The Slipper (54 page)

“Fine.”

“Formal?” she inquired.

“Semi. I'll be wearing a suit.”

“Till seven,” she said.

There was absolutely no reason for Julie to be nervous, but she was as she came downstairs that evening. She had spent an inordinate amount of time dressing, finally selecting a black silk frock completely overlaid with cobweb-fine black lace, the narrow sleeves off the shoulder, the skirt full, a black velvet band at the waist. Carol and Nora wore haute couture with great flair, but Julie always felt insecure, as though she were pretending to be something she wasn't. Would he think she looked ridiculous? Would he think she was trying to put on airs? The desk clerk gave her an admiring look as she passed. Loni Danton and her handsome young stud were on their way up to her room. He paused on the stairs to glance back at Julie, his look admiring, too. Loni gave his arm a savage jerk, leading him on up the stairs.

It wasn't quite seven. Julie put her black velvet wrap over the back of a chair and took cigarettes and lighter out of her small black satin evening bag. She felt like a fool. She had no business being here. She had an early call in the morning. She should be upstairs studying her lines. She smoked rapidly, nervously, panic rising. She wouldn't know how to act. She wouldn't know what to say. She should never have agreed to go out with him. She crushed out her cigarette, and there he was, looking quite impressive in a beautifully tailored black suit, white shirt and dark-blue tie, a black overcoat draped casually over his broad shoulders. His thick dark-blond hair was neatly brushed. He smiled warmly and handed her a single long-stemmed red rose.

“You look very beautiful,” he told her.

“So do you,” she said.

Lund Jensen chuckled. Julie blushed.

“I shouldn't have said that,” she confessed. “I—I'm afraid this is all very new for me.”

“In what way?”

“I've never dated before. I—there was a friend in New York, we went out together a lot, but—it was as friends. The studio has arranged several evenings with carefully selected escorts who took me out to parties or clubs so we could be seen together and photographed, but—this is new.”

“What about your husband?”

Julie lowered her eyes. “We—we never dated,” she said, and then she sighed. “I'm talking too much, making a fool of myself already. I'm terribly shy, you see, and—are you sure you want to go through with this?”

“Quite sure,” he said gently.

He helped her with her wrap and, holding her elbow lightly, led her out to the old black Cadillac waiting at the cub. He opened the door for her, helped her inside and then climbed behind the wheel, starting the motor. It gave several ominous coughs before catching, and Lund shook his head.

“I hope it runs. I usually drive a station wagon. This one is usually in my garage, gathering dust. I had it cleaned and polished this afternoon.”

“I'm honored.”

“Couldn't expect a Hollywood star to ride in a battered station wagon with a dented fender.”

“I'm not a Hollywood star—that's all studio hype. Loni Danton is a Hollywood star. I—I'm just a working mother, and I happen to work in films.”

They drove slowly out of town. Julie was at a loss for words. She lighted another cigarette. They wound their way up one of the hills and by the time she finished her cigarette he was pulling up in front of a sprawling lodge with red and blue neon lights making hazy reflections on the blacktop in front. She put out her cigarette and he helped her out of the car. The night air was cool and crisp and laced with woodsy smells. There were very few other cars, and although she could see dim lights inside, the place looked almost deserted. Lund led her inside. Jukebox music was playing softly.

“The place is quite lively during the season,” he told her. “I prefer it like this. Ah—here comes André.”

“Lund!” the maître d' exclaimed. “It's been a long time.”

“Sure has,” Lund said. “This is Miss Hammond, André. We want your very best table.”

The maître d' smiled and led them into a huge, dimly lighted room, candles burning in red glass bowls. There was a dance floor, several dozen tables and a bank of plate glass windows that looked out over the hills and the sky beyond them. Only four of the tables were occupied. The jukebox was an old-fashioned one, soft colors glowing and changing in the semidarkness as the music played. André led them to a table near the windows.

“Drinks?” he inquired.

“A scotch for me,” Lund told him. “Julie?”

“A glass of white wine, please,” she said.

André left, and Julie felt very ill at ease until a personable young waiter in white jacket brought their drinks. She longed to gulp the wine down and order another immediately, but she didn't, of course. She sipped it slowly and pretended to be attentive as Lund talked about running the inn. When the waiter returned to see if they wanted another drink, she shook her head, indicating her half-f glass. He handed them menus, and Julie scanned hers in the light of the candle and finally asked Lund if he would order for her, as he knew what was good. He nodded, placed the order and then looked at Julie as she nervously lighted a cigarette.

“Make your phone call?” he inquired.

“I made several. The studio is going to have a fit when they see my phone bill. I called my agent, and then I called the head of the studio. I told him that I was sending for my son and if they didn't like it, they could find someone else to do this picture. My—I'm afraid my voice was shaking, and he was very concerned, very amenable. He said they only wanted me to be happy and if having Danny here would make things easier, by all means send for him, the studio would pay all expenses.”

“Bravo,” Lund said.

“He wasn't thinking of me, he was thinking of the picture. They'd be in a terrible bind if I walked, particularly after all the advance publicity they've generated about my winning this much-coveted role. He gave in to me about Danny because he had no choice, but I've no doubt he'll find a suitable punishment for me later on.”

“Jesus. Are they really that bad?”

“They think they own me, you see,” Julie told him. “I'm a piece of property, not a human being. They tell me where to live, what to wear, what to say and who to see, and—it's as if I no longer have any free will. When I signed the contract, I agreed to give them my services, not my soul. They pay me extremely well, and I give them the best of my ability as an actress, but I don't intend to give them my soul as well—not any longer.”

“They can only push you as far as you let them,” Lund said.

“I—I realize that. That's why I defied them about Danny. After I spoke to the head of the studio I called Hedda and told her Danny was coming here and the press was sure to find out about it and if she wanted an exclusive, I would give it to her. So Hedda's going to write an article about Julie Hammond's marriage and divorce and child. I'm sure it'll be a hokey sob story full of maudlin sentiment and pathos, but at least the truth will be out and I'll no longer be forced to hide my son's existence.”

“When is he arriving?”

“Day after tomorrow. Hannah's bringing him out, and of course she'll stay to watch after him while I'm filming. I hope you'll have room for them.”

“No problem,” Lund said. “I'll move you into our family suite. It has three bedrooms, a large sitting room, even a small kitchen. There'll be plenty of room for all three of you.”

“You're very kind,” Julie said.

Lund smiled. “Not necessarily,” he said. “The studio's paying the bill, and I intend to charge them an arm and a leg.”

“Do that,” she urged.

“Hey, you actually smiled. You have a lovely smile. Ah, here comes our food. Wait until you taste the lobster thermidor. You're going to love it, I promise.”

His voice was rich and husky and gentle, a reassuring voice. She felt secure with him, felt safe, and much to her surprise she found herself talking to him about her marriage over dinner. She told him everything, and it seemed so natural to be talking to him this way, so right. Both refused dessert and over coffee Lund told her about his own marriage. Her name was Nicole, and they had married during his last year at Yale. Two years in Korea had followed, and Nicole had waited for him in their apartment in Boston. On his return, he tried to establish himself in engineering, but competition was tough and jobs weren't easy to come by. Nicole stood by him, encouraging him. She even took a secretarial job herself in order to help make ends meet. One rainy afternoon Nicole left her office early and was standing on a corner waiting for the red light to change when a speeding driver braked violently and lost control of the car. It skidded and leaped the curb and Nicole was killed instantly.

“How—how dreadful for you,” Julie said quietly.

“It was pretty hard for a while,” he confessed. “I gave up on engineering, it had never really interested me that much to begin with. I took courses in hotel management and then I left Boston for good. I came back home to South Medford and moved into the old house with my father—my mother had passed away some years before. I was lucky enough to get on at Meadows Inn, assistant manager at first, then full manager. My father died a couple of years later, leaving me the house and a substantial amount of money. When the Mabes decided to sell out and move to Florida, I was able to buy the place.”

“You like running the inn, don't you?”

He nodded. “It's interesting work, and there's a lot of variety, a lot of people around. You—” He hesitated a moment and then he looked into her eyes. “You don't have much time to feel lonely.”

But you are lonely nevertheless, she thought. She wanted to reach across the table and take his hand. Lund gave her an apologetic smile and said he was sorry, he hadn't meant to bore her with his life story. Julie told him she was flattered he felt he could talk to her. They looked at each other in the flickering light of the candle, the rest of the room hazy with shadows, romantic music playing softly on the jukebox, and both of them felt it happening. Both of them were reluctant to acknowledge it for what it was.

“Hey,” he said lightly, “everyone else's gone. It must be getting late, and I imagine you have to get up early in the morning.”

“I do indeed,” she confessed.

Both of them were quiet during the ride back to the inn, and Lund escorted her up to the door of her room. Julie took her key out of her purse and handed it to him and Lund unlocked the door. They looked at each other without speaking, both knowing now, both afraid to examine the feeling too closely or put it into words. Julie still had the rose. She smelled it and smiled and he put his hands into his trouser pockets, feeling suddenly gauche. It had been so long, so very long. He had forgotten what to do. Should he kiss her? He wanted to. Would she be offended? She seemed to be waiting, too.

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” she said finally.

“It was my pleasure. I hope we can do it again.”

Julie didn't say anything. She looked into his eyes for a moment and then she stepped inside and quietly closed the door. Lund Jensen stared at the door and called himself every kind of fool for thinking there could ever be anything between them. She was a Hollywood actress, he ran an inn in a small New England town, he would probably only see her in passing until the film company departed for good. Tonight had been an evening out of time, one of those rare evenings that had nothing to do with reality, that could never happen again. They would probably both be embarrassed in the morning.

Jensen arranged to have all her things moved into the family suite the following day, but Julie didn't see him. Nor did she see him the day after. She assumed he had been too busy to get in touch with her. She had been very busy herself. Maybe he didn't care to see her again. She had talked too much, and he undoubtedly thought she was an imbecile, opening up like that to a stranger, revealing so much about herself. She'd never even talked to Jim so openly, so intimately. Their evening together already seemed like a dream, something that had never happened at all, and it was probably just as well. Danny and Hannah were arriving this afternoon, and that was all that mattered.

Stevens rearranged the shooting schedule so that she could have the afternoon off and be on hand to meet them when they arrived. She was waiting in the lobby when they came in, Danny bustling about and bursting with excitement, Hannah exhausted, exasperated and ready to commit murder. Danny babbled on about the plane ride, the lady in uniform had given him a toy, they'd eaten ice cream and cake and he'd thrown up. A great big black car met them when they landed, and they'd driven forever and seen lots and lots of colored trees and he didn't think they'd ever get here, it was so far, and could he have a puppy? He wanted a puppy more'n anything and Hannah said he'd have to talk about it with her. Hannah was an old meanie, no fun at all, wouldn't let him go up and see the pilot and help him fly the plane, made him keep his seat belt fastened and said a very naughty word when he threw up on her.

“I'm gonna kill him,” Hannah said firmly. “They'll give me the chair for it, I know, but I'll fry
gladly
.”

“Yah-yah-yah,” Danny taunted.

“Danny!” Julie scolded. “Come on, let's go see our rooms, and then we'll order dinner. It's almost six o'clock.”

“I want more cake!”

“I'm gonna do it,” Hannah promised. “I swear it. One of these days he's gonna push me too far and I'm gonna do it. Those stairs look tricky. Give me your hand, lamb. It's a hot bath and bed for you right after dinner.”

Danny may have been a trial to Hannah during the trip from California, but he was a joy to the staff of Meadows Inn. The desk clerk, the switchboard operator, the bellboys, the maids were all enchanted by him and within two or three days he had them all eating out of his hand. The switchboard operator let him sit in her lap and “help” her with the calls, and the cashier let him count the pennies. The bellboys played games with him during the slack hours. The maids let him ride down the halls on their pushcarts. The Plaza might have its Eloise, but Meadows Inn had its Danny and even Hannah had to admit that he wreaked very little damage. He did slide down the bannister once or twice, busted his little buns good and proper, served him right, and it was true he'd been caught tossing his red rubber ball against the wall in a back corridor, but never once did he pour water down the mail chutes. He was astonishingly angelic, captivating one and all, particularly the owner-manager.