A week later he went to a sneak preview on Eighty-sixth Street. The same crowd was there, along with college kids and young married advertising executives. The audience cheered.
Three weeks later it opened, and broke box-office records all over the country. That really rocked him. Because it meant he really didn’t know what was good or bad. Not in today’s market. Three years ago he could call the shots. Studios had believed in him . . . and more important, he had believed in himself.
It was time to walk away from the table. Mike Wayne was tapped out. How had the chemistry changed in such a short time? He looked the same, thought the same. Maybe that was it. He hadn’t gone along with all the changes, the nudity, plays and movies without plots, the new trend of Unisex. Well, he was fifty-two. He had lived through some great times. He had known what it was like to walk down Broadway without worrying about getting mugged. He had known New York when it had nightclubs and lines of beautiful girls, not just porno movies and massage parlors. But most of all he was sad—because this was the world she was coming back to.
He sat in the V.I.P. Lounge and stared at the gray sky. She was flying home through that leaden muck. He had always promised her a bright shining world. Well, goddammit, he was keeping that promise.
The smiling hostess was back. She announced that Flight Seven was arriving. He had arranged for January to receive courtesy of the port. An official would be waiting to whisk her through customs. Hell, what could a kid who had spent three years in hospitals have to declare? He walked out of the lounge and never noticed that the hostess had leaped up to say goodbye. Ordinarily he would have turned on the charm because she was a pretty girl. But for the first time in his life, Mike Wayne was scared.
He spotted her the moment she walked into the airport. Hell, you couldn’t miss her. Tall, tan, long hair swinging—she would have caught his eye even if she wasn’t his daughter. She seemed oblivious of the men who turned to look at her. A little man was walking double time to keep up with her long strides as her eyes scanned the airport. Then she saw Mike and suddenly he was enveloped in bear hugs, kisses, and she was laughing and crying together.
“Oh, Daddy, you look super! Do you realize I haven’t seen you since June? Oh, wow! It’s so wonderful to be home again . . . to be with you.”
“You look great, babe.”
“You too! And . . . oh . . . this is Mr. Higgens.” She turned and introduced the little man. “He’s been so nice to me. I never even had to open my bag and . . .”
Mike shook hands with the customs official, who was carrying her overnight case. “I’m very grateful, Mr. Higgens.” He took the bag. “Now if you’ll tell me where the rest of my daughter’s luggage is, I’ll arrange to have it brought to the car.”
“That’s all there is, Mr. Wayne. And it was a pleasure. And such a pleasure to meet you, Miss Wayne.” He shook hands with both of them and disappeared into the crowd.
Mike held up the overnight bag. “This is it?”
“Yup! I’m wearing my best outfit . . . do you like it?” She stood off and spun around. “I got it in Zurich. They said everyone was wearing pants suits and this suede outfit cost me three hundred dollars.”
“It’s beautiful. But—” He stared down at the small bag he was carrying. “No other clothes?”
She laughed. “Oh, that’s loaded with clothes. Like three pairs of jeans, a couple of faded shirts, some sweaters, sneakers, and oh . . . a gorgeous shortie nightgown I got in Zurich. I ran out of money or I would have bought the robe to go with it. But other than that little omission, I’m practically set for any emergency.”
“We’ll take care of the clothes tomorrow.”
She tucked her arm through his as they walked to the exit. “I saw so many different skirt lengths on the plane. Mike, what are people wearing?”
“Mike?” He stared at her. “Where did Daddy go?”
“Oh, you’re too gorgeous to be called Daddy. You are gorgeous, you know. I like the sideburns . . . and the gray in them.”
“They’re white; and I’m a dignified elderly gentleman.”
“That’ll be the day. Hey, look, that girl is wearing an Indian outfit. Think she’s part of some act or something—with the headband and the braids and all?”
“Come on, you know how kooky everyone is dressing today,” he said.
“How would I know? Most of my friends wore bathrobes.”
He stopped suddenly and looked at her. “Holy Christ, that’s right. No TV . . . no nothing?”
“No nothing.”
He led her outside to the car. “Well, everyone dresses like they’re going to a costume party today. That is, kids your age.” But she wasn’t listening. She was staring at the car. Then she let out a low whistle. “Wow . . . I’m impressed.”
“You’ve been in limos before.”
“I spent my life in them. But this is not just a limo—this is really super.” She tossed him a smile of approval. “A silver Rolls-Royce—the only way a girl should travel.” She got in and nodded. “Pret-ty nice . . . chauffeur’s uniform matches upholstery . . . a telephone . . . a bar . . . all the necessities of life if you’re Mike Wayne.” Then she threw her arms around him. “Oh, Daddy . . . I’m so glad for you.” She leaned back as the car inched its way out of the airport. She sighed. “It’s so great to be back. If you only knew how many times I’ve dreamed of this moment. Even when I felt it could never happen, I kept dreaming the dream—of walking into your arms, of us together in New York. And it’s all happening just as I dreamed it. Nothing’s changed.”
“You’re wrong, baby. A lot has changed. Especially New York.”
She pointed to the traffic as their car slipped into the speed lane. “This hasn’t changed. And I love it all—the traffic, the noise, the crowds, even the smog. It’s just so wonderful after all that sanitary snow in Switzerland. I can’t wait until we go to the theater. I want to walk through Shubert Alley . . . see the trucks pull out of the Times Building . . . I want to get my nice clean lungs all polluted.”
“That’ll happen. But first we have a lot of catching up to do.”
She nestled against him. “We sure do. I want to sit at our table at Sardi’s . . . I can’t wait to see Hair . . . I want to walk down Fifth Avenue . . . see the clothes. But tonight, I just want to stay in and do the caviar and champagne scene. I know it’s no birthday. But you’ve got to admit it’s one hell of an occasion. And most of all I want to know all about your big hit picture.”
“My hit picture? Who told you that?”
“No one. But I know how you operate. When I got all those postcards from Spain this summer with mysterious hints of a big new project . . . well, I knew it had to be a picture and you were afraid of jinxing it by telling me. But now . . . when I see all this—” she waved her hand. “Well, come on—tell me about it.”
He looked at her. And this time he didn’t smile. “You tell me something. Are you still the most resilient girl in the world? Because you’re gonna find a lot of changes and—”
“We’re together,” she said. “And as long as that never changes, nothing else matters. Now tell me—is it a movie or a play? And can I work with you? In any capacity—a walk-on, a script girl, a gofer . . .”
“January, did it ever occur to you that there are better things in life than the theater and tagging along after me?”
“Name one.”
“Well, like you finding the right guy . . . getting married . . . making me a proud grandpa . . .”
She laughed. “Not for a long time. Listen—beside you sits a lady who has spent three years just learning to walk and talk again.” She reached out and touched his face tenderly. “Oh, Mike . . .” Her sigh was happy. “I want to do all the things we’ve always dreamed of doing together.”
“Sometimes we change our dreams,” he said. “Or perhaps I should say . . . exchange them.”
“Fine. What have you in mind?”
“Well, as you know, I was in Spain,” he
said slowly. “But it wasn’t for a movie.”
“A TV series,” she said. “That’s what it is! Right?”
He looked out of the window. His words were measured. “I’ve made some pretty good moves in my life and this is about the best I’ve ever made. I’ve got some big surprises for you. Tonight you’re going to—”
She cut in. “Oh, Mike, please, no surprises tonight. Just us and the champagne. If you knew how many months I’ve dreamed of being with you in our suite at the Plaza, looking out at the park, seeing my old wishing hill and toasting to—”
“Will you settle for the Pierre?”
“What happened to the Plaza?”
“Mayor Lindsay donated it to the pigeons.”
She smiled, but he saw the disappointment in her eyes. “The view is almost the same,” he said quickly. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to forget about your wishing hill. Drunks and junkies have claimed it now. Along with a few large dogs who use it as a lavatory. Everyone has large dogs now. Not for pets—for protection.” He knew he was talking too much. He stopped and stared at the approaching skyline, the uneven beauty of the buildings shrouded in smog. Lights beginning to glow in tiny square windows . . . evening in New York.
And then the skyline was gone and they merged into New York’s traffic. As they made their way down Sixtieth Street, Mike called out to the driver. “Stop at that cigar store on the corner opposite Bloomingdale’s.” They pulled up and before the chauffeur could get out, Mike jumped out of the car. “I’m out of cigarettes.” He turned to the chauffeur. “You can’t double-park here. Drive Miss Wayne around the block. I’ll be out by then.”
He was standing on the corner when the car rounded the block. He lit a cigarette when he got into the car. Suddenly he extended the pack as an afterthought. “Do you?”
“No, I don’t. But did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Make the call.”
“What call?”
She laughed. “Oh, Mike . . . there’s a whole carton of cigarettes right here in the bar area of the car.”
His jaw tightened. “Okay . . what call did I make?”
She slipped her arm through his. “To order the caviar and champagne. I could tell by your face that you forgot.”
He sighed. “Maybe I forgot a lot of things.”
She put her fingers across his lips. “Just tell me one thing. Did I guess right about your call?”
“Yep, you guessed right.”
Her voice was soft. “Mike, you haven’t forgotten anything.”
When she opened her eyes, she thought she was still at the Clinique. But the darkness in the room was unfamiliar; the dark shapes of the furniture were different. And then consciousness took over and she realized she was in her new bedroom at the Pierre. She switched on the lamp on the night table. Midnight. That meant she had been asleep only two hours. She stretched and looked around the bedroom. It really was beautiful. It didn’t look like a hotel bedroom at all. The entire suite was luxurious and huge. Bigger than anything Mike had ever had. He had explained the hotel had co-op apartments and some people sublet their suites. Well, the people who owned this one sure had taste. The living room had been so beautiful when she arrived. Candlelight, caviar, and champagne all iced, the velvet darkness of the park so many stories below. Then they had toasted one another, eaten the caviar . . . And, after just one glass of champagne she had suddenly gotten drowsy. He had noticed it immediately. “Look, babe, it’s only nine o’clock here, but by Swiss time it’s two or three in the morning. You go right to bed. I’ll take a little walk . . get the papers . . . watch some TV and turn in early too.”
“But we haven’t talked about you . . . what you’re doing . . . or anything.”
“Tomorrow.” His voice had been firm. “We meet in the living room at nine and have breakfast together and do a lot of talking.”
“But Mike—”
“Tomorrow.” Again that strange quality in his voice. Almost like a cut-off. An odd new hardness. The way it had been with the photographer in the lobby who had snapped a picture of them. He had seemed like a nice young man. He had followed them to the elevator and said, “Tell me, Mr. Wayne, how does your daughter feel being the—”
But he had never finished the question. Mike Wayne pushed January into the elevator and snapped, “Beat it. This is no time for any on-the-spot interview.”
She thought about the incident now. The whole thing had been so unlike her father. To him publicity had always been a way of life. She had been on the cover of a national magazine with him when she was nine. And she had felt so sorry for the young man in the lobby.
When she had asked her father about it, he shrugged. “Maybe Rome did it to me. I don’t go for these guys who take pictures on spec—pictures that can turn up anywhere, in any cheap magazine. I’m all for giving an authorized interview or posing for a photographer for pictures to accompany a story. But I don’t like guys popping out from dark corners at me.”
“But he was waiting in the lobby. He looked very nice.”
“Forget it.” (Again that cold determined cut-off tone.) Then he had opened the champagne. When she toasted and said, “To us,” he shook his head. “No . . . to you. It’s your time now, and I’m here to see that you get it.”
She lay in the dark bedroom. She had the whole night ahead of her. She should try to go back to sleep. But she was wide awake and thirsty. She was always thirsty after caviar. She slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom. The tap water was lukewarm. She decided to forget it and got back into bed. She switched on the dial of the radio beside her bed to an album station. She was just drifting off to sleep when the commercial break came, and an enthusiatic announcer began his pitch on a new diet cola. The way he began to sell that damn soda—suddenly she had to have a glass of cold water!
She got out of bed. There was a big kitchen in the suite. She could get some ice . . . She started for the door and stopped. She had no robe! And she was wearing the short see-through nightgown. She opened the bedroom door cautiously and called out, “Daddy?”
The living room was empty. She tiptoed out. She looked into the darkness of the dining room . . . the large den . . . and down some long corridor off the kitchen. Mike had said there were servants’ quarters. But the apartment was empty. She went to his bedroom door and knocked. Then she opened it. Empty. For a fleeting second she thought of Rome . . . and Melba. But he wouldn’t do that, not on her first night home. He had probably gone for a walk and run into some friends. She went into the kitchen. The refrigerator was stacked with Cokes, 7-Up, ginger ale, along with every kind of sugar-free diet soda. She took a Coke and poured it into a glass. Then she ambled into the living room. She stood staring out at the park. The tiny sparkling lights gave it a Christmas-tree effect. It was impossible to believe there was anything to fear in that soft darkness.
Then she heard the click. Her father was fitting the key into the lock. Her first impulse was to run and greet him. Then she looked down at her nightgown. It was ridiculous to have bought something so short and sheer. But after three years of flannel pajamas at the Clinique, the sheer gown had been a symbol. Part of being well . . . and leaving. Well, she’d better tell him to keep his eyes closed and lend her one of his robes.
The door opened and she heard the woman’s voice. Oh, good Lord . . . he had company. She looked frantically across the long living room. If she tried to make it back to her bedroom, she’d have to pass the foyer and run right into them. The nearest door led to his bedroom. She dashed inside just as they came into the living room. His bedroom was dark. Oh, God . . . where was the light? She groped along the wall searching for the switch.
“Mike, this is absolutely ridiculous for me to have to sneak in here.” The woman’s voice was petulant. “After all, she’s not a child.”
“Dee”—his voice was firm but cajoling. “You’ve got to understand. For three years she looked forward to the way she wanted to spend her first night back.
”
The woman sighed. “But how do you think I felt when you called and told me to get out of the apartment after I had gone to such pains, getting the best caviar, the right champagne. It was going to be my ‘getting to know January night.’ Instead I’m dismissed like some chorus girl. Thank God I was able to catch David. We sat in that bar at the Sherry for hours. I’m sure I dragged him out of the arms of some beautiful young thing—”
“Come here,” Mike said softly.
There was silence, and January knew he was kissing the woman. She didn’t know what to do. It was wrong to stand in the darkness and listen. If only she had a robe.
Her father spoke softly. “January and I are having breakfast tomorrow. I want to have a long talk with her before you two meet. But believe me, I was right . . . handling it the way I did tonight.”
“But Mike—”
“No buts. Come on, we’ve wasted too much time already.”
The woman laughed. “Oh, Mike, you’ve ruined my hair. Oh, would you be a love and pick up my purse . . . I left it on the table near the hall.”
January stood very still. They were coming into the bedroom! The door opened and there was a sudden burst of light as the woman flicked on the wall switch. For a split second they both stared at one another. For some reason January felt she looked strangely familiar. She was tall and slim with frosted hair and incredibly beautiful skin. The woman recovered first and called out, “Mike . . . come on in. We seem to have company.”
January didn’t move. She didn’t like the funny smile of composure on the woman’s face, as if she had the situation well in hand and had her next move planned.