She stood very still. Another monotonous evening with her . . . She had said it! Until now it had always been another monotonous evening with David . . . but suddenly it was as if she had penetrated into his thought process. . . .
Of course she was monotonous and dull. All she did was try to get through an evening without yawning. Why should he want to spend every evening with her? Come to think of it, Patty hadn’t called in two days, and Vera had said something just today about not having time for lunch anymore—she was too busy buying last-minute things for her trip. She was a drag. A king-sized drag . . . And soon everyone would leave her.
She walked back to the bedroom and stared down at the park. The whole world was out there. A world Mike had given her on a platter and she couldn’t rouse herself to take it. What had happened to all that boundless energy she had with the magazine . . . with Linda . . . with Tom?
She stood very still. Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of it before! Instead of taking sleeping pills, she needed a shot! Tom had said they were bad for her. Well, they couldn’t be worse than sleeping pills and this zonked-out feeling of inertia. She looked at the clock . . . five-thirty. Dr. Alpert would still be in his office. She let the bath water go down the drain and dug into the back of the closet for a pair of blue jeans Sadie had tried to throw out. She got into them, pulled on a T-shirt, grabbed some dark glasses, a bag and dashed out.
She wouldn’t chance calling Dr. Alpert and being told to come the next day. They had to take her now.
At first she thought she was in the wrong office. It looked like a motorcycle club convention. Boys and girls sat slouched in jeans and sleeveless T-shirts. The smell of pot hung heavy in the room. The receptionist stared at January in amazement. Then she flashed a bright smile and held out her hand. “Congratulations. I mean . . . I’m sorry about your father, but congratulations on your fortune. I keep reading about you.”
“About me?”
“Of course. You’re in the columns everyday. Are you really going to Marbella or is it St. Tropez? I read you were practically engaged to David Milford.”
January couldn’t answer. She hadn’t read a newspaper since California. She knew there had been a lot in the paper about the funeral. But why were the columnists writing about her? Did having ten million dollars cause the world to suddenly be interested in where she went to lunch or where she planned to vacation?
She looked at the crowded waiting room. “I have no appointment,” she said.
“Oh, I’m sure we can work you in,” the receptionist said. “It’s always hectic at this hour. You see we have the cast of a big Broadway show here now. They come in every night at this hour.” She nodded toward the actors sitting around the waiting room. “But we’ll make an opening for you. Dr. Preston is back from the Coast. So we have both our doctors here now.”
“What happened to all his big clients out there?”
“Oh, he actually has no office out there. He just went because Freddie Dillson couldn’t sing unless Dr. Preston was backstage.”
“But last week . . . on the news on television . . . I saw Freddie being carried out to an ambulance.”
The receptionist nodded sadly. “He had a complete break-down . . . right in the middle of the show. And after Dr. Preston worked so hard—he stayed out there close to seven weeks trying to get him into shape, but Freddie’s voice is shot.”
“But he was so great,” January said. “I played his records all the time in Switzerland.”
“You should have seen him when he came here two years ago. His wife had walked out on him—he’s a big gambler you know—and he was broke. Dr. Preston took him in hand, and he opened at the Waldorf and made a spectacular comeback. Then he played Vegas and fell apart. Dr. Preston went out there to try and get him in shape for the Los Angeles opening . . . and he did. But he couldn’t stay with him forever. Dr. Preston isn’t a nursemaid, you know.”
“But if he needed the shots?”
The receptionist shugged. “My dear, Dr. Preston has taught two of our biggest senators to give themselves I.V. shots, but Freddie just couldn’t make that scene with the needle. I mean . . . after all . . . suppose one has diabetes . . . We must not be afraid of the needle.”
“I’d rather have Dr. Simon if I can,” January said.
“Well, he has the cast . . . but let’s see what we can do. I’ll tell you what . . . follow me and I’ll sneak you into an inside waiting room. That’s where we always put our V.I.P.’s.”
She followed the receptionist down a hall just as a young man walked out of a cubicle rolling down his sleeve. He stopped when he saw her. For a moment they both stared at each other. Then he threw his arms around her.
“Hey, heiress . . . What are you doing here?”
“Keith!” She hugged him eagerly. He was thinner and his hair was longer. She suddenly was so glad to see him. “Keith, what are you doing here?”
“I come here every night. I’m in Caterpillar. You’ve seen it, of course.”
“No . . . I’ve been away.”
“I’ve read about you. Wow, have you got it made! What do you need happy shots for?”
She shrugged. “No blood, I guess.”
“Well, anytime you want to see the show—” He stopped. “Say—” Then he shook his head. “Nah . . . forget it.”
“Forget what?”
“There’s a big party tonight. At Christina Spencer’s town house. She’d flip out if you’d come . . . But I guess you’re all booked up.”
“No . . . I’m free.”
“All evening?”
“As soon as I get my shot.”
“Want to see the show?”
“I’d love it.”
“Great! I’ll wait. I’ll put you out front, only this time I can’t sit with you.”
“And this time I won’t run out,” she said.
“There’s some nudity in it,” he said warningly.
“I’m a big girl now, Keith.”
“Okay. Get your happy shot. I’ll wait out there.”
Thirty
SHE SAT mesmerized by the frantic activity of the show. Keith had one song, which he “talked.” To her surprise he wasn’t very good. Somehow she had expected him to be more exciting on stage. But the vitality of his own personality never came across. There was one scene with frontal nudity. Keith was in that along with most of the cast. She was suddenly aware that everyone’s penis was the same size. About the size of David’s. Maybe that was standard. It looked as though most men came off the assembly line like that. Except Tom. Poor Tom! Wow, she could really feel sorry for him. Was it the shot? Or was she finally able to see things in their right perspective? She began to giggle. Imagine seeing a bunch of penises floating around on the stage, and here she was, philosophizing about life.
She thought of Mike. She knew he was gone . . . but suddenly she could accept it. For the first time she could think of Mike without feeling dead inside. Mike had lived a full life. As he would have put it—he went out in style. Mike had lived a bigtime life and he had enjoyed every minute of it . . . except, perhaps, the last year. And as Hugh had said, he had lived that year for her . . . so she could have many many good years.
Thank God for Hugh. And thank God for Dr. Alpert. Maybe the shots were bad for you; Tom had said they were. But it couldn’t be worse than all that Jack Daniels he consumed. He was fifty-eight, but even with all that bourbon, he could still write and be what Linda called a “superstar.” And with that small penis of his, he could still afford the luxury of letting her walk out of his life. Suddenly it struck her as being amusing. How had she ever felt so desolate because it was over? She felt alive and eager sitting in the audience. She was snapping her fingers to the beat. She could think clearly. She was sitting in the third row watching Caterpillar and enjoying herself. She wasn’t lying in bed at the Pierre taking sleeping pills. There was a world out here, a world where people were leaping about on the stage, girls baring their breasts in a frenzied ro
ck dance . . . and it all seemed just fine.
They decided to walk to the party after the show. Christina Spencer’s town house was in the East Sixties, and the night was warm and clear. January clung to Keith’s arm. She wanted to skip, to run . . . She stared at the dark sky. “Oh, Keith, isn’t it great to really feel good?”
He nodded. “Dr. Alpert probably gave you the full dose. He was so high himself tonight, he probably thought you were a member of the cast.”
She giggled. “Is that why he didn’t even talk to me? You know I felt bad that he didn’t even give me a ‘Welcome Home’ or a ‘Glad to see you.’”
Keith smiled and looked down at her. “Feel great, huh?”
“I feel like I can hear the trees grow, smell the summer coming . . . I can see the leaves growing. Keith, look at that tree—can’t you see that leaf getting bigger?”
He smiled. “You bet. And it’s important to see and feel all these things. There will only be this Thursday in June just once. Tomorrow will be Friday and this Thursday will never come back.”
“Why did you leave Linda?” she asked suddenly.
“Linda wanted too much of me.”
She nodded. No one could have all of anyone. That was why Tom had put her out of his life. She stopped and stared at the sky. This one minute, she felt on the brink of something . . . as if she could look into the future . . . understand everything . . . She turned to him. “Keith, can you get hooked on these shots?”
“No, but no matter how out of sight everything’s been, it’s a bad scene when it wears off. Because you drop to the bottom . . . and the colors are gone. You look up and realize there’s dust on the sun and brown on the leaves and shit in the street. Well, if you want to live in a dirty tired world, you can stop taking the shots. Everyone has the right to live the way they want—the Jesus Freaks have their bag, the nature freaks have their thing . . . I’m a speed freak, and as long as it makes everything green and orange . . . fine. And one day, maybe I won’t want it all to be technicolor, and on that day, maybe I’ll quit. But why should I right now?”
They had stopped in front of a brownstone on a tree-lined street. There were several limousines in front. Keith led January inside. She saw a well-known rock singer standing in the hall. They pushed into the living room. It was packed solid with familiar faces. Pop artists, underground movie stars, recording artists, several young screen actresses. There were blue jeans, velvet pants suits, see-through blouses, striped jackets, and a sprinkling of Indian outfits.
And there was Christina Spencer. She floated toward them, her much photographed face a bit toothier in person. Her figure even more fantastic than the photographs showed. She had to be in her late fifties. Her face was taut from several lifts. She wore a midriff outfit of flowered silk. Her full breasts peeked above the low-cut neckline. She had the body of a twenty-year-old.
She welcomed January warmly. “I knew your father, my dear. We had a few gorgeous nights together once in Acapulco. That was right before I met dear Geoffrey.”
Keith steered January away. “Personally, I think she killed Geoffrey,” he whispered. “She’s married three times and each husband died and left her more money. And with her luck she backs Caterpillar with her own money and it’s a smash.”
“I thought you were her lover,” January said.
“Oh, I balled her. But she spreads herself around. She needs a new young lover every week to prove to herself that the doctor from Brazil who tightened everything did a good job. But she’s not bad. And what the hell . . . she lets everyone do their own number. Maybe I am top boy, but tonight she thinks I’m balling you . . . and she’s not mad . . .”
A girl walked over to Keith. “Baby . . . the sangria is out of sight, it’s in the den upstairs.”
Keith led January upstairs into a dark sitting room. Everyone was sitting on cushions. He pulled January to the floor and reached into his pocket and took out a skinny cigarette. He lit it and passed it to her. She inhaled deeply and let the smoke out in a thin stream. “Jesus, baby . . . you’re smoking it like it was a Chesterfield.”
“I inhaled it,” she said.
“But with grass you’re not supposed to let the smoke out. You got to take air in with it.” He held it between his middle fingers and illustrated the technique. She tried . . . but couldn’t keep the smoke down. Suddenly he said, “Hold still. I’ll give you a shotgun.” Then he leaned over to kiss her, only he blew the smoke into her mouth and held her nose. “Now swallow it.” She gagged, but kept most of it down. He did it twice again and she began to feel giddy and light-headed. Then he lit another and this time she inhaled properly. A beautiful young girl came over carrying a pitcher of sangria. “Here’s some paper cups. Want some great stuff?”
Keith nodded and took the cups she handed them. “This is Arlene, January.”
“Drink the wine . . . you’ll blow your mind . . . Anita is strung out in the other room.”
January sipped the wine. “It’s great,” she said.
“Sip it slowly,” Keith said. “It’s laced heavy.”
“What?” She put down the cup.
“Relax. There’s just enough acid in it for a good trip. Trust me. Look, we all have the show to do tomorrow. I’m drinking it . . . Just sip it slowly.”
She looked around. The sweet smell of pot was everywhere. Music was piped into all the rooms. Everyone was sipping the sangria. She shrugged . . . why not? Everyone here had done it before . . . and they seemed eager to do it again. The sensation had to be great. Besides, as Keith had said, there would only be this Thursday in June, once in her life!
She finished the wine. Then she handed him the empty cup. She leaned against his shoulder. She felt no great reaction . . . just totally relaxed. She had been taut from the shot, taut and high . . . overactive . . . Now everything seemed calm and tranquil. That was a funny word . . . tranquil . . . but the whole world seemed tranquil . . . she felt warm and saw the sun . . . then a rainbow of color flashed by and hung over water. She saw waves and the ocean . . . and it seemed soft and blue and she suddenly knew with a strange clarity that Mike had felt no fear when the plane went down . . . he had almost welcomed slipping into that soft blue sea . . . he would rest . . . just as she was resting her head against Keith’s shoulder . . . and Mike hadn’t died . . . nothing ever died . . . life existed always . . . and people were good . . . Keith’s lips were warm . . . Keith was kissing her . . . he was unbuttoning her shirt and she had no bra on . . . but it didn’t matter . . . everything seemed to be going in slow motion now . . . maybe it wasn’t right for her to kiss Keith . . . because Linda had loved him . . . had . . . had . . . everything was so long ago and nothing was forever.
She leaned back on the cushions. Keith’s lips were on her breasts. She saw a girl completely naked dancing alone . . . a boy was naked and he held another boy close to him and they danced. Arlene floated through the room and turned a switch . . . psychedelic lights floated against the walls. January rolled over and put her head in Keith’s lap. He sat there gazing into space stroking her breasts. She stared up into his face, but she knew he didn’t see her . . . he was listening to sounds of his own. It seemed as if she could actually see his hair getting darker . . . and everything was so still that even through the music she could hear her own heart beating, and suddenly she felt she could see the past and the future. The future without Mike. It was as if God was opening the heavens for a moment. And then she saw him . . . his blue eyes. He had come back. She stretched out her arms. He had been away so long . . . and now he had come back and she wasn’t asleep. His eyes were so blue . . . maybe it was God. Did God have blue eyes . . .
She heard voices . . . they seemed so far away. One of the voices came from a young man standing near Keith. Norton . . . yes . . . he had done a big number in the show. Norton was smiling down at her . . . but she stared past him . . . where had God gone . . . Norton’s eyes were brown . . . amber brown . . . golden brown.
“Man, h
er tits are small but beautiful . . . such tiny pink nipples . . . I dig pink nipples. Man . . . can I have them?”
And then Norton was stroking one breast and Keith had knelt down and was stroking the other. They each kissed one . . . and it was sweet and friendly and she held both their heads. Everyone loved one another . . . everything was so peaceful . . . and Christina came over . . . she had taken off the top of her dress . . . her breasts were hanging. Why were they hanging? They had been so nice and round sticking out of her dress. Christina reached down and pulled Norton’s arm. “Norton, come with Arlene and me . . .” She pulled Norton to his feet. Another boy walked over. He smiled at Keith. “Hi, man. She’s outta sight . . .” He knelt down and looked into January’s eyes. “I’m Ricky. . . .”
She smiled and touched his legs. “You did the dance . . .” Ricky had no clothes on . . . he had worn very little in the show . . . but now he had no clothes on . . . he started moving his body . . . doing the dance from the show . . . he held out his hands . . . he wanted her to do the dance with him. She got up slowly . . . she felt she could do anything . . . even fly across the room . . . float over everyone’s head.
“You can’t dance with clothes on,” he said.
She smiled as she dropped the jeans to the floor. Then she stepped out of her pants. He slid his hands down her body and she smiled. She felt free . . . she moved sensuously . . . in rhythm to his movements . . . following all of Ricky’s gyrations. They were a foot apart with their eyes locked together. He moved closer. Everyone began to clap in a far-away rhythm to their movements. She raised her hands over her head and joined in. Clap . . . Clap . . . Clap . . . Ricky snapped his fingers to the same beat. Keith came behind her and lifted her . . . she felt lighter than air. Someone was spreading her legs . . . Everyone was clapping . . . slowly . . . in rhythm . . . Clap . . . Clap . . . Clap . . . She was clapping . . . She saw the strong young penis coming toward her . . . Clap . . . Clap . . . Clap . . . Ricky’s penis . . . Clap . . . Clap . . . Clap . . . it was a chant . . . the penis moved into her. Everyone chanted . . . Fuck . . . Fuck . . . Fuck . . . Keith was moving her body back and forth . . . a group was holding Ricky too. . . . Fuck . . . Fuck . . . Fuck. . . . Nothing wrong with it . . . The young penis entered . . . in and out . . . in and out . . . in and out . . . Clap . . . Clap . . . Clap . . . Fuck . . . Fuck . . . Fuck . . . everyone is a friend . . . Fuck . . . Fuck . . . Fuck . . . Lights going . . . Christina kissing her breasts . . . nice friendly gesture . . . poor Christina with long hanging breasts . . . across the room she saw several girls take off their clothes . . . all in a slow rhythmic movement . . . Another boy came by and kissed her breasts . . . Everyone loved everyone . . . it was nice and good . . . Clap . . . Clap . . . Clap . . . ritualistic clap . . . clap . . . clap . . . fuck . . . fuck . . . fuck . . . suck . . . suck . . . suck . . . everyone was loving her. Oh God, it was wonderful . . . She was floating . . . she had never felt anything like this before . . . Ricky’s penis . . . someone’s lips on her and on Ricky’s penis at the same time . . Christina at her breast . . . She felt the orgasm coming . . . she saw Keith hold something under her nose . . . Fuck . . . Fuck . . . Fuck. . . . “Sniff hard, January . . . it’s a popper.” She breathed deeply . . . her head felt like it was coming off . . . and the orgasm was lasting forever and ever. She wanted it to go on and on . . . on and on. . . . . “Oh, Mike, I love you,” she shouted. Then she passed out.