The Love Machine (52 page)

“That’s what
you
think,” Sid said mournfully. “If we don’t
make the papers with pictures of your arrival, I’ll be able to hear the screams from California without a telephone. We have some TV shows lined up—also newspaper interviews.” He fumbled in his pocket for an envelope and handed her the typed schedule. “Then as I understand it, you can stay on until January fourteenth if you like, and Century will pick up the tab. We’ve got you booked at the Plaza until the twenty-sixth. If you want to stay on, be sure to let the hotel know right away.”

She scanned the schedule he handed her. “This is incredible,” she said. “I don’t even get Christmas off—you’ve got two parties I’m supposed to attend.”

“John Maxwell is one of Century’s biggest stockholders. He has a big duplex at River House. It’ll be loaded with rich civilians, but he likes celebrities and he definitely put in a request for you. The one at The Forum you’ve got to make—all the press will be there. It’s Ike Ryan’s party for Diana Williams.”

“I don’t go to parties,” she said.

Sid Goff stared at her unable to believe he had heard correctly.

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Then he said, “Miss Stewart, I was given to understand that your agent had told Century that you would be available to promote the picture and grab all the publicity you could. This is Karl Heinz Brandt’s picture for Living Arts Productions. Century is springing for the trip to build you into a star for themselves.”

“I realize that,” she said quietly. “And I agree to all interviews and television appearances. But there is no stipulation that says I have to make appearances at parties for stockholders. If Mr. Maxwell wants me to come, my fee is twenty-five thousand for an appearance.”

Sid Goff leaned forward and studied his shoes. “Okay, Miss Stewart, maybe you have a point about John Maxwell. They really can’t force you to go there. But there will be a lot of news coverage at Diana Williams’ party. Please—at least make an appearance there.”

She looked at his worried frown and relented. He had a job to do, and if making an appearance at Diana Williams’ party would help, why not? But she was damned if she’d appear at John Maxwell’s.

Since she had four days free before the interviews began, she invited her parents to New York. She saw to it that they had theater tickets and took them to dinner. Sid Goff arranged for tables, limousines, and keeping the fans at bay. Her parents returned to Philadelphia the day before Christmas in a state of subdued shock about their daughter’s newly acquired fame.

She felt unbearably lonely Christmas Day. She had a tiny tree her family had brought for her and a wilted poinsettia plant … compliments of the studio. The endless Christmas carols on radio only depressed her more. She almost welcomed the idea of the Christmas party for Diana Williams at The Forum—at least it would get her out of the hotel suite.

Sid Goff called for her at five. “We only have to stay an hour,” he told her. “Then you can cut out and join your friends and do whatever you wish.”

“What are you doing later, Sid?” she asked.

“The same as you—cutting back to be with people I really like. My wife and her family. They’re holding dinner for me until I get there.”

The Forum was mobbed. Several cameras went off in her face as she entered. Ike Ryan’s press agent cornered her to pose with Ike and Diana Williams. Maggie was amazed at Diana’s appearance. She couldn’t be forty, yet she was so burned-out looking. Thin, too thin. And her charged exuberance seemed to teeter on the verge of hysteria. She was too happy, too friendly—and the glass of orange juice in her hand was spiked with gin. Maggie posed with her. They exchanged the usual compliments. Maggie felt so young and healthy beside the girl. She also felt compassion. Everyone was dancing attendance on Diana but when the haunted eyes looked back at people, they didn’t really focus.

Maggie was just passing the bar and heading for the door when she came face to face with the tall bronzed man who was entering. He stared in disbelief, then the familiar smile came to his eyes. She couldn’t believe it. Robin Stone at a Christmas party for Diana Williams!

He grabbed her hands as his own astonishment turned into delight. “Hello, star!”

“Hello, Robin.” She managed a cool smile.

“Maggie, you look marvelous.”

Sid Goff moved off discreetly, but Maggie knew he was dreaming of the turkey dinner and his family. “I’ve got to leave,” she said. “I have some other appointments.”

His grin was filled with understanding. “I’m here on business too. I’m trying to talk Diana Williams into doing a Happening show. It’s a murderous project, even if she agrees, but Ike Ryan is a friend of mine. I’d film the first day of rehearsal on the bare stage with the work light, then catch Philadelphia and the dress rehearsal and the New York opening night, and cut to interviews with Diana and Ike and the cast—” He stopped. “I’m sorry, Maggie—this is a hell of a way to tell you I’m glad to see you.”

Maggie laughed, then she turned and looked at Diana. “Do you think she still has it?”

Robin’s expression was odd. “I thought you’d be the last person to judge talent by Hollywood standards. Diana Williams is one of a kind. Diana bad is better than most Hollywood stars good. She started on Broadway almost twenty years ago when she was seventeen. Diana wasn’t created with camera angles, Klieg lights and press agents.”

“I think I really must leave now,” she said coldly.

He caught her arm. “I must say this is a great start. How did we get into all this?” He smiled. “Let’s get to more important matters. When can I see you?”

“I don’t know.” Suddenly she smiled challengingly. “The premiere of my new movie is tomorrow night. Maybe you’d like to see what Klieg lights and press agents can do. Would you like to escort me?”

“I don’t like wearing black tie to movies. I enjoy seeing my movies when I eat popcorn. How about the next night?”

She looked at him evenly. “I’m talking about tomorrow night. I never plan too far ahead.”

Their eyes held for a moment. Then he flashed the familiar grin.

“Okay, baby, for you I’ll give up the popcorn. What time shall I pick you up and where?”

“Eight o’clock at the Plaza. The movie starts at eight thirty, but there is television coverage first. Unfortunately I have to be there.”

“No sweat. I’ll be there at eight.”

The press agent reappeared and escorted her to the door. Robin watched her leave, then he made his way across the room to Diana Williams.

At five to eight she began to get nervous. It was ridiculous to worry, she told herself. Above all, Robin was a gentleman. He wouldn’t stand her up—and besides he wasn’t supposed to arrive until eight. At three minutes to eight she wondered if she should put in a call to Sid Goff and have him stand by.

The phone rang sharply at eight. Robin was in the lobby. She took one last glance at herself in the mirror. He would probably loathe the way she looked: the white beaded dress (borrowed from the studio), the white mink coat (on loan to the studio from a Hollywood furrier), and the long black hair, lengthened by a “fall” (courtesy of the studio hairdresser who had arrived at her suite to recreate a hair style she wore in the film). It was crazy, she decided as she rode down the elevator. She had tons of hair—why did it have to hang down the middle of her back? And the large diamond-and-emerald earrings (also on loan and heavily insured) made her feel topheavy.

Robin smiled when she stepped out of the elevator. Oddly enough the slight nod that accompanied his smile seemed filled with approval. They didn’t speak until they got through the autograph fans in front of the Plaza who braved the cold and snapped her picture and demanded autographs. When they were finally settled in the limousine, she leaned back, then sat forward quickly. “Good God, I’ll lose my hair.”

He laughed with her. “I thought it had grown since yesterday.”

“Is it too much?” she asked hesitantly.

“It’s marvelous,” he said. “Look—regard the entire thing as a costume ball. That’s what it is really. You’re playing a movie star—give ‘em their money’s worth. If you’re going to do it, go all the way.”

The crush at the theater was frightening. Their limousine had to stand in line for fifteen minutes as bejeweled occupants of other cars alighted. When the mink-clad women who stepped out were
unrecognized by the fans, there was a groan of disappointment. Maggie peered at them cautiously from the safety of the car. Wooden barricades and police forced back the crowd. Across the street a truck held a huge Klieg light. A red carpet was actually on the sidewalk. Newspaper cameramen were waiting anxiously, looking curiously disoriented in their tuxedos. As her car finally reached the entrance, the press swarmed forward. The crowd cheered and surged forward breaking through the police line. A few hands reached out to touch the white mink, voices yelled “Maggie, Maggie—” Sid Goff and another press agent surrounded her protectively. She looked for Robin. He had disappeared. She was frantic. She felt herself being swept toward the tall man who was handling the microphone. She was standing beside him. Bulbs were flashing. The television lights were being held by hand. The TV camera moved in. Oh God, where was Robin?

And then somehow, Sid Goff was helping her off the stand and she was ushered into the lobby and Robin was waiting with that wonderful grin that said he understood just how it was. He held her arm and they braved the well-dressed audience who were all congregated in the lobby staring at one another. She made her way to her seat, which seemed to be a cue for the audience to follow and begin the frantic search for their seats as the lights went low and the music and credits began to roll.

When the final scene came on, Sid Goff sneaked down the aisle and beckoned to them. In a half crawl they ducked out of their seats and rushed up the aisle. They reached their car just as the doors of the theater opened and disgorged the glittering audience.

Robin took her hand. “I think you handled it beautifully. And you were excellent in the picture. Now tell me—is there more to this awful night, or are you free?”

“There’s a champagne supper at the Americana Hotel.”

“Naturally.”

Then they both laughed. Suddenly the idea of sitting in the brightly lit ballroom at a table with Karl Heinz and the leading man and his wife and posing for more pictures seemed unbearable.

“I’m not going,” she said suddenly.

“Good girl. How about the Oak Room of your hotel?”

“No, I have a better idea. These earrings have to go into the vault anyhow, and if I don’t take off some of this hair, I’m going to have a blinding headache. Suppose I change into slacks and we go to P.J.’s?”

“You are the most brilliant girl in the world. But you can’t be the only one who gets out of these trappings. Tell you what—I’ll drop you and leave the car. When you are ready, you can come and pick me up.”

Twenty minutes later she was back in the car, bundled in slacks and a white lamb sport coat. She wore dark glasses and smoked nervously as they drove to his apartment building on the East River. He was waiting outside, and he walked briskly to the car. He was wearing a white sweater and gray pants and no overcoat. As he slid in beside her, he said, “Even P.J.’s isn’t private enough. How about the Lancer Bar?”

She nodded and the driver headed toward Fifty-fourth Street. The place was empty except for a young couple who sat in the back booth drinking beer and holding hands. Robin ordered a Scotch for her, a martini for himself, and two large steaks.

Then he led her to a secluded table. He raised his glass: “This picture will do you a lot of good, Maggie.”

“But did you think I was good?”

“Let’s put it this way—you’ll convince the critics that you can act.”

“That means
you
don’t think I can?”

“Does it matter?”

She smiled. “I’m curious.”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Baby, you can’t act your way out of a barrel. But it doesn’t matter—you photograph like a goddess. You’ll have a big future.”

“Don’t you believe there is any such thing as star quality? That’s all I hear out there.”

“Yes, but she’s got to be a genius or a nut.”

“Maybe I still qualify.”

He laughed. “I don’t mean IQ genius—I mean emotional genius. Maybe there’s a thin line between genius and madness, and thank God you don’t fit into either category. Diana Williams
is a genius and a nut. And a poor lost soul. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever met a happy adjusted genius.” He reached across the table and took her hands. “Thank God you’re just a beautiful lady who through some crazy fluke has fallen into an incredible bit of luck. But you’re not a nut—you’re everything a man thinks of when he dreams of the ideal girl.”

She held her breath and waited for the disclaimer, the veiled insult that would knock her down. But their eyes met and he did not smile.

It was one o’clock when they left the Lancer Bar. “Do you have many appointments for tomorrow?” he asked.