Karla stood by the window and watched him until he was out of sight. Then she walked to the bathroom and tapped on the door. Her face was drawn and white. “It’s all right, Dee. You can come out now. I don’t think David will bother us anymore.”
Twenty-four
DEE STRETCHED OUT in the foamy bathtub. WPAT was playing some old Sinatra songs. They were beautiful. The whole world was beautiful. May was such a beautiful month in New York. April had been a beautiful month too. Any month was beautiful when Karla was around. This past winter in Palm Beach had marked their longest separation. Five long months. It had been murderous. There were times when she had to summon every ounce of will power to keep from picking up the phone and pleading with Karla to come down. Maybe it had worked, because on her return she found Karla actually eager to see her.
Of course there had been that dreadful night when David had hammered at the door like a bull in heat. She would never have believed David could lose control like that. But he had been drinking. She hadn’t heard too much of the racket—she had been so terrified when the commotion had begun that she had dashed into the bathroom. But it obviously finished David with Karla. He was no longer one of her “nice little” men who took her to the ballet or an art movie.
Oddly enough, David didn’t seem to be suffering any loss. According to the columns, he was seeing that Dutch model occasionally, and he talked about January constantly.
He had been heartbroken when she had been unable to come to Palm Beach over Easter. Of course it was an important assignment writing a story on a man like Tom Colt. She had been in California for some time now. She wondered if there was something going on between them. Ridiculous! Tom Colt was married and much too old-fashioned for January. Mike had been oddly unenthusiastic about the importance of January’s assignment. He had insisted on flying out to see her. He had stayed almost a week and when he returned everything seemed fine. Well, she’d have to get around to changing her will. Now that David posed no threat as far as Karla was concerned there was no reason to care whether or not he married January.
When she got out of the tub, she put in a call to George Milford. He came on the phone immediately. “Dee . . . I was just leaving. How nice to hear from you.”
“George, I want to change my will.”
“Fine. Is it urgent?”
“No, but let’s meet tomorrow afternoon.”
“Well, that’s why I asked if it was urgent. Margaret and I are leaving tomorrow for Paris. Her sister’s daughter is getting married, and we haven’t had a holiday abroad for some time. So we’re doing it right . . . going by boat . . . taking a whole month off. We’re sailing tomorrow.”
“Oh—” Dee bit her lip thoughtfully.
“But if it’s urgent, I can wait in my office now. It’s five-thirty. We can draw up the changes. I don’t mind staying here for a few hours tonight . . . that is, if you are free. We can go over things together and I’ll make notes. Then tomorrow morning I’ll have it typed up and if you can come around, say, at ten, we can have it witnessed and notarized and—”
Karla was expecting her at six-thirty. This would take too much time. “No, George, it’s not that urgent. It can hold until you return. Have a nice trip, and give Margaret my best.”
She hung up and began to dress. Mike was at the Friars Club. She had told him she was going to a Class Reunion. And she insisted he stay there for dinner and play cards. “I’ve got to go. It’s something I do every year. There’s just twenty of us, and we sit around for hours discussing our days at Miss Briarly’s. And if you get home before me, don’t wait up.”
The marriage was crowding her. With Karla so available, it tortured her to be with Mike. Ever since her return from Palm Beach, Karla was always exuberant whenever Dee said she was free. And lately there had been none of the old excuses. (“Oh, Dee. I’ve invited the Maestro over for a steak. He hasn’t worked for so long and he’s going to the motion picture home soon.”) Karla’s reasons had always been valid . . . but they had come just often enough to keep Dee off balance. Yet there hadn’t been one excuse since her return. Each time she called and said, “I can get out tonight,” Karla sounded joyous. “I am so glad!” . . . “I await eagerly . . .” or “I have been invited to a dinner at Boris’s, but I will cancel.”
Of course she could see Karla during the day if she wanted to tag along and do things Karla’s way. But somehow she felt a loss of dignity in trailing along after Karla, sitting in some dreary studio and watching her do bar exercises. She had done that the first few years when just seeing Karla—being allowed to be with her—was a privilege. Oddly enough, after all these years, she still felt a sense of giddiness each time she saw Karla. But once their relationship had become firmly established, she felt it was demeaning for her to sit around like a stupefied fan. She also wouldn’t go walking in the snow and rain. She wasn’t like Karla, who looked fantastic with snow on her hair or rain on her face. Dee’s nose and eyes ran when it got cold. Karla could stand under a shower and come out and towel-dry her hair and look magnificent. Dee would be lost without a hairdresser to fix her hair each day.
No, the only way to see Karla and keep their relationship on an equal basis was to have Karla as a houseguest in one of her homes . . . or to see her in New York at night. No woman over forty looked glamorous in daylight. Dee had tried everything. Whatever makeup base she used looked too pink, too orange or too pasty. But at night she looked marvelous. Especially in front of a fire, or sitting with Karla and having dinner by candlelight. She had taken a firm stand against eating in the kitchen. There was no romance to it. Besides, she looked dreadful in that light. Karla always looked slightly tanned, she never needed a makeup base. Karla was Karla—there was no one like her. Even after eight years it still seemed unbelievable that Karla belonged to her. No . . . not belonged. Karla would never belong to anyone. Not even to Jeremy Haskins, who she said had been her manager and great friend. She openly admitted they had made an attempt at being lovers but it hadn’t worked. Dee had met Jeremy when he came to the States in 1966, and when she saw his white hair and bent shoulders, she had been so relieved she had even given a dinner party in his honor. And each year she sent him a Christmas gift.
On an impulse she took out her checkbook and wrote a check for ten thousand dollars. She had stopped trying to surprise Karla with gifts. Karla never wore jewelry. And the sable coat she had given her was used like a trench coat. She walked in the snow in it, and to the rehearsal hall and back. Karla only really came alive when she was given money. It was a phenomenon Dee couldn’t understand. After all, Karla had plenty of money. My God . . . all those years when she made those pictures. And she spent nothing now . . . just the maintenance on the apartment. It was a fabulous apartment as far as the physical layout went. A decorator could turn it into a showplace. But Dee doubted if there was even five thousand dollars’ worth of furniture in the apartment. Of course, it was kept immaculate. Karla thought nothing of scrubbing floors and windows herself. And there were the paintings—a Monet, two Raoul Dufys, a Vlaminck, and the Daumier sketches. But they had all been gifts. And in answer to Dee’s “Why do you need a ten-room duplex when you use only three rooms?” Karla had shrugged and said, “It was a gift . . . and it is now worth twice the original price.” She had given up trying to rationalize Karla’s eccentricities. Eccentricities hell! Karla was downright penurious. Even her Christmas presents to Dee were what Karla called “gag” presents. A beer mug saying “Souvenir of New York” . . . a red flannel nightgown . . . a Polish ornament for the Christmas tree. Dee chalked it up as a wartime neurosis. All refugees were slightly peculiar.
Dee left the house at six-fifteen. She had let the chauffeur go. She took a cab that rocked and wheezed its way across town; but nothing could disturb her high spirits. It was spring and the night was beautiful and in a few minutes she was going to see Karla. Oh God, if only she could hold time still. Make tonight last forever. She played a game with the traffic lights. When
the cab came to a red light, she’d count. One . . then spell it . . . O-N-E. Two . . . T-W-O. For as many numbers as she could say and spell before the light changed . . . that’s how many more months she and Karla would have together. She got to sixteen on one light . . . but by the time she got to Second Avenue, she had developed some expertise and was up to thirty-five. She frowned. That was just three more years. No, she wouldn’t settle for that. They’d be together forever. Oh God, if she could only believe that. If she could really believe that Karla would never leave her . . . she’d never have married Mike. But even during their most intimate moments, Dee was aware that Karla could never be really possessed by anyone. And if Karla ever thought she was Dee’s whole life, Karla might disappear . . . perhaps forever. No, Mike was her safety valve, her crutch of sanity. But Mike was also a problem . . . the devious lies she had to tell him to get her “free nights.” In July, she’d insist that Karla come to Marbella. But right now it was only the beginning of May. That meant six weeks in New York to worry about. She thought she had been very clever about her enthusiasm for Cannes with Mike. There was no backgammon tournament in Monte Carlo, and she never had the slightest intention of going there in the first place. But it had to be planned carefully, and so far everything was going according to schedule. The suite at the Carleton was booked for May 14. She planned to wait until the day before and then tell him that the tournament was canceled. But she would insist that he go—the suite was reserved and he deserved two marvelous weeks with all his movie friends. She’d just rest in New York and attend to getting her wardrobe together for the summer. She had the speech all rehearsed. He had to go without her. Then she would have two fantastic weeks with Karla . . . they could be together every night!
Karla was waiting for her when she arrived. Her face was scrubbed and the heavy hair was pulled back with a barrette. She threw her arms around Dee and led her to the table near the window. It was set for dinner, and Karla pointed to the candles. “Look. I bought them today. They do not need the stick to sit in . . . they melt into themselves. Oh, it was wonderful! This marvelous little shop and the little man didn’t recognize me. He liked me just for myself. And he took such pains letting me smell all the different smells. Tonight we have gardenia. Dee, do you like gardenia? I love it . . . I hope you do. . . .”
“Of course I do.” In the candlelight, with the dusk just beginning to settle on the East River, Karla looked like one of her most perfect movie stills. The shadows falling across her face, the hollow under her cheekbones. Suddenly Dee realized she was staring. She reached into her bag. “Karla, I brought you a little gift.”
Karla didn’t even look at the check. She smiled and slipped it into her desk drawer. “Thank you, Dee. Now come, sit down. I have prepared a big salad of shrimp and lobster. And look . . . a pitcher of sangria. We shall have a feast.”
And that night when they made love, Karla was joyously demonstrative. In fact her whole mood was lighter than usual. Later as they lay together she sang some Polish song she had known as a girl. Then, as if embarrassed because she had revealed some hidden facet of herself, she jumped out of bed and switched on the television set. “There’s a good late movie, but I know you prefer the news. I am going to take a shower. Tell me if anything important happens to our sad little world.”
Dee watched the news. She heard Karla singing in the shower. Karla was happy. And she was happy. Yet along with her own happiness there was a sense of despair. Because in a short time she would have to leave and go back to Mike. She reached over to the night table and decided to try one of Karla’s strong English cigarettes. As she picked up the pack, an envelope fell to the floor. It was Karla’s telephone bill. She was suddenly curious. The amount had to be minuscule. Karla rarely called anyone, and if she did, she merely stated her business or request. There was no such thing as a telephone conversation with Karla. Dee took the bill out of the envelope. Her eyebrows lifted when she glanced at the total. Four hundred and thirty-one dollars! She looked at it again. How could Karla run up a bill like that? She examined it carefully. Karla had not exceeded the maximum in local calls. But there was a long list of overseas calls to England—Bostwick 3322. Sixteen calls to that number! And all of the calls lasted longer than three minutes. There were three to another number with a Lowick exchange and two to a Belgravia exchange. But sixteen to Bostwick 3322. She wrote the numbers down on a slip of paper, shoved it into her bag, and replaced the phone bill under Karla’s cigarettes. But when Karla came out of the shower and made love to her again, the entire incident went out of her thoughts. She didn’t think of it again until she went home and found the slip of paper in her bag. She put it in her jewel case. Karla probably had some business in London. Maybe she was in constant touch with Jeremy. Perhaps her phone bill was high every month. People who were known to be penurious often had one crazy extravagance. Perhaps with Karla it was transatlantic phone calls.
The next day was one of those rare days, when Dee had been unable to connect with Karla. There was no point calling in the morning; Karla would be out walking. And at one, when Karla would be just getting home, Dee was trapped at a luncheon at the Plaza for Baby Town, U.S.A., a rehabilitation home for pregnant girls who were on narcotics. Dee wasn’t terribly interested in the whole thing, but it was a good way to get proper newspaper exposure. All the right people were on the committee, and this would be good for her image.
She had called Karla at five, but Karla wasn’t in. Then just as she was about to try again, Ernest had arrived to do her hair. She and Mike had to go to a ghastly sit-down dinner at Princess Marina’s Park Avenue apartment to honor some Senator, which meant they’d have to sit and listen to his witticisms on Washington. But the Princess gave great parties in Marbella, and if the Princess had this thing about being au courant about politics . . . well, she’d just have to sit through one of those nights.
The following morning she lay in bed with her breakfast tray, waiting until twelve-thirty when Karla would be home from her walk. She was also trying to think of an excuse to get away from Mike for the night. The rest of the week was filled, but tonight was free. Mike had said something about seeing two movies in one night. He actually liked sitting in those filthy theaters, and even ate popcorn. In fact he was trying to talk her into building a projection room at the Winter Palace so they could run their own movies. Movies bored Dee. She adored watching all of Karla’s reruns, but today’s pictures held little interest for her. She hated those dreary motorcycle pictures with young people where everyone wore blue jeans and smoked pot. She could remember when you went to a movie and looked forward to seeing the fashions. But movies were ugly and dirty now. Her own life was much more exciting and beautiful.
She glanced through the newspapers. She had made Women’s Wear with yesterday’s luncheon. Good picture—she would show it to Karla. But right now she had to think of a plan to get out of being with Mike tonight. Backgammon was no longer an excuse. He liked backgammon. Dear Lord, why had she ever taught him? She looked at the clock. Maybe she should tell him to go to the club and play golf, that she wanted to—she wanted to what? It infuriated her that she had to lie here and think of an excuse. She was Dee Milford Granger. She was supporting this man. Why couldn’t she just say, “I want out tonight,” as she had with all the others. Because deep down she knew she just couldn’t say that to Mike. He might just say, “Okay. You can have out for good.” Especially since he didn’t seem as concerned about that daughter of his. He never seemed to mention her lately. Maybe that ten million she had left in trust had relaxed him. Well, when he got back, he’d learn that it wasn’t an irrevocable trust. She’d change all that. Put David back as an executor. Oh, she’d let the ten million stand for January, but there would be a codicil . . . the ten million would go to January only if Mike Wayne was the husband of Dee Milford Granger. She began to smile. Of course . . . then she’d be able to walk out any night she chose. But meanwhile she had to think of something for tonight. She couldn’t i
nvent a fictitious girlfriend for backgammon anymore. He knew all of her friends. This was ridiculous! All of her life she had always done just as she pleased, and now, for the most important person in her life, she had to scheme like a criminal to get a free night.
Maybe Karla might have an idea. Not that she was ever inventive. Dee loved her insanely, but she was still a dumb Polack. It was only ten of twelve; but she tried Karla. Sometimes she got home early. She dialed, but there was no answer. Of course . . . this was Thursday. The maid wasn’t in. Imagine running that place with a maid who only came in three times a week!
She picked up the Daily News and leafed through it. The Princess had gotten only half a column. She and Mike were mentioned. But it was the Senator who had gotten all the publicity. She tossed the paper on the floor. It fell with the centerfold open. She stared for a moment. Then she jumped out of bed and grabbed the paper. There was Karla . . . hiding her face from the camera, arriving at Heathrow Airport.
Karla was in London!
She rolled the paper into a ball and tossed it across the room. All the while she had been lying there planning—wondering how to be with her—that bitch was in London.
London!
She got out of bed and rushed to her jewel case and found the piece of paper with the three numbers. Then she went to the telephone. Noon. That meant it was five in the afternoon in London. She placed a person-to-person call to Anthony Pierson. The firm of Pierson and Maitland handled all of her business in London. In less than five minutes, they rang back and Anthony Pierson was on. He was delighted to hear from her. They talked about the wonderful spell of good weather London was having, about some of her holdings . . . Then, trying to sound casual, she said, “Tony, I know this isn’t in your line at all . . . but . . . well . . . you see, I have to find out about three phone numbers in London. Oh, it’s not for me. It’s—it’s my stepdaughter. Yes, you see . . . she lives with us and I just happened to come across my phone bill and there are three London numbers that she’s been calling. And she’s only twenty-one. And naturally I worry. You know how it is . . . some of your rock artists come over here and girls of her age fancy themselves in love—” She laughed. “Yes . . . that’s exactly it . . . I wouldn’t want her to make a nuisance of herself or get involved with the wrong kind of people. So if you could check out those numbers . . . Oh, Tony, I do appreciate it.” She gave him the numbers, then she said, “How long will this take? . . . Only an hour? Oh Tony, you are divine.”