The Lonely Lady

by Harold Robbins

  It wouldn’t budge. My fingers were swollen. I looked at Guy helplessly. “What do we do now?” I asked.

  “Leave it to me.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled at the taxi driver. “Do you have a file there?”

  In the night the sound of his voice was like an explosion.

  The cabbie’s voice echoed back. “What the hell do you think I’m drivin’? A plumber’s shop?”

  Guy turned back to me. “Cabs aren’t what they used to be,” he said. He took my hand and led me off the dock and across the damp ground to the water’s edge. “Put your hand in it,” he said.

  I knelt and stretched out my hand. I looked up at him. “I can’t reach it.”

  “Give me your hand. I’ll hold you.”

  He gripped my hand firmly and I learned forward. The water was cold against my fingers. “Okay?”

  “Okay.” After a few minutes my fingers began to numb. “This water is freezing,” I said.

  “Good. That should do it,” he said and let go of my hand.

  It wasn’t deep, but it was wet and cold when I stood up the water came just below my knees. I took his hand and climbed out.

  All the way back to the cab he apologized. I was so angry I couldn’t speak.

  The cabbie stared at us as Guy opened the door. “You’re not getting into my cab like that.”

  “There’s an extra ten dollars in it for you.”

  “Got any more of that grass?”

  “A couple of joints.”

  “Ten bucks plus the grass,” the cabbie said quickly.

  “Okay.”

  We got into the taxi and he pulled away with a roar. “We better get out of here,” he said with a glance in the rearview mirror. “They pull you in for swimming in the lake.”

  Guy had his jacket off and around my shoulders. I looked down at my hand. The ring was still there. Suddenly I began to laugh so hard that tears came to my eyes.

  Guy didn’t understand it. “What’s so funny? You’re liable to wind up with pneumonia.”

  I couldn’t stop laughing. “We were supposed to throw the ring in the water. Not me.”

  I came down from the bedroom wrapped in a heavy terry cloth robe. He was sitting on the edge of the couch and got to his feet. “You okay?”

  “Fine.” I looked at the bar. “Any sandwiches left? Swimming always makes me hungry.”

  “Plenty. I made some coffee too.”

  We were both sober now.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Don’t be,” I answered. “I enjoyed every minute of it. If you hadn’t come over I probably would have spent the night being miserable and feeling sorry for myself.”

  He smiled and picked up his own coffee cup. “Good.” He looked at me thoughtfully.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “About you,” he said. “About how things are going to change.” I was silent.

  “They are going to change. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I guess so, but I don’t know exactly how.”

  “For one thing,” he said, “you’re not Mrs. Walter Thornton anymore. And that will make a difference. Doors won’t open as easily.”

  I nodded. “I kind of figured that. I used to wonder whether people liked me for me or because I was Walter’s wife.”

  “Both,” he said. “But being Walter’s wife made it practical.”

  “I’m still the same person,” I said. “I have the same talents as I did when I was married to him.”

  “True.”

  “You’re trying to tell me something,” I said. “What is it?”

  He didn’t answer.

  I had an intuitive flash. “Fannon still liked my play. He is taking an option on it, isn’t he.”

  “He still likes it, but now he won’t option until after the rewrite.”

  I was silent for a moment. Earlier in the week Fannon had done everything except force the check into my hands. Now it was a different story. The divorce had been in the morning papers. “Did he think Walter would rewrite the play for me?”

  “Not exactly, but he probably thought that Walter would be there to help out if he was needed.”

  I felt the resentment rising. “Shit! Now he won’t get the play even if he wants it.”

  “You listen to me, because I’m your friend and I love you. I also happen to believe in you. So, lesson number one, Fannon happens to be the best producer in town for your play, and if he wants it you’re going to give it to him.”

  “He’s a dirty old man. He makes me feel slimy the way he undresses me with his eyes every time we meet.”

  “That’s lesson number two. You’re in a business that is controlled by dirty old men and fags. You’ll have to get along with them.”

  “Isn’t there anything in between?” I asked.

  “Bridgeport,” he said.

  “I’ve been there.”

  “Then you know what I mean. This is the Big Town. You make it here and you make it anywhere in the world.”

  “I’m beginning to get scared.” I said. “Somehow Walter made everything seem so easy.”

  He reached over and took my hand. “Don’t be. You’ll make it all right. You’ve got the talent. Now you’ve got to fight.”

  “I don’t know how,” I said. “I’ve never had to before. I went right from my parents’ home to Walter. And he never wanted to let me grow up.”

  “That was always one of Walter’s problems,” Guy said. “He tried to rewrite life like he did his scripts. But things had a way of getting away from him and he never could understand why. Proof. You grew up in spite of it, didn’t you?”

  “Now I’m not so sure.”

  “Well, I am,” he said, getting to his feet. “It’s after three. I’d better let you get some sleep.” I followed him to the door. “You come to my office at ten o’clock Tuesday morning. We’ll go over the play and then I’ll buy you lunch.”

  “Thank you, but you don’t have to take me to lunch if you have something more important to do.”

  “Lesson number three. When a director or a producer offers to take you to lunch you say, ‘Yes, sir.’”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He laughed and kissed my cheek. I closed the door behind, went back into the apartment and looked around the living room. Somehow it all seemed strange and foreign to me now. Suddenly I realized why.

  I didn’t live here anymore.

  Chapter 3

  My father’s car was blocking the driveway so I pulled to a stop in front of the house. I had just cut the motor when my brother came out of the house and down the walk toward me. For a moment it was hard to believe that it was Bobby.

  He was tall, over six feet, and slim. Somehow the gray-blue Air Force uniform made him look older and taller than his twenty years. He came around the car and pulled open the door. “Holy cow!” he said, sticking his head inside the car and looking at the wood-paneled dashboard of the Jaguar.

  “You could say hello first.”

  “A sister is a sister. But a new car is a joy forever,” he said, kissing me on the cheek.

  “What are you doing in that uniform? R.O.T.C. comes home with you now?” I asked as I got out of the car.

  “Nope,” he said. “I’m in. They accepted me for pilot training so I decided, Why wait? If I did, the war might be over before I graduated. I leave Monday for San Antonio.”

  “What did Mother say?”

  “You know.” He made a face. “She hollered a lot.”

  “She was right this time,” I said, opening the trunk.

  He reached over and took out my small suitcase. “Don’t you start in,” he said. “I got enough from Mother.”

  I snapped the trunk lid shut and followed him up the walk. “We have no business being in Vietnam,” I said. “But as long as they can get kids like you to do, it will never end.”

  “You’re beginning to sound like all those other New York commies.”

  “Shit, Bobby, I just don
’t like the idea of my kid brother having his head shot off in some stupid jungle.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” he said. “The President says it’ll all be over by Christmas, and I’ll be in school for two years so I’ll probably miss it all anyway.”

  He stopped on the front steps of the porch and turned to look back at the car. “I didn’t know you had a new car.”

  “It’s almost a year old.”

  “Looks new.”

  “Can’t drive a car much in the city.”

  “It’s smooth,” he said. “Expensive?”

  “Five thousand.”

  He whistled. “Whose is it? Yours or Walter’s?”

  “Mine. I paid for it with my own money. Walter thinks anything other than a Cadillac isn’t worth buying.”

  “That means you get to keep it.”

  “Of course.”

  He looked at me. “I’m sorry about the divorce. I liked Walter.”

  I met his gaze. “So did I. But we just weren’t making it. The divorce was the best thing for both of us.”

  He pulled open the door. “You planning to go out tonight?”

  I knew what he was getting at. “You want to borrow the car?”

  He nodded. “I got a heavy date tonight. Sort of goodbye thing.”

  I handed him the keys. “Just be careful with it. It’s a hot car.”

  A grin crossed his face and for a moment I saw the little boy I had always known. “Thanks, Sis. I’ll handle it with kid gloves.”

  ***

  Mother didn’t really start in on me until after dinner, when she followed me out to the porch.

  We were silent while I lit a cigarette. I saw the disapproving look in her eyes. “Is your apartment ready?” she finally asked.

  “Yes. I’m moving in on Monday.”

  “I hope it’s a safe building. I read stories in the paper every day about things happening.”

  “It’s safe.”

  “Do you have a doorman?”

  “No. Doormen buildings are too expensive. I can’t afford it.”

  “I’m surprised Walter allowed you to do that.”

  “It’s not his responsibility. We’re divorced, remember?”

  “I’m sure he would have given you more money if you had asked him for it,” she said.

  Now I knew what she was getting at. “Why can’t you come right out and ask what’s on your mind, Mother? Do you want to know how much alimony Walter is paying me?”

  “You don’t have to tell me. It’s really none of my business.”

  “I don’t mind telling you,” I said. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?” she echoed, disbelief in her voice. “How could he do a thing like that? I think it’s terrible.”

  “I don’t. I didn’t want any.”

  “But you told me about all the money he was paying to his ex-wife. Why shouldn’t you get any?”

  “I said I didn’t want it, Mother.”

  “But you were married for six years,” she protested. “How are you going to live?”

  “I can work, Mother. I’ve got a play that might be produced and I’m up for several parts in shows.”

  “But if nothing happens what are you going to do for money then?”

  “I have some money. Walter would never let me touch a penny of the money I earned. It’s all in the bank.”

  She was silent, waiting.

  “Would you like to know how much I have?”

  “You don’t have to tell me. It’s really none—”

  “I know, Mother,” I said sarcastically. “It’s really none of your business but I’ll tell you anyway. I should have about eleven thousand dollars.”

  “Is that all? I thought you were getting seven hundred and fifty dollars a week while you were in the play. What did you do with all that money?”

  “Taxes took a big part of it. Walter is in a top bracket and we filed a joint return. The car, clothes and furniture took the rest.”

  “Maybe you ought to sell the car. I don’t see why you need a car in the city at all. Especially an expensive car like that.”

  “But I like it. I wouldn’t have bought it if I didn’t.”

  “I wish you had spoken to your father and me before you did anything.”

  I was silent.

  “Walter was a good man. You shouldn’t have left him like that.”

  “I discovered I didn’t love him anymore, Mother. It wouldn’t have been fair to stay on with him, knowing that.”

  “Are you in love with someone else?”

  “No.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have left,” she said emphatically. “You don’t break up a good marriage on a whim.”

  “It was not a whim,” I explained patiently. “And if I had stayed on we would have wound up hating each other. This way we’re still friends.”

  “I’m afraid I’ll never understand you, JeriLee. Do you know what you’re looking for?”

  “Yes, me.”

  She was genuinely puzzled. “What kind of an answer is that?”

  ***

  I was tired and went up to bed early. But as soon as I lay down I was wide awake. I got out of bed and sat near the window with a cigarette. I wasn’t even thinking. I remembered sitting in this same window staring at the same street ever since I had been a little girl.

  The picture flashed through my mind. The little girl sat at the top of the stairs and cried. The little girl was me. But I was no longer a little girl, so why was I crying?

  There was a soft knock. “Are you still awake, honey?” my father whispered.

  I opened the door. His face, framed by the hall light, was a little thinner and a little more lined than I remembered. “Can’t sleep?” he asked.

  I shook my head.

  “I can make you some hot milk.”

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “I hope Mother didn’t upset you. It’s only that she worries about you.”

  “I know. She didn’t.”

  “She has a lot on her mind. Bobby’s signing up upset her more than she admits.”

  “And now me. I guess it doesn’t make things any easier.”

  “We’ll manage. All we want is for you both to be all right.” He hesitated a moment. “You know that if there’s anything you need, anything, all you have to do is call us.”

  I leaned over and kissed his cheek.

  He patted my hair gently. “I don’t like to see you hurting.”

  “It’s my fault,” I said. “And I’ll have to work it out myself. But it will get better now that I have the chance.”

  He looked at me silently for a moment, then nodded. “I’m sure it will,” he said. “The last thing in the world you needed was another father.”

  My surprise showed in my eyes. He didn’t wait for me to speak. “Walter’s problem was the same as mine. Neither of us wanted to believe that you were growing up.” His smile suddenly warmed his face. “I knew that the moment I saw you in his play. He would like nothing better than to keep you that girl forever. But the difference between life and the play is that life changes and plays don’t. That girl in the play is still the same age today that she was five years ago. But you’re not.”

  I felt the tears running down my cheeks. He pulled my head against his chest. A thoughtful tone came into his voice. “Don’t feel bad, JeriLee. It could have been worse. Some people just never grow up at all.”

  Chapter 4

  I watched my father walk down the hall into his room before I closed the door. I lit another cigarette and went back to the window.

  The girl in the play never grew up at all. But I had been the girl in the play. Was I still the same girl? Was the growing up I thought I did an illusion? I still remembered that afternoon, the second week of rehearsals, when my growing up began.

  I didn’t want to do it. I kept saying I wasn’t an actress. But Walter and Guy kept pressing and finally I gave in. At first I felt strange and awkward. An amateur among professionals. But I le
arned bit by bit. By the end of the first week they could hear me in the balcony. Everyone was so nice, so considerate, I began to feel more comfortable, more sure. Until that afternoon when it came at me from out of the blue.

  Beau Drake had come from Hollywood to make his first appearance on the New York stage since he had left fifteen years before. He was a star and he knew it. He was a professional and never let anyone forget it, especially me. He knew and pulled all the tricks. Half the time I found myself playing the scene with my back to the audience, other times I would be hidden by his broad shoulders or upstaged and left hanging while the attention of the audience was directed to another portion of the stage.

  In the beginning I didn’t know enough to be bothered by it, but as I began to realize what he was doing I started to get angry. I didn’t want more of a role than the play gave me, but I felt I was entitled to what I did have. I began to fight back in the only way I could. By this time I recognized that he was a stickler for cue lines. The slightest variation in the reading would throw him off. And so I began to change the lines that Walter had written into my own language.

  It was the second run-through of the afternoon and we were at the climax of the second act, the scene just before curtain, when he blew. “Goddamn it!” he suddenly roared.

  We froze, Dan Keith, who played my father, stared first at him and then at me. Jane Carter, in the wings waiting for her entrance, stood with her mouth agape while Beau marched angrily down to the center of the stage and leaned over the footlights.

  “I’m not getting paid enough money to be Stanislavsky,” he shouted at Guy and Walter. “If I wanted to run an acting school for stage-struck girls I could do better in Hollywood. If you can’t get Mrs. Thornton to say the lines that were written for her, you can find yourself another actor for my part. I’m walking!”

  He turned and stalked off the stage. There wasn’t a sound or a movement until we heard the door of his dressing room slam shut backstage. Then everybody began to speak at once.

  “Quiet!” Guy’s voice was firm as he came up on the stage followed by Walter. He looked at Dan and Jane. “We’ll break for a half hour.”

  They nodded and left the stage silently. Guy and Walter looked at me without speaking. I remembered feeling just at that moment like a child defying her parents.