The Love Machine (28 page)

“Let’s go out on the town,” Eddie suggested.

“I played it so straight with her,” Chris kept repeating; “I even helped her find a place here to board her goddam cat.”

“I wonder what’ll happen to the cat,” Agnes asked.

“I hope it croaks—it was the only thing she really cared about.”

“I bet she sends for the cat when she comes back from Europe,” Agnes said.

“Who gives a shit!” Christie roared.

“Well, you brought it up,” she answered.

“I played it so straight with her,” Chris repeated. “Why did she do it? Look at me … I’m better-looking than Ike Ryan.”

“Whaaat?” This was Agnes.

Chris whirled on her. “You think he’s good-looking?”

“He’s sexy-looking,” she said sullenly.

Eddie shot her a murderous look. “Hey, Aggie, you looking to be replaced? This is no time for funnies.”

“I still think he’s sexy-looking,” she said stubbornly.

“Look, Chris,” Kenny cut in, “how’s about us getting a table at the Copa? I know some of the kids in the line. They got three new dancers. One is gorgeous, only nineteen. I bet she’d like you. She’s a nice girl.”

Chris kicked the coffee table so hard the leg came off and it collapsed. “Nice girl! I
had
a nice girl—a gorgeous girl! Christ, she’d give me a dirty look if I said a bad word in front of her. And she turns out to be the worst double-crossing cooze around. No dame in burlesque would act like that. I’m through being a nice guy and I want no part of
nice
girls. I want a bum! I’ll treat her like a bum and no one will get hurt. Just find me the biggest bum in town—the best joint-copper!”

“Call for Ethel Evans—” Eddie chanted, mimicking a pageboy.

Chris snapped his fingers. “That’s it!”

Eddie laughed. “Oh, come on—I was kidding. Listen, Chris, if you want a bum at least get a pretty one. There’s a dame in town from Frisco—”

“I don’t want a pretty bum, or a dame from Frisco. I want Ethel!”

“But she’s a beast,” Kenny said.

“I don’t want a beauty queen. I want a fucker! Get me Ethel!” His eyes narrowed. “If I’m seen with a cunt like her,
that
will show them. They’ll figure Amanda couldn’t mean much to me if I could wind up enjoying a broad like Ethel. Get her!”

Eddie called Jerry Moss in Greenwich. Jerry sighed and promised to do his best. He located Ethel in Fire Island.

“What is this, a gag?” she demanded.

“No, Christie Lane
personally
asked to see you.”

“That’s a quaint way of putting it!”

“Ethel, you’ve boffed every guest star on Christie’s show.”

“I missed a few. Don’t forget they did the last half of the season from the Coast.”

“They’re not going to the Coast next season.”

“Great. I’ll get a new diaphragm.”

“Ethel, our star is unhappy. He wants
you
”.

“But I don’t want him.”

“I’m asking you to go into town.”

Her voice was icy. “Is that an order?”

“Let’s say it’s a
request
”.

“The answer is no.”

“Then perhaps I’ll have to call Danton Miller and ask him to take you off the show.” Jerry hated himself, but he had to make one last-ditch effort.

Her laugh was nasty. “I can always handle Danton.”

“Not against a sponsor. And whether you like it or not, Ethel, that’s what I am.”

“Really? I thought you were Robin Stone’s personal maid.”

He kept his voice even. “I am not dealing in personalities with you.”

“Oh, excuse me. I guess this is all impersonal—you calling me and telling me to come in town to fuck Chris Lane.”

“Put whatever connotation on it you wish. You earned your reputation. And it’s not my job to be on the phone with you on July Fourth either. I’m doing it because I’m part of the Christie Lane show. Obviously you have no idea of teamwork.”

“Oh, cut the agency shit,” she snapped. “I want you to get this straight. I’m not a call girl. When I hump a guy, it’s because I dig him. For a year and a half Chris Lane never looked at me twice—thank God! And now all of a sudden I’m Elizabeth Taylor. What’s the big deal?”

“Amanda married Ike Ryan today.”

There was a pause. Then she laughed. “Hey, your friend Robin Stone must be upset too! Now why don’t I go console
him
? I’d even swim back for that.”

“Are you coming in?”

She sighed. “Okay. Where do I find lover boy?”

“At the Astor.”

She laughed. “Wouldn’t you know? All my life I’ve waited to meet someone who actually lived at the Astor!”

Christie was alone when she arrived. “Hey. What’s the big idea?” he asked. “You’re in slacks.”

“You didn’t expect me to walk in nude, did you?”

He didn’t smile. “No, but the gang is at the Copa. I was waiting to take you over and join them.”

She stared at him. “The Copa?”

“Come on!” he ordered. “We’ll grab a cab and go to your place. I want you to change into a dress so we can go to the Copa.”

He sat in her living room thumbing through a magazine while she dressed.

In the cab, he sat huddled on the other side of the seat, morose and uncommunicative, but once they entered the Copa, his entire personality changed. He flashed a broad smile, held her arm and introduced her to everyone they met with a proprietary air. He held her hand through the show; he even lit her cigarette. She sat through it all grimly. She had seen the show, she was tired and she wanted to get the evening over with.

It was close to three when they returned to the Astor. She had never had such a grueling time. The Copa, then the Copa bar, the Brasserie and a stop at the Stage Delicatessen. Now they were alone. She undressed silently. He was already naked, lying expectantly on the bed. She looked at him and felt a crawling revulsion. There was something so repulsive about a man without a hard on. How had Amanda done it? To go from a man like Robin Stone to this slob!

She walked to the side of the bed, completely naked. He couldn’t mask his amazement as he stared at her enormous, well-shaped breasts.

“Hey, doll, for an ugly dame you sure got a build.” He grabbed her rear. “Now if you’d just lose some of that ass, you’d almost have a great figure.”

She pulled away from him. His hands were clammy. She didn’t want him to touch her.

“You have any shaving cream?” she asked.

“Sure, why?”

She went to the bathroom and returned with the container. She spread the shaving cream all over her hands. “Now lie back, you big television star.”

In less than five minutes he lay spent and groaning. She slipped into the bathroom and dressed quickly. When she returned to the bedroom he was lying motionless, his eyes closed.

“So long, Chris.” She couldn’t get out fast enough.

He reached out and grabbed her hand. “Doll, I never had it like that. But it’s not fair, I mean, nothing happened for you. Christ, I never even got to touch you.”

“That’s all right,” she said softly. “I know you felt blue tonight. I just wanted to make you forget, make you happy.”

He pulled her down to the bed. Then he stared at her. “You know, that’s the nicest thing anyone ever said to me. Look, I appreciate it. I know you came all the way in from Fire Island tonight. Is there anything I can do?”

She longed to say, “Just forget about me and leave me alone.” But she merely smiled.

He pulled her down. “Give us a kiss.”

His lips were soft and blubbery. She managed to pull away without showing her repugnance. Then she leaned down and kissed his sweaty brow and dashed from the apartment without even asking for cab fare.

He called her the next morning and invited her to dinner. She had nothing better to do, so she accepted. He took her out every night for two weeks. The columns began coupling their names together. He invited her to accompany them to Atlantic City when he went to play the Five Hundred Club. She was beginning to enjoy the sudden personal publicity she was getting as Christie Lane’s girl. She had never been anyone’s “girl.” So she went along. Her picture appeared with Chris in one of the morning papers, showing them in a rolling chair on the boardwalk, hinting of an “engagement.”

Jerry Moss grew slightly apprehensive. He called Christie in Atlantic City.

“Christie, you’re not serious about this girl?”

“Of course not. Listen, Jerry, Dan’s got the first two shows for the new season fairly set. Who are you getting to replace—” He stopped.

“We’ll use a different girl each week,” Jerry said. “But I want to talk to you about Ethel.”

“Yeah?”

“You know her reputation.”

“So?”

“Do you think it’s smart bringing her to Atlantic City? The columns are writing about you and Ethel. She’s not good for your image. The public wants to see you coupled with a nice girl, a beautiful girl.”

“Listen, buster, I went with a
nice
girl, a beautiful girl. Maybe the public was happy, but I got my brains kicked in. The public wasn’t around to hold my cock the night Amanda got married. But Ethel Evans was!”

“Everyone in the business knows about Ethel,” Jerry argued. “So far the public knows nothing. But after this engagement rumor in the newspapers, the public will want to know more. And how will it look to the public to know their family man goes with a whore!”

“Don’t you say that!” Chris said roughly. “She never took a dime from a guy!”

“Chris, are you taking her seriously? I mean, you’re leaving for Vegas in a few weeks. You’re not taking her there, are you?”

“Too much plane fare involved. It ain’t exactly Atlantic City where we hire a car and all pile in.”

“Then you’re not serious about her.”

“Of course not. But I know one thing. She’s there when I want her. She’s nice to me. She doesn’t cheat. And she hasn’t been with another guy since I started dating her. And anything I want to do is okay with her. I’m relaxed with Ethel. He paused as if recalling something. Then he laughed. “Take Ethel to Vegas! That’s like bringing a tuna-fish sandwich to Danny’s Hideaway.”

It had been a dull summer for Ethel. She worked on a variety show that featured new talent. She didn’t dig guitar-playing groups. Even the guest stars were youth-oriented. She was relieved when Labor Day arrived. When Christie Lane returned to New York she was almost glad to see him.

She was with him constantly during the month of September. The show didn’t start till October and he had most of his evenings free. She was bored to death with Kenny and Eddie and Agnes. She hated the Copa bar, the Chinese restaurants (always the
cheapest ones), but most of all she hated the racetrack. He never offered to place a bet for her, so out of boredom she placed two-dollar show bets of her own and occasionally won sixty cents. She loathed any physical contact with him, but to her relief she soon realized he wasn’t a highly sexed man. Twice a week more than satisfied him, then he would lie back and read the racing form.

She was really marking time until the show would begin and new guest stars would arrive. Then she would give Christie and his stooges the brush.

A week before the opening show, two television magazines came out with stories on Christie, featuring Ethel Evans.

Jerry sat in his office and stared at the pictures of the smiling couple—God, they really looked like a pair of bookends! But now he really had to take some action. This thing was getting out of hand. He made an appointment to meet Danton Miller for lunch.

At first Dan was amused. “Come on, Jerry, you’re borrowing trouble. The hicks in the sticks never heard of Ethel.”

Jerry snapped his knuckles. “Dan, this is serious. Tom Carruthers is a Baptist as well as a sponsor. He didn’t even approve of some of the rock singers we had on the summer replacement show. So far he thinks Ethel is a nice homespun girl. He’s even had her to dinner with
Mrs
. Carruthers. If one of those scandal magazines ever decides to do some real research on Ethel, we’re dead! She’s got a girl friend on the Coast who saved all her letters with ratings of the stars in the kip. She’s had them mimeoed and passes them around. If those letters ever got into print! Incidentally, Dan, I hear your ‘rating’ is listed, too.”

Dan’s smile disappeared.

“Look, Dan, I’m not a prude. That kind of publicity might help a swinging singer, but not our little old minstrel man. He appeals to a family-type audience. Carruthers even wants to try for an earlier time spot next season so that more kids can watch. He wants to stay with Christie Lane for life. You’ve got a gold mine with this show—and we can’t let Ethel stand in the way. It’s too big a risk.”