Clifton Lawrence was there. The little agent had been to the barber and his clothes were freshly pressed, but his eyes gave him away. They were the eyes of a failure among his peers. Clifton was lost in memories, too. He was remembering that first preposterous phone call. There’s a young comic Sam Goldwyn wants you to see…. and Toby’s performance at the school. You don’t have to eat the entire jar of caviar to know if it’s good, right?…I’ve decided to take you on as a client, Toby…. If you can put the beer drinkers in your pocket, the champagne crowd will be a pushover…. I can make you the biggest star in the business. Everyone had wanted Toby Temple: the studios, the networks, the nightclubs. You’ve got so many clients that sometimes I think you don’t pay enough attention to me…. It’s like a group fuck, Cliff. Somebody always gets left with a hard-on…. I need your advice, Cliff…. It’s this girl….
Clifton Lawrence had a lot to remember.
Next to Clifton stood Alice Tanner.
She was absorbed in the memory of Toby’s first audition in her office. Somewhere, hidden under all those movie stars, is a young man with a lot of talent…. After seeing those pros last night, I—I don’t think I have it. And falling in love with him. Oh, Toby, I love you so much…. I love you, too, Alice…. Then he was gone. But she was grateful that she had once had him.
Al Caruso had come to pay tribute. He was stooped and gray and his brown Santa Claus eyes were filled with tears. He was remembering how wonderful Toby had been to Millie.
Sam Winters was there. He was thinking of all the pleasure Toby Temple had given to millions of people and he wondered how one measured that against the pain that Toby had given to a few.
Someone nudged Sam and he turned to see a pretty, dark-haired girl, about eighteen. “You don’t know me, Mr. Winters”—she smiled—“but I heard you’re looking for a girl for the new William Forbes movie. I’m from Ohio, and…”
David Kenyon was there. Jill had asked him not to come, but David had insisted. He wanted to be near her. Jill supposed that it could do no harm now. She was finished with her performance.
The play had closed and her part was over. Jill was so glad and so tired. It was as though the fiery ordeal she had gone through had burned away the hard core of bitterness within her, had cauterized all the hurts and the disappointments and the hatreds. Jill Castle had died in the holocaust and Josephine Czinski had been reborn in the ashes. She was at peace again, filled with a love for everyone and a contentment she had not known since she was a young girl. She had never been so happy. She wanted to share it with the world.
The funeral rites were ending. Someone took Jill’s arm, and she allowed herself to be led to the limousine. When she reached the car, David was standing there, a look of adoration on his face. Jill smiled at him. David took her hands in his and they exchanged a few words. A press photographer snapped a picture of them.
Jill and David decided to wait five months before they got married, so that the public’s sense of propriety would be satisfied. David spent a great part of that time out of the country, but they talked to each other every day. Four months after Toby’s funeral, David telephoned Jill and said, “I had a brainstorm. Let’s not wait any longer. I have to go to Europe next week for a conference. Let’s sail to France on the Bretagne. The captain can marry us. We’ll honeymoon in Paris and from there we’ll go anywhere you like for as long as you like. What do you say?”
“Oh, yes, David, yes!”
She took a long last look around the house, thinking of all that had happened here. Remembering her first dinner party there and all the wonderful parties later and then Toby’s sickness and her fight to bring him back to health. And then…there were too many memories.
She was glad to be leaving.
37
David’s private jet plane flew Jill to New York, where a limousine was waiting to drive her to the Regency Hotel on Park Avenue. The manager himself ushered Jill to an enormous penthouse suite.
“The hotel is completely at your service, Mrs. Temple,” he said. “Mr. Kenyon instructed us to see that you have everything you need.”
Ten minutes after Jill checked in, David telephoned from Texas. “Comfortable?” he asked.
“It’s a little crowded.” Jill laughed. “It has five bedrooms, David. What am I going to do with them all?”
“If I were there, I’d show you,” he said.
“Promises, promises,” she teased. “When am I going to see you?”
“The Bretagne sails at noon tomorrow. I have some business to wind up here. I’ll meet you aboard the ship. I’ve reserved the honeymoon suite. Happy, darling?”
“I’ve never been happier,” Jill said. And it was true. Everything that had gone before, all the pain and the agony, it had all been worth it. It seemed remote and dim, now, like a half-forgotten dream.
“A car will pick you up in the morning. The driver will have your boat ticket.”
“I’ll be ready,” Jill said.
Tomorrow.
It could have started with the photograph of Jill and David Kenyon that had been taken at Toby’s funeral and sold to a newspaper chain. It could have been a careless remark dropped by an employee of the hotel where Jill was staying or by a member of the crew of the Bretagne. In any case, there was no way that the wedding plans of someone as famous as Jill Temple could have been kept secret. The first item about her impending marriage appeared in an Associated Press bulletin. After that, it was a front-page story in newspapers across the country and in Europe.