Once in a Lifetime

by Steel, Danielle

  "That's subtle." She looked at Barbara with amusement, and her companion grinned.

  "This is Hollywood, Daff. Nothing is subtle out here."

  It turned out to be a prophetic statement, as they discovered when they reached the Beverly Hills Hotel. It stood in pink stucco splendor surrounded by palm trees with its name splashed across the front in bright green. Inside the lobby everything was chaos, women hurried past wearing tight jeans, gold chains, silk shirts, blond hair, and high-heeled sandals; men walked by in expensive Italian suits, or tight pants and shirts open to their waists. The aroma in the hotel was a veritable symphony of expensive perfumes, bellboys staggered under the weight of enormous arrangements of flowers, or stacks of Gucci luggage, and the hotel roster read like the Academy Awards.

  "Miss Fields? Of course. We have your cottage ready." A bellboy solemnly wheeled her cartful of luggage past the starlets and would-be producers clustered around the swimming pool, and Daphne was fascinated by the array of bodies and more gold chains, everyone drinking white wine or martinis in the middle of the day. The "cottage" turned out to have four bedrooms, three baths, an icebox stocked with caviar and champagne, and a view of still more palm trees, and there was a huge bouquet of roses and a box of chocolates from Comstock with a note that said "See you tomorrow." And suddenly she turned to Barbara with a look of terror.

  "I can't do it." Her voice was tense. The bellboy had just left them, and they stood in the enormous flowery living room of their cottage. Daphne's eyes were larger than Barbara had ever seen them. "Barb, I can't."

  "What? Eat the chocolates?" Teasing was her only hope, it was obvious that Daphne was panicked.

  "No. Look at all this. It's Hollywood. What the hell am I doing here? I'm a writer. I don't know anything about all this stuff."

  "You don't have to. All you have to do is sit down at your typewriter and do the same thing you do at home. Ignore all this bullshit. It's just window dressing."

  "No, it isn't. Did you see them out there? They all think it's real."

  "This is a hotel for chrissake. They're all from St. Louis. Relax." She poured her a glass of champagne, and Daphne sat on the pink-and-green-flowered couch, looking like an orphan.

  "I want to go home."

  "Well, I won't let you. So shut up and enjoy it. Hell, I haven't even seen Rodeo Drive yet." Daphne grinned at her, remembering the life Barbara had led with her mother. It was a far cry from all this. "Do you want something to eat?"

  "I'd throw up."

  "Christ, Daff. Why don't you just relax and enjoy it?"

  "Enjoy what? The fact that I've signed a contract to do something I have no idea how to do, in a place that looks like life on another planet, three thousand miles from my only child ... for God's sake, Barbara, what am I doing here?"

  "Making money for your kid." It was an answer Barbara knew would reach her if nothing else did. "Get my point?"

  "Yeah." But it was small consolation. "I feel like I've signed on for the foreign legion."

  "You have. And the faster you get to work, the faster we get out of here." Not that Barbara wanted to, not by a long shot. She loved it already.

  "Now there's a good idea." She went to unpack then, and half an hour later she looked better. Barbara called Comstock and told them they had arrived safely, and after that they went out to the pool and swam. That night they shared a quiet dinner, took a look into the Polo Lounge filled with what looked like actors and models and businessmen and shady characters who might have been drug dealers, and by ten o'clock they were in bed, Barbara with a feeling of excitement and anticipation, and Daphne with a sense of awe at what lay ahead.

  The next morning they went to a meeting at Comstock, and by the time they left at noon, back to the exotic splendor of the hotel, Daphne almost felt as though she might live. She had a better idea of what they wanted her to do with Apache, she had taken copious notes and she planned to get to work the same day. And Barbara's work was cut out too. She had the names of half a dozen real estate agents. She was going to look for a house for them to rent.

  She also placed a call to Daphne's agent, and got whatever messages Iris had for her. And by that afternoon things were beginning to roll smoothly. Daphne had brought her own typewriter from New York, had shoved a table and chair into a corner, and had begun to work as Barbara went out to the pool.

  When she came back an hour later, Daphne was still working, and Barbara turned the lights on for her. She was so engrossed in what she was doing that she hadn't even noticed the light grow dim.

  "Mn?" She looked up with the distracted look she always wore when she was working, her hair was piled up on her head with a pen stuck through it, and she had put on a T-shirt and jeans. "Oh, hi, Have a nice swim?"

  "Very. Want something to eat?"

  "Hm ... nah ... maybe later." Barbara liked to watch her working, she got so totally involved in what she did. You could actually see the creative process at work. At eight o'clock she ordered room service for them both and when it arrived, she tapped Daphne on the shoulder. She never remembered to eat when she was working, and in New York Barbara would just set a tray on her desk and keep reminding her to eat.

  "Chow time."

  "Okay. In a minute." Which usually meant an hour, and in this case it did too.

  "Come on, kiddo. You've got to eat."

  "I will." At last she stopped pounding her typewriter and sat back with a sigh as she stretched and rubbed her shoulders. She smiled at Barbara then. "Boy, that feels good."

  "How's it going?"

  "Not bad. I feel like a virgin all over again."

  She went back to her typewriter after dinner, and stayed there until 2 A.M. And the next morning she got up at seven, and was pounding away again when Barbara got up.

  "Didn't you go to bed last night?" She knew that sometimes Daphne didn't, but this time she had.

  "Yeah. I think it was around two."

  "You're really smoking, huh?"

  "I want to keep at it while what we talked about yesterday is still fresh in my mind." And she did keep at it all day. Barbara went out to see three houses, had lunch by herself, and sat at the pool. Then she came back to work in her own room answering fan mail, and they took dinner again that night on trays. In a funny way she was like a mother to Daphne, but she didn't mind it. She had had long years of training with her mother, and Daphne was a joy to work for. She was fun to be with, her work was exciting, and there was something marvelous about standing right next to that kind of genius. Daphne never saw it that way, but Barbara always did.

  On the fourth day Daphne called Mrs. Curtis to ask after Andrew, true to her promise she had sent him a letter every day. Mrs. Curtis said he was well and happy, and had readjusted immediately after she left. She also reminded Daphne that she wouldn't be speaking to her again until Daphne returned to New Hampshire and came to visit her in her new home. The following day was her last day at Howarfh. Daphne wished her luck again and hung up, thinking suddenly of Matthew, wondering how he was doing. She knew he was probably madly busy wrapping up at the New York School before he left.

  "How's Andrew?" Barbara came in with a tray for Daphne, and she looked up with a smile.

  "Mrs. Curtis says he's fine. How are we doing on house hunting by the way?"

  Barbara grinned. " 'We' are doing fine. Except so far they're all lemons. Something ought to turn up soon though. Do you want a pool in the shape of a typewriter, or will one in the shape of a book do?"

  "Very funny."

  "Listen, today I saw one heart shape, one oval, one in the shape of a key, and one crown."

  "Sounds very exotic."

  "It is, and it's tacky as hell, and the worst of it is that I love it. I'm discovering a whole other side to my personality."

  Daphne grinned at her, amused. "Listen, if you walk in here with your shirt open to your waist, wearing gold chains, I'll know it's terminal." And the next day, just for a laugh, she did, and Daphne roared.

&n
bsp; "We've only been here five days and you've already been taken over."

  "I can't help it. It's in the air. It's stronger than I am.

  "Nothing is stronger than you are, Barbara Jar-vis." It was a compliment and she meant it, but Barbara shook her head.

  "That's not true, Daff. You are. You're the strongest woman I know, and I mean that in a nice way."

  "Would that it were true."

  "It is."

  "You sound like Matthew Dane."

  "Him again." Barbara watched her closely. "I still think you missed the opportunity of a lifetime. I saw his picture on the back of his book, he's gorgeous."

  "So? What did I miss? An opportunity for a one-night stand before I left New York for a year? Come on, Barbara, what sense does that make? Besides, he didn't offer."

  "Maybe he would have if you'd given him half a chance. And you are going back after all."

  "He's the director of my son's school. That's indecent."

  "Think of him as another author." But Daphne was trying not to think of him at all. He was a nice man and a good friend. And nothing more than that.

  As usual she went back to work after dinner, and Barbara sat in her room, reading a book. It wasn't until the next day that she finally got antsy and took herself off to Rodeo Drive for a look around. She had done everything she had to do for Daphne and there were no houses that day, so she decided to play hooky.

  The limousine dropped her off at the Beverly Wilshire and she stood looking around her with fascination. A long handsome street stretched ahead of her for several blocks, lined inch by inch with expensive boutiques selling clothes and jewelry and luggage and paintings for a grand total of at least several hundred million dollars. It was awesome and, she reminded herself with a feeling of amazement, a long way from the dingy West Side apartment she had shared with her mother.

  Her first stop was at Giorgio's. When she wandered inside she was instantly accosted by a salesgirl wearing high-heeled lavender shoes, pearls, and a pink and mauve Norell suit that retailed for two thousand dollars. The price tags she saw on the clothes hanging on the racks were in the same league. She said she'd "just wander around," which she did, trying hard not to giggle. There was a men's department too in the store, offering mink trench coats and silver fox vests, beautiful suedes and leathers and silk shirts, and stacks and stacks of fabulous cashmeres. She tried on hats, looked at shoes, and at last bought herself an umbrella that said "Giorgio's." She knew Daphne would tease her unmercifully about it, but she hadn't brought one from New York, and she wanted to buy something. From there she wandered up the street, to Hermes and Celine and eventually to Gucci, which was an enormous store with a rich leather smell and wall after wall of the exquisite Italian leather goods in every design they made. She stood in awe in front of an entire case of handbags in black lizard. There was one particular bag that she couldn't take her eyes off. It was a large, simple, rectangular-shaped bag, with a plain gold clasp and a shoulder strap, and other than the fact that it was beautifully made in the expensive reptile, there was nothing pretentious about it. She liked it because it wasn't showy, and it was exactly the kind of bag she liked, but she didn't dare ask how much it was. She knew it had to be unbelievably expensive.

  "Would you like to see the bag, madame?" A salesgirl in the simple black wool dress they all wore opened the case and handed it to Barbara. She was about to refuse, but as the bag danced beneath her eyes she couldn't resist the lure and took it from her. It had a wonderful feel to it, and glancing in the mirror, she slipped it on her shoulder. It was sheer heaven. "For your height it has exactly the right proportions," she lilted in her gentle Italian voice, and Barbara almost drooled, and then just for the hell of it she opened the bag and glanced at the price tag. It was seven hundred dollars.

  "It's very pretty." Regretfully she slipped it off her shoulder and handed it back. "I'll look around some more."

  "Certainly, madame." The pretty blond girl smiled as Barbara began to walk away and saw that a tall, attractive man was watching her intently. She glanced at him, embarrassed that he had seen her give the bag bade, and for a moment she wished that she could turn around and buy it. It was embarrassing somehow to be wandering through these gilded emporiums, totally unable to afford them. But his eyes never left her face as she walked away and looked at some scarves. She was thinking of buying one for Daphne. The woman had done so much for her, it would be fun to bring her a gift as she slaved away over her screenplay in the cottage. But as she handed a red and black scarf to one of the uniformed girls, she noticed that the man who had been watching her earlier had followed her. She turned her back and pretended not to notice, but she saw him slowly approach as she glanced in one of the long elegant mirrors. He stood behind her. He was wearing gray flannel slacks and a well-cut blue shirt, open at the neck, a dark blue cashmere sweater casually tied around his shoulders, and had she looked down she would have seen that his brown loafers were Gucci. But he didn't really have the look of L.A. about him, he looked more like New York, or Philadelphia, or Boston. He had sandy hair and blue eyes, she guessed he was in his late thirties or very early forties. And as Barbara glanced at his reflection again she had the feeling she had seen him somewhere before, but she didn't know who he was and she couldn't place him. He caught her eyes then in the mirror, and with an embarrassed smile he finally approached her.

  "I'm awfully sorry ... I've been staring at you, but I thought ..." Here it comes, she thought to herself, the old line, "Haven't I met you somewhere before?"--a smooth line, his card pressed into her hand. Barbara's eyes were not as warm as he remembered as he walked toward her. But as he looked at her now, he was sure. She had changed a great deal, her frame was the same, but her face had a distant, almost distrustful, look. Life had apparently not been kind to Barbara Jarvis. "Barbara?"

  "Yes." No invitation in her voice or eyes, but he smiled now, sure that it was she.

  "I'm Tom Harrington. I don't think you remember me. We only met once, at my wedding ... I married Sandy Mackenzie." And then suddenly she knew, her eyes flew wide and she stared at him in amazement.

  "Oh, my God ... how did you remember me? It's been ..." She hated to think as she added it up. She hadn't seen him since she was twenty, almost exactly twenty years before. He had married her third-year roommate at Smith. She had dropped out because she was pregnant, and they'd gotten married in Philadelphia. Barbara had gone to the wedding and met him then. But she had never seen either of them after that. He had been a law student then, and after the baby was born they moved to California. "How are you? How's Sandy?" They had sent Christmas cards to her for a dozen years and then finally stopped. She had always been too busy with her mother to answer, but she remembered Sandy distinctly, and Tom, too. She smiled at him warmly then. "Is she here?" It would be fun to see her, especially now that she worked for Daphne. She hadn't wanted to write to them back then, because there was nothing she wanted to tell them. What? That she was living in a depressing little apartment with her mother, buying groceries and cooking, and working as a secretary in a law firm? What was there to be proud of then? But things were different now. "How are the children?" She remembered that they had had another four years later.

  "They're great. Robert is at UCLA, as a drama major, which doesn't have us exactly thrilled, but he's good at it, and if it's what he wants ..." He sighed with a smile. "You know how kids are. And Alex is still at home with her mother, she'll be fifteen in April."

  "Good God." Barbara looked genuinely shocked. UCLA and fifteen years old? How did that happen? Was it that long ago? But it was. She was so stunned that she didn't even notice the way he had phrased his answer.

  "What about you? Are you living out here?" She saw him glance at her left hand, but there was nothing there.

  "No, I'm out here for my job. The woman I work for is writing a screenplay, and we're out here for a year."

  "Sounds like a kick. Anyone I know?"

  Barbara smiled with obvious p
ride. "Daphne Fields."

  "That must be an interesting job. How long have you been here?"

  She grinned. "A week. We're at the Beverly Hills Hotel, it's a tough life." They both laughed and then a shockingly beautiful redhead in white jeans and a white silk shirt joined them. She eyed Barbara with piercing green eyes. She couldn't have been a day over twenty-five, if that. She had creamy cameo skin and the red hair fell almost to her waist. She was quite something. "Nothing fits." She pouted at Tom, and decided that Barbara wasn't worth worrying about. "Everything's too big."

  Barbara smiled in frank admiration of the couple they made, wondering who she was. "I wish I had that problem."

  But there was something kind and intelligent in Tom's eyes as he looked at Barbara. "You look marvelous, you've hardly changed in all these years." It was a friendly lie, but she thought that it was nice of him to say, and he didn't look particularly bowled over by the young beauty at his side. Barbara noticed then that he was already carrying a shopping bag filled with expensive goodies. She couldn't quite figure out the girl's role in his life with Sandy, but his introduction rapidly explained it. "Eloise, I'd like you to meet Barbara." He smiled at Barb, and then Eloise. "Barbara is a friend of my ex-wife's." And suddenly she understood. They were divorced. Then this was his girl friend.

  "Barbara Jarvis," she filled in for him and held out her hand, her eyes going quickly back to his, wanting to ask him more about Sandy, but this was not the time. "It's very nice to meet you." The young redhead didn't say much, but went off to look at a large beige lizard tote bag as Tom watched and then glanced back at Barbara with a look of amusement.

  "I'll say one thing, she's got awfully good taste." It didn't seem to bother him much, nor did he seem overly taken with her.

  "I'm sorry to hear about you and Sandy." Barbara looked genuinely sympathetic. It had been eight or nine years since the Christmas cards stopped. "How long has it been?"

  "Five years. She's remarried." And then after a moment's hesitation, "To Austin Weeks." But that bit of news startled Barbara.