Valley of the Dolls Read Free

I have an excellent memory and I hate sherry.”
    This time they laughed together.
    “Okay, Anne. Want to start tomorrow?”
    She nodded. “Will I also work for Mr. Bellows?”
    He gazed into space and said quietly, “There is no Mr. Bellows. Oh, there’s George, his nephew, but George is not the Bellows in Bellamy and Bellows. That was George’s uncle, Jim Bellows. I bought Jim out before he went to war. I tried to talk him out of it, but no, he went to Washington and got carried away with that Navy uniform and a commission.” He sighed. “War is for the young. Jim Bellows was fifty-three. Too old for war . . . but too young to die.”
    “Was he killed in Europe or the Pacific?”
    “He died of a heart attack in a submarine, the damn fool!” But the gruffness in his voice only punctuated the affection he felt for the dead man. Then, with an abrupt change of mood, he flashed one of his warm smiles. “Okay, Anne, I guess we’ve exchanged enough of our life stories. I can start you at seventy-five a week—how does that set with you?”
    It was more than she had expected. Her room cost eighteen, food about fifteen. She told him she could manage quite well.
    October, 1945
    September had been a good month. She had found a job she liked, a girl friend named Neely and a gentle, eager escort named Allen Cooper.
    October brought Lyon Burke.
    She had been welcomed with instant acceptance by the receptionist and two secretaries. She lunched with them each day at the corner drugstore. Lyon Burke was their favorite topic, and Miss Steinberg, the senior secretary, was the expert. She had been with Henry Bellamy ten years. She had known Lyon Burke.
    Lyon had been with the office two years when war was declared, and had left to enlist the day after Pearl Harbor. Jim Bellows had often suggested that his nephew join the firm. Henry had nothing against George Bellows, but he had always refused. “Business and relatives don’t mix,” he had insisted. But with Lyon gone, Henry was left with little choice.
    There was nothing wrong with George. He was a capable lawyer, but he lacked the chemistry of Lyon Burke—at least in Miss Steinberg’s eyes. Lyon’s activities in the war had been avidly followed by all of the staff, and when he had received his captain’s bars, Henry had taken off half the day to celebrate. The last letter had come from London in August. Lyon was alive, Lyon sent regards—but Lyon said nothing about returning.
    At first Henry had watched the mail each day. When September passed without word he moodily reconciled himself to Lyon’s permanent withdrawal from the firm. But Miss Steinberg refused to give up. And Miss Steinberg was right. The wire came in October.
    It was direct and to the point:
    DEAR HENRY: WELL IT’S OVER AND I’M STILL IN ONE PIECE. VISITED SOME RELATIVES IN LONDON AND STOPPED OFF AT BRIGHTON FOR SOME SEA AND REST. AM IN WASHINGTON WAITING FOR MY OFFICIAL RELEASE. AS SOON AS THEY LET ME TRADE THEIR UNIFORM FOR MY OLD BLUE SUIT I SHALL RETURN. BEST. LYON.
    Henry Bellamy’s face lit up when he read the wire. He jumped from his chair. “Lyon’s coming back! Goddam, I knew he would!”
    For the next ten days the office was in a turmoil of interior decorators, excitement and speculative gossip.
    “I can’t wait.” The receptionist sighed. “He sounds just like my type.”
    Miss Steinberg’s smile was loaded with secret knowledge. “He’s everybody’s type, honey. If his looks don’t polish you off, the English accent does the rest.”
    “He’s English?” Anne was surprised.
    “Born here,” Miss Steinberg explained. “His mother was Nell Lyon. That was way before your time. Mine too. But she was a big English musical comedy star. She came here in a show and married an American lawyer, Tom Burke. She retired and Lyon was born here, so that makes him an American citizen. But his mother held on to her British citizenship, and when Lyon’s father died—I think Lyon was about