Valley of the Dolls (5 page)

She broke away from him and caught her breath. “Allen, how would I know who you were—or about any of this—unless you told me?”

“I don’t know how you
couldn’t
know. I was always in the columns. I figured one of your girl friends would tell you. Or certainly Henry Bellamy.”

“I don’t read the columns, and I have no girl friends except Neely. She only reads
Variety.
And I never discuss my personal affairs with Mr. Bellamy—or anyone else at the office.”

“Well, now you can give them a big piece of news. About us!” He took her in his arms and kissed her.

She stood there limply—then abruptly broke the embrace. God, it had happened again! At his kiss, a surge of revulsion had swept through her.

He looked at her tenderly. “My sweet little Anne. I know you must be confused.”

She walked to the mirror and repaired her lipstick. Her hand was trembling. Something was wrong with her. Why should she feel this cold distaste at a man’s kiss? Many girls enjoyed kissing men they didn’t love. It was supposed to be normal. And she liked Allen, he wasn’t a stranger. So it wasn’t just Willie Henderson or the boys in Lawrenceville. The trouble must lie within herself.

He stood behind her. “I love you, Anne. I realize this has come very fast. It’s enough to confuse anyone. But I want to marry you. And I want you to meet Gino—my father.”

He handed her a key. “Give this to Lyon Burke tomorrow. Tell him to get in touch with me at my office. I’ll have the lease switched immediately. And Anne, if this apartment is too overdone for you, you can throw everything out. Redo it. Gino spent a fortune on it, but somehow I guess it doesn’t look like you. Or if you like, we can buy a town house—anything you want.”

“Allen . . . I . . .”

“We’ve talked enough for one night. I love you. And you’re going to marry me. Just hold that in mind for now.”

She was deep in her own thoughts as they drove home. She knew the truth now. She was frigid. That awful word the girls at school used to whisper about. Some girls were born that way—they never reached a climax or felt any real passion. And she was one of them. God, she couldn’t even enjoy a kiss! Maybe she was lucky she had found someone like Allen. He was kind, he might be able to help her. She might as well marry him. Her mother had been right. That great feeling—it didn’t happen to a “lady” who felt revulsion at a kiss. But at least she had escaped Willie Henderson and Lawrenceville. Some people never even had half a dream come true.

He held the cab when they reached her brownstone. “Try to dream of me, Anne.” He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Good night.”

She watched the cab disappear, then she ran inside and banged on Neely’s door. Neely appeared, her head bent over
Gone with the Wind.
Without putting the book down, she motioned Anne in and continued to read.

“Neely, put that book away for a minute. This is important.”

“I wouldn’t leave Rhett Butler right now for anything in the world!”

“Neely, have you ever heard of Allen Cooper?”

“Hey, what is this, a gag?”

“I’ve never been more serious. Who is Allen Cooper? Does the name mean anything to you?”

Neely yawned and closed the book, carefully turning the corner of the page to hold Rhett in place. “All right, if you want to play games. Allen Cooper is a very nice boy who dates you three or four nights a week. From what I’ve seen of him from my window I’d say he wasn’t exactly Cary Grant, but he’s reliable. Now. Can I go back to Rhett? He’s lots more interesting, and Scarlett doesn’t seem to appreciate him at all.”

“Then you’ve never heard of Allen Cooper?”

“No. Should I? Has he been in pictures or something? I know about Gary Cooper and Jackie Cooper, but Allen Cooper . . .” She shrugged.

“All right, go back to Rhett Butler.” Anne started for the door.

“You’re acting funny tonight,” Neely muttered. “Hey, you didn’t have a drink or something, did you?”

“No. See you tomorrow.”

Neely nodded absently. She was already back with Rhett and Scarlett.

In the darkness, Anne lay awake sorting the facts. Allen was not a poor little insurance agent—Allen was rich. But why should she have heard about him? Was there something else she should know? How could she find out more about him? George Bellows! Of course. If there was anything to know about Allen or anyone, George Bellows would know.

George Bellows looked up in surprise when she entered his office. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be out apartment hunting?”

“May I talk to you, George? It’s personal.”

He crossed the room and closed the door. “Any time. Sit down. And make it as personal as you like. Here, how about some coffee?” He poured her a cup from a thermos. “All right now, let’s have it. Something bothering you?”

She studied the coffee. “George, do you know Allen Cooper?”

“Who doesn’t?” He looked at her carefully. “Hey . . . don’t tell me you’ve gotten involved with him!”

“I know him. I understand he’s quite rich.”

“Rich!” He chuckled unpleasantly. “Baby, they’d have to invent a new word for his kind of money. Of course, his father, Gino, started the empire. They own half the real estate in this town. They’re rumored to be partners with those millionaire Greek shipping tycoons.
Time
magazine did a piece on Gino a few years ago. Maybe I can dig up a back copy in the library for you. They said his wealth couldn’t even be estimated. They ran Allen’s picture, too. Sole heir to the entire empire. You can imagine what an ad this was for the pair of them. Ever since, they’ve needed elephant guns to keep the girls away. So if you’ve met Allen, I give you one piece of advice—don’t take him seriously. He’s a louse.”

“He seems very nice,” she insisted.

George laughed. “Oh, he’s smoother than glass—but I think he’s as tough as his father underneath. He’s put over some pretty shrewd deals on his own. Managed to stay out of the Army by buying some plant that made parachutes, I believe.”

She stood up. “Thanks, George.”

“Any time, honey. I can give you a rundown on every wolf in town—with your looks you’re bound to meet them all.”

Henry Bellamy’s face sagged with disappointment when he saw her. “Now don’t tell me you’ve given up already! Look, Anne, I know it’s tough. I called a few renting agents myself today. But you’ve got to keep trying.”

“I have the apartment for Mr. Burke.”

“No! Good God, you are sensational!” He buzzed Lyon’s office and called him in.

“I have the key,” she said. “Mr. Burke can look at it this afternoon.”

“What’s wrong with this morning?” Lyon said as he walked in. “Can’t give them a chance to change their minds. Anne, you are a wonder! What’s the address?”

He scribbled it down. “Great location. Can I afford it?”

“It’s a hundred and fifty a month.”

He shook his head. “You’re a wizard. But why the key? Is the tenant away?”

“No. He’s probably at his office.”

“What’s the name?”

“Allen Cooper,” she said quietly.

Lyon merely wrote down the name, but Henry looked at her curiously. “How did you find this apartment, Anne? Through an ad?”

“No. Allen Cooper is a friend of mine.”

Henry’s expression relaxed. “If he’s a friend of yours, he can’t be the Allen Cooper I know.”

“I met him in this office, Mr. Bellamy.”

“Here?” Henry seemed puzzled. “By God you did!” He rose with such violence that his chair banged against the wall. “Anne! You and Allen Cooper! No . . .” He shook his head in disbelief.

“I thought he was just an insurance salesman when I met him,” she said.

“The sonofabitch was here trying to get a chorus girl off his back. One of our minor clients. Wanted me to pay her off and throw a scare into her. I threw him out pretty quick.” He shot Anne an angry scowl. “But obviously not quick enough!”

“Henry!” Lyon’s voice was sharp. “Anne is certainly capable of choosing her own friends.” Then, with a quick smile at the older man, he added, “You’re not being very fair. You send Anne out on an impossible assignment, and when she delivers, instead of shouting her praises you fire accusations and pry into her personal life.”

“Allen Cooper . . .” Henry repeated the name in disbelief. “Lyon, if you knew this Allen Cooper—”

Lyon smiled. “I don’t want to know him. I just want his apartment.”

“Have you ever heard of him?” Henry asked.

Lyon looked thoughtful. “Seems I have. He’s frightfully rich, I believe. But one shouldn’t hold that against him.”

“But Anne’s no match against a guy like that. She doesn’t play in their league. She’s got to get killed,” Henry insisted.

She stood there quietly, slightly annoyed that they were talking about her as if she weren’t there.

“Okay!” Henry turned and retrieved his chair. “It’s none of my business. Just as long as I go on record how I feel. From now on it’s your ball game.”

“And I’m sure she knows the rules,” Lyon said. He turned to her and smiled. “I’d like very much to look at the apartment. Mind if Anne goes with me, Henry?”

Henry waved his hand in dismissal and returned to his work. Anne heard him sigh heavily as they left the office.

She fastened her attention on the taxi window as they drove crosstown. It was one of those last wonderful days in October, when the air is balmy and the faded sun tries to pretend it’s spring.

“Don’t be angry,” Lyon said quietly. “Henry only blew off because he’s fond of you, in the nicest possible way. He doesn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m not angry—just confused.”

“Since everyone seems to be offering unsolicited advice, let me add some of my own. Never judge anyone by another’s opinions. We all have different sides that we show to different people.”

She smiled. “You mean that even Hitler could be soft and playful with Eva Braun.”

“Something like that. And King Henry didn’t kill
all
of his wives. If I recall correctly, the last one actually henpecked him.”

“But Allen is really very nice,” she insisted.

“I’m sure he is. And if this is his building, it’s quite impressive.”

The cab had stopped. A different doorman was on duty. “We’ve come to see Mr. Cooper’s apartment,” Anne said.

He nodded. “Mr. Cooper told me about it. Tenth floor.”

She handed Lyon the key. “I’ll wait in the lobby.”

“What? No guided tour? Come, my girl, I expect you to point out all the advantages of the flat. Where the linens are stored, how to work the stove, where the fuse box is hidden . . .”

She felt herself blushing. “I was there only once, to look at the apartment for you.”

“Then you still know more about it than I,” he said easily.

He liked everything about the apartment. He even insisted he liked the view of the fat man across the way. “Makes it rather neighborly. I shall call Allen Cooper this afternoon and thank him. But first I must express my gratitude to you. I suggest we both have a very expensive lunch on Henry.”

They went to the Barberry Room. She liked the soft blue darkness, the tiny artificial stars twinkling in the ceiling and the generous armchairs. She accepted a sherry. In the last twenty-four hours too many things had happened so fast. She felt unnerved and strangely off balance.

Lyon didn’t pressure her into conversation. He talked on easily about the marvels of the new apartment, the luxury of civilian food, his new appreciation of civilian life. Gradually she felt herself unwinding. She liked his clipped accent, the soothing atmosphere of the room. She liked watching his face . . . his changes of expression. . . his quick smile.

“You’ll have to bear with Henry’s meddling in your life,” he said as he leaned across to light her cigarette. “But it’s only because he wants the best for you. He’s placed you on a bit of a pedestal.”

“You’re the one he’s put on a pedestal,” she said. “One about seventy feet high. You’re the future of Bellamy and Bellows.”

“He felt that way four years ago,” Lyon said. “People change in four years.”

“Mr. Bellamy hasn’t changed his opinion of you.”

He took her hand. “Anne, can’t we cut this ‘mister’ business? I’m Lyon. ‘Mister’ Bellamy is Henry.”

She smiled. “All right . . . Lyon. You must know how anxiously Henry’s been waiting for you to come back.” She stopped suddenly. This was none of her business. She had never intruded into anyone’s personal life before. But she felt an urgency to protect Henry. She suddenly understood Henry’s stand against Allen—it was part of being a friend. She also saw the logic behind Neely’s argument with new clarity. You couldn’t be a real friend and remain politely impersonal. She
would
speak to Henry about Neely and
Hit the Sky.
She felt a new freedom, as if she had shed another shackle that bound her to Lawrenceville.

“I’m aware of Henry’s hopes and plans,” Lyon answered. “And perhaps I won’t let him down. But God! It’s a bastard business at best, neither lawyer nor agent.”

“But everyone said you were a—a dynamo. You have to love something to give it such energy.”

“I loved a good fight. . . the challenge . . . even the wheeling and dealing.”

She was confused. Everything he said contradicted the reputation that had preceded him.

He took her silence as concern for Henry. “Now don’t fret. I probably just have a touch of battle fatigue.”

“But you
are
glad to be back with Henry?”

“I am back, am I not?”

She looked puzzled. “You say it as if there was really something else you’d rather do.”

“Does anyone actually have the luxury of doing exactly what he wants to do?”

“I’m doing what
I
want to do.”

He flashed his smile. “I’m flattered.”

“I mean working for Henry. Living in New York. But what
do
you want to do, Lyon?”

He stretched his long legs under the table. “Be dreadfully rich, for one thing. Sit in some lovely spot in Jamaica, have several beautiful girls who look exactly like you to look after me and knock out a best-selling novel about the war.”

“You want to write?”

“Of course.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone who comes out of the Army feel positive he has the
only
true war novel in him?”