“Who?” Tammy asked, pretending she’d misunderstood. “Arch, for heaven’s sake?”
Merry said, “You know I’m not talking about Arch Heller.”
Tammy laughed. “If I were going to warn someone against a guy, it wouldn’t be against an ugly old men like Pierson Webb.”
Merry decided to be light. She said, “I’ve heard they’re the most dangerous kind.”
“Not to me they aren’t,” Tammy said, matching her tone.
Merry finished the sandwiches, sliced them in half, and put them on the plates. She said, “Sometimes people have to pay a…high price for what they want.”
Tammy started to laugh. “Oh, no!” she said. “Merry Neil, I don’t believe it! You haven’t really fallen for that kind of gag, have you? You read too many articles about Hollywood.”
She carried the two plates into the other room. “Hey,” she said, when she came back into the kitchen, “you forgot the coffee.”
“I just put the water on.”
Tammy leaned against the cupboard. She said, “If anybody… I mean anybody…tried that proposition stuff on me, I’d punch him in the nose.”
Merry laughed and said solemnly, “Well, I should hope so.”
Tammy watched her pour the boiling water over the coffee in the two cups. She said, “You’ve got it all wrong, Merry. You get places by what you’ve got on the ball, not by what you give someone or what you promise.”
She ate the sandwich ravenously. “I might have two of these,” she said. There was a rumbling in her stomach that had little to do with what she had eaten. She thought, “Is that the truth I told Merry? Would I do that? If…if Pierson Webb offered me what I want, a screen test, a contract, and there were strings attached to it, what would I really do?”
She popped the last of the sandwich into her mouth and dusted her fingers. “Guess I’ll fix myself a second,” she said, hopping up from the chair. She looked at Merry, inquiringly.
Merry shook her head, “Not me.”
Tammy spread two more slices of bread with salad dressing, handling the knife so roughly that she spread her fingers as well as the bread.
“I’d punch him in the nose,” she told herself firmly. And felt much better.
When she went back in the other room, Agnes was there. She declined a sandwich but had a cup of coffee, sitting at the table with the other two girls. No one said anything; they sat staring down at the table, tense and silent.
Finally Agnes said, “Dammit, it’s done. Whether for good or for bad, it’s done. I’ve no doubt you both meant well, and maybe it’s for the best. However, let’s forget it.”
Merry let out a sigh of relief. She looked at Agnes’ tense, unhappy face, and wanted to say something comforting, but decided against it. Agnes would probably prefer that she said nothing.
* * * *
The next few days moved rapidly from one crisis to another. Agnes asked for, and received, a week’s absence from the hospital to be with Ellen.
The little girl’s operation had suddenly become an emergency.
Agnes seemed exceptionally calm now that the decision had been made. As she told Merry, “I’m still afraid, but Dr. Bronley and… Harvey, are right. I have to give Ellen this chance.” She drew in her breath raggedly. “It’s her only one. It’s been put off too long as it is. Dr. Bronley says that the sooner the operation is performed, the better Ellen’s chances will be.”
Her voice broke off suddenly and hung there, tortured, disembodied. “If she loses this chance,” she rasped, “it will be my fault. I’ll have killed her.”
Merry said, “Stop that! Why do you want to punish yourself?”
Harvey, who had come to drive Agnes up to San Francisco, said, “Besides, Ellen’s going to live. I’ve talked to Bronley. I’ve read case histories…”
Agnes flared out at him. “And how many died, Harvey? Or are you afraid to tell me the statistics on those who died?”
“Some of them died,” he said. “But most of them died before the techniques used today were perfected.”
Her voice was thin and tight. “You can stand there and be calm and talk about it because Ellen doesn’t mean anything to you.”
She was sorry after she’d said it, but the words could not be recalled.
“I’m sorry,” she said. She fumbled for her purse, picked it up, and hung her coat over one arm. “I guess we’re ready,” she said, not looking at him.
* * * *
The following day was Tammy’s day. Pierson Webb had put off the first meeting, saying only that he had more important use for his time on that particular night.
Tammy had stormed, angry and upset. She told Merry, “He’s a fraud. He’s ugly, inside and out. He never meant to see me. I know that now. I hate him. Hate him. Hate him!”
There was nothing for Merry to say, no words of comfort, because she believed Tammy was right. Pierson Webb was only toying with Tammy, holding the bait out and then drawing it back before she could reach it.
She was more surprised than Tammy when the summons came for Tammy to see Pierson that night.
Tammy rushed home from the hospital in a flurry of excitement. She refused anything to eat, saying that if she ate while she was so nervous, she’d probably burp in the great man’s face.
She discarded one dress after another, finally settling on a slim black sheath. “It has good lines,” she grinned, “and besides that, it makes my lines good…sexy, that is.”
The dress over one arm, she darted into the bedroom.
When she came out, ready to leave, Merry gasped. “Tammy,” she said, “you’ve overdone yourself. You’re really beautiful.”
“Of course I am,” Tammy said. But she was pleased.
She paraded up and down the small apartment restlessly. Pierson Webb had told her he’d send a car for her.
She turned suddenly to Merry and asked in shaken horror, “What if he doesn’t send the car? What if he was just putting me on?”
It had occurred to Merry also. She was relieved to see the Rolls Royce pull up in front of the apartment building and the uniformed chauffeur step out and walk towards them.
“Imagine me riding to work in a Rolls Royce!” Tammy breathed. She turned her large dark eyes to Merry. “Keep your fingers crossed for me.”
Merry nodded. “My toes, too.”
She watched from the window as Tammy stepped into the car. She couldn’t stop the feeling of foreboding growing in her stomach.
She turned from the window and was on her way to the kitchen when the telephone stopped her.
Natalie Pries’ sultry, sweet voice sounded agitated. “Sweetie,” she said when Merry answered, “there’s something you should know…”
Merry said coldly, “If it’s about Jeff Morrow, I don’t…”
Natalie cut her off. “It’s not about Jeff. It’s about your friend Tammy. It’s not a screen test she’s going to get from Pierson Webb. It’s going to be a joke. Mai Hinge is going to use it as an amusement piece in her column tomorrow. She’s the one who told me. I think it’s a shame that…”
Merry said, “He wouldn’t do a thing like that. Nobody would. What would he gain by deliberately humiliating Tammy?”
Natalie laughed. “Sweetie,” she said, “you don’t really know Pierson, do you? He and Mai Hinge are a lot alike. You cut into either of them, and they wouldn’t bleed blood. They’d bleed ice water.”
Chapter Seventeen
Agnes lay restlessly in the big bed, unable to sleep. Finally she got up and padded barefoot from bedroom to kitchen to living room to hall, being careful not to wake her mother.
Ellen’s operation was scheduled for eight o’clock the next morning. Fear had taken over her mind. Harvey had asked if she wanted him to stay, and she had curtly refused the offer.
A dozen times her
eyes strayed towards the telephone. She wished she had the courage to pick up the phone and call his hotel. Ask him to come and sit with her, talk with her, comfort her. But she didn’t have that kind of courage.
“He’d like to think that you still feel romantic towards him,” she hammered at herself. “Is that what you want him to think?”
She put both hands over her face and whimpered, stifling the sound. “I don’t care what anyone thinks. I only want Ellen to be well!”
She turned her head as her mother, an old bathrobe wrapped around her portly figure, came down the stairs.
She walked over and put one hand comfortingly on her daughter’s shoulder. “I’ll make us some coffee,” she said. “And we’ll talk or we’ll be silent. I only want you to know I’m here, dear.”
With a little cry Agnes turned, like a child, and buried her face in her mother’s shoulder.
* * * *
“The bastard!” Arch said, although Merry had never heard him swear before. He said it again, liking the sound of the word.
Beverly Hills was just ahead of them, the subdued lights of the houses nestled luxuriously in the hills and the soundless noise that marked the “good address” section of the city.
Arch turned to look at her, and Merry heard the frown in his voice. “I know what he’s like,” he said, “but this!”
Merry cradled her purse in her lap. “Why?” she thought. “Why does he have to humiliate Tammy? Because she yearns for what he can give? Because I refused what he asked of me?”
There was a numbness in the pit of her stomach. “Or because he’s dying and he knows it and wants to hurt anyone within his striking power?”
The car began to climb the hill. Merry saw the tenseness with which Arch gripped the wheel. She wondered, “Does Arch love her?”
She had phoned him as soon as Natalie hung up. She had been on the point of tears, and he hadn’t hesitated. “I’ve got one more number to do,” he’d said, “and then I’m free until eleven. Hang tight. I’ll be there as soon as I can make it.”
Merry had hung tight. She’d changed her dress and combed her hair a dozen times just to keep her hands busy and her mind from thinking.
She said, “Maybe Natalie didn’t really know.”
Arch shook his head and wheeled the car much too quickly around a curve. “Natalie Pries,” he informed Merry, “would know.” He stared straight ahead. “Natalie’s a good kid,” he said. “It’s her image that’s out of step.”
“Natalie told me that her image is her.”
“That’s too bad,” Arch said. He swung the car in through the unlocked gates of the big house.
“What shall we do now?” he said, when he’d brought the car up the drive. “Beard the lion in his den and give him a good going over?”
He shook his head. He looked tired, suddenly, Merry thought, and older. “I’m too much of a coward for that,” he said. “He’s an old man, and besides, he gave me my first break.”
Merry said gently, “What good would it do, Arch? Would it retract Tammy’s humiliation? Would it take it away?”
“No,” Arch said. “Still.…”
“Maybe she’ll be able to laugh it off,” Merry said.
“Or cry it off,” Arch said.
They looked at each other. The trouble, Merry thought, was that Tammy could not do either.
“Well,” Arch said, “do or die. We can’t just sit here.”
They had just gotten out of the car when the big front door opened and light flooded the area. Tammy walked towards them, picking her steps carefully, and not looking back.
Merry saw Pierson Webb framed in the doorway behind her. He looked thinner and very sick. She was shocked, but tried not to show it.
He lifted his eyebrows sardonically. “Let me guess,” he sneered. “Natalie Pries got through to you. I’ve told that doll that if she doesn’t watch out, she’s going to get too soft for the game, and then it’ll be necks.” He drew one hand across his throat. “Hers.”
Arch ignored him. He looked at Tammy. “What happened here?”
Pierson Webb gave a taunting laugh. “The knight on the white charger. Aren’t you a bit on the beefy side for that role, Arch?”
Arch looked at Tammy. She shrugged and said, stiff with disappointment, “He talked to me like a father. He said I should go to drama school and learn how to be an actress. He told me beauty alone can’t get a girl by in Hollywood these days, and the sooner I knew that truth, the better off I’d be.”
She marched to the car and got in. “Are you taking me home?”
Arch said, “It’s a good idea,” and slid in on the other side.
Merry was looking at Pierson Webb. His mouth was contorted into a sneer. “You were expecting a different approach, doll?”
He’d backed down. Why? Because he wasn’t really as heartless as he chose to appear? Mai Hinge, anger in every line of her thin, hard face, suddenly brushed past him. Or had Mai Hinge been his target all along?
Mai glared at Merry. “I have an idea you’re behind this letdown, dearie.” Her voice tightened. “But don’t think you’re always on the winning side, doll. Natalie Pries is going to announce her engagement to Jeff Morrow sometime this week,” she said in a voice intended only for Merry. “So what are you going to be left with? The tail end of an affair. You’re a nobody in this town, and who wants to saddle himself with a nobody?”
Merry got into the car, Mai’s low, taunting laughter ringing in her ears.
Glimpsing Mai, Tammy said, “Where did she come from?”
“Is hell a swear word?” Arch asked, reverting to his usual self.
Tammy laughed, although her face remained cold and set. “By the way,” she said, “just what were you and Merry doing here?”
Merry glanced at Arch. She said, “We came after you.”
Tammy’s dark brows lifted in incredulity. “Oh, no!” she said, “not you, Arch! You weren’t thinking that I…that we…” she burst out laughing. “Why, I was as safe as if I’d been in…in a monastery!”
Her lovely face hardened suddenly. “No screen test,” she said. “There never was meant to be any. All he wanted to do was to give me a lecture on the right way to get ahead in the movie industry today!”
Arch said, “It could have been a great deal worse. What he told you makes sense. You ought to give it some thought.”
Tammy put her hands over her ears like a sullen child. “I won’t listen,” she said.
Over her head Merry and Arch looked at each other in understanding and relief. They both knew how much worse it could have been. They also knew that they’d never let Tammy know.
* * * *
At seven-thirty Agnes stood beside her daughter’s bed as she was readied for surgery. On the other side of the child’s bed stood Harvey Miles.
Agnes’ mother waited in the hall. “I can see Ellen later,” she had said. “These last few minutes belong to Ellen’s mother and father.”
Agnes had quickly turned her face away, but standing now and looking down at her daughter, she thought with sudden panic, “I don’t want to be bitter; I don’t want to hate. If I hate, maybe God won’t…answer my prayers.”
Ellen turned her small face and looked imploringly up at Agnes. Agnes said softly, “I’ll be here when you come back, sweetheart. And it isn’t going to hurt, I promise. And when it’s over you’ll be…well.”
She squeezed the thin hand as Ellen turned toward Harvey. The bluish lips opened and she said in a thin whisper, “Daddy?”
Harvey nodded at her. “Me too,” he said. “I’ll be here.”
Agnes watched his head bent over the child’s bed. The word “daddy” was still painful and shy in Ellen’s lips, but she seemed to find delight in saying it.
Fingers of pain pressed Agnes’ head. What about afterwards? she th
ought. What about when it’s over? She tightened her lips. She wouldn’t think of afterwards. There would be time enough for that later. If… If… If. Everything, the whole world, hinged on that one word.
At five to eight Ellen was wheeled into surgery, and for the three people who loved her, long, tense hours lay ahead.
* * * *
At fifteen minutes to eight, Merry, later than usual, stepped off the bus and hurried up the street to the hospital. She was unprepared for the assault of the reporters who surrounded her as she started up the steps of the hospital.
A brassy-voiced woman reporter, handling her cigarette like a pointer, placed herself directly in front of Merry and drawled, “Don’t give us that same old jazz you tried the other time, dearie. Pierson Webb’s back in the hospital. Why? It isn’t going to kill you to give us a break.”
Merry pushed past her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said over her shoulder. “I don’t even know Mr. Webb’s in the hospital.”
She pushed open the glass doors only to be confronted by the balding reporter with the cigar. “Listen, sister,” he said in his complaining voice, “open up. It doesn’t have to be an exclusive. Just give me the dope.”
Merry snapped, “Get out of my way you…you vulture!”
“Now look, baby,” he whined, “this is no way to act. People in this town have got to keep good relations with the press. They…”
“Get out of my way!”
He looked at her set face and shrugged. He said, “I don’t dig you nurses. I don’t dig you at all.” But he got out of her way.
* * * *
Merry was frowning as she took the elevator up to the fifth floor. The nurse at the desk looked up at her approach. “You have a new patient,” she said. “He asked for you the minute he was brought in, I’ve heard.”
Merry said, “Pierson Webb?”
The other nurse nodded. She handed Merry his chart, and Merry glanced at it as she walked slowly down the wide, gleaming corridor to the door behind which he lay.
His chart said he’d been brought in at four that morning, in pain, and that he’d been put under sedation. The attending doctor—Horne.
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