Reign Read Free Page B

theatre-going public blockbuster musicals ever since the mid-forties.
    The Venetian Theatre was over fifty years old in that summer of 1966. Although it was shabby, and the seats were threadbare, there was still much that was majestic about it. But it had never, not even on the night it had opened, looked as sumptuous as it did on the evening of Dennis Hamilton's party, and had certainly never seen such a contingent of the wealthy and famous standing within its marbled grand lobby, flanking its wide, carpeted staircases, chattering on its palatial mezzanine lobby.
    The party had begun at nine, and by ten-thirty nearly all two hundred and fifty guests were there. Many had flown from New York and Los Angeles into Philadelphia, and there hired cars to take them the remaining thirty miles to Kirkland. There were actors, directors, musicians, writers, and a smattering of technical people, nearly all of whom knew or had worked with Dennis Hamilton. No one had been invited simply for appearance's sake.
    Dennis and Robin stood near the front entrance, greeting the latecomers. Left alone for a rare moment, Robin squeezed his hand gently. "Will the liquor hold out?" she asked him. There were four bars in service, three in the grand lobby, one in the mezzanine lobby, and all were cluttered with humanity.
    "So the caterer claims," Dennis said, then grinned. "Of course I don't know if he had this group of alcoholics in mind when he made his plans."
    Brian Chaney and Lydia Marks came through the front door, received hugs, compliments on their latest films, and were told where to take their coats. "Lydia looks good," Robin said when the couple were out of earshot.
    Dennis nodded. "Amazing what a seventh facelift and a butt-tuck can do, isn't it?"
    "Don't knock her. She's still doing nude scenes."
    " Last Chance , you mean?" Robin nodded and Dennis shook his head. "Uh-uh. Body double."
    "You're kidding."
    "Nope. Clinton told me. A twenty-two year old porno star."
    Robin giggled. "You know, I like this party better than our last one.”
    “Closing night? Why? That was a good party."
    "I know, but it was sad. It was the end of something, and this is the beginning of something new. Everybody seems happier."
    "I don't know, I thought they were pretty happy that they'd never have to see me in Empire again . . . unless they catch it on the late show."
    "You know that's not true," Robin said, but the conversation stopped there as Michael Riley came up, bottled beer in hand, to talk to Dennis, and Robin took the opportunity to wander.
    She was immediately grabbed by Cissy Morrison, an actress who had started out in the film version of A Private Empire and who now shared her sitcom with another ex-movie queen of the sixties. "Jesus, Robbie," she gushed, "this place is fantastic. I mean it's like the fucking Roxy or something. Of course I never saw the Roxy, but I saw pictures, you know? This place must have cost a mint, huh?"
    Robin smiled. "Only about half of your annual share of the residuals on After She's Gone , Cissy ."
    "My ass. I couldn't touch this place with a ten-foot dick, honey. But of course I didn't have John Steinberg investing my income for the last twenty years.”
    “John's good," Robin said.
    "Of course John's good," agreed a voice from behind Robin. She felt a hand around her waist and turned to look into the deep green eyes of Steinberg himself. "Good evening, darling," he said, and kissed Robin on the cheek. "Lovely party. And the omnipresent Ms. Morrison. I loved your most recent show, Cissy . I tell all my friends that no one, not even Lucille Ball in her salad days, falls hind-first onto a cherry pie like you do. Sheer artistry."
    Cissy Morrison made a face. "You're a cunt, John."
    "I wish, my dear." Steinberg turned his attention back to Robin. "You look glassless, love. May I get you something?"
    "No thanks, John. I don't want to get too sloshed to be a good hostess.”
    “Never happen. You're the perfect hostess, drunk