The Lonely Lady

by Harold Robbins

  “Does that mean he’s going to drop me?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But if you have any friends he will listen to, now is the time to get to them.”

  “But we have a contract.”

  “Read the fine print. They can drop you anytime they want.”

  I was silent.

  “Your ex. Would he put in a good word for you?”

  “I don’t want to go to him,” I said. “It took me too long to get out from under.”

  “Any other friends?”

  I thought for a moment. “Guy Jackson?”

  He shook his head. “George hates him. He signed with another agency after George broke his ass to get him.”

  “Then there’s nobody.”

  Slowly he got to his feet. “I might as well get it over with.”

  “Do you want me to wait for you?”

  “What the hell.” He shrugged. “Might as well get it hot from the oven.”

  By the time he got back half an hour later I had gone through the rest of my package of cigarettes and was beginning to work on his. He closed the door, went behind his desk and collapsed in his chair. “Jesus,” he said. It seemed to be his favorite remark of the day.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s have it.”

  “They’re dropping your acting contract but they’re keeping you for writing even though I tried to get him to drop that one too.”

  “I thought you were my friend,” I said sarcastically. “Half a loaf is better than none.”

  “You got a lot to learn. If they let you out of the writing contract, you would have a lever to get another agent. You have the play, which could bring him some income. But this way we keep all the money and you got no muscle.”

  I stared at him. “That’s not fair.”

  “I didn’t say it was.”

  “I’ll go up and see him.”

  “It won’t do any good. You’ll never get past his secretary. George has that down to a fine art.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Only one thing I can think of, but you won’t like that either.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Eat humble pie,” he said. “Call Chad Taylor out at Universal. Tell him it was that time of the month or something female like that and that you thought it over and decided you would do it. I happen to know they haven’t cast that part yet.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Sure as I’m sitting here.”

  “Is that your idea or is that what George told you to tell me?”

  I could see the flush creep over his face. “George’s.”

  “And if I don’t do that, I’m finished here?”

  He nodded silently.

  I felt trapped. They were playing a game and all of them were on the same team. There was no way I could win. “Okay,” I said finally. “Get him on the phone for me.”

  I was a better actress than I thought. I not only ate humble pie, I rubbed my face in it. And all the way to the Coast on the plane that evening I had a sick feeling in my stomach to prove it.

  ***

  They had a car to pick me up at the airport and take me to the hotel. Even before I’d got my baggage the driver gave me a note from Taylor.

  Dear JeriLee,

  Keep dinner open. Will be by at eight thirty with the script. Dress for Chasen’s. Regards.

  Chad.

  Short and to the point. There was no mistaking who was in charge. By now it didn’t matter. I was so tired all I wanted to do was to get into bed and sleep.

  The driver took me to a hotel-motel called the Regency on Hollywood Boulevard between Fairfax and Laurel Canyon. I had a small two-room suite on the second floor overlooking the pool.

  “We put lots of New York people out here,” the driver explained. “There’s a short cut to the studio over Laurel Canyon.”

  I thanked him as he placed my luggage on a small rack. As soon as he left I took off my clothes and closed the drapes to the sun. Then I turned down the big king-sized bed and called the operator to leave a wakeup call for seven forty-five.

  I was just drifting off when the telephone rang. It was Chad Taylor. “Everything all right?”

  “Perfect.”

  “Good.” He sounded pleased. “Dress up tonight. There’ll be some important press people there.”

  “Okay.”

  “See you about eight thirty.” He rang off.

  I turned over and closed my eyes when the telephone rang again. I reached for it wearily. “Hello.”

  “JeriLee? This is John.” There was no sign of anger in his voice. It was as if nothing had happened.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m glad you came to your senses. I was beginning to worry about you.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “I thought we might have dinner. I remembered you liked the steaks on Sunday.”

  “I have a date. Mr. Taylor is bringing the script over this evening.”

  “What are you doing afterwards?”

  “Going to sleep. I’m wiped out.” Flying back and forth across the country wasn’t my idea of fun.

  “I have to see you, even if it’s just for a minute.”

  “We’re going to Chasen’s. He said there will be press there. I don’t know what time I’ll get back here.”

  “We have to get some things straightened out.”

  “It’ll keep until tomorrow. If I don’t get some rest, I’ll die.”

  “Okay,” he said finally. “Meanwhile is there anything I can do for you?”

  “No.” Then I changed my mind. “Yes, there is one thing. Tell your brother to stop bad-mouthing me all over the country.”

  I put down the phone but by that time I was too keyed up for sleep. I popped a Librium and waited for it to slow me down. Meanwhile I ran the tub and got into it. I felt the lassitude come back. Quickly I dried myself and jumped back into bed. This time I slept. But not for long. In less than an hour the telephone rang with my wakeup call.

  In a fog, I popped a red and stood under an ice cold shower. Then I began the slow job of getting myself together.

  ***

  The doorbell rang at exactly eight thirty. I opened the door in a robe. “Come in, Mr. Taylor. I’ll be just a few more minutes.”

  “I brought the script with me.”

  “Make yourself comfortable,” I said, heading back to the bedroom.

  He followed me to the door. “My flowers get here yet?”

  “I haven’t seen them.”

  “They should have been here when you arrived. Damn secretary. Mind if I use your phone?”

  “Help yourself.”

  He disappeared back into the living room while I went into the bathroom. I put on two pair of false eyelashes, penciled in the liner quickly and checked the mirror. Not bad for a quick job.

  He was standing in the doorway when I returned to the bedroom. “She says she ordered them.”

  “Don’t worry. They’ll get here. Thanks anyway.”

  “Nobody does anything right these days. You gotta keep on their ass.” He didn’t move from the doorway and something told me he was not about to. I opened the closet door and stood behind it while I slipped into my dress. It was the long black silk that clung to my body. When I came out from behind the door he gave a long low whistle.

  “Not bad.”

  “I feel a mess.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  “Thanks.” I pulled the white angora stole from my bag and put it around my shoulders. “I’m ready now.”

  He looked at me critically.

  “Anything wrong?” I asked.

  “Do you have a fur?”

  “I have, but I like the look of the white angora with the black silk.”

  “Wear the fur. This is Chasen’s.”

  I stared at him for a minute, then took off the stole and put on the short chinchilla jacket.

  “That’s better,” he said. “Class.”

  I noticed the sc
ript on the table in front of the couch as we went to the door.

  “Do you want to take it with us?” I asked. “We can discuss it during dinner.”

  He shook his head. “Too many people there. We’ll go over it when we get back.” He didn’t give me a chance to answer. “The car’s right in front.”

  “How do you like it?” he asked as he opened the door for me.

  “Beautiful.”

  He smiled. “It’s a classic. A fifty-five Bentley Continental convertible. They only made fifteen like this. There are only five that are still in use. This is one of them.”

  “It’s really something,” I said.

  It was Tuesday night and Chasen’s was jumping. But we had a large table near the door where everyone coming in or leaving could see us. I noticed there were only two places set.

  “I sort of expected other people from what you said,” I said as I sat down.

  “The restaurant is loaded,” he said. “No place to talk shop. People will be stopping by. You’ll see.”

  He was right about that. He couldn’t have displayed me any better if he had put me in Macy’s window.

  “Deviled ribs is the best thing on the menu. But since they always run out I ordered some in advance, along with a side dish of chili. How does that sound?”

  “Good to me,” I said. By that time I would have eaten the tablecloth.

  He signaled the waiter. First we had the cracked Dungeness crab with the mustard and tomato side sauces, then the ribs. Between the wines and the red I had popped my head was spinning. Somehow I managed to keep my conversation halfway intelligible, but it probably wouldn’t have made any difference if I had gone totally dumb. He never stopped talking about his career and the fact that Universal would never have made it without him.

  For dessert we each had three Irish coffees and by the time we got up to leave at one o’clock in the morning I could hardly manage to stand straight As soon as we got back to the suite, he plopped himself down on the couch and picked up the script. “Now we can go to work,” he said.

  I couldn’t believe my ears.

  “We improved it,” he said. “But that’s not the important thing. I have other plans for you. Big plans. Do you understand?”

  I could only shake my head. I didn’t understand.

  “The minute you walked into that office I knew you were the girl I had been looking for.” He paused to let the importance of his statement sink in. “You know, I’m not staying on this show. I’m preparing a feature. A big picture. The deal’s already closed.”

  “Congratulations,” I managed to say.

  He nodded. “And you’re the girl. The lead. Today’s girl. Feisty. Tough. Sexy. Intelligent. That’s why it was important that I get you for this show. I had to show them what I could do with you.”

  I didn’t speak. My head was beginning to buzz.

  He opened the script. “Now, let’s go over this.”

  The hammers were really beating my scull now. “Chad,” I said. “Mr. Taylor.”

  He looked up at me with a puzzled expression.

  “It’s not that I’m not grateful, I really am,” I said, speaking as clearly as I could. “But if you don’t let me get to bed, I’m going to pass out right here.”

  His expression cleared and he rose with a rueful smile. “Of course. I forgot the kind of a day you’ve had.”

  I followed him to the door. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said.

  I was beginning to feel dizzy.

  “Don’t worry about getting to the studio. I’ll have a car and driver here for you at seven o’clock.”

  I managed to nod.

  He gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “Good night,” he said, then drew back and looked at me. “The next time we go to dinner don’t wear a dress with so much décolletage. I had a hard-on all night and half the time I didn’t know what the hell I was saying.”

  I closed the door and felt the nausea rising. I just about made it to the bathroom. Then, still dressed, I threw myself across the bed and passed out.

  Chapter 14

  I was naked and they were all staring at me as if I were a piece of meat. I tried to hide behind my hands but no matter which way I turned I couldn’t escape their eyes. The white merciless spotlights tore at me from all sides.

  Somehow, of all the men there, I didn’t seem to mind the strangers as much as those that knew me. I didn’t even seem to mind the way the men all were dressed in football uniforms, helmets, face guards, bright red sweatshirts with black numbers. And they were all wearing the same number—One. Perhaps the strangest thing about the uniform was that the heavy padded pants had no fronts and their huge cocks hung out almost to their knees.

  Abruptly they all went into a huddle. I tried to hear what they were whispering but the words were lost. Then they broke from the huddle and went into a playing formation. The only man I recognized in the line was the center, Harry Gregg. Behind him I could see the faces of the backfield. George Fox as quarterback, halfbacks Chad and John and, not too far behind, Walter as fullback.

  George straightened up and gestured violently toward me, then pointed at Harry. Responding to a compulsion I did not understand, I walked toward the line, got down on my knees and crawled between Harry’s legs. Curling myself into a fetal ball, I hugged my knees close to my chest and pressed my face into my thighs.

  I heard Harry grunt as he crouched even lower and forced his large hands between my arms until each one was firmly locked on my breasts. He nudged his knees against my buttocks and I raised myself slightly. He grunted again and I felt his long tool ram into me from behind. It was strange, but I felt nothing. Neither surprise, nor resentment, nor excitement. Then he exploded inside me and I felt his semen dripping down my legs as George shouted “Hup!” in a strange hoarse voice.

  Abruptly I was flung backward between his legs into George’s hands. They felt rough and calloused, not at all like the soft manicured hands I knew he had. Still locked in the fetal position, I felt his heavy hands pressed down on my breasts forcing me onto his cock. Then he was running, his cock moving in and out of me with his strides. A moment later I heard Walter’s voice shouting “Get rid of her! Goddamn it! Get rid of her!”

  George’s orgasm splashed into me, firing me into the air like a rocket. I felt myself spinning sideways, over and over, and the air was cold against my skin.

  I was floating over them now and suddenly I felt free.

  There was something about soaring high like a bird. Nothing could touch you except the wind. And the wind loved you. You were safe. Then I began to fall.

  I looked down. Chad and John were running toward the center of the field.

  I felt the fear knotting my stomach. I could hear myself screaming inside my head but no sound came out. I willed the wind to keep me up. But I kept falling, falling toward them until I could see their faces grim with power behind their masks.

  The scream finally tore from my throat. “No! No! This is not a game. I am not a football!”

  Then I woke up cold, sweating and shaking, with tears running down my cheeks. For a moment I lay staring into the darkness. Then, still trembling, I reached across and turned on the lamp.

  The ghosts of my dream fled before the light. I looked down at myself. My dress was totally crushed and the long skirt was ripped on one side where it had caught on the heel of my shoe while I was asleep.

  I checked the time—almost five o’clock. Another two hours and the car would be here to take me to the studio. My mouth felt dry. I got out of bed and went into the bathroom.

  The first thing I did was brush my teeth and rinse out my mouth. Then I looked at myself in the mirror.

  My eyes were puffy and my face white and drawn. I stared at myself in disgust. It would take at least two hours to make myself presentable. I started the water running in the tub and I opened a jar of cream to begin removing my makeup.

  I noticed my hands were still shaking and without thinking reached fo
r a tranquilizer. Then I stopped. Between the pills and the drinking, I had really done a job on myself. There was no other explanation for that crazy nightmare.

  I put the pill back in the bottle. There had to be a better way to keep going.

  ***

  I spent two hours in Makeup and Hairdressing, where they toned down the blond in my hair and eyebrows and covered my body with a dark makeup that turned my skin to a dull copper. Then came the selection of my costume—a short loose-fitting chamois dress with a few touches of colored beads. They called it the Debra Paget. She had worn it last while playing the mother of Cochise in an old Jeff Chandler film. By ten o’clock I had been driven to the back lot where they were doing the filming.

  Chad came over to the car as I got out. He kissed my cheek. “You look sensational,” he said. “Sleep okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Good,” he said. Chad then introduced me to the man who had ambled over to us. “This is your director. Marty Ryan. JeriLee Randall.”

  Ryan was wearing a faded blue shirt and cowboy jeans. His grip was firm. “Glad to meet you, JeriLee,” he said with a Western twang.

  “My pleasure,” I said.

  “Ready for work?”

  I nodded.

  “Good,” he said. “We’re ready for your first set up.”

  I felt a moment of panic. “I just got the script last night,” I said quickly. “I haven’t had a chance to read it yet. I don’t know my lines.”

  “No problem,” he said. “You don’t have any dialogue in these scenes anyway. Come with me.”

  I followed him down to the camera and sound truck, which was standing in front of the Indian camp set. A number of men in Indian costumes were seated around a wooden crate playing cards. Near the corral two wranglers were tending to the horses.

  “Hey, Terry,” the director shouted, “bring her horse over here.”

  The smaller wrangler cut a large white horse out of the pack and started toward me. The director turned back to me. “It’s a simple shot,” he explained. “You come from the tent over there, look around for a moment, then run to the horse, jump up and ride away.”

  I stared at him, too dumbfounded to speak.

  He mistook my silence for confusion. “It sounds more complicated than it really is,” he explained gently.