Valley of the Dolls by Jacqueline Susann Read Free Book Online Page A

one count.”
    “I can understand that,” she said. “It’s a natural feeling for anyone who’s been in the war.”
    “Oh? I was beginning to wonder if any females over here recalled there was a war.”
    “Oh, I’m sure everyone felt the war.”
    “I can’t agree. When you’re over there, in it, you don’t think there’s anything else in life. You can’t believe that somewhere people are sleeping in comfortable beds or sitting in a restaurant like this. It’s different in Europe. Everywhere you walk you see a bombed-out building—you live with the constant reminder. But when I came back here all of the death and bloodshed seemed so remote. It seemed that it couldn’t have actually happened—that it was some hellish nightmare. There was New York, the Paramount Building was still standing, its clock running just as it always had. The pavements had the same cracks, the same pigeons or their relatives were messing up the Plaza, the same lines were standing outside of the Copa, waiting to see the same stars.
    “Last night I was out with a beautiful creature who spent hours telling me about the hardships she had endured during the war. No nylons, plastic lipstick containers, no bobby pins . . . it was awful. I think the shortage of nylons affected her the most. She was a model, and her legs were important to her. She said she was terribly glad we finally discovered the atom bomb—she had been down to her last six pair when it hit.”
    “I suppose if you’re in it, nothing matters but getting out alive,” she said quietly.
    “You don’t chance thinking even that far ahead,” he answered. “You think from day to day. If you allow yourself to think of the future—any personal future—you lose your nerve. And suddenly you recall all the senseless time-wasting things you’ve done . . . the wasted minutes you’ll never recover. And you realize that time is the most precious thing. Because time is life. It’s the only thing you can never get back. You can lose a girl and perhaps win her back—or find another. But a second—this second—when it goes, it’s irrevocably gone.” His voice was soft, remembering, and she noticed the fine lines around the corners of his eyes.
    “There was this corporal . . . we were spending the night in what was left of a barn. Neither of us was sleepy. The corporal kept sifting some of the earth through his hand. He kept saying, ‘This is great earth.’ Seems he had a farm in Pennsylvania. He began telling me the trouble he had with his peach trees, and about his plans for enlarging the farm when he returned. He wanted it to be a good farm for his children when they grew up. But the soil bothered him. It wasn’t rich enough. That’s all he talked about. Soon I found myself worrying about his miserable soil—even offering suggestions. I think I fell asleep dreaming of fertilizers and acres and acres of peach trees. The next day was a bad one. We ran into land mines . . . snipers . . . the weather was foul. That night I made the reports on the missing men. I checked the dogtags. One of them was the corporal. I sat and stared at the dogtag. . . . Last night it had been a man—a man who wasted his last night on earth worrying about fertilizer and soil. And now his blood would fertilize some foreign soil.”
    He looked at her and suddenly smiled. “And here I am, wasting your time talking about it.”
    “No, please go on.”
    He looked at her strangely. “I’ve said a great many things today . . . things that probably should have stayed locked away in my mind.” He signaled for the check. “But I’ve taken up enough of your time. Make the rest of the afternoon count. Buy a new dress, have your hair done—or do any of the wonderful things a beautiful girl should do.”
    “This girl is going back to the office.”
    “Nothing of the kind. I’m giving this order. Henry expected you to be gone several days. The least you deserve is a half-day holiday. And a two-week