The Slipper (51 page)

Hopper and Connelly both made a beeline for Carol as they entered. Connelly reached her first.

“Carol! I'm Mike Connelly. I interviewed you five years ago when Berne brought you to my office. Remember? How do you feel about being back in—”

“I wanna talk to you, Martin!” Hopper cried, seizing her arm. “Let's go over there in the corner where we can talk privately.”

“I believe I was here first, Hedda,” Connelly protested.

“Don't mess with me, Connelly!” Hedda snarled. “I'm the one who taught you how to make up your eyes.”

“Jesus,” Nora said. “I could use a drink.”

“So could I,” Jim confided. “Come on, let's get smashed.”

The place was packed with glamorous celebrities and important executives, as well as press and photographers, but a hush fell over the assemblage as Terry Wood came in with Julie Hammond, and it was followed by a burst of spontaneous applause. This was Julie's evening.
The Slipper
was Julie's film. Everyone who had seen it knew that. Holding onto Terry's arm, looking beautiful in her bespangled yellow-gold silk gown, Julie was stunned by the applause and smiled nervously. Inside, she was the same shy, vulnerable girl she had been when she was working at the Silver Bell, Nora knew, and all this attention and hoopla was hard for her to take. Her eyes no longer had that spacey look, but she seemed extremely edgy. The tranquilizers must have worn off. Jim sipped his drink, gazing at her with eyes that betrayed his deepest emotions.

“Is she gonna be all right?” he asked as press and photographers swarmed around Julie.

“She's tougher than she looks,” Nora told him. “She's had to be in order to survive.”

The party was festive indeed. The film was a surefire hit, and Nora was hugged and congratulated by dozens of people, several of whom she didn't know. Jim finally managed to secure them a booth and bring plates of food. Nora saw Carol talking with a lean, handsome older man with silver hair, warm blue eyes and a pleasant smile. He was quite tall, over six feet, very distinguished in his superbly tailored tuxedo, and he seemed fascinated by Carol. Nora recognized him at once. He was Blake Dougherty, screenwriter-turned-producer, with a number of prestigious movies to his credit and his own production company. He had been around for a long time and was one of the most admired men in the industry. Catching Nora's eye, Carol waved, said something to Blake Dougherty and then joined them at the booth.

“Anything going on there?” Nora inquired.

“Mr. Dougherty was just telling me how much he admired some of the movies I did in France.”

“He seemed to be admiring
you
a great deal, too.”

“Don't be silly, Nora. Blake Dougherty is a happily married man.”

“And I hear his wife is very ill. He ask you for a date?”

“Of course not. Stop playing Cupid, darling. Is this my drink, Jim? Do let me have it.”

“Feel free,” Jim said.

“What did Hedda want?” Nora asked.

“Blood. Not mine, fortunately. She wants to do a feature article on me, and I agreed to give her an interview next Thursday. She promised me that if Louella got to me first I'd regret it till the day I died.”

“Someone ought to poison them both,” Nora observed.

“I had hoped to get a chance to visit with Julie,” Carol said. “It doesn't look like that's going to be possible tonight.”

“No one's had a chance to visit with her,” Jim said sullenly. “The goddamned press hasn't given her a moment's peace since she got here.”

“Nora, baby!” Terry Wood exclaimed, coming over to their booth. “Well, it looks like we did it, doesn't it? Looks like we've come up with one great big lollipop of a hit. When're you gonna get off your keister and start writing me another blockbuster? When're you gonna stop mooning around over Larry Loser and get on with your own career? You need an office, you need a secretary, you need an expense account—anything you need, you just let me know. I want another Nora Levin novel to put on the big screen.”

“I'm flattered, Terry, but I haven't got another idea yet.”

“Idea? You need ideas? I got files fulla ideas. Look, doll, let's you and me get together for lunch next week, okay? I'll have my secretary set it up and give you a call. We can't have a tremendous talent like yours goin' to waste. Ah, here comes our little star!”

Smiling at well-wishers, looking a bit desperate, Julie made her way over to the booth, an eager photographer in hot pursuit. As she reached the booth, he snapped another picture, the flashbulb blinding them all.

“Please,” Julie begged. “No more. You've taken dozens already. Please just let me visit with my friends for a while in peace.”

“Just one more, Miss Hammond! Just one more!”

The photographer aimed the camera directly into her face and pressed down on the button. Julie winced as the silver-blue flash exploded. Jim leaped to his feet, grabbed the camera, hurled it to the floor and gave the photographer a brutal shove that sent him reeling. There was shocked silence all around as the photographer regained his balance, saw his wrecked camera and moved toward Jim with blazing cheeks and fists at the ready.

“You son of a bitch! That camera cost me—”

“No problem! No problem!” Terry Wood cried cheerily, throwing his plump arms around the photographer, holding him back. “Just a little accident, nothing serious. We'll buy you another camera. We'll buy you two! Go get yourself another drink, fellow, okay? I gotta girl I'm gonna introduce you to at the studio tomorrow. One of our shapeliest starlets. She'll let you take her picture any way you want it. Know what I mean? You come see me tomorrow, and we'll set it all up and get you your new cameras. Okay?”

The photographer nodded a surly agreement and stalked away, glaring angrily at Jim over his shoulder.

“Nice going, Burke!” Wood snapped. “Just a little accident, folks!” he merrily assured everyone nearby. “No big deal. Nothing to write home about. Everybody enjoy themselves!”

Tears were streaming down Julie's cheeks. “Please take me home, Terry,” she pleaded.

“Sure, baby. Sure. It's been a big evening, and you've had a little too much excitement. Come on, we'll leave right now. Smile for the people, baby. Let 'em see how happy you are.”

The producer led Julie away. Nora finished her drink in two swallows.

“I think I've had just about enough festivity for one evening,” she announced. “I'd like to leave, too. Is that all right with you, Carol?”

Carol nodded and, as one of Romanoff's minions hastily cleared up the debris of the broken camera, Jim escorted them out of the restaurant and gallantly handed them into the limousine. They drove to the Beverly Hills Hotel, and Nora remained in the limousine while Jim walked Carol to her bungalow. A few minutes later they were on their way to her apartment building. Beverly Hills at night was like a glittering jewel box ashimmer with lights. The pain began to gnaw at her again, and Nora sat silently in the backseat as the sleek limo cruised the short distance with silken ease.

“Sorry I was such rotten company tonight,” Jim said as he walked her to the heavy glass doors.

“I couldn't have made it without you, love.”

“Is there any hope for me, Nora?”

“I don't know, Jim. She's very fond of you. She's going through a rough time at the moment, and I—I just don't know.”

“In the meantime, I've got one terrific friend in you,” Jim said, striving for a light touch. “Sure you don't want me to come up with you? Sure you don't wanna fuck?”

“Will you give me a rain check?”

“Most reluctantly,” he said.

“Good night, love. Thanks a million.”

“Night,” he said.

He pulled her into his arms and kissed her lightly, affectionately on the lips as the doorman pulled open one of the huge glass doors. Nora watched Jim walk back to the waiting limousine and then she shook her head and moved on inside. James was sitting on one of the beige sofas across the lobby, beneath the gold-and-bronze macramé wall hanging. He stood up. He was wearing snug black pants and white shirt and dark-blue tie and a gray corduroy jacket. He looked terribly upset. He also looked repentant. Nora moved toward the elevator and he intercepted her, his smoke-gray eyes full of anguish.

“I've been waiting down here for over an hour,” he told her. “The doorman wouldn't let me go up to your apartment.”

“I must remember to tip him for that,” she said.

“Look, Nora, I don't know what to say.”

“Then maybe it would be best if you didn't say anything at all.”

Her voice was crisp. He was distraught. Nora could see that. He loved her. She could see that, too. He was afraid, for she had never been cool and remote before. She'd been hot-tempered and venomous and once she'd even broken a plate over his head, but she had never been composed like this, as though he were a stranger. She stood there in her tea-colored satin gown, looking at him with icy indifference and that scared him. If only he knew how she longed to throw herself into his arms and tell him it would be all right. Julie and Carol weren't the only ones who could act. She had picked up a pointer or two herself along the way, and they stood her in good stead now.

“I didn't mean to say what I said, Nora.”

“I'm sure you didn't,” she replied. “I'm sure it all just slipped out in the heat of emotion.”

“That's right. I was upset. I didn't mean to say any of it.”

“You didn't mean to say it, but that's how you feel, James. If you didn't feel that way the words would never have come to your lips.”

“Okay. Okay. I don't care for your writing. Is that a crime? I think you write crap. I resent your success. Does that make me a monster? I'm human, and human beings have flaws. I suppose I have more than my fair share of them, I've never pretended to be perfect, but—you're the grandest thing that ever happened to me. I
love
you.”

“I know you do.”

“You love me, too.”

She nodded, still cool, still composed.

“So come back to Malibu with me. I—I'll make it up to you. I know I'm hell to live with, but I'll try, Nora. I'll try to do better and show my appreciation and not be such a bastard and—come back, Nora.”

“Not this time, James.”

He looked as though someone had just handed him a death sentence.

“It isn't going to work,” she said, and her voice was kinder now. “Both of us know that, James.”

“We'll
make
it work,” he protested.

Nora shook her head. She remembered the good times, the tender moments, the laughter and exhilaration when James was in a good mood, and she remembered the magnificent sex, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough. She hadn't written a single word since she'd been with him. Her entire life had revolved around James, around his moods, and she knew this couldn't continue if she was to survive as an individual and as a writer.

“No,” she said. “For the past year I've been living your life, James. It's time I got back to living my own.”

“You
love
me.”

“That's what makes it so goddamned hard,” she told him.

She stepped over to the elevator and pushed the button. He followed her, desperate now.

“You're
ending
it? Just like that?”

“It'll be okay, James. Eventually you'll find yourself some sweet, submissive young thing who will be content to sit at your feet and gaze at you in awe and pour oil on the flames of your genius. She'll probably enjoy it. I'm not cut out for it. It's altogether too taxing.”

“That's unfair. You know I don't ask you to—”

“I'm very tired, James. It's been a rough day. Why don't you just go on home and leave me be.”

“I'm not leaving without you.”

“I'm afraid you'll have to.”

“Nora—”

There was desperation in his voice and anguish in his eyes and she almost broke down then. She almost gave in and listened to her heart instead of her head, but the elevator doors opened with a soft swoosh then and saved her from herself. She stepped inside the elevator and looked at him with sad eyes and then she pushed the up button and left him standing alone as the doors closed. It was the most difficult thing she had ever done in her life.

15

South Medford, New Hampshire, was a beautiful little town near the Maine border, peaceful, serene, quaint, the perfect location for filming
Jerico's Castle
, and Meadows Inn was undeniably charming and comfortable, but Julie loathed the town and loathed the inn and loathed the script based on the sensational best-seller about adultery, incest and lesbianism in a small New England village. She didn't want to play Valerie Novack, even if it was a plum role every young actress in Hollywood had campaigned for. The role was very intense and very dramatic, with another surefire Academy Award nomination, and Julie knew it was going to be even more emotionally draining than her role in
Impulse
, just completed four weeks ago. She had fought against the role and the studio had informed her she would take it or take suspension without pay, so here she was in New Hampshire, in the downstairs lounge of the inn, and the bartender was a doll, a real sweetheart, patiently listening to her tale of woe even if it
was
after midnight and all his other customers had long since departed.

“—didn't want to play another heavy role, I told them, give the part to Yvette Mimieux, she'd be marvelous and she's dying to do it, let me play something lighter, let me do a comedy, let me, please, please let me have a couple of months off, I'm exhausted, but I'm not a human being, you see, not any longer, I'm a commodity, a moneymaking machine. I'm the hottest young actress in Hollywood right now, did you know that? You don't believe me. Read Louella. Read Hedda. Read
Life
. I was on their cover last month, and mine is the most stunning screen debut since Ingrid Bergman made
Intermezzo
and I'm sure to win the Oscar for
The Slipper
. Read
Life
. There's bound to be a copy around here somewhere. I'm luminous and magical, but I'm also very modest and unassuming, no temperament and no pretensions, as sweet and natural as the girl next door. One more. Pour me just one more, Joe. That's your name, isn't it? Joe? All bartenders are named Joe.”