Valley of the Dolls Read Free Page B

afraid it might make him feel more of a failure.
    Allen was hopelessly miscast as a salesman. He was too nice and mild-mannered for his profession. He asked questions about Lawrenceville, her days at school, even the events at the office. He made her feel like the most interesting, fascinating girl in the world.
    She continued to see him because he made no demands upon her. Sometimes in a movie he held her hand. He made no attempt to kiss her good night. Her feeling was one of relief mixed with a curious sense of inadequacy. It was almost embarrassing not to be able to arouse any passion in poor Allen, but she was content to let matters rest. The thought of kissing him brought on the same distaste she had experienced when she had kissed Willie Henderson back in Lawrenceville, and this made her wonder again about her own capacity for love. Perhaps she wasn’t normal—or maybe her mother was right, maybe passion and romance did exist only in fiction.
    Later that afternoon George Bellows stopped at her desk again. “I’ve come to make another pitch,” he said. “How about the sixteenth of January? You can’t be dated up that far ahead.”
    “But that’s almost three months away.”
    “Oh, I’ll be glad to take anything that opens before then. But Helen Lawson just called, screaming for Henry, and it reminded me that her show opens on the sixteenth.”
    “That’s right, Hit the Sky goes into rehearsal next week.”
    “Well, will you or won’t you go with me?”
    “I’d love it, George. I think Helen Lawson is wonderful. She used to break in all her shows in Boston. When I was a little girl my father took me to see her in Madame Pompadour.”
    “Okay, it’s a date. Oh, and Anne, once this show goes into rehearsal, Helen is liable to come crashing in here a good deal. If you two ever get around to the small-talk department, don’t come up with that ‘I-loved-you-when-I-was-a-little-girl’ routine. She might stab you.”
    “But I was a little girl. And ridiculous as it sounds, that was only ten years ago. But even then Helen Lawson was a mature woman. She was at least thirty-five.”
    “Around here we act like she’s twenty-eight.”
    “George, you can’t be serious! Why, Helen Lawson is ageless. She’s a great star. It’s her personality and talent that make her so attractive. I’m sure she’s too intelligent to think she looks like a girl.”
    George shrugged. “Tell you what. I’ll phone you twenty years from now and ask you how you feel. Looking twenty-eight seems to be an infectious disease that most women catch the moment they hit forty. To play it safe, just don’t bring up the subject of age around Helen. And please mark your calendar. January sixteenth. In the meantime, have a nice weekend and take it easy. It’ll be plenty hectic around here on Monday—when the conquering hero comes marching home.”
    The receptionist was wearing a tight new plaid. The junior secretary’s pompadour was two inches higher. Even Miss Steinberg had broken out with last spring’s navy suit. Anne sat in her cubbyhole outside Henry’s office and tried to concentrate on the mail. But like the others, her attention was riveted on the door.
    He arrived at eleven o’clock. With all the office gossip and speculation, she was still unprepared for anyone as striking as Lyon Burke.
    Henry Bellamy was a tall man, but Lyon Burke towered over him by a good three inches. His hair was Indian black and his skin seemed burned into a permanent tan. Henry bristled with unconcealed pride as he led Lyon around and performed introductions. The receptionist colored visibly when she shook his hand, the junior secretary simpered and Miss Steinberg went absolutely kittenish in her excitement.
    For the first time Anne was grateful for her rigid New England reserve. She knew she presented a calm she did not feel as Lyon Burke took her hand.
    “Henry hasn’t stopped talking about you. Now that we meet, it’s quite easy to