"I'm awfully glad you came to your senses. You saved me an air fare." His eyes twinkled.
"I did. How?"
"I was planning to come out to San Francisco and jump off the Golden Gate Bridge. After I beat you up."
"I might have gotten there first. I was so depressed, I could hardly see."
"Well"--he sat back and lit a cigar he plucked from his humidor--"everything's worked out for the best. And tomorrow you get to work. Any other plans in the meantime? Anything you're itching to do? Go shopping, invite some friends in? My secretary will help you with anything you need." But Bettina had started to shake her head quickly, and then slowly her eyes lit up as she tilted her head to one side.
"It's been so long since I've been here.... " She mused happily. "Last time I was really only here for a day. I think maybe ... Bloomingdale's ..." She grinned.
"Women." He rolled his eyes. "My wife lives at Bergdorfs. She only comes home for meals." She chuckled as she left him, and it was four hours later before she got back to the hotel, feeling guilty about Alexander left to a new sitter after he had been to a new school, in a new town. But when she got back to the hotel, buried under a stack of boxes, Alexander was eating spaghetti and had chocolate ice cream all over his face.
"We ate the ice cream first, then the spaghetti. Jennifer says my tummy won't know which came first as long as I eat them both." He grinned happily at his mother, a portrait in red and brown. He certainly didn't seem to have missed her, and she had had a wonderful time.
A note from the desk told her that Ivo had left for London and that the producer would be at the hotel to see her at ten the next morning. It was obvious that John hadn't called. But she brushed her qualms away from her conscience and retired to her room to try on four new dresses, three sweaters, and a suit. She had spent almost a thousand dollars. But she could afford it now, and she had had a ball. Besides she would need the wardrobe. Now that she was back in New York nothing she had brought with her looked even remotely right.
And she was gratified the next morning when she met the producer in a wonderful cream-colored cashmere dress.
"My God, you look marvelous, Bettina. We ought to cast you."
"Hardly, but thank you." They had exchanged a warm smile and gone back to work. For the moment all she had to worry about was the smoothing of a few kinks; he had the mechanics to worry about and the hiring of everyone from actors to the director of the play. But they must have been living under a spell of magic, because all of the casting and hiring had been done by the end of a week.
"Already? That's a miracle!" Norton had told her when she called to report to him. She had seen all the final tryouts and she loved the actors they had selected for the play. For a while she had been nervous that Anthony might show up for the auditions, but she didn't even know if he was still in the States, and six years was a very long time. It had been that long since she'd seen him last. But whatever the reason he never showed.
It was two weeks later when she got a call from Ivo. She had just sailed in from the theater to dine with Alexander and she was wearing a comfortable old sweat shirt and jeans.
"Did you just get back from London?"
"Last night. How've you been?"
"Wonderful. Oh, Ivo, you should see how the play's going. It's just beautiful, and they've got the most marvelous actors to play the father and the girl." It was easy to hear in her voice that she was thrilled.
I'm glad, darling. Why don't you tell me about it over dinner? I'm having dinner at Lutece with a friend."
"Very fancy, Ivo. I'm impressed." It was still the most expensive restaurant in town.
"Don't be. You should be more impressed with whom I'm dining with. The new theater critic at the Mail."
"Oh, God."
"Never mind that, you ought to meet him, and he's very, very nice."
"What's his name? Do I know him from way back when?"
"Unlikely. He's been at the Los Angeles Times for the last seventeen years. He just came to us--" He grinned at the slip and she laughed at him. "To them, sorry, about six months ago. His name is Oliver Paxton. And he's both too young and too sensible to have been one of your father's friends."
"He sounds dreary as hell. Do I really have to meet him?"
"He's not and you should. Come on, darling, it'll be good for you. You didn't just come here to work."
"Yes, I did." She was being immensely careful not to make the same mistake that she had made on the road show with Anthony seven years before. She wasn't hanging out with the cast or the crew or the producer, and she wasn't soliciting any close friends. She was doing precisely what she had told John she would do. Working, taking care of Alexander whenever possible, seeing her agent--but that was about it. Except for Ivo, but he was a special kind of friend. She was not risking any involvements. She wanted to do her play, but she wanted to keep her marriage too.
"So, will you join us?" She was thinking about it and watching Alexander play with his food.
"I was just eating with Alexander."
"How exciting. Surely you can join us afterward, Bettina. Besides, his menu can't be as wonderful as all that."
"Not exactly." He had ordered hot dogs and chocolate pudding, with a double order for her. "As a matter of fact ... what time are you dining?"
"I told Ollie I'd meet him at eight thirty. He had some sort of meeting he had to go to at six."
"Sounds just like you in the old days, Ivo."
"Yes, doesn't it? But he's not nearly as handsome."
"And undoubtedly not as charming." She was teasing now and he was laughing.
"I'll let you judge that for yourself."
Chapter 37
Bettina stepped out of the taxi on Fiftieth Street, east of Third Avenue, and hurried into the restaurant with an expectant smile. This would be the first time she had seen Ivo since she had agreed to do the play and had come to New York with Alexander. She was happy to see him, although she would have preferred to see him alone. But it didn't really matter. It was amusing to be out for an evening, instead of alone poring over her notes in the hotel. She left her coat with the girl at the cloakroom, and then waited for the headwaiter so she could ask him if Ivo was already there. But before he could reach her, she noticed several men staring, and she wondered for a moment if what she had worn was all wrong. It was one of the dresses she had bought when she'd gone shopping, but she hadn't yet had occasion to wear it anywhere. It was a pale lilac velvet that did wonderful things to the creamy warmth of her skin and the color of her hair. It had clean, simple lines and it was a very pretty midcalf length. And the simplicity and the color reminded her vaguely of the beautiful Balenciaga outfit she had owned years before, with a wonderful dark green velvet tunic coat. But this was much simpler, and she wore it with a single long strand of her mother's lovely pearls, and the matching earrings in her ears. She looked wonderfully fresh and demure as she stood there, tiny and delicate, with her eyes very large and green. Ivo was watching from a distant table and he signaled to her with a warm, friendly smile. She saw him quickly and slipped past the headwaiter, to where Ivo's table was, in a kind of canopied garden in the back.
"Good evening, little one, how are you?" He stood and kissed her and she gave him a warm hug, and then suddenly she noticed the giant standing next to him. He had the look of a friendly young man, with gray eyes, broad shoulders, and sandy California-blond hair. "And this is Oliver Paxton. I've been wanting you two to meet for quite a while." They politely shook hands and all three of them sat down at the table, as Oliver looked her over with considerable appreciation and wondered what lay between his friend and this girl. They seemed to have an odd, comfortable, almost familylike relationship, and then he remembered that he and her father had been close friends. And then suddenly he remembered what Ivo had told him before he went to London. This was Justin Daniels's daughter, the girl who had just written what was predicted to be the season's hit play.
"Now I know who you are!" He
smiled broadly, and as she looked at him she grinned.
"Who am I?"
But he grinned. "You're Justin Daniels's daughter and you've just written what is supposed to be a wonderful play. Does anyone call you anything besides Bettina?" He looked at her warmly, but she shook her head with a laugh and a smile.
"Not in New York they don't. In California some of my close friends get away with a name I hate. But I won't tell you."
"Where in California?"
"San Francisco."
"How long have you lived there?"
"Almost six years."
"Like it?"
"I love it." Her face lit up with a warm smile and so did his. The evening was off and running. He was from Los Angeles but had gone to school at the University of San Francisco, and had a warm spot in his heart for that city, though it wasn't a sentiment that Ivo shared.
The three of them ordered a special dinner, and the conversation was fast and heavy for the next three hours. It was close to midnight when at last Ivo signaled to the headwaiter for the bill. "I don't know about you two children, but this white-haired old gentleman is about ready for his bed." He stifled a yawn as he smiled at them. But he had had a lovely evening, and it was easy to see that they were enjoying themselves too. But now Bettina was laughing and looking at him with a teasing eye.
"That's not fair, Ivo. You've had white hair since you were twenty-two."
"Possibly, darling. But by now I've earned it, so I can mention it as often as I like." Oliver looked at him with frank admiration. He was a rare specimen in journalism, and someone he had respected for all of his life.
Ivo bid them a warm adieu as he got into his car just outside the restaurant, where it had waited for him all night long. And Oliver assured Ivo that he would get Bettina back to the hotel.
"You won't kidnap her or do anything vulgar?"
Oliver laughed warmly at the suggestion and there was a definite gleam in his eye. "Kidnap her, no, Ivo, I promise not to, and I'd like to think that nothing I could do would be considered vulgar. At least not viewed by the right eye."
"I will leave that entirely up to Miss Daniels." He waved to them both, pressed the button that raised the window, and a moment later he drove off in his limo as the two of them waved and smiled.
Oliver looked down happily at Bettina as they walked slowly west, past brownstones, and then eventually apartment buildings, offices, and stores. "How long have you known Ivo, Bettina?"
"All my life." And then she smiled at him. Obviously he didn't know the rest of it. His next question seemed indicative of that.
"He was a friend of your father's?"
She nodded, still smiling, and then she sighed and decided to tell him the rest. But the smile hadn't fled. It was something she could tell easily now. It didn't shame her. It was something she remembered with tenderness and pride. "Yes, he was a friend of my father's. But we were also married for six years ... a long time ago."
He looked at her in total astonishment, the handsome gray eyes amazed.
"What happened?"
"He wanted to think I outgrew him. But I didn't. In any case now we're just friends."
"That is the most extraordinary story I've heard all night. You know, I never had any idea of it tonight at dinner." And then he looked at her carefully. "Do you ... still see each other? ..." He floundered painfully and she grinned. "I mean ... I didn't mean to ... do you suppose he was angry when I said I'd take you home? ..." He was in agony and all she could do was laugh.
"No, of course not." In fact she suspected that there had been an ulterior motive for the introduction, but she didn't say that to her new friend. Either Ivo wanted him to feel kindly toward her new play or he figured she needed an escort while she was in town.
"Well, I'll be damned." Oliver was still astonished, and for a while they walked along in silence, her hand slipped easily into his arm. And then he turned to smile down at her gently.
"Do you suppose it would be possible for us to go dancing?"
This time she looked at him in amazement. "Tonight? But it's almost one o'clock."
"I know it is." He looked at her in amusement. "But as Ivo said, things are different in New York. Everything is still open. Any interest?" She was about to say no to his outlandish offer, but something in the way he looked down at her amused her, and she found herself laughingly saying yes. They quickly jumped into a taxi, and he took her to a bar somewhere on the Upper East Side. There was live music and there were crowds of people, pressed together, swaying with the music, laughing and drinking and having a good time. It was a far cry from the elegant restraint of Lutece, but Bettina enjoyed it thoroughly, and an hour later they left, with regret.
As they traveled back to her hotel they spoke of her upcoming opening.
"I bet the play is brilliant." He looked warm and solid as he looked down at her eyes.
"What makes you say that?"
"Because you wrote it--and you're a very special lady." She laughed appreciatively. "I wish you were something other than a critic."
"Why?" He looked surprised.
"Because I'd like you to come and see my play and tell me what you think. But since you are who you are, Ollie"--she smiled up at him as she used the name-- "the producer would have a fit." And then she had a thought and looked up at him again. "Will you be the one who reviews it?"
"Probably."
"That's too bad." She looked woeful.
"Why?"
"Because you'll probably cream it, and then I'll feel awkward with you, and you'll be embarrassed, and it'll be awful.... " But he was laughing at her predictions of woe and despair.
"Then there's only one solution to the problem."
"What's that, Mister Paxton?"
"That we become fast friends before the play opens, so it doesn't matter when I review it what I write. How does that sound?"
"It's probably the only solution."
When they got back to the hotel he asked if he could take her for a drink. She told him her son was upstairs and she wanted to make sure he was all right.
"A son--you and Ivo had a son? Oh, my, this is confusing."
"No, the son is my child by my third husband."
"My, my, what a popular lady. And how old is this son?" He hadn't looked particularly impressed by her three marriages, and she was relieved as they walked on.
"He's four and his name is Alexander, and he's wonderful."
"And let me guess. He's your only child?" He smiled benevolently down at her as she nodded.
"He is."
Then he looked at her carefully. "And the young man's father? Has he been disposed of or is he in New York too?" The way that he said it made her laugh, despite her serious worries about John.
"Well, he's not too pleased about our coming to New York, which he is convinced is Sodom and Gomorrah. And he is furious that I'm doing the play. But I'm still married to him, if that was your question. He stayed in San Francisco. But I wanted Alexander with me."
"Can I meet him?" It was the only thing he could have said that brought him closer to her heart.
"Would you like to?"
"I'd love it. Why don't we make it a very early dinner before the theater tomorrow and take him. Then we can bring him back to the hotel and go out afterward. Sound reasonable?"
"It sounds wonderful. Thank you, Ollie."
"At your service." He bowed impressively, and then hailed a cab. And it wasn't until she got upstairs that Bettina began having qualms. What was she doing going out with this man? She was a married woman, and she had promised herself she wouldn't go out with anyone while she was in New York. But he was a friend of Ivo's, after all.
She had heard nothing from John since the day they'd left. He answered none of Bettina's calls and letters, and his secretary always insisted that he had just gone out. Bettina let the phone at home ring again and again and again, but to no avail. He either never answered it or was never there. So maybe it wasn't so awful that she shou
ld have dinner with Oliver Paxton. And no matter how much she liked him, she was not going to have an affair.
And she told him that bluntly the next night after they left the theater and went to the Russian Tea Room for blini and drinks.
"So who asked you?" He looked at her in enormous amusement. "Madam, it's not you I want, it's your son.
"Have you ever been married?"
He smiled sweetly at her. "No, I've never been asked."
"I'm serious, Ollie." He was rapidly becoming a real friend. And whatever their attraction to each other was, they both understood that it would go no farther than the friendship they had. As far as Bettina was concerned, it couldn't. And Ollie respected that.
He was smiling at her now as their blini came and he dug in. "I was being serious too, and no, I've never been married."
"Why not?"
'"There hasn't been anyone I wanted to get stuck with for the rest of my life."
"That's a nice way to put it." She made a face and tasted her blini.
He looked at her. "So Number Three doesn't approve of all this?"
She began by trying to defend him, which told Ollie its own tale. And then slowly she just shook her head. "No."
"That's not surprising."
"Why not?"
"Because it's hard for a lot of men to accept a woman with another life, either a past or a future, and you happen to have both. But you did what you had to do."
"But how do you know that?" She looked so earnest that he couldn't resist reaching out and rumpling her soft auburn curls.
He smiled at her slowly. "I don't even know if you remember it. But there's something in a book of your father's. I came across it one day when I was trying to decide if I should take the job at the Mail and come to New York. Your father would approve of your choice.... "
She looked at him and her eyes widened, and they quoted it together word for word. "My God, Ollie, that was what I read the day I told them I'd come here. That was what changed my mind." He looked at her strangely.
Loving (1981) Page 22