Lily thought that she would die. Jennifer Quinn, that young, blonde, voluptuous starlet, newly cast in the screen version of Archie Sanger, and Harry? But Lily had just spoken to him last night! Even if the two of them had been spotted together, surely they could have been dining to discuss some aspect of the ongoing production. Or so Lily tried to reason. Then again, she thought, Hollywood was a seductive place, where infidelities were merely winked at. And just what was Harry doing wining and dining—for business or pleasure—when so recently he had had time only to send out for sandwiches?
In the end, Lily’s doubts and fears overcame her. She seized the phone and called the Beverly Hills Hotel. It was nine o’clock her time, six in the morning on the coast, she’d better find Harry snug in his own bed.
When she heard his sleepy voice, she could barely find strength to speak. Relief began to wash over her, but then she remembered what had prompted her call. “Harry?” she began uncertainly.
“Lily! Is something wrong?”
“I should say there is,” she said sternly, in spite of herself. “Have you seen today’s paper?”
“Of course not. I’m sleeping.”
“I think you should take a look at Hedda Hopper’s column.”
“What for? Can’t you just tell me?”
Lily sighed wearily and read him the piece.
Harry snorted a laugh. “And that’s what’s bothering you? That I had dinner with one of the actresses in our movie?”
“Yes,” she said, bitter that he refused to acknowledge this was reason to be upset.
“I’m really surprised at you, Lily. It’s just idle gossip, grist for the mill—didn’t that occur to you?”
“Frankly, no.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Lily! She’s just a little actress.”
“And I’m just your wife. When I was out there in Tinseltown, you never had time to call me, let alone take me to dinner.”
Harry’s tone was grim. “I took her out because the director asked me to.”
“So if I want to have dinner with my husband, I’m to speak to him?”
“Lily, this doesn’t sound like you. You’ve never been a jealous, suspicious wife.”
Lily sighed. Harry was right. But she was determined to see this through. “Well, I’ve never had my husband linked with a starlet in a gossip column before.”
There was a silence. Then Harry said quietly, “Lily, I’m coming home.”
Lily tried to control herself, but already she’d been pushed to her emotional limit. “You must be feeling terribly guilty to come as far as that.”
“Lily, I love you. And if I have to come to New York to tell you in person, dammit, I will!”
No sooner had she hung up than she regretted having called. Harry had never given her cause for worry. If only she’d never seen that gossip column.
Lily was still mulling all this over when Harry called back. His voice sounded conciliatory. He seemed genuinely glad to be coming home. Lily’s eyes brimmed with tears as he told her when his plane would arrive. He asked haltingly if she would meet him.
“Darling,” she said, nearly breathless, “you know I will.”
Harry couldn’t get there soon enough for Lily’s taste. She ached for him from the moment they hung up the second time to the moment his arms were flung around her.
Feeling like honeymooners, they took a suite at the Waldorf. They each felt an urgency to reaffirm their love, with no questions asked, no problems posed.
For one blissful week, they reveled in each other’s company. Harry showered Lily with attention reminiscent of their first days of courtship yet now more resplendent thanks to his hard-earned wealth. They danced until dawn, went to the theater, strolled through the city by moonlight.
But from Hollywood, the desperate telegrams and phone calls were unending. Harry was holding up production.
Lily was the one to return to reality. “Darling, I love you. And these past few days have been my happiest yet. But I know you’ve got to complete the picture. You have to go back.” Even as she said this, Lily cherished the hope that Harry could somehow complete the rest of the script at home.
They toyed with the idea of Lily returning to Hollywood with him, but Lily knew this would not be for the best. She made the excuse of the children. Harry was sorry she wouldn’t be coming, but he did understand. Lily smiled to herself ruefully. If Harry only knew: The children barely needed her.
Standing at the terminal windows, Lily felt desolate as she watched the plane become airborne. After this wonderful interlude, she could barely stand the thought of being parted from him. She finally turned away sighing, walked outside, and found her car. She sat behind the steering wheel and stared ahead of her. What was she going to do today? She could go home, but the glow of those few days had left her feeling for the first time in many years less like a mother, more like a woman.
Lily felt a sudden urge to book the first flight out, but that was impossible.
She found herself turning off on Fifty-ninth Street and veering toward Fifth Avenue. Back at the Waldorf, she gave the keys to the attendant and re-registered, asking for the same suite as before. She needed desperately to hold on to the feeling she had had here with Harry.
After the bellboy left, she looked around the sitting room, then through the open door to the bedroom, trying to recapture the events that had taken place there. But that was impossible; only Harry’s presence could do that.
She grabbed her purse and all but ran down the hall, but once out on the street her steps slowed. Aimlessly, she walked down Park, then over to Fifth, and then turned back to Madison. The shops were magnificent, and the mannequins in the window seemed to beckon to her.
Two days later, she drove back to The Meadows, with a trunk full of boxes and bags, hardly able to remember what she had bought. It was all so ridiculous, as was the total pampering of herself at Elizabeth Arden.
There was nothing wrong with a woman’s wanting to look beautiful, but this compulsive shopping spree had happened for all the wrong reasons. None of it was a substitute for a husband.
The moment Harry opened the door to his bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel, the phone was ringing. Thinking that it might be Lily, he ran quickly to answer.
“Hello?”
It was Percy Levine, Archie Sanger’s director. “Harry? It’s about time you got back.”
“I’m sorry. As I told you, I had some personal business back East.”
“Well, at least you’re back now. I want you to come to dinner this evening. We’ve been having a little trouble with Jennifer. She simply refuses to work unless you’re here to write every word that comes out of her mouth. I’m going to put you next to her at the table tonight and I want you to charm her into a more reasonable frame of mind.”
“Charm her? I can’t stand her. The woman’s totally brainless.”
“Maybe, but she’s the hottest thing in britches right now, and the boss insists we use her. Since you’re the only person who will satisfy her, you’re the one to see she cooperates with us a little more than she has been.”
“The sacrifices I have to make,” he said in mock exasperation.
After spending the evening with her, he had to admit that, dim as she was, she was one of the sexiest girls he’d ever been near. And however shallow Jennifer Quinn was in person, she could project incredible depth on the screen. When Harry saw the daily rushes, he was stunned by the emotions she could evoke in her role as a southern blonde harlot: the vulnerability, the hidden sweetness, the sense of being a helpless victim. But he almost laughed at the irony of Lily’s being jealous of her—that dinner with Jennifer had been one of the most boring he had ever had.
Tonight again, as they sat together, he was struck by how utterly vacuous she was. Did she ever think about anything other than herself? The truth was that Jennifer was secretly convinced that if she could ensnare Harry, he would build up her part so that she could eclipse Ingrid Bergman. This movie c
ould secure her place in the Hollywood pantheon.
But as they dined, her fluttering eyelashes, heaving bosom, and breathless voice had no effect on Harry; when she suggested Ciro’s, he excused himself, saying, “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m really tired from my flight.”
Jennifer was taken aback. Usually her ploys had more effect than this. She had thought Harry would jump at the chance to see more of her.
Still, she was clever enough to control her pique. Smiling sweetly, she said, “I hope we’ll get together again soon, Harry.”
He said politely, “I hope so too.”
God, was he glad to be back in his bungalow! The last thing he had wanted was to spend more time in a nightclub with Jennifer Quinn. His mind dwelt on the week he had just spent with Lily. With her was where he longed to be.
But Lily was three thousand miles away. It was no use torturing himself. To help console himself, Harry poured himself a Scotch. He took off his shirt and pants, all the while taking long swallows of his drink.
With the water running, he almost didn’t hear the knock. But then there it was again, louder. Harry slipped on a robe and pulled the sash tight around his waist and then answered the door. There stood Jennifer Quinn, wrapped in a Black Diamond mink coat, with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.
She smiled her Scarlett O’Hara smile.
Harry just stared at her. She was the last thing he’d expected to see.
He hesitated for so long that she finally laughed. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
She handed him the bottle with a coy smile. “It’s already chilled,” she purred.
Harry cleared his throat and said abruptly, “Jennifer, this is a lovely idea—but as I told you earlier, I’m really very tired tonight. I was just getting into a hot tub. Now, if you’ll just let me …”
Jennifer smiled again. “I understand. But how about just a sip of champagne? It’s sure to relax you.”
Harry tried to be diplomatic. He didn’t want to offend his head star. “Okay—maybe one glass. Just let me turn off the water before the tub overflows.”
When Harry returned to the room, he stopped short. Jennifer stood before him totally nude, except for a black, rhinestone-studded garter belt, sheer black nylons, and black high-heeled pumps.
Harry didn’t know what to say, what to do, where to look. Jennifer walked toward him seductively, wrapped her arms around him, and held him close.
In spite of himself, he felt himself harden. Then, before he knew it, Jennifer had pushed him to the bed. She kissed him all over with desperate passion.
Harry couldn’t restrain himself. Few men, at that moment, could have resisted Jennifer’s wily charms.
When their gymnastics had finally subsided, Jennifer straddled Harry. “You’re going to make me a star, aren’t you, Harry?”
Harry smiled weakly. “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to do anything after tonight.”
“Oh, yes you are,” she said, stroking him gently. “Come on, roll over.”
But the magnitude of his folly was beginning to sink in. Harry got out of bed and put on his robe. He lit a cigarette and walked to the window, filled with deep self-loathing, as well as disgust. How could he do this to Lily? Lily, whom he loved and had so recently left.
He looked back at Jennifer, lying suggestively on the bed. The tempting blonde-bombshell starlet. The successful novelist and Hollywood novice. God, even the cigarette was cliché. Yet here he was, living the whole thing.
Jennifer broke his reverie. “Well, what will it be tomorrow? My place or yours?”
The suggestion riled Harry. “Look, Jennifer. You’re a very lovely, desirable young woman. But I am a married man. Anything between us, aside from work on the movie, ends here.”
“Married man—ha!” she laughed. She got out of bed and tried to wrap herself around him.
“No.” The vehemence in Harry’s tone was directed more toward himself than at her. “No, I mean it. I am a married man. I don’t play around.”
Jennifer eyed him quizzically. “You really mean it, don’t you?”
He nodded silently.
Shrugging, she smiled insouciantly. “Well—it’s been fun. See you at the studio.”
After she had gone, Harry drained the cold bathwater. He turned on the shower, as hot as he could stand, and stood under it, scrubbing himself as though he could wash Jennifer’s touch away.
Chapter 22
AT LONG LAST THE script was done. The studio was ecstatic with the first rushes which had been shot even as Harry was completing the script. He had adeptly transferred the impact of his prose to the screen. The moguls planned to have the film ready by December. It would be their biggest release. The buzz in the industry was that the studio had a blockbuster in the making. All the signs—stars, script, direction—pointed to a record success.
At long last Harry returned to The Meadows. The day after he came home, he sat at breakfast with Lily. It was a beautiful morning and he felt at peace with the world. The recollection of the night with Jennifer had faded to a benign memory. He assuaged his guilt by telling himself that her advances had been utterly unsolicited. She had seduced him, and after that night he was as good as his word: The only relationship he had with her was a professional one.
Retreating from the memory of that fateful evening, Harry embraced his family all the more. “Darling, it’s wonderful to be home,” he told Lily. “I want you to cancel the kids’ summer camps. I don’t want them to go away. And I especially want Jeremy home.”
“But Harry, you said that he needed to go to summer school.”
“Well, forget it. I want him home this summer. I haven’t seen the kids in six months and I want to try to make it up to them a little.”
But when Lily called Jeremy, she was startled to hear him say, “No, Mom, I really need this extra tutoring.”
“Oh, no you don’t, honey! As far as I’m concerned, you’re doing just fine in school. And your father is very anxious that you come home.”
“Dad wants me home?”
“Of course he does, darling. He hasn’t seen you for months and he misses you.”
After struggling through a few years at Deerbrook, Jeremy had managed to get into Exeter. He well knew he needed summer school to give him a head start. And although deep down he still loved his father and craved his approval, the long years of striving in vain to meet Harry’s expectations had chastened his feelings. Since going to Deerbrook, Jeremy had retreated into himself. He had turned from an open, confiding child, to a quiet, withdrawn boy who kept all confidences to himself, not even sharing his fears with his mother or with Drew.
Drew, for his part, was extremely unhappy at having his plans for summer camp scotched. He had been headed for a special baseball camp and was hoping that with the extra practice he might make pitcher.
But of the three of them, Randy was the most disgruntled. Cousin Randolph had invited him to spend the entire summer with him, and now Harry’s insistence that they spend the summer as a family had dashed his hopes and plans.
Melissa was almost as upset as Randy.
Pouting, she complained, “All my friends will be at camp, having loads of fun. I’m going to miss everything.”
Lily tried to soften the blow. “We’ll have a lot of fun here, too, Melissa. It’s not too often that we have Daddy around.”
At that, Melissa brightened a bit, a plan beginning to form in her mind. “Will he take me to New York for lunch at Delmonico’s, and buy me a doll house as big as Amy’s?”
“I’m sure he will if you ask him, darling.” Lily smiled. She was so thrilled at the prospect of having Harry and the children all together at home for the summer that she would have promised anybody anything at this moment. At last her dreams were coming to fruition and the family life she had dreamed of for so long was becoming a reality. But as the summer began, Harry and Jeremy started things off on the wrong foot by arguing about his grades from Deerbrook.
/> “You say I’m right,” Harry shouted, “but you don’t ever seem to do anything about it!”
Lily put a cautioning hand on Harry’s arm. “Don’t badger him, Harry.”
Impatiently he shook it off. “Lily, this is between me and Jeremy. All right, son, what do you have to say for yourself?”
By the time the evening was over, the tone of the summer was set.
Drew was livid over Jeremy’s distress, while Randy retreated to his room and Melissa was in a sulk because Daddy hadn’t yet promised to take her to Delmonico’s.
Harry had been full of plans for excursions and outings, but the sullen atmosphere dimmed his own enthusiasm and the children’s as well. They didn’t want to go on any family picnics, or even out to Coney Island. And they rebelled against every other suggestion Harry made.
Still, remembering Lily’s admonition, Harry persevered. He held his tongue even at the times he was sorely tempted. Come July, the family set off in the big Chrysler station wagon for two weeks in Nantucket, full of high hopes.
But the trip fast turned to fiasco. After two days of constant bickering, Harry exploded. “This is it! We’re going home; pack your bags.” The moment they arrived home, he went straight to his round tower study, and closed and locked the door.
Lily was sick with disappointment. What would it take to get this family together? After wrestling with the subject for days, resisting the urge to face Harry with recriminations, she could hold back no more.
“Harry, I want to talk to you about the situation between you and the children.”
“What about it?”
“You were the one to disrupt their plans, just so that you could see them—but after a few tries at being Daddy, you shut them out and went back into your ivory tower—all because you couldn’t stand the stresses and strains of fatherhood.”
The Last Princess Page 17