Come Pour the Wine (7 page)

Abruptly a new thought occurred to her … maybe he could be at the skating rink. She walked quickly past the zoo and all but ran to the platform above the rink, where she had a perfect view of the skaters below. She scanned the panorama, carefully observing each face. The skaters pirouetted and twirled in pairs to the sound of a Chopin waltz coming over the loudspeaker. It was a romantic scene that made her sigh all the more deeply as she realized Bill wasn’t there. Slowly, she turned and walked away, the lovely music fading behind her.

By eleven that morning she’d given up, feeling like a female Walter Mitty. Slumping down on a park bench, she lectured herself, Well, you didn’t really think it would happen … In fact, you knew it wouldn’t. I’m sorry, Judy Garland, but you’re absolutely wrong. Wishing will
not
make it so. She sat looking out to the greenery beyond for a moment longer, then decided to go back to the hotel. Mission impossible not accomplished.

She sat on the edge of the bed, staring out of the window. God, how lonely Sundays were. Particularly this Sunday. Imagine, somewhere in this city was a man who had aroused feelings in her she’d never even been aware she had, brought out a kind of compulsive, irrational behavior … If this wasn’t love she couldn’t find a different or a better word for it. If her parents could see the state she was in and the reasons for it … Their words sounded in her ears … “Your father and I are not for your leaving college and going off to New York by yourself, but as much as we’re against it, we do give our consent … Janet, you’re very mature for nineteen and we know we can depend on you to do the right thing … you’re a very level-headed young woman, we’re very proud of you, and we know you won’t do anything to embarrass us or yourself …

Well, mother darling, you wouldn’t be so sure at this moment about that, not when I’m burning up and crazy in love with a man who doesn’t even know I exist. If I could, right now at this very minute, I would encourage him to seduce me. So there, mother, that’s your adorable little Janet, Girl Scout leader, pompom girl of the year, Miss Kansas Corn and runner-up for the Kansas Miss America. And, damn it, he didn’t even look at me. And you know something else, dear mother? The most shocking thing of all is I would never have guessed such passion was even a part of cool, calm and collected Janet Stevens. Cool? Some bad joke …

She got up, paced the floor. It was only eleven-thirty now and she couldn’t call Kit. Especially not on Sunday morning, after Nathan Weiss had spent the night. He always stayed over on Saturday nights. “Nat always screws best on Saturday night and Sunday morning,” Kit had said. What the day had to do with how well one made love remained a mystery to Janet. But then, it seemed she had a lot to learn in that department.

For lack of anything better to do she lay down and glanced through
Harper’s Bazaar,
which did little to distract her. She tossed the magazine across the room.
Damn
him. He hadn’t even noticed her. Damn, damn,
damn.
She went to the dresser and pulled out her album of stills. Back in bed once again, she braced herself against the backboard and carefully scrutinized the photographs. They were good. Hadn’t they been her passport to the best modeling school in New York? But he hadn’t noticed. Oh, nuts to it. So he hadn’t noticed her …

By noon she was climbing the walls and impulsively picked up the phone and called Kit.

A sleepy Kit answered in her morning basso profundo voice. “Hello and what the hell do you want?”

Janet was almost embarrassed enough to hang up, but instead said softly, “Kit, it’s me, Janet. I’m sorry I woke you—”

“Me too. But now that you have, what’s on your mind?”

“Kit … could we possibly have dinner tonight?”

An annoyed silence, then, “That’s what you called for? At this time of the morning?”

“Well… no, not really. The truth is I … have to talk to you.”

Nat was awake now and beginning to claim her attention.

“Listen, Janet, I’ll call you back about four.” The phone went silent.

Oh, God. What was she going to do until four? She hadn’t felt so panicked and alone since she had first come to New York. And all because of a man who didn’t even know she existed.

Quickly she dressed again and left the room. Instead of waiting for the elevator she ran down five flights of stairs. Once outside the hotel she stood wondering. Maybe she’d go to a movie. Or … maybe the Metropolitan Museum. No, not today. The nudes of the old masters, with their inward-looking satisfied gazes, would be no solace for her now.

She walked aimlessly down Fifth Avenue, stopping from time to time in front of a store window, but all she saw reflected in the glass was the face of a woman who was all but invisible to Bill McNeil. Damn him, he hadn’t noticed her and it hurt. Somehow he had gotten down deep inside her, unlocking all the hidden doors she’d so carefully guarded, and opening others that she hadn’t known existed.

Finally she took the bus uptown to 59th Street, got off and walked toward the hotel … home.

It was three-thirty when she let herself in, weary from her sleepless night and the emotional turmoil of the day. She undressed, sat on the edge of the bed watching the clock. The minutes seemed like hours, as though they were standing still. Would Kit remember to call, or would her sexual idyll push the outside world from her mind? Was sex so all-consuming that reason was forgotten? With each passing moment her desperation built to such a pitch that she was more and more tempted to call Kit back. It was a quarter past four. Unable to control herself any longer, she was about to pick up the phone when it rang. For a moment she froze, her hands shaking as she took the receiver off the hook. “Kit?”

“How’d you guess? Now tell me what you called for this morning.”

Haltingly, she said, “I thought we could go to dinner … just the two of us … Look, Kit, I have to talk to you.”

There was a long pause.

“Kit, are you there?”

“Barely … I’m really beat.”

“I know, I can imagine after giving such a large party last night—”

“After the party ended the party began. One thing about Nat, his stamina improves with time. One volley after another. If he could package it he could make a fortune. So you don’t misunderstand, I happen to love it …”

“I guess it must be wonderful to be in love—”

“You’d better believe it, kiddo. I love the way he makes me feel, before, during and after. Now about tonight … look, I really am sort of beat.”

Tears came into Janet’s eyes. Much as she loved Kit, she felt a resentment she couldn’t deny. There really weren’t any friends, not when you needed them. God, she missed her mother and father, maybe she should go home … People here were just too tough for her, too glib, too self-centered, didn’t really give a damn when it came right down to it. Or maybe she was too much a part of Kansas, where neighbors were always willing to help, no matter what, or when. She’d thought that everyone was like the people she’d grown up with … That was partly why she’d been so drawn to Fayge. But now she realized how unprepared she had been for New York after all, for its big bad impersonal world. Or maybe it was just the profession she’d chosen, maybe not everybody here was like the people she’d come in contact with in the fashion industry. She still remembered the shock she’d felt when someone said, “Here, get your ass into this one,” as if she were just a hunk of meat ready to be hung in a butcher shop. And the four-letter words that everybody used.
Everything
was a four-letter word. She had heard it often enough since coming to New York. It was just a part of the lexicon. The f—camera … what the f— … and so on. Effie would have washed their mouths out with soap. But come to think of it, she was a prude. She remembered being on the edge of tears after a photographer had thrown a white chiffon dress at her and yelled, “Get your ass into this, double-time.” That was the day she’d spoken to Kit for the first time … “Don’t take it to heart, sweetie,” Kit had said. “It’s nothing personal. That’s called communication. It goes with the territory. In one ear and out the other. F— ’em.”

Janet had also been shocked by Kit’s language; Kit didn’t seem the type. But she had since taken it as part of Kit’s frankness … She sat now, trying to keep back the tears.

“I understand, Kit. Thanks for the party last night … I had a great time.” She felt like using the Anglo-Saxon word. Except in her case it would have been high irony.

After hanging up the phone, she gave in to the tears she had been holding back. After they subsided she merely sat… Maybe she could call Bill McNeil and thank him for the ride. He was probably listed in the book—
you’re going nuts, Janet, you know that?
She picked up the phone and instead placed a call home. She had to touch base. Reality.

It was six o’clock on Monday morning when Janet stepped into the shower. She hadn’t slept all night and was worn out. How, she wondered, was she going to make it through the day? But she would if it killed her.

Kit was the last person she wanted to see today, but she knew it was inevitable.

When Janet walked into the make-up room Kit looked up from the dressing table. “My God, you look like something the cat drug in.”

Trying not to show her hurt and anger, she avoided Kit’s gaze. “I didn’t sleep very well last night—”

“Well, you’d better watch it, that camera picks up every little …”

But Janet wasn’t listening. All she could hear was the voice inside that said, Where were you when I needed a friend yesterday?

Kit sensed Janet’s reaction and could have kicked herself for being so self-centered. The kid from Kansas had sent up a smoke signal yesterday and she’d been too insensitive to read the message … “What are you doing for lunch, Janet?”

“I’m not going to have lunch, but thanks all the same.”

“Now don’t be a sorehead and overreact. I’m sorry about last night … more than that I can’t be. Now, how about lunch?”

Janet looked at Kit’s face. There was no doubt that Kit really was a very good friend. Except for Fayge, Kit was the only real friend she’d made since coming to this so-called mecca of the world. And Kit was right. She was acting like a petulant, spoiled child who ran to mommy or daddy in tears over the least little setback. “I’d like that … And Kit, I want to apologize for acting so—”

“Forget it, where do you want to meet?”

“Anywhere.”

“Russian Tea Room, noon. Got to run, we’re shooting on location this morning.”

Janet was in a mild state of inebriation when Kit arrived a half hour late. She had been embarrassed when the waiters began to look at her questioningly—almost reproachfully, she thought—as she waited for Kit, and so she had ordered a Bloody Mary just to keep the table. She was now almost through her second drink.

Kit sat down alongside Janet and, out of breath, said, “Couldn’t help it, took longer than we thought … I see you’re having a Bloody.”

“Two,” Janet answered, speech slightly slurred.

“Well, girl, you’ve had your quota for the day,” Kit said, then hailed the waiter and ordered one for herself.

“Make that the same for me,” Janet put in.

Kit didn’t try to stop her. Maybe it was what she needed to get through whatever it was that ailed her.

After the drinks came, Kit asked her what she felt like eating.

“A big bowl of fettuccini with lots and lots of butter, Parmesan cheese and—”

“Are you crazy? Do you know how many calories are—”

“Who cares? So I won’t put Suzy Parker out of business.”

“You won’t even work if you start eating that kind of dynamite.”

“Who cares?” Janet repeated, taking a sip of her drink.

“I do, damn it, and you’re not going to louse up that body with pasta because you’ve got some kind of a problem—”

“How’d you know I have a problem?”

Kit laughed and shook her head. “Because I’m psychic, born with mystic powers—” Kit broke off as the waiter came to take their order. “Two green salads with crabmeat. No dressing, just fresh lemon.”

“I’d like the Louis dressing,” Janet said defiantly.

“No you wouldn’t. Just knock it off.”

When the waiter left, Janet whispered, “I have to go to the ladies’ room.”

“You think you can tell the difference? The one that has Little Bo Peep on the door is …”

But Janet was already out of the seat and walking unsteadily toward the back.

The salads were waiting by the time Janet returned.

“You took so long I thought maybe they had a crap game going on.”

“No-o … I … didn’t feel too well …”

“Last night’s dinner?”

“Didn’t have any.”

“Oh? Well, I think we should get down to a little girl talk,” Kit said.

Janet watched as Kit squeezed the lemon over the crabmeat salad. Now that they were together it seemed difficult to begin. Yesterday the desperation would have poured out, but now she felt embarrassed, humiliated. Imagine going out and stalking a man she didn’t even know. It was all so crazy … so … juvenile. Kit was so worldly and sophisticated that she would probably laugh, and the one thing Janet was sure she couldn’t stand at this moment was being laughed at.

Kit snapped her fingers.

“Have at your salad. It will settle your stomach.”

Toying with the food, Janet said almost inaudibly, “Tell me about Bill McNeil.”

Kit finished chewing a mouthful of salad, all the while looking at Janet very closely, before she swallowed and said, “He’s a rat.”

Janet blinked.

“But how can you say that about a friend?”

“That’s just the reason why.”

“But you invited him to the party.”

“So? He’s a rat I happen to love a lot.”

Janet’s shoulders slumped and her gaze stayed on the uneaten salad in front of her.

“I thought you were in love with Nat Weiss.”

“I am, but there’s all kinds of love. I’ve known Bill since … I guess all my life. He went to school with my brother, our families were very close.”

“Then why did you call him a rat?”

“Janet, honey, let me tell you something. If you’re going to survive in this world, you can’t take everything so literally. I don’t mean he’s a rat rat. I mean …” She paused for a long moment, and when she went on her face had a new softness in it. “At one time I was really in love with him, but he didn’t feel the same about me.” Another pause, then … “I guess I was about eighteen when I went to the McNeil summer place in Maine. We were together more than at any other time of our lives. Well, to make a story short, we had a picnic one day, swam a lot, laughed a lot at silly things kids laugh about. There was a mild summer rain and we ran to the boathouse. I was shivering and he got out blankets and put one around my shoulders. I was really nuts about him. I turned to him, looked at those beautiful brown eyes and threw off the blanket. Also caution to the winds, as they say. Well, before you knew it there was lots of kissing and touching and fondling and then he was on me … or was I on him? I don’t remember. When it was over, it was over. He said how sorry he was, that he hadn’t meant it to happen, that he hoped I’d forgive him. Forgive him … that was the joke of the century.
I
had seduced
him.
He didn’t even know it. He thought it was his fault. Well, anyway, that was the first and last time I ever loved anyone quite like
that.
”