Once Is Not Enough (52 page)

He was on his second martini when his father came in. He apologized profusely as he ordered a drink. “My God, but women can be impossible.” He sighed.

David laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a romance going again?”

His father colored slightly. “David, I’ve always had great respect for your mother. But she—Well, she isn’t what you’d call a physical person. However I’ve never had, as you put it, a romance going. Naturally I’ve had an occasional discreet foray. But never any real relationship.”

“Well, who is the new impossible discreet foray?” David asked.

“Nothing like that. It’s your mother who is impossible. That’s why I’m late. We’re going to Europe in three weeks. Our first time in six years and our passports have to be renewed. Would you believe we’ve been at the passport office since eleven this morning, and your mother is
still
there?”

“Was it that crowded?”

His father shrugged. “Not very. This is off-season for tourists. But she’s on her third photographic session. She refuses to have an unflattering picture on her passport. Now who in the world is going to see that picture other than customs officials and some foreign hotel clerks?”

David laughed. “Well, if it matters that much to her, maybe she should have her face lifted. She’d look marvelous then.”

“Good God, whatever for?”

“Her own ego. It
is
being done, you know.”

“Not your mother. She goes into a panic when she has to go to the dentist. It’s not for her. Besides—” He paused as a murmur went through the restaurant. Everyone was staring at the woman making an entrance.

“It’s Heidi Lanz!” George Milford exclaimed. “Now speaking of face-lifts—she must have had about ten. Good Lord, the woman is close to sixty and still looks thirty.”

David stared at the Viennese actress who was accepting the embraces of the owners of the restaurant and shaking hands with the captains. She was with two young men and greeted everyone as she made her way to her table. She was magnificent-looking and, unlike Karla, Heidi Lanz had
never
retired. When her luck in pictures ran out, she came to Broadway and appeared in a musical. She did a yearly Special on television and played Vegas every year.

“Don’t know how she manages to keep that figure,” George Milford went on. “Did you happen to see her on television last month in that clinging dress? She has the body of a twenty-year-old.”

David nodded. “I saw it with Karla. She said she was positive Heidi wore a body stocking—to get that firm look.”

“Well, Karla should know,” George Milford said.

“Why?” David’s voice bristled. “Karla’s figure is sensational. But she works at it, she—”

“Calm down, son. I just meant that Karla should know about this Heidi woman’s figure. They were lovers, you know.”

David colored and took a long sip of his martini. “Those were just Hollywood rumors.”

“Perhaps. But I recall reading stories about them in the gossip
columns. In the forties there were pictures in the newspapers of the two of them dashing around in pants—that was quite daring then. Your Karla, of course, was not ducking photographers as she does today. She was just beginning to make it here, and Heidi was the big star then—”

“Karla also almost eloped with one of her leading men,” David reminded him.

“True.” George Milford’s eyes were still on Heidi. “But let’s not forget that Heidi is married and has grandchildren now. But they say she still has her little girlfriends on the side.”

“Karla cares only for men,” David said.

“Still going on?” George Milford asked.

David nodded. “I see her almost every night.”

“January still on the Coast?”

David nodded. “Don’t worry. I keep my hand in. We correspond.”

“Isn’t it about time you came to some decision?”

David stared at his drink and nodded. “I’m afraid it is. Especially now that Dee is back. When January returns we’ll announce our engagement. Oh, don’t worry. I’ll make a concerted effort to get her to really care. I don’t think I can stall any longer. This California trip of hers was a bonanza for me. I suppose I know the end is in sight. That’s why I can’t seem to get enough of Karla.”

“Marriage isn’t always the end of the line,” his father said.

“I think it would be with Karla and me. After all, to get January to agree to marriage will mean really devoting myself to romancing her. And Karla isn’t the kind of woman you can just put on ice and say, ‘I’ll see you every odd Thursday.’” David’s sigh was heavy.

“Marriage always means sacrifice of some sort,” his father said. “Come now. Let’s have another drink. I’ve always found that brightens any horizon.”

When David left his father he stopped off at the men’s shop at Bonwit’s and bought the Cardin sport shirt he had admired all week. Sixty dollars. But it was just right with his gray slacks. He’d wear it tonight. There was a “Movie of the Week” on television that Karla had underlined in her
TV Guide
. She was
cooking steaks, and it was one of those rare occasions when she had promised he could spend the night. “It is a long movie. We will watch it in bed. Then we will make love. And since it will be so very late, I shall let you stay over.”

He didn’t really need it, but he shaved again when he got home. Then he sat under the sunlamp for ten minutes. It helped to hold his Palm Beach tan. He tried the new shirt with the gray slacks; then he tried it with the navy. He went back to the gray. He tied a scarf inside the collar. Then he mixed himself a martini. Karla drank only wine. And he still needed that first martini to bolster his courage with her.

He thought about it as he sipped his drink. It was insane. In a few days it would be a year that they had been together. Yet at the start of each evening with her, he still had to deal with a case of schoolboy nerves.

Damn it! He was her lover! Right now she was making salad . . . for
him!
With her own hands! For
him!
And later when he held her in his arms she would moan and cling . . . to
him!

When would the time ever come that he could feel casual about it, take her for granted? God, if he still felt this way after a year, how would he ever be able to break it off and start really romancing January?

He couldn’t! But he wouldn’t think about that now. Besides, January’s letter gave no hint of any imminent arrival. She had even said she might do some other stories while she was out there. He looked at his watch. He still had half an hour. Time for one more quick drink. Straight vodka this time. He was really off the beam. Just the thought of giving up Karla had thrown him into a tailspin.

He sipped the drink slowly. The vodka felt warm. He knew he was getting slightly high. But it didn’t matter. He liked to be a little high when he saw her—it made him feel more relaxed. He felt better when he finished the drink. Maybe his father was right. Perhaps marriage to January wasn’t the end of the line. Maybe he could explain the entire setup to Karla, even the ten million dollars. No, she’d despise him. Then how could he explain it and ask her to wait?
No
way! He felt a heavy wave of depression. But this was ridiculous. January was three thousand miles away. She might stay away another month, maybe longer. Meanwhile he had all this time with Karla. He would not think
of next month . . . or even next week. He would enjoy each day as it happened. And tonight he was going to see Karla.

The phone startled him. He jumped up and caught it on the second ring. “David, I’m so glad I caught you.” Karla’s low voice sounded breathless.

“I was just leaving,” he said cheerfully.

“You can’t come tonight.”

“Why?”

“A . . . a friend has arrived unexpectedly.”

“I don’t understand.” It was the first time he had not accepted one of her cancellations in good grace. “Karla, we have a date.”

“David—” Her voice was warm and almost pleading. “I also am very sad to cancel this evening. But this is a very old friend. From Europe . . . my manager . . . he came in unexpectedly . . . And it is about business. I must be with him.”

“Oh, you mean Jeremy Haskins. The man you told me about?”

“Yes, my old friend.”

“Well, it certainly won’t last all evening, will it? Maybe I could come by later.”

“I think not. I shall be tired.”

“Maybe you won’t be. Let me call. Give me your phone number, Karla.”

“David, I must hang up.”

“Damn it, Karla! Give me your number!”

The phone clicked in his ear. For a moment he panicked. He had gone too far. She was angry. She might not call tomorrow. She might not ever call again! He tried to get hold of himself. There was no reason to feel this way. She’d call him tomorrow and they’d laugh about this. He poured himself a big slug of vodka and added a few drops of vermouth. One more drink and he’d be drunk. But why not! Why not get good and sloshed! His face was beginning to sting from the sunlamp treatment. He looked at himself in the mirror. The shirt looked great, the sunlamp had added a reddish glow to his tan. He had never looked better. Stood up for an old man!

He finished his drink and made another. Maybe he should call Kim. It was only six-thirty. But he didn’t feel like being with Kim. He was drunk and he knew it. He poured himself another drink—straight vodka now. He sat in the dark and drank it slowly and methodically. He was in his new shirt and
his face stung and he had no place to go. No place he wanted to go. Except to Karla’s. . . .

Well, there’d be tomorrow. . . . Maybe he should take off the shirt and save it for then. But somehow he knew he’d never wear it again. It was a bad luck shirt.

He lit a cigarette and tried to sort things out. Nothing drastic had happened. Okay, so he had asked for her phone number, demanded it. And she had hung up on him. Big deal. But they hadn’t really had a fight. Tomorrow everything would be fine. After all, this Jeremy character was an old man. She had told him how he had become her agent. How he had found her in an air raid shelter. In fact it was one of the few things she had told him about her life. And Jeremy had been a middleaged man then. He was her oldest friend. He remembered her telling him that. “Jeremy is so good, so kind . . . You two must meet one day.”

He put his glass down very slowly. “You two must meet one day.” Then why hadn’t she brought it about tonight? Why hadn’t the three of them had dinner together in her kitchen? She didn’t have to cancel him out. She and this Jeremy could talk business tomorrow . . .

Unless it wasn’t Jeremy who was with her. The thought made his stomach feel tight. But there was no other man in her life! She saw him almost every night. And the nights she didn’t see him, it was always because she was tired. In fact she often called him and told him what television show she was watching. No. There was no other man.

Suddenly the vision of Heidi Lanz entering “21” flashed before him. Beautiful Heidi! Heidi the dyke! She had just arrived in town too!

It couldn’t be! He poured himself another drink. Then he toasted himself. David Milford. Prize jock. Prize idiot! In love with a fifty-two-year-old woman with a face-lift . . . who wouldn’t even give him her phone number.

Only she wasn’t just a woman. She was Karla! And right now she was with Jeremy Haskins, and he was drunk and imagining crazy things . . .

Goddammit! Why did he have to see Heidi Lanz at “21” today? And why did the old man have to put that idea in his head? Sure, he had heard rumors about Karla. But then he
always figured most European women had had that kind of a fling in their past just as he was sure all English men had tried it with boys. But Karla couldn’t really love a woman. Not the way she reacted in his arms, the way she clung to him . . . No. She was with Jeremy now.

He felt he couldn’t stay in the apartment another moment. He dashed out and walked down Park Avenue. The air cleared his head. He cut over to Lexington. And kept walking. He knew he was heading toward Karla’s apartment building. Well, why not . . . why
not
! He could just walk in. The doorman would think he was expected. So would the elevator man. He’d ring her bell. If it was Jeremy and she was angry, he’d beg forgiveness, he’d—he’d tell her it was his birthday. Yes, that was a good excuse. He’d tell her he had to see her, even if it was for a moment. And then even if she said he could stay, he’d leave. Yes, that was it. Even if she was warm and felt guilty, he’d refuse to stay—just one birthday drink—and then leave. But at least when he went home, he’d be able to sleep.

When he reached her block his courage evaporated. He cut over to First Avenue and went to a bar. He had a double vodka. He felt better. There was nothing to be nervous about. He was building it all up in his own mind. She’d probably laugh, think he was charming, young and impetuous. He walked down the street. When the doorman nodded he felt reassured. He felt even better as the elevator man discussed the Yankees’ winning streak as he took him up to the fifteenth floor.

He walked down the hall. He waited until the elevator door closed. The he stood in front of her door for a moment. There was no sound inside. No television. He hesitated. It still wasn’t too late. He could turn around and leave and she would never know. He started back for the elevator. But what would the elevator operator think? And the doorman? They knew she was in.

He went back to her door and quickly rang the buzzer. He could actually feel his heart pounding in his throat. He rang again. Then he heard footsteps. She opened the door cautiously—and kept the safety chain on. When she saw him the large gray eyes went dark with anger.

“What do you want?” her voice was cold.

He couldn’t believe this was happening. Karla, who always flung the door open for him—Karla peering through the small chained opening, staring at him like an intruder.

“It’s my birthday.” His voice sounded thick. Not light and easy as he had planned.

“Go away,” she said.

He wedged his foot in the door. “It’s my birthday. I just want one birthday drink with you . . . and Jeremy.”

“I told you to go away!”

“I won’t leave.” He tried to smile, but he was frightened. The whole thing was out of hand. She was really angry. There was no gracious way out now. He had to get inside, he had to explain how much he loved her . . . How he couldn’t live like this, not being able to call.