Read Online The Lonely Lady by Harold Robbins - Free Book Online Page B

wrong with it. Besides I’m working on another I think might be better.”
    “What’s it about?”
    “It’s about a girl like me. About growing up in a town like this.”
    “Can I read it when you’re finished?”
    “It may not be finished for a long time. There are too many things I have to learn before I can begin to write about them.”
    “I understand that,” Martin said. “Hemingway says the best writing comes from gut experience.”
    “I don’t like Hemingway. He knows nothing about women. He seems not to care about them at all.”
    “Who do you like?”
    “Fitzgerald. At least he feels for the women characters in his books as much as he does for the men.”
    “To me, all of his men seem strange, weak sort of,” Martin said after a moment. “They seem to be afraid of women.”
    “Funny. I think that about Hemingway. His men always seem to me more afraid of women because they are always trying to prove themselves as men.”
    “I have to think about that,” he said, getting to his feet. “Now I’d better be getting home.”
    “Everything all right there now?” she asked. They had long since dropped pretenses and she was openly inquiring about the problems he had with his parents.
    “A little better,” he said. “At least they’re not drinking as much now that Dad’s got that job at the gas station.”
    “I’m glad.” She rose from the chair. “Good night.”
    Martin stood looking at her without moving.
    She touched her cheek self-consciously. “Is there anything wrong?”
    “No.”
    “Then what are you staring at?”
    “You know I never realized it before. You really are very beautiful.”
    Another time she might have smiled but there was a sincerity in his voice that moved her. “Thank you,” she said simply.
    “Very beautiful,” he repeated, then he smiled and ran down the steps. “Good night, JeriLee,” he called.
    Bit by bit JeriLee’s popularity was growing. There was something in her that seemed to attract friends. Boys and girls alike. Maybe it was because she dealt with each of them on their own terms and within their own frame of reference. At the same time she was still a very private person. In the end they liked to talk to her because they all felt that she really listened.
    Once the season was in full swing, the club stayed open every night for dinner and there was a dance on Wednesdays as well as on Fridays and Saturdays. Since it became impractical for the musicians to return to the city every night, Mr. Corcoran put them up in a small cottage out in the back of the tennis courts. The back of the cottage faced out on the parking lot, so they did not have to come through the club in order to get to the bandstand.
    JeriLee, who now worked late on Wednesday nights, was on the terrace railing sipping a Coke and talking to Fred between sets when Walt came out the terrace doors.
    “JeriLee,” he said, ignoring Fred completely.
    It had been more than a month since that night at his house and this was the first time he had spoken to her.
    “Yes?”
    “I have some friends down from school and we’re getting up a beach party. I thought you might like to join us.”
    JeriLee looked at Fred. There was no expression on his face. She turned back to Walt. “Do you know Fred?”
    “Yes. Hello, Fred.”
    “Waltuh,” Fred’s voice was as expressionless as his face.
    “It’ll be fun,” Walt said. “And if the Sound is too cold, there’s always the pool at my house.”
    “I don’t think so,” she said. “I have to be here early tomorrow. I’m working lunch.”
    “Come on, JeriLee. We won’t be too late. We’ll just have a few drinks and a few laughs, that’s all.”
    “No, thank you,” she said politely. “As a matter of fact I was thinking of leaving early. There’s still time for me to catch the eleven thirty bus.”
    “You don’t have to do that. We can drop you off at your house.”
    “I don’t want to trouble you. It’s out of your