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CHAPTER

13

DAVID JATNEY SPENT a month reading scripts that seemed to him utterly worthless. He wrote the less than half page of summary, then wrote his opinion on the same page. His opinion was supposed to be only a few sentences but he usually finished using the rest of the space on the page.

At the end of the month the office supervisor came to his desk and said,

"David, we don't have to know how witty you are. Just two sentences of opinion will be fine. And don't be so contemptuous of these people, they didn't piss on your desk, they just try to write movies."

"But they are terrible," Jatney said.

The supervisor said, "Sure, they are, do you think we'd let you read the good ones? We have more experienced people for that. And, besides, this stuff you call dreadful, every one of them has been submitted by an agent.

An agent hopes to make money from them. So they have passed a very stringent test. We don't accept scripts over the transom because of lawsuits, we're not like book publishers. So no matter how lousy they are, when agents submit, we have to read them. If we don't read the agents' bad scripts, they don't send us the good ones."

David said, "I could write better screenplays,"

The supervisor laughed. "So can we all." He paused for a moment and then said, "When you've written one, let me read it."

A month later David did just that. The supervisor read it in his private office. He was very kind. He said gently, "David, it doesn't work. That doesn't mean you can't write. But you don't really understand how movies work. It shows in your summaries and critiques but your screenplay shows it too. Listen, I'm trying to be helpful. Really. So starting next week you'll be reading the novels that have been published and have been considered possible for movies."

David thanked him politely but felt the familiar rage. Again it was the voice of the elder, the supposedly wiser, the ones who had the power.

It was just a few days later that Dean Hocken's secretary called and asked if he was free for dinner that night with Mr. Hocken. He was so surprised it took him a moment to say yes. She told him it would be at Michael's restaurant in Santa Monica at 8:oo P.m. She started to give him directions to the restaurant, but he told her he lived in Santa Monica and knew where it was, which was not strictly true.

But he had heard of Michael's restaurant. David Jatney read all the newspapers and magazines and he listened to the gossip in the office.

Michael's was the restaurant of choice for the movie and music people who lived in the Malibu colony. When he hung up the phone, he asked the manager if he knew exactly where Michael's was located, mentioning casually that lie was having dinner there that night. He saw that the manager was impressed. He realized that he should have waited until after this dinner before submitting his screenplay. It would then have been read in a different context.

That evening when David walked into Michael's restaurant he was surprised that only the front part was under a roof-the rest of the restaurant was in a garden made beautiful with flowers and large white umbrellas that formed a secure canopy against rain. The whole area was glowing with lights. It was just beautiful, the balmy open air of April, the flowers gushing their per-fume and even a gold moon overhead. What a difference from a Utah winter. It was at this moment that David Jatney decided never to go home again.

He gave his name to the receptionist and was surprised when he was led directly to one of the tables in the garden. He had planned on arriving ahead of Hocken; he knew his role and intended to play it well. He would be absolutely respectful, he would be waiting at the restaurant for good old Hock to arrive and that would be acknowledging his power. He still wondered about Hocken. Was the man genuinely kind or just a Hollywood phony being condescending to the son of a woman who once rejected him and now must, of course, be regretting it?

He saw Dean Hocken at the table he was being led to, and with Hocken were a man and a woman. The first thing that registered on David was that Hocken had deliberately given him a later time so that he would not have to wait-an extraordinary kindness that almost moved him to tears. For in addition to being paranoid and ascribing mysterious evil motives to other people's behavior, David could also ascribe wildly benevolent reasons.

Hocken got up from the table to give him a down-home hug and then introduced him to the man and woman. David recognized the man at once. His name was Gibson Grange, and he was one of the most famous actors in Hollywood. The woman's name was Rosemary Belair, a name that David was surprised he didn't recognize because she was beautiful enough to be a movie star. She had glossy black hair worn long and her face was perfect in its symmetry. Her makeup was professional and she was dressed elegantly in a dinner dress over which was some sort of little jacket.

They were drinking wine; the bottle rested in a silver bucket. Hocken poured David a glass.

The food was delicious, the air balmy, the garden serene, none of the cares of the world could enter here, David felt. The men and women at the tables around them exuded confidence; these were the people who controlled life.

Someday he would be like them.

He listened through the dinner, saying very little. He studied the people at his table. Dean Hocken, he decided was legitimate and as nice as he appeared to be. Which did not necessarily mean that he was a good person, David thought. He became conscious that though this was ostensibly a social occasion, Rosemary and Hock were trying to talk Gibson Grange into doing a picture with them. it seemed that Rosemary Belair was also a producer-in fact, the most important female producer in Hollywood.

David listened and watched. He took no part in the conversation, and when he was immobile his face was as handsome as in his photographs. The other people at the table registered it but he did not interest them and David was aware of this.

And it suited him right now. Invisible, he could study this powerful world he hoped to conquer. Hocken had arranged this dinner to give his friend

Rosemary a chance to talk Gibson Grange into doing a picture with her. But why? There was a certain easiness between Hocken and Rosemary that could not be there unless they had been through a sexual period. It was the way Hocken soothed Rosemary when she became too excited in her pursuit of Gibson Grange. At one time she said to Gibson, "I'm a lot more fun to do a picture with than Hock."

And Hocken laughed and said, "We had some pretty good times, didn't we, Gib?"

And the actor said, "Hah, we were all business." He said this without cracking a smile.

Gibson Grange was a "bankable" star in the movie business. That is, if he agreed to do a movie, that movie was financed immediately by any studio.

Which was why Rosemary was so anxiously pursuing him. He also looked exactly right. He was in the old American Gary Cooper style, lanky, with open features; he looked as Lincoln would have looked if Lincoln had been handsome. His smile was friendly, and he listened to everyone intently when he or she spoke. He told a few good-humored anecdotes about himself that were funny. This was especially endearing. Also, he dressed in a style that was more homespun than Hollywood, baggy trousers and a ratty yet obviously expensive sweater with an old suit jacket over a plain woolen shirt. And yet he magnetized everyone in the garden. Was it because his face had been seen by so many millions and shown so intimately by the camera? Were there mysterious ozone layers where his face remained forever? Was it some physical manifestation not yet solved by science? The man was intelligent,

David could see that. His eyes as he listened to Rosemary were amused but not condescending, and though he seemed to always agree with what she was saying, he never committed himself to anything. He was the man David dreamed of being.

They lingered over their wine. Hocken ordered dessert wonderful French pastries-David had never tasted anything so good. Both Gibson Grange and

Rosemary Belair refused to touch the desserts, Rosemary with a shudder of horror and Gibson Grange with a slight smile. But it was Rosemary who would surely let herself be tempted in the future; Grange was secure,

David thought. Grange would never touch dessert again in his life, but

Rosemary's fall was inevitable.

At Hocken's urging, David ate the other desserts, and then they still lingered and talked. Hocken ordered another bottle of wine, but only he and Rosemary drank from it and then David noticed another undercurrent in the conversation-Rosemary was putting the make on Gibson Grange.

Rosemary had barely talked to David at all during the evening, and now she ignored him so completely that he was forced to chat with Hocken about the old days in Utah. But both of them finally became so entranced by the contest between Rosemary and Gibson that they fell silent.

For as the evening wore on and more wine was drunk Rosemary mounted a full seduction. It was of alarming intensity, an awesome display of sheer will. She presented her virtues. First were the movements of her face and body somehow the front of her dress had slipped down to show more of her breasts. There were the movements of her legs, which crossed and recrossed, then hiked the gown higher to show a glint of thigh. Her hands moved about, touching Gibson on his face when she was carried away by what she was saying. She showed her wit, told funny anecdotes, and revealed her sensitivity. Her beautiful face was alive to show each emotion, her affection for the people she worked with, her worries about members of her immediate family, her concern about the success of her friends. She avowed her deep affection for Dean Hocken himself, how good old Hock had helped her in her career, rewarded her with advice and influence. Here good old Hock interrupted to say how much she deserved such help because of her hard work on his pictures and tier loyalty to him, and as he said this, Rosemary gave him a long look of grateful acknowledgment. At this moment, David, completely enchanted, said that it must have been a great experience for both of them. But Rosemary, eager to renew her pursuit of Gibson, cut David off in midsentence.

David felt a tiny shock at her rudeness but surprisingly no resentment. She was so beautiful, so intent on gaining what she desired, and what she desired was becoming clearer and clearer. She must have Gibson Grange in her bed that night. Her desire had the purity and directness of a child, which made her rudeness almost endearing.

But what David admired above all was the behavior of Gibson Grange. The actor was completely aware of what was happening. He noticed the rudeness to David and tried to make up for it by saying, "David, you'll get a chance to talk someday," as if apologizing for the self-centeredness of the famous, who have no interest in those who have not yet acquired their fame.

But Rosemary cut him off too. And Gibson politely listened to her. But it was more than politeness. He had an innate charm that was part of his being. He regarded Rosemary with genuine interest. His eyes sparkled and never wandered from her eyes. When she touched him with her hands he patted her back. He made no bones about it, he liked her. His mouth, too, always parted in a smile that displayed a natural sweetness that softened his craggy face into a humorous mask.

But he was obviously not responding in the proper fashion for Rosemary. She was pounding on an anvil that gave off no sparks. She drank more wine and then played her final card. She revealed her innermost feelings.

She talked directly to Gibson, ignoring the other two men at the table.

Indeed she had maneuvered her body so that it was very close to Gibson, isolating them from David and Hocken.

– No one could doubt the passionate sincerity in her voice. There were even tears in her eyes. She was baring her soul to Gibson. "I want to be a real person," she said. "I would like to give up all this shit of make-believe, this business of movies. It doesn't satisfy me. I want to go out to make the world a better place. Like Mother Teresa, or Martin Luther King. I'm not doing anything to help make the world grow. I could be a nurse or a doctor, I could be a social worker. I hate this life, these parties, this always being on a plane for meetings with important people. Making decisions about some damned movie that won't help humanity. I want to do something real."

And then she reached out and clutched Gibson Grange's hand.

It was marvelous for David to see why Grange had become such a powerful star in the movie business, why he controlled the movies he appeared in.

For Gibson Grange somehow had his hand in Rosemary's, somehow he had slid his chair away from her, somehow he had captured his central position in the tableau. Rosemary was still staring at him with an impassioned look on her face, waiting for his response. He smiled at her warmly, then tilted his head downward and to the side so that he addressed David and Hocken.

Gibson Grange said with affectionate approval, "She's slick."

Dean Hocken burst into laughter, David could not repress a smile. Rosemary looked stunned, but then said in a tone of jesting reproof, "Gib, you never take anything seriously except your lousy movies." And to show she was not offended she held out a hand, which Gibson Grange gently kissed.

David wondered at all of them. They were so sophisticated, they were so subtle. He admired Gibson Grange most of all. That he would spurn a woman as beautiful as Rosemary Belair was awe-inspiring, that he could outwit her so easily was godlike.

David had been ignored by Rosemary all evening, but he acknowledged her right to do so. She was the most powerful woman in the most glamorous business in the country. She had access to men far worthier than he. She had every right to be rude to him. David recognized that she did not do so out of malice. She simply found him nonexistent.

They were all astonished that it was nearly midnight; they were the last ones in the restaurant. Hocken stood up and Gibson Grange helped Rosemary put on her jacket again, which she had taken off in the middle of her passionate discourse. When Rosemary stood up she was a little off balance, a little drunk.

"Oh, God," she said. "I don't dare drive myself, the police in this town are so awful. Gib, will you take me back to my hotel?"

Gibson smiled at her. "That's in Beverly Hills. Me and Hock are going out to my house in Malibu. David will give you a ride, won't you, David?"

"Sure," Dean Hocken said. "You don't mind, do you, David?"

"Of course not," David Jatney said. But his mind was spinning. How the hell was this coming about? Good old Hock was looking embarrassed.

Obviously Gibson Grange had lied, didn't want to take Rosemary home because he didn't want to have to keep fending the woman off. And Hock was embarrassed because he had to go along with the lie or else he would get on the wrong side of a big star, something a movie producer avoided at all costs. Then he saw Gibson give him a little smile and he could read the man's mind. And of course that was it, that was why he was such a great actor. He could make audiences read his mind by just wrinkling his eyebrows, tilting his head, a dazzling smile. With just that look, without malice but celestial good humor, he was saying to David Jatney, "The bitch ignored you all evening, she was rude as hell to you, now I have put her in your debt." David looked at Hocken and saw that he was now smiling, not embarrassed. In fact, he looked pleased as if he too had read the actor's look.

Rosemary said abruptly, "I'll drive myself " She did not look at David when she said it.

Hocken said smoothly, "I can't allow that, Rosemary, you are my guest and I did give you too much wine. If you hate the idea of David driving you, then of course I'll take you back to your hotel. Then I'll order a limo to Malibu."

It was, David realized, superbly done. For the first time he detected insincerity in Hocken's voice. Of course Rosemary could not accept Hocken's offer. If she did so, she would be offering a grievous insult to the young friend of her mentor. She would be putting both Hocken and Gibson Grange to a great deal of inconvenience. And her primary purpose in getting Gibson to take her home would not be accomplished anyway. She was caught in an impossible situation.

Then Gibson Grange delivered the final blow. He said, "Hell, I'll ride with you, Hock. I'll just take a nap in the backseat to keep you company to Malibu."

Rosemary gave David a bright smile. She said, "I hope it won't be too much trouble for you."

"No, it won't," David said. Hocken clapped him on the shoulder, Gibson Grange gave him a brilliant smile and a wink. And that smile and wink gave David another message. These two men were standing by him as males. A ]one powerful female had shamed one of their fellow males and they were punishing her. Also, she had come on too strong to Gibson, it was not a woman's place to do so with a male more than equal in power. They had just administered a masterful blow to her ego, to keep her in her place. And it was all done with such marvelous good humor and politeness. And there was another factor. These men remembered when they had been young and powerless as David was now; they had invited him to dinner to show that their success did not leave them faithless to their fellow males, a timehallowed practice perfected over centuries to forestall any envious revenge. Rosemary had not honored this practice, had not remembered her time of powerlessness, and tonight they had reminded her. And yet David was on Rosemary's side; she was too beautiful to be hurt.

They walked out into the parking lot together, and then when the other two men roared away in Hocken's Porsche, David led Rosemary to his old Toyota.

Rosemary said, "Shit, I can't get out at the Beverly Hills Hotel from a car like that." She looked around and said, "Now I have to find my car. Look, David, do you mind driving me back in my Mercedes, it's somewhere around here, and I'll have a hotel limo bring you back. That way I won't have to have my car picked up in the morning. Could we do that?" She smiled at him sweetly, then reached into her pocketbook and put on spectacles. She pointed to one of the few remaining cars in the lot and said, "There it is." David, who had spotted her car as soon as they were outside, was puzzled. Then he realized she must be extremely near sighted. Maybe it was near sightedness that made her ignore him at dinner.

She gave him the key to her Mercedes, and he unlocked the door on her side and helped her in. He could smell the wine and perfume composted on her body and felt the heat of her bones like burning coal. Then he went to the other side of the car to get in the driver's seat, and before he could use the key the door swung open-Rosemary had unlocked it from the inside to open it for him. He was surprised by this, he would have judged it not in her character.

It took him a few minutes to figure out how the Mercedes worked. But he loved the feel of the seat, the smell of the reddish leather-was it a natural smell or did she spray the car with some sort of special leather perfume? And the car handled beautifully; for the first time he understood the acute pleasure some people took from driving.

The Mercedes seemed to just flow through the dark streets. He enjoyed driving so much that the half hour to the Beverly Hills Hotel seemed to pass in an instant. In all that time Rosemary did not speak to him. She took off her spectacles and put them back into her purse and then sat silent. Once she glanced at his profile as if appraising him. Then she just stared straight ahead. David never once turned to her or spoke. He was enjoying the dream of driving a beautiful woman in a beautiful car, in the heart of the most glamorous town in the world.

When he stopped at the canopied entrance to the Beverly Hills Hotel, he took the keys out of the ignition and handed them to Rosemary. Then he got out and went around to open her door. At the same moment one of the valet parking men came down the red-carpeted runway and Rosemary handed him the keys to her car, and David realized he should have left them in the ignition.

Rosemary started up the red-carpeted runway to the entrance of the hotel, and David knew she had completely forgotten about him. He was too proud to remind her about offering a limo to take him back. He watched her.

Under the green canopy, the balmy air, the golden lights, she seemed like a lost princess. Then she stopped and turned; he could see her face, and she looked so beautiful that David Jatney’s heart stopped.

He thought she had remembered him, that she expected him to follow her.

But she turned again and tried to go up the three steps that would bring her to the doors. At that moment she tripped, her purse went flying out of her hands and everything in that purse scattered on the ground. By that time David had dashed up the red carpet runway to help her.

The contents of the purse seemed endless-it was magical in the way it continued to spill out its contents. There were solitary lipsticks, a makeup case that burst open and poured mysteries of its own, there was a ring of keys that immediately broke and scattered at least twenty keys around the carpet. There was a bottle of aspirin and prescription vials of different drugs. And a huge pink toothbrush. There was a cigarette lighter and no cigarettes, there was a tube of Binaca and a little plastic bag that held blue panties and some sort of device that looked sinister. There were innumerable coins, some paper money and a soiled white linen handkerchief. There were spectacles, gold-rimmed, spinsterish without the adornment of Rosemary's classically sculptured face.

Rosemary looked at all this with horror, then burst into tears. David knelt on the red-carpeted runway and started to sweep everything into the purse. Rosemary didn't help him. When one of the bellmen came out of the hotel, David had him hold the purse with its mouth open while he shoveled the stuff into it.

Finally he had gotten everything, and he took the now full purse from the bellman and gave it to Rosemary. He could see her humiliation and wondered at it. She dried her tears and said to him, "Come up to my suite for a drink until your limo comes, I haven't had a chance to speak to you all evening."

David smiled. He was remembering Gibson Grange saying, "She's slick." But he was curious about the famous Beverly Hills Hotel and he wanted to stay around Rosemary.

He thought the green-painted walls were weird for a highclass hotel-dingy, in fact. But when they entered the huge suite he was impressed. It was beautifully decorated and had a large terrace-a balcony. There was also a bar in one comer. Rosemary went to it and mixed herself a drink, then after asking him what he wanted, mixed him one. He had asked for just a plain scotch; though he rarely drank, he was feeling a little nervous. She unlocked the glass sliding doors to the terrace and led him outside. There was a white glass topped table and four white chairs. "Sit here while I go to the bathroom," Rosemary said. "Then we'll have a little chat." She disappeared back into the suite.

David sat in one of the chairs and sipped his scotch. Below him were the interior gardens of the Beverly Hills Hotel. He could see the swimming pool and the tennis courts, the walks that led to the bungalows. There were trees and individual lawns, the grass greener under moonlight, and the lighting glancing off the pink-painted walls of the hotel gave every thing a surrealistic glow.

It was no more than ten minutes later when Rosemary reappeared. She sat in one of the chairs and sipped her drink. Now she was wearing loose white slacks and a white pullover cashmere sweater. She had pushed the sleeves of her sweater up above her elbows. She smiled at him, it was a dazzling smile. She had washed her face clean of makeup and he liked her better this way. Her lips were now not voluptuous, her eyes not so commanding. She looked younger and more vulnerable. Her voice when she spoke seemed easier, softer, less commanding.

"Hock tells me you're a screenwriter," she said. "Do you have anything you'd like to show me? You can send it to my office."

"Not really," David said. He smiled back at her. He would never let himself be rejected by her.

"But Hock said you had one finished," Rosemary said. "I'm always looking for new writers. It's so hard to find something decent."

"No," David said. "I wrote four or five but they were so terrible I tore them up."

They were silent for a time, it was easy for David to be silent; it was more comfortable for him than speech. Finally Rosemary said, "How old are you?"

David lied and said, "Twenty-six."

Rosemary smiled at him. "God, I wish I were that young again. You know, when I came here I was eighteen. I wanted to be an actress, and I was a half-assed one. You know those one-line parts on TV, the salesgirl the heroine buys something from? Then I met Hock and he made me his executive assistant and taught me everything I know. He helped me set up my first picture and he helped all through the years. I love Hock, I always will.

But he's so tough, like tonight. He stuck with Gibson against me." Rosemary shook her head. "I always wanted to be as tough as Hock," she said. "I modeled myself after him."

David said, "I think he's a very nice gentle guy."

"But he's fond of you," Rosemary said. "Really, he told me so. He said you look so much like your mother and you act just like her. He says you're a really sincere person, not a hustler."

She paused for a moment and then said, "I can see that too. You can't imagine how humiliated I felt when all that stuff spilled out of my purse.

And then I saw you picking everything up and never looking at me. You were really very sweet." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He could smell a different sweeter fragrance coming from her body now.

Abruptly she stood up and went back into the suite; he followed her. She closed the glass door of the terrace and locked it and then she said,

"I'll call for your limo." She picked up the phone. But instead of pressing the buttons she held it in her hand and looked at David. He was standing very still, standing far enough away not to be in her space. She said to him, "David, I'm going to ask you something that might sound odd.

Would you stay with me tonight? I feel lousy and I need company, but I want you to promise you won't try to do anything. Could we just sleep together like friends?"

David was stunned. He had never dreamed this beautiful woman would want someone like him. He was dazzled by his good fortune. But then Rosemary said sharply, "I mean it, I just want someone nice like you to be with me tonight. You have to promise you won't do anything. If you try, I'll be very angry. "

This was so confusing to David that he smiled, and as if not understanding, he said, "I'll sit on the terrace or sleep on the couch here in the living room."

"No," Rosemary said. "I just want somebody to hug me and go to sleep with. I just don't want to be alone. Can you promise?"

David heard himself say, "I don't have anything to wear. In bed, I mean."

Rosemary said briskly, "Just take a shower and sleep naked, it won't bother me."

There was a foyer from the living room of the suite that led to the bedroom. In this foyer was an extra bathroom, in which Rosemary told David to take his shower. She did not want him to use her bathroom. David showered and brushed his teeth using soap and tissues. There was a bathrobe hanging from the back of the door with blue-stitching script that said elegantly "Beverly Hills Hotel." He went into the bedroom and found Rosemary was still in her bathroom. He stood there awkwardly, not wanting to get into the bed that had already been turned down by the night maid.

Finally Rosemary came out of the bathroom wearing a flannel nightgown that was so elegantly cut and printed that she looked like a doll in a toy store. "Come on, get in," she said. "Do you need a Valium or a sleeping pill?" And he knew she had already taken one. She sat at the edge of the bed and then got in and finally David got into the bed but kept his bath robe on. They were lying side by side when she turned the light out on her night table. They were in darkness. "Give me a hug," she said, and they embraced for a long moment and then she rolled away to her side of the bed and said briskly, "Pleasant dreams."

David lay on his back staring up at the ceiling. He didn't dare take off the bathrobe, he didn't want her to think that he wanted to be naked in her bed. He wondered if he should tell Hock about this the next time they met, but he understood that it would become a joke that he had slept with such a beautiful woman and nothing had happened. And maybe Hock would think he was lying. He wished he had taken the sleeping pill Rosemary had offered him. She was already asleep-she had a tiny snore just barely audible.

David decided to go back to the living room and got out of bed. Rosemary came awake and said sleepily, "Could you get me a drink of Evian water." David went into the living room and fixed two Evian waters with a little ice. He drank from his glass and refilled it. Then he went back into the bedroom. By the light in the foyer he could see Rosemary sitting up, the bed sheets tight around her. He offered a glass and she reached out a bare arm for it. In the dark room he touched her upper body before finding her hand to give her the glass, and realized she was naked.

As she was drinking he slipped into the bed but he let his bathrobe fall to the floor.

He heard her put the glass on the night table and then he put out his hand and touched her flesh. He felt the bare back and the softness of her buttocks. She rolled over and into his arms and his chest was against her bare breasts. Her arms were around him and the hotness of their bodies made them kick off the covers as they kissed. They kissed for a long time, her tongue in his mouth, and then he couldn't wait any longer and he was on top of her, and her hand as smooth as satin, a permission, guided him into her.

They made love almost silently as if they were being spied upon until both their bodies together arched in the flight toward climax and they lay back separate again.

Finally she whispered, "Now go to sleep." She kissed him gently on the side of the mouth.

He said, "I want to see you."

"No," she whispered.

David reached over and turned on her table light. Rosemary closed her eyes.

She was still beautiful. Even with desire sated, even though she was stripped of all the arts of beauty, the enhancements of coquetry, the artifices of special light. But it was a different beauty.

He had made love out of animal need and proximity, a natural physical expression of his body. She had made love out of a need in her heart, or some spinning need in her brain. And now in the glow of the single light, her naked body was no longer formidable. Her breasts were small with tiny nipples, her body smaller, her legs not so long, her hips not so wide, her thighs a little slender. She opened her eyes, looking directly into his, and he said, "You're so beautiful." He kissed her breasts and as he did so she reached up and turned out the light. They made love again and then fell asleep.

When David woke and reached out, she was gone. He threw on his clothes and put on his watch. It was seven in the morning. He found her out on the terrace in a red jogging suit against which her black hair seemed even darker. A table had been wheeled in by room service, and on it were a silver coffee pitcher and a silver milk jug and an array of plates with metal covers over them to keep the food warm.

Rosemary smiled at him and said, "I ordered for you. I was just going to wake you up. I have to get my run in before I start work."

He sat down at the table, and she poured him coffee and uncovered a dish that held eggs and sliced-up bits of fruit. Then she drank her orange juice and got up. "Take your time," she said. "Thanks for staying last night."

David wanted her to have breakfast with him, he wanted her to show that she really liked him, he wanted to have a chance to talk, to tell her about his life, to say something that would make her interested in him.

But now she was putting a white headband over her hair and lacing up her jogging shoes. She stood up. David said, not knowing his face was twitching with emotion, "When will I see you again?" And as soon as he said it he knew he had made a terrible mistake.

Rosemary was on her way to the door but she stopped.

"I'm going to be awfully busy the next few weeks. I have to go to New York. When I come back I'll give you a call." She didn't ask for his number.

Then another thought seemed to strike her. She picked up the phone and called for a limo to bring David back to Santa Monica. She said to him, "It will be put on my bill-do you need any cash to tip the driver?"

David just looked at her for a long moment. She picked up her purse and opened it and said, "How much will you need for the tip?"

David couldn't help himself He didn't know his face was twitching with a malice and a hatred that were frightening. He said insultingly, "You'd know that better than me." Rosemary snapped her purse shut and went out of the suite.

He never heard from her. He waited for two months, and then one day on the movie studio lot he saw her come out of Hocken's office with Gibson Grange and Dean. He waited near Hocken's parking space so that they would have to greet him. Hocken gave him a little hug and said they had to have dinner and asked how the job was going. Gibson Grange shook his hand and gave him a sly but friendly smile, the handsome face radiating its easy good humor. Rosemary looked at him without smiling. And what really hurt was that for a moment it seemed to David that she had really forgotten him.


CHAPTER 12 | The Fourth K | CHAPTER 14