"Hi," he said, not bothering to hold out his hand. "I think it's about time we met. We have a lot in common."
"We have?" She was using the husky voice now. For some crazy reason she wanted to please this tall handsome man.
He pulled up a chair and she noticed he did it with a peculiar ease, an ease that Eddie Harris lacked—an ease that comes with years of breeding or being in the public eye.
"You came into power being married to a President," he smiled. "I lost my power being the son of a vice-president."
She smiled. Of course. It was Barry Haines. His father had been vice-president and had died of a heart seizure when he was running for President. And he would have made it. Bennington Haines,
St., had great magnetism. His three daughters had been beautiful and made brilliant marriages. Barry Haines, Jr., was better-looking than anyone in the family. In fact, his looks had hurt his political career. When he ran for Mayor of New York, he lost to a dreary "party" man. People felt a man who looked like Barry Haines couldn't be a brilliant politician. Then he had run for the House of Representatives, lost that, cmd finally married a woman worth many millions. He was supposed to be connected with an important law firm, but his marriage to Constance McCoy had destroyed any chance he had of making people take him seriously. Constance McCoy had been married twice before. She was soigne, elegantly dressed, but not actively beautiful. Her appearance was one of bland understated chic. But she was the Hap Hap cereal heiress. She was across the room now tcJking to the Mayor. Everyone knew Constance only married Barry Haines for his ncime because she wanted children to carry on the Haines name. So far, she had suffered two miscarriages. She was in her forties, yet she was determined to keep trying.
All these thoughts flashed through Dolores' mind as her eyes met the gray eyes of Barry Haines. His stare was so direct that she felt the color come to her face.
She quickly presented Eddie Harris and both men acknowledged they had met before. There was a small orchestra playing in the other room.
The music was soft and easy. Barry Haines' eyes had never wavered, even when he accepted the "introduction" to Eddie.
"Want to dance?" he said slowly.
"I . . ." She hadn't danced in years.
"Excuse us, Ed," he said as he took her arm and led her to the floor.
For a few minutes they danced inysilence. Then he said, "Relax. You're trying to lead me. At least this is the one thing I do well. God knows I had to attend enough debutante balls. I should have medals for all the oxen I pushed aroimd."
"Do you feel you're pushing me around?"
He laughed. "My lady, no one in the world could ever push you around. I doubt whether even your esteemed husband ever did that."
She chose not to amswer but relaxed a bit and tried to follow his steps. Actually, she wasn't a good dancer—she had never had time to learn to dance. After her own debut, when most girls were attending parties every night, she had taken a job. And most of the men she met wanted to sit in quiet restaurants and talk.
"Hate me?" he asked.
"Why should I?"
"Well, you're not exactly pouring out any charm."
"Why should I? You're a married man."
"Oh, you mean charm is reserved just for
unmarried men. I didn't realize you were husband-hunting/'
"I don't want to walk off and leave you alone on the floor/' she said quietly. "So please take me back to Eddie."
"With pleasure." He deftly led her through the crowd and when he brought her to Eddie Harris he said, "Thank you for the dance." He smiled at Dolores. "You didn't disappoint me—you're exactly as charming as I thought you'd be." Then he crossed the room.
She thought about the incident for several days. She refused all of Eddie Harris's calls. Somehow she could no longer take the idea of going to bed with him.
She wanted to go to bed with Barry Haines!
That was it!
America s Queen Victoria
Subconsciously, she had known it all along. But he was a married man. She felt herself smiling. It never stopped Jimmy. She had been "Caesar's wife." Imagine reaching thirty-six and only having two men in your life. Your dead husband and Eddie Harris.
Perhaps she should give a cocktail party. A small one. Invite the Chief Justice, Leonard Bernstein, the Mayor, Eddie . .. and the Barry Haineses. No, that would be too obvious.
For the next few weeks she accepted dates with the Chief Justice, attended an opening of a show with Michael . . . (She had put in a hurried call to Washington, wanted his advice on schools for the children. They were in parochial schools,
60
but she wondered if boarding school might not be the answer for Mary Lou; she was getting too tomboyish living with just the twins for company.)
She went to several art shows with the Chief Justice—she went every place where she thought she might run into Barry Haines. Each outing brought her imbelievable publicity. But no Barry Haines.
She had several boring lunches with Janie Jensen, and subtly mentioned his name. Janie wasn't any help. ''He's one of life's misfits, darling. His father was really a great man . . . could have been President. And everyone expected such big things of Barry, and Barry expected such big things of his father—like leaving him a fortune. Well, the old man did leave money, but by the time it was taxed and divided between his sisters and himself, he only had a quarter of a million. And the idiot lived off the principal. Naturally, it was gone in two years. He's with a law firm, but since he barely squeezed through Harvard, he's just there for the family name. Doesn't make too much money—that's why he married Constance McCoy. I mean a Haines would never marry a McCoy. Her father started as a packager in a cereal plant . . . invented one of his own . . . got backing . . . became a millionaire with Hap Hap cereal . . . it's a good cereal . . . I've tried it ... I often eat it before going to bed . . . but it still doesn't make her
(52 Jacqueline Susann
"So was my husband—and my children."
"Ah, but darling, Jimmy was an exception. All the Ryans are. And children take their mother's religion and heritage. Your children have fine Castilian blood. But Barry—" She sighed. "The Haines blood is so good—it's sad that he had to mix it with the McCoys'. So far they have no children . . . let's hope they don't. It's really a race of mongrels we're growing in the States. I mean even animals are purebred . . . when they mis-mate, they're put in poimds or put to sleep. You remember when my Princess Sha Sha accidentally got out in Darien and met that poodle. Oh God, the offspring. A mixture of pomeranian and poodle ... I had the little horrors put to sleep immediately."
"But aren't mongrel dogs supposed to be the brightest?"
"That's a fallacy. You don't see any dray horses running in races. All they cam do is pull hansoms through the park. A Secretariat comes from years of good blood , . . that's how champions are made. God knows I was once attracted to a movie star ... I could have married him . . . he had money too. But I chose Svend. Svend is descended from royalty. Which reminds me, I know that Eddie Harris is terribly talented and attractive . . . but I heard his mother speaks with an accent."
"I take people as I find them—not what their
mothers or fathers are like. And I imagine my great-grandmother spoke English with a heavy accent."
"Ah, but darling . . . that was a Spanish accent . . . and there's a big difference."
"I haven't seen Eddie lately."
"Dolores, it's time you thought about your future and the children and forgot about people like Eddie."
"I don't imderstand."
"Well, I can see the man's attraction . . . his talent ... his bohemian friends . . . but you must realize you can never remarry."
"I hadn't thought about it. But why couldn't I? I mean if the right person came along?"
"Oh ... if a Prince or a King ... or an unmarried President. . . the public might accept that. But darling, you are America's Queen
Victoria. The public worshiped you and Jimmy together . . . they suffer your bereavement . . . they love your children. Oh darling, I used to watch you both and secretly get jealous—he was so handsome . . . and you were so beautiful."
Were?!? Dolores managed to show no emotion. But that night she studied her face in the mirror. She was approaching thirty-seven. Thirty-seven—too old to be a highly eligible single girl, but much too young to stay alone for the rest of her life. And live up to an image that didn't really exist. God, the public must have known about
Jimmy and that movie star, the girl who still talked about it to everyone—it even got her bigger billing in pictures. And Tanya—Tanya was now having cin aifair with a famous orchestra conductor. But Tanya didn't have an image to live up to. Queen Victoria! Victoria was a fat little woman and Albert had been her prince consort . . . and he had been true to her. But she had always walked in the wake of Jimmy's footsteps . . . closed her eyes when he had other women.
Horatio
And now she wanted Barry Haines. The more she thought about it, the more obsessive the feeling became. Yet how could she reach him? She had no privacy. Photographers were parked outside her building. Could she spend the rest of her life going to dreary openings with a Chief Justice or Sir Warren Stanford, who had been introduced to her by Michael? Sir Warren was a widower, but he didn't have any real money. A beautiful home outside of London . . . and four small children of his own. He had hinted marriage but she couldn't see
65
herself stuck in the English countryside raising his children and her own.
Sometimes she paced the apartment at night. She took to listening to disc jockeys and watching the Late Late movies. She read every novel on the best-seller list. She cycled in the park when the weather was good. She took the children to Bridget's farm in Virginia for Thanksgiving and holidays where Michael would come with his wife and their kids, and the sisters with their children and husbands. But she was always alone. Sometimes she wondered about Bridget . . . the way she went to Mass every day . . . the way she took long walks . . . she was in her seventies but her husband had been sick for fifteen years. Did the urge for sex stop in the fifties? Or did Bridget's faith in religion carry her through? Timothy Ryan was practically a vegetable now. He was so gnarled from arthritis and his face was so puffed from the cortisone that he preferred to remaiin in his room most of the time.
She decided to give her first party that spring. She spent weeks going over the list. Janie Jensen helped her. She slipped in the Haineses in a casuaJ way and was relieved when Janie agreed.
The invitations were engraved by Tiffany's. Thirty-five people had been invited . . . cocktails and a buffet supper . . . June first. She let her social secretary address them but when it came to
Mr. and Mrs. Barry Haines, she crossed out her printed name, and said, "Am looking forward to seeing you both—Dolores/'
The acceptances poured in immediately. Society columnists got wind of it and began writing about the coming party. The night of the party Constance Haines called to tell her that she would be delighted to come, but would it be all right if she had her cousin escort her . . . Barry had the flu and was running 102 temperature.
Dolores was almost suicidal, but her charm tiever wavered. The building outside was cluttered with the press and photographers. It was truly the social event of the season. Yet her only happy moment came when Constance said, ''As soon as Barry gets well, you must come to our place for diimer."
The following day, the papers were filled with the famous society figures who were photographed as they came into her building. The party made news for three days. Dolores wrote and rewrote ten "Get well" notes to Barry . . . then tore them up.
She was in the midst of supervising the sewing of name tapes in Mary Lou's summer camp clothes when the cable came from Nita. find me a
TEN OR TWELVE ROOM APARTMENT IN NEW YORK. AM ARRIVING IN TWO WEEKS TO LIVE THERE. WILL EXPLAIN ALL WHEN I SEE YOU. IF HORATIO CAPON CALLS YOU
TELL HIM I'll BE IN ON SUNDAY. HE CAN MEET ME AT THE AIRPORT. I KNOW IT WOULD CAUSE TOO MUCH COMMOTION IF YOU DID. i'lL NEED A GOOD BUTLER, A PERSONAL SECRETARY, AND A FEW MAIDS. LOVE, NITA.
Before she had time to think, the phone rang and a lisping voice announced itself as Horatio Capon. She knew his work. He had painted some excellent seascapes and the art critics had given him raves. But he hadn't had an exhibition in years. He had become a television personality— looked like a blondish pig, but gushingly told outrageous stories and gossip. "Oh, Dolores Rycin," he cooed. "What a pleasure ... I mean . . . I've known Nita a long while ... we met in England when I had a showing there . . . and I've always wanted to meet you. Have you seen my work?"
"Not recently," Dolores said.
"Well, to tell the truth, I've had a block. I've been working on a huuuge canvas . . . and I keep painting out and redoing certain figures. And then I must admit, I've become a sort of social butterfly. I mean an extra mcin is always so in demand . . . especially when he's a celebrity."
"Well ... I just received Nita's cable and—"
"Oh, let's go apartment hunting together. It will be such giggles."
"I have to think about it," she said. "I want to call my real estate agent first."
"But darling, we could have a few lunches together. You must be lonely."
"Not really/' Dolores said. "Just busy. Getting three children ready for camp, along with settling things for Nita, will take even more of my time."
"But love . . . I'm a whiz at apartments. I know all the right buildings and we could have a ball."
"Well, if my real estate agent doesn't come up with something—where can I reach you?"
"Who knows?" he simpered. "I have an apartment on Fifth . . . just a pied-a-terre .. . five rooms. A house in Quogue, and one of the most heavenly flats in London. You see, I can take them all off my income tax as this is my officicd residence. So I just flit about. I'm afraid I'll have to call you."
"When do you paint?" Dolores asked.
"That's a good question." He giggled. "But one day I'll just put coi end to all these parties and television shows. You know they've offered me my own show . . . but one day I will close the door on the world and finish the masterpiece of all time."
"Well, I wouldn't want to keep you from your work..."
"It's a pleasure," he gushed. "With oiir little Nitzi arriving, I couldn't work anyhow. The little darling is with me constantly when I'm in London. You know," and now his voice grew confidential, "she has to come here. Lord Nelson has dumped the Swiss journalist for a yoimg Italian Princess who is only twenty-two . . . Princess Elena Elma-nico . . . she's absolutely divine . . . and Lord
Nelson takes her everywhere openly . . . she makes poor Nitzi look dowdy. I told her to come here . . . between you and me, we must give her some new glamour."
Dolores hung up the phone slowly. Poor Nita...
A Possession
It was a muggy day in July when Nita arrived. There had been many phone calls from Horatio, but Dolores hadn't accepted them. She found a marvelous apartment for Nita on Fifth Avenue . . . fifteen rooms . . . and since it was obvious that Nita had plenty of money, she hired an excellent staff. She ordered mattresses and springs . . . she figured that decorating the apartment would do Nita good . . . and she would do it with her. She looked forward to Nita being here . . . she'd have someone to talk to whom she could trust , . . someone to lunch with every day . . . someone to talk out her loneliness to.
She hired a limousine and with a Secret Serv-
71
ice man met Nita's plane. TWA allowed her to drive onto the runway . . . and Nita was whisked through Customs. She took Nita to her new apartment and Nita nodded absently.
"Of course, it's bare/' Dolores said enthusiastically. "But Nita, think of the fun we can have furnishing it."
Nita nodded dully. "I've got to get it done by fall when I send for the children. Nelson has them in a French camp." She opened her purse
and took out a flat pillbox and swallowed a little white pill. "Pheno," Nita said with an attempt at a smile. "The doctor thinks it will help me."
"Nelson will get over this girl," Dolores said. When Nita didn't answer, Dolores hurried on. "Look, Jimmy had a lot of romances. Only Tanya was important. Once a man gets over the big one ... if you ignore the rest, they soon die a natural death. Besides, no beautiful young girl is going to stick with Nelson when she knows there's no chance of divorce. It was the same with Jimmy— only the secrecy and intrigue involved sometimes made the affair last longer."
Nita continued to gaze absently. Dolores suddenly put her arms around her. "Oh, Nita, it's not the end of the world."
"It is," Nita said quietly. "And I don't give a damn about Nelson and this girl. It's Erick."
"The Baron? Is that still on?"
Nita held out her hand and Dolores stared at a huge diamond.
"Thirty carats ... his parting gift to me." "He's left you?"
Nita nodded. "A week ago. He told me he really loved Ludmilla Rosenko, and that she refused to stand for his liaison with me any longer. She wouldn't stand for me! Imagine losing out to a fifty-five-year-old woman." "But she's very beautiful." "Her face has been pulled so tight from so many lifts she can barely smile. But you see, Erick remembers her when she was a star, and he worships talent. That's the only thing that turns him on. Ludmilla was a star. He used to watch her night after night and dream about having her. It seems every man in Paris felt that way. And when he got her ... he gave her everything. He's made her independently rich, so he knows she loves him..."
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