The Love Machine by Jacqueline Susann Read Free Book Online

forget who she was… .
She had always wanted to be beautiful, even as a child. Fat little Ethel Evanski from Hamtramck in Detroit. Eating mashed potatoes and fried onions, listening to everyone on the block talk Polish, playing potsy, double Dutch, double Irish, reading movie magazines, sending for genuine autographed pictures of Hedy Lamarr, Joan Crawford, Clark Gable. Sitting on the front steps and playing “The Game”—talking dreams and pretending they were real—with Helga Selanski, a stringy-haired little Polish kid the same age. The whole world was Polish on that block in Hamtramck. And the second-generation Poles seemed locked in, destined to marry their own kind. They went to movies and saw that there was another world, but it never occurred to them to tryand enter it. But to Ethel, movies and the places she saw on the screen weren’t merely two hours of silver escape. Hollywood was a real place. New York and Broadway actually existed. At night she would stay awake and listen to the radio, and when the voice announced that the music was emanating from the Cocoanut Grove in Hollywood, she would hug herself with excitement—at that very second, the beautiful music she listened to was being listened to by the famous stars who were there. For that one moment, there almost seemed to be physical contact, like she was there .
Ethel had always known she would leave Hamtramck. Getting to New York was Phase One in her dreams. One night when she and little Helga were listening to a band coming from the Paradise Restaurant in New York, Ethel began “The Game.” Planning what she would wear when she grew up and went to such a place—what movie actor would escort her. Usually Helga played along with The Game. But on this night, Helga suddenly protruded her bony jaw and stated, “I’m not playing anymore. I’m too big.” Ethel had been surprised. Usually she could make Helga do anything, but this time Helga was stubborn. “My mother says we shouldn’t talk and play like this, it’s time for us to be practical and not play make-believe games.”
Ethel had answered, “It’s not make-believe. I’m going there someday, and I’ll know movie stars and they’ll take me out—and kiss me.” Helga had laughed. “Like fish! Kiss you! Oh Ethel, I dee-double-dare you to say that to anyone else on the block. You’re not going anywhere. You’re going to stay right here like all the rest of us and marry a nice Polish fella and have babies.” Ethel’s eyes had narrowed. “I’m going to meet stars … go out with them … maybe even marry one.” Helga laughed. “See, my mother’s right. She says it’s all right to talk about Hollywood if we know we’re just dreaming, but not to believe that it’s true. You’re crazy. And you won’t go out with movie stars. You’re Ethel Evanski and you’re fat and ugly and live in Hamtramck, and what movie star would want to go out with you!”
Ethel had slapped Helga—hard. But she was frightened because she was afraid Helga might be telling the truth. But she wouldn’t stay on the block and marry a nice Polish boy, raise kids andmake mashed potatoes and onions! Why had her mother and father come from Poland if it was to live in a little Poland in Detroit?
The incident that triggered “The Game” into determined action was Peter Cinocek, a boy with protruding ears and large red hands who had “come to call” when she was sixteen. Peter was the son of a friend of Aunt Lotte’s. He was a “real catch,” half Polish, half Czech. Her mother and father had looked idiotic with delight at the prospect. She recalled how diligently her mother had cleaned the house. Everything had to be spotless the night Peter Cinocek came to call. She could still see them. Her mother nervously waiting, in a freshly ironed housedress. Her father skinny and bald, so old. God, he had only been thirty-eight. He had seemed worn and bloodless in her eyes, but her mother had appeared massive and