The Slipper (67 page)

“What do you want, Mr. Hammond?” she asked.

“I want Danny,” he said.

She just looked at him. Gus Hammond frowned.

“I'm prepared to be reasonable. I'm prepared to pay you a large amount of money in exchange for your signing an agreement permitting me to take him back to Oklahoma with me. I'll set up a trust fund for him. I'll give him the best care, the best clothes, the best schools. He'll grow up as my heir and one day he'll inherit everything I have.”

Julie lighted another cigarette.

“You'll still see him, of course. My lawyer will make all the arrangements. He'll spend part of every summer with you and some holidays, a week at Easter, for example. As I said, I'm prepared to be reasonable. I don't want a court battle any more than you do.”

Julie was trembling inside. She wanted to scream at him, to smash his face, so great was her rage, yet her voice was perfectly level and beautifully controlled.

“I think you'd better leave, Mr. Hammond.”

He indicated the manila envelope. “You know what those pictures mean, don't you? They mean I've got you. They're evidence, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that you're unfit to bring up my grandson. I've kept my eye on you just like I said I would, and when I read in that Parsons woman's column about your drinking and carrying on, I decided it was time I went into action.”

“You hired a private detective. You sent him to Arizona.”

“I paid him a mint, thousands of dollars, but he did a bang-up good job for me. He was very thorough. He took these photographs. He took notes, very thorough notes. I know all about your drinking and your drugs. I know all about your fucking that ugly actor in your motel room and all about your affair with that fellow who plays Duke Henry. You fucked him right here in this house with my grandson present.”

“I—I really do think you'd better leave, Mr. Hammond,” she said, and there was a tremor in her voice now. “I really can't be responsible for anything I might say or do if—if you continue in that vein.”

“I don't want to use the evidence,” Hammond said. “I'm not a complete villain. I don't want to wreck your career, make a lot of trouble. I just want my grandson, and I feel sure you'll agree to my terms.”

“Get out of my house,” Julie said.

“You're not going to be reasonable?”

She was silent. She was afraid to speak, afraid of what she might say to him. She knew for a fact that if she had had a gun in her hand she would have pulled the trigger without a moment's hesitation. She would have blown his brains out without the least remorse. She could understand now the urge to kill. What she felt was more than outrage, more than anger. It was like a white-hot fire blazing inside her, and yet somehow, somehow she managed to maintain some semblance of outward calm.

“I've asked you to leave,” she said. “Please do. Please don't push me.

Hammond stepped closer, his eyes glittering with malice now. “I've got you, you little bitch. Don't you
realize
that?”

Something was going to snap. She could feel it. She tried her best to hold on as the white fire blazed.

“Please leave,” she said quietly.

“I've got you, and if I have to I'll take you to court and
prove
you're unfit to bring up my grandson.”

“I don't intend to listen to this,” she said.

“I'm taking Danny back to Oklahoma with me. I'm going to give him a
decent
unbringing. You wrecked my son's life. I'm not going to stand by and let you wreck my grandson's life as well.”

Julie looked at his glittering eyes and his flushed cheekbones, and she crushed out her cigarette and moved over to the liquor cabinet. She opened the door and pulled out a bottle of vodka and gripped it tightly by the neck and she wasn't Julie any more. She was someone else.

“There's not a court in this land that won't give him to me when I present my evidence!” Hammond thundered, out of control now. “I've got millions of dollars, millions, and I'll spend every one of them on lawyers if I have to, but I'm taking Danny home with me. You're a whore and a drunk and you're not going to keep him! Go fetch him for me. Right now!”

Julie slammed the side of the bottle on the edge of the liquor cabinet. The glass shattered noisily and liquor splashed in every direction and Julie was still holding the neck tightly and half a bottle with sharp, jagged edges and it made a formidable weapon, much more threatening than a knife. She would turn it in his face if she had to, she knew that. So did Gus Hammond. His face had gone white.

“I'm not a whore, Mr. Hammond,” Julie said. “As it so happens, I have never slept with any other man besides Doug, but that's none of your concern. I don't have to answer your filthy allegations, nor do I have to justify myself to you. I want you to leave.”

“Have you gone out of your
mind
?” he yelled.

“I'm not a whore,” she repeated, “but I am a mother, and I would kill gladly to protect my son. If—if you don't leave my house this very minute I do assure you I'll cut your fucking face off.”

Was that her voice? How could she possibly sound so cool and calm when the white hot fire was blazing inside her. Hammond stared at her with an incredulous expression, his eyes wide, his face bleached of color.

“You can't intimidate me! I—”

“I mean what I said,” Julie informed him.

“This will go into the report, too! I'm going to hire the best lawyers in the country. I'm going—”

Julie stepped toward him. Gus Hammond snatched up the envelope full of pictures and stumbled backwards, almost falling. He turned and hurried into the foyer and a moment later Julie heard him opening the front door and then heard it slam shut. She looked at the thin streams of vodka slipping slowly down the side of the liquor cabinet like huge tears and at the broken bottle in her hand and she was amazed. Dear God, what came over me? Richard Egan-did that in his last picture, only it was in a smoke-filled bar in Honolulu, not a living room. I … I must have temporarily taken leave of my senses. But it worked. Julie put the broken bottle down, and her hand shook. She was shaking all over. She folded her arms around her waist, holding herself tightly. She closed her eyes.

It was several minutes before she was able to control the nervous spasms that swept over her, and then she poured herself a drink. A small one. I deserve it, she told herself. I've earned it. Julie sipped the vodka slowly, standing there in the living room. The vodka steadied her nerves. That horrible man. Those horrible pictures. Those horrible allegations. None of it is true. He isn't going to take Danny away from me. He can't. He wanted to frighten me. He thought he could frighten me into accepting his terms. You can't take a child away from his mother, not in America. Dear God. I can't deal with this now! I can't.

Julie finished her drink. She didn't pour another one. She cleaned up the mess, wiping the liquor cabinet and blotting the carpet with paper towels and dropping the shards of glass into a wastebasket. The telephone was ringing. She didn't answer it. Martha, who worked in the kitchen, and Stephen, her husband, who served and supervised the cleaning crews who came in weekly, had been instructed never to answer the phone unless requested. Neither answered it now. It rang for a good three minutes and then stopped and started again two minutes later. Julie stepped into the office, took it off the hook and hung it up and then took it off the hook again, leaving it. There was no one she wanted to talk to this afternoon.

She went upstairs, much calmer now. Danny wasn't in the nursery. Mrs. Anderson was sitting in a comfortable chair with her feet propped on a stool, reading her paperback. Harold Robbins. She looked up as Julie stepped into the room, not at all perturbed, making no effort to get up. She was chewing gum. Julie felt anger welling up again. Mrs. Anderson seemed irritated that someone had had the temerity to disturb her reading.

“Where is Danny?” Julie asked sharply.

Mrs. Anderson glanced around the room. “He was here a few minutes ago,” she said.

“You were hired to look after my son, Mrs. Anderson. You were not hired to sit around reading paperback novels.”

“A person has to have
some
free time,” the nursemaid snipped.

“You can have all the free time you like,” Julie retorted. “I want you to gather up your things and get your fat ass out of here. Immediately. You're fired. I'll send a check to the agency.”

“Well! I never—”

Julie left the room. She went to Danny's bedroom. He wasn't there, nor was he in any of the rooms upstairs. He was probably in a corner somewhere, sulking because she wouldn't let him go swimming by herself. Swimming. The panic hit her all at once and Julie froze on the stairs, paralyzed, her heart beating like a trip-hammer. Her skin seemed to have turned to ice. Danny had defied her several times of late, but surely he wouldn't … surely he knew how dangerous … She heard his voice then, coming from the distance, calling her.

“Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!”

Julie literally flew down the stairs and raced down the hall and through the sitting room and out the open French windows and onto the patio, but to her it seemed as though she were moving in slow motion. She saw the gleaming white tiles and the sparkling blue water and Roscoe was sitting in one of the deck chairs and Danny was in the deep end of the pool, splashing and kicking, flailing his arms, crying for her. He was wearing his bright orange life jacket, thank God he was wearing his life jacket, but his little head kept bobbing under nevertheless because of his struggles. Julie kicked off her shoes and ran across the patio and dove into the water, all in an instant, and then she really did move in slow motion, under the water, everything blurry and shiny, silver and blue, two pudgy little legs and a blob of bright orange visible to her right, several yards away. She kicked and propelled herself forward, surfacing beside him and clutching him to her.

She swam to the steps, pulling Danny along with her. She climbed out of the water and gathered him into her arms and sank down onto one of the chairs and sobbed hysterically, holding him tightly. She sobbed and sobbed, without restraint, her whole body trembling violently. Danny gazed at her with wide, startled blue eyes. He had never seen his mommy like this before. It frightened him. Her hair was all wet and plastered to her head and long snaky tendrils covered her forehead and eyes. Danny gently smoothed them back and saw the tears brimming over her lashes and felt her body trembling all over. He scooted up in her lap and wound his arms around her neck and rested his cheek against hers. Several minutes went by before her body stopped trembling and the tears stopped spilling. She grew very, very still.

“It's all right, Mommy,” he said. “I just drifted.”

“My baby,” she whispered.

“I had my life jacket on,” he explained. “I wudn't hurt. I was just kinda scared.”

“I know, darling.”

She held him close, shaken to the core by what had happened. It was her fault. She knew that. Maybe Gus Hammond was right. Maybe she wasn't fit to bring him up. Her arms tightened around him and the tears welled again. It isn't me, she told herself. It's this town. It's Hollywood. It's this business. I … I don't have Carol's strength, her drive. I don't have her need to be a star. Being a star means everything to Carol. It means nothing to me. I don't belong here. I never have.

“You mad at me, Mommy?” Danny asked.

She shook her head, holding him close.

“Hadn't you better get ready for them picture-taking people?”

“They're not coming. I—Mommy canceled everything.”

“You're not gonna be too busy for me?” he inquired.

“I—I'm not ever going to be too busy for you again, precious. I promise. We—you and I are going to—we're going to go away for while. We're going to take a vacation, just the two of us.”

Danny sat up, his eyes wide again.

“We're gonna leave Hollywood?”

Julie nodded, smoothing the damp locks from his brow.

“But—what about your mah-caddy-me award?”

“That isn't important,” she told him. “It doesn't matter at all. You're the only thing that matters to me, darling.”

“Where're we gonna go?”

“I—I'm not sure.”

“Could we go see Lund, Mommy?”

“I don't know, Danny. Lund is—I'm sure he's very busy, and he might not want us to—”

“Sure he would!” Danny exclaimed. “Lund
loves
us. Lund didn't want us to leave. That'd be great, seeing Lund again. It'd be the bestest thing I would think of. Let's go call him, Mommy. Let's go call him right now.”

Danny jumped down and took her hand and pulled her to her feet, his face all aglow. Julie had rarely seen him so elated. She let him lead her into the house. She felt elation herself at the thought of seeing Lund again. It would be good for Danny, and … she refused to allow herself to think beyond that. As soon as they had dried off and changed into fresh clothes she would place the call.

19

The Beverly Hills Hotel was huge and pink and gaudy, the sky a brilliant blue as Nora cruised up the palm-tree-lined drive five days later. She and Carol had just returned from driving Lund, Danny and Julie to the airport, and both agreed that a drink—or several—was called for. Carol suggested the Polo Lounge, and somehow it seemed appropriate. Nora stopped the car and a doorman opened the car door for Carol and helped her out and a good-looking young car jockey performed the same service for Nora. She surrendered her car keys with some reluctance.

“Mind the fenders, love,” she told him. “I know it's not much, but it happens to be all I've got.”

The youth grinned at her and promised he would take good care of her car and see she got it back in perfect condition.