“I was gonna stay with the show into next season,” Neely explained. “But I won’t now. Gilbert Case offered me a new contract starting June first with bigger billing and a hundred-dollar raise. But I can’t work when Helen treats me like this.”
Anne laughed. “Come on, Neely—you have no scenes together. You’re just salving your conscience about leaving the show June first.”
“Why should I feel I owe Case anything? I’d have never got the job if it wasn’t for you, Anne—and if Helen hadn’t been scared of Terry King.”
She finally signed with Century Productions. “It’s a smaller studio than the others,” she explained, “but the Johnson Harris office thinks it’s best for me. Two of their pictures were up for Academy Awards last year. They’re getting all the new stars, and I’ll get the real star buildup.”
Mel wasn’t happy about her picture deal. “But it’s wonderful,” she insisted. “I stay with the show till the last day of May. Adele wrote and says she’s coming back the middle of June and wants the apartment back anyway, so—”
“What about Jennifer and Anne?” Mel asked.
“Well, Hit the Sky will run another year. Jennifer will stay in until she marries Tony, though nothing seems to be happening that way. They just date—no marriage talk.”
“But where will they live?”
“Oh, things are easier now. They might move to the Orwin Hotel temporarily. They can get a suite there fairly reasonably.”
“And what about us?”
“We’ll get married—June first, like we planned.”
Mel smiled. “Gee, I thought you’d never ask.”
She squeezed his hand. “Then we’ll go right to California for our honeymoon. The Head is getting me a house.”
“The Head?”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you about him,” Neely babbled. “He was in town last week. Cyril H. Bean—but no one ever calls him Cyril or Mr. Bean. He’s called The Head. He’s a sweet little old man, about fifty, real tan, and nice white hair. He’s so kind—and real fatherly. He’s renting a great house for me in Hollywood—three hundred a month with a swimming pool, only he told me not to dare get in the sun because I got enough freckles. Then he said if things go great and I make it, I can get a house in Beverly Hills”.
“What’s the difference?”
“Who knows? Maybe it’s the wrong side of the street. He kind of apologized about the house being in Hollywood. I pretended I understood. But imagine, Mel—a house with a pool.”
“Neely.” Mel reached out and took her hand. “You know I love you—”
“And Mel, I start at one thousand a week! Just think of all the money we’re gonna have.”
“Neely . . . the Johnny Mallon show comes from New York.”
“Give it up.”
“Just like that?”
“Mel, are you crazy? You’re only making two hundred a week.”
“I’ll make three starting next year.”
“But I’ll be making a thousand! And that doesn’t count my money from records. The Johnson Harris office said I’ll make twenty-five thousand just on records alone next year. Imagine!”
“And what do I do, sit in the swimming pool?”
“Mel, you’re with me. We’re a team. I need you. I need all the publicity I can get—more than ever now.”
“The studio will assign someone to you.”
“Sure they will. But it won’t be like you. Their press agent will take care of me and all the other stars. I want you to work for me alone. And Mel, you’ll have to handle all the money. I never even wrote a check in my life. Even in the apartment with the girls, they tell me what my end is and I hand it to them in cash. And Geez, I wouldn’t know what to say to a maid or cook, or even how to hire them. I never had a house. You’ll handle everything. Mel, you’ve got to come. I’d be nothing out there without you.”
“No, Neely. It wouldn’t work.”
“Why? You’re responsible for all this anyway. How did I get La Rouge in the first place?”
“The Johnson Harris office booked it.”
“But Mel, the Johnson Harris office only got interested in me because of all the publicity you got for me. They didn’t rush and sign me after I opened in Hit the Sky. Maybe I wasn’t the singer I am today—Zeke did that—but you got me noticed.”
He took her hands. “Zeke didn’t give you your voice, and I didn’t make you. It was there all the time. We just helped draw attention to it.”
“Then keep helping me, Mel. I need you . . . I love you.”
“But Neely—I don’t know whether it could work. I’ve never been out to Hollywood, but I know how they operate out there. I’d be Mr. Neely O’Hara. No one would respect me”.
“You don’t think I’m gonna go to those fancy Hollywood parties or mix with those people, do you? It’ll be just like here. I get telegrams all the time to go to openings, and sometimes we go. They don’t call you Mr. O’Hara.”
“It’s different here, Neely.”
“But we’re the same! Look, Mel—I wanna work hard, make money, and maybe in five years chuck the whole thing. Everyone will know you’re responsible for me. Please, Mel. I won’t go unless you come with me.”
“Now, Neely—”
“Mel . . . please . . .”
He reached over and pressed her hand. “All right. I always dreamed of having a Hollywood tan. Boy, will I impress everyone in Brooklyn. . . .”
Jennifer
December, 1946
Jennifer stood on a chair and tried to shove the hatbox onto the top shelf of the closet, then ducked as two suitcases fell, just missing her head.
She groaned. “This closet situation is really impossible.”
Anne helped stow the suitcases back on the shelf. “I’d offer you my closet, but it’s filled—with your hand-me-downs.”
“How does a hotel expect anyone to live with just two small dinky closets? Why couldn’t Adele have found some big English lord and stayed in London? God, how I miss that apartment.”
“These are pretty large closets, Jen. It’s just that no one is supposed to have all these clothes.”
“And I hate them all.”
“Jen! Don’t you dare buy another dress! I have the best wardrobe in town already because you get tired of something the second you’ve worn it. Lyon’s eyes pop the way I keep turning up in new creations.”
“Well, if Tony gives me the new mink for Christmas, you’re taking my old one.”
“Old one! You just got it last year!”
“I hate it—it reminds me of the Prince. Besides, it’s a wild mink. It would look great with your hair. I want a real dark one.”
“I’ll buy it from you then.”
“Don’t be silly!”
“I have money, Jen. Henry invested the ring money plus my twelve thousand.” “How are you doing?”
“Well, we only got twenty thousand for the ring. It’s worth more, but they said it wasn’t a seller’s market. And Henry invested it all in A.T.&T. It hasn’t gone up too much, but I get very nice dividends.”
“Well, don’t touch your stock.”
“You’re a fine one to talk. You’ve got pictures in Vogue and Harper’s this month and you haven’t saved a cent. Honest, Jen, you must earn a fortune since you signed with the Longworth Agency. But you spend it all on clothes. It would be different if you cared about them.”
“Between clothes and sending my mother money, how can I save? The modeling brings in three or four hundred a week, but that’s not real money. No, my jackpot is Tony. I’m twenty-six, Anne—I haven’t that kind of time or future. Tony is impressed with my clothes, and the newspapers call me glamorous. I think about this as an investment. I’m putting all my money on the line and rolling the dice for Tony. If the number comes up marriage, I’ll be independent for life.”
“That’s still no reason to give away your mink coat.”
“Everyone’s seen me in it for over a year. And if I marry Tony
I’ll have a dozen. And unless Lyon’s book is a freak best seller, you’ll wait a long time for a mink.”
“Well . . . I’m keeping everything crossed. He finished it last week.”
“Wonderful! Now you can get married!”
Anne laughed. “It’s not that simple. First it has to be accepted by a publisher. He gave it to Bess Wilson—she’s a very important literary agent. If she likes it and agrees to handle it, he’s halfway home. A publisher will automatically read a manuscript with more interest if he gets it from Bess Wilson.”
“When will he know?”
“Any day now. He’s hoping to hear before Christmas. Hey, Neely’s stuck.” Anne rushed to the record player and pushed the needle forward.
“You’ve worn out that album,” Jennifer said.
“It’s so great. I’m so proud of her. I can’t wait for the picture to come out.”
Jennifer slammed the closet shut. “Mind if I turn it off now? I want to read.”
Anne turned off the record player. “Jen, it’s two o’clock. We should both go to sleep.”
“Will my night light bother you?”
“No, it just bothers me that you get so little sleep. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and your bed is empty.”
“I go into the living room and smoke so as not to bother you.”
“What is it, Jen? Tony?”
Jennifer shrugged. “In a way . . . but I haven’t been sleeping for over a year. I am upset about Tony, though. In February he goes to California to start a radio show.”
“Maybe he’ll ask you to marry him before he leaves.”
“Not as long as Miriam is around. When we’re alone, I can make him do almost anything. But we’re only alone in bed. I can’t very well have a justice of the peace hiding under the sheets.”
“What about eloping?”
“I’ve thought of that—there’s always Maryland. But it’s not that simple. In bed he’ll promise anything. But the moment he gets out of bed, he listens to Miriam.” She started for the bathroom. “Now go to sleep. No use both of us worrying. I’ll think of something.”
“Try sleeping for a change,” Anne said as she patted her pillow into shape.
“I’ll give it a whirl. But first I have to do my exercises and oil up my equipment.” Jennifer closed the bathroom door and wearily took out the cocoa butter. She looked at her face under the harsh bathroom light. A few tiny lines were forming under her eyes. In four years she’d be thirty! Hit the Sky would go until June, but she had been in it for a year. Nothing was going to happen. Of course, there was always the stock contract at Twentieth. But if she took it and followed Tony to the Coast she’d never get him. And if he went without her, would he miss her enough to send for her? Not a chance! Miriam would see to it that he was flooded with beautiful girls. Beautiful young girls!
Sure, Tony thought she was twenty. But once he saw a girl who was really nineteen or twenty she might look a little beat. Miriam had been staring at her lately—asking funny questions, trying to trip her with dates about school. Thank God Tony wasn’t too bright. She stopped suddenly. It was true—Tony wasn’t too bright. Or was it just that Miriam took over so much he never had the chance? He certainly was bright about performing. He knew if the music was off even a fraction. No, it was just that Miriam never gave him a chance to think. Miriam! She rubbed more oil under her eyes. She had to sleep. She returned to the bedroom. Anne was almost asleep. She got into bed and turned off the light.
An hour later she was still wide awake. This was going to be another of those nights. She got out of bed quietly and went into the living room. She could sleep—if she had the nerve. She went to her bag and took out the small bottle. She stared at the tiny, bullet-shaped red capsules. Irma had given them to her last night. (“Just take one and you’ll sleep for hours.”)
Seconals. Irma had given her four. (“They’re like gold to me. I can’t give you any more.”) Irma had replaced Neely in the show. She claimed the little red “dolls” had saved her life. (“I’d give you more, Jennifer, but you need a doctor’s prescription. I can only get ten a week.”)
Should she try one? It was a frightening idea, that a little red capsule as tiny as this could put you to sleep. She walked to the small pantry and poured a glass of water. She held the pill for a second, feeling her heart pound. This was dope—but that was ridiculous! Irma took one every night, and she was fine. Irma had been nervous going into the show and she was still nervous seven months later. (“I feel everyone is comparing me with Neely when I sing. She has such a big following with her albums now.”)
Well, one pill couldn’t hurt. She swallowed it, replaced the bottle in her bag and rushed into bed.
How long would it take? She still felt wide awake. She could hear Anne’s even breathing, the clock on the night table ticking, the traffic sounds outside—in fact, everything seemed intensified. . . .
Then she felt it! Oh, God! It was glorious! Her whole body felt weightless . . . her head was heavy, yet light as air. She was going to sleep . . . sleep . . . oh, the beautiful little red doll . . .
The following day she visited Henry’s doctor. He turned her down cold. She was in excellent condition. What was this nonsense! No, he would not give her a prescription for Seconals. Stop drinking all that coffee. Cut down on cigarettes. She’d sleep. If she didn’t, then her body didn’t need it.
“That isn’t the way to do it,” Irma explained a few days later. “You can’t go to a good doctor and just come out and ask for them. It’s best to find a little doctor—one whose ethics are a little shady.”
“But where? Irma, I slept four nights in a row with those blessed red dolls, and it was heavenly. I haven’t slept in two nights without them.”
“Look for one of those third-rate hotels on the West Side. You’ll see a doctor’s sign on a dirty window,” Irma explained. “But don’t just walk in and ask for pills. You have to play the game. Walk in and say you’re from out of town—California is always good. Don’t wear the mink, or the rates will go up. Tell him you can’t sleep. He’ll make a stab at listening to your heart, and you keep saying all you need is a few nights’ sleep. Then he’ll charge you ten bucks and give you a prescription for a week’s supply, knowing you’ll be back. And he knows he’s good for ten bucks a week. But believe me, it’s worth it. You may have to try a few doctors before you hit the right one—two turned me down—but you’ll find one. Don’t go to the Mackley Hotel—that’s mine. He might get suspicious.”
Jennifer found her doctor on West Forty-eighth Street. She knew he was the right one when he disinterestedly dragged out a dusty stethoscope and made a half-hearted attempt to feel her pulse. Sure enough, he pulled out his prescription blank. “Nembutals or Seconals?” he asked.
“The red ones,” Jennifer mumbled.
“Here’s a week’s supply of Seconals.” He handed her the prescription. “This should straighten you out. If not, come by again.”
Anne was delighted at the change in Jennifer. She knew nothing about the pills, but she was pleased to see Jennifer sleeping through the night. She wondered if Tony had dropped any encouraging hints.
Then, a few days before Christmas, as Anne was packing a bag for her usual weekend at Lyon’s, Jennifer made her big decision.
“This is it,” she announced. “I’m going to get Tony to drive to Elkton tonight, or never see him again. I figured it out last night. If it doesn’t work, at least I’ll have six weeks going for me. Six weeks that he’s in town, where I can show up places looking divine with some other guy and drive him crazy. Crazy enough to relent and marry me. If I wait till he goes to the Coast I’m dead.”
“Where’s Miriam tonight?”
“Where she always is. With us! There’s a new show opening at La Bombra. I’ve told Tony I’m going home from the theatre to change and to pick me up here. Miriam will be waiting at La Bombra with his group. I’ll have him alone and take him by surprise. And if I play it right. . .?
??
She was in a robe when Tony arrived.
“Hey . . . hurry and get dressed. The show goes on at twelve-thirty.”
She came to him. “Hold me first,” she said softly.
When he broke the embrace, he gasped. “Baby, let me come up for air. Jesus! I need a blood transfusion just being near you.” His hands stroked her breasts. His fingers fumbled with the buttons on her satin robe. “Jesus . . . why do you wear robes with buttons?” He pulled the robe off her shoulders, down to her waist. He stood back, his breath coming faster.
“Jen, no one should have boobs like that.” He touched them lightly.
She smiled. “They’re yours, Tony.”
He buried his face in them, sinking to his knees. “Oh, God. I just can’t believe it. Every time I touch them, I can’t believe it.” His mouth was greedy. She held his head gently. “I never want to move,” he mumbled.
“Tony, let’s get married.”
“Sure, baby, sure. . . .” He was fumbling at the rest of the buttons on her robe. It fell to the floor. She backed away. He crawled on his knees after her. She backed away again. “Tony, all of this”—she stroked her body—”is not yours . . . it’s mine!”
He came after her. She eluded him again. She stroked her thighs, her fingers touching between her legs. “That’s mine, too,” she said softly. “But we want you, Tony,” she whispered hoarsely. “Take your clothes off.”
He tore at his shirt. The buttons ripped and fell to the floor. He stood before her naked.
“Your body is nice,” she said with a slow smile. Then she backed away. “But mine is nicer.” She stroked her breasts deliberately, almost as if she thrilled to the touch. He stood watching, his breath coming in quick gasps. He rushed to her but she backed away.
“You can look,” she said softly. “But you can’t touch. Not until it’s yours. . . .”
“But it is mine—you’re mine!” His voice was almost a growl.
“Only on loan.” She smiled sweetly. “And I’m taking it back. Unless you really want it.” She stroked her breasts again. “Want it for keeps.”
He followed her, trembling. “I do. Just come to me . . . now!”