That night she snuggled against him in bed but he pushed her away.
She bit her lip in the darkness. “I want a baby, Hudson.” She put her arms around him and tried to kiss him. He turned his head. “Okay, but cut the love crap, honey. We’re playing for babies now—so let’s fuck.”
She went to the doctor when she had missed her second period. He called her the following day and congratulated her. She was six weeks pregnant. She decided to wait a few weeks before breaking the news to Hudson.
A few nights later they were having one of their rare evenings at home alone. He was quiet throughout dinner. But the surliness that had become part of his personality was not in evidence. He was calm, thoughtful. He was almost gentle when he suggested they go upstairs to the den and have an after-dinner drink. He sat on the couch and watched her as she poured the brandy. He took his glass, sipped it thoughtfully, then said, “Can you get away from your little television chores in about three months?”
“I could get a leave—but why?”
“I’ve told Dad you’re pregnant.”
She looked at him in amazement. Then she realized Dr. Blazer had probably told him. She had told the doctor she wanted to keep it a secret because of her work but he probably never thought she wanted to keep it from Hudson. This accounted for his new mood. Her smile was filled with relief. Her instinct had been right. A baby would change things. “Hudson, there’s no need to go away. I could work almost up to the date if the camera just gets head shots of me.”
He looked at her curiously. “And how do we explain to Dad and to everyone your nice flat tummy?”
“But I’ll—”
“We can’t fake it. Everyone has to think it’s the real thing. Even Bud and Lucy. One slipup, and Dad will find out. I’ve got it all worked out. We tell him we want a trip around the world as a pregnancy present. Because after the child is born, we won’t feel free to leave it. Then we’ll say it was premature and have it born in Paris.”
“I don’t understand, Hudson. I want my baby born here.”
His old sneer returned. “Don’t get carried away with the game. I merely told him you were pregnant. That doesn’t make it so.”
He got up and poured himself another glass of brandy. “I’ve made all the arrangements. We can get a baby in Paris. The doctor I talked to has a contact there. They even match the looks of both parents. There are three babies up for adoption that will be born in seven months. We just pay all the mother’s hospitalization, first class. The mother turns the baby over immediately—she never even sees it or knows what sex it is, or who gets it. I’ve asked for a boy. Then we get a new birth certificate and it’s made out as our baby. And the lucky little bastard not only nets us a million, but comes up with dual citizenship if he wants it. Then we return to America in triumph.”
She laughed with relief. She got up from the couch and walked over to him. “Hudson, now it’s my turn for a surprise. All these elaborate plans—you don’t need them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I really am pregnant.”
“Say that again,” he snapped.
“I’m pregnant” She didn’t like the way he was staring at her.
His hand lashed across her face. “Bitch! Whose is it?”
“It’s mine, ours—” She felt her lip begin to swell, and the taste of blood in her mouth. He came closer and grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Tell me, you whore—whose bastard are you trying to pass off on me?” His hand whipped across her face again. “Tell me, or I’ll beat it out of you!”
She broke from him and ran out of the room. He dashed after her and caught her in the hall. “Tell me! Whose bastard are you carrying?”
“What difference does it make to you?” she sobbed. “You were willing to take someone else’s in Paris; at least this is mine.”
The anger suddenly drained from his face. A slow smile came to his lips. He pushed her back into the den. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. You bet I’ll let you have it. In fact you’re going to have one every year, for the next ten years. Then if you’re a good girl, I’ll give you a divorce with a nice fat alimony.”
“No.” She sat on the couch and looked at him with a calm she didn’t feel. “It’s not going to work. I won’t raise my baby in an atmosphere of hate between us. I want a divorce now.”
“I won’t give you a dime.”
“You don’t have to,” she said wearily. “I’ll live with my family. I’ll make enough on television to provide for the baby.”
“Not when I get through with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“That baby means a million bucks to me. Either you have it, and give it to me, or you’ll never work again. I’ll smear you through every newspaper. You’ll be through on TV and your family won’t be able to face anyone in this town.”
She put her head in her hands. “Oh, Hudson, why? Why did it have to be like this? I made a mistake—one night, one man. It never happened before. It will never happen again. I wanted it to work with us. But you’ve made me so miserable, I didn’t even feel like a woman with you. Perhaps what I did was wrong. I’m not going to bring up the things I know about you.” Her voice broke. “I thought we still had a chance. I guess I was crazy, but I thought it would make you happy having a baby. I thought it might bring us together. And that once the strain was off you, we’d have more babies—babies of our own—”
“You idiot! Can’t I get it through to you? I’m sterile!” he yelled. “I took tests last week—I’m sterile, I can never make babies!”
“But what about those abortions you paid for?”
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
He pulled her off the couch. “So you had detectives on me!” He slapped her face. “Well, I was taken! All those broads I paid off who said I knocked them up—they took me! Like you just tried to do. But now I know: I’m sterile.”
She pulled away from him. Her tears streaked her face and she knew her lip was cut. But she felt sorry for him. She started to leave the room. He grabbed her roughly. “Where are you going?”
“To pack,” she said quietly. “I can’t stay in this house with you.”
“Why?” he said nastily. “You stayed all along when you knew what I was up to—we’re even now. Two of a kind. It might even work better this way. We’ll each go our own way—as long as my father never hears about it.”
“I don’t want to live like that.”
“Then how do you account for the little bastard in your belly?”
“I knew about you … and all your girls. Then I met someone. I don’t know how it happened. I guess I needed someone who cared—even if it was just one night. To know he cared for me … was aware that I existed … even if it was just for a few hours.”
He slapped her again. “This is what you need?” His hand shot across her face again. Her head rocked back in pain. Then with one quick dart she broke from him and ran out of the room. He ran after her. “I’ll beat the hell out of you—is that what you were looking for? I used to beat Sherry with a strap, she liked it.” He began to unstrap his belt.
She screamed and hoped the servants would hear. She ran down the hall. His belt was in his hand—the alligator belt she had given him for Christmas. He lashed out at her. It caught her in the neck. She saw the hate and perversion on his face and knew real terror. She backed away from him and screamed. Where were the servants? He was insane! The belt hit her face, just missing her eye. He could blind her! She backed away in panic and felt herself falling backwards down the stairs. She hoped in that split second she might break her neck and die instantly and never have to see his face again. And then she was lying there at the bottom of the stairs. Hudson was staring at her legs. She felt the first clutch of pain. She clung to her stomach. She felt the blood running down her legs. Then she felt the slap of his hand across her face. “You dirty bitch—you’ve just leaked away a million dollars.”
It was s
uddenly cold on the terrace. She walked into the living room and poured herself a Scotch. It all seemed to have happened in another world, yet it was barely two years ago. She dimly recalled the jangling of the ambulance, the week in the hospital, the way no one had questioned the lacerations on her face and neck, the polite way the doctor pretended to believe it was a result of the accidental fall—and the fight everyone put up about her decision for an immediate divorce. Everyone but Hudson. Her mother thought she was having a nervous breakdown. Losing a baby often did that. Even Lucy had pleaded with her to reconsider.
She had decided on Florida for the divorce. It would take three months, and she wanted the sun and time to rest, time to heal the hurt she felt—help her plan a new start. She took a leave of absence from the station.
Although Hudson’s attorneys had agreed to pay all the divorce costs, including her stay in Florida, she took a small apartment, and lived frugally. After two months, she felt no hurt—just emptiness: Hudson no longer existed; but she was young and her strength returned, and soon the idleness began to pall.
She applied at the local TV station. Andy Parino had put her on immediately. She liked Andy. She wanted to care. To care meant you were alive. They drifted into an easy comfortable love affair. Andy made her feel good—made her enjoy being a woman. But Hudson had killed or destroyed some part of her. The part that made her really care.
After a few months, she felt secure. Andy cared for her and she liked her job. It was time to throw off this self-induced lethargy. Time to feel—to dream and hope—and she had tried, but nothing happened. It was as if Hudson had paralyzed all her emotions. When Andy asked her to marry him, she refused.
And now tonight, for the first time, she had felt the stirring of life. She was going to see Robin Stone again. She couldn’t wait to see the expression in his eyes when they met… .
NINETEEN
MAGGIE SAT at the Gold Coast bar and wondered if she looked as nervous as she felt. Andy had spent the day on the golf course with Robin. Robin had told him to assign his seven o’clock news to a staff announcer for the next few days. She looked at her watch—they should be here any second. She lit a cigarette and suddenly realized she had a fresh one going in the ashtray. She hastily stubbed it out. She felt like a schoolgirl—a schoolgirl waiting to come face to face with her first love. But she was nervous. Any second Andy would walk in with Robin Stone, and they would meet. She stubbed out the second cigarette.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror across the bar. The even tan of her skin blended into the beige silk dress. Her skin had been so white in Philadelphia. When Robin had let his hands run over her breasts, he had said, “White, white, mother-white skin.” But the tan was more flattering. She knew she was beautiful. She had always known it. But she regarded it as merely a statistic: one was either tall or short, homely or beautiful. Until now, her beauty had not given her any pleasure. If anything, it had caused disaster. But tonight she was suddenly glad she was beautiful. She had dressed carefully—the dress matching the tone of her skin seemed to emphasize the green of her eyes. Cat’s eyes. Andy called her his black panther. Tonight she felt like a panther—taut, crouched, ready to spring!
It had been her idea to meet here. She didn’t want a jumbled meeting in the dark of a car. She wanted them both to walk in. She wanted to see Robin’s look of surprise… . This time she would have command of the situation.
She was just finishing her drink when she saw Andy come through the door—alone. She kept her face impassive as he joined her at the bar and ordered a Scotch. She was damned if she’d ask. But where was he!
“Sorry I’m late, Maggie,” Andy said.
“That’s all right.” Finally she couldn’t stand it. “Where’s your friend?”
“The big TV star?” Andy took a long swallow of his drink.
“Isn’t he coming?” She wanted to kill Andy for making her draw it out of him.
“Maybe. You should see the commotion he caused at the Diplomat—you’d think he was Cary Grant. Seems like everyone watches that show of his, at least everyone we ran into on the golf course.”
Maggie lit another cigarette. She had never allowed herself to watch Robin’s show. That had been a part of the cure. Like not thinking about Hudson or the past. Of course he was famous now. That had never occurred to her before.
“On every hole he had to stop and sign an autograph,” Andy was saying. (She could still recall how he had tried to hide his annoyance at the Bellevue when he was forced to sign those menus.)
“It was a big bore,” Andy went on, “until the little blonde caught up with him on the seventeenth hole.”
She snapped to attention. “Who?”
Andy shrugged. “A guest at the hotel. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty. She left her own foursome to get Robin’s autograph and never rejoined them. She walked the rest of the way with us, right down to the eighteenth hole.” Andy laughed. “Betty Lou, yeah, that’s her name.” He raised his glass. “Here’s to Betty Lou—she earned me twenty bucks.” He took a long swallow of his drink and went on.
“She came on so strong for Robin that she made him forget the game. When he sees a good-looking broad it’s like a radar beam, and dear little Betty Lou laid it right on the line. Robin dug her. He also dug a big divot, landed in a trap and wound up taking a seven on the hole. Until then he had been only four over par. That’s how I won my twenty bucks. Let’s go inside, I’m starving.”
They were about to order when Andy was called to the phone. He returned with a grin. “The great lover is on his way.”
It was almost nine o’clock when Maggie saw Robin stride into the restaurant. He looked clean and fresh. Then she saw the little blond girl. Maggie knew instantly that she had been to bed with Robin. Her hair had lost its shape and her makeup looked patched.
Andy stood up. “Hi, Betty Lou.” He hugged her like a lifelong buddy. Then he turned. “This is Maggie Stewart. Maggie, Robin Stone.”
He looked at her with an easy smile. “Andy tells me you also play golf. You’ll have to come with us one afternoon.”
“I have a twenty-five handicap,” she said. “I’m afraid I’m not in your league.”
“Oh, that’s the same as me,” Betty Lou pealed. “We can have a real foursome.”
Robin ordered two vodka martinis. Betty Lou acted as if she not only owned Robin Stone but had known him all her life. Robin was casually attentive. He lit her cigarette, ignored her in conversation, yet intuitively let her know that he was glad she was with him. Maggie saw him reach for the girl’s hand and occasionally flash her a grin, but his entire conversation was directed to Andy.
Suddenly Maggie wondered if Betty Lou had been an intentional ruse on Robin’s part, to make the “confrontation” easier. Andy must have told him about their relationship.
In an effort to go along with Robin, Betty Lou joined him in a second martini. The first one had left its mark. The second was lethal. By the end of dinner, she was leaning on her elbow, her hair falling into the spaghetti. She looked at everyone with glazed eyes. Robin suddenly noticed her condition. “Too much sun and golf, sometimes that’s a bad combination with alcohol.”
Maggie liked his defense of the girl he had just met. They all helped her out of the restaurant and piled her into Robin’s car. After they dropped Betty Lou off, Robin insisted they go to the Diplomat for a nightcap.
They sat at a small table. Robin toasted Andy. “To you, chum—thanks for the first vacation I’ve had in years. And to your lovely lady.” He looked at Maggie. Their eyes met. Her stare was challenging but his blue eyes returned an innocent gaze. Then he said, “I’ve been hearing nothing but raves about you. You’re every bit as lovely as Andy said. And your report on the UFOs fascinates me. I read it today. Where’d you get the information, and how do you know so much about the subject?”
“I’ve always been fascinated with it,” she answered.
“Let’s all meet at your off
ice tomorrow at eleven, Andy. You and Miss—” He stopped and looked at Maggie. He seemed to draw a blank.
“Maggie,” Andy said quietly. “Maggie Stewart.”
Robin smiled. “I’m awful with names. Well, let’s all meet and kick this thing around. See if there’s a network show in it.”
They finished their drink and said good night in the lobby. Maggie watched Robin stride to the elevator.
She was silent as they drove away. In the darkness of the car Andy said, “Look, don’t be hurt because Robin forgot your name. That’s the way he is. Unless he’s banging a girl, he doesn’t know she’s alive.”
“Take me home, Andy.”
He drove silently down the drive. “Headache again?” His voice was cold.
“I’m tired.”
He was sullen as he stopped in front of her apartment. She didn’t even try to appease him. She jumped out of the car and ran into the building. She didn’t wait for the elevator, just ran up the two flights of stairs to her apartment. Once inside, she slammed the door and leaned against it. Tears ran down her face. Then her sobs came in dry choking gasps. Not only didn’t he remember her name—he didn’t remember that they had ever met before!
Maggie made an effort to study the script. She hadn’t looked at it since Robin’s arrival. Of course the first performance at the Players’ Club was still three weeks off—but she wanted to be good. After all, this was Eugene O’Neill, and Hy Mandel was coming from California to see her. Probably nothing would come of it. The director of an independent film company had seen her on television and asked her if she was interested in a screen test. She said she was interested in becoming an actress—but no screen test. She couldn’t take time from her television show to fly to California. Perhaps it had been her lack of interest that had caused him to pursue it. He had called Hy Mandel, a top Hollywood agent, and put in a rave about her. And now he was actually coming to see her perform in a semiprofessional group.
Well, after tonight she’d have plenty of time to concentrate on O’Neill.