The Love Machine (68 page)

“You look strong enough to me, Robin.”

He walked over and pulled her to her feet. Her arms went around his neck. Suddenly there was the shrill interruption of the telephone. “Don’t answer it,” she said.

“It’s the IBC line!” He removed her arms from his neck gently and walked over and took the call. “Hello. Yes. Oh, no kidding, Dip. Did Dan see it? No, I’ve never heard of Preston Slavitt. Oh yes, he’s that off-Broadway writer who looks like he never takes a bath. Well, his talent is in his ass… . Really great, huh? Well, how long have you got the viewing room? … Okay, in twenty minutes.” He hung up.

“You don’t have to go somewhere?” She couldn’t believe it.

“Dip Nelson latched on to a pilot that just might be great.” He picked up his glass and drained his drink. “Dip claims he can get me first crack at it tonight. The other networks are viewing it tomorrow.”

She looked surprised. “Who is Dip Nelson?”

“It’s a long story, baby. He’s an ex-movie star turned producer. We bought a series from him and Dan Miller.” He held out his hand to help her up from the couch. “Look, Judith, you better go
down first. I’ll follow in a few minutes.”

“When will I see you?”

“I’ll call you tomorrow, around eleven.” Then he kissed her lightly and walked her to the door but she felt his thoughts were already at the viewing room. She went down in the elevator, took a cab, and got home in time to find Gregory mixing a martini. He looked at her with genuine pleasure. “I’m so glad you’re back early. I found your message and was afraid I’d have to eat alone. God, you look beautiful.”

She took the martini and sipped it absently. And suddenly it occurred to her that Robin Stone hadn’t even commented on the change in her looks.

When he hadn’t called by one, she was furious. He probably had a lunch date so that meant he probably wouldn’t call till three. But he had said he’d call at eleven! Well, he could have gotten jammed up. She stalked around her bedroom. She was all made up, but still in her negligee. She had hoped he might invite her to lunch, a long quiet lunch where they could talk and catch up on the past. Now it would have to be cocktails. She could manage to stay with him until nine. Leave word for Gregory that something had come up regarding the Orphans’ Ball.

She stretched across the bed and began playing solitaire—she told herself that if five cards came up, he would call at four, just to talk. If ten came out, he would call at three, just to talk. Fifteen, he would ask her for a drink. Twenty, he would ask her for the evening. And if the game came out he would tell her that he was really mad about her and the whole thing would be as she dreamed.

Eight cards came out. She tried again. Fifteen this time—no, that wasn’t fair. This time she’d do it and take the results seriously. No cards came out. Good Lord, did that mean he wasn’t going to call?

At five o’clock she was desperate. She put in a call to him on his private wire. There was no answer. That meant he wasn’t at his desk. When Gregory came home at six she was still in her negligee. “Are we going somewhere?” he asked as he noticed her perfect makeup.

“I wish we
were
,” she said.

He smiled faintly. “We’ve been away a long time. People don’t know we’re home yet.”

“You’re right. I guess I’d better start phoning around.”

He sighed. “I like it like this. We can have a quiet dinner and watch TV.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing for a year and a half?” she asked quietly.

He looked contrite. “All right, why don’t you put on something nice and we’ll go to the Colony.”

“Alone?”

“Together,” he said.

“How will that look?” she demanded.

“Like we’re having dinner at the Colony.”

“Also like we haven’t a friend in the world.”

“Maybe we haven’t, Judith. Most people don’t, you know.”

“That’s nonsense, we’ve always been invited everywhere.”

“Invitations,” he said wearily. “Invitations to openings, to parties after the theater. Returning the parties—I guess we’ve been out of circulation.”

“Let’s get back,” she insisted.

He shrugged. “All right, you start things going—that’s always been your end.”

She thought about it that night as she lay in bed. How did one get things going again? She had no real close women friends, just women she knew well enough to lunch with, discuss clothes and charities and listen to
their
troubles. Judith had never made a confidante of anyone and she had never been
out
of circulation before. Invitations for dinner parties, openings, art shows, charity balls—they had always kept pouring in. Suddenly she realized that their entire social life had centered around Gregory’s work. When a Broadway show opened, there were opening-night seats from the producer, because the producer or director hoped to work for Gregory or get one of his stars on an IBC show. When stars came to town they called Gregory and invited them out. The phone hadn’t rung since she had returned. But it was her own fault. She had done nothing but center her thoughts and plans on Robin. Well, she’d start things going tomorrow. Perhaps she’d give a
small dinner party. She’d call Dolores and John Tyron. They were always “in” on everything.

Dolores was delighted to hear from her. “Oh, Judith angel, how divine that you’re back. Are you going to the party for Joan Sutherland next week?”

“Well, to tell the truth, Dolores, I haven’t made any dates, you’re the first person I’ve called. I’m barely unpacked.”

“You must be exhausted, all those parties in Europe. I’m dying to hear about it. Did you see Grace when you were in the south of France? I heard she gave a marvelous gala.”

“We were in Capri then.”

“Oh, then you were at the Korda ball? Was it divine?”

“I’ll tell you all the things we did when I see you. But I’m more interested in
you
and all the friends I haven’t seen in so long.”

“Well, you must really have had a tremendous time to stay away this long! And isn’t Gregory lucky having that marvy man running things for him? Tell me, Judith, I hear such wild things about him—are they true?”

“What do you hear?”

“Everything
, darling—orgies, and also that he’s AC-DC. He’s always with that handsome ex-movie star, Pauli Nelson’s husband.”

“Who is Pauli Nelson?”

“Darling, you
have
been away. She was the biggest sensation on Broadway last year. But Robin Stone sounds so wicked. I’d just
adore
to meet him.”

“Well, I’m planning a small dinner party and I’ll invite him along. How about one night this week?”

“Darling, we’re dead until a week from next Thursday. But get Robin Stone and arrange your little dinner—say in two weeks. Call me back and give me the date and I’ll put it right down in my little book. Oh, angel, my other phone is ringing, and Freddy has just come to comb my hair and—good Lord, look at the time, I’m due at La Grenouille in an hour.”

Judith made several calls. Everyone was delighted she was back, but each woman was booked and chatted endlessly about the excitement of the new season, and everyone naturally assumed she and Gregory had been invited everywhere. Well, a small dinner
party at the Colony wasn’t going to work. The solution was a large black-tie party in her home.

She decided on October first. She called Dolores back. Dolores was flying out of the door, but of course she’d look at her appointment book.
“Angel—not
October first! That’s the opening of the New Regal Club. You’ve joined of course? Well, look through your mail—it’s a closed membership but I’m sure they’ve sent you an application. Why not make your party, let’s see, how about October eighth? That’s open for us—I’ll pencil it in lightly and you call back and confirm. I’ve got to dash, angel, but of course I’ll see you before then.”

Judith tried Betsy Ecklund. October eighth! Wasn’t Judith going to the private showing and black-tie dinner at the Berner Gallery? The Duchess of Windsor was supposed to be coming in for it. Judith should check her mail—her invitation had to be there.

She hung up and stared at the mail on her breakfast tray. Some assorted bills, an ad from Saks, a letter from her sister. It was unbelievable! She was out of everything. To have to check with Dolores and Betsy on
their
availability—! In the past, she had just picked a date and given the list to her secretary. When her invitations went out, everyone came. Now she had to make dates fit in with
their
social life. Could a year and a half change things so radically?

It was twelve thirty. She had nothing to do. She dialed Robin’s number with new determination. He picked up on the third ring. She heard talking in the background—his office sounded as if several men were there. “Oh yes.” He made his voice impersonal. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, things have piled up. Can I get back to you, either late this afternoon or first thing tomorrow?”

She replaced the receiver. Now what? She was all made up. She had to see him. Once he saw her, he’d respond. She had seen the look of admiration in his eyes when she came to his apartment—until that damn phone call!

She’d run into him! Make it appear accidental! Yes, that was the thing to do.
Today
. Let’s see—he’d probably go to lunch at one and return around two. She’d manage just accidentally to pass the IBC Building at that hour and bump into him.

She dressed carefully—no hat; the beige coat with the sable boa.
She arrived at IBC at ten minutes to two. She went to a phone booth and called his office. When his secretary asked who was calling, Judith said, “Miss Weston of the Nielsen office.”

“May I have him return your call, Miss Weston? He’s expected back shortly.”

“No, I’ll call back.” Judith clicked the phone. Good, that meant he was still out for lunch. There was a bookstore next to the IBC Building. She took her post there and pretended to be looking at the titles. She’d stand there until Robin returned and then as soon as she spotted him, she’d pretend to be walking by and accidentally bump into him. She waited ten minutes. How long could you stare at books? And it was windy—thank God she had her hair loaded with spray net. She wondered if the doorman noticed or recognized her. It was getting chilly, downright cold. She felt her eyes tearing. Some of the mascara began to run. There was a mirror near the doorway, and she saw that the mascara specks dotted the whites of her eyes. Half her bottom lashes had disappeared. That was the awful part of having once been a natural blond—your hair darkened with age, but your lashes never did. She got out her handkerchief. The mascara had caked in small lines under her eye. She tried to wipe it away.

“Something in your eye?”

She turned. It was Robin.

In the daylight with his tanned face close to her own, she suddenly felt that the entire operation had been a farce. But she turned and managed a weak smile. “Just mascara and wind. I had a luncheon date and thought it was such a divine day I’d walk, so I dismissed my car. It suddenly seems to have turned into winter.”

“Want me to hail a cab?”

“Please.” She tried not to show her dismay.

He led her to the curb and signaled a taxi. “Judith, I meant to call you, but I got so bogged down.”

“I understand, but …”

The cab arrived and she was furious—usually you could never find one, but this damn fool had driven up as if he was practicing for the Indianapolis 500. Robin opened the door. “I’ll call you, Judith.”

As soon as she got to her bedroom, she flung herself on the
bed, sobbing off all her brand-new false eyelashes.

At five o’clock she took one of Gregory’s sleeping pills and left a note that she had a headache. And as she fell into a heavy sleep she wondered if Robin suspected she had planned their “accidental” meeting.

The “accidental” meeting had disturbed Robin. He thought about it off and on during the afternoon. He found himself snapping at his secretary, being more than curt with Andy Parino, and actually rude when he turned down Jerry’s invitation for drinks at the Lancer Bar. When he got home he mixed himself a drink and tried to watch television. But Judith kept coming to his mind. She had looked so pathetic standing in front of the bookstore. Her feeble excuse had rocked him—the poor thing, to be so desperate, to stand there hoping to run into him. Holy God, how had this happened? Had Kitty felt this way about her young boys?

He picked up the newspaper. He was damned if he was going to worry about it. Amanda had wanted him, a lot of girls had waited for his call—girls who didn’t have double town houses or husbands who owned television networks… . But they were
girls
. They weren’t fifty-year-old women who had gone through a face job. … He had been stunned when he had seen her: the smooth tight skin, like Kitty’s… . Dammit, plenty of fifty-year-old rich women had face jobs—why did he have to feel guilty about Judith’s?

He leafed through the newspaper in an effort to clear his mind. Suddenly he came upon a grinning picture of Dip Nelson. The headline read:
TV’S NEWEST TRANSFUSION
. The interview was in Dip’s inimitable style: “TV needs new blood,” he was quoted as saying; “that’s why Robin Stone rushed to buy the new pilot Danton Miller and I created. The trouble with TV is too many people are in it who have no knowledge of real show business.”