Once Is Not Enough (54 page)

And that night when they made love, Karla was joyously demonstrative. In fact her whole mood was lighter than usual. Later as they lay together she sang some Polish song she had known as a girl. Then, as if embarrassed because she had revealed some hidden facet of herself, she jumped out of bed and switched on the television set. “There’s a good late movie, but I know you prefer the news. I am going to take a shower. Tell me if anything important happens to our sad little world.”

Dee watched the news. She heard Karla singing in the shower. Karla was happy. And she was happy. Yet along with her own happiness there was a sense of despair. Because in a short time she would have to leave and go back to Mike. She reached over to the night table and decided to try one of Karla’s strong English cigarettes. As she picked up the pack, an envelope fell to the floor. It was Karla’s telephone bill. She was suddenly curious. The amount had to be minuscule. Karla rarely called anyone, and if she did, she merely stated her business or request. There was no such thing as a telephone conversation with Karla. Dee took the bill out of the envelope. Her eyebrows lifted when she glanced at the total. Four hundred and thirty-one dollars! She looked at it again. How could Karla run up a bill like that? She examined it carefully. Karla had not exceeded the maximum in local calls. But there was a long list of overseas calls to England—Bostwick 3322. Sixteen calls to that number! And all of the calls lasted longer than
three minutes. There were three to another number with a Lowick exchange and two to a Belgravia exchange. But sixteen to Bostwick 3322. She wrote the numbers down on a slip of paper, shoved it into her bag, and replaced the phone bill under Karla’s cigarettes. But when Karla came out of the shower and made love to her again, the entire incident went out of her thoughts. She didn’t think of it again until she went home and found the slip of paper in her bag. She put it in her jewel case. Karla probably had some business in London. Maybe she was in constant touch with Jeremy. Perhaps her phone bill was high every month. People who were known to be penurious often had one crazy extravagance. Perhaps with Karla it was transatlantic phone calls.

The next day was one of those rare days, when Dee had been unable to connect with Karla. There was no point calling in the morning; Karla would be out walking. And at one, when Karla would be just getting home, Dee was trapped at a luncheon at the Plaza for Baby Town, U.S.A., a rehabilitation home for pregnant girls who were on narcotics. Dee wasn’t terribly interested in the whole thing, but it was a good way to get proper newspaper exposure. All the right people were on the committee, and this would be good for her image.

She had called Karla at five, but Karla wasn’t in. Then just as she was about to try again, Ernest had arrived to do her hair. She and Mike had to go to a ghastly sit-down dinner at Princess Marina’s Park Avenue apartment to honor some Senator, which meant they’d have to sit and listen to his witticisms on Washington. But the Princess gave great parties in Marbella, and if the Princess had this thing about being
au courant
about politics . . . well, she’d just have to sit through one of those nights.

The following morning she lay in bed with her breakfast tray, waiting until twelve-thirty when Karla would be home from her walk. She was also trying to think of an excuse to get away from Mike for the night. The rest of the week was filled, but tonight was free. Mike had said something about seeing two movies in one night. He actually liked sitting in those filthy theaters, and even ate popcorn. In fact he was trying to talk her into building a projection room at the Winter Palace so they could
run their own movies. Movies bored Dee. She adored watching all of Karla’s reruns, but today’s pictures held little interest for her. She hated those dreary motorcycle pictures with young people where everyone wore blue jeans and smoked pot. She could remember when you went to a movie and looked forward to seeing the fashions. But movies were ugly and dirty now. Her own life was much more exciting and beautiful.

She glanced through the newspapers. She had made
Women’s Wear
with yesterday’s luncheon. Good picture—she would show it to Karla. But right now she had to think of a plan to get out of being with Mike tonight. Backgammon was no longer an excuse. He
liked
backgammon. Dear Lord, why had she ever taught him? She looked at the clock. Maybe she should tell him to go to the club and play golf, that she wanted to—she wanted to
what?
It infuriated her that she had to lie here and think of an excuse. She was Dee Milford Granger. She was supporting this man. Why couldn’t she just say, “I want out tonight,” as she had with all the others. Because deep down she knew she just couldn’t say that to Mike. He might just say, “Okay. You can have out for good.” Especially since he didn’t seem as concerned about that daughter of his. He never seemed to mention her lately. Maybe that ten million she had left in trust had relaxed him. Well, when he got back, he’d learn that it wasn’t an irrevocable trust. She’d change all that. Put David back as an executor. Oh, she’d let the ten million stand for January, but there would be a codicil . . . the ten million would go to January only if Mike Wayne was the husband of Dee Milford Granger. She began to smile. Of course . . . then she’d be able to walk out any night she chose. But meanwhile she had to think of something for tonight. She couldn’t invent a fictitious girlfriend for backgammon anymore. He knew all of her friends. This was ridiculous! All of her life she had always done just as she pleased, and now, for the most important person in her life, she had to scheme like a criminal to get a free night.

Maybe Karla might have an idea. Not that she was ever inventive. Dee loved her insanely, but she was still a dumb Polack. It was only ten of twelve; but she tried Karla. Sometimes she got home early. She dialed, but there was no answer.
Of course . . . this was Thursday. The maid wasn’t in. Imagine running that place with a maid who only came in three times a week!

She picked up the
Daily News
and leafed through it. The Princess had gotten only half a column. She and Mike were mentioned. But it was the Senator who had gotten all the publicity. She tossed the paper on the floor. It fell with the centerfold open. She stared for a moment. Then she jumped out of bed and grabbed the paper. There was Karla . . . hiding her face from the camera, arriving at Heathrow Airport.

Karla was in London!

She rolled the paper into a ball and tossed it across the room. All the while she had been lying there planning—wondering how to be with her—that bitch was in London.

London!

She got out of bed and rushed to her jewel case and found the piece of paper with the three numbers. Then she went to the telephone. Noon. That meant it was five in the afternoon in London. She placed a person-to-person call to Anthony Pierson. The firm of Pierson and Maitland handled all of her business in London. In less than five minutes, they rang back and Anthony Pierson was on. He was delighted to hear from her. They talked about the wonderful spell of good weather London was having, about some of her holdings . . . Then, trying to sound casual, she said, “Tony, I know this isn’t in your line at all . . . but . . . well . . . you see, I have to find out about three phone numbers in London. Oh, it’s not for me. It’s—it’s my stepdaughter. Yes, you see . . . she lives with us and I just happened to come across my phone bill and there are three London numbers that she’s been calling. And she’s only twenty-one. And naturally I worry. You know how it is . . . some of your rock artists come over here and girls of her age fancy themselves in love—” She laughed. “Yes . . . that’s exactly it . . . I wouldn’t want her to make a nuisance of herself or get involved with the wrong kind of people. So if you could check out those numbers . . . Oh, Tony, I do appreciate it.” She gave him the numbers, then she said, “How long will this take? . . . Only an hour? Oh Tony, you are divine.”

She took a bath and kept her eye riveted to the light on the
phone on the dressing table. She watched it as she made up. And precisely at one the light came on, and Anthony Pierson was on the line.

“I do have the information,” he said. “But it baffles me a bit, I must say. The Bostwick number belongs to a private home near Ascot. The Lowick number belongs to Jeremy Haskins, a retired gentleman who has a bit of fame because he is often seen with Karla when she is here . . . incidentally you do know her, do you not? She’s here now, staying at the Dorchester. And the Belgravia number belongs to a well-known psychiatrist. It does seem a bit confusing, because none of the numbers seem to add up to anyone a twenty-one-year-old girl would care to phone.”

“Who lives in the house in Ascot?”

“A couple named Harrington. They have a daughter. I pretended I was the postal clerk and needed information on them for rezoning. I thought it was dreadfully clever of me . . . don’t you think?”

“How old is the daughter?”

“I didn’t ask, but the Harringtons sounded as though they were well up in their fifties or sixties.”

“Tony, I have to find out more about them all. Especially the psychiatrist.”

“Well, this is all a bit out of my line . . . but I do know a chap . . . a Donald Whyte . . . sort of a private investigator . . . he’s quite trustworthy . . .”

“Yes . . . please . . . find out everything you can. Don’t worry about Jeremy Haskins. My husband was a producer, so it’s quite possible my stepdaughter would know him. But find out about the Harringtons and their daughter.”

She hung up and tried to control the panic she felt. Maybe the Harringtons were old friends of Karla’s . . . maybe they were people she had met through Jeremy . . . or old friends she had made when she first came to London . . .

Sixteen calls in one month!

No friend was worth sixteen calls to Karla. Unless she was in love. Maybe the girl was rich and was calling Karla sixteen times a month as well. Maybe they talked every night . . . or twice a day. That bitch probably had a double life going.
Ascot was lovely countryside. The girl
had
to be rich. Maybe that was why she was always taking off so secretly.

Maybe the girl had broken up with her . . . yes, that could have been it. That would explain the sixteen calls. Karla begging to come back . . . it would also explain why Karla had suddenly been so nice and warm to her . . . No, she couldn’t picture Karla begging anyone for anything. But
sixteen calls in one month!

When Mike came home that evening, Dee had already made her plans. She was going to learn what Karla was up to and face her with it! But she had to play it carefully with Mike.

She went to the two movies with him . . . and later when they were at Sardi’s, she made her first move. She stared into space and sighed heavily.

They had ordered steak. He was almost finished with his. He looked over at her untouched plate. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“No . . . I . . . Oh, Mike . . . I feel like an idiot.”

“What about?” He helped himself to some of her steak.

“I made a stupid error.”

“What kind of an error? It can’t be the end of the world.”

“Mike, the backgammon tournament is in London.”

“When?”

“Oh . . . I think the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth.”

“Well, no big deal! We’ll get to Cannes a few days later. Are you going to eat the rest of your steak?”

She pushed the plate toward him. “Mike, I was thinking . . . Look, I’m not that wild about Cannes . . . and it is
your
town. I mean, you’ll know everyone . . . and you’ll want to be with your old friends . . . and there is the Casino. I’m not a real gambler, not at the tables anyway, and—”

He looked at her closely. “Stop with the build-up. What are you trying to tell me?”

“Mike . . . I’d love to go to London and—”

“I said we’ll go.”

“But I’ll feel so guilty each day I keep you from your film festival. I have friends in London. I’d like to stay there a week. Then go to Paris and buy some clothes. And then join you in Cannes for the end.”

“Fine.”

“What did you say?”

“I said fine. We’ll leave on the fourteenth, drop you in London, and then I’ll take the plane on to Nice. I’ll send it back for you and you can join me whenever you like.”

“Oh, Mike . . . you’re an angel.”

“Look, babe, it’s a two-way street. No one says you have to like a film festival. I think you’ll have a great time in London.”

“It won’t be great,” she said. “But it will be interesting.”

Twenty-five

D
EE SAT
in Anthony Pierson’s office and stared at the pictures. She was still off balance from the time change. She had arrived in London at ten the night before; but it had only been five in the afternoon, New York time. She had called Tony Pierson at home. He said he had a full report, but he hardly thought it would be relevant to her stepdaughter. She told him she’d be in his office the following morning at eleven. Then she drugged herself to sleep with three Seconals. She couldn’t bear a sleepless night alone in London. There was no all-night television, and she couldn’t concentrate on reading. She had checked into the Grosvenor House because Karla was staying at the Dorchester. She didn’t want to run into Karla. Not yet.

She felt the beginnings of a migraine headache as she sat in Anthony Pierson’s quiet conservative office, but she managed to appear calm.

She leafed through the pictures he had given her. “They’re excellent,” she said tonelessly.

Anthony Pierson nodded. “This chap, Donald Whyte, the one who did the—shall we say research? He covered that house with a telescopic lens for days. The poor chap actually sat in a tree. The psychiatrist is on holiday . . . left two days ago . . . so we didn’t fare too well there. But the shots of Karla and the girl are quite fantastic, don’t you think? Of course, I got the negatives . . . that was part of the arrangement. Whyte is a top man and quite reliable, but what with Karla still being very much of a public figure, I think it’s quite fortunate I took this precaution.”