Valley of the Dolls Read online

  “I like Gino. But Allen, you’ve got to tell him!”

  “Tell him what?”

  “Allen, I’m not marrying you! I never said I would.”

  He stroked her hair lightly. “I don’t blame you for panicking. Tonight would scare anyone. But tomorrow everything will be different.” He took her face in his hands. “And believe it or not, you are going to marry me.”

  “No, Allen.”

  “Anne . . . are you in love with someone else?”

  “No, but—”

  “That’s enough for me. Just give me a chance.”

  “Hey!” Gino bellowed out of the window. “Cut the gab and kiss her good night!”

  Allen leaned over and kissed her lightly. “I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty tomorrow night.” He turned and ran down the steps.

  She stood there shivering as the car rolled away. Well, she had tried. If Ronnie Wolfe printed it, he’d have to retract it. She ran up the stairs to her room. There was a white envelope pasted on her door. The childlike printing said: Wake me no matter what time you come in. Urgent! Neely.

  She looked at her watch. It was two o’clock. But the “urgent” was underlined. She made her way slowly down the stairs and tapped lightly, half hoping Neely wouldn’t hear her. She heard the bed creak, saw the sliver of light appear under the door. The door opened and Neely rubbed her eyes.

  “Geez, what time is it?”

  “It’s late, but your note said urgent.”

  “Yeah. Come on in.”

  “Can it wait until tomorrow? I’m awfully tired too, Neely.”

  “I’m wide awake now. And freezing!” Neely balanced from one bare foot to the other on the cold floor. Anne followed her into the room as she bounced back into bed and under the covers. She bunched up her knees and grinned. “Well, guess what!”

  “Neely—either tell me or let me go to sleep.”

  “We got the show!”

  “Fine. Now Neely, if you don’t mind, I’ve got to—”

  “That’s it? Fine? And good night? The biggest thing that ever happened to me? We land Hit the Sky and you dismiss it?”

  “I am thrilled for you,” Anne said, trying to force some enthusiasm into her voice. “It’s just that this has been a terrible evening.”

  Neely looked instantly concerned. “What happened? Did Allen try to get fresh or something?”

  “No. He asked me to marry him.”

  “What’s terrible about that?”

  “I don’t want to marry him.”

  “Then tell him.”

  “I did, but he won’t listen.”

  Neely shrugged. “Tell him again tomorrow.”

  “But it will be in a column.”

  Neely looked at her strangely. “Anne, you’re acting funny again. Why on earth would any columnist print that you are marrying some jerky little insurance guy?”

  “Because that jerky little insurance guy is a millionaire.”

  When Neely finally understood, she was ecstatic. “Anne!” She leaped out of bed and danced around the room. “Anne! You’ve made it!”

  “But Neely—I don’t love Allen!”

  “With all that money it will be easy to learn,” Neely insisted.

  “But I don’t want to get married, or give up my job. I’m on my own for the first time, and I’m not ready to give it up. I’ve only had two months of freedom—”

  “Freedom! You call this freedom?” Neely shrieked. “Living in a hall bedroom, getting up at seven and rushing to the office, eating lunch at the drugstore, maybe tagging along to ‘21’ once in a while with Bellamy and some client and freezing in that black silk coat? You want to stay free for this kind of gloriousness? Tomorrow is November first. Wait until January and February. Boy, it’s gorgeous in New York in February! Nothing but black slush. And that one little stinking radiator in your room is gonna seem like a matchstick. What are you giving up? Just tell me!”

  “My identity, maybe my future, my whole life. Giving up before it begins. Neely, nothing ever happened to anyone in my family. They married, had children, and that was it. I want things to happen to me. I want to feel things, to—”

  “But it’s happened!” Neely hollered. “Only you hit the jackpot right away. Are you angry because you didn’t have to slave away for years, wear six-dollar shoes and bargain-basement clothes? Anne, if you blow this it won’t happen again. Do you think when you’re bored playing secretary another millionaire will suddenly appear on the scene and say, ‘Okay, Anne, time to get married’? Ha!”

  “I’m not especially looking for someone rich. That’s not important.”

  Neely sneered. “You’ve never been poor.”

  “Neely . . . let me put it this way. You’re thrilled because you’ve landed Hit the Sky. Suppose after a few weeks of rehearsal someone like Allen came into your life and asked you to marry him and chuck the show before it even opened. Would you?”

  “Would I? But so fast it’d make your head spin. Look, let’s say I have real talent. And let’s say someday I get a chance to prove it. If I work real hard for years, what will I wind up with? Money, position and respect. That’s it. That’s all there is. And it could take me years of hard work to get that. Allen is handing you the works on a silver platter.”

  Anne couldn’t believe her ears. Neely with the scrubbed face, looking younger than her seventeen years, pinning everything down so cynically. She started for the door. She was too tired to argue. “Good night, Neely. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

  “Talk, nothing. You marry him! Maybe I’ll come live with you if Hit the Sky bombs.”

  November, 1945

  When the alarm went off, Anne woke with her usual sense of well-being. But as she stretched and came into full consciousness she felt a sudden stab of apprehension. Something was wrong . . .

  Allen! Last night! Ronnie Wolfe! Then her apprehension changed to anger. She had done her best. How many ways were there to say no?

  She dressed quickly. She’d phone Allen the moment she reached the office. She would settle it once and for all.

  There were several men standing in the hall outside the office when she arrived. They parted to let her through. Suddenly one shouted, “Hey, it’s her!” Cameras flashed, questions were shouted. Through the confusion she heard Allen’s name. She pushed past them, but they followed her into the office, calling her name. It was like one of her childhood nightmares, where she was pursued and no one tried to help. There was the receptionist—smiling! And the secretary and Miss Steinberg—they were smiling too! Finally she stood trembling behind her desk, surrounded and alone. “When did you meet Allen Cooper, Miss Welles?” Cameras flashed and blinded her. “Hey, Annie, look this way, will you . . . that’s a good girl. . . smile, Annie . . .” Flash . . . flash . . . “Will it be a church wedding, Miss Welles?” “Hey, Annie! How does it feel to be Cinderella?”

  She wanted to scream. She dodged around them and fled into Henry Bellamy’s office. Lyon Burke caught her as she stumbled in. She started to speak but the door burst open. They had followed her! And Henry was smiling . . . greeting them. Lyon was smiling, too.

  Henry put his arm around her paternally. “Now Anne, you’ve got to get used to this. It’s not every day a girl gets engaged to a millionaire.” He felt her trembling and tightened his grip. “Come on, just relax and make a statement. After all, these boys have to earn a living.”

  She faced the reporters. “What do you want?”

  “They want a follow-up story on this.” Henry reached over to his desk and held up a morning tabloid. She stared at the large picture on the front page. There she was, smiling . . . and Allen . . . and the zebra-striped walls. There were big black headlines: BROADWAY’S NEWEST CINDERELLA—ALLEN COOPER TO WED SECRETARY.

  Henry put his arm around her again. “All right, fellows. Take one more. You can title it ‘Henry Bellamy congratulates his new millionaire secretary.’”

  More flashes. Someone told her to smile . . . someone
asked for another shot . . . someone climbed on a chair and shot down at her . . . several voices asked her to look this way, their voices seeming to come from a distance. It was as if the sea was roaring in her ears, and through it all she saw Lyon Burke watching with a slight smile.

  Then Henry was shaking hands, playing the jovial host as he led them out of the office. As the door closed she heard him saying, “Yeah, they met here in the office . . .”

  She stared numbly at the closed door. The sudden silence seemed more unreal than the confusion. Lyon walked over and handed her a lit cigarette. She inhaled deeply and coughed.

  “Take it easy,” Lyon said pleasantly.

  She collapsed into a chair and looked up at him. “What shall I do?”

  “You’re doing fine. You’ll get used to it. In time you may even get to like it.”

  “I’m not going to marry Allen Cooper.”

  “Don’t let this throw you. Everyone panics at front-page publicity.”

  Henry bustled back into the office. “Well!” He looked at her with genuine pride. “Now why did you let me make such a fool of myself yesterday? If I had known the guy was serious I’d never have said those things.”

  “Anne has a rare talent,” Lyon said. “She lets others do the talking.”

  She felt her throat close up. (A lady doesn’t cry in public.) This was insane. Lyon with that cold smile . . . Henry acting like a proud father.

  “I’ll call the agency right away,” Henry said. “You must have a pretty crowded schedule, Anne. Don’t worry about things at the office. We’ll manage. I’ll find someone.”

  She felt light-headed. A funny weakness, beginning somewhere under her stomach, seemed to separate her head from her body. Everyone was pulling away from her. Henry was actually thumbing through the phone book for the employment agency!

  “You expect me to quit my job?” Her voice was strained.

  Henry took her by the shoulders, smiling warmly. “Honey, I don’t think all this has penetrated yet. Wait till you start with the wedding list, the invitations, the fittings, interviews. . . . You’re going to need a secretary of your own.”

  “Henry, I’ve got to talk to you.”

  “I’ll leave,” Lyon said. “Henry rates a private good-by.” He nodded at Anne, and winked. “Good luck. You deserve the best.”

  She watched the door close and turned to Henry. “I can’t believe it. Neither of you seems to care.”

  Henry looked bewildered. “Care? Of course we care. We’re delighted for you.”

  “But—just like that, you expect me to walk out, never see me again . . . and it doesn’t matter. You just replace me with a new girl and life goes on.”

  “It matters,” Henry said quietly. “It matters like hell. Do you think anyone can follow you? Do you think I like the idea of breaking in someone else? But what kind of a friend would I be if I let it matter? And what kind of a friend are you? So you expect to walk out of here and never see me again? Oh no! I’m not letting you off that easily. I expect to be invited to the wedding . . . to be godfather of your first child. Hell, I’ll be godfather to all of them. And I’ll even learn to love Allen. Actually, I really have nothing against him. He’s just so goddam rich, and I was afraid you might get hurt. But now it’s different, now I love his money!”

  She felt her throat thicken again. “Lyon didn’t care either.”

  “Lyon?” Henry looked puzzled. “Why should Lyon care? Miss Steinberg takes care of his mail and—” He stopped suddenly. His expression changed. “Oh no . . .” It was almost a groan. “Not you, Anne. One lousy lunch and you get hooked?”

  She looked away. “It isn’t that . . . but we talked . . . I thought we were friends . . .”

  He sank down on the leather couch. “C’mere.” She sat down and he took both her hands. “Look, Anne, if I had a son I’d want him to be just like Lyon. But if I had a daughter, I’d tell her to stay the hell away from him!”

  “That doesn’t make much sense . . .”

  “Honey . . . without meaning it, some guys are bad news to women. Allen used to be, but you’ve taken him out of circulation.”

  “Bad news in what way?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Things come too easily to them. With Allen, they came because of his money. With Lyon, it happens because he’s so goddam beautiful. And in a way I can understand. Why should these guys settle for one woman when they can have them all, just for the taking? But Anne, you landed Allen, a thing the whole town would have bet couldn’t happen. And instead of sending up Roman candles, you’re sitting around moping.”

  “Henry, I don’t love Allen. I dated him for about six weeks in the most casual way. I didn’t even know who he was. I mean, I thought he just sold insurance. Then, suddenly, two nights ago, all this began.”

  Henry’s eyes narrowed. “He’s like a stranger to you, huh?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But one lunch with Lyon, and suddenly you’re soul mates?”

  “That isn’t true. I’m talking about Allen now. I don’t love him. Lyon has nothing to do with it.” “You’re a liar.”

  “Henry, I swear it. Allen never meant a thing to me.”

  “So how come you dated him all these weeks? He was fine until Lyon came along.”

  “That’s not true. I dated him because I didn’t know anyone else. And I felt sorry for him. He seemed so innocuous. There was never any talk of romance between us. Why, he never even tried to kiss me good night. Then, two nights ago . . .” She stopped and fought for composure. Her voice was quiet when she went on. “Henry, I told Allen I didn’t love him. I told his father the same thing.”

  “You told them that?” He sounded incredulous.

  “Yes. Both of them.”

  “And what did they say?”

  “That’s what’s so unbelievable. I’ve never known people like them. They seem to ignore anything they don’t want to hear. Allen keeps saying he loves me—and that I’ll learn to love him.”

  “That can happen,” Henry said quietly. “Sometimes it’s the best kind of love. Being loved.”

  “No! I want more than that.”

  “Sure—like staying here!” Henry snapped. “Want me to draw the picture for you? You give Allen the air. Sure, why not? Millionaires with marriage proposals are a dime a dozen. In a little while this will blow over. Allen will start dating someone else. Then you figure Lyon will ask you out. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Oh, it’ll be great. . . in the beginning. For maybe a month. Then one day I’ll come in and see your eyes are all red. You’ll give me a story about a headache, only the red eyes will continue, so I’ll talk with Lyon. He’ll shrug and say, ‘Henry, sure I dated the girl. I like her a lot. But she doesn’t own me. Have a talk with her, will you? Get her off my back.’”

  “It sounds like you’ve had experience,” she said bitterly. “Do you always make this speech to your secretaries?”

  “No—not to my secretaries. But then we’ve never had one who looked like you. But yes, I have made the speech before, dozens of times. To girls with more know-how than you. Unfortunately, I had to make the speech after the damage was done, when they were carrying a torch bigger than China. But at least they didn’t go around giving up millionaires first.”

  “You make him sound like quite a heel,” she said.

  “What heel? He’s a guy, free and single. And any girl who appeals to him is the right girl—for the moment. And there are a hell of a lot of moments and a hell of a lot of right girls around this town.”

  “I can’t believe every man feels that way.”

  “Lyon Burke isn’t ‘every man.’ Just like New York isn’t ‘every town.’ Sure, maybe there will come a time when Lyon gets his fill and will settle for one girl. But that will only come after a lot of living—and even then he’ll never really settle for just that girl.”

  The phone jangled. Automatically Anne started to get it. He waved her aside. “Sit down, heiress. Remember, you don’
t work here any more.” He walked to the desk. “Hello . . . sure, put her on. Hi, Jennifer. Yeah, it’s all set. . . . What? Yeah, how about that? Matter of fact, she’s sitting right here. Sure she’s thrilled. You should see her—she’s wearing out my rug dancing for joy.” He turned to Anne. “Jennifer North sends you her congratulations.” He returned to the phone. “Yeah, you bet she’s lucky. Listen, baby, the contracts should be ready today. Soon as I okay them, I’ll send them around for you to sign. . . . Fine, honey . . . check with you around five.” He hung up. “Now there’s a smart girl. Jennifer North.”

  “Who is she?”

  Henry groaned. “Oh, come on! Don’t you ever read the papers? She just unloaded a prince. She’s been on the front pages almost every day. She burst into town from nowhere, like a cyclone—actually she’s from California, about your age—and wham! along comes this prince. The real thing, with money, too. He courts her, the whole works—mink coat, diamond ring. The AP, UP, all the press covers it. A mayor in Jersey officiates. Every celebrity in town goes to the reception. Four days later, front pages—she wants an annulment.”

  “But you aren’t a divorce lawyer.”

  “No. She’s got a good lawyer working on that, but he recommended me as a business manager. And she sure needs one. For a smart girl, she did one very stupid thing. Seems she signed a little thing like a premarital agreement. If she wants out, she doesn’t get a dime. And she wants out. Won’t say why—just wants to unload him. So she’s got to work.”

  “Is she talented?”

  Henry smiled. “She doesn’t need talent. If she wants it she’s a cinch for pictures. You’ve never seen such a kisser. And her figure . . . I’d say Jennifer North is about the most beautiful girl in the world.” He paused. “Actually, that’s not true. You’re more beautiful, Anne. The longer a guy looks at you, the more beautiful you become. But Jennifer—her beauty hits you right in the eye. The first glance carries a thousand volts. She’s got it made. As soon as we get that annulment and she opens in Hit the Sky, I’m a cinch to land her a big movie deal.”