Anne shifted her weight and shivered. She had left her coat in Neely’s room. “Helen, I’ve got to get in bed. The heat’s turned off and I’m freezing.”
“I’ll wait.”
“But I can’t. . . I mean . . . the phone. . .”
“Isn’t the wire long enough?”
“The phone is in the hall.”
“Whaaat?”
“It’s in the hall. I live in a rooming house. I don’t have my own phone.”
“You must be kidding! You mean you wear a rock on your finger worth fifty G’s and you don’t have a phone? Where in hell do you live, anyway?”
“On West Fifty-second Street—right near Leon and Eddie’s.”
“But that’s a crummy neighborhood!” Helen screamed. Then her voice changed. “But what the hell, you’re getting married soon. But how can you live without a private phone in your room?”
“I never really need it.”
“Well, for Chrissake!” Anne heard a yawn and the sound of newspaper rustling. “Oh, I see I’ve made two columns,” Helen said sleepily. “All right, angel, go to sleep. Drop by at rehearsal tomorrow after you’ve finished work.”
“Well, I finish pretty late. And then I rush home and dress to see Allen.”
“Yeah, you better. Dress, I mean. You’re real good-looking, Anne, but that polo coat and tweed suit department has gotta go. Remember, the most important thing in the world is to have a man who loves you. Dress up for him. I’ll call you at the office tomorrow.” The phone clicked.
Anne walked back to Neely’s room. She picked up her coat and bag. Neely followed her to the door. “I don’t get it, Anne.” She stood there shaking her head. “I don’t get it. If I hadn’t heard it with my own ears I wouldn’ta believed it.” Then her expression changed. “But I still say she’s gotta have an angle.”
“No, she hasn’t. She had fun tonight. . . . She’s so lonely really. And she liked Gino.”
“Then that’s it!” Neely screamed. “She’s just using you to get Gino.”
“That’s not true. She was warm and friendly even before I arranged the date. She had me up to her apartment—”
Neely grinned. “Maybe the old war horse is turning queer in her old age.”
“Neely!”
“It happens. Listen, some of those big stars—especially broads like Helen who like sex—they get so fed up with the cold shoulder from men that they turn to women for their, kicks. There was this faded movie star who played at a nightclub with us, and—”
“Neely, Helen is absolutely normal!”
Neely yawned. “Okay, I won’t fight you on that. She’s got too big a reputation for being man crazy. She’ll lay anything in pants. She’s always been known for that. That’s how she lost her first husband. He came home and found her doing it with a gangster she had gone with way back.”
“Neely, that’s untrue. She loved her first husband.”
“Anne, I sit and gab with the girls all day. Everyone knows Helen sang in a speakeasy that was owned by Tony Lagetta. She was mad for him. But he was Italian and Catholic and had a wife and seven kids. He’d lay her, sure—but that’s all. When she made it in her first show, Henry Bellamy stepped in and made her drop Tony. She was getting too famous, and if the wife sued it could hurt Helen’s image. She had a long affair with Henry, but she still slept with Tony on the sneak. Everyone knew but Henry. He just kept managing her and making her a star and a millionaire. Then Tony found someone else, and Helen got so mad she married the first guy who came along—the artist. By this time there were no more speakeasies and Tony ran some fancy joint—a French-Italian restaurant—and Helen used to bring this artist she married in and neck with him to get Tony jealous. I guess it worked, because one day the artist comes home and he finds Helen and Tony having this little reunion. . . . He left her and he was never the same. He got married again—but he was a drunk.”
“And where did you get all this folklore?”
“The Tony part I knew ages ago. Geez, when anyone mentioned Helen’s name they used to say ’Tony’s girl,’ but the Henry Bellamy part and the husband part I got from the kids in the show. Everyone knows—”
“Everyone knows,” Anne interrupted impatiently, “like you know—through hearsay. And like everyone, you’ll spread the same story to everyone you meet. And it will grow. But were you there? Did you ever see Helen and Tony together? I’ve talked to Helen. I know how she felt about her husband. Look, Neely, Helen has a few rough edges, sure. I think she made it so fast she never had time to catch up with her talent. It took her to the top, but at heart she’s still a little girl from New Rochelle. And she pretends to be tough so she won’t get hurt.”
“All right, I give up,” Neely said. “She’s adorable, she’s sweet, and since it looks like you two are gonna be inseparable and you’re the only one who understands her, why not tell her what a big talent your second-best friend has. Maybe she’ll toss me a few bits in the show.”
Anne smiled. “Neely, no one could replace you.”
“Sure. I can just see it. The three of us all getting together and having little girlish chats.”
“Why not? Neely, tomorrow walk over to Helen at rehearsal. Tell her you’re my close friend.”
“Oh, sure.”
“Why not?”
“Because no one just walks over and chats with Helen.”
“Try it, you might be surprised.”
“Sure. Maybe I’ll ask her to compare notes on washing stockings. Does she use Lux or Ivory? Or if she gets her kicks that way, I’ll be glad to send her a few of my slips that need washing.”
“Good night, Neely.”
“Good night. But Anne, I mean it. If this glorious friendship does continue and you do get the chance, slip in a word for me. Try it. . . please?”
“Now this is what I call an unusual foursome,” George Bellows said as he placed the morning paper on Anne’s desk. She stared at the picture that had been snapped the night before at Morocco. Helen looked grotesque; Gino was grinning; Allen was partially out of the picture. Her own likeness was more than flattering.
She managed a smile. “Who is Nick Longworth?” she asked as she studied the messages on her desk.
“One of the top modeling agencies in town. Why—did Longworth make you an offer?”
“I don’t know. I just came in and found these messages to call him.”
“That’s what you should be doing. You’re a born model. But you probably would have wound up the same way. Kismet.” He looked at her ring.
Her phone rang. George waved and wandered back to his office.
It was Allen. “Have you recovered from last night?”
“It was really fun, wasn’t it?” she asked cheerfully.
He was silent.
“Allen?”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing right.”
“I like Helen Lawson,” she said defensively.
“What do you like about her? Her charming jokes? Her ladylike manner? Look, Gino can be pretty tough to take, but I’m stuck with Gino. He’s my father. But Helen—”
“I like your father.”
“You don’t have to be polite, Anne. I always say, you can’t pick your relatives—but you can pick your friends.”
“Allen, that’s a terrible thing to say.”
“Why? I’m just being honest. If I met Gino and he wasn’t related to me, I’d find him loud and obnoxious. I might admire his business ability, just as I admire Helen’s talent on the stage. But socially I can do without either of them. Once we’re married, we’re going to find a whole new set of people, the right people. I’ll explain it better tonight.”
Her head had begun to throb with a hammering headache. “Allen, I’ve had very little sleep. I think I’ll have to beg off tonight. I want to go home after work and fall into bed.”
“That’s another thing we’ve got to discuss. How long do you intend to hang on to that job? Right up till the day we get married?”
“I want to work, Allen—and I don’t want to get married. I’ve told you that.”
He forced a light laugh. “You are tired. All right, I’ll give you a night off. But Anne . . . I know I promised not to rush you, but start thinking about marriage. Just think . . . that’s all I ask.”
The day dragged on. The Longworth Agency called again. She told them she was not interested in becoming a Longworth model. Yes, she would call them if she ever changed her mind.
Henry came in after lunch. She brought the mail into his office, but he tossed it aside. “Sit down.” He lit a cigarette. “Well, we got good reviews on the Ed Holson show, but the sonofabitch is murder.”
“The show or Ed Holson?” She leaned her head against the leather chair and massaged her temples.
“Holson. What do you do when you have a lush for a client? A goddam genius, but a lush!” He shook his head. “Got stoned right after the show, in front of the sponsor. Naturally, I had to pretend it had never happened before. Twenty thousand a week and he gets drunk with the sponsor. And I was lucky—he was on one of his polite drunks. When he gets on a rude drunk he starts calling people Jew bastards.”
“Why do you handle him?”
“Figure out what twenty-five per cent of twenty thousand a week comes to, and you’ll have your answer. He also happens to be a real talent. I pick friends that I like, clients for their talent.”
Her headache had spread. It was banging at the backs of her eyes. “I guess it is hard to have integrity in everything,” she said wearily.
“This has nothing to do with personal integrity. This is business integrity. You pick the best, and you can’t let your feelings count. The minute you start thinking with your heart instead of your head you’ll get clobbered.”
The private phone on his desk began to ring. “Hello. Oh, hello, honey, how’s everything going? Yeah, sure I saw it. You looked good, baby. Sure, she’s sitting right here.” He handed the phone to Anne. She stared at him questioningly. “It’s Helen,” he said.
“Hi!” Helen yelled cheerfully. “How’s the working girl?”
“A little tired.”
“Me too. I had to be at rehearsal at ten. I just took a five-minute break. Listen—there’s a new show opening at the Copa tonight. I called Gino and suggested the four of us go and he was all for it. We’ll catch the second show. That’ll give us both time to take a little nap first.”
“Does Allen know?”
“How should I know?” Helen paused, and the little-girl voice came on. “Don’t you wanna go to the Copa, Annie?”
“Well. . . yes, I guess it would be fun. Especially if I get a little rest first.”
“Sure. And get dressed real fancy—everyone will be there.”
“You mean a long dress?”
“Nah, just a short gussy one. And please, a fur jacket. That camel-hair job has to go!”
“I have a black coat. . .” Anne looked up suddenly. Lyon Burke had entered the office.
“Fine. Oh, and when you get home you’ll find a little present from me.”
“A present? But why?”
“It’s a happy-happy. Well, I gotta go back and make a buck.” The phone clicked.
“Anne is Helen Lawson’s new pal,” Henry said to Lyon.
Lyon sat down and stretched his legs. “Anne’s from sturdy New England stock. She’ll survive.”
Anne smiled faintly. “I’m almost getting tired of saying this, but I happen to genuinely like Helen Lawson.”
“Good,” Henry said briskly. “Helen needs a real friend. Deep down I think she’s very lonely.”
Lyon laughed. “Helen has a new friend every season.”
“She’s never had a real one,” Henry insisted. “Most women try to use Helen, even make fun of her on the side. She went up too fast to learn the little niceties. Half the broads in town start with no knowledge of taste or manners. But they learn—in chorus dressing rooms, from other girls—they learn what books to read, or say they’ve read, how to dress. And by the time they make it they’ve smoothed out the rough edges. Helen spent a couple of years singing in a speakeasy. She learned nothing. Then in her first show she shot up like a skyrocket. And people accept anything from someone who’s a hit. Helen was suddenly too big for anyone to tell her how to dress, how to talk. They laughed good-naturedly at her gutter language and made her feel it was colorful. Stick with her, Anne, she needs someone like you.”
Henry’s phone buzzed. The receptionist announced the call. Henry nodded and handed it to Anne. “Allen.”
“I can take it outside,” she said quickly.
Henry waved his hand. “Relax, you’re with friends.”
She took the telephone, conscious that Lyon was watching her.
“You were too tired to have a quiet dinner with me!” Allen’s voice crackled over the wire. “Now I hear we’re all going to the Copa.”
“Helen and Gino arranged it,” she said lamely.
“I get it. I’m easy to brush, but you can’t say no to Helen. What are you, celebrity happy?”
“Allen, I’m in Mr. Bellamy’s office. If you like, we’ll cancel tonight.”
“No . . . wait a minute. I didn’t mean to sound off. We’ll go.”
Henry’s private phone began to ring.
“I’ll talk to you later, Allen.”
“Anne, I’m sorry. I realize you work for Henry and she’s his client. But after tonight, let’s lose her. If you have to see her, then go shopping together, have lunch together—but keep her out of my life.”
Henry was holding the phone. It had to be Helen.
“Allen, I’ll see you tonight.” She hung up. Henry handed her the other phone. “Looks like we’ll have to get her a private secretary,” Henry said with a wink at Lyon.
“Hey, what’s your address?” Helen sang out. “I got to have it so the happy-happy can be delivered.”
Anne told her.
“Oh shit, there’s no pencil here. Wait—”
“Helen,” Anne said quickly. “Ask Neely O’Hara.”
“Who?”
“Neely O’Hara. She’s in your show. We live in the same building. She’ll write it down for you.”
“What does she do? In the chorus?”
“Yes. Originally she was part of The Gaucheros.”
There was a slight pause. “Oh, that one.”
“She’s a very close friend of mine, Helen. She’s only seventeen. She’s just dancing in the show, but she can sing, too. She’s really very talented.”
“Okay,” Helen said brightly. “I’ll get it from her. You say she sings, huh? Maybe I can swing something for her. She had a rough deal. Honest, I had nothing to do with it. But never mind . . . maybe I can do something now. I got an idea.”
Anne returned to her desk and lost herself in her work. Her head was still throbbing when the day finally dragged to an end. When she got home, she ran up the stairs, thinking only of a nap. Neely’s door was wide open. She dashed out and followed Anne up the stairs.
“I’m really tired, Neely. We’ll talk later.”
“I won’t stay. I just want to see the expression on your face when you see Helen’s present. It’s in your room. I called the super from rehearsal and had him unlock your door.”
Anne looked around her room. She saw no package, nothing new anywhere.
“There!” Neely pointed to the rickety night table. Anne stared stupidly at a shiny black telephone.
“She’s paying for the installation and for the first two months’ bill. She said after that you’ll probably be married to Allen.”
“But I can’t let her do this.”
“Listen, she’s already done it. I don’t know, Anne . . . maybe you have put some kind of a hex on her. She sure was nice to me after you told her I was your friend.” Then, as Anne smiled, Neely snapped, “But it doesn’t change things. I still think she’s a beast!”
The Copa was a repetition of the previous evening. All the attentio
n gyrated around Helen. Her shrill laughter; the cheerful, raucous voice calling out to everyone she knew; Gino urging her on, replenishing her champagne. Warmed by Helen’s personal attention, exhilarated by a second glass of champagne, Anne became a participating member in the good-natured camaraderie. Allen remained aloof and taciturn.
“We’ll drop Annie first,” Helen announced when they finally settled in the limousine.
“Yes, I am the nearest,” Anne said quickly, avoiding Allen’s demanding eyes. When the car stopped in front of her brownstone, she leaped out without waiting for the chauffeur to help with the door. “Stay where you are,” she told Allen. “It’s freezing out.” She waved and ran quickly up the steps, aware that Allen’s jaw was clamped sullenly, his displeasure obvious even in the gray darkness.
Twenty minutes later her new phone jangled with its first cry of life.
“I had to initiate it,” Helen said cheerfully. “Did I wake you?”
“No . . . I’m in bed, though.” She felt positively luxurious. Even in Lawrenceville, a phone by the bed was unheard of.
“It was fun, huh?”
“I had a wonderful time. One of the best evenings of my life.”
“Yeah . . .” Helen paused. Then her voice changed. “Annie, I’m not getting anywhere with Gino.”
“He had a wonderful time,” Anne said truthfully.
“But he didn’t even try to kiss me good night,” Helen whined. “We dropped Sonny Boy off after you. I was positive he’d ask to come up for a nightcap. I snuggled against him and said I had a bottle of Dom Perignon on ice. But when he reached my place he just slapped me on the back and said, ‘Good night, sport.’”
“Well. . .” Anne groped for the right words. “That shows he has respect for you.”
“Who wants respect? I want to get laid!”
Anne’s gasp was audible, but Helen went right on. “Look, angel, when you’ve been around as long as I have, you’ll know that’s the only way a guy shows you he’s hung on you.”
“You can’t mean that, Helen. In fact it’s just the opposite.”
“Opposite my ass! How else can he show it?”
“By taking you out, spending time with you—having fun together.”
Valley of the Dolls Page 11