Once Is Not Enough by Jacqueline Susann Page A

thought you might like them. She said something about you had a lot of catching up to do.” Then Sadie took the Bloomingdale box and left the room. In less than a second she had popped back. “And Ernest comes at six if you need him.”
    “Ernest?”
    “Miss Deirdre’s hairdresser . . . every night at six.”
    January suddenly remembered the phone messages she was holding. She went into her bedroom, flopped on the bed and gave the number to the operator. After three rings a switchboard operator answered. January dutifully asked for Extension 36.
    There was a pause . . . a click . . . another voice. “Miss Riggs’ office.”
    “Who?” January sat up.
    “Who are you?” The voice was annoyed.
    “I’m January Wayne. And who is Miss Riggs?”
    “Oh, I’m Miss Riggs’ secretary. One moment, Miss Wayne. We called you. I’ll connect you.” There was some more clicking. Then a voice drawled, “January, is that really you?” It was a sleek voice, aristocratic, smooth and cool.
    January tried to place it. “Who is this?” she asked.
    “Good God, January. It’s me . . . Linda. Linda Riggs!”
    “Linda . . . you mean from Miss Haddon’s?”
    “Of course. You think there’s another?”
    “Oh, wow! Well, it’s been so long. How are you, Linda? How did you find me? And what’ve you been doing?”
    Linda laughed. “I should ask you that. But first things first. Why was your father so snotty to Keith Winters?”
    “Keith?”
    “Keith Winters . . . the photographer . . .”
    “Oh, you mean last night?” (Good Lord, was it just last night?)
    “Yes, I sent him down to get a picture of you for our magazine.”
    “What magazine?”
    There was a slight pause. Then in a voice tinged with annoyance, Linda said, “Well, I am editor-in-chief of Gloss , you know, and—”
    “Editor-in-chief!”
    “January, where on earth have you been? I was a smash on the Mike Douglas show last month. And I’ve been asked to do the Merv Griffin show the next time I’m on the Coast.”
    “Oh, well. I’ve been in Europe and—”
    “But everyone knows what I’ve done for Gloss magazine. I’m one of the youngest and most famous editors-in-chief in the world. Of course, I’m not Helen Gurley Brown. But then Gloss is no Cosmopolitan . But give me time. I’m going to make this magazine the biggest thing going.”
    “That’s marvelous, Linda. I remember after you left Miss Haddon’s. I was about ten. And we all went crazy when we saw you were a . . . a . . .”
    “Junior editor,” Linda finished the sentence for her. “It might have looked impressive to everyone at Miss Haddon’s, but it was just a fancy label for slave. My God, I ran all over town sixteen hours a day. Tracking down jewelry for fashion layouts. . . getting coffee for photographers and models . . . running errands for people in the art department . . . returning an earring left by a fashion director—all this for seventy-five dollars a week. But at eighteen it seemed like a lark. I’d get four hours’ sleep and still manage to get to Le Club every night and dance. God, I’m weary just thinking about it now. Incidentally . . . how old are you?”
    “I’ll be twenty-one in January.”
    “That’s right. I’m twenty-eight. Funny how it evens out now. The age thing. When I was sixteen and you were about eight, I didn’t think you were even human. I mean, as I recall, you were one of the moppets who followed me around at Miss Haddon’s, weren’t you?”
    “I suppose so.” January saw no reason to tell her she had never been a “Linda follower.”
    “That’s why I sent Keith Winters to the Pierre. Celebrity Service had it that you were arriving from Europe and I thought I’d run a picture of you and Daddy in Gloss along with a cute story about Daddy’s young lady meeting Daddy’s new lady. Your father was a real horror to Keith, but the picture turned out fine. Either you’re very photogenic or you’ve turned into a real tearing beauty.