The Love Machine (67 page)

Robin slated Dip’s pilot,
A Guy Called Jones
, to replace the first January casualty. The contract was worked out, Dan had agreed, and now Dip had nothing to do but wait until September and see what shows bombed.

Pauli went on tour in June and Dip remained in New York. Pauli’s attitude had changed when she learned that Dip was going to make ten thousand a week. (He did not tell her about the other ten he intended to deposit in the vault.) She wrote him long letters from the road and never failed to tell him how much she missed him.

In September the new shows came on. IBC had an immediate winner in one series Robin had chosen. Two others were shaky, but he had a solid daytime schedule. The new soap opera was a smash, and both game shows were going to make it. Of the two doubtful shows, one was a cinch to be axed in January. He’d replace it with Dip’s show—that would write off any obligation he owed for all time. He thought about Dip.… In the beginning he had really
liked
him. He had an openness and a zest for living that Robin found appealing. But as the months had passed and he watched Dip take the crap from Pauli, his respect for Dip gradually turned to revulsion. Dip
had
to know that Pauli was cheating on him. In the beginning he had tried to snap Dip to his senses and arouse the manhood in him by treating him as a servant. He felt that Dip would rebel, and once the rebellion began his strength might return. But Dip took it.

The more Robin thought of Dip’s subservience to Pauli, the less he cared to become involved with any girl. The few times he had tried to start anything that resembled a romance, his thoughts automatically turned to Maggie, and the girl he was with suddenly
seemed dull. No, it was easier to let Dip supply temporary entertainment. He cared so little about the girls that Dip or Ike brought around that he found himself requiring a three-way bit. If he watched Ike make love to the girl it aroused him, then he was able to jump her too. He was aware that in a subconscious way Maggie was always in his thoughts. And when he acknowledged this to himself, he became enraged. No girl was ever going to “get” to him! Running the network was a full-time job. He hadn’t even gone near his book in a year—just the night before he had carefully put the three hundred yellow pages in a portfolio and stashed it in a filing case. He wondered when Gregory would return, if ever… . The last card from Judith had come from Cannes in August. Gregory was feeling fine, even playing
chemin de fer
for hours on end.

The Austins slipped into town quietly at the end of September. Judith planned it that way. Once she was settled, their “official” return would be heralded with a big splash. She didn’t want to dissipate the impact with just the usual picture of them getting off the boat. It had to be done with a gigantic party. She might even take over the ballroom at the Plaza, invite all the exciting people, all the press… . Gregory was his old self, and convinced he didn’t have cancer. He had even proven himself sporadically a few times in bed with her. Judith felt she deserved an Academy Award—she had acted wildly excited, told him he was the greatest lover in the world. She hadn’t shown that much excitement during their honeymoon. But she was determined to do anything to get Gregory well—and most of all to get him back to New York. They had been gone a year and a half!

But she had used the time to advantage. The first three months at Lausanne, Gregory was too ill to see anyone. Forty shock treatments, then the dreadful regressive period when he even soiled himself. And then the slow process back… . She had taken a small apartment near the sanitarium, and during the first three months, when she had not been allowed to see him, she had put herself in the hands of an excellent plastic surgeon.

It was a miraculous job, though at first she had been disappointed.
She had actually expected to look twenty again. She looked about thirty-eight, but a beautiful, well-taken-care-of thirty-eight. The doctor had been a genius. Of course there were tiny creases in front of her ears and heavy scars behind them, but she wore her hair down now, soft and
bouffant
, a few inches below her ears. Vidal Sassoon himself had styled it for her, and it was a smashing look. Gregory knew nothing of the operation. He said she looked marvelous and the new hairdo had done wonders. She smiled. Couldn’t he notice how firm her jawline was? He hadn’t even noticed her breast lift, or the tiny scars near her pelvis where her thighs had been tightened.

Gregory looked well too. The red was back in his hair, he was tan and lean, but he had no desire to go back to work. They had been home a week and he hadn’t gone near the office. Each day he had come up with a different excuse. He had to see his tailor—he had lost ten pounds and none of his suits fitted. He had to drive out to see his horses. At the beginning of the second week she literally threw him out of the house, insisting he go to the office.

The moment he was gone, she placed a call to Robin. She had deliberately waited. He
knew
they were back—Gregory had talked to him several times on the phone. She knew he must wonder why she didn’t call. By now he would be eager… .

His private line didn’t answer. She was disappointed, but no use leaving a message. He was probably at a meeting. She finally reached him at three o’clock. He sounded delighted to hear from her. He had spent the morning with Gregory and remarked on how well he looked.

“When am I going to see you?” she asked.

“Anytime,” he said easily. “As soon as Gregory feels up to it, I’d love to take you both to dinner.”

“I don’t mean it that way, Robin,” she said quietly. “I want to see you alone.”

He was silent.

“Are you there, Robin?”

“I’m here… .”

“When can I see you?”

“Tomorrow at six, at my place.”

“I’ll be there. I’ll leave word for Gregory that I’ve gone to a
charity cocktail party. I’ll have no time limit and Gregory falls asleep right after dinner.”

She went to a new beauty parlor in the East Sixties. She couldn’t chance her regular place where all the operators knew her, unless she wanted those scars behind her ears to be the biggest news flash along Park Avenue. The operators had always told her who had gotten the latest “lift.”

She sat in a cubicle at the new beauty parlor. She had given her name as Wright. She was positive that no one recognized her. God, why should they? It had been over a year since her picture had appeared on the front page of
Women’s Wear
. Well, in a few weeks, she’d take over. She lay back and wished the woman wouldn’t rub so hard. She knew the operator felt the lumpy scars. The bitch, she was jealous because she would never be able to afford such a luxury. She glanced at the operator. She was a woman in her middle thirties: broad hips, fingers permanently discolored from hair dye, white space shoes on feet that ached from too much standing—God, even varicose veins! Why shouldn’t the poor creature hate and envy someone who could pay three thousand dollars just to get rid of some lines?

The woman smiled as she led Judith into another booth to await her hair set. As Judith thumbed through a back issue of
Harper’s
, the woman whispered to the young man outside the booth, “You’ll get a big tip from this one, Dickie—it’s Mrs. Gregory Austin under a phony name with a brand-new set of scars. Take it easy with the clips.”

Judith smoked nervously as the slim young man coiled her hair into the large rollers. She caught him looking at her ears. “I had mastoids last year,” she said casually.

He nodded. “My roommate had them too.” His voice was sympathetic.

She relaxed under the drier. She would go to the booth after Dickie combed her out, and put on fresh makeup. She was wearing that wonderful underwear she had picked up in Paris. Thank God the scars under her breasts didn’t show. The breast and thigh lift had really been painful, but it was all worth it. Tonight she’d strip off her clothes and stand before Robin. She was a match for any airline hostess now!

She left the beauty parlor at five thirty. She didn’t want to walk and ruin her hair. She looked marvelous—Vidal had cut her hair so well that even Dickie had been able to follow the line. She had given him a ten-dollar tip. She hadn’t felt this exhilarated in years. She wanted to shout … to sing, but she merely went to a drugstore and had a cup of tea to kill the time. At five of six she took a cab to Robin’s.

The doorman glanced at her casually, but she felt that her large sunglasses hid her identity. Of course he wouldn’t recognize her—she had been away so long.

She felt short of breath from excitement and nerves as she buzzed Robin’s door. He opened it and beckoned her in and returned to the telephone. God, this was an anticlimactic greeting! He was talking to California—he sounded like Gregory with all those damn ratings. She looked around the room. She had only been here once, but during the past year she had relived every second they had shared together. Every word, every piece of furniture in his apartment, was etched in her mind. She felt slightly uncomfortable in the new underwear. The naked beige bra and the tiny lace pants scratched. But any annoyance would be worth it when she watched his face as she undressed. She planned to do it slowly, deliberately. She was wearing a suit—Valentino had outdone himself on this one: the silk blouse buttoned down the front, nothing had to go over the head, and she had those marvelous individual false eyelashes—no worry about the stripped ones coming off.

Robin hung up, came and grasped her hands in welcome. He tried to smile but there were two lines between his eyes.

“Trouble?” she asked.

“Roddy Collins.”

“Who is he?” she asked.

This time he really smiled. “Not only have you been away, but it’s a cinch you haven’t watched the box since you got back.”

“No. And neither has Gregory, thanks to you.”

He sat down and offered her a cigarette. The lines returned to his eyes. “Our new star, Roddy Collins—his series has zoomed to the top ten. It’s a Western. He plays the fastest gun alive for law and order. A beautiful guy, six foot six and all brawn. I’ve just learned he’s a flaming faggot.”

She shrugged. She wanted Robin to take her into his arms. He was pacing the room and had scarcely looked at her. His mind was still on the phone call. “Isn’t a star’s private life supposed to be his own?” she asked.

“Sure, if he’d
keep
it private, I don’t care who he goes to bed with. But it seems sleeping with a boy is not his bag. He likes to dress like a woman and go out cruising to pick up a
guy
. Do you get the picture—six foot six, the newest all-American sensation, sponsored by a family-type product, walking into a bar in drag trying to pick up a guy?”

She started to laugh.

“It’s not funny, Judith. It seems a guy five foot eight took a poke at him and the cops arrived. Our lawyers rushed in. We got three people to swear he did it on a bet, and that they were following him. We covered it
this
time, but we can’t keep a guard on him every second.”

“Robin, I’ve been away from all this for so long. I know I’ve got to start living with it again soon. But not now, not our first time together?”

He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Of course—would you like a drink?”

“Yes.” God, anything to break the ice.

He mixed two Scotches. “Gregory looks good,” he said as he handed her the drink. “I’m very pleased that he wants me to keep running things, but you’ve got to make him take some interest.”

“Doesn’t he?”

“No. He called a meeting today and told everyone how proud he was of me. Tomorrow he’s playing golf. And the following day he’s going to look at some new horses.”

She shrugged. “It’s your network now, Robin.”

“Yes, it is,” he said quietly.

“Then let Gregory play with his horses and golf clubs.”

“Judith, I thought he’d come back and try and take over completely. I was prepared to fight him on that—thirty percent of the programming consists of shows I’ve personally brought in. But he has no interest at all, and that’s not healthy. I like Gregory. I want to work with him hand in hand, toss ideas around, make him argue with me when he thinks I’m wrong. It will make for better
programming. Besides, the word
is
around that it’s my network—and I don’t want him to be upset.”

She put down her drink and stared at him intimately. “Let me take care of that. It’s my network too, you know.”

“Judith, it’s easy for you to say that now, but wait until you get into the swim of things. I don’t give interviews. I’m not the most lovable guy in the world, according to the press. And unless Gregory is in there punching with me, he’s going to be the forgotten man. As long as he was away, it was okay, but if he comes back and doesn’t roll up his sleeves, then the papers will have a field day and it will
really
be my network. There’s one columnist in particular who hates my guts. I refused to let him be a panelist on one of our game shows—he’s a fat slob who is a hater. He’s been writing about me every day, calling me the Love Machine!”

Her eyes narrowed. “How about living up to the title?”

He swallowed his drink. “Give me a chance to get healthy. You’ve been swimming on the Riviera. I haven’t even had time to catch a weekend at the Hamptons.”