LoveMakers Page 7

  'Lola? What can I do for you?'

  She frowned, concentrating on every syllable so that she could speak without slurring the words. 'I need you, Larry.'

  There was a pause. It was such a long moment before he spoke again that she was afraid she had been disconnected.

  'There was a time I needed you, too, Lola,' he said without any trace of bitterness. It was a matter-of-fact statement, and somehow that seemed to make it worse.

  'I know that, Larry,' she said. 'I was foolish. Please? Let's give it another try? For old times' sake?'

  He paused for a long minute, then he said softly, 'I'm sorry, Lola. Some things just can't be done over. I'm not God, and neither are you. We can't bring what's dead back to life. What's happened has - ' He sighed, - has simply happened. Our two lives didn't mesh. Now if you'll let me -'

  But Lola's gasp cut him off. She seemed to see the room go black before her, and she had to rid herself of the terrible vision. 'Larry!' she blurted out, 'I've got to see you. I'm alone now. And I'm desperate. I - I can't take it any more, Larry. If I don't speak to someone, then I'll . . . I'll kill myself.'

  'Another faked suicide attempt?' His words shocked her, like cold water. She shut her eyes and dropped her voice to a whisper. 'No, Larry. This is for real. Honest.' She began to cry. 'It's over, Larry. Everything is over. I'm finished in the movies.'

  'But why?' His tone softened. 'You've always loved acting. That's what you do best. Why give it up?'

  'Because . . . because of the talkies. It's my voice. They don't like my goddamn voice.'

  'I'm sorry. I didn't know.'

  'Neither did I.' Her eyes had a faraway look in them. 'You see, Larry, it really is all finished. All I have left is you.'

  'Where are you?'

  'The Savoy Plaza.'

  'There are some people here, but I can get away soon. All right?'

  She nodded through her tears. 'Thanks, Larry. I'll tell them . . . the staff, to let you up. They're . . . screening . . . everybody.'

  'Just tell them 'Larry,' ' he continued. 'No last name. No I.D. We don't need the reporters getting word that we're seeing each other again. Not after what they put us through in the past. We don't need that kind of publicity anymore. Ever.'

  'No, Larry.' Her voice was obedient and contrite. 'I promise.'

  'Fine. It'll be an hour or so.'

  Emma Roesch had a hand with no engagement or wedding ring gracing it, a night job as a switchboard operator at the Savoy Plaza Hotel, and a boyfriend who worked as a newspaper photographer and kept promising matrimony once he could afford a wife and family.

  'We can't get married just yet, honey,' he told Emma over and over. 'I haven't got enough money saved up. The scandal sheets don't pay that well.'

  'But I'll keep working,' she had offered. 'With your job and mine we can make it, Barney. I know we can. Lots of married couples have a lot less, and they make it.'

  'But I want a wife and a family. I want to give you a beautiful big house and lots of children. Tell you what, Em. Soon as I get a real big scoop that pays off we'll tie the knot. But we'll wait until then. Okay?'

  She had nodded doubtfully. 'I'll help in any way I can.'

  'Hmmm,' he mused thoughtfully. 'Now that you've brought it up, maybe you can be of some help.'

  She had jumped at the chance. 'How?'

  'Well, you work at the Savoy Plaza, right? And lots of important people stay there. What if you listen in on their phone conversations every now and then? If you hear something really important, you can give me a tip and I'll come running with my camera. If it pays off, we're all set, honey.'

  At first she had been reluctant. 'It's awfully dangerous, Barney. I - I could get fired . . . '

  'Not if you're careful. Look at it this way, it's an investment.'

  'An investment?'

  'Part of our nest egg.'

  So she had done as he had asked, but the conversations she had listened in on had all been dull. She hadn't come up with a single item which could help him out. Until now.

  As she unplugged Lola Bori's line after placing the actress's private call she once again thought about what he had said. The conversation she had just overheard had been so engrossing that the newsworthiness of it took a moment to sink in. Then she sat up with a start.

  What was more of a scoop than anything connected with Lola Bori?

  Slowly she glanced around to make sure she would not be overheard. At night, the hotel switchboard had half the operators on duty that it had during the day, so there was no one nearby.

  She reached out with her plug and plunged it into the switchboard. Her head throbbed with heady excitement. It was finally happening! At long last Barney would get his long-awaited scoop, his salary would be raised, and she would be dressed in her bridal gown. She almost jumped when he answered his phone.

  'Barney?' She spoke in an uncharacteristically low voice. 'Remember what you told me to watch out for?'

  When the bell for six-fourteen rang in the maid's station Elizabeth-Anne hurried down the hall to Lola Bori's Suite. She was by no means star-struck; from an early age, she had had to face things in a practical way, and that left little room in her mind for daydreaming about film stars. Still, she had seen several Lola Bori movies, so neither was she entirely immune to the glamour of a star. But the moment she saw Lola Bori in the flesh, any illusions she might have had vanished.

  This can't be the same woman, Elizabeth-Anne thought with shock. This harridan with her unruly white-blonde hair and puffy eyes; this lurching drunk in the powder-blue satin robe slipping off her shoulders; this cannot be the same, exquisitely glamorous star she had seen on the silver screen.

  Lola Bori placed one hand on her hip and eyed Elizabeth-Anne up and down.

  'I'm going to have a visitor.' Lola Bori held her head high, stretching her swan-like neck. 'I want you to inform the desk, and show the gentleman in the moment he arrives.'

  Elizabeth-Anne inclined her head. 'Yes, m'am.'

  'The visitor's name is Larry. He is to be asked for his first name only. No I.D. He'll be by himself. No one else is to be let up.' She swayed unsteadily on her feet, then delicately leaned against the doorjamb. 'Is that clear?'

  'Perfectly,' Elizabeth-Anne promised her.

  Elizabeth-Anne was waiting by the elevator. The night clerk had called to inform her the man named Larry was on his way up. When the car doors opened, she raised her eyebrows in surprise as a short man holding a package draped with a cloth stepped out of the elevator. He was dressed in somewhat shoddy clothing, hardly the class of visitor Elizabeth-Anne would expect Lola Bori to have. But, then, Lola Bori hadn't been what she expected either. 'I'm Larry,' the man said, stepping out of the elevator.

  'This way, please,' she said politely. 'Miss Bori is expecting you.'

  Elizabeth-Anne led him down the hall, then knocked on the white door of suite six-fourteen.

  'Come in,' the muffled voice called from inside.

  Elizabeth-Anne opened the unlocked door. She stepped aside to let the man enter, then quickly shut the door again.

  Lola Bori was in front of the mirror, combing her hair with drunken fascination. 'You're early, Larry,' she chided. 'You said it would be an hour. I haven't even had a chance to fix myself up - ' She turned to face him, and the color drained from her face. 'Who are you? What are you doing here?' she gasped.

  Barney flung aside the cloth which had hidden his camera and the shutter clicked, the flash burst, and sparks rained down upon the carpet, capturing, for all posterity, the tragic devastation of a fallen star.

  6

  In all the years she had worked at the Savoy Plaza, first as a maid, then an assistant housekeeper, and finally head night housekeeper, no one had ever seen Mrs. Winter in such a state of agitation. Her face was splotched with purple spots of rage as she paced up and down in front of Elizabeth-Anne and John Holmes, the night clerk.

  Behind her, in the shadows, stood a tall stranger. His hair was shiny bl
ack, except for the temples, where it was lightly streaked with silver. Even elegantly dressed in an evening suit and an open, formal cape, his wide shoulders and slim hips were plainly evident. His face was handsome but craggy, with a strong nose and wide, sensuous lips. His right eye was deep blue, but his left was covered with a black eye patch. He had lost the eye in a hunting accident, and the patch gave him the air of a dashing but distinguished pirate. He stood unblinkingly surveying Holmes and Elizabeth-Anne. Due to the eye patch, Elizabeth-Anne couldn't read his expression.

  'This,' Mrs. Winter said between tight lips, 'is the gentleman Miss Bori was expecting. How you mistook the lout you admitted for this gentleman I will never understand.'

  Holmes hung his head, but Elizabeth-Anne kept her chin raised, her eyes steely. Only the faint coloring of pink on her cheeks gave away her emotions, which were misread by Mrs. Winter. Elizabeth-Anne was not filled with shame or fear. Stung by the older woman's words, especially in front of a stranger, she was seething with anger.

  'Miss Bori,' Mrs. Winter went on, 'had to be given a sedative by the doctor.' She frowned at the floor, crossed her arms, and tapped them with her fingers. 'I don't know how we are going to explain this.' She paused and glared up at Holmes. 'How could you have been so stupid? How could you let a photographer upstairs?' Then she twisted her head in Elizabeth-Anne's direction. 'And you! Actually letting him into Miss Bori's room. This is scandalous. Scandalous.' She shook her head in disgust. 'Nothing like this has ever occurred in all my years here.'

  'I didn't know he was a photographer,' Holmes said miserably, his face ashen. 'He introduced himself as Larry.'

  'Miss Bori herself told me to show a 'Larry' to her room as soon as he arrived,' Elizabeth-Anne added quietly. 'How could anyone else have known to use that name?'

  Mrs. Winter clenched her hands at her sides, ignoring Elizabeth-Anne's pointed question. 'The point is that neither of you suspected that anything was wrong. I find that extremely hard to believe.'

  'There was no reason to suspect the press knew Miss Bori was admitting a guest,' Elizabeth-Anne retorted. 'And, anyway, Miss Bori is known to be . . . well, somewhat eccentric. Why should we have expected an imposter?'

  Just then, two uniformed security guards entered and Mrs. Winter turned around to face them.

  'We've finished searching the hotel,' one of them said with obvious discomfiture. 'The photographer is nowhere to be found. Someone thinks they saw him slip out by the 59th Street entrance.'

  'Thank you,' the housekeeper said icily. 'You were both on duty in the lobby at the time of his arrival and failed to intercept him. Therefore you may come in and join us. What I have to say pertains to you also.'

  Hesitantly the guards lined up beside Elizabeth-Anne and Holmes.

  Mrs. Winter narrowed her eyes. 'As of this very moment - ' She checked her watch. 'All four of you are dismissed.' She smiled grimly. 'Please do not expect any references.'

  'But it's not our fault,' Holmes cried. 'I need this job. I have a wife with a child on the way.'

  'Then I should think you would have been more careful.'

  'Madame.' The voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the tone of authority in it. It was the first time the handsome stranger had spoken, and as he did so, he stepped forward out of the shadows.

  Mrs. Winter gazed at him questioningly.

  'This incident was most unfortunate,' he said, 'but considering that someone has dared to assume my identity, and further, that Miss Bori and I and not the hotel were the actual victims, I believe I might now have the right to say something?'

  'By all means.' Mrs. Winter managed to keep her face expressionless, but she failed to hide the irritation in her voice.

  The man went on unperturbed. 'You may have gathered that Miss Bori is not quite herself at the moment. She has suffered a . . . a severely painful personal loss. The fault here lies with me, for instructing that I be announced by my first name only.'

  Mrs. Winter bristled. 'You are very kind, sir, but still, you are not to - '

  'Blame?' He held up a hand to silence her. 'Madame, it is obvious that these particular four employees are blameless. I would think that someone who might have overheard the telephone conversation between Miss Bori and myself, and alerted the press, is the real culprit in this case.'

  Mrs. Winter's white face turned scarlet. For a moment Elizabeth-Anne thought the older woman would actually faint.

  'I think,' the stranger continued, 'that everything considered, everyone has suffered enough for one evening. I happen to be a personal friend of the owner of this hotel, and I'm sure that a good word to him about all of you, as well as an assurance that Miss Bori and I would like to let this matter die as quick a death as possible, will settle the matter satisfactorily. It would be far more constructive than any punishment meted out hastily.' He bowed his head in Mrs. Winter's direction.

  For once, Mrs. Winter was hesitant. She was torn between conflicting emotions: fury, that her authority was being questioned; fear, that he was obviously going to go over her head and speak with the hotel's owner; and relief, that he and Lola Bori would not hold her responsible for what had transpired. 'Well . . . if you insist, sir . . . ' she stammered.

  He smiled, showing even white teeth. 'I do.'

  'Very well, then.' Mrs. Winter clapped her hands together. 'Back to your stations, all of you. But let me warn you - ' She wagged a stern linger at the four employees. 'If something like this should ever happen again, and so little initiative is shown in the future - ' She let the threat dangle heavily in the air. 'Return to your posts.'

  The three male employees, relief written all over their faces, hurried out of the room.

  'Well?' Mrs. Winter eyed Elizabeth-Anne coldly. 'What are you waiting for?'

  Elizabeth-Anne faced the housekeeper squarely. Her eyes were cold, but she kept her voice even. 'With all due respect, I think you owe us an apology.'

  Mrs. Winter stared at her. 'Indeed.'

  'And furthermore, as of this moment I am handing in my resignation. Working conditions under your supervision are intolerable. Were I the owner of this hotel, I would never allow my employees to be treated in such a fashion. Perhaps the others need their jobs badly enough to put up with you, but, I thank God, am not that desperate.'

  'You . . . you wicked young woman.' Mrs. Winter's voice grew shrill. 'How dare you turn your back on my benevolence.'

  'It is you, Mrs. Winter, who are wicked. And as far as your benevolence is concerned, you certainly weren't left with much choice, were you?' She took a deep breath. 'Good night.'

  'Good riddance is what I say,' the housekeeper snapped at her. 'I knew you were trouble, from the first time I set eyes on you. Get your things out of wardrobe immediately and don't ever set foot in this hotel again. Don't even bother changing out of your uniform. Get your things and leave this instant.'

  'Gladly, m'am.'

  Aware of the one-eyed stranger's amused expression, Elizabeth-Anne marched shakily into the adjoining wardrobe room. When she came back out, she wore her coat over her maid's uniform and had her clothes piled in her arms. Both Mrs. Winter and the stranger were gone.

  Once she was on 58th Street hurrying east toward the Lexington Avenue subway, a car pulled up and followed alongside her at her walking pace. She gave the stately, yellow-and-black chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce one glance and ignored it.

  'Miss!'

  She glanced over at the car with irritation. It was the one-eyed stranger.

  'I have nothing to say to you,' she said grimly. 'Haven't you and your precious Miss Bori done enough for one day?' She tossed her head and continued walking.

  'Could I give you a lift home?'

  'I'll take the subway, thank you.' She began walking faster, casting occasional sideways glares at him.

  'You're quite independent, aren't you?' There was a peculiar note of challenge in his voice.

  She fixed her eyes straight ahead. 'I like to think so.'

  Witho
ut warning, she turned right on Madison Avenue, and marched downtown. She knew the Rolls had no choice but to either drive straight ahead or make a left turn and head uptown.

  When the red tail lights of the stately car joined the uptown traffic she let out a deep breath, leaned against a building, and buried her chin in the pile of clothes she carried. For a moment her eyes stung with tears of frustration. She was furious at the unfairness of it all, not so much for herself as for the others who needed their jobs desperately. Nor was her anger directed exclusively at Mrs. Winter. The stranger, Larry, his drunken film star friend, and their subterfuge deserved it equally. The hotel staff, she realized suddenly, were the pawns of the guests. If Larry hadn't been enough of a gentleman to speak up for them, they would all have been walking the streets and no one would have cared.

  How awful of him, she thought with uncharacteristic bitterness as she continued walking. If it hadn't been for him none of them would have been placed in that awkward situation in the first place. The Larrys and Lolas of this world, she decided, were a breed she could easily live without. And as she descended the steps to the subway platform, she hoped she would be able to wipe the unpleasant incident - and any memory of Lola and Larry - right out of her mind. Just as she was certain at that very moment Larry had already forgotten about her.

  She was wrong.

  When the yellow-and-black Rolls-Royce pulled up outside the double-width limestone townhouse on the north side of 74th Street, the man in the back seat tapped his fingers on the armrest.

  By God, but that woman had spirit, he thought. That and something else . . . something about her shows class. An indefinable air of . . . independence. Arrogance. Self- assurance. Of not really being a maid at all.

  Who, then, was she?

  He wanted to find out more about her, and made a mental note to have her checked out.

  But fate did not allow it. The next morning Lola Bori was found dead in her suite at the Savoy Plaza from an overdose of sleeping pills, and he found himself busy exorcising the ghost of his former wife.