The Love Machine (11 page)

He held her away and laughed. He was in complete command again. “Leave me any time you want, baby. But not in the middle of the night.”

She looked at him oddly. “But why?”

He stared into the darkness. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.” Then he flashed his easy grin. “But you put an idea into my head. I’m thirsty too.” He slapped her on the buttocks. “Come on, let’s go into the kitchen and have a beer.”

They drank the beer and he made love to her again.

The seasons melted into one another for Amanda. The early spring had brought Robin into her life. By summer their relationship had turned into a permanent blaze of excitement. He had been to Los Angeles and Chicago for the conventions. And each time he returned, she seemed to want him more than ever. Her love for Robin refused to find a level. It soared on and on to a peak of feverish infinity. And she was frightened of it because she knew Robin could not even begin to feel this kind of emotion. And the acclaim he received for his convention coverage did not add to her inner security. His new stature merely loomed as a threat—anything that took him away from her was a threat. If she ever lost him, she wouldn’t want to go on. She fervently wished he was back doing local news.

In October they sat in his apartment and watched his first
In
Depth
show together. Gregory Austin called to congratulate him. Andy Parino called from Miami to congratulate him. Andy had just met a young divorcee and was in love!

Robin laughed. “Sure, it figures. With all the girls in Miami, a nice Catholic boy like you has to fall for a divorcee.”

“Maggie Stewart is different!” Andy had insisted. Of course, he admitted, his religion did create a few barriers, but it seemed that the main obstacle was the lady herself. She didn’t want to get married. Andy had hired her to do a five-minute spot on their local news, and as he put it, at least they worked together.

Amanda listened quietly. Perhaps it was then that the first vague pattern of her plan began to form. It crystallized into action a few nights later when she giggled at the deadpan delivery of a girl doing a commercial on
The Late Show
.

“Don’t knock it,” Robin said. “It’s not easy to be natural when the red eye of the camera is on you.”

“What do you think I do?” she asked.

He pulled her to him and said, “You, my lovely one, pose for one shot fifty times until they finally catch you looking like the angel that you are. And if that doesn’t work, there’s always the airbrush and retouching.”

Amanda thought about it. If she did a good commercial on television, perhaps Robin would really respect her. She talked to Nick Longworth about it. He laughed. “Dear girl, it’s a brilliant idea. Except: one, you can’t talk. That’s a talent in itself. Two, you can’t be one of many girls in a party scene. We only use neophyte models in that area. I have three booked for a beer commercial. The only thing you could do would be a big glamour product, and those kinds of commercials don’t just drop in your lap. Usually they go after a Hollywood-type spokeswoman—one who can be glamorous and also sell the product.”

On Christmas Eve they trimmed a tree in her apartment. Robin gave her a wristwatch. It was very tiny and very beautiful but without a hint of a diamond on it. She masked her disappointment. She had given him a cigarette case, a slim gold envelope with a facsimile of his handwriting. Jerry dropped by for a pre-Christmas drink before he hurried home to Greenwich. He brought champagne and a rubber squeak toy for Slugger.

That night as they were going to bed, Slugger leaped on the bed with his new toy. Amanda moved to collect the cat and put him in the living room. “Let him stay, it’s Christmas Eve,” Robin said. Then he added, “Oh, I forgot something.” He went to his jacket which was sprawled on a chair and took out a flat box. “Merry Christmas, Slugger.” He tossed the box on the bed. Amanda opened it. Tears came to her eyes as she looked at the soft black leather collar. It had silver bells and a little silver tag with his name engraved on it.

She threw her arms around Robin and hugged him. “You
do
like Slugger-”

He laughed. “Sure I do. I just don’t like him sneaking up on me. This way those goddam bells will warn me of his approach.” Then he took her in his arms and kissed her and they didn’t even hear the silver bells as Slugger disdainfully leaped off the bed and left the room.

NINE

I
N JANUARY
, the February replacements were announced in the television column of
The New York Times
. Dan smiled complacently when he saw that
The Christie Lane Show
was the lead story. He had sweated out the summer and literally wrung a good pilot out of Christie. And when Gregory viewed it and gave him the green light, Dan threw away the tranquilizers.

Tonight he would really celebrate. Unconsciously his thoughts went to Ethel. Maybe it had been a mistake assigning her to
The Christie Lane Show
. But hell, he had to pay her off some way. There was no one, but no one, who could compete with that dame in the feathers. She had flipped at the assignment. He knew it wasn’t just the extra twenty-five bucks, the big attraction was the Hollywood guest star she would meet each week. Well, she was a good-natured nympho—and he sure as hell couldn’t hump her more than twice a week. So if she wanted to slip in a Hollywood name on her free time, well, that was the least he could do for the bitch. And this way, maybe she’d lay off the “Take me to ‘21’” bit. Oddly enough, Ethel had no amorous inclinations toward Christie Lane. She said he gave her the creeps. “His skin is so pasty white, reminds me of a chicken’s belly.” From then on she referred to Christie behind his back as C.B.

Dan leaned back in his chair and his smile radiated contentment. All he had to do was wait until February. Then he’d bring in a big winner. He already had Alwayso as a sponsor. To go along with Christie as “Mr. Average Man,” Dan had lined up a plain-looking girl singer, a homespun announcer, and each week a big-name guest star would add some glamour. He had hired
Artie Rylander, a top producer who had made his name in the fifties, doing live variety shows. Alwayso was going along, and doing their commercials “live.” Once again, Dan reveled in his luck. A beautiful girl doing the commercials was the perfect contrast to the homey family format of
The Christie Lane Show
.

Right now Jerry’s office was probably loaded with every beautiful model in town. Jerry intended to use a male “voice over,” and have the model demonstrate the product. But as Jerry had said, they had to settle on one girl and stick with her. It was quite a problem.

Dan smiled. For months he had been closeted with Christie Lane, the “gofors,” Sig and Howie, and Artie Rylander. And Jerry had an office stacked with beautiful models. He shook his head. He should have such problems.

But Jerry did have a problem. Amanda. Amanda with her cool Nordic features, her high cheekbones, the heavy blond hair, was perfect for the product; she had also done the Alwayso magazine layouts last year. Jerry wanted her for the show—but how would Robin take it if he hired her?

Would he say, “What the hell are you doing? Trying to suck up to me?” or, “That was damn nice of you Jerry. I sure appreciate it.”

Suddenly he hated himself. Dammit, the issue should be who was best for the job and not how Robin would feel! He sat and stared at the picture on his desk of Mary and the kids. Was he abnormal in his feelings about Robin? That was ridiculous! He had no sexual desire for Robin Stone! He just liked him, liked to be with him. But
why
did he like to be with him? Sometimes Robin treated him with the same offhand conviviality he tossed at Carmen, the bartender at the Lancer Bar. Then there were days when Robin hardly spoke to Jerry at all. Or then again, Robin could be gregarious, almost glad to see him: “Your drink is waiting, Jerr.” Yet secretly, he had the suspicion that if he suddenly stopped calling Robin, stopped dropping in at the Lancer Bar at five, he would never be missed.

He pressed the buzzer and told his secretary to send Amanda
in. A few seconds later she strolled through the door. God, she even walked like her damn cat. She was wearing a leopard coat, her blond hair streaming to her shoulders. Leopard! She also had a mink. All his wife had was an otter.

She sat down in the chair across from him, undaunted by the daylight that shot at her face. He had noticed that some of the older models always cautiously turned away from it. But Amanda’s face was flawless and she knew it.

“You really want the job?” Jerry asked.

“Very much.”

He stared at her. Jesus, she was even getting to talk like Robin. Short and to the point.

He saw her steal a glance at her watch. Sure, her time was valuable. Then he noticed the watch. Holy Christ—it was the Vacheron job, the tiniest watch he had ever seen. Mary had admired it in the window at Cartier’s. But it cost over two thousand with the tax.

“That’s a beautiful watch,” he said.

She smiled. “Thank you… . Robin gave it to me for Christmas.”

He was silent. He had sent Robin a case of a hundred-proof vodka. Robin hadn’t even sent him a Christmas card.

Suddenly she leaned across the desk. Her eyes were urgent. “I want this job, Jerry. I want Robin to be proud of me.” She gave him an imploring look. “Oh, Jerry, I love him. I can’t live without him. You’re his best friend. What do you think my chances are with Robin? It’s been almost a year that we’ve been going together. And sometimes I think I’m no closer to him now than the first day we met. He’s so unpredictable—what do you think, Jerry? Men confide in one another.”

His entire mood changed. Suddenly he felt an odd sense of empathy with her. God, it must be hell for a girl to be in love with a man like Robin. He was glad he was a man. Glad he was just a friend to Robin.

“Jerry, I want to marry him,” she said. “I want to have his children.” Her face went tense. “You know what I’ve done with my evenings during the weeks he’s away? I’ve taken a reading course at the New School. I’ve finished
Pickwick Papers
, and I’ve
started on Chaucer. And when I tried to discuss them with Robin, he laughed and said he had no desire to be Professor Higgins. But I’ll keep at it. Oh, Jerry—sometimes I wish I didn’t love him this much. Even after he’s spent the night with me, when he leaves the following morning, I snuggle against the towel he’s used. Sometimes I fold it up and put it in my tote bag and carry it with me all day. And I reach for that towel and touch it. And it almost smells of him … and I get weak. I know it sounds silly, but I do this even when I know I’m going to meet him at the Lancer Bar that very day. And each time I walk in there I die because I think maybe he won’t be there, yet he always is. And sometimes when I sit with him and he grins at me, I think, Oh God, can I just hold this moment, make it last forever. And that scares me because it means maybe I expect to lose him someday.” She put her hands over her eyes as if to block out the thought.

Jerry felt his own eyes become moist in sympathy. “You won’t lose him, Amanda, you’re doing fine. You’ve held him almost a year. That’s a record in itself.” Then he handed her a contract. “I think you’ll be just wonderful for our product. And it’s our pleasure to have you on the show.”

Tears threatened to spill down her face. She reached for the pen and quickly scratched her name on the contract. When she held out her hand she was once more in complete control.

He watched her as she left the office. Who would ever dream that this supergirl, this perfect creature, was going through a torturous love affair? It must be torture, loving Robin Stone. Because any woman would know she never really had him and sense that one day she must lose him. He knew the Amandas would come and go, while he would always be able to join Robin Stone at the Lancer Bar.

Two weeks later Jerry paid his first visit to a psychiatrist. He had been making love to Mary with startling infrequency. When she first brought it up, she had tried to make light of it: “Hey, you with your work and your golf on weekends—have you forgotten the woman you love?”

He had looked properly startled. As if it had been an oversight.

“Not once all summer,” she said good-naturedly. “And now it’s the middle of September. Do I have to wait until it’s too cold for golf?”

He had made excuses, mumbling about how hectic the start of a new season always was. September was pressure time.

In November he blamed it on commuting. The weather was too hazardous to drive, and it was rough taking the train each morning, rushing for the train home. No, it wasn’t because he was at the Lancer Bar with Robin Stone. He
worked
late!

During the Christmas season he had more excuses. Everything was hectic. In January he had Alwayso to contend with. The commercials had to be written, the product selected for the first commercial—hair spray, or the new iridescent nail polish? If these excuses appeased Mary, they did not satisfy the nagging doubt that was beginning to form in his own mind. Well, he
was
tired, the weather
was
lousy, and he had a cold that hung on. There were even times he blamed Mary’s fat pink hair rollers. How was a guy supposed to be filled with desire when his wife slid into bed with fat pink rollers and a face loaded with night cream! To avoid arguments he kept silent. The atmosphere began to feel like a pressure cooker. And one night it exploded.