Read Online Once Is Not Enough by Jacqueline Susann - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jacqueline Susann
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gentleman.”
“That’ll be the day. Hey, look, that girl is wearing an Indian outfit. Think she’s part of some act or something—with the headband and the braids and all?”
“Come on, you know how kooky everyone is dressing today,” he said.
“How would I know? Most of my friends wore bathrobes.”
He stopped suddenly and looked at her. “Holy Christ, that’s right. No TV . . . no nothing?”
“No nothing.”
He led her outside to the car. “Well, everyone dresses like they’re going to a costume party today. That is, kids your age.” But she wasn’t listening. She was staring at the car. Then she let out a low whistle. “Wow . . . I’m impressed.”
“You’ve been in limos before.”
“I spent my life in them. But this is not just a limo—this is really super.” She tossed him a smile of approval. “A silver Rolls-Royce—the only way a girl should travel.” She got in and nodded. “Pret-ty nice . . . chauffeur’s uniform matches upholstery . . . a telephone . . . a bar . . . all the necessities of life if you’re Mike Wayne.” Then she threw her arms around him. “Oh, Daddy . . . I’m so glad for you.” She leaned back as the car inched its way out of the airport. She sighed. “It’s so great to be back. If you only knew how many times I’ve dreamed of this moment. Even when I felt it could neverhappen, I kept dreaming the dream—of walking into your arms, of us together in New York. And it’s all happening just as I dreamed it. Nothing’s changed.”
“You’re wrong, baby. A lot has changed. Especially New York.”
She pointed to the traffic as their car slipped into the speed lane. “This hasn’t changed. And I love it all—the traffic, the noise, the crowds, even the smog. It’s just so wonderful after all that sanitary snow in Switzerland. I can’t wait until we go to the theater. I want to walk through Shubert Alley . . . see the trucks pull out of the Times Building . . . I want to get my nice clean lungs all polluted.”
“That’ll happen. But first we have a lot of catching up to do.”
She nestled against him. “We sure do. I want to sit at our table at Sardi’s . . . I can’t wait to see Hair . . . I want to walk down Fifth Avenue . . . see the clothes. But tonight, I just want to stay in and do the caviar and champagne scene. I know it’s no birthday. But you’ve got to admit it’s one hell of an occasion. And most of all I want to know all about your big hit picture.”
“My hit picture? Who told you that?”
“No one. But I know how you operate. When I got all those postcards from Spain this summer with mysterious hints of a big new project . . . well, I knew it had to be a picture and you were afraid of jinxing it by telling me. But now . . . when I see all this—” she waved her hand. “Well, come on—tell me about it.”
He looked at her. And this time he didn’t smile. “You tell me something. Are you still the most resilient girl in the world? Because you’re gonna find a lot of changes and—”
“We’re together,” she said. “And as long as that never changes, nothing else matters. Now tell me—is it a movie or a play? And can I work with you? In any capacity—a walk-on, a script girl, a gofer . . .”
“January, did it ever occur to you that there are better things in life than the theater and tagging along after me?”
“Name one.”
“Well, like you finding the right guy . . . getting married . . . making me a proud grandpa . . .”
She laughed. “Not for a long time. Listen—beside you sits a lady who has spent three years just learning to walk and talk again.” She reached out and touched his face tenderly. “Oh, Mike . . .” Her sigh was happy. “I want to do all the things we’ve always dreamed of doing together.”
“Sometimes we change our dreams,” he said. “Or perhaps I should say . . . exchange them.”
“Fine. What have you in mind?”
“Well, as you know, I was in Spain,” he said
“That’ll be the day. Hey, look, that girl is wearing an Indian outfit. Think she’s part of some act or something—with the headband and the braids and all?”
“Come on, you know how kooky everyone is dressing today,” he said.
“How would I know? Most of my friends wore bathrobes.”
He stopped suddenly and looked at her. “Holy Christ, that’s right. No TV . . . no nothing?”
“No nothing.”
He led her outside to the car. “Well, everyone dresses like they’re going to a costume party today. That is, kids your age.” But she wasn’t listening. She was staring at the car. Then she let out a low whistle. “Wow . . . I’m impressed.”
“You’ve been in limos before.”
“I spent my life in them. But this is not just a limo—this is really super.” She tossed him a smile of approval. “A silver Rolls-Royce—the only way a girl should travel.” She got in and nodded. “Pret-ty nice . . . chauffeur’s uniform matches upholstery . . . a telephone . . . a bar . . . all the necessities of life if you’re Mike Wayne.” Then she threw her arms around him. “Oh, Daddy . . . I’m so glad for you.” She leaned back as the car inched its way out of the airport. She sighed. “It’s so great to be back. If you only knew how many times I’ve dreamed of this moment. Even when I felt it could neverhappen, I kept dreaming the dream—of walking into your arms, of us together in New York. And it’s all happening just as I dreamed it. Nothing’s changed.”
“You’re wrong, baby. A lot has changed. Especially New York.”
She pointed to the traffic as their car slipped into the speed lane. “This hasn’t changed. And I love it all—the traffic, the noise, the crowds, even the smog. It’s just so wonderful after all that sanitary snow in Switzerland. I can’t wait until we go to the theater. I want to walk through Shubert Alley . . . see the trucks pull out of the Times Building . . . I want to get my nice clean lungs all polluted.”
“That’ll happen. But first we have a lot of catching up to do.”
She nestled against him. “We sure do. I want to sit at our table at Sardi’s . . . I can’t wait to see Hair . . . I want to walk down Fifth Avenue . . . see the clothes. But tonight, I just want to stay in and do the caviar and champagne scene. I know it’s no birthday. But you’ve got to admit it’s one hell of an occasion. And most of all I want to know all about your big hit picture.”
“My hit picture? Who told you that?”
“No one. But I know how you operate. When I got all those postcards from Spain this summer with mysterious hints of a big new project . . . well, I knew it had to be a picture and you were afraid of jinxing it by telling me. But now . . . when I see all this—” she waved her hand. “Well, come on—tell me about it.”
He looked at her. And this time he didn’t smile. “You tell me something. Are you still the most resilient girl in the world? Because you’re gonna find a lot of changes and—”
“We’re together,” she said. “And as long as that never changes, nothing else matters. Now tell me—is it a movie or a play? And can I work with you? In any capacity—a walk-on, a script girl, a gofer . . .”
“January, did it ever occur to you that there are better things in life than the theater and tagging along after me?”
“Name one.”
“Well, like you finding the right guy . . . getting married . . . making me a proud grandpa . . .”
She laughed. “Not for a long time. Listen—beside you sits a lady who has spent three years just learning to walk and talk again.” She reached out and touched his face tenderly. “Oh, Mike . . .” Her sigh was happy. “I want to do all the things we’ve always dreamed of doing together.”
“Sometimes we change our dreams,” he said. “Or perhaps I should say . . . exchange them.”
“Fine. What have you in mind?”
“Well, as you know, I was in Spain,” he said
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