Once Is Not Enough (40 page)

As they drove to the theater, Linda rhapsodized over the turn of events. “He’s drinking. And now there’s no chance of Sardi’s. But I’m going back alone. I feel the timing is right.”

After the show, Linda lost some of her nerve. “Maybe Rita and the
Life
people are still with him. You better come back. If he’s alone, stay for one drink, and then split. I’ll give you the cue. When I say, ‘January, I think your cat article is going to be great,’ then you can say, ‘That reminds me, I have some work I need to do on it tonight. I’d better go.’ Okay?”

“Okay. But Linda, aren’t you? . . .” She stopped.

“Aren’t I what?”

“Aren’t you kind of going after him like a man should go after a girl?”

Linda laughed. “January, I bet if you balled a man, you’d expect him to send you flowers the next morning.”

“Well . . . yes . . . David did.”

“Maybe that’s why David only comes around every ten days. But I happen to know that model whom he balls quite often not only doesn’t get flowers from him, but she makes him breakfast and brings it to him in bed. And considering that Kim only eats maybe one stalk of celery every other day to keep nice and consumptive-looking . . . it’s not easy to watch a guy eat bacon and eggs when you are starving.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning, there is no boy-girl thing anymore. The girl can
be as aggressive as she wants. She can call the man. She can ask him to go to bed. That’s the way it is today. This is the seventies.
Not
the fifties.”

“There’s one thing I’m curious about—if you dig Tom Colt this much, why would you go to bed with Steve last night?”

“Last night, I didn’t know that Tom was coming back until after I had already told Steve I wanted him. I couldn’t throw him out, could I? Besides, he’s very good in bed and I hadn’t had sex for quite a while.”

“But don’t you have to
feel
something to go to bed with a man?”

“Yes . . . horny.”

“Linda!”

Linda stared at her in the darkness of the limousine. “Know something, January? Tom Colt is fifty-seven, but he’s with it.
You
are the generation gap.”

Rita Lewis and the reporter were just leaving when January and Linda returned. Tom greeted both girls expansively, asked about the show, and insisted everyone, including the harassed Rita Lewis, have a drink. Rita had to leave. The
Life
journalist stayed for one nightcap. Then he said, “I’ve really got to go. I told my wife I’d be home by ten. She’s holding some food for me.”

Tom shook his head sadly. “Why didn’t you speak up, man? Just because I forget about food when I’m drinking. Christ, I starved you . . . and that poor P.R. lady from the publishers. Where do you live?”

“Down near Gramercy Park.”

“Well, the car is outside. Take it. Then send it back and it can take the girls home.”

“January, I just love that cat article you’re working on,” Linda said.

January started for the door. “It needs work. In fact, I had intended to work on it a bit tonight . . . I’ll leave with Mr. Harvey . . . he can drop me.”

“The poor guy is starving,” Tom said. “And he goes in the opposite direction. You gonna make him go uptown first, then backtrack downtown just for a cat story. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“Well, I really should—”

“January does some of her best work at night,” Linda said quickly.

“Don’t we all. But this time her genius will have to wait. Go on, Bob.”

The young man hesitated. “It’s really all right. I don’t mind . . .”

“Beat it,” Tom said good-naturedly. “Get home to your wife and dinner.” Then he turned to Linda and held out his glass. “Want to freshen up this one, baby? And pour some ginger ale for our cat girl.”

Tom had two quick drinks. Then he noticed an envelope on the table. He picked it up. “Tomorrow’s instructions from the Press Lady.”

“You’d better read them,” January said. “I mean . . . you might have an early call.”

“Oh, I know about the call. It’s Philadelphia . . . the Mike Douglas show. Then Washington.”

“You’re leaving?” Linda asked.

“Just for two days. Then I’m back here for a week. Then Chicago, Cleveland, Detroit . . . Then back here for another few days. Then Los Angeles.”

“What time are you leaving tomorrow?” Linda asked.

He nodded toward the envelope. “Open it and see.”

Linda ripped it open. “You don’t leave until noon. It says the limo will pick you up then. But you have a nine o’clock breakfast date with Donald Zec.”

“Yes. He’s from London . . . doing a story on me for the London
Daily Mirror.”
He stood up. “I’d better get to bed. I want to be awake for Donald. He’s a buddy of mine.” He started for the bedroom.

“January, I think your cat story is—”

“I’ve got to leave. I can take a cab,” January said.

He turned on them. “You’ll both leave together with the car. I’m going to get undressed, and when I call, you both can come and tuck me in, and we’ll have one for the road together.”

He disappeared into the bedroom. January looked at Linda and shrugged helplessly. Linda was furious. “I’ve got to find out when he leaves for the Chicago, Cleveland, Detroit tour. Because
I’m going to be on it with him. I can’t go to Philadelphia and Washington . . . it’s too late to make reservations for hotels and all. Besides, I think hell probably have the
Life
people with him.” Suddenly she looked at January. “Look . . . get out . . . now.”

“You mean, just leave?”

“Yes. And when I go in I’ll say you really wanted to split.”

“But Linda, that’s so rude . . .”

“He doesn’t really want you. He’s just being polite. And you never really insisted on going. Bob Harvey was willing to go the few blocks out of his way, but you certainly didn’t fight very hard.”

“Well, holy smoke, Linda. I don’t want Tom Colt to think I hate him. If I accept a theater invitation from him, I can’t act as if he’s suddenly contaminated. He’ll think I’m rude.”

“What do you care what he thinks? After he’s in bed with me, he won’t be doing any thinking. Come on, January—get your coat and go.”

Suddenly Tom’s voice bellowed from the bedroom. “Hey, girls, bring in the bottle and three glasses.”

“Go on,” Linda hissed.

“Linda, will you really tell him I
had
to work? Please.”

“Yes . . . For God’s sake, just get going!”

Suddenly he walked into the room. He was in a dressing gown. It was obvious he had nothing under it. “Hey, why are you both standing there like bookends? Get the booze and come on in.”

Linda glared at January and took the bottle. They both went into the bedroom. Tom Colt propped himself up on the bed on top of the covers. “Now, we’ll all have one for the road. Then you both can tiptoe out and put off the lights.” When he saw Linda had only two glasses, he pointed toward the bathroom. “There’s a glass in there. I want you to have a drink this time, January. To toast my road tour.”

She went into the bathroom and obediently returned with the glass. He poured a good shot for each of them, and then poured half a glass full of straight bourbon for himself.

“Now . . . sit on each side of me.” He patted the bed. Both girls sat down. He rumpled Linda’s hair teasingly. “Now, we
drink to the big author who is about to go out and sell himself like breakfast food. Step right this way, folks . . . come see the writer . . . laugh at him . . . hiss at him . . . do anything . . . as long as you
buy
him.” He tossed half the drink down in one gulp. Linda finished hers in one swallow and stared at Tom for approval.

He winked, and refilled her glass. He freshened his own, then looked toward January. She had taken a sip . . . suddenly she bolted it down. He grinned and refilled her glass. Her throat was burning. For one second she thought this is how people must feel when they swallow poison. Then the burning gave way to a slight glow in her chest. She sipped the second drink . . . and once again, found the second went down easier. She kept taking small sips. It was better than burning her throat with one big gulp. She wondered if Tom realized that she and Linda also had not eaten any dinner. She felt giddy, as if she were outside, watching herself. She edged toward the end of the bed. Linda had put her head on Tom’s chest. Almost absent-mindedly, he was stroking her hair. He lifted her chin. Their eyes were close. January wondered how she could slip out. He leaned over and kissed Linda’s brow. “You’re a beautiful girl,” he said slowly.

January knew she should leave . . . but she was paralyzed. Linda was staring into Tom’s eyes. She looked as if she were about to dissolve.

“Linda,” he said slowly. “You’ve got to help me.”

Linda nodded dumbly.

He stroked her hair. “Linda . . . I’m kind of crazy about January. What shall I do?” For a moment the room was very still. It was as if time had suddenly stopped . . . like a wax museum with everyone frozen into position. Linda was still leaning close, staring into his eyes. January was sitting at the foot of the bed, still holding her glass. Seconds passed. Then she snapped into action. She jumped off the bed.

“The bathroom,” she said suddenly. “I have to go.” She dashed in and sank to the floor, resting her head in her arm on the bathtub. The whole tableau was unreal. Was Linda still sitting there gazing at Tom? How could he have said that? Or was it a gag . . . a private joke between them? Of course!
That was it! Right now they were probably in each other’s arms laughing at the way she had fallen for it. Well . . . she hadn’t fallen for it. She’d pretend to go along with it. Pretend she really had to go to the bathroom. She flushed the toilet several times. She let the water run in the sink and made a good deal of noise washing her hands. Then she opened the door and walked resolutely into the room.

Tom was sitting propped up against the pillows, staring at her. There was no sign of Linda. For a moment they both looked at one another. Then with almost a sad smile, he motioned her over. She moved slowly and gingerly sat on the edge of the bed.

“Where’s Linda?” she asked.

“I sent her home.”

She started to rise but he pulled her hand gently and she sat down again. “Don’t be so uptight. I’m not going to rape you. I don’t usually go around falling for a girl who has a father younger than I am. I can get all the girls I want . . . uncomplicated girls. I even marry them. Too often . . . That’s my trouble. I think the kids today have the right idea about abolishing marriage. People should be together as long as they care about one another, not because it’s a law, like a prison sentence. Now, here’s the answers up front. No, I’m not wildly in love with my wife. I never really was, except she gave me a child and that was something I wanted. If I left her, she’d keep the baby. So I’ll never let that happen. It’s crazy . . . my wanting you. Linda would have been easier. No questions . . . just balling together. I tried to want Linda . . . but you got in the way. I found myself thinking about you all the time. I really didn’t have to come back here and do the eastern part of the tour. The book is selling great—over fifty thousand copies so far and going into another twenty-five thousand printing. But I came here and agreed to go on with the tour because of you.” He pulled her to him and kissed her on the lips gently. “Nothing is going to happen tonight, January. In fact nothing is going to happen until you feel the same way about me . . .”

“Tom. I . . . Oh, Tom, I do care for you . . . and I was horrified when I realized it . . . because you do have a wife and a child.”

“But what we feel for one another has nothing to do with my child. I’ve already told you how I feel about my wife.”

“Tom, I couldn’t take it for just a week . . . or just for now . . . don’t you understand?”

“January . . . love is never forever. Thank the fates and take it wherever you find it.”

She looked at him steadily. “Do you love me, Tom?”

He looked thoughtful. “That’s a heavy word. And I have to admit I’ve used it many times and never really meant it. But I kind of get the idea that if I use it with you, it’ll have to be for real.”

“Yes . . . it’s the only way I could . . .” She tried desperately to find the right words. “You see I’d feel so guilty . . . I mean, I even feel guilty sitting here talking like this with you, knowing you are married, that you have a child. What we are doing is wrong . . . completely wrong . . . But if I felt you really loved me . . . and that no one could get hurt . . . except us . . . well, that’s the only way we’d have a chance for anything at all. I’d figure maybe God wouldn’t be too angry because we both are really in love—” She knew she was blushing and looked down at her hands. “I know I must sound like an idiot to you . . . and . . .”

He lifted her face and his eyes were gentle. “January, you’re even more wonderful than I thought you’d be.” Then he took her in his arms and stroked her hair as if he were comforting a child. After a few moments, he broke the embrace gently and got off the bed and led her into the living room. He picked up her coat and suddenly she flung herself into his arms. The coat dropped to the floor as he held her close and kissed her. And for the first time she understood the intimacy of a real kiss. Their bodies were close. She pressed against him, wanting to become part of him . . . Suddenly the phone jangled. It was the driver announcing he had returned.

“Time for you to go,” he said as he picked up her coat.

“Oh God, Tom, I wish you weren’t leaving.”

“It’s just for a few days. Maybe it’s for the best . . . it will give us both a chance to think.” Then he kissed her lightly and watched her go down the hall until she reached the elevator.

She felt elation . . . fear and excitement. It couldn’t be
wrong. It had to be Fate . . . to have Tom live in Mike’s suite. She would have her first real love affair in Mike’s bed.

She sat back in the limousine and thought about it. She relived every event of the evening . . . everything he said. Then something bothered her. At first it was just a nagging thought that cut into her happiness. But by the time she got home, she was almost in panic. What had he meant when he said the two days would give them both a chance to think? Oh God, did that mean he was going to change his mind? Had she scared him off, talking about love and guilt? Would he come back and say, “I’ve thought about it, January . . . And we’d better not let anything happen.” No, he wouldn’t do that. He cared about her. And then in the darkness of the limousine, it suddenly occurred to her that when their bodies had been pressed together . . . he hadn’t even had the slightest erection. Absolutely nothing! Oh God, maybe she didn’t really turn him on . . . maybe she had really frightened him away!