Once Is Not Enough (28 page)

“Mike! Have you ever read
Gloss?”

“From cover to cover, when you said you were going to work there. And it’s not for Tom Colt. Look, babe, remember about six years ago when all the newspapers carried the story of how he had a dogfight with a shark? When the fishing boat he was on capsized, he had been the one to swim under water and actually punch the sharks on their snouts and kept them at bay until help arrived for the others.”

“He did?”

“He also fought a bull in Spain. Knocked out a professional fighter in a bar. When his plane crashed, he walked a mile into town with a broken leg. He can also drink any man under the table and he can knock out Muhammad Ali with one hand tied behind him.”

“He can?”

Mike laughed. “No . . . but that’s the kind of publicity he wants. He did knock out a lot of guys in barroom fights, only no one knows if he knocked out a fighter. The shark story is true . . . so is the bull. Everyone says it was a tired bull, but the fact is, he did go in the ring and try it. And what I’m getting to is . . .
that’s
the kind of publicity he goes after. And I can’t see him holding still for a story in
Gloss.”

“Well, we’re hoping to get one.”

“Oh, you mean you haven’t really got it?”

January stared at her tanned legs. “I’m supposed to write him a letter.”

“And casually mention that I’m your father?”

“Yeah . . . real casual. Like have you write a P.S. at the bottom.”

“No way,” he said. “It’s not that I wouldn’t do it for you. Hell, I’d crawl on my belly if it would help you in any way. But your best chance of getting an interview with him is
not
to mention that I’m your father.”

“Why?”

“Well, like I said, when I knew him, he was thinking ‘Nobel.’ And to make a big commercial hit picture out of his book, I had to leave out a lot of key scenes and characters; otherwise we’d have had a six-hour picture. He never forgave me for it.”

“But if the picture made money—”

“It did—for me and the studio. He had just gotten a flat fee—like two hundred thousand—but no percentage. So he was looking at it artistically. Let’s say . . . we’re not enemies but we’re really not exactly buddy chum pals.”

“How old is he?”

Mike wrinkled his brow. “About five or six years older than me . . . maybe fifty-seven or fifty-eight. But from what I hear, he’s still boozing and making the scene with young broads.” He sighed. “Know something? There’s nothing worse than an overaged stud. It’s like a forty-year-old woman trying to look like a teeny bopper.”

“What would you suggest I do about getting the interview?”

“Forget it . . .”

And then the butler announced lunch was being served, guests began arriving at the pool, Dee made her entrance in flowing pajamas and a large hat, and the ornate buffet lunch had officially begun.

After that he didn’t get too much chance to talk to January. There were at least fifty guests. Several of the young men gave David rough competition for her attention. Mike noticed this. And he also noticed David’s confident attitude. Why not? The bum was gonna have her all to himself on the plane ride home. But Mike was beginning to like him better. The few times they had talked during the week, he had detected a warmth that the boy hadn’t shown before. Probably being with January had drawn him out, made him loose. Or maybe just because he felt that David might become a permanent fixture, he was
looking
to like him. Anyway, he wasn’t in the
mood to analyze his thoughts. She was leaving soon, the whole caboodle would soon leave—and he’d be alone with Dee tonight. Tomorrow the luncheons would begin again . . . And then there would be the start of parties before the final Christmas rush. She had said something about going to Palm Springs for a week in January—a backgammon tournament—and they would be houseguesting with friends. Maybe after that they could go back to New York. He liked the sun and golf—but enough was enough. Even though he just played gin and goofed in New York, it was different. There was something invigorating about New York, about the cold weather. It was his town. He could still walk down Fifth Avenue and run into someone he knew . . . talk shop at the Friars Club . . . see the Broadway shows . . . go to Danny’s Hide-a-Way for dinner with January when Dee played backgammon. He remembered the old days when Danny’s was his second home. He’d sit at that front table with the girl of the moment—and most of the time he knew everyone in the room. But lately . . . he didn’t see the same faces anywhere. Where did everyone go? At “21” and at Danny’s, new faces sat at the front tables . . . TV stars, recording artists, Society Charlies. But he still wanted to get back to New York. And tonight he’d ball Dee, make her happy, dependent on him—and then suggest a stopover in New York for a few weeks after Palm Springs.

He drove January and David to the airport and watched them climb into the plane. He walked back to his car. They looked so young and beautiful. When did he get so old? He stared at himself in the rear view mirror as he drove. He was going to be fifty-three. Hell, that wasn’t old. He was in his prime. And he looked good. He didn’t have an extra ounce of flesh on him. Dames still gave him the look. Of course they were Dee’s friends—all in their forties—but at the club some of the younger women who played golf gave him the eye. But he always kept his smile open and friendly, nothing more, even though there were a few he would have liked . . . that daughter of Dee’s banker friend . . . Monica. Yeah, Monica was about thirty-two, a divorcee. She was suddenly taking golf lessons every day. One of his gin-playing friends said it was because of him. Monica . . . yeah . . . That’d be real
nice. But he wouldn’t. He had made a deal with himself—if he married Dee and if she laid enough money on January, he’d play it straight. Besides, there was nothing wrong with Dee’s looks. She was slim. A little soft in spots . . . but good-looking. Hell, plenty of men would give anything to be able to have her whenever they wanted . . . and he had only “wanted” twice a week lately. That was all wrong. She couldn’t come to him and ask. She wasn’t like Tina St. Claire, who would say, “Hey, lover, let’s fuck.” No. The Dees waited. And they didn’t fuck . . . they made love. And you courted them. He had let it get cut and dried, he had to change all that. If this was the life he was stuck with, he could at least make it interesting.

It was almost six o’clock when he got back to the house. Everyone had gone. One of the butlers was restocking the bar on the terrace. “Where is Mrs. Wayne?” he asked. For a moment the butler stared at him vacantly. Mike swore softly—the dumb sonofabitch was one of the help who still thought of her as
Miss Granger
—well, he wasn’t going to say it, he’d never say, “Where is Miss Granger?” Not if they stood all day and had a staring contest. The old butler blinked a moment—then a happy smile spread across his features as his memory rewarded him. “Madam is upstairs resting, I believe.”

Mike nodded and started toward the massive flight of stairs. He looked at them for a moment, turned around, took the elevator down to the wine cellar. He selected a bottle of champagne and took it to the kitchen and waited while the maid set it up with glasses and put caviar on an iced dish.

She was lying on the chaise longue when he came in carrying the tray. Her phone book was in her lap and he realized she was setting her appointments for the following week. He walked over with the tray and set it on a table.

“What’s the occasion?” she asked.

“Us . . . we’re alone . . . and I dig you.” He walked over and took the phone book out of her lap. He sat on the edge of the chaise. “We have no dates tonight, have we?”

“Several parties we can drop in on if we like. Vera is in town and the Arnold Ardens are giving a party for her. Then there’s—”

He leaned over and kissed her. “How’s about blowing them all. . . .” His hand went under her dressing gown. She pushed him away. “Mike, it’s only six o’clock.”

He laughed. “Where is there a rule that sex has to happen on specific hours? Now, let’s get a little high . . . and make love right over there on that big bed where we see the ocean and maybe if we’re lucky . . . the moon will come up. Twilight fucking is just great, Dee.”

“Mike!” She jumped up and walked across the room. “Who do you think you’re talking to . . . one of those chorus girls you used to date?”

He came to her, “Oh, Dee . . . that’s part of love talk. I meant no harm.”

“Well, it’s vulgar.”

He grinned. “Come on. I’ve said that word when we were in bed.”

“That’s different. I mean, when you’re actually doing it, well, I can’t stop you from saying those words, but . . . well, I don’t like them. Oh, I know some men get a kick out of using them . . . but why? Does it excite them, does it make them feel more of a man? One of my husbands couldn’t even get an erection until he forced me to say that word, to say I wanted him to . . . you know.”

He managed to force a smile. “All right. I’ll try and watch my language in the kip . . .” He came to her but she turned away. “Now what?”

“Oh, Mike, don’t be ridiculous. This is not the time for—” She turned away.

He stared at her back for a moment. Then he picked up the champagne and started for the door.

She turned around. “Now, Mike . . . don’t be angry. It’s just that I’m not in the mood.”

“Okay. I understand.” He saluted her with the bottle. “I think I’ll have this all by myself. Because it is an occasion, you know . . . It’s the first time I ever got a turn-down. But like they say—there’s always a first . . .” He closed the door.

Dee stood very still when he left the room. That had been a wrong move. She should have given in . . . but she just
couldn’t. She was exhausted. Exhausted from smiling and floating from party to party, playing the role of the beautiful cool Dee Milford Granger Wayne. Lucky Dee Milford Granger Wayne, married to such an attractive man. Poor, poor Dee Milford Granger Wayne, heartbroken because that slob of a Polack didn’t show up. Karla had practically promised that she would come. Oh, God, how she had wanted Karla to be there. She had especially wanted Karla to see January and David together. To see them swimming together, dancing together, playing tennis together . . . to see that they were young and belonged together. And when she had spoken to Karla on Tuesday, Karla had said “perhaps.” She had even promised that if she decided to come she’d be at the airport at four. Dee had told the pilot to wait until four thirty.

She had masked her disappointment when she saw David and January arrive alone. She was delighted they were getting on so well. That had been the only bright spot of the weekend. David seemed to really like January. If only Karla had been there to see it. Why
hadn’t
she come! Just plain perverseness. After all, everyone in New York had gone away. What would Karla do with herself during the long weekend?

David had also thought about Karla. He had thought about her the entire weekend. And he was thinking about her now as he sat in the plane watching it make its approach to Butler Jetport, the private field at La Guardia. He suddenly realized he had barely talked to January during the flight. But she had been reading some galleys, and when she had put them away she had just sat staring out the window. He wondered what she was thinking about. But he didn’t really care.

Actually January was thinking about David. She had finished the book and had decided to send Tom Colt a letter on her own as assistant editor of
Gloss
. She wouldn’t tell Linda that Mike would be no help to them. She watched David’s tanned face staring out his window at the bright lights below. He had been so nice during the holiday. Always ready to play tennis or go for a swim. That faint glimmer of something she had begun to feel for him had been snuffed out after their
awful night together. Perhaps it could be fanned back to life. Perhaps if they had a drink together, talked a bit—maybe they might even make love again. And this time it might be all right. But she couldn’t face that horrible red bedroom of his . . . ever.

David had ordered a car. It was waiting on the airfield. They piled their suitcases in the trunk and headed toward January’s building. David helped the chauffeur give her bags to her doorman. She smiled. “I’ve enjoyed the four days together,” she said. “Really enjoyed it.”

“I have too . . .”

She looked at her watch. “It’s only nine o’clock. Want to come up for a drink? You’ve never seen my sumptuous apartment.”

He smiled. “Will you promise me one thing? Give me a raincheck the very next time. I have so many business calls to make when I get home . . . and I know my service is jammed with messages. I’ll phone you tomorrow. First thing.”

She stared after him as he got back into the car. Wow! Now she knew how Linda felt . . . what a turn-down.

David had no idea he was turning her down. He thought her invitation had been extended out of politeness. And he had no intention of wasting an hour sitting around having a drink with her. He got home, dismissed the car, and checked with his service immediately. There were a few messages. Kim was at a party at Monique’s—please come . . . Princess Delmanio had called—she was having a backgammon party . . . His maid had called—she couldn’t come in on Monday, but would Tuesday be all right . . . there was a number to call her. There were a few more messages, but none that he cared about. Nothing from Karla. Well, why should there be? She knew he wasn’t coming back until tonight. She’d call him tomorrow at his office.

Suddenly he kicked the wastebasket near him. This was ridiculous. It was only nine-thirty. Karla was the woman he loved. He had the whole evening free—they could be together. Yet he had no way of calling her. He couldn’t go on like this,
sitting around like a girl, waiting to be called. He grabbed his coat, raced out of his building and hailed a cab. He would go to her . . . bang on her door and demand that she give him her phone number. He didn’t care if she was asleep. He was going to assert himself. If he wanted her to treat him like a man, he’d better start acting like one. He would stand his ground tonight, even if it meant their first fight. But more than anything he wanted to take her in his arms . . . to look into her eyes . . . feel her strong arms around him . . . listen to the husky laugh.