. That I could start writing my next book and never stop . . . that I could dive off the highest hill at Miramar in Acapulco . . . catch the current as well as any of the professional Mexican divers. It’s a great feeling. And I’ve had it before. I was a correspondent during World War Two. I used to take bennies and get a little of this kind of jolt. The bomber pilots who made the early morning raids ate them like gumdrops. Maybe they hadn’t slept too well the night before, figuring it might be their last. But they popped those bennies in their mouth at four A.M., and an hour later, when they took off, they were soaring into that wild blue yonder positive that no bullet could hit them. Hell, half of them felt as if they didn’t even need the plane. I feel the same way now. I could . . . well . . . hell . . . let’s not waste the shot.” And he threw her on the bed.
The following morning, the effect of the shot seemed to have worn off for Tom. But January was still in a constant state of enthusiastic energy. Tom sat her down and tried to explain the danger. “Look, I’m six foot two and weigh a hundred and ninety pounds. So my system absorbed it quickly. But you . . . you can’t weigh more than a hundred pounds, and that shot is loaded with methamphetamine, I’m sure. It’s not addictive like the hard stuff . . . but when it wears off, the withdrawal signs are like a bitch of a hangover.”
“But can they really hurt me?”
“As a steady diet they could kill you. It races the pulse . . . makes your heart beat triple . . . Now look, if you want to get high, do it with booze. You can’t drink enough to hurt you. I can—and do—but then I’ve lived my life. Now, no more shots . . . Promise?”
“I promise.”
That night they had room service and they had barely finished dinner when he jumped up and pulled her toward the bedroom. “Tom.” She laughed as she followed him. “The waiter will come in . . .”
“Let him. We’ll close the bedroom door. Maybe it’s the bourbon activating what’s left of the shot. But whatever it is, I don’t want to blow it.”
They didn’t hear the doorbell. They didn’t even hear the bedroom door open. Then everything happened so fast that she could barely put things together. She was aware of the lights going on. Someone pulling Tom off her. Seeing a fist send a bone-crunching blow to Tom’s jaw. Tom staggering and spitting blood. Then she gasped. It was Mike! . . . standing there . . . his fists clenched . . . staring at them both.
“Mike!” The word stuck in her throat.
Tom had recovered and lunged after Mike, but Mike’s fist slammed into his face again. Tom struck back, but Mike crouched like a street fighter. Tom wasn’t able to touch him, and Mike came after Tom with a maniacal fury. His fist smashed into Tom’s face again and again. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. Tom stood up as Mike pummeled into him. He tried to lash out, but his timing was off. His face was a bloody smear. Mike’s fist smashed into his jaw again . . . into his stomach . . . back to his face . . . back to the jaw-it was more violent than anything she had ever imagined. And she stood watching it in a stupor as if it wasn’t quite real. It was all happening so fast. Tom flailing out . . . beginning to falter under Mike’s merciless onslaught . . . Mike pulling Tom to his feet . . . his fist crashing against Tom’s face again and again. The blood was pouring from Tom’s mouth. His eye was cut. She saw him stand groggily against the wall and spit teeth. She rushed to her father. “Let him alone . . . stop it! STOP IT!” She screamed.
Mike let go and Tom slipped against the wall to the floor. January knelt beside him. She looked up at her father. “Do something . . . help him . . . oh God, you’ve knocked out all of his front teeth.”
Mike walked over and pulled her to her feet. “They’re caps. They’ve probably been knocked out before.” Then suddenly for the first time he seemed to realize she was naked. His face went dark with embarrassment. He turned away. “Put your clothes on. I’ll wait in the next room.”
“Just like that!” she shouted. “You come in here and half kill the man I love . . . and then give orders. Why? Are you jealous?” She jumped in front of him. “Is that it? Well, I never burst into your bedroom and beat up Dee. I come to Palm Beach and smile like a good little girl.”
“He’s a bum!”
Tears were running down her face. “I love him. Don’t you understand? I love him . . . and he loves me.”
He pushed past her and looked at his watch. “Get dressed. I’ve got the plane waiting.”
“Why did you come here?” she sobbed.
“Because when I talked to you on the phone yesterday you sounded spaced out. I was afraid you were in some drug scene. I couldn’t get here fast enough. Now I wish I hadn’t come. But I’m here. So let’s cut out. We’ll forget any of this happened. Come back to Palm Beach with me.”
“No way,” she said.
He looked at his watch. “I’ll sit in the Polo Lounge for half an hour. If you don’t come by then, I’ll leave. But if you have any brains at all, you’ll pack your things and tell him to call his wife to come and get him. I’ll be waiting in the Polo Lounge—for exactly one half hour.” He slammed the door of the bungalow.
For a moment she stared after him. Tom had made it to the bathroom. She rushed after him and got a wet towel and held it to his face. He put on a robe and with her help made it back to the bedroom.
“Tom . . . your teeth . . .”
He tried to smile and winced. “Like the man said . . . caps. I can get them fixed. It’s my jaw . . . I think it’s broken . . .”
“Oh, Tom!”
“Don’t worry . . . it’s been broken before. Your father’s got a good punch.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I hate the bastard,” he said. “But I guess I would have done the same thing if it had been my daughter.”
“You’re not mad?”
He shook his head. “No. He’s just brought things to a head. I’ve always had a hunch that maybe I was just a replacement. Now I know. So you better get dressed and go to him.”
“Tom . . . I love you. I told him I loved you.”
“That line you pulled about his wife was the clincher, honey.”
“What line?”
“Skip it.” He turned away.
She got into her slacks and shirt. He looked at her and nodded. “So long.”
“I’ll be back,” she said.
“Back?”
“Yes. I just want to see him . . . to tell him I’m staying.”
“If you don’t show in half an hour he’ll know that.”
“But I’ve got to tell him.”
He grabbed her hand. “Listen, baby. This is it. This is the moment when you make the big choice. It’s me or Daddy . . . not both. Because if you go out there, you’ve made your choice.”
“I’m just going to tell him . . . I mean, I can’t let him go off like this. I can’t let him just sit and wait.”
“If you walk out, there’s no coming back,” he said slowly.
“But Tom, I have to talk to him. Can’t you understand?”
“You love me, right?” She nodded anxiously. “Okay,” he went on. “Someone just came in here and beat the shit out of me because you loved me. Now, if you walk out on me?
??even for ten minutes—to make peace with that guy—then you make a bum out of me.”
“But he’s not just a guy . . . he’s my father.”
“Right now he’s the guy who smashed me up . . . and you’re my girl. Mike knows the rules. You walk out there for any goddam reason and it’s like another clout at my jaw.” He looked at the clock. “You’ve got twenty minutes left.”
She hesitated. She thought of Mike sitting in the bar waiting. Then she looked at the bruised man on the bed. She nodded and walked slowly back to him. He held her in his arms and they both lay very still listening to the minutes tick by. . . .
When he left Bungalow Five, Mike went to the men’s room and let cold water run over his hand. It was beginning to swell . . the knuckles were split in several places. His hand felt like it was busted. He hated to think how Tom Colt’s jaw must feel.
He went to the Polo Lounge and ordered a Scotch. He looked at his watch. Ten minutes had passed. She’d come. She was probably seeing to it that Tom Colt was fixed up. He hadn’t meant to mangle the guy. But he had seen Tom Colt in fights before. No one had a chance against him. So he knew he had to keep hitting. All along he had expected Colt to let one fly that would demolish him. He kept expecting it—and it was that expectation that had driven him on. If he had thought about it, he might have hesitated in tangling with Colt. But the sight of him on top of his daughter . . . something had just snapped and he hadn’t been able to stop hitting him.
He was amazed that he had come out of it with nothing more than a busted hand. But then, when a guy has just shot a load he’s not exactly in fighting form. He felt sick in the stomach thinking of him with January. Her body was so slim and beautiful . . . too clean and nice for a man like Colt to handle.
He looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes. She was probably packing now. He ordered another drink. Was the captain looking at him with sympathy? No . . . it was all in his mind. They probably didn’t even know she was his daughter. A guy sitting alone in the Polo Lounge always looks like he’s been stood up. But he wouldn’t be stood up. Any second now she’d come dashing in . . . and he would smile and not even discuss it. Hell, he had made plenty of mistakes in his time. He certainly couldn’t lecture her.