The Love Machine (61 page)

Suddenly his own problems seemed very small and he was filled with anger. Gregory Austin was afraid of Dan. But he wasn’t afraid of Robin Stone. Gregory thought he was a loser. Well, from now on, he’d call the shots. All at once he was eager to get back to New York. He was also eager to see that nut Maggie Stewart in California, but she could wait—she could wait until he became the biggest winner of them all!

TWENTY-EIGHT

R
OBIN
returned to New York in time to catch Dip and Pauli on
The Christie Lane Show
. Dip looked great, sang off key and moved woodenly. Pauli looked awful, sang great, and moved like a ballerina. He couldn’t believe it. She had stopped imitating Lena, Garland and Streisand. Pauli had come into her own. She had a haunting style and unbelievable phrasing. Robin wondered when this metamorphosis had occurred. Perhaps in knocking around nightclubs with Dip she had given up the dream of making it and because she no longer had hope, she had unconsciously dropped the affected mannerisms—and Pauli herself had come through. Whatever it was, it was nothing short of a miracle. Even the ridiculous upturned nose and prominent teeth worked for her.

Dip came barging into his office at eleven o’clock the following morning. He sprawled into a chair and stared into space with bloodshot eyes. Then he leaned forward. “I’m going to kill her.”

Robin was taken off guard. “What happened?”

“My agent called an hour ago. That fucking Ike Ryan. His taste is in his ass! He doesn’t want me. He’s settling for Lon Rogers—that broken-down baritone!”

“But you said you were going to kill
her
. Who is
her?”

“Pauli!” Dip’s eyes blazed. “Ike Ryan offered her a job as a standby for Diana Williams, and that stupid bitch is going to take it! After all I’ve taught her, all the class I tried to give her—she’s going to be a standby!”

“Maybe it’s for the best,” Robin said. “At least you’ll have some money coming in.”

“She’s getting three hundred dollars a week. I used to
tip
more than that around the Beverly Hills Hotel! Besides, where does it
leave me? How do you like that cheap little cunt! Sashaying off and leaving me in the crapper.” Anger gave him renewed vitality. He jumped up and began to pace. “Know something?” His eyes were black with rage. “I’m going home and pack. I won’t be there when the
star
returns from signing her shitty little contract. Let her see how long she can get by without the Big Dipper. And I’ll also throw her old lady right out of the house. But first I’ll break every bone in Pauli’s body!” He dashed out of the office.

Robin was still thinking about Dip and Pauli when his phone rang. It was Cliff Dome. At the same moment, his secretary announced that Danton Miller was in the outer office. Before he had a chance to speak to either of them, Dan pushed his way in. “You’re not keeping me cooling my heels out there. Did you see the notices on your act? The girl was okay, but Dip Nelson was the longest stage wait I’ve ever seen. The show never recovered after him. I hope from now on you’ll keep your hands off my show!”

Robin ignored him and went back to the telephone. “Yes, Cliff, sorry for the interruption.” Dan saw his expression change.

“When did it happen? Mount Sinai? I’ll be right there.” He hung up. Dan stood there, still glowering in rage.

Robin looked at him in surprise, as if suddenly remembering his presence. “Gregory’s sick again.” He started for the door.

“I thought he was in Palm Beach.” Dan’s anger had dissolved into shock.

“He flew back an hour ago and checked into Mount Sinai.”

“Is it serious?”

“They don’t know. Cliff says he’s been feeling lousy for the past week. It seems he went to the hospital in Palm Beach for a checkup, but he doesn’t trust them so he came here for observation.”

“Want me to go along?”

Robin looked at him curiously. “Of course not.”

And once again he left Dan standing in the middle of the room, staring after him.

Gregory was sitting in a chair in the hospital room, huddled in a robe and his silk pajamas. He was tan, but his face was drawn
under the healthy color. Judith was also tanned but she looked tired. Cliff Dorne looked concerned. Robin forced a smile in an effort to dispel the heavy atmosphere of gloom.

“You don’t look sick to me,” he said cheerfully.

“It’s the Big C,” Gregory said morosely. “I know it.”

“Greg, stop talking that way,” Judith pleaded.

“No one takes this long to recover from a gall bladder operation. I know that. And I’m in constant pain.”

“The same place?” Robin asked.

“Who knows? Everything hurts. I can’t even take a leak without pain. It’s all through me, I know it. And the hell of it is, no one will tell me. They tried to say it was prostate trouble in Palm Beach. But I know they told Judith the truth—it’s cancer.”

Her eyes went to Robin’s beseechingly. “I’ve told him over and over—it’s prostate. I’m not keeping anything from him.”

“Sure,” Gregory snapped. “They’ll put me through tests here. Everyone will show me charts that say it’s negative. Everyone will give me big smiles, and then sit around and watch me die inch by inch.”

“You’ll bury me first, and soon, if you keep this up.” It was Dr. Lesgarn’s crisp voice as he entered the room.

“Look, Gregory, I’ve studied your tests from Palm Beach. It’s prostate, all right—and we’ll have to operate.”

“What did I tell you?” Gregory’s tone was triumphant. “You don’t operate on prostate unless it’s malignant!”

“Now I don’t want any more of that talk,” Dr. Lesgarn said firmly. “I want everyone out of here. I’m going to give you some sedation, Gregory. You’ve had a tiring trip and I want you in good condition for the operation tomorrow.”

“You’re going to cut?” Gregory suddenly sounded frightened.

“Yes. And you’ll be fine.”

“If it’s malignant,
then
what?”

“Then we’ll talk. But, Gregory, cancer is not a death sentence. There are many men who live long healthy lives after a prostate malignancy if it is caught in time.”

“I’ve heard about those cases. They lose their balls—eventually even their pecker. They go piece by piece.”

Dr. Lesgarn motioned Judith to leave. She walked across the room to Robin and Cliff. Dr. Lesgarn took out some cotton and
swabbed Gregory’s arm. Gregory pushed him away. “Tell me, before you knock me out.
Is
it malignant?”

“No one can swear one hundred percent on anything until we go in and see. But I will tell you this: I’ve operated on prostate malignancies, and you have none of the symptoms. I’d say it was a ninety-nine and nine-tenths chance that it is not.”

“But there is that one chance?”

Judith swept over to his side and kissed his cheek. “Come on, now—you’re the biggest gambler in the world, and never in your life have you had such odds in your favor. Why be chicken now?”

He managed a slight smile and she kissed his brow. “I’ll be here tomorrow morning before you go to the operating room. Now do as the doctor says—rest and relax. I love you, Greg.”

Then she quickly left the room with Robin and Cliff. The three of them walked down the corridor silently. She didn’t speak until they reached the elevator. “When I looked into his eyes, I saw death.” She shuddered. “He really believes he’s going to die.”

They reached the street. The long Lincoln was waiting. The chauffeur stood at attention. “Want me to ride home with you?” Cliff asked.

“I need a drink,” she said.

“I think we all could use one,” Robin agreed.

“I’ll have to pass on it,” Cliff said. “I have a long drive out to Rye, and I want to be here first thing in the morning too.”

“I’ll take care of Mrs. Austin,” Robin said.

They got into the car. “There’s a bar I like—unless you want the St. Regis or Oak Room or something special.”

She leaned back against the seat. “No, any quiet place will do.”

As she entered the Lancer Bar, Judith glanced around curiously. So this was where he went. It was dimly lit; she was grateful for that. He led her to a back booth and ordered her a Scotch. She waited until he had taken a long swallow of his martini, then she said, “What do you think will happen, Robin?”

“I think he’s going to be all right.”

“You’re not just saying that?”

“No. People who think they’re going to die rarely do. He’s too frightened to die.”

“I don’t understand.”

“During the war, after I got hit, I was in the hospital. It was a long ward with rows and rows of beds. There was a guy to the right of me who was loaded with shrapnel. He had to go through five operations. Each time he went up, he was sure it was his last day on earth. But the guy on the other side of me read the papers. He smiled at lot and all the while he was quietly hemorrhaging to death. I’m of the opinion that when death is in you, it fills you with a curious calm. After all, everything builds up its own resistance and immunity. Death probably carries its own emotional anesthesia.”

“You make me feel much better,” she said.

“It’s not going to be easy either way,” he said quietly. “The real trouble will begin after the operation.”

“You mean lack of sex.” She shrugged. “Robin, there’s never been any wild kind of thing between us, even in the beginning. IBC has always been Greg’s consuming passion. It hasn’t been easy for me for years.”

“I wasn’t thinking of you,” he said cryptically. “I was thinking of Gregory—he won’t believe it’s not malignant.”

“And what about me?” she demanded. “Gregory doesn’t know how to accept any setbacks. Illness is foreign to him. What do you think the last few months have been like for me? I’ve lived with a whimpering invalid. He wouldn’t play golf, he kept taking his own pulse …”

“Isn’t marriage supposed to be for better or worse?”

“Is that what you believe?” she asked.

“If I was married, that’s what I’d believe.”

“Maybe you
would,”
she said slowly. “Only I haven’t had much of a marriage.”

“This is one hell of a time for you to find out.”

“Don’t look at me as if you hated me, Robin. I’ve given my share to this marriage.”

“This marriage? Is that how a woman thinks of it? Not
our
marriage?”

“Now you’re beginning to sound like a sentimentalist.”

He ordered another round of drinks. “That’s the last thing I am. But I thought women were.”

“I was, once. When I married Greg I thought it would be wonderful.
But he didn’t want any of the things that go to
make
a marriage. He didn’t particularly want children, he wanted a
wife
. To run his homes—Gregory always liked possessions—the town house, the house in Palm Beach, the house in Quogue… . It’s been a full-time job.”

“Well, running a network isn’t exactly a hobby.”

“I know that. I’ve respected his work, and I’ve accepted all his friends, made them my friends. But a woman needs more than a social life and playing the role of the perfect hostess. I’ve missed so much. When I look back it seems like a pretty empty life.”

“Well, this is no time to dig up the past. Right now your main concern is to get this man well. He’ll need you. So stop crying in your beer about being just a possession. From now on you’ll be Florence Nightingale, Sigmund Freud and the best friend he ever had. I liked your speech at the bed—about being a gambler. Your instincts are right, Judith. You’ve got to know when to be tough and when to give in with a patient. An emotional crackup is harder to cure than physical illness. You’ve got to make sure he doesn’t crack—because if he does, then you’ll
really
know what trouble is. I’ve seen guys go that route. They’re still lolling around in bathrobes, doing jigsaw puzzles at veterans’ hospitals.”

“But why? I mean with Gregory. Men with less strength sail through a gall-bladder operation. And even a prostate operation. He hasn’t been himself since he first went to the hospital.”

Robin lit a cigarette. “Sometimes illness hits a strong guy harder than the little guy. As you said, illness is foreign to Gregory. He doesn’t know how to handle it. He’s always been prepared for any emergency in business. It never occurred to him that his body was vulnerable. It’s shot the pins from under him. And to a man like Gregory illness robs him of his dignity.”

She looked at him pleadingly. “Robin—
help
me.”

“I will.”

She reached out and clutched at his hands. “Robin, I’ll try. But I can’t do it alone. I’ve been in an ivory tower for so long. I have no close friends. Women I lunch with—well, they tell me
their
troubles. I’ve never confided my problems to any of them. I felt above all that. Suddenly I have no one to turn to, and I don’t want anyone to know about Gregory’s operation. It sounds so castrating.
Robin—can I feel free to call you, to cry on your shoulder?”