The Lonely Lady by Robbins Harold

Author:Robbins, Harold [Robbins, Harold]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780795341168
Publisher: RosettaBooks
Published: 2014-05-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Chad drove me back to the motel. On the way he stopped off at a package store and bought a bottle of scotch. Within an hour after we got to my room, he had put away half the bottle. It was almost eight o’clock when he finally got to his feet, weaving unsteadily. “WE better get something to eat.”

He was in no condition to drive. “Maybe we ought to get something from room service,” I suggested.

“They don’t have any. Do you think the studio’s going to put you somewhere where you can run up room service charges?”

I didn’t answer.

“We’ll go out for something.”

“I don’t want you driving,” I said.

“We can walk. There are a few places down the block on Sunset.”

“Okay,” I said.

We went to a restaurant on the north side of the street opposite Schwab’s Drug Store. The place was dimly lit like most California restaurants and there was a piano player sitting in the bar area near the entrance. A few people sat around the piano nursing their drinks. We walked past them and a headwaiter escorted us to a table.

“The prime ribs are extra good tonight,” he said.

Chad looked at me and I nodded. “Make it two,” he said to the headwaiter. “But first bring me a double scotch on the rocks.”

The ribs were as good as the man promised but Chad left his untouched while he drank his dinner.

“You’re not eating,” I said.

“Don’t be a woman,” he said.

I was silent. The waiter brought coffee and Chad took a sip. “What are your plans now!” he asked.

“I’ll probably go back to New York tomorrow.”

“Anything special doing back there?”

“I’ll start climbing on my agent’s back again.”

“I’m sorry about what happened,” he said.

“The luck of the draw,” I said.

“I want to thank you for trying to get on that horse,” he said. “If you hadn’t done that, I could have blown my job.”

I didn’t understand but I kept silent.

“It gave us a perfect out. The doctor called it an accident. Insurance took over the delay in shooting. It didn’t cost the studio one penny and this way everybody’s happy.”

I still didn’t speak.

He looked at me. “Except me. I felt we could have done great things together.”

“Maybe we will someday,” I said.

“No.” He shook his head dolefully. “It doesn’t work like that. The pressure’s too great. Each week there’s another show. You got to go forward.”

“But what about the future you were telling me about?” I asked. “We can still take a shot at that.”

“Maybe, but that’s why I wanted you in this show. The studio likes to go with people out of their own productions.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Not your fault,” he said. “You tried.”

The waiter came and refilled our cups.

“Have you ever been to Vegas?” Chad asked.

“No.”

“Why don’t you stay then?” he asked. “A gang of us are going down tomorrow night to catch Sinatra’s opening. We’ll have a few laughs and you can fly back from there.”

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“There won’t be any heat. You’ll have your own room.

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