Valley of the Dolls by Jacqueline Susann Read Free Book Online

would speak to Henry about Neely and Hit the Sky. She felt a new freedom, as if she had shed another shackle that bound her to Lawrenceville.
    “I’m aware of Henry’s hopes and plans,” Lyon answered. “And perhaps I won’t let him down. But God! It’s a bastard business at best, neither lawyer nor agent.”
    “But everyone said you were a—a dynamo. You have to love something to give it such energy.”
    “I loved a good fight. . . the challenge . . . even the wheeling and dealing.”
    She was confused. Everything he said contradicted the reputation that had preceded him.
    He took her silence as concern for Henry. “Now don’t fret. I probably just have a touch of battle fatigue.”
    “But you are glad to be back with Henry?”
    “I am back, am I not?”
    She looked puzzled. “You say it as if there was really something else you’d rather do.”
    “Does anyone actually have the luxury of doing exactly what he wants to do?”
    “I’m doing what I want to do.”
    He flashed his smile. “I’m flattered.”
    “I mean working for Henry. Living in New York. But what do you want to do, Lyon?”
    He stretched his long legs under the table. “Be dreadfully rich, for one thing. Sit in some lovely spot in Jamaica, have several beautiful girls who look exactly like you to look after me and knock out a best-selling novel about the war.”
    “You want to write?”
    “Of course.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t everyone who comes out of the Army feel positive he has the only true war novel in him?”
    “Then why not write it?”
    “For one thing, working for Henry is a full-time proposition. And that charming flat I’m inheriting does not come rent free. I’m afraid literature’s loss will be Henry Bellamy’s gain.”
    She realized Lyon Burke could not be categorized and neatly filed away. He had feelings, but he would always mask them with a smile or a contradictory statement.
    “It’s odd, but you don’t strike me as a quitter,” she said boldly.
    His eyes narrowed. “I beg your pardon?”
    “Giving up without even trying. I mean—if you want to write, if you honestly feel you have something to say, then do it. Everyone should at least try to do the thing he wants to do. Later in life situations and responsibilities force people to compromise. But to compromise now . . . it’s like quitting before you start.”
    He leaned across and cupped her chin in his hand. Their eyes met, and he looked at her intently. “Henry certainly doesn’t know you. You can’t be the girl he’s been talking about. So far the only thing he’s been right about is your incredible beauty. By God, you’re a fighter, you are.”
    She sat back in her chair. “This isn’t really me today.” She felt drained. “I’m kind of off balance. Things have happened too quickly. And when nothing has ever happened to you for twenty years, I guess you do act strange. I mean . . . all this about Allen Cooper. I didn’t even know who he really was until last night.”
    “Don’t let Henry’s opinion bother you. He’s not: exactly eager to break in someone new. He’ll fight off your suitors with hand grenades if necessary.”
    “Allen is just a friend. . . .”
    “That’s excellent news.” This time he looked at her without smiling.
    She felt flustered. To cover her embarrassment she said, “What I said before, about people trying to do the thing they really wanted to do. I meant that. I did it when I came to New York. No one should give up a dream without giving it a chance to come true.”
    “I have no dreams, Anne. I never had. This idea of writing just came to me after the war. Before the war I was dedicated to success, and making a pile of money. But now I’m not even sure I want that any more. In fact I’m not sure there’s anything I particularly want.” Then, with one of his quick changes of mood, he smiled. “Yes, there’s one thing I do want. I want to be aware of the minutes and the seconds, and to make each