Once Is Not Enough (49 page)

It was six-thirty and she had gone through the last decent butt. The drugstore was just downstairs, but she was afraid to leave her room, afraid of missing the call. She sent for a pack and tipped the bellman a dollar. At quarter to seven she tried Dr. Alpert again. His line was busy! She sat by the phone, drumming her fingers on the table. Why was his wire busy? Hadn’t she left word that her call was urgent? Five minutes later she tried again. A calm lethargic voice said, “Yesssss?”

“Is this Dr. Preston Alpert?”

“Who is calling?” the quiet drawl asked.

“January Wayne.”

“What is it in reference to?”

“Oh, for God’s sake! Are you Dr. Alpert?”

“I asked, what is this call in reference to?”

“I’m a patient of Dr. Simon Alpert. He told me you would be here, taking care of—”

“Never mind.” The voice suddenly became firm and clipped. “What do you want?”

“A vitamin shot.”

“When did you have the last one?”

“Wednesday morning.”

“And you need another so soon?”

“I do . . . Honestly, Doctor, I do . . .”

He paused. “I’ll be speaking to my brother later this evening. Suppose you call me tomorrow at noon.”

“Oh no! Please . . . not then . . . I need it now. Look, I write for
Gloss
magazine. I’m here doing an in-depth piece on Tom Colt, and—”

“Tom Colt?” The voice was impressed.

“Yes. And you see I have to be alert all the time and watch everything and remember . . . because I don’t take shorthand.”

“Oh . . . I see . . . well . . . I’ll check with my brother and find out what vitamins you take. Mr. Colt is in Bungalow Five, isn’t he?”

“Yes . . but I’m not there . . . I’m in room one twenty-three.”

“Oh, then you’re not the girl who’s staying with him?”

“No girl is staying with him!”

“My dear girl, if you’re really interviewing him, you must know he has a beautiful young girl with him . . . young enough to be his daughter. Everyone at the hotel knows it.”

She paused. Then she said, “Thanks. But she won’t be young and beautiful if you don’t get here pretty soon. For God’s sake . . . it’s five of seven now.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Ten minutes later he knocked at the door. She hated him on sight. He was tall, with heavy sandy hair and a hawk-like nose. His skin was bad and his long skinny fingers were clean but bloodless-looking. She preferred his brother. At least there was some warmth about Dr. Simon Alpert. He might not be as sanitary-looking, but he was warm and friendly. This one was like an immaculate antiseptic fish. She rolled up her sleeve as he fixed the syringe. Then without looking
at her, he said, “Lie down on your side and take down your pants.”

“I take it I.V.”

He seemed surprised but wrapped the rubber tubing around her arm and proceeded to mix the solution. She winced when the needle went in. She fell back against the pillow. She had never had a shot like this one. She felt dizzy, as if she were rocketing to the sky. Her heart was pounding . . . her throat closed . . . she kept going up . . . up . . . Then she felt as if she were falling through an enormous air shaft . . . with no bottom. . . . For a moment she panicked. Then everything leveled off, and she felt nothing but a golden glow of life flowing through her entire body. She rolled down her sleeve after he had placed a bandaid on her arm. “How much do I owe you?” she asked.

“It’s a gift.”

“What?”

“Any girl who attracts a man like Tom Colt deserves a free vitamin shot.”

“Well, thanks . . . thanks a lot.”

“How long are you both going to be here?” he asked.

“For another week. He’s been working very hard. He has a few more interviews next week, then two days in San Francisco, then back to New York and he—” She paused.

“And he goes back to his wife?”

She had been about to tell this dreadful man that they were going to sign the lease for their apartment. That was the danger of the shot—you felt so good you wanted to talk to everyone . . . trust everyone.

“I think I’d better get back to the bungalow,” she said.

He nodded. “A man like Mr. Colt . . . with all that work . . . he certainly could use a series of shots.”

She smiled faintly. “He doesn’t need them. He has Jack Daniels.”

“You know about the singer I’m treating?”

She walked to the bureau and pretended to comb her hair. His unctuous manner bothered her. Yet she couldn’t afford to completely alienate him . . . she might need him again.

“I also treat a very famous composer; he takes a shot every day. And then there are several TV personalities that have started their injections. A man Tom Colt’s age—granted he is a very virile-looking man—but he certainly could use some vitamins. Any man going at his pace—writing a book, promoting it, making love to a young girl.” His gray eyes were glassy with what was supposed to be sexual innuendo.

It was all she could do to keep from throwing him out, but she turned and managed a faint smile. “I’ll suggest it to him,” she said. “And now . . . I’ve really got to dress.”

He packed his case and left the room. She waited until he was gone, and then dashed to the bungalow. Tom hadn’t returned. She felt wonderful. Dr. Preston Alpert’s shot was much more powerful than his brother’s. She poured herself another glass of bourbon. Tom would be pleased if he found her drinking it. Good Lord, the bottle was almost empty. It had been three-quarters full when she took it to her room.

She walked to the bar and opened another bottle. She thought of Tom and suddenly put the bottle to her mouth and took a long swallow. She gagged a bit, but it went down. She tried it again. Suddenly the entire room began to float. She realized she was very drunk. Roaring drunk. It struck her as very funny. She began to laugh. She kept laughing until the tears rolled down her face. Until her stomach actually ached. She wanted to stop . . . but she couldn’t. Her body felt lighter than air. She was still laughing when the phone rang.

She looked at the clock. Almost eight o’clock. It had to be Tom . . . offering some explanation for being so late. She reached for it but changed her mind. No. She had waited all day. Let Tom and the operator have a little trouble finding her. She knew how it worked. Now they’d try the Polo Lounge, then page the lobby . . . Okay. Now she’d let them find her. She picked up the phone. “Hello . . . Operator, this is Miss Wayne. You have a call for me?” She began to laugh again. The whole thing seemed so terribly funny.

There was a pause while the operator connected the call. Then she heard Mike’s voice. “January . . .”

“Mike.” She began to laugh harder. It was Mike . . . not
Tom. She kept laughing. But it wasn’t funny . . . only she couldn’t stop laughing. She wanted to stop . . .

“January, what is it? What’s the big joke?”

“Nothing . . .” She was doubled over now. “Nothing. It’s just that I had a shot and some bourbon and I . . . I feel . . . so marvelous . . . and . . .” She broke into spasms of laughter again.

“What kind of a shot?”

“Vitamins. They’re . . . heaven—ly . . .” Now she had stopped laughing and felt she was drifting on a cloud. The vitamins had conquered the bourbon. She felt silken inside . . . the bed was a cloud floating in space . . .

“January, are you all right?”

“Oh, my beloved father . . . I’ve never been better. Never . . . never . . . never . . .”

“Who are you with right now?”

“No one. I’m just waiting for Tom.”

“Tell me something,” he said. “How come the magazine sent
you
to do this interview? Since when did you become their star reporter?”

She began to laugh again. Mike sounded so serious. So stern. If he only knew how happy she was. How happy everyone should be. She wanted him to be happy. She wanted him to know how it felt to float. “Mike . . . are you happy?” she asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“Happiness. It’s the only thing that matters. Are you happy with Dee?”

“Never mind about me. What are you doing there? What are these shots you’re talking about?”

“Just vitamins. Heavenly wonderful vitamins. Oh, Mike, there’re palm trees out here, better than the palm trees in Florida. And Bungalow Five is like my own private home. Did you ever stay at Bungalow Five when you were here? I bet you did . . . because you and he are a lot alike. After all, he even had our suite at the Plaza.”

His voice was hard. “I want you to leave Los Angeles immediately.”

“No way. And after Los Angeles I go to my big new apartment with a garden terrace on the river and—” She suddenly couldn’t remember what she had been talking about. “What was I just saying?” she said.

“Too much. Goodbye, January.”

“Goodbye, my magnificent father . . . my lord . . . my handsome one . . . my. . . .” But he had hung up.

She was stretched out on the bed without any clothes when Tom came in at nine. He stared at her for a moment, then smiled. “Now this is what I call a real greeting.” She held out her arms but he shook his head as he sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m too weary. It’s been a rough trip. And today was another ball-breaker.”

“You mean you’re tired from playing with the baby?”

He laughed. “Actually, I held the baby for exactly twenty minutes. Then he threw up and the nurse gave me a dirty look and whisked him off. I got to see him once again after his bath.”

“Then what did you do all this time?”

He stood up and took off his jacket. “You’re making noises like a jealous wife. And you have no cause to be. I told you it was part of my deal to keep up a semblance of a marriage. So today I had to be nice to a lot of people that Nina Lou had in for brunch, cocktails and . . . well . . . the whole deal was like a twenty-four-hour open house—welcoming the big author bit.”

“I feel shut out,” she said suddenly. “Like you have a whole other life going for you. And to me, you’re my whole life.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed again. “Look, baby, writing is my life. Right now you’ve come into it in a very big way and you can stay as long as you like. I love you. But no woman can be my whole life. Except for now while I’m on this circus of promoting. Because through all this you’re the only thing that is real. But once I start writing—you’re going to have to accept the fact that the writing comes first.”

“But no other woman.”

“No other woman. I swear to that.”

She grinned happily and jumped off the bed. “I accept those terms and now you must accept mine . . . for tonight.” She pulled him to his feet and began unbuttoning his shirt. “And now that you’ve done your husbandly duties, your loving geisha girl awaits.” She stroked his chest and ran her fingers up his back. He took her hands and held them.

“Baby . . . I’m not up to it. I’m just too tired. But if you want, I’ll make love to you.”

“No . . . Let’s just stay up all night and talk and be together in each other’s arms.”

“Fine. But I think I’d better order some dinner for you.”

“I don’t need food . . . I’ve got you.”

He smiled. “I wish I knew what you were sniffing. I’d like some too.”

“Vitamins,” she said. “You should try them.”

He laughed. “God, it’s wonderful to be young. You can turn on and recharge yourself. I could do it too when I was your age.” He sighed heavily. “It’s rotten getting old. I never thought it would happen to me. I felt I’d always be strong . . . always be young . . . able to get by with too much booze and too little sleep. Health and stamina were just things I took for granted. But it creeps up on you—” He sighed again. “It’s hell to know you’re creeping up to sixty.”

“You’re not old,” she said. “And I do take vitamins. Shots . . . here . . . look at my arm.” She held it out and pulled off the adhesive. He saw the tiny prick on her arm. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.

“It’s a vitamin shot.”

“You get them in the ass.”

“I got one that way once . . . but it didn’t work as well. That’s intramuscular. This is intravenous.”

“Okay, Dr. Kildare. Now tell me something. Where did you get this shot?”

“Dr. Preston Alpert. He’s out here now. In New York his brother takes care of me.”

“And just what do these shots do for you?”

“Make you feel like you own the world.”

“Send for him,” he demanded.

They reached Dr. Alpert in the Polo Lounge. Within fifteen minutes he was at their bungalow. When he met Tom he was so visibly impressed that his hand shook as he attached the disposable needle to the syringe. January sat huddled on the bed in one of Tom’s robes. Tom was shirtless . . . still in his white denim pants. He was tanned from the beach. In contrast Dr. Alpert looked like a spindly green grasshopper as he bent over his syringe. Tom watched the doctor carefully. January looked away as Dr. Preston plunged the needle into his arm. But if Tom felt anything, his expression never changed. He waited silently until Dr. Alpert finished. He stared at the small bandaid on his arm and reached into his pocket. “What do I owe you?”

“One hundred dollars.”

“One hundred dollars!” January shouted. “Why that’s crazy. Your brother only charges me twenty-five.”

Dr. Alpert looked at her nastily. “That’s an office visit. This is a house call. And after hours at that.”

Tom slammed the money into his hand. “Look, take your money. And if I ever see you around here, I’ll break every bottle you’ve got in that case.”

Dr. Alpert was stunned. “You mean you’re not pleased with the shot? Don’t you feel anything?”

“I feel plenty. Too much for just a vitamin shot. That shot is loaded with some kind of speed.”

Dr. Alpert started for the door. Tom went after him and grabbed him by the jacket. “Remember, I don’t want you to go near her or I’ll run you out of town.”

Dr. Alpert pulled himself together. “Mr. Colt, if they did a blood analysis on you right now, they’d find heavy doses of Vitamin A, E, C, and all the B’s.”

“And some meth as well, I’m sure. I don’t doubt that you’ve got some vitamins in it. But it’s the speed that makes the patient feel good.”

Dr. Alpert tripped over the door ledge in his hurry to leave the bungalow. Tom turned to January. “How long have you been on these things?”