The Fame Game by Rona Jaffe Page B

man who was a woman’s whole life? It was just sickening to think that this pretty, classy-looking girl who’d always had everything could just walk in and take away the one thing that meant everything to her, a girl who’d never had anything at all before. Silky knew one thing: if Gerry thought Dick was going to be just another romance she was going to have to put up a hell of a fight.

CHAPTER THREE
    The morning after the telethon Time Magazine came out, and there was great jubilation in the Libra office because Franco, the dress designer who was one of Libra’s clients, was in it. His new collection had just been shown, and the highlight of the collection was the bride’s dress which customarily closed every designer’s showing—but Franco’s bride’s dress was called “The Empress’s New Clothes” and was a mini-tent made completely of transparent vinyl, worn with nothing whatsoever underneath it but body make-up and a G-string covered with stephanotis like a bride’s bouquet. There was a photo in Time of Franco with the naked bride, and a caption which said: “Nobody tells the Empress.”
    “How do you like the bird’s bouquet?” Libra asked Gerry, laughing at his own joke. “A bouquet on the bush is worth two in the hand. Jesus, I wonder what Ingrid puts in those shots.” He placed the issue of Time in the place of honor on the coffee table. “Franco should be here any minute and you’ll meet him. Damn jerk’s real name is Alvin. He calls himself Franco because he doesn’t know it’s the name of a Spanish dictator.”
    Lizzie came out of the bedroom wearing beige wool overalls with wide Mickey Mouse suspenders which attached with oversized pearl buttons above the bosom. Her hair was in the two ponytails and she was wearing her horn-rimmed glasses. She helped herself to a cup of coffee from the breakfast display which Gerry had learned was to be a permanent feature every morning. “Franco made these for me,” Lizzie told her. “How do you like them?”
    “They’re darling,” Gerry said. She did not add that they would be more darling on a four-year-old.
    “I think we should give him a party,” Lizzie said to Libra.
    “Who’s going to pay for it—you?” he said.
    “I’ll pay for it,” Lizzie said. “From our joint account.”
    “The B.P.’s are already giving him a party,” Libra said. “Let them pay for it. You can go free.”
    “I certainly will,” Lizzie said, and went over to the appointment book on the desk to check.
    The doorbell rang. Gerry opened the door. It was Elaine Fellin, in her fox, wearing a pair of very dark glasses.
    “When does Franco get here?” Elaine Fellin said, by way of greeting. She dropped off her coat and collapsed into the nearest chair.
    “If you two girls think you’re going to stay here and learn any secrets, you’re sadly mistaken,” Libra said. “You can congratulate him and then I want you both out.”
    “I got up early to see him,” Elaine said. “I didn’t even sleep off my pill. I won’t even let you see my eyes.”
    “When does Daddy get back?” Lizzie asked her.
    “Today, the son of a bitch. I called him last night and the hotel said he wasn’t taking any calls. I screamed at them and said I was his wife, but they said that’s what all the fans say. He was fast asleep, the stinker, while I had to stay up and worry. He didn’t even bother to call me.”
    “Husbands are rotten,” Lizzie said.
    “Thank you,” said Libra.
    “Oh, I don’t mean you, darling. You’re sweet.” She smiled at Gerry. “Sam is a very good husband. Daddy is a lousy husband.”
    “He used to be nice,” Elaine said in her dead voice.
    “Would you like some coffee, Mrs. Fellin?” Gerry asked.
    “I can’t eat in the morning, it makes me sick,” Elaine Fellin said. “Do you have any Bloody Marys?”
    Gerry went to the bar to make some.
    “What do you expect when you marry somebody in show business?” Libra said to Elaine. “They’re