She felt the tears slide down her cheeks. She nodded in the darkness. “All right, David. . . . Of course I’ll stay at the Pierre.”
During the next four days, with the help of Librium and sleeping pills, January functioned in a mechanized manner. She had just gotten a shot from Dr. Alpert the day before the plane crash. It wore off while she was in New York, but her mental anguish outweighed any physical reaction. She almost welcomed the headaches, the tightness in her throat, the aches in her bones—this kind of pain she understood and knew would pass. The unbelievable emptiness of a world without Mike was something she could not accept.
Sadie hovered over her like a devoted nurse. She was a lost soul without Dee. She seemed to be constantly listening, as if any second she would hear one of Dee’s crisp orders. Sadie had been with Dee for thirty years. She needed someone to “tend to,” and she transferred this need to January, bringing trays of food that January barely touched, answering phones, keeping everyone away except the Milfords, standing guard like a gaunt sentry, silent . . . sad . . . waiting.
David sat beside January at the memorial service for Dee and Mike. Her face was expressionless, almost as if she were asleep with her eyes open. His father sat on the other side of her. And his mother sat next to her husband, tense, clutching her handkerchief, and looking properly distraught. The church was mobbed and the presence of all the socialites and celebrities had brought out the entire news media. The International Set was represented by bona fide royalty. Some of Dee’s friends from Europe had chartered a private plane to attend. And many show business celebrities, sensing the television cameramen would be on hand, had suddenly found it necessary to pay their last respects to Mike. But it was Karla’s appearance that caused the biggest sensation. The crowd of curious onlookers had almost broken through the cordon of police when she arrived.
David hadn’t seen her. But he had heard the screams go up outside, fans calling out her name. He knew she was sitting in the back somewhere and he prayed he wouldn’t see her. After that traumatic night he had forced all thoughts of her from his mind. He had actually used a form of self-hypnosis to exorcise her from his thoughts. He thought “hate” whenever her name came to mind. Then he would think of things the word hate conjured—Hitler, child molesting, poverty. And somewhere along the line, his mind would latch onto some other subject. He also took on new accounts and extra work. And he made sure he was never alone at night. He alternated between Kim and Valerie, a gorgeous Eurasian girl. And when word of the plane crash occurred, he dropped everything and plunged into the immediate urgency of the “care and consideration” of January.
And from now on it was going to be January all the way. His slim, pale, beautiful little heiress. The news cameras had given her a hard time when she arrived at the church. She had clung to him in bewilderment. She really was a beautiful girl, a beautiful little lost girl—a beautiful little lost girl with ten million dollars. He reached out and touched her gloved hand. She looked up, and he hoped his slight smile conveyed sympathy and reassurance.
The memorial service droned on. He knew the church was jammed. People were standing three-deep in the back. Someone had said the governor was there. Where was Karla sitting? He realized with a certain amazement that today—this minute—was the first time he had “allowed” himself to think of her. He pushed her from his mind. But it didn’t work. Somehow, in the crowded church, he felt her presence. It was ridiculous. But he actually felt it. And now, suddenly, even the self-hypnosis didn’t work. He sat helplessly and allowed his thoughts to take over his mind. Had she come alone? Or had she been accompanied by Boris or one of her trusted escorts? Or was there someone new? He had to stop this! Think of January, he told himself. Think of Dee. Think of family. He was here as “next of kin.” “Next of kin,” but cut out of the will. God, why did that plane have to crash! Couldn’t it have crashed after Dee changed her will? She had wanted to change it. Why had she waited to call his father till the day before the old man was leaving for Europe? And she had also cabled from the South of France that she wanted extensive changes when she returned. Why?
Would he have been reinstated? Would January have been out? But all the speculation in the world didn’t matter now. The will was airtight. And January was the new rich girl in town.
Then he heard the organ and the muffled sounds of everyone murmuring the Lord’s Prayer. He bowed his head and rose automatically with the others. He held January’s arm as his father and mother started out of the pew. He kept his head bowed as he led January up the aisle away from the serene twilight of the church, toward the gaping hole of daylight where the curious public and television cameras waited.
And as he passed the third row from the back, he saw her. She was wearing a black chiffon scarf around her head and was preparing to make her own dash toward an exit. But in that one moment, before she shoved on the perpetual dark glasses, their eyes had met. And then she was gone, ducking her way across an aisle, hoping to make her escape through a side entrance. He held January’s arm and continued the solemn pace toward the limousine. And he managed to look properly somber as the TV cameras photographed them for the six o’clock news.
He took January back to the Pierre. And for the next three hours the drawing room housed an avalanche of celebrities, café society, and clinking glasses. Security men stood on guard as the paying of respects turned into a gala cocktail reception. He stood by January’s side until she showed visible signs of fatigue. Sadie led her off into the bedroom, but the party continued. New arrivals continued to flow through the door. He watched his mother play hostess. Even the old man seemed to be having a marvelous time. There was something barbaric about the whole thing. He glanced at the shining silver frames on the piano. Most of the famous faces were represented in person in the huge drawing room at the Pierre. All but one. His eyes rested on Karla’s picture. He walked over and stared at it. The eyes were distant, with a hint of loneliness, just as they had been today.
He saw Sadie come out of the bedroom. She tiptoed over and told him January was resting. She had taken a sedative. And when he was sure no one noticed, he slipped out of the apartment.
He knew where he was going. He had thought he could never go there again, that he could never face that doorman, or the elevator man. But suddenly it didn’t matter. After looking into her eyes today, he knew he could face them all—an army of them. He had to see her!
Nevertheless his relief was enormous when a strange doorman stood in front of her building. Of course—he had never come around at noon. The doorman stopped him with a perfunctory, “All guests must be announced.” For a moment he hesitated. If Karla sent back word that she wouldn’t receive him he would have the embarrassment of facing this strange doorman.
But now all that seemed so unimportant. He gave his name and waited while the man lumbered inside to the house phone. This hulk of a stranger in the braided uniform would have the privilege of talking to her . . . and perhaps he might not. He lit a cigarette while he waited. It seemed forever. Maybe she hadn’t come home. If the doorman said she was out, it might be the truth. But he’d never know.
The doorman walked back slowly, as if his arches pained him. David ground out his cigarette and waited.
“Apartment Fifteen A,” the doorman said. “Front elevator.”
For a moment David stood very still. Then he strode through the lobby quickly. This was no time to allow himself to feel any nerves. He was grateful that the elevator was waiting. And when he got off, she was standing at the door of her apartment.
“Come in,” she said quietly.
He followed her inside. The sunlight turned the murky East River into shades of yellow gray. He saw a tugboat inching its way, causing miniature waves in the water as it passed. “I had no idea you had such a view,” he said.
“Perhaps because you have only seen it at night,” she said quietly.
“Or perhaps I never really looked,” he said.
For a moment neither
of them spoke. Then he said, “Karla . . . I can’t live without you.”
She sat down and lit one of her English cigarettes. Then, almost as an afterthought, she extended the pack to him. He shook his head. Then he sat beside her. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
She nodded slowly. “I believe that you mean it . . . now.”
“Karla, I’m sorry about that night,” he said stiffly. Suddenly it all rushed out. “Oh, God, I must have been insane. I can’t even blame it on being drunk, because I got drunk intentionally. To give me the nerve to come over, to make that scene.” He looked down at his hands. “It’s just that the whole scene was closing in on me. The constant worry of time, of how long we would have, when would you suddenly take off again. But today when I looked at you I got my head together and I knew what it was all about. I love you. I want to be with you . . . openly. I want to marry you—if you’ll have me. Or I’ll stick around as your consort if that’s the way you want it. I’ve lived all my life worrying about inheriting Dee’s money, and now it looks like I’m supposed to spend my life trying to get at January’s money. And I was willing to go along that way until I saw you at church. Because until that moment I had nothing better to do. But when I saw you again—”
She put her hand to his lips. “David, it is good to see you. And I am sorry about that night.”
He grabbed her hands and kissed them. “No. I’m the one who is sorry. I didn’t really mean any of those things I said. I—” He knew his face was burning. “I didn’t believe what I was saying about Heidi Lanz. I didn’t really think she was in here.”
“None of that is important,” she said. “Heidi—” She smiled. “I knew her so very long ago, when I first came to America. I haven’t seen her in years, except reruns of her old pictures on television.”
“Of course. And I had seen her that day at “21” and she just came to my mind and—”
She put her fingers across his lips and smiled. “Please, David. None of that is important. Heidi, or—”
“You’re right,” he said. “Nothing is important. Except us.”
She stood up and crossed the room. She smiled at him, yet there was a sadness in her eyes. “No, David, we are not all that important. I have lived a very selfish life. I have always meant to do so many things, but always felt there was so much time. Dee’s death taught me differently. We never know just how much time there is. Jeremy Haskins, my old friend, is close to eighty. Every time I hear from London I hold my breath. Yet who would have thought Jeremy would outlive Dee?”
He came to her and tried to take her in his arms, but she broke his embrace. He held her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Karla, that’s why I’m here. For just that reason. We’ve talked about the age difference between us. But now it all seems so stupid. All that matters is being together, having one another.”
“No, David, that is not all that matters.” She turned away. Then she pointed to the couch. “Sit down. I want you to listen to me. Yes, we have had our wonderful times. But that is past. Now I will tell you about what does matter. I will tell you about a girl called Zinaida, . . .”
David crumpled his empty package of cigarettes. He stared at Karla as she stood against the mantel. Several times he had felt tears come to his eyes as she recounted her struggle to raise her child. Her quiet composure as she told him about the rape of the nuns at the convent only added to the horror of the scene. When she had finished, she said, “So you see how unimportant anything between us really is. Until now I had coasted, letting others take care of Zinaida. But now it is all different.”
“Did Dee know about your child?” he asked.
Karla hesitated. Then she managed a smile. “Of course not. Why would Dee know? Actually we weren’t that close. I was just one of the silver frames on her piano.”
“If she knew, she might have left something in her will.”
Karla shrugged. “I have enough money. But only if I change my life style. I have put this apartment up for sale. That should bring me a good sum of money. And there is a marvelous little Greek island called Patmos. Not many tourists go there. It is quiet, and I am going to buy a house there and live with Zinaida and the Harringtons.”
“Bring her here,” David begged. “We can all live together.”
“Oh, David, you do not understand. She is very beautiful. But she is a child. She would think nothing of skipping along the streets. Or bursting into tears at Schwarz’s because you would not buy her all the toys she wanted. She is a child. A thirty-one-year-old child! I am a very private person. And you know how I have to fight for whatever privacy I get. It would not be fair to Zinaida to expose her to the photographers who would chase her. Her life would become a mockery. But on Patmos . . . we can swim together, walk together, play together. No one will know me there. We will have complete privacy. Jeremy has sent a man to arrange things. I leave tomorrow to select the house.”
“Karla . . . marry me! Please! You have enough money to support Zinaida. I make enough so that we can live and . . .”
She stroked his face gently. “Yes, I am sure you do. And we would have a wonderful year together.”
“Years,” he corrected her.
“No, David. A year at the most. Then you would see your lovely little January marry. You would think about the ten million dollars, you would think about the life style you could have had . . . No, David, it would never last. My place is with Zinaida. I must teach her so many things. Especially that I am her mother. She is so very lost. And your place is with January. I saw her today. She is also lost. She needs you very much.”
“I need you,” he said.
She opened her arms and for a moment he held her close. He covered her face with kisses. Then she broke away from him. “No, David . . .”
“Karla . . .” he pleaded. “If you are sending me away, then please, let me be with you for the last time . . .”
She shook her head. “It would only be harder for both of us. Goodbye, David.”
“Are you sending me away again?” he asked.
She nodded. “But this time I am sending you away with love.”
He walked to the door. And suddenly she rushed to him and held him close. “Oh, David. Be happy. Please. For my sake . . . be happy.” And he felt the tears running down her face, but he did not turn and look back as he walked out of the door, because he knew his own eyes were filled with tears . . .
Twenty-eight
JANUARY HAD BEEN TOO SEDATED even to remember the memorial service. She knew David had been at her side. But the whole thing seemed like a newsreel without sound. Dr. Clifford, Mrs. Milford’s internist, had given her some tranquilizers, and she had taken triple the amount prescribed. She knew the church had been crowded, and she recalled thinking, “Mike would have liked the idea of playing to a full house.” But she felt oddly removed from the news cameras that flashed when she left the church, or the curious onlookers who called out her name.
She had been amazed at the people who crowded into the apartment at the Pierre, stunned by the fact that she was supposed to greet them as if they were invited guests. And when it had gotten too much for her, she had slipped into the bedroom and taken some more tranquilizers.
And the days that followed were just as dreamlike. Days of serious meetings and signing of documents at George Milford’s office—with David always at her side. Dee had left her ten million dollars! The enormity of the amount failed to arouse any distinct emotion. Could it bring Mike back? Could it take back that evening at Bungalow Five?
Somehow the days dragged by. David took her to his parents’ home for dinner each night. She managed to make some kind of conversation with Margaret Milford, who nervously tried to anticipate every wish. Through it all, she was duly grateful for David. Sometimes she felt as if she were drowning when she was surrounded by all the new strange faces and the battery of press that seemed to pop up everywhere. That was when she would cling to David . . . find relief in seeing the familiar face.
And there was always Sadie . . . waiting when she returned to the Pierre. She slept in the master bedroom now, on the side of the bed that Sadie said Mike used. And Sadie would know, because she had brought Dee’s coffee to her every morning.
Sadie also doled out Dr. Clifford’s sleeping pills each night. Two Seconals and some warm milk. At the end of the week, January found that lacing the milk with Jack Daniels brought instant sleep. And through it all, she called Tom constantly. She was never quite aware when she called him . . . or how many times. She called him when she woke up . . . whether it was in the morning or the middle of the night. Whenever she found herself alone, she reached for a phone and called him. He always consoled her, even though he sometimes sounded harassed or sleepy. A few times he gently accused her of being drunk.
But most of all, she liked to sleep. Because of the dream. It came every night. The shadowy vision of a beautiful man with aquamarine-colored eyes. She had dreamed of him once long ago, when she had first met Tom. It had been a disconcerting dream then, because somehow the man had reminded her of Mike. But once she and Tom became lovers, she had forgotten the dream. And when she was on Dr. Alpert’s shots she never dreamed because she never really fell into a deep sleep. But the dream had come again the first night she took the Seconals and the milk with the Jack Daniels. It had been an odd dream. She was in Mike’s arms and he was telling her he was still alive . . . that it had all been a mistake . . . another plane had crashed . . . he was fine. And then suddenly he fell from her arms and she saw him slip into the ocean . . . down . . . down . . . down . . . and just as she tried to go after him, she was caught by a pair of strong arms. It was Tom . . . holding her and telling her he would never leave her. And when she clung to him and told him how much she needed him . . . she saw that it wasn’t really Tom. He was like Tom . . . and he was like Mike . . . except for the eyes. The most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. And when she woke up she could still see the eyes. . . .