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

salary bonus. I’ll see to that.”
    “But I couldn’t think of—”
    “Nonsense. I expected to hand a renting agent a full month’s rent under the table. Let’s call this my first official act at Bellamy and Bellows. You get a two-week salary bonus and the afternoon off.”
    She took the afternoon off, but she didn’t do any of the things he suggested. She walked up Fifth Avenue. She looked at the new winter styles. She sat in the square at the Plaza. And she thought about Lyon Burke. He dwarfed anyone she had ever known. She had been overwhelmed by the smiling, inscrutable Lyon, but the Lyon who talked about the war—he seemed accessible, capable of caring. He had cared about the corporal. Who was Lyon Burke, really?
    She left the square and walked down Fifth Avenue. It was getting late. She had to go home and change. Allen was picking her up. Allen! She couldn’t marry Allen! That would be refuting everything she had said. That was really giving up! It was too early to compromise with even part of a dream.
    She would tell him at dinner. But it had to be brought up gently, with tact. She couldn’t just open with, “Hello Allen I’m not going to marry you.” But during dinner, she’d work into it and break it easily—but firmly. It was as simple as that.
    But it wasn’t. No quiet little French restaurant now. Allen no longer needed to hide his identity. They went to “21.” Waiters bowed to him and everyone called him by name. He seemed to know most of the people in the room.
    “By the way, Anne, do you like country living?” he asked suddenly. “We have this house in Greenwich . . .”
    This was the opening. “No, I had enough of that in Lawrenceville. As a matter of fact, Allen, there’s something I want to say . . . something you’ve got to understand. . . .”
    He looked at his watch and suddenly signaled for the check.
    “Allen!”
    “Go on, I’m listening.” He was signing the check.
    “It’s about what you said last night. And now about country living. Allen, I like you very much but—”
    “Oh, I’m glad you reminded me. I sent the lease over to Lyon Burke. Talked to him this afternoon. He sounds like a nice guy. English, isn’t he?”
    “He was raised in England. Allen, listen to me.”
    He stood up. “You can tell me in the cab.”
    “Please sit down. I’d rather tell you here.”
    He smiled and held her coat. “It’s dark in the cab—more romantic. Besides, we’re late.”
    She stood up helplessly. “Where are we going?”
    “Morocco.” He tipped his way out of the room with a series of surreptitious handshakes. In the cab, he settled back and smiled. “My father is at Morocco. I told him we would stop by. Now, what did you want to tell me?”
    “Allen, I’m very flattered about the way you feel. I’m also very grateful about the apartment for Lyon Burke. It’s saved me a lot of trouble and pavement pounding. I think you’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, but—” she saw the neon sign of El Morocco and her words rushed out—”but about marriage . . . what you said last night. . . I’m sorry, Allen, I—”
    “Good evening, Mr. Cooper!” The doorman at El Morocco sang the greeting as he swung open the door of the cab. “Your father is inside.”
    “Thanks, Pete.” Another bill exchanged hands. Allen led her into the club. She had failed to make her point—or had Allen consciously made it a point not to understand?
    Gino Cooper was sitting with a group of men at a large round table near the bar. He waved at Allen, signaling he’d join them. The waiter led Allen to a table against the wall. It was ten-thirty, still early for El Morocco. Although this was Anne’s first visit to the famous club, she had seen pictures, in newspapers and magazines, of various celebrities sitting against the famous zebra stripes. She looked around. There were plenty of zebra stripes, but otherwise it was just a large room with a fairly good orchestra playing some