With a deep sigh of resignation, Bonita Rossi placed the theatrical trade paper beside her coffee cup and sat back disconsolately in her chair. Strands of her sleek chestnut-brown hair fell across her forehead, covering her right eye. Bonita tossed her head, causing the hair to tumble back into place. She took another sip of coffee, wishing there were something she could do to lift her plunging spirits.
A graduate of a large Midwestern university, Bonita held a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree from the school of drama. As a serious and dedicated actress, she wanted more than anything else in the world to achieve success on the Broadway stage. , Immediately after her graduation at the age of twenty-three, Bonita arrived in New York hoping to make her dreams a reality. Her widowed mother had passed away that winter. And with a small inheritance and a great deal of enthusiasm, Bonita had been positive that nothing would stand in the way of attaining her goal.
That had been two years before, and all she had to show for it now were some faded notices from dozens of Off-Broadway showcases, one season of summer stock and a brief run in the chorus of a Broadway musical. Neither of which amounted to the proper number of weeks for her to collect unemployment. Worse yet, she fretted to herself, what little inheritance she'd had, was now almost totally depleted.
Bonita realized regretfully that she needed to get a job as soon as possible. In the meantime she'd just have to go without lunch and cut back on other expenditures to stretch what little was left in her savings account. Bonita had already dropped her singing coach, and it looked as though she'd have to cut back on her acting classes if she didn't find a job by the end of the week.
Bonita picked up the trade paper and began looking through the casting section once more in a desperate hope that she might have overlooked a call. There were calls for dancers and character women, but nothing for an ingenue. Her lovely dark-brown eyes glistened with unshed tears as she slumped back in her chair, heaving another long sigh of desperation.
Across the way from her table, a young man stole furtive glances at her. There was a glint of appreciation in his eyes as he took in the sight of her lovely figure, beautiful face, and the mass of gleaming hair that enveloped it. Bonita was wearing a plain dark-brown skirt and a beige sweater that accentuated the curves of her small, but well rounded, bosom. She had inherited her mother's olive complexion, with just a hint of pink at her cheeks, and her very being glowed with the health and strength of a country girl. The young man stared longingly, but at last turned away, knowing he'd have little chance with a woman of such beauty.
Bonita daintily wet her thumb and began paging through her newspaper until she came to the want-ad section. Maybe she could find a job-job, until she was able to land another acting job. She smiled to herself, thinking of the expression job-job. It was how all her show-business friends referred to a civilian job.
There were all types of ads for sales girls, telephone solicitors, waitresses, cosmetics demonstrators, but nothing that seemed to interest her. Then Bonita saw an ad for a cocktail waitress at the famous New York Playtime Club. It was a call for pretty young actress-and model-types who wanted to make big money in their spare time.
Bonita read the ad several times, growing more excited with each reading. The ad stipulated no older than twenty-two and even though Bonita was twenty-five, she was aware that most people took her for not much older than twenty. Why not, she thought, I'm kind of pretty and haven't got a bad figure, if I do say so myself. Why hadn't she ever thought of it before? It appeared to be perfect for an actress. The ad promised a good salary plus big tips, and she'd only have to work part-time. The best advantage was that she'd only be working nights and would have her days free to continue making rounds and taking classes.
At last her spirits began to soar with the promise of it. Bonita took a pen from her purse and wrote down the phone number. Then she paid for her coffee and got change for a phone call. Once in the booth, she took a deep, breath to settle her nervousness.
The manager of the club had a deep, pleasant-sounding voice. She was on the phone not much longer than a few minutes and in that short period she'd been able to obtain an appointment for three that afternoon. The man had sounded eager and told Bonita to ask for him by name, a Mr. Bortello.
Her heart pounded with anticipation as she approached the Playtime Club, on New York's upper West side. The young ladies who served the cocktails were called kittens and wore scanty costumes that barely covered them. At the derriere were long cat-like tails, and on their heads, each girl wore a pair of kitten ears.
The kitten who greeted Bonita at the door was long-legged and bosomy. Bonita was surprised at how revealing the girl's red costume actually was. The shells were cut very high up to the hips, exposing a large portion of the wearer's behind, and very low in front, almost down to the nipples. It appeared as though the girl was in danger of popping out at any moment.
This young lady had masses of jet-black curls that tumbled down to her bare shoulders. Her eyebrows had been plucked and replaced with narrow dark arches, like a cu-pie doll's, and they lent her an expression of constant surprise. The fringes of her eyelashes were so long and so heavily mascaraed that the tips left tiny black specks just beneath her brows.
The girl smiled condescendingly at Bonita as she gave her the once-over, already seeing Bonita's beauty as a threat to her.
"I'm expected by Mr. Bortello," Bonita told her.
"Yes, but first you'll have to check in with Maria Yen," the door kitten announced in a soft, sultry voice. "She's the Kitten Mother."
"I see, and where would I find Miss Yen's office?" asked Bonita.
"Honey, just take the elevator in the lobby," she answered with exaggerated politeness. "The Kitten Den is on the sixth floor."
Bonita thanked the girl and hurried to the elevator. She pushed the sixth-floor button and the doors closed. As the elevator began to rise, she could feel a dryness in her mouth and a nervous tremor in the pit of her stomach. She smiled inwardly, realizing how similar it was to the sensation of butterflies that she often got in auditions. Bonita took a deep breath and held it a few seconds before letting it out. She knew from experience that it would help to dispel the fluttering in her stomach.
When she entered the Kitten Den, Bonita saw several more girls, in various stages of undress, sitting before theatrical mirrors, surrounded by light bulbs. Ignoring her, they applied their makeup and chatted raucously to each other.
". . .so anyhow this brown-shoe bastard kept on trying to stroke my crotch as I served his drink..."
"What did you do about it, Sandy?"
"I smiled sweetly and I told him, 'Honey, if you do that one more time, I'm gonna kick you right where it smarts.' He got the message right away."
"Ooh, Sandy! You are a caution!"
"Shucks, honey. Those damn Room Directors don't watch out for you; you got to protect yourself...."
After overhearing the girls' conversation, Bonita was fully aware that working at the Playtime Club wouldn't be any kind of picnic. She felt a twinge of apprehension and wondered if perhaps she'd made a mistake, that maybe this wasn't the kind of place she'd like to work.
Bonita knew it wasn't the toughness of the other girls, or the off-color language she'd just heard. Being an actress she had often heard foul language; she even used it herself sometimes. But the idea of constantly having to keep one step ahead of pawing, horny men certainly did not appeal to her.
As she entered the Kitten Mother's office, Maria Yen rose from behind her desk. She was a tiny and very beautiful Oriental woman in her early forties. She had been a kitten years before and now served as the club's den mother, in charge of all the other girls. She came forward, introduced herself and invited Bonita to be seated.
Bonita sat stiffly on the edge of her chair, watching as the other woman strolled back and forth, appraising her from every angle. The Oriental's face was a mask of inscrutability and Bonita was beginning to feel as though she were some kind of lab specimen.
"Relax, dear," Maria encouraged softly. "I'm not going to eat you."
Bonita took a deep breath and met the den mother's obscure smile with one of her own. She wondered if the woman's double entendre was purposely intended or just an innocent and harmless quip. Maria Yen placed a cigarette in a long black holder, lit it and sat on the edge of her desk, all the time studying Bonita intensely.
"What's your name, dear?"
"Bonita. Bonita Rossi."
"Bonita," Maria repeated. "We won't even have to change it. It'll do beautifully."
"Do you often change the girls' names?" Bonita asked.
"Many of the girls have the same name. So to avoid confusion, we change it. And then some of the others prefer a more exotic name."
"I don't think I'd care to do that," said Bonita.
"It won't be necessary, dear. You have a lovely name. Kitten Bonita, just wonderful," mused Maria Yen. Then she asked her to stand and turn around. Maria removed an instant-print camera from her desk drawer and snapped several pictures of Bonita.
"This is just for your record file, and we have to send ll two snapshots to our main office in Tucson," Maria told her. And that moment, someone knocked on the door.
"Yes, what is it?" the Kitten Mother called. She made no effort to conceal the annoyance in her voice.
A tall, olive-complexioned lovely entered and smiled brazenly at Maria Yen. This girl carried herself with an arrogance that foretold keen awareness of her own beauty. The den mother motioned impatiently for her to turn around. The girl twirled slowly with a haughty arrogance.
"Well, Marguerita. You've just earned yourself another five demerits. I warned you once not to wear anything on the floor but the regular five-inch heels, and your tail is a disgrace!" snapped Maria Yen. "Now go back and change your shoes and brush out that tail before you go on the floor!"
"But, Maria. I weel be late," the girl cried in a thick Spanish accent. "And Meester weel keel me!"
"Good. It serves you right," said Maria. "Maybe in the future you'll do as you were trained and stick to the kitten code of dress."
With flaring nostrils, the girl tossed an angry glance toward Bonita and flounced out of the office. Maria Yen snuffed out her cigarette angrily as she breathed deeply to regain her composure.
"If there's one thing I will not permit, it's insubordination! And that little hussy has given me nothing but lip and sass. We have a company policy that must be subscribed to," she told Bonita. "That girl has a responsibility to herself and the Playtime Clubs to carry herself with the pride and dignity that the kittens are famous for."
As Bonita watched the woman, she wondered to herself, with not only a little uncertainty, just what she might be getting herself into. Did she really want to go through with this?
Maria heaved a deep sigh and sat back on the corner of the desk. "I'm sorry for the interruption, Bonita. Now where were we? Oh, yes. I'd just explained to you about the snapshots," she said. "Come with me, dear. I'd like to see how you look in one of the shells."
"Miss Yen, I'm not sure if. . . "
"All the girls call me Maria, dear."
"Well, Maria," Bonita said warily, "I don't think I really want. . . "
"Before you make a hasty decision, Bonita, let me finish," Maria interjected. "You're a very beautiful girl. Any female with your looks and a little ambition can make a great deal of money at the Playtime Club."
"I'm not certain that I'm the type..."
"I'm not just talking about a salary," Maria continued. "I'm talking in terms of five-hundred to a thousand dollars a week. Of course, that's after training and becoming a showroom kitten."
A thousand dollars a week, thought Bonita. Could it be possible? It was more money than she had ever realized. Of course she wasn't pleased with the little scene she had just witnessed. Nor was she crazy about the types she'd have to work with. But for that kind of money it was worth a try. Bonita knew that if it worked, she'd be able to afford all the acting classes she wanted.
"Now why don't you do us both a favor and try on one of the kitten shells," Maria coaxed. "You don't have to make your mind up right away."
"Well, if you really think I could," said Bonita.
"Darling, I've no doubt about it," Maria promised, patting her softly on the cheek. Then she took Bonita by the hand and slid her arm gently around the girl's waist, giving her a quick, but intimate, tug before releasing her. Bonita felt the heat of discomfort prickle up her spine.
They left the office and Maria led her down the hall to the seamstress's room. Two walls of the tiny room were lined with racks of kitten costumes of all colors and shades. There were many costumes also hanging from the ceiling on long steel pipes. On the far side as they entered was a large mirror, and next to it the seamstress's table and sewing machine.
Vilma, the seamstress, was an enormous woman with a huge bosom. She was wearing slacks and a man's denim shirt, rolled up to her scaly elbows. A red beret was plopped in the center of her head. As Bonita was introduced, she noticed the faint nicotine stain in one corner of the woman's mouth, where a cigarette butt dangled. Several tiny gray hairs were growing from a mole on her chin.
Maria Yen told Bonita that she would wait for her back in the office. When the kitten mother had gone, Bonita looked about the room anxiously. She felt strange being there alone with Vilma.
"Let's have a look at you, honey," said Vilma. Her voice was deep and gravelly.
She reached up and chucked Bonita beneath her chin, turning her face from side to side. "Hmmm, not bad, sweetie, not bad," growled Vilma. "You're about a size nine."
Bonita watched nervously as the immense woman went to a rack and began rummaging through the costumes. "Aah, here's a nice wine-colored one that'll bring out the highlights of that lovely hair of yours."
Bonita took the shell from Vilma and went behind the screen, wondering if it was safe to undress in the same room with her. After removing her shoes, she quickly dropped her skirt and stepped into the shell. Then, pulling it up to her waist, she hurriedly pulled off her sweater. Bonita wasn't wearing a bra, so she hastily pulled the shell the rest of the way up and covered her breasts.
She had to admit to herself, she'd been curious to see how the racy costume would look on her. And now Bonita felt a certain pride upon seeing how well she filled out the shell. It seemed as though it were made for her. She stepped into the high-heel pumps that Vilma had selected for her and came out from behind the screen.
"Why, honey, you look beautiful," said Vilma with a raspy enthusiasm. "Here. Try these on."
Bonita took the matching wine-colored kitten ears and went to the mirror. She could feel the flush in her cheeks as she stared anxiously at her reflection. She was never one to consider herself anything but average in looks. Now, as she peered at her image, there was no denying the beauty of what she saw.
The costume clung to her every turn and curve, as though molded to her body. Even her breasts, which Bonita had considered barely adequate, now swelled like two proud globes above the fabric of the costume. Bonita turned from side to side, checking the sleek lines and realizing how much she resembled the lovely kittens she'd seen on the covers of Playtime Magazine.
"You'll do fine, honey," Vilma assured her.
Distracted from her own appraisal, Bonita looked up and realized the seamstress was standing directly behind her. She could feel the warm heat of Vilma's breath on the back of her neck. Then she saw and felt Vilma's hot little hands begin to caress her shoulders and move slowly forward.
"I'd better hurry," said Bonita, moving briskly away. "Maria is waiting for me."
She was glad to get out of the seamstress's room. Vilma really gave her the creeps. Heading back through the dressing room, she could sense other girls, as they stole admiring-if not jealous-looks at her. She carried herself at the full height of her long, lithe body, her silken skin glowing with the pride of her newly realized beauty.
Maria Yen's face lit up with approval when she saw Bonita enter the office. Bonita crossed over to her desk. Maria rose and came around to the front, taking Bonita's hands in her own.
"Dear girl," she said. "You're even lovelier than I had thought."
"You can say that again for me." The deep, resonant voice came from behind Bonita. She hadn't seen the man sitting in the corner when she entered. She turned to see Mr. Bortello, the general manager, as he rose to greet her. Bonita almost gasped aloud at the sight of him.
She could scarcely believe that such a rich, mellifluous voice could come from such a large, ugly man. He was obese, and his dark, rumpled suit fit tightly across his ample girth. He gave off the smell of cheap cologne and the large cigar that was clenched in the corner of his mouth. The only time he removed it was to wipe the perspiration from his face. This he did every few minutes with a soiled handkerchief.
His thick-lipped and jowly face reminded Bonita of a bulldog, and his dark hair was so thin that his oily scalp shone through it. She felt the heat of embarrassment in the way he leered at her.
Bortello walked around her as he appraised her, scrutinizing virtually every inch of her body. She was mortified and fought the urge to cover herself and flee from the room. Never before had she felt so physically exposed and cheapened.
He sat down on the edge of Maria's desk, with one leg dangling above the floor. The way he had positioned himself, Bonita could see the swell of his penis and scrotum pressing against the fabric of his trousers. It made her skin crawl and she looked away, hoping the interview would end quickly.
Bortello told Bonita that as far as he was concerned, she could start at the club as soon as she wanted. She thanked him politely and said that she would have to think it over. Again he professed the hope that they'd be hearing from her in a few days.
Her cheeks burned hotly when Bortello rose from the desk and nonchalantly adjusted himself. Bonita cringed inwardly when he patted her on the shoulder, resting his sweaty hand there longer than necessary. After he had left, she breathed a sigh of relief.
Back in the seamstress's room she hurriedly put on her street clothes. Bonita felt physically dirty and couldn't wait to get home and take a shower.
A few minutes later, as she rushed down the stairs from the club, Bonita couldn't help laughing to herself at the scene she had witnessed between Maria Yen and the kitten called Marguerita. Her own conversation with the Kitten Mother made her laugh self-consciously. Kitten Bonita, indeed, she mused.
When Bonita reached the sidewalk in front of the club, reality settled upon her and her spirits began to sag once again. The possibility of earning all that money no longer existed, and she still was in dire need of a job.
She started walking downtown. Maybe a cup of tea will pick up my spirits, Bonita told herself. On the corner, Bonita picked up a copy of The New York Job-Hunter. Then she found a quiet coffee shop and slipped inside.
After ordering a cup of tea, Bonita spread the paper out on the top of the table. She really had no idea what kind of job she was suited for. In her high-school years, she had worked as a secretary for a doctor on weekends and during the summer months.
She could do a little of everything. Shorthand, typing and minor bookkeeping had all been required at the doctor's office, but the idea of spending eight hours a day in some boring office didn't exactly appeal to her. If she were lucky, thought Bonita, maybe she could find a job as an office temporary. As she scanned the listings of secretarial jobs, one ad popped out and caught her eye.
WANTED FOR WELL-PAYING, EXCITING JOB WITH TOP THEATRICAL PRODUCER.
BOY OR GIRL FRIDAY. MUST TYPE, TAKE SHORTHAND, AND KNOW SOME BOOKKEEPING. ACTORS NEED NOT APPLY.
WRITE C/O NEW YORK JOB-HUNTER, DEPT. DB.
Once again Bonita's spirits began to soar at the prospect of working in .the office of a Broadway producer. Even though the ad specifically stipulated that actors need not apply, Bonita didn't think it would be dishonest for her to overlook that fact.
If she got an interview and was asked what she had majored in at college, she would truthfully tell them that it had been drama, then fudge the issue by saying she hoped to get in the production end of the business. Bonita knew that if she handled this interview properly, it could be just the break she was looking for.
Once back in her apartment, Bonita took a refreshing bath and felt stimulated. She went to her desk and took out her portable typewriter. Now that her mind was clear of all the day's problems, she decided to write an answer to the ad.
When the letter was finished, Bonita went down to the mailbox on her street and deposited the letter. She knew it would be a few days before she'd receive a reply, so she resolved to try to put it out of her mind and not torture herself over the slight possibility she had of getting the position.
Bonita continued to systematically examine the local papers each day, looking for other job opportunities that might be of interest to her. If she must work in an office, she wanted a job that would pay a reasonable salary and be as interesting as possible.
The next few days passed slowly. Bonita occupied her time answering other ads during the day and studying lines for a scene she was working on for her acting class. In the next few days she had two more interviews.
One was for a secretary in a rental office on First Avenue. The salary was fair, but the working conditions were deplorable. The office was old and depressing, and the musty smell of old cigars permeated the air. The second interview was for a telephone answering service. They offered five dollars an hour, for an eight-hour day. Bonita gave it a try, but quit after an hour.
On Wednesday, Bonita's scene study partner, Kathy Wiggens, came over to her place to work on their scene.
They were doing part of a very well-known play. They had run through the scene twice and both times Bonita had flubbed her lines. On the third attempt, she went up again.
"Gosh, Bonnie. That's the third time in a row," said Kathy in exasperation. "You never blow your lines or wander all over like you've been doing. Is there something wrong?"
"Ooh, damn, Kathy! I don't know what's the matter with me. I just can't seem to concentrate today."
"What is it, Bonnie, man-trouble? C'mon, hon. Fess up, you can tell me," Kathy coaxed, hoping to hear some inside dirt.
"It's nothing like that, Kathy," said Bonita. "Besides, I've been so bloody busy making rounds during the day and studying at night that I haven't had time for a date."
"That's the problem, honey. All work and no play makes Jill a very dull girl," said Kathy with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "What y'all need, girl, is a li'l ole toss in the hay!"
She really enjoyed her friend's outlook on life. Kathy was a ravishing redhead from Texas, whose father was the wealthy owner of several oil fields. She had once told Bonita that her daddy was so rich, he wasn't certain how large his fortune was.
Kathy had come to New York in hopes of making a career of daytime TV dramas, but Bonita suspected that her real goal in life was to latch onto a husband, preferably a rich one. She kept in practice by having every guy in their acting class head over heels in love with her. To Bonita, Kathy was a sweet and outgoing scatterbrain, but she really cared for her.
"I mean it, Bonnie. You're studying all the time," said Kathy. "Shoot, girl. If you don't have some social life, it's bound to affect you sooner or later. And the way you've been going today, looks like it's getting you sooner."
"Don't worry, Kathy. It has nothing to do with my social life," Bonita assured her.
"Then what is it, honey?"
"Well, for one thing I guess I'm a little concerned about getting a job," said Bonita. "I had a little money set aside when I first arrived in New York, but now my account is starting to dwindle."
"Hell, Bonnie! If it's only money y'all is worried about, why didn't you say so? Hell, girl, my daddy's lousy with it! I'd be right honored to lend you a little to tide you over until you get a part in something."
"Kathy, you're very kind," replied Bonita, "But I couldn't accept money from you. I'll just have to get a job."
"Ah, horsefeathers, honey! You're much too talented and dedicated to be wasting your time worrying about a li'l ole thing like money."
"Why, darlin', thank y'all for the compliment," said Bonita, kiddingly mocking Kathy's Texas drawl. "But you can rest assured it'll be only until I've put some money aside."
"Heeey, Bonnie! I've got a terrific idea how you could save some money. Why don't you move in with me?" Kathy suggested brightly. "I'd sure love to have you. It gets lonely as all get-out, rattling around in that big ole apartment over on Sutton Place."
It would be marvelous to live in one of New York's most exclusive neighborhoods, thought Bonita. She had seen Kathy's apartment many times and it was exquisite. But she was aware that living there would be like a zoo, what with Kathy's parade of boyfriends.
"Thanks, Kath, but let's be realistic, hon. With all your friends coming and going, I'd never get any work done."
"Yeah, Bonnie, but look at all the fun we'd have!" cried Kathy. "We could play musical beds just about every night!"
Bonita laughed out loud. "Kathy, you are a caution and I'm almost tempted to take you up on it," she said. "But I think it's better if I pass."
"Well, the offer's always open if you change your mind."
"Anyhow, if I get this job I've applied for, I'll be in good shape," said Bonita. "What job is that?"
"Oh, Kath. It'd be the answer to my prayers. It's for a gal-Friday type, working in a Broadway producer's office."
"That sounds fantastic, Bonnie! Who is it?" asked Kathy.
"The ad didn't mention any names, just an address to write to," answered Bonita. "I guess it really doesn't matter. I wrote them almost a week ago. If I haven't heard from them by now, I guess I can forget about it."
"Now, girl. Don't you go being so all down in the mouth, honey. Probably lots of people have applied; they just ain't gotten to you yet."
Thursday morning, Bonita was awakened by the persistent ringing of her telephone. She yawned sleepily, rolled over and picked up the receiver. "Hello," Bonita mumbled.
"May I speak to Bonita Rossi, please?" requested a woman's voice.
"Speaking," she answered, still not fully awake.
"Miss Rossi, this is David Weston's office calling. We have your letter, and Mr. Weston would like to make an appointment to see you," the woman said.
Bonita managed to stifle her gasp. She was wide-awake now and struggled to a sitting position.
"Yes, aaah, that would be fine," she stammered.
"Alright, Miss Rossi. Are you free this afternoon? Say about two o'clock?"
"Yes ... I ... Yes I am," Bonita answered.
"Very well, Miss Rossi. We'll be expecting you then," the woman told her.
"Thank you," Bonita replied breathlessly as she heard the line go dead. She sat very still for a moment, then replaced the receiver in its cradle. Bonita fell back on the bed and, with a joyous whoop, she kicked her covers high into the air.
"He wants to see me! Hot damn! He wants to see me!"
CHAPTER TWO
The rest of the morning was like a blur to Bonita. She moved about her apartment as though she were in a trance. She went without her usual breakfast of two eggs, toast and coffee. Bonita was far too nervous to have any appetite. Instead, she settled for a glass of juice and a cup of black coffee.
After her shower, she put just a touch of rouge on her lips. The natural flush that came to her cheeks made it unnecessary for her to use any makeup. She powdered her body and applied a pleasant perfume that wasn't too overpowering.
Bonita realized that her choice of clothing must be exactly right for the interview. She remembered reading in a women's magazine that dark or navy blue was a power color. She decided to wear her dark-blue suit, aware it would add a proper look of sophistication. With it she wore a light-blue silk blouse, with a puffy bow at the throat.
Knowing it would add age to her soft features and lend her a look of intelligent maturity, she wore her hair pulled severely back into a tight chignon. When she was ready, Bonita paused to observe the result of her efforts in the full-length mirror on her closet door. She smiled inwardly with deep satisfaction at the serious young woman who stared back at her.
After leaving her apartment, she decided to splurge on a taxi, knowing that it shouldn't take more than twenty minutes to reach David Weston's office. That would give her time enough to compose herself before going up to meet him.
On the ride downtown, Bonita tried to recall what she had read about David Weston in the gossip columns. She knew that he had been married to Margo Chandler, the great stage actress. There had often been rumors of trouble with their marriage, and then she was tragically killed in a plane crash. That had been several years ago. Recently his name was constantly being linked with various beauties. Bonita estimated that he was at least fifty years old.
Weston's offices occupied the northern half of the fortieth floor, in a building on Broadway. When the elevator doors opened, the first thing she saw was Central Park in the distance far below. She walked down a long hallway with a gleaming hardwood floor. On the walls were elaborately framed paintings and photos of previous productions and the actors who had starred in them.
The anteroom was quietly done in a tasteful soft-brown and tan. The floor of the large room was covered by a deep wall-to-wall pale-beige rug. There were several doors around the room that appeared to lead to other offices. In the center was a heavy oak desk. A prim, middle-aged woman was seated behind it. It was obvious to Bonita that no one went in to see Weston without getting past her first.
"May I help you?" she asked stringently.
"I have an appointment to see Mr. Weston," Bonita told her nervously.
"You must be Miss Rossi," the woman replied, smiling graciously.
"Yes, Ma'am," answered Bonita. "I think, uh, I'm a few minutes early."
"Don't be nervous, dear," the receptionist assured her. "Mr. Weston appreciates promptness."
She picked up the white phone on her pristinely neat desk, pushed a button and spoke softly into the receiver. Bonita watched as she nodded her head, then replaced the receiver in the cradle.
"You may go right in, Miss Rossi," she said with a smile of approval. "It's the first door to your left."
As Bonita approached the door, she could feel the dampness on the palms of her hands and a tightness in her chest. It was much like the nervous tension she always felt just before making a stage entrance. She took a deep breath and opened the door.
Weston's office, though smaller than the anteroom, was still massive, considering it was occupied by only one person. To the right, Bonita could see a smaller office she assumed would be hers if he liked her.
Directly in front of her, on a raised platform, was Weston's huge desk. Behind the desk was a high-backed leather chair, turned away from her, facing a floor-to-ceiling window. Through the window, she could see a panoramic view of the city and Central Park beyond. For a fleeting moment, Bonita had the feeling that she was alone in the room. Then a deep, masculine voice called out from somewhere.
"Come right in, Miss Rossi," the voice commanded.
At the same time, the chair swung around and she was face to face with David Weston. Bonita was surprised to see that he was much younger than she had considered. He couldn't be more than forty, she thought, more like thirty-five.
He was also one of the finest-looking men she had ever laid eyes on. Except for the strands of gray at both temples, his hair was like black patent leather, parted on the left side and combed straight back. He wore it neatly trimmed in the latest fashion, just long enough to partially cover the tops of his ears.
He sported a rakish, pencil-thin moustache on his strong, angular face. But for a tiny indiscernible bump in its center, his nose was almost perfect, set off by his firm jaw line. It was his eyes, though, that Bonita found most startling. They were riveting and black as coal, with a fringe of dark lashes. Weston's expression was incomprehensible as he coolly appraised her.
Then he rose from his chair and came around the desk. As Weston walked toward her with an outstretched hand, she noticed that he was slim-waisted and tall. His shoulders were wide and powerfully built, like an athlete's. He moved gracefully as he stepped down from the raised platform.
Bonita looked up when he took her hand and could see how the lines at the corners of his eyes deepened when he smiled. As he did, his eyes appeared not to be as dark and threatening.
"I'm glad you could make it on such short notice, Miss Rossi," said Weston. "Please be seated."
Bonita smiled confidently and Weston returned to his chair. He removed a cigarette from an ivory box on his desk and lit it.
"I'm sorry, excuse me," he said, squinting through a cloud of smoke. "Would you care for a cigarette?"
"No thank you, Mr. Weston. I don't smoke," she told him.
"Good for you," Weston remarked. "It's a bad habit to get into."
He took another drag from his cigarette and placed it on a sterling-silver ashtray. Bonita watched him anxiously while he stared at her quietly, all the time stroking his moustache with the index finger of his right hand.
"You stated in your letter that some day you'd like to produce your own shows," he said, finally breaking the silence.
"That's right. I've been interested in theatre all my life," Bonita answered. "Right from the time I joined the Drama Society as a freshman in high school."
Weston narrowed his eyes and a dubious smile played at the corner of his mouth. "I find it rather curious that someone of your obvious beauty wouldn't be more interested in a career on the stage," he opined.
"Pardon me, Mr. Weston, but I find that a most chauvinistic remark," Bonita bristled.
Weston's smile disappeared as his dark eyes took on the coal-black look she had seen at first. His right eyebrow rose on his forehead in an instant of irritation. She was sorry now that she'd lost her temper.
"How old are you, Miss Rossi?" asked Weston.
"I'm twenty-five, if that has any bearing on the matter!" snapped Bonita without thinking. Oh, hold your tongue, girl, she told herself.
"I don't want you to misunderstand me," said Weston. "Your qualifications are excellent."
"Then what's the problem, Mr. Weston?"
"The person who takes this job must be fully aware that it is not going to be fun and games," he said. "I'm not trying to frighten you, Miss Rossi, but I do want you to realize that this is not a glamour job. You won't be rubbing elbows with a lot of celebrities and being invited to a lot of exciting parties. What you will be doing is work, hard work. Especially when we get close to an opening date."
"I'm not afraid of hard work, Mr. Weston. I'm fully aware of what a struggle it is to acquire success in the theater, no matter what area one chooses," Bonita told him.
"I just want to be certain you are," he said.
"I can't do more than give you my word," she replied.
"There will be weeks when you won't have any time for yourself. You'll be coming in early and going home late at night. Very often you'll be expected to give up your weekends on a moment's notice.
"I realize that we advertised for a gal or guy Friday, but what your job entails will be a lot more important than that. You'll be required to do everything from being a gofer, to answering mail, reading scripts, sitting in on rewrites, and sometimes you might even have to hold book at a backers' audition. There'll be times when I want to avoid certain people, and you'll be expected to run interference for me."
"Is that all?" Bonita asked with mock seriousness. Her attitude amused Weston and he grinned briefly at her.
"No, I'm sure there're a thousand other things I've failed to recall," he told her. "But I think you have a general idea of what you can expect."
Bonita nodded quietly, hoping that he would have enough confidence in her to give her a chance at the position.
"I can assure you, Miss Rossi, that you'll learn everything there is to know about putting a production together. The work is long and hard; but if you love the theatre, it's most rewarding. There, I've finished my speech."
Weston sat back in his chair, with his elbows resting on the arms and his fingertips pressed together, forming a tent. He stared quietly at Bonita and she suddenly realized that he was waiting for some comment from her. Anxiously she leaned forward on the edge of her seat.
"Does that mean I've got the job?" she asked.
"After all I've told you," replied Weston, "and you still want it?"
"Absolutely!" beamed Bonita.
"You really think you're tough enough to handle the pressure?" Weston asked, smiling skeptically. The question annoyed Bonita, but this time she had the good sense to control her temper and think before blurting out her answer.
"Mr. Weston, I learned at an early age that you get nothing for nothing. Anything worth something is gained only through hard work and dedication," Bonita told him. "I want this job very much. I'd like the opportunity to prove my sincerity to you. So much so that I'd be willing to work for a week without pay. If at the end of a week you don't think I'll work out, you can let me go and save a week's salary."
She could tell from the expression on Weston's face that he had been impressed with her comment. He rose from his chair and walked to the window. Standing with his back toward Bonita, he stared down into the street. A moment later, he turned and looked gravely at her. Bonita watched hopefully, awaiting his answer.
"That won't be necessary, Miss Rossi. You've already convinced me," said Weston. The dimples in both cheeks deepened as he smiled warmly at her.
"We'll start you at three-hundred dollars a week. Of course, there will be raises based on merit, and later you'll have the opportunity to buy shares in some of our productions ... if you wish."
"Thank you, Mr. Weston. I promise you won't be sorry," said Bonita.
"I just hope you won't be."
"Oh, I won't be, Mr. Weston."
"One other thing. Since we'll be working closely together," said Weston. "I think we'd both be more comfortable with a little informality. Please, call me David."
"Certainly, David," she smiled.
She stood up and he came around the desk, taking her tiny hand in both of his. For an instant, she thought he was going to kiss it.
"Welcome to Weston Productions, Bonita," he said.
Weston guided her to the door of his office. When they reached it, he placed his hand on the knob and hesitated, then turned back to her.
"Bonita, you go home and have a good rest this weekend," said Weston. "Monday we're holding auditions for a new show, so it'll be a long day. We'll see you here at nine; then we'll go over to the theatre."
When the elevator doors closed, Bonita heaved a deep sigh. She was exhausted, but exhilarated, as though she had just come off the stage from a performance. Her mind reeled with excitement as the impact of her good fortune began to take effect.
Bonita's eyes clouded with tears of joy and she giggled to herself, glad now that no one else was on the elevator. Three-hundred dollars a week, she thought. And at last I'm working in the theatre. Maybe it wasn't what she really wanted, an acting job, but at least she consoled herself that she was working in her own environment. At last she would be working with the kind of people she lovedshow people, her kind of people.
"Now what's this exciting news that you said you had to tell me on the phone?" asked Kathy breathlessly as she came into Bonita's apartment.
"I got the job, Kathy!"
"The one you were waiting to hear on?"
"The very one," Bonita answered brightly.
"Now, honey, that's downright wonderful!" Kathy exclaimed. "That means your money problems are solved!"
Kathy flung her arms around Bonita excitedly. She had been afraid that her best friend would quit New York and go back to her hometown. Bonita's good fortune was the best thing she could have hoped for.
"But wait, Kathy, you haven't heard the best of it!" cried Bonita.
"Go on, girl, tell me," demanded Kathy. "Don't just stand there with your old face hanging out."
Bonita placed her hands on her hips and struck a haughty pose. Then she sashayed around the room, keeping Kathy in suspence. Finally Kathy sighed with exasperation.
"C'mon, Bonnie!" she cried.
"Dear girl. You are now looking at the personal assistant to none other than Mr. David Weston!"
"Yahoo!" Kathy let go a rebel cry. "Honey, that is fantastic! Why, child, he's the most delicious man in New York City!"
"Oh, Kathy, isn't it just fabulous?"
"I do declare, Bonnie. That man can put his shoes 'neath my bed any ole time," said Kathy. "When do you start?"
"Monday morning I arrive at the office," said Bonita, strutting about the living room with an imperious air. "Then we go over to the theatre. We're holding auditions for a new play."
"What a break, Bonnie! Do you think you'll be able to weedle a part for yourself?"
"Nooo, Kath. At least not right away," said Bonnie with an embarrassed smile. "He doesn't know a thing about my acting and as far as I'm concerned he's not going to. At least not for a while."
"Well, what did you say?" asked Kathy.
"I told him I wanted to learn all about producing," she explained. "Don't worry. When the time is right I'll make my move."
"You ole sass, you," Kathy grinned mischievously. "C'mon, girl. Tell me all about it. What's he like?"
"Well, Kathy, he's very attractive. Actually, I guess you could say he's rather handsome. Tall and dark and..."
"Delicious, delicious. Tell me more."
"When I first went in for the interview, I was so bloody nervous that I couldn't keep my knees from knocking," Bonita told her. "And he was real cool the way he looked me over."
"Well, go on, honey," Kathy urged. "Don't stop now."
"He has incredibly dark eyes. Real sinister-looking," Bonita mused. "Until he smiles. Then the whole room lights up."
"What did he say to you?" Kathy wanted to know.
"We discussed what would be expected of me. He tried his damnedest to discourage me, telling me how rough it would be. He said that he was surprised that someone as beautiful as I wasn't trying for an acting career."
"Wow!" Kathy laughed. "You must have given some performance!"
"I'll say. I almost choked when he made that remark. Anyhow, I convinced him and got the job," said Bonita. "And just think, Kath, starting at three-hundred a week."
"He must really like you," replied Kathy. "Tell me the truth ... did he make a pass at you?"
"Kathy," said Bonita with annoyance, "he's not like that. He's a perfect gentleman."
"That's not what I've heard. The word around town is that he's got the biggest pecker on Broadway," laughed Kathy. "That since his wife died, no girl is safe alone with him."
"Oh, Kathy. He wasn't like that at all. He behaved in a completely professional manner."
"Uh-huh."
"Well, he did," Bonita insisted.
Kathy grinned impishly. "Rumor has it that he'll bang anything that moves."
"Maybe so," replied Bonita. "But he was very kind and respectful to me. In fact, at times I thought I could see a strange sadness about him."
"I wonder what it would be like to make it with him," Kathy pondered aloud. "I've never made it with a guy who wore a moustache. I bet it tickles when he goes down on you."
"Kathy, you are impossible!"
"Well, Bonnie, you could do worse," said Kathy. "He's handsome, he's wealthy, he's single, and he's a Broadway producer. What more could you ask for?"
"I'm not looking for a husband," Bonita told her. "I'm trying to get on Broadway. If at a later date David wants to help me, fine. But nothing else."
"Girl, you're crazy. With a setup like that, I'd have him sniffing at my tail."
Bonita laughed in spite of herself. "Yes, and the minute David caught on to you, you'd be out the door."
"David, is it? Already you call him by his first name?" asked Kathy.
"Yes. He insisted," Bonita said, smiling smugly. "He said that since we're going to be working so closely, we'd feel much more comfortable addressing each other by our first names."
"Uh-huh. There, I told you," Kathy grinned with satisfaction. "Honey, I have a feeling you'll be seeing the size of his pecker sooner than you think."
"Oh, phooey, Kathy."
CHAPTER THREE
Bonita was almost as happy as if she had been given a part in a Broadway play. She arrived at the office at precisely nine o'clock on Monday morning. The casting call wouldn't be until later that morning, but Bonita wanted to have time to inspect her new office and she thought that David might want to give her some instructions before they left for the theatre.
It was a good feeling going to work and knowing that at last the pressure of having to find a job was no more. Bonita wore a tan tweed skirt and a white silk blouse beneath a dark-brown jacket, along with her new leather boots that she had purchased on Saturday. As she came into Weston's office, he gave her a look of appraisal and smiled approvingly.
"Good morning, Bonita," he greeted her, rising and coming from behind his desk. "You're early."
"Morning, David," Bonita answered. "I thought that there might be some last-minute details you'd want to cover before we leave for the theatre."
"There's nothing right now," he said. "Come, I'll show you your office."
Weston opened the door and led her into the office just off his. It was small, barely half the size of his, but Bonita liked it. The floor was covered with the same carpeting as his office. There was a tea table in the corner, with a sterling-silver tea set on top of it. Weston walked to the window and opened the drapes. Bright sunlight flooded the room. Her office had the same lovely view of Central Park that Weston's had.
"I've had the desk set up for you. I think you'll find everything you need in the drawers," he told her. "In the future when you need anything, the supply room is just down the hall."
"I love it already," Bonita smiled enthusiastically. "It would be difficult not to."
Weston opened another door. "In here is your private bathroom," he said. "And whenever you want coffee or tea, there's a small kitchen just before the supply room. I think that just about covers it."
When he was gone, Bonita hung her coat in the closet and then walked around the room, trying to get the feel of it. She sat in the chair behind her desk, marveling at how comfortable it was. After adjusting the seat to fit the typewriter, she turned and looked out the window. Her heart swelled with pride.
"Bonita Rossi," she muttered aloud to herself, "you are one lucky gal."
Weston stuck his head in the door. "Comfortable?" he asked.
"Quite," answered Bonita. "Now all I need is some work to do."
"There'll be plenty of that, I can assure you," Weston told her. "Here's for starters. This is a list of actors and their agents. I want you to call the agents and confirm their appointments for today. You won't have time to read the play right now, but familiarize yourself with the cast breakdown and look over the synopsis. By then it'll be time to go over to the theatre."
When Bonita had confirmed all the actors' appointments, she anxiously picked up the synopsis, wondering if there might be something in it that she was right for. She knew it was too soon for her to put her plans into action, but as an actress, Bonita was still curious.
The play was called Love Games, a comedy about two married couples. The plot device concerned the husbands each secretly having an affair with the other's wife.
Richard Bates, the English actor, was already signed to star. The other three parts were still being cast and, as luck would have it, there was a nice littleingenue role that Bonita knew she would be perfect for. When she finished reading the synopsis, Bonita sighed and placed it on top of her desk. That's all right, girl, she consoled herself, your turn will come.
The intercom buzzed, and she reached over and pressed the button. "Yes?" asked Bonita.
"It's time to go," Weston informed her.
The auditions were being held in the Mercy Theatre on 52nd Street, so they decided to walk the few blocks. As they crossed the street, Weston held Bonita's elbow. His mysterious dark eyes sparkled with warmth as he smiled at her. She could feel a burst of pride walking beside this famous man, and thought how well everything was working out.
"What did you think of the synopsis?" Weston asked.
"I can't wait to read the play," she answered. "It looks very promising."
"I produced the author's last two plays, and they were both hits. I think we have a good chance to make it a triple."
"It's an interesting plot development," Bonita told him. "And from the little I've read, it's very funny."
"O'Malley's a very funny writer," assured Weston. "You'll meet him today. He's going to sit in on the auditions."
"Will Richard Bates be there?"
"No. He's not due in from England until the end of the week. Hopefully, we'll have the rest of the people cast by then and can begin rehearsals on Monday."
"I hope I don't sound like a silly little twit, but I find it all so exciting," Bonita confessed.
"I've been doing it for years, and I still get excited at the beginning of each production," he admitted.
When they arrived at the theatre, they were greeted by the playwright, Kevin O'Malley, who would also be directing. Weston introduced Bonita to him, and all three took seats in the center of the fifth row.
O'Malley, a boisterous and gregarious individual, was a big, chunky man with a busted nose and a thick crop of unruly red hair. He had gotten his start as a playwright for the Abbey Players in Dublin, Ireland. O'Malley also had a notorious reputation as a barroom brawler.
Bonita looked around the empty theatre, feeling as though she belonged there. The bare bulb of the glaring work light cast long shadows across the empty stage. She could hear the muted voices of awaiting actors coming from the wings. A moment later a young man carrying a play script walked on stage and came down front near the orchestra pit.
"We're ready whenever you are, Mr. Weston," said the stage manager.
"Okay, Timmy. Bring the first one out," ordered Weston.
The stage manager disappeared and returned a moment later with an attractive brunette. From the way she carried herself, Bonita could tell the girl had a lot of experience.
"Mr. Weston," said Tommy, "this is Lois Bianchi."
"Good morning, Miss Bianchi," Weston greeted her. "Would you please read Anne's speech in the second act, top of page forty-nine?"
Bonita could feel the butterflies flutter in her stomach.
It was almost as bad as if she were auditioning herself. The actress found the page and began to read the speech. It was a comical speech by an angry wife who had found a lipstick stain on her husband's collar. She read it perfectly-not once referring to the script-and even caused Weston to chuckle. When she finished, he had her read two other speeches.
O'Malley, who was sitting on the other side of Weston, leaned over and whispered something to him. Weston nodded his head in agreement, then turned to Bonita.
"I want you to keep a list of call-backs," he told her, "beginning with Miss Bianchi. You can get her agent's number from Timmy."
He looked up at the actress and smiled. "Thank you, Miss Bianchi. That was very good."
"Would you like me to read anything else?" she inquired.
"No. We've seen enough," he answered.
The actress hesitated a moment, seemingly not wanting to give up center stage. Then she smiled hopefully, thanked Weston and left the platform.
For the rest of the morning, they auditioned twenty hopeful girls for the part of Anne. After the Bianchi woman's splendid reading, the rest was all downhill. None of them had the speech memorized as she did, even though they had been given the script a few days earlier. Some even stumbled on their lines when they read it from the book.
By noon they were finished with the Annes and began auditioning for the role of the second husband, Vern. When the last actor, Ray Stough, finished reading, Weston told Bonita to add his name to the list.
"How many more are out there?" he called to the stage manager.
"That's it for now, Mr. Weston," answered Timmy. "I've scheduled a lunch break, and the first girl for Tina isn't due until two o'clock."
"Good show, Timmy. We'll see you in an hour," Weston told him. He turned to Bonita and O'Malley. "How about you guys, are you hungry?"
"I'm famished," said Bonita.
"I'm not hungry," said O'Malley, "but I'll join you for a little taste."
Weston took them down the street to a reputable steak house. He ordered a Martini and a light salad for himself. Bonita had a glass of white wine and a tuna-fish salad, while O'Malley settled for a double Scotch on the rocks. This he proceeded to knock off in two gulps. He ordered two more in quick succession.
Bonita was fascinated at the man's capacity for alcohol. All during lunch O'Malley regaled them with tales of the Irish theatre and his many barroom brawls. Toward the end of the meal, he ordered a fourth drink.
"Hey, go easy with that stuff, Kevin," warned Weston. "We've still got an afternoon of work in front of us."
"Don't worry," O'Malley laughed. "You can't expect a man to be creative on soda, now, can you?"
"O'Malley, you'll never change, will you!" Weston grinned.
"That's what my last wife said," roared O'Malley.
The rest of the afternoon was spent auditioning ingenues for the role of Tina, the second wife. It was the part that Bonita knew she was right for, and it nearly made her sick to her stomach watching one bad audition after another. She longed to beg David for a chance to audition, but she knew that she mustn't dare. Finally Weston looked at his watch. It was five o'clock.
"Timmy, how many more are back there?" he called out.
"Just one more," answered Timmy, coming on stage accompanied by a pretty little blonde. "Mr. Weston, this is Jackie Donnet."
"Hello, Miss Donnet," he sighed wearily. "Sorry we've kept you waiting so long. Would you please read the crying scene with Timmy?"
The scene was a poignant but funny one, in which Tina learns that her husband, Vern, is having an affair with her best friend, Anne, and at the same time Vern discovers that Tina is doing the same with Anne's husband, the Richard Bates role. For the thirteenth time that afternoon, Timmy began to read the scene. Bonita felt sorry for the actresses because Timmy wasn't an actor and gave little to the scene.
Then suddenly, something magic happened on stage. The girl began playing the scene as though it were real. Her eyes filled with tears and her pretty little face screwed up with pain. Bonita could feel a chill run up her spine and knew the girl was good. Beside her, Weston leaned forward on the seat in front of him, cupping his chin in his hand and watching the girl intently. On the other side of Weston, O'Malley, who had been dozing, opened his eyes.
"Now there's a nice one," he muttered.
"Shhhh," Weston hushed him.
As the actress finished the scene, a lump formed in Bonita's throat. She was moved by the girl's performance and the realization that any chance she might have had was now gone. Weston rose and began to applaud.
"At last an actress!" he shouted. "Thank you very much, Miss Donnet."
The girl was still weeping as she smiled down at them.
"Thank you, Mr. Weston," she answered breathlessly.
"Well done, lass," O'Malley called to her, then turned to Weston. "She's what I had in mind when I wrote the bloody part!"
They sat back down wearily. It had been a long day, but it was worth it. Bonita empathized with the girl, blinking tears from her eyes as she realized how happy the actress must feel at this, her moment of discovery.
"You don't have to add Miss Donnet's name to your list, Bonita," Weston grinned, then to Timmy. "Get the number of Miss Donnet's agent, Timmy."
They held a quick conference and Weston told Bonita to get the numbers of the Bianchi girl's and Ray Stough's agents. He decided there was no sense wasting time with a call-back. They, too, had given fine auditions and Weston was convinced he now had a complete cast.
Bonita felt emotionally drained as they walked back to the office. Weston wanted her to pick up a script and read it that night. She thought it ironic when Weston remarked that he wanted her to be as familiar with the material as if she were playing Tina herself.
As the bus headed uptown on her way home, Bonita took out the script and looked at the cover: Love Games, by Kevin O'Malley. For the first time in her life, she experienced the incredible thrill of belonging, of being a part of, and participating in something very big. She read the title and author's name again. This is not just any old play, Bonita told herself. Nor is that the name of some unknown or faceless human being, she thought. I know him. I met Kevin O'Malley today. And even though I'm not in this play, lama part of it. Bonita opened to the first page and began to read.
By the time she arrived back at her apartment, Bonita had finished the first act. She thought it was the best comedy she'd ever read and didn't bother to make her supper until she had finished reading the play. When Bonita was through, she realized the part of Tina was even better than she had first thought.
It was going to be difficult working so closely to this production, knowing there was a role just perfect for her. And also knowing that there wasn't even the slightest chance for her to play it. She consoled herself with the knowledge that, working for David Weston, she was on the inside track, that she'd be privy to information other young actresses wouldn't be. She'd know what other producers were doing and what type of parts would be coming up. For the while being, she'd have to learn to be patient and bide her time, for Bonita was certain her chance would come.
CHAPTER FOUR
Bonita's first week working for David Weston went by swiftly. Since Love Games was Weston's first show of the season and already cast, there was not a lot of work to do at the office. Bonita spent most of her time answering mail. The real hustle and bustle would start when there were several shows in production at the same time.
When she arrived at the office on Friday, Bonita was surprised to see that Weston wasn't in yet. After a cup of coffee and a pastry, she busied herself with finishing some letters from the day before.
At ten o'clock the private phone in Weston's office began to ring. When it wasn't answered, she realized that he hadn't arrived yet and hurried into his office to pick up the receiver.
"David Weston's office," she said.
"May I speak with David, please?" asked the sultry voice of a woman.
"I'm sorry, but Mr. Weston isn't in yet," said Bonita. "May I take a message?"
"To whom am I speaking?" the woman asked, sounding slightly annoyed.
"This is Miss Rossi, Mr. Weston's assistant."
"Well, Miss Rossi, tell dear David when he arrives, that Leslie called to see how he was feeling," she said. "He'll understand."
Before Bonita could get her number, she had hung up. Shrugging absently, Bonita returned to her office. As she continued her work, she wondered who Leslie was and what could have been meant by the cryptic message she'd left.
Upon recalling the sexy sound of the woman's voice and the impertinent tone when she had answered the phone, Bonita could feel the bristle of anger prickle up her back. Then suddenly, Bonita realized it wasn't exactly anger, but more like jealousy. How absolutely ridiculous, she laughed to herself. A week on the job and already she was becoming overly protective of her boss.
She looked up and, there, standing in the doorway, was David Weston. She'd failed to hear him enter and had no way of knowing how long he'd been standing there, watching her. He looks terrible, thought Bonita. His face was pale and expressionless, with dark rings under his eyes. As he stared at her, Bonita could see that strange far-away look that she had noticed on the first day she met him.
"Hi," she greeted him cheerfully.
Weston barely acknowledged her, but turned away and went into his office. How strange, Bonita thought, rather confused by his behavior. She rose and followed him into his office. Weston sat behind his desk, rubbing his eyes.
"Are you all right, David?" she asked.
"He looked up and smiled wanly at her. A little of his color had returned and she thought he looked more like his old self.
"Of course I'm all right," he sighed. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, you looked a little pale a moment ago," answered Bonita. "And a woman named Leslie called earlier and said to give you the message that she called to see how you were feeling."
"Oooh, don't remind me," he groaned through a painful grin. "That was Leslie Burnham, an old buddy of mine. Dick Bates came in last night, and we went out to the airport to meet him."
"I was a little concerned ... I thought you might have been in an accident."
"I guess I was. We ran into O'Malley and a gang of Martinis. I think we were celebrating the start of rehearsals on Monday. I don't remember much of what happened after that."
".How did you get home?" inquired Bonita.
"Good old Leslie," he told her. "After we poured Bates into his hotel lobby, she drove me home."
Bonita wondered if the Burnham woman hadn't been drinking also, but didn't think it was her place to ask. Then, as though he had read her mind, Weston looked up and grinned.
"Leslie's some gal," he remarked, shaking his head with wonder. "She must have a hollow leg. She drank more than any of us, except O'Malley, of course. But it never even made a dent. What a gal!"
Yeah, some gal, thought Bonita. She was miffed at herself for having been so concerned about him. And it annoyed her even more that she had allowed herself to be affected by what Weston did in his personal life. After all, he was merely her boss, and what he did was really no business of hers. He called to her as she returned to her office.
"Bonita, girl. Get this wounded old vet a strong cup of black coffee."
"All right, I'll put a fresh pot on," she answered, doing her best not to show her anger.
When the coffee was ready, she took a cup into him. Weston took it with shaky hands and, after blowing on it for a moment, he took a long swallow.
"Aah," he sighed. "I think I'm going to survive after all."
Even with a hangover he was an extremely handsome man, and Bonita smiled in spite of herself.
"There's more coffee here and I bought several pieces of danish," she told him.
"Ugh! Don't even mention food to me," he groaned.
Late in the afternoon, Weston walked into her office beaming. The circles had disappeared from beneath his eyes and the ruddy complexion had returned in full to his handsome face. He was in his shirtsleeves and she could see that, along with his muscular shoulders, he was deep-chested and had a flat, trim stomach. There was a magnetism about him that Bonita found hard to resist.
"Whataya say, old girl," he grinned. "Since it's Friday, we'll knock off early and I'll buy you a drink to celebrate your first week as David Weston's personal assistant."
"You want to have a drink after this morning?" Bonita asked astoundedly.
"I've already forgotten about that," Weston answered. "Besides, a little hair of the dog never hurts."
"I really don't think I should...."
"C'mon now," he insisted.
"No. Really, David," she begged.
"It's the boss's orders. I won't take no for an answer!"
"Well, since you put it that way," Bonita smiled. "I don't suppose one little glass of wine would hurt."
"Of course not. We'll make it a celebration."
Down on Broadway he flagged a cab and they got in. On the ride over to one of his favorite watering holes, Weston told her that he was very pleased with her work and promised that the job would get more exciting once they had a few more productions going. On Monday, they would go over to the rehearsal hall and watch the first day of work.
Bonita was impressed with all the attention David commanded when they entered the restaurant. The maitre d' snapped to attention when he spotted Weston.
"Good evening, sir," he said eagerly. "I've got your usual table ready for you."
"That won't be necessary, Paul. We're going up to the bar," said Weston.
"Very good, sir. I'll hold it for you in case you change your mind."
Upstairs the bar was already crowded for the cocktail hour. Bonita found it exciting as she recognized many famous stars. She had never been this close to so many celebrities. Everyone knew Weston and, as they moved through the crowd, there were many pats on his back and eager handshakes. It was all immensely enjoyable and she was introduced to so many people that Bonita found it difficult to keep them all straight in her mind.
"Dahling, how have you been?" a tall platinum-blonde cried as she threw her arms around Weston's neck.
Bonita recognized her face immediately, but couldn't recall the woman's name. She had seen her in many old movies on the late show and now was disappointed at how old-looking her face really was. The woman was still beautiful, but her well-tanned skin had taken on the leathery look of age.
"Danielle," said Weston, brushing her cheek with his lips, "what are you doing in the east?"
"Oh, my damned agent talked me into doing a Broadway show and I signed before thinking it over," she responded. "So here I am in chilly old New York."
Weston turned to Bonita. "Honey, this is Danielle Revere. And Danielle, this is my assistant, Bonita Rossi."
"I'm sure," said Danielle, flashing Weston a look of skepticism. Then, laughing warmly, she took Bonita's hand.
"Dahling child," she cried, "anyone as beautiful as you should be in the movies."
"Never mind, Danielle," Weston grinned. "I just found her, so don't go putting crazy ideas in her head."
Bonita sensed the actress was playing the scene to embarrass David. By calling her 'child,' she was coyly hinting to him that he was much too old for her. Weston took Bonita by the arm and started moving slowly toward the bar.
"We must get together for lunch one of these days."
"Yes, do give me a call, David," answered Danielle. "I'm at the Plaza."
Bonita thought she could see anger smoldering in his dark eyes. He looked at her and grinned suddenly. When he spoke, she failed to hear him above the din of the crowd. He leaned closer to her and Bonita could smell the masculine fragrance of his cologne. She realized that it excited her. Weston spoke again.
"I said, daahling child," he laughed at his own imitation of Danielle Revere, "I get the impression that the barracuda-lady thinks I'm much too old for you."
"Yes, I sort of got that feeling also."
"Am I?" Weston asked as one eyebrow rose mockingly. Bonita could feel the flush of color come to her cheeks. He observed her intently, but she could see the hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth.
"Hey, laddybuck, over here! You're already four drinks behind!"
They turned and saw Kevin O'Malley at the end of the bar, his red hair tousled and a broad grin on his Irish face. He waved to them, motioning for David and Bonita to join him.
"You know you'll never be able to drink all the Scotch they make," Weston told him. "No matter how early a start you get each day."
"No, maybe not," O'Malley answered. "But by God, I've got them so worried they're workin' the night shift at the distilleries in Scotland."
The bartender came down to their end and took an order. Weston asked for a Martini and ordered a white wine for Bonita. O'Malley rose from his bar stool and, with a sweeping bow, gestured for Bonita to take his place.
"Why thank you, sir," she replied.
"Never let it be said that Kevin Patrick O'Malley was not a gentleman in the presence of a lady."
"Where's our leading man?" asked Weston.
"The poor devil is still suffering from last night's revelries," laughed O'Malley. "He told me that he was going to lay low this evening."
"You'd do well to follow his good example," Weston suggested. "Come Monday and the real hard work begins."
"Not to worry, laddybuck. I'm chomping at the bit," O'Malley assured him. He knocked back his drink and signaled the bartender.
"Come, drink up, David. You, too, lass. I'm way ahead of you both," he told them.
The barman returned with fresh drinks all around. O'Malley, as he had boasted, was way ahead of them and suddenly burst out with an Irish folk song. Bonita was surprised to see that even though he wasn't what one would call sober he possessed a fine tenor voice. When he finished the folk song, he placed an arm around Bonita's shoulders and began singing "Sweet Rosey O'Grady." Before long, he had everyone in the bar singing.
Bonita nursed her wine slowly, and even though it was only her second glass, she could already feel a slight headiness. O'Malley and Weston had several more drinks and, by seven o'clock, Bonita could see the direction in which the evening was headed. She realized that if David continued the way he was drinking, he'd have another lovely hangover in the morning. He's a big boy and it's none of my business, she told herself.
It seemed to Bonita that he'd forgotten all about her being there with him. She sat quietly, watching Weston as he carried on merrily with O'Malley and some of his other friends. It was a side of David Weston she had never seen and Bonita was disappointed in him.
At one point, Weston left the bar, When he returned, Bonita watched him closely. He wasn't so drunk that it showed. He didn't even stagger, but she could tell from his eyes that it wouldn't be long. It would be too embarrassing, and now she wished he'd take her downstairs and get her a taxi. Bonita became annoyed with him. She knew that soon he'd make a spectacle of himself and she didn't want to be there to see it.
Quietly, she slipped off the barstool and walked to the head of the stairs. When she looked back, Bonita saw that they never even realized she had gone. She hurried down the stairs as unshed tears of anger clouded her vision.
Downstairs she asked the maitre d' to get her a taxi. At that moment, a beautiful and elegantly dressed woman with shiny black hair entered the bistro. As the maitre d' headed toward the entrance to flag a cab for Bonita, he looked up and smiled at the woman.
"Good evening, Miss Burnham," he said. "Mr. Weston's party is in the upstairs bar, waiting for you."
Bonita watched as the woman removed her beautiful sable fur and handed it to the cloak-lady. She was tall and slenderly built. She had the high cheekbones and finely chiseled features of a high-fashion model. Bonita's nostrils flared in silent anger. So that's the good old gal who can drink everyone under the table, she thought.
Bonita sat quietly in the back seat of the taxi as it headed uptown. Two large tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared absently out the window. David must have called that woman when he left the bar, thought Bonita. She was certain now; David had forgotten all about her being with him.
Bonita blinked her eyes, took out a handkerchief and, blew her nose. She felt very much a little fool, sitting there and crying over a man she scarcely even knew. It was the best thing that could have happened to her. It brought her back to reality, and now she realized that getting emotionally involved with a man like David Weston could only be a one-way street.
CHAPTER FIVE
When Bonita awoke Saturday morning, she was glad that she had left the restaurant/bar early the night before. Her head was clear, and she felt fine. Not like, she was positive, David must be feeling this morning. She wondered if the Burnham woman was nursing him with black coffee.
Well, that was his problem. Now that she knew what kind of man David Weston really was and could see behind the handsome facade he presented, Bonita knew it would be easy to get any romantic notions she might have had out of her mind.
Later, Kathy came over to her place and they worked the entire afternoon on their scene. It was going very well for them. The scene was really beginning to take shape. Bonita worked with an intensity that amazed Kathy. She had to work doubly hard to keep up with Bonita. By sup-pertime they had done five run-throughs of the scene and decided to take a break.
"Well, girl! You really were cookin' today," said Kathy. "I guess getting that job really took a lot off your mind."
"Yes, that's one reason. But I have other reasons to work hard on my acting," Bonita told her.
"Like whatr
"For one thing, I want to get out of that office as quickly as possible," Bonita answered.
"Lands, Bonnie. You are the craziest gal I ever met!" exclaimed Kathy. "First you were dying to get the job. And now that you have it, after a single week you can't wait to get out of it."
"Well, Kathy. As it turns out, it's not the precious job I thought it would be," said Bonita.
"But you told me you have a lovely office, a good salary and lots of..."
"That's all very true," Bonita interrupted. "But some complications have come up and are rather unpleasant."
"Aha! Tell ole Kath the truth now," said Kathy gleefully. "Sexy Dave finally made a pass."
"Sorry to disappoint you, Kath. It's worse than that."
"Well, what happened?" asked Kathy, a sudden look of concern on her face.
"I think he has a drinking problem," Bonita answered.
"David Weston!"
"I'm afraid so," Bonita continued. Then she explained what had happened at the office on Friday, how David had come in with a hangover and at the end of the day went out and started all over again that evening. She told Kathy about the woman, Leslie Burnham, calling in the morning and how, when she had left the restaurant, she saw the Burnham woman arriving. Bonita tried to sound as indifferent as possible, but she wasn't fooling Kathy's native shrewdness.
"Know what it sounds like to me, honey," replied Kathy. "Like you've got a big ole crush on the man."
"Ooh, Kathy. Don't be ridiculous. The man is an alcoholic," said Bonita. "Besides that, he's much too old for me.
"Sure, honey. That's why you're so damn upset about that Burnham woman," said Kathy.
"Upset? Who's upset? Certainly not me," Bonita protested. "For God's sake, the old broad must be pushing the hell out of forty. So why should I be upset? That's crazy, Kath, absolutely crazy. I mean there's just no reason for me to..."
Kathy sat quietly, watching as Bonita began pacing about the room, stammering for words. Slowly she cocked her pretty red-haired head to one side and smiled skeptically at Bonita.
"Honey, I don't believe a single word you're saying," Kathy told her.
"I couldn't care less what you believe."
"C'mon, Bonnie. I may not be the best actress the Lone Star State ever produced," said Kathy, "but there's one thing this little ole redhead does know and that's people.
And if you ain't suffering from the biggest case of heartthrob north of the Mason-Dixon line, I'll be hornswoggled."
"Kathy, don't be so goddamned ridiculous!" exclaimed Bonita.
"For God's sake, Bonnie. There's nothing wrong with having a crush on someone," said Kathy. "Why are you fighting it so?"
"Because it isn't true, Kathy. You couldn't be more wrong. It's absolutely utter nonsense."
"Sure, Bonnie, right. Just look at you, child," Kathy teased. "You're in a downright tizzy over the man."
"Goddamn it, Kathy! That's not true!" Bonnie stammered. "Now just quit it. Do you understand me? Just knock it off!"
The room was suddenly silent as Kathy quietly observed her friend. Now Bonita appeared embarrassed as well as annoyed. She realized she'd overreacted. Kathy continued to watch her quizzically.
"Okay, Bonnie. I'm sorry," said Kathy with a quiet reserve. "Ain't no sense in you getting all in a dither. I didn't mean any harm and I'm right sorry if I upset you."
"And I'm sorry I got angry, Kath. I guess I overreacted."
"I understand, Bonnie," replied Kathy. "But like I said, there's nothing wrong with having a little ole crush on a guy."
"Now, dammit, Kathy. Don't you start in again!" warned Bonita.
"Whoa, hold up there, girl," laughed Kathy. "I was only teasing."
"I mean how could you even think that I could be interested in a man like that? Not only is he a booze-hound, but he's so damn shallow," Bonita replied with renewed anger. "Do you know the bastard didn't even have the courtesy to escort me to the door and get me a taxi. Not only that, but he never even called to see if I got home safely! Why, for all that drunken fool knows, I could be lying in an alley somewhere; I could be dead for that matter and he, he..."
Then her lips began to quiver and the dam burst and Bonita stood in the center of the living room, sobbing out of control. Her delicate shoulders trembled as strands of hair fell across her face. Kathy rose and took Bonita in her arms.
"Aah, Bonnie, honey. It's that bad?" queried Kathy, comforting her. "There, there, baby. It's gonna be all right, you just wait and see."
"Ooh, Kath. I never..." Bonita attempted to say, and her voice broke and the sentence trailed off.
"It's all right, honey. Everything is gonna be okay," Kathy crooned as she reached up and brushed the hair from Bonita's face. "You just listen to ole mamma Kath. Shucks, girl, we ain't even begun to fight yet. When we finish, honey, we gonna have ole Davey boy talkin' to himself."
Bonita's heart swelled with a feeling of warmth toward her friend, Kathy, whose head was bobbing up and down as she tried to cheer Bonita up.
"That's right, Bonnie. We'll turn that bastard every which way but loose. Why, honey, Mr. David Weston won't know what hit him!" said Kathy, her Texas drawl becoming more pronounced. So much so, that Bonita was scarcely able to understand Kathy's down-home palaver.
"I'm tellin' you, Bonnie. We gawn grab Mr. Weston right where he lives! We gawn shake him up somethin' fierce!" she cried. "Yahoo! gal, when you finish with him, that poor boy gawn look like a hoss that's been ridden hard and put away wet!"
Kathy's chatter proved contagious, as it always had been for Bonita. In a moment, she found herself crying and laughing in the same breath. She took the handkerchief Kathy handed her and dabbed at her eyes.
"You okay, sweetie?" asked Kathy.
"I'll be all right," Bonita sniffled.
" 'Course you will. You just listen to ole Kath."
"I'm fine now," said Bonita. "I guess I just needed a good cry."
"No, Kathy. I'm just behaving like a foolish girl. To begin with, this is no time in my career for me to be getting emotionally involved," said Bonita. "And besides, I'm not in the same league with Leslie Burnham."
"What are you talking about?"
"It's the truth. She's beautiful and sophisticated and wealthy."
"Shoot, Bonnie. I'd put you up against anybody in the looks department," said Kathy. "It don't make no never mind that you're not wealthy. You got something better ... you've got youth."
"No. I've made up my mind, Kathy. I'll continue going to the office and doing my job, but the first chance I get, I'll win a part in one of the shows."
"You suit yourself, Bonnie, but I'm sure you're just as beautiful as that Burnham broad," said Kathy.
"That's sweet of you to say so," Bonita laughed. "But you've never seen Leslie Burnham."
"It's just that Davey boy hasn't taken a good look at you yet, but he will," encouraged Kathy. "And just from the way you described that Burnham chick, I can tell she's a real bitch."
"Kathy! That's a terrible thing to say about anyone, like them or not!" said a shocked Bonita.
"Maybe so, but tell me the truth, Bonnie. I'm not far off the mark, ami?"
Bonita shrugged her shoulders and tried to conceal the smile coming to her lips. Without answering, she looked away. Kathy awaited an answer. When it was not forthcoming, she grinned mischievously.
"There. I was right, wasn't I?" Kathy challenged. "Besides, Bonnie, this is war. It's time to take off the kid gloves."
Bonita shook her head, smiling helplessly. "Now I'm gonna bring over some of my sexiest dresses for you to wear to work. like I said, this is war. And Mr.
David Weston don't know what he's in for."
"Kathy, you're the craziest, sweetest, most wonderful friend a girl could ever have."
"Dang tootin," cried Kathy, striking a sassy pose. "Da-vey boy, watch out, 'cause here comes Bonnie Rossi, the sexiest li'l chick in New York!"
When Bonita went to work Monday morning, she didn't know what to expect. Her heart beat heavily as the elevator rose toward the fortieth floor. The woman at the reception desk smiled a cheery 'good morning' to her and she could hear the chatter of other employees coming from different offices.
When she entered Weston's office, Bonita discovered that he had not yet arrived. She briefly wondered if this morning would be a repeat of Friday morning. She crossed Weston's office to her own. It was then that she first saw them.
There, in the center of her desk, in a crystal vase, were a dozen long-stemmed roses. A light-blue envelope was leaning against the base of the vase. Just her first name was written on the envelope. Bonita's hand trembled slightly as she opened it. It read:
Dear Bonita, Needless to say, I'm embarrassed and ashamed of my rude and discourteous behavior on Friday last.
No amount of words can excuse such a lack of good manners or make up for my thoughtlessness. I can understand if you're angry, and hope that these roses can, in some small way, restore me to your good graces.
Best regards, David
The note was handwritten, and at the bottom was a postscript. "Sorry I forgot to tell you on Friday to come directly to the theatre. Will see you there."
Bonita was touched and charmed by David's thoughtfulness. She leaned down to smell the fragrance of the roses, thinking at the same time that perhaps she had misjudged him and felt a little guilty at all the terrible things she had said about him to Kathy.
It was a bitterly cold, sunless day as she crossed Broadway and headed to the Mercy Theatre on 52nd Street. In spite of her resolution not to become emotionally involved, she found herself eagerly looking forward to seeing David again.
Bonita had to wait for her eyes to become accustomed to the darkness when she first entered the theatre. At the front of the house, the entire cast of Love Games was seated around a long wooden table, reading through the play. A very sober Kevin O'Malley sat with his coat thrown over his shoulders, and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, listening intently to the actors. Now and again, he would make a comment or correction and the actors would mark their scripts.
To Bonita it was like being home again, at long last ink theatre. She spotted Weston sitting in the center of the fourth row and hurried to him. He nodded to her as she sat beside him, then leaned close as Bonita spoke.
"The roses are lovely," she whispered. "Thank you, David."
"You're more than welcome," he answered, not taking his eyes from the stage.
"How's it going?" she inquired.
"Sounds good. They're already into the third scene," Weston told her.
They sat quietly, listening to the first read-through. As she watched the ingenue, Jackie Donnet, read her lines, Bonita could not help thinking that she could do better, in spite of how good the Donnet woman was.
She also found the change in Kevin O'Malley's personality curious. It appeared for O'Malley that there was a time for play and a time for work. Writing and directing a comedy was serious business to the playwright.
At twelve-thirty they were finished with the first read-through. O'Malley announced they would take a break, and sent the stage manager out for food.
"How did it sound to you?" the director asked as they approached him.
"Very smooth, Kevin," said Weston. "I like it."
"And you, Bonita?"
"It's merely fabulous, Kevin," she answered. "I think you're going to have another wonderful hit on your hands."
O'Malley stared absently out into the vastness of the empty theatre. There was no laughing, no loud Irish folk songs or raucous jokes now. He was a different man, totally professional, and she was impressed with his behavior. Perhaps, thought Bonita, she had misjudged Kevin O'Malley too.
"I think I have a fine idea for extending the second scene in the last act," said O'Malley. "End the scene with a big laugh and give the entire play more body. I think I'll start working on it tonight."
"That's fine with me," said Weston. "I'd like to have a look at it as soon as you've finished."
"I'll have it ready for you by the end of the week."
"Good," said Weston, turning to Bonita with a sly grin. "Just because this slave driver is making the company stay and eat in doesn't mean that you and I can't hop over to that great place on the corner for a bite to eat."
"Slave driver, is it now?" O'Malley mused.
When they arrived at the restaurant, Bonita found that she suddenly had a terrific appetite. She ordered a shell steak with all the trimmings, while Weston settled for a light salad. She was pleased to see that all he drank was bottled water.
She watched David closely as he busied himself arranging his plate and his eating utensils on the table. He appeared none the worse for wear after Friday's drinking bout, but she could discern a slight tension in his face and assumed it was from the pressure of the play. Then again, she thought, that couldn't be. David has been through this dozens of times.
Finally he looked across the table at her. His dark eyes seemed tense until he smiled casually, reached over and patted her hand. Bonita could feel the heat of his hand on hers and wondered what this was all about.
"Bonita, I'm really sorry about last Friday evening," he said, withdrawing his hand almost shyly.
"Oh, David. Forget about it; no harm done," Bonita said. "And the roses are beautiful."
"Well, anyway, I'd like to make it up to you and take you to dinner tonight," he told her.
"David, that isn't necessary. Besides, you've already given me the flowers," she replied.
"But I want to," Weston insisted.
His dark eyes seemed to plead with her and she could see tension in the lines on his forehead and around his mouth.
"All right. If you really want to. But I'm warning you, David. I have a much bigger appetite in the evening," advised Bonita.
"Good. It's settled then," said Weston as he flashed a bright grin at her. All the tension seemed to leave his face.
"Do you like Indian food?" he asked.
"I've never eaten it," answered Bonita.
"You're in for a treat then," said Weston. "I promise that once you've tasted it you'll be a fan for life."
"Certainly sounds interesting."
"It is, m'lady, and wait until you see the restaurant ... you'll love it," he told her.
Bonita smiled at him, enjoying his boyish enthusiasm.
"Where is this super restaurant?" Bonita wanted to know.
"That's my secret. All I'll tell you is that I'll lay Central Park at your feet."
"Okay, it's a deal," replied Bonita.
CHAPTER SIX
When Bonita returned to her apartment after work that evening, the first thing she did was to call her friend Kathy to tell her what had transpired that day. Kathy was so pleased at the turn of events that she volunteered to come over and help Bonita get ready for her big date.
After arriving at the apartment, Kathy came bustling in, carrying a large clothing bag which she tossed on the sofa.
"Well, Bonnie. Look at you. I do declare!" said Kathy as she circled Bonita admiringly.
"Do you like it? I got it on sale at Blankton's."
"Like it? Bonnie, it's divine!" exclaimed Kathy.
Bonita was wearing a new red silk dress with a matching scarf around her neck. The bright color set off crimson highlights in her shiny chestnut-brown hair. On her feet she wore matching red pumps.
"Damn, girl. You're really pulling out all the stops."
"Do you think it's too much?"
"Shucks, no, girl. It's a real smart dress, yet it makes the statement 'I'm one "sassy gal,' " Kathy told her. "What coat are you planning to wear?"
"My winter coat," replied Bonita.
Kathy picked up her clothes bag and hung it on a door. She unzipped the bag and removed a coat from inside, then held it up for Bonita's inspection. It was a beautiful white lynx fur.
"Let's see how you look in this."
"Oh, Kathy, I couldn't. It's just too beautiful," said Bonita.
"C'mon, Bonnie. Let's just see how it looks on you," Kathy urged.
"I couldn't take the responsibility. God, it must cost thousands of dollars."
"Shoot, Bonnie. It's only money," replied Kathy. "Now c'mon. I won't take no for an answer."
Reluctantly, Bonita slipped into the lovely fur. It looked stunning with her red dress. She whirled about gaily, watching her reflection in the mirror. Kathy stood behind her, hands on her hips, beaming like a proud mother.
"Like my daddy always told me," remarked Kathy, "purty people should wear purty things."
"It's just too beautiful for words."
"What time is ole Davey boy gonna pick you up."
"He should be here soon," Bonita answered. "He said around eight o'clock."
"You gonna have him up for a drink?"
"No. I think I'll go down and meet him in the lobby."
"Damn, Bonnie. How am I gonna get a look at him?"
"You can watch from the front window," Bonita told her.
She did a last-minute check on her hair and makeup, gave Kathy a sisterly peck on the cheek and took the elevator down to the lobby. At eight o'clock sharp, Weston's limousine pulled up in front of her building. Bonita watched breathlessly as the chauffeur held the door open for David. He was wearing a three-piece dark-blue suit. Draped around his shoulders was a gray topcoat with a collar trimmed in black velvet. Bonita came out to meet him.
"There you are," said Weston. "All set to go."
"All set," she answered.
As Bonita got into Weston's limo she looked over his shoulder and saw Kathy waving to her from the front window of her third-floor apartment.
"We're off," said Weston. "You look especially enchanting this evening. And I dare say, that's a lovely fur you're wearing."
"Thank you, David," Bonita answered, silently thanking Kathy for lending her the fur.
At first she was a Utile tense, riding in the chauffeur-driven limousine, sitting next to this famous producer. It was still rather difficult for Bonita to realize all that had happened to change her life. David's relaxed manner and easy chatter helped to put her at ease.
They drove down Broadway to Columbus Circle, around the statue and east on Central Park South. In a few minutes the driver pulled up in front of the Indian restaurant. A doorman dressed in pasha pants greeted them. David pushed the button for the elevator and grinned expectantly at her. He was like a young boy showing a special friend his secret place.
The restaurant was on the twentieth floor and, as they entered the dark, intimate bar, Bonita could see Central Park, with its blanket of snow, far below. The ceilings of the restaurant were hung with colorful silk canopies, giving the illusion that they were in a large tent.
The maitre d' led them to a private table in a corner next to the window. She could see the lights of Fifth Avenue and the many posh hotels and apartment buildings that lined the street across from Central Park. They had cocktails before dinner, and David ordered a bottle of champagne to have with their meal.
He sat back and observed her quietly as she took in the grandeur of the magnificent view. Bonita felt his eyes upon her. She was glad now for the restaurant's dim lighting, as her cheeks were flushed. Finally their eyes met and he looked at her inquiringly.
"Well, what do you think?"
"It's wonderful," responded Bonita. "I can understand now why you were so enthusiastic about it. It truly is wonderful."
"Wait until you taste the food," David replied.
They ate their meal in relative quiet, exchanging a few words every now and again. Bonita had the distinct impression that she was under Weston's close and silent scrutiny. Several times during the meal she surreptitiously caught his quiet observance of her. Bonita felt as though there was something expected of her in order to pass his examination. She could feel a knot of annoyance begin to take form in the pit of her stomach.
After dinner was finished and the dishes removed from the table, Weston ordered them both brandies. He hadn't bothered to ask Bonita if she cared for brandy or not. It was just another irritating factor about his behavior.
When the waiter arrived with the brandies, Weston sat back and studied her pensively. Then, almost as though he had arrived at some private decision, Weston smiled at her and held his brandy snifter aloft. In the wink of an eye his entire manner had changed.
"Cheers," he said.
Bonita nodded silently and regarded him over the top of her glass as she sipped the brandy. She found it perplexing trying to understand David Weston's radical behavior. Then, almost as if he had read her mind, Weston spoke.
"I realize it must seem to you as if I'm half a loon," he said, "but I've had a decision to make this evening pertaining to you."
"Oh, and what was that?" asked Bonita.
"Tomorrow I'll be flying to California," said Weston. "There's a young playwright having his first play performed at the Jacob Thatcher Forum in Los Angeles. I've been hearing a great deal about it from our West Coast connection. If I like the play, it might be our next production."
"When will you return?" she asked.
"The end of the week or early next week. It depends on how quickly I can accomplish my business out there."
"And you've just decided to leave me on my own here."
"You guessed it. I'll be depending on you to hold down the fort," he said. "You'll have to learn about booking dinner parties for Love Games. This is the perfect opportunity for you to get right in the thick of things. I'm confident that you won't have any trouble. If you do have any questions, Hanson will help you out.
She realized now why he had been quietly studying her during dinner, and now she had the feeling that this was some kind of test he was giving her. The premonition that suddenly everything would start to go wrong enveloped Bonita, leaving her with a horrible sinking question.
"You're not afraid, are you?" Weston asked.
"Not in the least," Bonita answered, steeling herself with a courage she didn't feel. "This is just the chance I've been hoping for. I don't contemplate any difficulties."
"Good girl, Bonita," said Weston. "You'll be all right. And when I get back with the new show, I want you to be in on it from the beginning. You know-backers' auditions, learning how we sell blocks and shares, and even the casting decisions. This is the kind of experience they don't teach in college."
"What's this new show about?" asked Bonita.
"Strangely enough, it's about show business. It's called Stage Struck," David told her. "I have a copy in the office that I'll leave with you."
They took the elevator back down to the street. The warmth of the restaurant, along with the food and wine, had made Bonita drowsy. She enjoyed the crisp winter snap of the night air as they came out on to the sidewalk.
"Would you mind if we walked for a while?" asked Bonita.
"Not at all. I could use a little stroll after all that food," he agreed.
They turned east and walked along Central Park South. When they reached his limousine, Weston told the chauffeur they were going to take a short stroll. At the corner of Central Park South and Fifth Avenue, Bonita could see the silhouette of the Pulitzer Fountain, strung with Christmas lights, the arms of the lady caked with snow.
Across from the fountain, in spite of the wintry night, the street was lined with horses and carriages, offering the more hardy tourists a ride through Central Park. They paused momentarily on the corner.
"You know, Bonita," said Weston, "all the years I've lived in the city, I've never taken a ride in one of those buggies."
"Nor have I," she replied.
"What do you say? Shall we take a little spin tonight."
"I think it's a marvelous idea," answered Bonita. "Sure it's not too cold?"
"No. C'mon, David, it'll be fun," she told him, taking his hand and running toward the coaches.
They chose an old English-style carriage that looked like it was straight out of a Charles Dickens novel. It was shiny black, with large silver coach lamps on each side. The carriage itself was enclosed with thick glass windows in both side doors.
The driver covered their laps with a heavy quilt carriage blanket. In moments the coach was in among the traffic. They were headed back along Central Park South, until they reached Seventh Avenue. There, the carriage turned north and headed into the park.
"David, this is a delightful ideal" Bonita cried.
Weston took out a cigarette and lit it. They were silent for a while, with the only sound in the night being the crunching of the horse's hooves on the snow-covered road and an occasional snort from his nose.
Bonita marveled at the beauty of the bare tree branches she could see on both sides of the carriage. They were covered with ice and glistened in the moonlight, making them appear like patterns of silver lacework.
When he finished his cigarette, Weston lowered the window on his side to toss it out. The blast of cold air that gushed in caused Bonita to shudder momentarily.
"You're cold, I'm sorry," Weston said, putting his arm around her shoulders. "It was rather thoughtless of me to open the window."
"I'm all right," Bonita reassured him.
He pulled the blanket up and tucked it closer around her, making her feel warm as toast. She could feel the heat of his body pressed against her and could smell his manly fragrance. She suddenly had the feeling of lightheadedness. Perhaps it was the effects of the wine and the sudden cold air. No matter, thought Bonita. She had never felt better.
For some strange reason, the pressure of his powerful arm across her shoulder felt right to her. She was quite bewitched by the sensuality of this feeling. She turned away from the window and discovered he had been watching her for a long while. Their eyes caught and Bonita thought she might sink into the warm depths of his dark gaze. He reached out and delicately caressed her cheek. She found herself unable to resist him as he drew her close into his embrace.
"Bonita," he whispered softly.
As he spoke her name, it sounded strange to her. Almost as though he were trying to convince himself that she was actually there. She looked deeply into his sad eyes and then, suddenly, his lips were on hers, drowning her with a volcanic sensation that was unlike anything she'd ever known before. Bonita's lips responded eagerly. It was almost as though they were a thing apart from her and had answered of their own volition.
As she swam in his kiss, Bonita marveled at this unknown joy. She answered this glorious sensation with a passion and warmth from the depths of her soul. Her hands crept about his neck, and she felt the velvet-like smoothness of his warm skin and the soft texture of the hair at the nape of his neck. Every sense in her body was more alive than ever before in her life, and she responded with an eagerness born of desire.
When their lips finally parted, Bonita felt bereft, with a need to continue. Still locked within the strength of his embrace, she looked up at him with wide and questioning eyes. David reached up and stroked her hair.
"Beautiful Bonita," he murmured. "So beautiful, so fragile."
He kissed her again. This time she sensed his need and again responded with an eager generosity. Bonita could feel a moist warmth deep down between her legs and she went weak all over as he crushed her to his chest. So much so that she had to gasp for breath.
Upon hearing her, he relaxed his grip considerably.
"Are you all right?" asked David.
"Yes," she sighed.
He pulled the blanket closer around them and returned to her mouth. This time she felt his lips as they parted and then the light feathery touch of his tongue as it entered her mouth and mingled with hers. Their passion began to build rapidly, making her head swim and causing her to feel dizzy.
Somewhere in the distance she could hear the clip-clop-crunch of the horse's hooves, together with their heavy breathing and the beating of their hearts.
As the carriage rocked, they swayed together in each other's arms beneath the blanket. The blanket rustled softly as David moved to face her more squarely. He slid one leg beneath her hip and drew her closer so that she was positioned between both of his legs. He moved his hands inside her fur coat and Bonita could feel their heat on her back through the fabric of her dress.
Then, quickly, she rested her head on his chest to conceal her eyes, wide with wonder. Bonita had to refrain from gasping aloud, for it was then she felt the tip of his penis pressing against the swell of her stomach, inches above her damp and warm pubic umbra.
My God, thought Bonita. Kathy was right all along. He must have one of the largest things in all New York. David pushed forward and she could feel the length of his penis lying across her stomach until its cloth-covered head reached beyond her own navel.
Her breathing quickened as she wondered if his shaft was fully extended or would grow even longer and harder once set free of his confining trousers. Her lips and mouth felt unusually dry as she closed her eyes and thrilled to the glory of his masterful wand. Bonita could feel the warm trickle of her own juices saturating the crotch of her panties.
David was becoming more excited with every passing moment. He slipped his hands inside the front of her dress and was rewarded with the discovery that Bonita was not wearing a bra. She could feel his fiery-hot hands as they slowly moved over the soft mounds of her breasts. Then between his thumbs and forefingers, he teased each nipple into excruciating erection.
Bonita was wild with the desire for him as she felt his right hand retreat from a breast, then descend down the curves of her body until it disappeared beneath the hem of her dress. She took a deep breath and sighed heavily after feeling its heated strength when he began stroking the in-sides of her thighs.
When David's anxious hand reached her panties, Bonita could feel his fingers work at the delicate garment until his palm pressed gently against the viscid warmth of her silken saddle. He began to stroke her there tenderly, and Bonita moaned with rapture as his finger slipped deep inside between the lips.
He pushed it in farther and withdrew it and continued to move it in and out, setting up a rapid motion not unlike that of a throbbing penis. Bonita threw her head back with ecstasy. Squeezing her eyes closed, she could feel two more of David's fingers join the first as he thrust them deep into her vagina. Abruptly she tilted her behind in such a way as to cause the rapid rhythm of his rigid fingers to make contact with her tingling clitoris. Immediately, Bonita was certain that she would go mad with the joyful building that enveloped her secret place. The wicked, exquisite, glorious glow continued to build wildly until she thought she was going to pass out from the sheer joy of her passion.
Ohhh, God, thought Bonita, don't stop now! Then suddenly, David withdrew his hand and with a wild desperation, he attempted to mount her in the limited space of the tiny carriage. But because of the narrow space, the heavy carriage blanket and winter clothes that impeded his anxious efforts to free his member, it was a task that for the moment was doomed to failure.
And had it not been for Bonita's desperate state of agitation and sexual frustration, she would have found it a moment of amusing consequences, watching poor David's helpless rummaging beneath the blanket. As it was, though, she was left stranded on the bitter edge of orgasm.
Finally, David ceased his futile fumbling and slumped back in the carriage seat. Bonita was close to crying as she gazed through blurry eyes out the window and heaved an anguished sigh. Neither of them spoke. She blinked her eyes and saw that the carriage was out of the park and crossing Central Park West. In a moment, the driver headed the coach down her street.
When they halted in front of her building, the coachman jumped down from his seat and opened the door for them. David paid the man and they walked silently up to the entrance of Bonita's building. She could hear the horse's hoofbeats fade as the coach drove out of sight. David regarded her with a look of wonderment on his face. There were a thousand unasked questions in her brown eyes as she returned his gaze.
"It's been a lovely evening," he told her.
"I don't think I've had a more enjoyable evening," replied Bonita. "Would you like to come up for a moment and wait for your car?"
"No, thank you. Andrew will be along any moment, and I have to be up early tomorrow," said David. "I have a lot to do before I leave for the airport."
Bonita was disappointed at his response. She found it difficult to understand how David was wild with passion only moments before, and now he seemed so controlled and aloof.
The limousine pulled up to the curb and parked a discreet distance from where they were standing. David held her face gently in his hands and, for a fleeting moment, Bonita thought she could perceive a look of longing in his dark eyes. Then he leaned down and gave her a soft, almost-fatherly kiss on the mouth.
"Goodnight, little one," he said.
"Have a safe flight," she answered.
Weston turned and walked down the path to his car. Bonita paused at the entrance, watching his car until it was out of sight.
When she flicked on the hallway light, she saw the note Kathy had left on the dining-room table. She picked it up and read it to herself. "I hope the fur brought you luck. Can't wait to hear about it. Call me in the morning and tell me all the gory details. Love, Kathy."
Bonita smiled to herself as she removed the fur and put it in the closet. After changing into her nightie, she warmed a cup of milk and sat at the kitchen table, trying to work things out in her mind. She knew that she should be happy the way things had turned out, but for some reason she felt miserable and let down. Her mind was filled with many conflicting impressions of David Weston. He was definitely a complex person.
He could be kind, gentle, and passionate like he was tonight, she thought. Yet there was a certain aloofness to his character, a chilling air of remoteness, like the times she found him staring at her with that strange expression on his face. There seemed to be no definite pattern or key to his character.
Bonita sighed and reflected on the entire evening. Her heart fluttered and she felt a tingling deep down at the thoughts of what had transpired during the carriage ride. It had been a most exciting moment, but then again, after it was over, David had seemed like a different person. It was as if he had been in a trance and just came out of it.
She tried to approach it from every angle. Why had she allowed David such liberties with her? Was what had happened really two people reaching across a chasm of loneliness or merely a moment of uncontrolled passion? Bonita wondered if he experienced any of the soulful stirrings that she had.
Or had he just been toying with her. Bonita's heart ached at the thought of that. She had let him have his way, even if David had used only his hands, and now she wondered if it was because of her that he had intimately caressed Bonita, or was it because she just happened to be the woman there at the moment. She didn't kid herself when it came right down to it. Bonita was completely aware that she had wanted him to touch her in that way, that she would have allowed him to take her, if it had been at all possible, in the back of the carriage.
She also knew a change had occurred in her, almost as if a different person had returned to her apartment from the one who had left earlier that evening. It wasn't just a romantic notion because she had definitely felt something the moment he kissed her. Not that she hadn't been with other men before, but it was never anything like this. Never had Bonita been driven to such heights of passion. Indeed, she still tingled with the frustration of not having climaxed before David stopped fingering her. Bonita reached down and touched herself there, remembering how close she'd been.
Maybe, she thought, it had been all the wine that had caused her to react with such open passion. After all, she knew that she wasn't used to drinking. Perhaps brandy affected some people like an aphrodisiac, and she happened to be one of them.
Bonita tried to convince herself that this was the reason, but in her heart she knew it was more than just the effects of alcohol on her system. The few times she had made it with other guys, nothing like this had ever happened to her. It had been a moment of intense passion and enjoyment, albeit one without release.
After all her soul-searching, Bonita decided to go back to her original resolution, and that was to regard David Weston merely as her employer. This was the only way she could figure to deal with a man who was so incredibly complex. Besides the risk of being hurt emotionally and, no matter how good he was sexually, Bonita never again wanted to be as passionately strung out as she had been this evening, only to be left high and dry.
The following morning Bonita found another vase of long-stemmed roses on her desk. She picked up the accompanying note and eagerly opened it. Dear Bonita, I had the urge to call you this morning before leaving the airport, but I felt that what had to be said should be discussed in person. Once again, I want to thank you for last night. It was wonderful.
I feel that I left many things unsaid at the end of our delightful evening together. After I'd gone, I was sorry that I hadn't accepted your invitation to go up to your apartment for a while.
I had thought of returning, but I lost my courage and felt it would be better to sleep on it. I urgently request that you consider what happened between us last night, so that we might discuss it upon my return. Stay well and think of me.
Affectionately, David
Bonita read the note over several times. She wondered if David was sorry that he had been intimate with her and now wanted to set her straight about the entire situation. Yet he had asked her to think of him. Bonita didn't want to build up false hopes, but she wondered if it were possible that the moment had meant more to David than just a few cheap feels.
She folded the note and returned it to the envelope. In spite of herself, Bonita felt a glow of hope within her. It would be a week, maybe longer, before she saw him again.
A secret smile played on her lips. What will be, will be, thought Bonita.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Later that morning, Kevin O'Malley called and asked her to type some changes he had made in the manuscript. Bonita told him she'd be glad to. It would help take her mind off David and give her an excuse to go over to the rehearsals at the theatre.
A half-hour later, Billy McCarthy arrived with the changes. He was a sandy-haired kid, five years younger than Bonita. Billy was a lanky, well-built lad with light-blonde hair and a sprinkling of freckles across his pug nose. There was a large dimple in the center of his chin and he looked to Bonita like a sweet overgrown kid.
"Hi," he grinned shyly as he entered her office. "You're Bonita, aren't you? I saw you the other day at the theatre. I'm Billy McCarthy."
"Hi, Billy. Pleased to meet you," Bonita said, shaking his hand. She noticed he had large, strong-looking hands.
"It'll take me a while to type these up. You don't have to wait, Billy. I'll bring them over when I'm finished."
"Oh, that's all right," replied Billy. "I don't mind waiting."
He had a bright infectious grin and Bonita thought he was cute, but she wanted a reason to go over to the theatre.
"Listen, Billy. I'd like to come over later and watch rehearsals," she explained. "And this would give me an excuse."
"Heck, Bonita. You don't need an excuse," said Billy. "You're the boss's assistant."
"I know, Billy, but I'd feel better if I had a reason to be there."
"Okay, Bonita. If you can, Kevin would like to have them as soon as possible."
"I'll get right on it," she promised.
"See you later," said Billy, heading for the door.
It took her a half an hour to type and duplicate the changes. Then Bonita told the receptionist to take any messages, as she was going over to the Mercy Theatre.
The rehearsal was in progress when she arrived. Kevin spotted her coming down the aisle and waved from the front row.
"Hi, Kevin," she whispered.
"Ah, Bonita, lass. You're a life-saver," said O'Malley, hugging her. "How's it coming?" she asked.
"Good. Once they get the changes, they'll be off the book in a week's time," he told her.
Bonita watched from out front for a while. Then later, she went backstage and watched the rehearsal from the wings. Finally they came to the ingenue's scene. She could tell that the actress who was playing it had put a lot of work into the role. She rarely referred to the book, and Bonita realized that the girl would have her lines down long before the rest of the cast.
It was painful watching the girl, especially since Bonita knew she could play the role so much better. The thought of asking David, when he returned from California, if she could understudy the part, flashed through her mind. But Bonita's good sense told her it was still too soon for her to make a move in that direction.
Billy McCarthy stood in the wings on the opposite side of the stage. When he spotted Bonita, he gave her a beaming smile. Later, while the cast was on a break, he strolled over to her.
"You really enjoy watching them," remarked Billy.
"Yes," answered Bonita. "I think it's going to be a wonderful production."
"You know, you really don't need an excuse to come over and watch rehearsals," he told her. "But if you think Kevin will be annoyed, then you can be my guest. Just enter through the stage door, and I'll lead you straight back here."
"Thanks, Billy. That's sweet of you," said Bonita. "I just might take you up on that."
Each day Bonita would try to get her work at the office finished early enough so that at the end of the day she could go over to the Mercy and watch the last of the rehearsal. It got so that she was able to memorize a lot of the ingenue's lines. Often, when no one was nearby, she would recite the lines to herself, simultaneously with the other actress.
On Friday, Bonita received a call from David on the coast. He told her that he wouldn't be able to make it back to New York until the middle or end of the following week. David made no mention of their dinner date or what had passed between them. He seemed friendly enough, but Bonita thought she could sense a change in him. There seemed to be a tension in his voice. The connection between California and New York hadn't been very good, so Bonita couldn't tell if that was the reason or if it was because he was under a lot of pressure out there. She thanked him for the roses and David said he'd see her at the end of the next week.
When she hung up the phone, Bonita was disappointed that David made no mention of their date. His aloofness over the phone confused and irritated her. She wondered what might have changed his attitude. Bonita opened her drawer and took out David's note. After reading it again, she couldn't help thinking that it conveyed some kind of a feeling for her. Bonita heaved a heavy sigh, realizing that she'd just have to be patient until he returned.
There was a light tap on her door, and the receptionist entered. She carried a blue-covered manuscript as she hurried over to Bonita's desk.
"I'm so embarrassed, Bonita," the woman said disconcertingly. "Mr. Weston gave me this manuscript before he left for California and told me to be sure you got it. Darn, I plopped it in my desk drawer and forgot all about it until now."
"No harm done," said Bonita, taking the script from the woman. "Thanks. I think this is the play David went out to the coast to see about."
Bonita looked at the cover. Stage Struck, a play in two acts, by Noel Anderson. There was something compelling about a manuscript for Bonita. Whenever she got one that she hadn't read, she was unable to put it down. She opened the cover and began to read, promising herself she'd only look at a page or two. But once Bonita started to read, she was hooked.
Two hours later, when she had finished the last page, Bonita closed the manuscript, placed it in her lap and sat back astounded. Her mind whirled with excitement. It was as if the playwright had read the future and written Bonita's own story.
This was a play about a young girl, Susan Bromberg, who comes to New York from a mid-western state to become a Broadway actress. It would have been mildly coincidental, if that was all, but what really shocked her was the fact that the girl falls in love with a famous Broadway producer.
Bonita was flabbergasted. This was an even better role than the ingenue in Love Games. I've just got to play this part, she thought. It's me; it was written for me. The fact that she had been mildly depressed two hours before, after David's call, no longer entered her mind. She was aflame with the desire to play this role.
She knew that if there were some way to win this part, it would make her a star overnight. Bonita was enthralled with the play. The girl was so much like her that if she didn't know any better, she'd have sworn the play was based on her life. Bonita also knew that she had to be rational. She had to calm herself and start thinking of some way to convince David to let her play the role of Susan. There was almost a week before he would return from the coast; she had to figure out some way.
Heading down to the theatre that afternoon, Bonita fantasized about the play, Stage Struck. In her mind's eye, she saw visions of a theatre marquee and her name flashing in bright neon lights. So close and yet so far, she thought. She was more excited now about her potential than she had ever been.
That afternoon, as she watched the rehearsal, she didn't recite along with the other actress. Bonita no longer cared about that role. All she could think of was Susan, the girl in Stage Struck. When Kevin O'Malley called it quits for the day, Billy McCarthy approached her.
"Hi, Bonita. How'd you like it today?" he asked.
"It's coming along very well," she told him.
"Say, have you eaten yet?" asked Billy. "I was just going over to Joe's Jungle for a bite; I wouldn't mind some company."
Bonita was too wound up over the new play to be hungry, but she didn't want to go home to an empty apartment just yet. He's a sweet kid, she thought. Maybe it would be fun to have a burger with him.
"Okay," agreed Bonita. "You've got yourself a date."
Joe's Jungle was a well-known restaurant in the theatre district, frequented by people in the theatre set. Mostly younger people who had just begun to make a name for themselves, or had recently made it big. Of course, on a given night, one could spot some of the big celebrities having dinner before going on to the theatre.
The restaurant was always packed. But Billy was a regular, and it wasn't long before they had a table in the dining room. They both ordered cheeseburgers, and while Bonita had a glass of white wine, Billy had beer.
"You really enjoy coming over to the theatre and watching the rehearsals, don't you?" Billy asked casually.
"I do," she replied. "I think it's marvelous the way the actors can take on the character of another person. I really admire them."
Billy took a sip of beer and appraised her over the rim of the glass. Then he wiped away the moustache of foam with the back of his hand as he smiled mischievously at her. Bonita caught the look on his face, as if he were enjoying a private joke.
"What's so funny, laughing boy?" she teased.
A blonde eyebrow rose on his forehead as he nodded to her silently, the skeptical grin still on his lips.
"Well?"
"I know all about you," he said.
"What are you talking about?"
"Don't worry, little Miss Rossi, I know all about you," Billy answered. His attitude was suddenly quite serious.
Bonita felt a sudden chill feather up her spine at the ominous tone of his voice. She looked across the table at Billy, who was staring back at her as he took another sip of beer.
"Well, I'd sure like to know," said Bonita. She had no idea what to expect. Billy remained silent a moment longer, staring directly at her. Then the grin returned to his face.
"You're an actress, aren't you?" he asked quietly.
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I said."
"That I'm an actress?"
"That's right. You really are an actress."
"What? Oh, Billy," Bonita laughed lightly, trying to dismiss the idea. "That is a funny one!"
"Don't try and deny it, because I happen to know it's the truth," Billy told her. "In fact, you're putting on a pretty good act right now."
"Me? An actress? Billy, that is absolutely ridiculous."
"Oh, yeah? I've watched you closely at the theatre and I've noticed that you seem to take a special interest in the ingenue part."
"Of course, silly. She's a wonderful actress, and I enjoy watching her," replied Bonita, trying desperately to convince him.
"Right," said Billy. "That's why you've got all of her lines memorized and you recite them along with her."
Bonita realized she had mistaken Billy's boyish looks for youthful innocence. He was not just another stagehand. like many stage managers before him, he had aspirations of one day becoming a director.
"I guess it's from force of habit," she laughed again. "I've heard them spoken so many times."
"Yeah, then if you're not an actress, you must have the hots for the chick who's playing the ingenue part, 'cause you never take your eyes off her when she's on," he said.
"That's not funny, Billy!" snapped Bonita, feeling a flush come to her cheeks. "And you don't know me well enough to talk to me that way!"
"All right, all right. Calm down," Billy said with a defensive grin. "I was only kidding, Bonnie."
"Well, it's not a very nice way to kid!" she said heatedly. "And my name is Bonita. I only allow my friends to call me Bonnie."
"Heeey, I said I'm sorry," said Billy. His deep-blue eyes were wide with youthful innocence. "Honest, Bonita. I didn't mean any harm."
Now Bonita felt foolish and slightly embarrassed that she had lost her temper. She watched Billy with his boyish good looks as he smiled pleadingly at her. She was aware how silly she must have seemed, getting angry over nothing. Bonita smiled sheepishly at him.
"You're not mad anymore?"
"No. I guess I overreacted. Sorry."
"I don't understand you, though," said Billy. "Why deny it if you are?"
"Because I'm not an actress!" she replied impatiently.
The people at the next table looked over at her. Now Bonita was really embarrassed, realizing how loudly she had shouted at Billy. He was unperturbed and gave Bonita an impish grin.
"I happen to know that you're one of the best actresses in Steve Coppola's acting class," he informed her.
Bonita was in a state of shock, trying to figure out how he could know about her. Is Billy a spy for David? All sorts of crazy ideas flashed through her mind. Billy sat back, the self-satisfied grin still on his face. Bonita understood now that there was no sense in denying it.
"You see, Bonita, I take a directors' class with Steve and he was so impressed with you that he happened to mention a scene you'd done for him one day. When I heard your name, I put two and two together," Billy explained.
The color drained from her face as she stared at him solemnly, realizing that if he knew about her, there was no telling how many other people might know. And if that was so, it would only be a matter of time before David would find out.
"Please, Billy, don't tell anyone," she pleaded.
"What do you mean?"
"Just don't mention it to anyone," Bonita explained. "Especially no one at the Weston office."
"Why not, for Pete's sake?"
"Because, Billy, if David Weston finds out that I'm an actress, he'll fire me," she told him. "When I got this job, the ad said 'no actors need apply' So, in truth, I took this job under false pretenses, if you get my drift...."
"Yeah, but Bonita, everyone seems to like you and you do a good job," said Billy. "I don't think he'd fire you."
"Believe me, he would. Besides, when the time is right, I'm going to announce it myself and try to get a part in one of the plays. So please, Billy, don't blow it for me by letting the cat out of the bag too soon," she begged him.
Billy rubbed his chin in a pensive manner. Then, folding his arms across his chest, he sat back and regarded her somberly.
"Well, now. That's something I'll have to think about. You realize, of course, that my first duty is to Mr. Weston."
Bonita couldn't believe he would be such a stinker, as she stared at him in astonishment.
"You mean you'd tell him?" she asked. "You'd be that unkind?"
"Bonita, it's only right that I be fair with the Weston office," he said soberly. "After all, he does pay my salary!"
She tried desperately to think of some way to get through to him. There was tension in the air and Bonita began to wonder if Billy would actually be nasty enough to report back to David. She was aware that this information would ruin any future with David, either personally or professionally.
"I'll tell you what," said Billy, interrupting her reverie.
Bonita thought she saw a strange glint in his eyes as he leaned toward her. His face took on a smug expression.
"I promise that your secret will go to the grave with me, if you do the right thing," said Billy.
"What do you mean, the right thing?" asked Bonita, a quizzical look on her face.
"Well, you know," said Billy, appearing flirtatiously bashful. "Sort of treat me nice."
Bonita's dark orbs were wide with wonder as her right eyebrow rose skeptically. "Like how?" she questioned.
Billy took a deep breath and leaned closer. She could almost count the freckles sprinkled across his cute pug nose. His deep-blue eyes sparkled with intensity.
"Bonita, the first time I saw you I wanted to climb into the sack with you," he said with utter seriousness.
"Billy!" exclaimed Bonita, feeling an inordinate amount of relief at the possible knowledge that he was only teasing her. "That is not a very gentlemanly thing to say!"
"It's the truth, though. I want to get into your pants more than anything else I can think of."
"And all the time I thought you were such a sweet, clean-cut, all-American boy," mocked Bonita.
"Now you know the truth, so what do you say?" Billy grinned. "How about letting me get in that honey-pot of yours?"
"Golly, are you persistent! Do you realize that's blackmail, Billy?" laughed Bonita. "Can't help it. That's the deal. You either come across with a little tail or I'm afraid I'll have to tell Mr. Weston about your acting ambitions."
"You wouldn't do that to me, would you, Billy?"
"Nope. Not if you give me a little snatch."
"You're a crude bastard," laughed Bonita. "I almost think you're serious."
"I am serious. C'mon, baby. What's it gonna hurt to give up a little loving? I promise, Bonita, that you won't be sorry."
"I'm beginning to think that you mean it."
"Oh I do, baby. Just a tiny taste of that lovely little snapper I know you got down there ... or else."
Bonita couldn't stop laughing at his descriptions of her sex. He was like a young boy who had recently learned all these sexual terms and couldn't wait to use them with someone.
"Or else what! " she giggled.
"Or else I report to Weston and that's a fact."
"I don't believe it for a minute," said Bonita. "You're too sweet a kid to be that much of a stinker."
"Number one, I'm not a kid," said Billy. "And number two, I like screwing as much as the next guy, so I wouldn't take any chances if I were you."
"Nice try, Billy, but it doesn't work," Bonita told him. "I know you're too sweet a guy to do something that despicable."
Billy looked across the table at her and gave Bonita his wide-eyed innocent look. "If I'm such a sweet guy, why won't you let me sleep with you?" he asked.
Bonita thought he was cute. She realized how attractive and wholesome he actually was, but Billy's appeal wasn't sexual for her. To Bonita he seemed more like a kid brother and, as inviting as his offer might seem, she wasn't turned on by Billy McCarthy.
"To begin with, Billy. A girl just doesn't go sleeping all over the place with a fellah she hardly even knows, especially the first time he asks," replied Bonita.
"Maybe if you let me put it to you, you'll get to know me better."
"Ooh, Billy, you are too much," she said. "But I'm afraid I'll have to take a rain check on it."
"Okay, baby," he said with a rakish grin. "But don't say I didn't warn you."
"Go on, Billy. You wouldn't do that to me."
He sat back without answering. The expression on his face told her he had tried. And now that she had turned him down, he would try no more. Bonita felt sorry for him and hoped she hadn't hurt his feelings too much.
"Heeey, Big Mac! How the hell you doing, kid!"
Bonita looked up at the man who had just entered the dining room and was now standing beside their table. He looked like a construction worker, except he was minus a hardhat. Instead, he was wearing a sporty tweed fedora. He had a wide face, with dark Slavic eyes and, though he was well-shaved, Bonita could see the dark shadow of his heavy beard. Presently, he grinned down at Billy and, for some odd reason, the man seemed familiar to her.
"Kubes! What are you doing here?" cried Billy. "I thought this place wasn't your speed!"
"Nah, I gotta give the peasants over here a break now and then."
"Some break," said Billy, turning to Bonita. "Bonita, this is Tom Kubiack, Poland's answer to America's male sex symbols!"
The man called Kubiack turned to her. "Well, hello, Bonita," he said with enthusiasm. "Goddamn, McCarthy. You got some taste, along with good luck."
"Why, thank you, Tom," replied Bonita.
"Sit down and have a drink, Kubes."
"Nah, the old lady's waitin' at the door. We're just leavin', " Kubiack grinned. "I'll give you a ring; we'll get together. Nice meetin' you, Bonita."
She watched Kubiack as he left the dining room, stopping to greet people at other tables along the way. He never once stopped grinning, and she could hear his booming voice from across the room.
"He's quite a gregarious chap," remarked Bonita.
"Yeah, the Kubes is something else," Billy agreed.
"For some strange reason, I feel that I've met him before."
"You know why? He's only got about skaty-eight commercials running on the tube," Billy informed her.
"Ooh, that's why he seemed so familiar," Bonita replied. "You know a lot of people in this business, don't you?"
"Sure. Being in the biz, you get to know people after a while. I guess I'm one of the lucky ones to have a job at all."
"I'll say."
"Hey, c'mon, Bonita. Don't get discouraged. From what Steve Coppola tells me, you're gonna be the next big star of the American theatre," said Billy. "Sooner or later, something will come along. In the meantime, you got a pretty cushy job, if you know what I mean."
Bonita ignored his reference to their conversation previous to the interruption by Billy's friend. She also chose to ignore the underlying threat. He was just a boy, and so utterly obvious.
"Something already has come along," said Bonita.
"What do you mean?"
Bonita sighed and shrugged her shoulders sadly. "Oh, Billy. I just finished reading David's next play, the one he's out on the coast now, signing up."
"You mean, Stage Struck. I read it too. What about it?" asked Billy.
"Just that the part of Susan was written for me. It's so right, so perfect for me that I could cry."
"Maybe now is the time to make your move and ask Weston for a shot at it."
"No, I'm afraid it's too soon, Billy. I've barely been there for a little more than two weeks."
"Well, it is something to think about. They won't be casting-that's production for a while yet, and there might be a chance for you. That is if you don't force me to reveal your secret and blow your cover."
"I'm sure you won't," replied Bonita. Billy didn't comment on her remark, but studied her quietly. "I'd do anything for that part," she told him. "Anything?" inquired Billy.
"Yes," she answered absently, not realizing where he was heading her. "Just about anything would be worth it."
"All I can say is that I just wish I was in Weston's shoes," said Billy. "I'm sure we could come to terms tonight."
"Ooh, you!" cried Bonita, punching him playfully on the arm. "That's all you think about."
"So? You'd have the part and I'd have you," he said. "Why don't you pretend that I'm David Weston. Just for tonight."
"I didn't mean that, when I said I'd do just about anything."
"And I'm not David Weston," Billy replied.
"That has nothing to do with anything," said Bonita: "Can't you get that through your thick skull. I'm not going to bed with you and I wouldn't screw Weston for the part either."
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Are you sure?" queried Billy.
"You're damn right I'm sure! Listen, if I have to make it with someone to get on Broadway, then I'd never know if it was because of that, or because I'm a good actress. Besides, if I have to spread my legs, then it just isn't worth it."
"Maybe you've got a point there, and I can understand how you feel about it," said Billy. "But I'll tell you one thing. If there was some woman producer who would give me a chance at directing, only if I got it on with her, she'd be screwed, blued and tattooed before she knew what hit her."
Bonita laughed softly and clucked her tongue disparagingly at Billy. "Well, if you can live with it; I mean if that's all the respect you have for yourself, then you're welcome to it."
"Respect, shit," he chuckled.
After eating, they walked over to the theatre district between 8th Avenue and Broadway. like Bonita, Billy also enjoyed strolling around the area, soaking up the atmosphere. She told him that just being near the theatres made her feel good.
Later, since he also lived on the West side, they shared a taxi ride uptown. Bonita had enjoyed her evening with Billy more than she'd expected. Even though he was much more mature than he looked and randy as all get-out, Bonita found that she liked Billy. He is intelligent and has a good sense of humor and, who knows, she thought, maybe some day he'll be a very important director. She knew it never hurt to have friends in the business, not that that was the reason Bonita liked him. Billy was fun to be with and she didn't look forward to the idea of saying goodnight.
Bonita wasn't ready to be alone yet that evening and hated the idea of going back to her empty apartment. Maybe it was because she realized that she'd have too much time alone to be thinking of David and fretting over how cold and distant he had sounded on the phone. Whatever the reason, she didn't feel like parting company with Billy just yet. As the taxi pulled up in front of her building, she turned to him.
"Listen, Billy. It's still early. Want to come up and have a glass of wine?" asked Bonita.
Billy's face brightened with anticipation. She noticed it immediately and realized what he was thinking.
"I'm only offering a glass of wine, nothing else," warned Bonita.
"I know," he protested.
"Just wine and that's all," she reiterated.
"I said 'I know.' "
"I just want to be sure you understand," Bonita replied.
"I could hardly mistake it for anything else."
"Heeey, aah, if it's okay wit yew two? Anytime yer ready, just let me know," piped the cabbie, who had been watching them through the rear-view mirror. "I mean, just take yer time!"
Billy ignored the hack. "Do you have any beer?"
"There's a few cans in the fridge," she answered.
"What kind?"
"I think it's Krimsky's."
"Okay, you got a deal."
"Wonderful! You get the Krimsky, she's gonna have the wine and you get nuthin' else, understand?" said the driver. "Now that we got it all settled, yew mind if I get my fare?"
They both giggled at the cabbie, who stared back dourly through the mirror. When Billy paid the driver, he left him a dollar over and above what was on the meter.
"Well, thanks, brother! It was woith the wait!"
CHAPTER EIGHT
They sat together on the sofa, the lights turned low, as they listened to the pleasant strains of a Frank Sweeney ballad. Billy was working on his third can of Krimsky while Bonita took the final sip of her second goblet of wine.
She lay her head back on the sofa and closed her eyes. The wine made her feel heady, but she felt quite safe with Billy. As she listened to the music, Bonita mused about how perfect it would be if only her companion were David, instead of Billy.
Then she felt Billy's hand caress her cheek and then move around to the back of her neck. Gently, he began to massage her neck.
"What are you doing?"
"Just giving you a little massage," he answered.
"Ummm, that feels so good," said Bonita, feeling herself go limp all over. Yet something in the back of her mind told her she should stop him now before he went any further. Ah, but it feels so nice and, after all, he's just a kid and I can handle him.
A moment later she felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek, followed by the soft touch of his lips upon her own. It was a soft, feathery kiss.-Almost brotherly.
"Billy?"
"Just a little innocent kiss between two friends," he whispered, finding her mouth again.
She sighed pleasantly, realizing that, after all, no one could take offense to such a harmless, if pleasing, gesture. She enjoyed the sensation of his warm lips moving softly above hers. Then she felt the tip of his tongue flick moistly across her lips, anxiously trying to dart inside. And what harm could there be in letting him! she asked herself inwardly.
Slowly she opened her lips and let the tip of his tongue slip in. And slowly it searched about until she opened her mouth to admit it. It felt so good to be held and kissed and, yes, even caressed, for that's what Billy was doing to her right breast, even though he wasn't the partner of her choice.
He moved his hand on top of her breast and fondled it with more assured firmness. Bonita sighed again, realizing that, enjoyable as it was, she must stop him soon, before he tried taking liberties she had no intention of letting him have. His tongue again pressed between her lips and slipped into the cavity of her mouth, probing anxiously therein.
Then Billy's hand left her breast and searched its way down her side and over her hip. Suddenly she felt his hot palm on her inner thigh. Eagerly, his hand pawed at her panties, trying to slip beneath them. Bonita yanked herself away. She had been jolted from the dreamy pleasure that the wine had caused to an abrupt alertness.
"No, Billy! That's enough!" she cried.
"Ooh, baby," he murmured.
"No, Billy! Now stop it!"
Billy grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him. This time his lips came down heavily on hers and he kissed her with such vigor that she cried out in pain. She could feel his hand as it roughly fondled her breast.
"Nooo! Dammit, Billy! I warned you! "shouted Bonita as she struggled to escape his arms.
"Ooh, baby, you can't stop me now," he pleaded, fumbling toward her bosom with both hands. Then he found Bonita and held her in a vise-like grasp. She fought and struggled in vain.
"C'mon, Bonita baby, just a little bit," he panted.
"I warned you when you came up here that nothing was going to happen," hissed Bonita through clenched teeth.
Holding her firmly, he leaned down and tried to kiss her. Bonita turned her face away so that he was unable to. Instead, he began to lick her neck. She struggled violently, trying to free herself from his powerful grip. And while he held her down on the sofa, Billy sprawled on top of Bonita and began to dry-hump her.
"Billy! Stop it this instant. You're disgusting!"
"Oh, baby, don't turn me down now!" he rasped heatedly.
Freeing one of Bonita's hands, he reached down and tried to hike up her dress. She reared back with her free hand and let it go with all of her might. As the flat of her palm connected with the side of Billy's face, the room filled with the sound of the blow.
He had pulled away, trying to make her miss. But the swiftness of his motion caused him to lose his balance. He tumbled to the floor and was on his feet immediately. Billy rubbed his cheek as he stood glaring down at her. His face had gone ash-white and his blue eyes smoldered with anger. She looked up at him, fearful now that he might become violent.
"Billy, I told you to stop," said Bonita, trying to conceal her fear.
"What the hell did you expect? You let me kiss you. I didn't hear any pleas for me to stop."
"You said it was just a friendly kiss," replied Bonita.
"Friendly kiss? Jesus, do you let all your friends kiss you like that?" Billy growled. "For Christ's sake! You let me tongue you, you let me feel you up. Then, when my balls start turning blue, you say 'no more'? What kind of shit is that?"
"Oh, Billy. I didn't mean for this to happen," she said in a shaky voice.
"You didn't mean for it to happen? That's pure bullshit!"
"Honestly, Billy, I'm sorry," Bonita's voice broke and she began to sob. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
"Can the crying shit, baby! I'm on to your game. You get off on this shit, don't you?" said Billy. "You know what you are? You're a world-class, professional pecker-teaser!"
"Don't call me that, Billy!" she shouted with tearful anger.
"Yeah, that's right!" he shouted back. "A screwy pecker-teaser!"
"Get out!" cried Bonita. "I want you to leave right now!"
"You bet your ass, you pecker-teasing little slut! But you can be sure..."
"Get out, you rotten bastard!" she shouted. "Get out!"
Bonita hated that word. She always had from the first time she'd ever heard it. She felt it was the most degrading name a man could call a woman, and men were always using it when they didn't get their way. She had promised herself that no one would dare call her that name and get away with it.
"Don't ever, ever, call me that again," Bonita threatened with a husky voice, "or I promise you that you'll regret it!"
Billy looked at her with a mocking grin, but the intensity of her threat had registered, for he failed to use the term again.
"Now get out!" snapped Bonita.
"Sure, baby. Don't worry 'cause I'm going. But just remember what I told you," he replied. "You can be sure that as soon as Weston returns, I'm going to give him an earful about his precious little assistant."
Her heart beat heavily as she looked sadly at Billy. How could I have been so wrong about a person? thought Bonita. She had judged him to be such a clean-cut, wholesome young man, and now he stood there, leering smugly at her. With one last condescending glance, Billy turned and started toward the front door.
Bonita was aware that if she allowed him to leave her apartment in that state of mind, everything would be finished for her. She'd lose her job, she'd lose the opportunity to win a part in one of David's plays and, most of all, whatever might have developed emotionally with him would be curtailed. I mustn't allow Billy to leave, realized Bonita. Yet after all the terrible things he'd said to her, what else could she do?
Billy was out of the living room and she could hear his footsteps echo back from the hallway. Her mind was a blur of thoughts. What should I do? What could I do to make him understand that I have no desire to sleep with him. Then she heard the front door open.
"Billy, wait!" Bonita cried out and hurried into the hallway.
He paused, holding the door open to look at her curiously. She covered the short distance and, in a moment, was beside him.
"Well?" said Billy.
"Close the door."
Billy shut the front door and turned back to her. She paused for a moment of indecision, her eyes dark and pleading. Then, taking a deep breath, she gathered her courage about her like a giant cloak.
"Billy, you couldn't do that to me, could you?" asked Bonita. "You won't tell David about me, will you?"
"You don't think so?"
"I know you're too decent a person to do such a cruel thing."
"Hah! Just watch me."
"But why, Billy? What good will it do you?"
He stared at her without answering.
"What can I do to make you change you mind?"
"Don't be such a dumb twat," he answered skeptically. "You know what I want."
"To make love to me," said Bonita.
"That's the deal."
"But don't you understand? It won't be any fun. I have no desire to make love to you."
"I'm hurting, baby. I don't care."
Bonita stared at him, shaking her head with frustration. She still felt that Billy was too decent a person, that he was only bluffing to have his way. But she was afraid to take the risk. There was always the chance that he might actually tell David everything.
Then Bonita had a sudden brainstorm on how she might be able to discourage him. "Billy, kiss me," she told him.
"What?" he asked, taken aback. "I said 'kiss me.' "
Billy stepped forward and took Bonita in his arms. At the same time, she let her own arms hang limply at her sides, making no effort to be a partner in the embrace.
"Oh, baby," he murmured.
She could feel his mouth come down harshly on hers as she let her lips go slack. He kissed her fervently, moving his mouth across her languid lips. Bonita offered nothing in the way of participation in the kiss, but Billy didn't seem to mind. She felt his tongue dart eagerly in and out of her half-open mouth.
"There, see," she said when he had finished. "The kiss meant nothing to me, and sleeping with me would be like lying with a wet dishcloth."
"I don't care."
"I promise you, you'd enjoy it as much as you would if you stuck your dong in the knothole of a wooden fence."
"I'll take my chances, baby, because I think I can change your mind," he told her breathlessly.
"There's no way I can talk you out of this insanity?" Bonita pleaded.
"No way," he answered.
"You are a little bastard, Billy."
"Maybe so," he shrugged. "But I got something nice for you."
Billy pulled her to him and kissed her again. Then, in his eagerness, he almost ripped her blouse while trying to get his hand inside.
"Hey, take it easy!" said Bonita. "What's the matter?" he wanted to know. "You almost ripped my blouse," she said. "Just wait here."
Bonita went into her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She hated being backed against the wall like this. Billy could ruin everything if she didn't give in, but Bonita was damned if she'd be forced to sleep with someone she didn't want to.
Well, sleep with him or not, she wasn't going to let him ruin her clothes with his overanxious yanking and pulling. Bonita unbuttoned her blouse and removed it. She kicked off her shoes, dropped her skirt about her ankles and stepped out of it. Then she slipped off her pantyhose and was completely naked. A breeze from the open window made her nipples hard from the chill she felt.
She put on a silk dressing gown and tightened the sash around her waist. As she began to hang up her clothes, she thought of Billy in the other room and it occurred to Bonita that sleeping with him might not be all that bad. She realized he had a good body, lean and hard, and the idea of screwing a boy younger than herself sent a shiver of pleasure up her spine.
It was too bad that things turned out the way they had. Billy's having tried to blackmail her into bed took away any sensual desire she might have had toward him. As far as Bonita was concerned, the thought of being forced was akin to being raped. In no way was she going to give herself up to him. Even if it meant losing everything. She'd just have to trust her own judgment and take the risk that Billy was only bluffing.
When she returned to the living room Bonita was surprised to discover that Billy had stripped down to his blue bikini shorts. He had not heard her enter and was standing across the room, looking out the window.
Billy was a tall, lanky boy, and the muscles of his back were well-defined. She noticed right off that he had nice buns, much like a matador's, tight and round. His legs were long and sinewy, hinting a promise of the length and strength of the member still harnessed within his shorts.
Billy turned and, seeing her, smiled quietly. Though rangy, he was deep-chested, and his well-muscled stomach looked like the indentations of a washboard. But it was the bulge of his semi-swollen penis, pushing against the fabric of his shorts, that Bonita took secret pleasure in.
"Just what do you think you're doing?" asked Bonita indignantly.
"You told me to wait here," he replied. "I just thought I'd save us some time."
"I think this charade has gone far enough, silly boy," she told him. "You get dressed and put that little thing away."
But no matter how sharp her insult was, Billy would not be put off. He grinned and began pushing down his shorts.
"Don't worry, honey. You're going to enjoy it."
"Billy!" Bonita cried with alarm, then almost gasped out loud, for, as his undershorts passed over the bulge of his restrained penis, it sprang upward, much like the arm of a railroad gate. And as its confined swelling had promised, it was indeed a magnificent tool.
She tried with difficulty to conceal her admiration as she studied his member in awe. For it was not his length, which was considerable, but its thick roundness that brought her own juices flowing promptly to the lips of her vagina. Bonita was afraid that if she dared take one step, he'd be able to hear the liquid flutter out of it, so moist had she become. Billy caught the look in her eyes and smiled proudly.
"Ah, it pleases you, eh?"
"I've seen bigger," she lied.
Erected stiffly upright, the thickness of the shaft reminded Bonita of a horse's phallus. It must be close to five inches in circumference, she mused and, with a tickle of anxious excitement, wondered if she was big enough to take it inside of her.
It had a delicate rosy hue and looked as smooth as satin. It's globular glans swelled to a bluish-pink tinge and, at the very tip of his protuberance, she could see the tiniest white pearl of pre-seminal fluid peeking out. Bonita feared that with one caress of his scrotum, Billy would explode all over her good carpet.
He approached her and began tugging at the sash of her dressing gown. It fell open, exposing her front.
"Billy, what are you doing?" she asked huskily.
Without answering, he pushed the gown off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor.
"Billy, no! Now stop it!" cried Bonita, trying to cover her nakedness. He leaned down and, with the tip of his tongue, made a trail across her velvet skin until he reached a red, swollen, raisin-like nipple, and teased it delicately. Bonita gasped quietly and swallowed hard, refraining from showing any outward evidence that she was enjoying the moment.
Then he engulfed as much of her breast as he was able to. As he sucked at it vigorously, he gently rubbed the distended nipple of her other breast between his thumb and forefinger. She breathed deeply, feeling a flutter of excitement deep in the pit of her stomach.
"Please, no more, Billy," she gasped.
Billy knelt gently and, as he did so, she could feel the heat of his tongue trailing across her flesh, to the center of her stomach where he paused to visit her navel. Bonita was becoming exceedingly more excited with each passing moment, and now she could feel him leave her navel and continue downward.
When he reached the edge of her forest, he teased all around the periphery of her orifice until Bonita thought she would go mad, so deliciously pleasant was the taunting flick of his talented tongue. Still, she refused to grant him entry or show any signs of pleasure. Inwardly she begged for him to move his fiery tongue to the top of her cleft and suck her clitoris with open abandon.
Then Bonita gasped aloud as she felt Billy insert several fingers of his right hand and apply pressure to the golden nubbin of her sex. Then, as his fingers began to slide in and out of her viscid temple, he began to flick his tongue across the tip of her clitoris at the same time, with a steady rhythmic motion, now and again teasing it between his teeth.
Unable to contain herself any longer, Bonita began to moan softly, still trying to disguise the fact that she was very close to coming. And Billy continued his voracious sucking. Finally she murmured loud enough for him to hear, and he stopped a moment to admire his handiwork.
"Aha! I told you I'd make you enjoy it!"
"You bastard," she grunted despairingly, "don't you stop now!"
"Ummm," Billy moaned with pleasure as he returned his face to her silken glade and began sucking there again. This time he pleasured her with a fury, and the intricate and fanciful motions of his tongue carried Bonita to unknown heights, until, in seconds, she was once again at that glorious precipice. Bonita closed her eyes and entwined her fingers in Billy's hair as she felt the length of his tongue lick upward across her magic spot.
"Aaaaaaah!" she cried out loud.
And she came so hard and with such a tremendous rush that it brought tears to her eyes. This golden man-child, whom Bonita had heretofore disparaged as a mere boy, continued what he was doing so well, driving her yet higher and higher, making her climax again and again.
He played her like an instrument, delicately plucking her strings with all the expertise of a virtuoso, achieving chords with her that Bonita never knew existed. Until at last, after many orgasms, she finally cried out.
"Oh, Billy, please! No more! I'll die if you make me come again!"
Billy reached up and pulled Bonita down on the floor beside him. He brushed the tears of pleasure from her eyes and kissed her gently on the mouth. She could feel the warm tumescence of his rigid penis as it poked her in the stomach. He laid her back on the floor. Gently, he pulled her legs apart and, when she opened her eyes, Bonita saw him crouched between them. Billy looked lustfully at her.
"Now it's my turn," he said.
She glanced nervously at his turgid phallus. In the dim light, its bulbous head seemed purple. Bonita looked away from it, fearful of its thickness. His blue eyes appeared darker now, and in them she could perceive no tenderness, but instead a sparkle of lustful excitement.
She gave an involuntary shudder when he reached down and stroked her wet and quivering lips. Then, holding his bulging penis in one hand, Billy leaned forward. Bonita closed her eyes, expecting the worst. She could feel the pressure of his knees as he pushed her legs wider apart and then, suddenly, a tightness as he pushed his member up inside of her. With her eyes tightly closed, she waited for the pain to come.
Seconds passed, but there was no pain. In fact, there was no discomfort at all. And then, the room was filled with the liquid sounds of love as Billy withdrew and reentered her vagina again and again. Bonita opened her eyes wide with surprise, for the gentle slapping of his heavy testicles against her bottom attested to the fact that she had taken it all.
She was filled with a renewed pleasure and she gaily wrapped her legs around him. Then, with a steady rhythm, Billy began to long-stroke her. She could feel the glowing warmth begin to build in her loins as he pulled out to the very tip and quickly thrust his penis all the way back in.
He grunted his pleasure with each stroke, and his panting grew louder and his thrusting motions came in rapid succession. The thickness of his member put great pressure on her lips and Bonita could feel the length of his shaft as it massaged her clitoris. She cried out with bliss at the excruciating pleasure of another orgasm.
Bonita realized that Billy hadn't been bragging when he told her that he would make her enjoy it. No one had ever screwed her like this, and he seemed to redouble his efforts, making her come two more times. In a little while he stopped and rested his head on her shoulder. She could still feel him swollen hard inside of her.
"Did you come?" she asked.
"Not yet," he replied.
"My God, Billy! How can you screw for so long and not have an orgasm yourself?"
"Practice," he chuckled softly.
"I don't understand how you do it," Bonita told him. "I thought you were ready to come long ago."
"I'm saving it for the right moment," said Billy.
He withdrew his penis and reached for his cigarettes, which were lying on the coffee table. Bonita watched him as he lit a smoke. She noticed that his phallus was still as rigid as when he had first taken it out of his underwear.
"Did you enjoy it?" asked Billy.
"It was all right," Bonita answered, not wanting to admit that it was the best she'd ever experienced.
"All right? Who're you kidding?" he said. "You must have come at least six times."
"It was okay," she nodded. "You're pretty good for a kid."
He looked at her incredulously. If Bonita was trying to put him down, it wasn't working. Billy's ego and confidence remained undaunted. He reached down and took his unfailing penis in hand.
"For a kid, heh?" he laughed. "Where have you ever had better?"
"You really think you're something, don't you?"
"No, but I know I'm a good lover," he replied.
"Like I said," Bonita answered him noncommittally, "you're not bad. Now what are you going to do to satisfy that fellah?"
Billy squinted his eyes against the smoke as he took a last drag and studied her pensively. Then he blew a stream of smoke above their heads and tamped out the cigarette.
"Did you ever do it doggie-style?"
"You mean like dogs do it?" asked Bonita.
"That's right."
"No, I've never been with anyone as imaginative as you."
"You don't know what you're missing," advised Billy. "You're in for a treat."
"What am I supposed to do?" she asked with a curious innocence. Bonita realized that Billy already had his way, so she didn't feel now as though she were going against her own sense of self-respect. She felt it would be foolish to deny Billy anymore. Especially since she'd enjoyed it so much. Besides, she might learn some new creative pleasures.
"Wait here. I'll be right back," said Billy.
He got up and padded toward the bathroom. Billy looked back and winked at her, then disappeared through the door. Bonita smiled to herself, amused at his youthful macho strut. He was so proud of his body and the large penis that extended from it.
A few minutes later he returned and, as he approached Bonita, she realized that his bulging penis glistened brightly with vaseline. She could see the throbbing blue vein that stretched across the top of his shaft. When he flexed his muscles, the bluish-pink glans swelled even larger. His phallus was now so hard and bulging that she thought it would break through his flesh.
"Why did you put vaseline on it?"
He grinned at her and Bonita could see the glint of extreme excitement in his eyes. And for the first time she noticed a thin film of perspiration on his forehead.
" 'Cause if I didn't, it would be a little tight going in," said Billy.
Bonita stared up at him and the flesh of her forehead stretched tightly with the sudden realization of what Billy was referring to.
"Wait a minute, Billy," said Bonita, raising up on her elbows. "You're not planning on sticking that big thing in my backside, are you?"
"Well, baby, that's what doing it doggie-style is."
"No way are you sticking that up my butt!" exclaimed Bonita. "I thought you were talking about between my legs from behind me."
"You won't be sorry, baby, I promise."
"Are you crazy? I don't even like to take enemas!"
"I guarantee you'll love it, baby. You won't be able to stop coming."
"No way, Billy. It's disgusting just to think of it."
"I'm telling you, Bonita, that once you get a taste of it you'll love it," he said, pushing her down on her back. "All women do."
"No, Billy! It's disgusting and degrading," she protested.
"It's not, honey. Everybody does it."
He took Bonita by her legs and rolled her gently over onto her stomach. Then, reaching around her waist, he raised her buttocks off the floor until they were inches from his throbbing penis. Bonita tried to wiggle away, but he pinned her legs with his own, holding her firmly in place.
"Goddamn you, Billy! I said no!" cried Bonita. "You're too big! I won't be able to take it."
"Don't worry, honey. I won't hurt you, I promise. Just the tip," said Billy.
She could feel his hot hands in the gluteal region as he pushed her cheeks apart, exposing her tender anus. He applied more pressure and her tiny rosebud yawned open.
"Billy, please don't," she begged.
Then she felt the slippery head as he probed her rectal entrance. Then came a tightness as she felt the glans enter. Bonita cried out with fear and anticipation of pain.
"You bastard, Billy! You rotten bastard!"
Bonita held her breath and, seconds later, she felt the rest of his organ slip up inside her. Then, for the second time that evening, Bonita was surprised to discover there was no pain. Tears of relief flooded into her eyes as Billy began to gently thrust in and out. It felt tight and yet slippery, but not all that unpleasant. She relaxed the muscles of her buttocks and began to move with him, feeling him go deeper.
Bonita rose up from the floor and Billy held her by her breasts, massaging them gently as he pumped her from behind. He grunted with pleasure and his breathing became more agitated and Bonita knew he was close to orgasm time. She strained to tighten her gluteal muscles and Billy reached down in front of her and began to manipulate her clitoris. In seconds, she felt the warm glow as she began to build toward the ultimate, and soon she was once again on the bitter edge.
"Oh, God; oh, baby!" Billy cried, and she could feel his throbbing penis as it spat its seed within her anus and then she too exploded with quivering delight in what seemed like her umpteenth orgasm that night. Bonita had long since lost count.
They collapsed on the floor, lying spoon-like, Bonita with her back still facing him. She could feel his mighty muscle grow soft and slip out of her. It was followed by a warm tear of his semen as it trickled down her buttocks.
"I told you that it wouldn't hurt ... that you'd enjoy it."
"I didn't like it all that much, thank you," she answered. "I'm an old-fashioned girl and I'd much rather do it the old-fashioned way"
"Okay, babe, we'll do it your way the next time," promised Billy.
"What makes you think there's going to be a next time?"
"Bonita, darling, I said that I would not tell Weston about you if you let me make love to you, right?"
"And I have," she answered.
"Sure, but I didn't put a limit on it."
"Oh, so you're going back on your bargain?"
"Not at all, sweetheart. Just as long as we get together once or twice a week, you've got my promise that I won't say a word to Weston."
"Oh, no, Billy. You said if I let you make love to me, and I have," Bonita protested. "There was nothing about more than once."
"I don't understand you, Bonita. You obviously enjoyed it tonight," said Billy. "So what's the big deal? I'm not asking you to marry me. I mean, what's a screw between friends?"
"To begin with, Billy, tonight was a mistake. I didn't exactly have a choice in the matter," explained Bonita. "Secondly, I don't sleep with someone just for sex. I have to have some feeling for the other person. You're a nice guy, Billy, but I'm not in love with you."
"Hey, baby, tell the truth. It was good tonight, right?"
"It was fine, but that's not the point. I'd like to have a choice and not be forced into it," said Bonita. "Besides, hasn't it occurred to you that I just might be romantically interested in someone else?"
"He's not doing the right thing by you if you are," replied Billy, " 'cause, honey, you were hot to trot tonight."
"Oh, Billy. There's more to love than just screwing."
"All right, yes. I agree with you. I thought that maybe after I made love to you, you might start to feel something toward me," said Billy, displaying a sudden shyness. "As much as you might not believe it, I don't go around banging every girl who comes along. It so happens that I care an awful lot for you. I was hoping that after tonight the feeling might be mutual."
"Oh, Billy! You're a big faker!" Bonita laughed. "Just a few moments ago you indicated that the only thing you cared about was a weekly roll in the hay with me. Now suddenly, you profess this great heartfelt love?"
"Well, it's the truth. I've had it bad for you from the first moment I saw you in the theatre," Billy somberly confessed.
Bonita couldn't tell if he was merely acting or really being sincere. All at once she felt a pang of sorrow for him clutch at her heart.
"You just can't let me make love to you and then turn me off," Billy pleaded. "You've got to give me a chance."
"Perhaps, Billy. We'll see what happens," Bonita reluctantly told him.
"What about tomorrow night? Maybe we could take in a movie after work," said Billy hopefully.
"All right, Billy. That might be fun," agreed Bonita. "But, Billy, this time it's only a movie."
Bonita met Billy at the theatre after work the following day. They had a light dinner and went to a movie. This was a different Billy she was seeing. He was quiet and subdued, and talked seriously about their careers in the theatre. Not once all evening did he threaten her about telling David her secret, nor make any hints about sleeping with Bonita that night.
She was surprised that Billy didn't protest when she kissed him goodnight in her lobby and didn't invite him up. It had thrown her completely off-guard and Bonita felt herself feeling guilty that maybe she had misjudged him. Maybe there was more to Billy McCarthy than she had realized.
On their third date they spent an entire day at the museum on Fifth Avenue. Later, they went back to Bonita's apartment and she cooked a spaghetti dinner. Toward the end of the evening, Billy tried to make love again, but this time Bonita refused. Billy pouted, but he didn't threaten her with revealing her secret to David.
Then, as she was saying goodnight to him at the front door, Billy suddenly began to cry. He confessed his deep love for her and told Bonita he didn't know what he'd do if he couldn't have her. She had never been subjected to a situation like this and was wracked with guilt.
In an effort to calm him, Bonita allowed him to hold her in his arms. They were sitting on the living-room sofa and Billy kissed her several times. They were sweet, gentle kisses at first, but became increasingly more passionate. Before long, out of sorrow and a sense of guilt, Bonita let him make love to her.
Once again, the sex was good and the old Billy was back, and Bonita realized that she had been coerced in a different way. She had allowed her sorrow and misplaced guilt to dictate her actions. Billy stayed the night and they made love several more times.
Bonita felt trapped. For though their love-making was good and enjoyable, she had no true feelings of love for Billy, except the compassion and sorrow she felt for him. And she realized that he was using her emotions to have his way.
It was an impossible situation and grated on Bonita's nerves, especially since she realized that David would be returning to New York in a few days. She was filled with anxiety and was aware that she stood the chance of losing everything after all.
On Sunday, Bonita begged off seeing Billy that afternoon. She had to work on her scene with Kathy and retire early Sunday evening. They had just completed running through the scene for the last time that afternoon, when Bonita's downstairs buzzer rang.
It was Billy with a bottle of wine, asking if he could come up. Reluctantly, Bonita buzzed him in. She was glad that Kathy was still there, so nothing would happen. Bonita hadn't told Kathy about the stage manager and what had been going on for the past week.
"So, Bonnie, who's Billy?" asked Kathy. "Have you got something going y'all are keeping from me?"
"Oh, he's just one of David's stage managers who lives in the neighborhood and drops by occasionally," Bonita answered nonchalantly.
The doorbell rang and Bonita hurried to answer it.
"Hi, Bonita. I thought that after a long afternoon of rehearsing, you ladies might like a cool glass of refreshing wine," said Billy as he entered.
When they walked into the living room, Kathy stood up and cocked her pretty head pertly to one side as she gave Billy the once-over. It was obvious from the brazen look on her face that she liked what she saw.
"Billy," said Bonita, "this is my best friend, Kathy Wiggens."
"Well, howdy, Billy," said Kathy demurely. Then, with a sardonic aside to Bonita, "just one of ole Davey's stage managers, hey Bonita?"
Billy seemed awestruck as he stared dumbfoundedly at the voluptuous titian-haired Texas beauty. Then, at last finding his voice, Billy took Kathy's hand.
"My pleasure, Kathy," said Billy. "I've heard a lot about you."
"Really? All bad I hope," laughed Kathy.
"Not at all. Bonita wasn't exaggerating when she said that you were beautiful," Billy replied.
"Well, she didn't tell me a damn thing about you" said Kathy. "But I can see for myself that you're a might pretty."
Bonita stood aside, amazed as she watched them. It was what the Italians called the thunderbolt; such was the chemistry that passed between them. Billy was still holding Kathy's hand as they chatted away, both oblivious to Bonita's presence in the room.
She was glad now that she hadn't told Kathy what had transpired between herself and Billy, for as she watched the sparks flying between Kathy and Billy, Bonita was aware that their burgeoning relationship could be the answer to her prayers.
"Why don't you let me have that wine, Billy, and I'll open the bottle while you guys get acquainted," said Bonita.
"What?" answered Billy with a dazed expression. "Oh, yeah."
Bonita invited Billy to join them for dinner and sent out for Chinese food. All during the meal, the two sat on opposite sides of the table, virtually caressing each other with their eyes.
In reality, Bonita should have felt hurt or even been furious with Billy. He ignored her completely and hovered about Kathy like a moth to a flame. But Bonita was so happy and relieved, knowing her problems would soon be over, that she couldn't have cared less.
She also knew that the Texas hurricane would turn poor Billy every which way but loose. You poor shallow little bastard, thought Bonita, you have no idea what you're in for.
Around ten that evening, Kathy announced she had to be getting home, and Billy almost tripped over the footstool when he volunteered to give her a ride. It turned out he had the use of a friend's car for the evening.
"I'll see you tomorrow at the theatre," said Billy shamelessly. "And thanks for supper."
"And thank you for the wine, Billy," Bonita replied as she bit her bottom lip to keep from giggling.
Kathy waited until he was down the hall, out of earshot.
"Bonnie, honey. Y'all sure you've no designs on that child?" she asked.
"No, Kath," Bonita smiled sweetly. "He's all yours."
"He is divine, Bonnie," sighed Kathy.
"Oh, he sure is, Kathy," said Bonita. "You have no idea just how divine."
Kathy paused a moment, looking at Bonita with a strange curiosity. Then they heard the elevator door bang open down the hallway.
"Better hurry now, love. Billy's holding the door for you," Bonita suggested to her.
Bonita was on her second cup of coffee the next morning when her phone began to ring. Carrying her cup with her, she went into the living room.
"Hello," she said into the receiver.
"Bonnie, darlin', I think I'm in love," Kathy sighed.
"Morning, Kath. How did it go?"
"Ooh, Bonnie. That child did everything to me, and I mean everything!"
Bonnie began to laugh.
"And honey, that child is hung like a stud horse," Kathy enthused. "I'm sorer than if my butt was stuck in a saddle for a whole damn week. He just kept a-humpin' and a-pumpin'. I thought he'd never stop."
"You going to see him again, Kath?"
"Yo!" cried Kathy. "Y'all think I'm lettin' that boy get away, you're crazy."
"Then I guess I'm happy for you," Bonita opined, breathing a sigh of relief.
CHAPTER NINE
As Bonita lay in bed that evening, she reflected on all that had happened since David had been away. She tried desperately to make some sense out of the confusion that held a foremost place in her mind.
She thought about having made love to Billy. The more she thought about it, the more confused she became. Though his love-making had been physically satisfying to her, it was not pleasing, for, as far as Bonita was concerned, she had been forced or tricked into it. And all it amounted to was strictly physical.
Billy McCarthy in no way, shape or form excited her. On the other hand, just the fleeting memory of that evening in the carriage with David caused Bonita's heart to beat faster as well as the flutter of a thousand butterflies deep in the pit of her stomach.
She wondered now if things would be the same when David returned as they had been before he left. There was no doubt in her mind that she missed him terribly, but was there really reason for her to have hope for a relationship with him, or was she building things all out of proportion? Perhaps she was reading things into their brief meeting that were never really there. Whatever, Bonita would have to wait and see what came to pass upon his return.
The following morning, when she entered her office, David Weston was seated behind his desk, going over some papers. She was pleasantly surprised, for he wasn't due back for a couple of days yet. When he looked up to greet her, Bonita could feel the electricity race through her. Weston smiled briefly.
"Welcome home, David," said Bonita in a husky voice. "When did you get in?"
"Late last night," he answered.
"Was it a successful trip?"
"Yes. Quite successful."
Bonita was slightly taken aback by his cool, clipped business-like manner toward her. The least she would have expected was a tiny kiss on the cheek. Even a shake of her hand would have been something. She sensed a difference about him. Perhaps, she thought hopefully, David's tired from his flight home.
"I was just looking over the reports. You handled the bookings well," Weston told her. "I'm proud of you, but I knew you'd be first-rate."
"Thank you," said Bonita, warming herself in the glow of his praise.
"Now tell me. How are things going with the Love Games rehearsals?" he wanted to know.
"Things couldn't be better. Kevin has the entire cast off the book and he's already blocked the show. Now all he has to do is rub off the rough edges."
"That's good news. I won't have to concern myself about that one now until it opens," said Weston.
Bonita tried to perceive some warmth in his voice, but unhappily found none, and her spirits plunged with disappointment.
"Now what about the other theatre bookings?"
"We're booked into the theatre in New Haven for two weeks. After that, the show moves into Boston, then on to Philly and, if all goes well, it'll open in New York the end of next week."
"By then we should have Stage Struck well along in rehearsals," mused Weston.
Just the mention of the play set her heart to beating. Weston pursed his lips and regarded her with a look of contemplation. "What did you think of the play, Bonita?"
"It's the best new play I've read in years," she told him.
"Ummm," he murmured, "I thought you'd like it."
"I'm glad you were able to purchase it," noted Bonita. "Are you bringing in the cast that did it on the Coast?"
"No. I intend to sign name actors to play the producer and the playwright," said Weston.
Bonita swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "Who have you got in mind for the part of SusanV she asked, her heart in her throat.
Weston opened the cigarette box on his desk, took one out, tapped it lightly on top of the box and then slowly lit it. As she watched him blow the smoke out over the desk, she had the feeling that David knew what was going on inside her and was sadistically enjoying the turmoil her emotions were going through.
Bonita was certain that was quite impossible. That is, unless Billy went back on his word and had already spoken to David this morning. She was sure that Billy was too busy with Kathy to be thinking of anything else at the moment. Still, she couldn't help feeling that somehow David knew.
"How does this sound to you?" he said at last. "I'm thinking quite seriously of using an unknown actress."
"This is a very unusual role. A very special part. I see Susan as a very beautiful girl, full of self-confidence, yet there has to be a certain vulnerability about her," said Weston.
" I think that's a splendid idea, David!" she blurted out.
"You do, heh? Have you got anyone in mind?" Weston challenged. She noticed that his dark eyes had that strange look in them again. It appeared to Bonita that in some incredible way he knew of her desire to play the part.
"No, not offhand," she answered quietly. Bonita wondered if she should take this opportunity to tell David she could play it. Then..."I don't know any young actresses who would be right for Susan. Except maybe..."
"Yes. . . ? " asked Weston, his dark eyes staring straight at her. Bonita's heart beat with wild anticipation. Her throat felt dry and, before she could continue, she froze up and lost her courage.
"Well?" he asked again.
"No. It was just a thought," Bonita finally answered.
"Well, you think about it, Bonita. We're going to start holding auditions immediately," he told her. "In fact, I want you to do a cast breakdown and start calling all the major talent agencies in town."
"All right, David," Bonita replied in a whisper. "I'll get on it right away."
With a stricken heart, Bonita turned and headed for her own office. This wasn't how she thought David's homecoming would be. She wasn't exactly sure what it was she expected, but Bonita thought it would be a happier occasion.
"Oh, and Bonita..." Weston interrupted her thoughts.
"Yes," she answered, pausing in her doorway.
"Don't make any plans for this weekend," he told her. "I'm going to need you with me at my place up in West-port. Noel Anderson is flying in this afternoon and we're going to spend the weekend rewriting some scenes. We'll need you to do some typing."
"When will we be leaving?" asked Bonita.
"We'll leave from the office Friday afternoon and drive up," said Weston. "So bring your luggage when you come in Friday."
A bloody damn typist, she thought with disgust. She was completely deflated. Bonita had thought she was hired as his assistant. Suddenly, it didn't seem to be working out that way.
"I'm sorry if I spoiled any of your plans, Bonita," Weston said in a brusque manner, "but I warned you there would be times like this."
"It's all right, David, I understand," she replied. A sad smile played on her lips.
"One other thing. What about those changes Kevin O'Malley was going to make?"
"I left them on your desk," Bonita told him.
He moved some papers on his desk. "Oh, yes. Here they are."
"Will there be anything else?" she asked. "No. You'd better get on the horn to those agencies," he answered.
So, he had returned. And to Bonita it seemed that instead of the warm, gentle man who had left a little over a week before, a tough, tyrannical general had returned in his place. She had never seen him like this.
Bonita slumped in her chair, her mind scattered with confusion, trying to understand David Weston. She had told herself that she would not build up false hopes, but now Bonita was aware that sometimes the heart does not obey the mind's desires. She had wanted to be so in control of herself.
She was now forced to acknowledge to herself that she wasn't as calm and cool in his presence as she had wished to be. More than ever, just looking at him made her yearn for the warmth of his arm and sent the electricity flowing through her body.
Bonita heaved a sigh and took the Ross Report, listing all the New York agencies, from her desk. Maybe, she thought, she'd be able to find some comfort in her work, but knowing David was just a short distance away, on the other side of the wall, didn't help her concentration.
Try as she did, Bonita could not ignore the fact that she was extremely upset. It was apparent to her that the overwhelming attraction she felt for David was stronger than she had realized. But judging from his aloof attitude, the same was not true for him. David had been barely civil to her, and the tone of his voice was almost angry as he spit out his orders.
Bonita couldn't understand what had changed him or why he would be angry at her. Perhaps, she thought, David is really angry with himself for having trifled with me that evening in the carriage.
Maybe he was afraid that she would think he was attracted to her. Little did David know how she felt about him, and Bonita decided that she would keep David in the dark. She didn't want him to think she had a schoolgirl crush on him-or worse yet, that, knowing he was a wealthy man, she had set her trap for him.
Then there was the other matter that tore emotionally at her insides. Bonita felt like crying when she realized that she was about to call the talent agencies and request that they send their candidates for the cherished role of
Susan. Bonita felt the part was hers, that it was written for her, and she could see her chances getting slimmer by the minute.
Bonita reluctantly picked up the phone to begin the dreaded task when she suddenly realized that she had no dates. David had failed to tell her when they would begin seeing people. Feeling foolish at this oversight, Bonita rose and went into his office.
Weston was busy writing when she entered, and he looked up in annoyance. He pressed his lips together and stared coolly at her. "Yes, Bonita. What is it?" he asked gruffly.
"Dates," she answered simply. "You forgot to give them to me."
"What dates?" Weston demanded in agitation. "The dates that we'll be seeing people," Bonita explained.
"You're right. I'm sorry," he replied more graciously. "Tell them we'll be seeing people beginning at nine o'clock next Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday."
"What about the location?"
"Get on the phone and book a rehearsal hall before you start setting up appointments," he told her.
Bonita retreated to her office with a wounded heart. Why! she asked herself. Why is he doing this to me! It was impossible for her to fathom the change in his personality. Desperately, she thought it must be something about her that was causing Alex to act this way. But whatever it was, she had no idea.
If he continued in this manner, Bonita knew that she was in for a long and miserable weekend in Connecticut. She hoped the playwright, Noel Anderson, wasn't one of those dreary intellectual writers. If he was, thought Bonita, she'd be a madwoman by Monday morning.
Friday morning, as Bonita took her overnight bag from the closet, she spotted her ski boots on the floor and thought, How nice it would be to bring them along and get some skiing in. She had no idea if there were any ski areas near David's home in Westport, and besides, she knew there'd be no time for skiing this weekend. She wondered if David did any skiing, then swiftly put the thought out of her mind. She'd settle for his just being civil toward her.
Bonita packed some extra undergarments: a pair of warm jeans, a turtleneck, snow boots, an extra dress for the evening-besides the one she would wear to work that day-and a few cosmetics. She snapped the bag shut, checked to see all the lights were out, and left for work.
Pausing a moment outside David's office, she took a deep breath and thought, Here goes nothing. David looked splendid, wearing a tweed sportjacket with leather patches at the elbows. Beneath the jacket he wore a brown turtleneck sweater and a pair of brown corduroy slacks. He looked to Bonita like he had just stepped out of the pages of a men's fashion magazine.
"Ah, there you are, Bonita, my girl," Weston remarked, cheerfully. "All set for a weekend in the country?"
"Ready as I'll ever be," she smiled, sensing a change in him. "You look like a country squire, David."
"Thanks," he grinned.
Then a man Bonita hadn't noticed upon entering rose and smiled at her as he extended his hand. "So, you're Bonita," he said. "I'm Noel Anderson. Alex has told me a great deal about you."
"He hast" Bonita asked guardedly.
"Don't worry, it was all good. I must say, he was right. You are quite a beauty."
Bonita could feel the heat rise in her cheeks as she blushed furiously. Releasing her hand, he winked knowingly at Weston. She was curious about what David might have said about her.
Noel Anderson was as tall as Weston, and very slender. He couldn't have been more than twenty-eight and, with his thick head of curly blonde hair, looked much younger. He had a deep tan and sported a bushy blonde moustache.
His features were sharp and angular, with high cheekbones and incredibly blue eyes. He's quite handsome, thought Bonita, if you like the beach-boy type. Anderson was wearing a bright-red turtleneck sweater beneath a blue-and-yellow ski jacket. He had on a pair of very expensive designer jeans, stuffed into a pair of furry boots.
So far, so good, thought Bonita. At least Noel doesn't appear to be a stuffy intellectual type. It might be a fun weekend after all.
"Don't go licking your chops, Bonita," Weston teased. "Our boy genius is a newlywed. In fact, as soon as his bride arrives, we'll be on our way."
"I thought we weren't leaving until later this afternoon?" asked Bonita. "I haven't finished contacting all the agencies."
"It's already taken care of. The receptionist will finish the calls," advised Weston. "The weather report is threatening snow. I thought it would be a good idea to get an early start while the roads are still clear."
There was a light tap on the door, and then Cynthia Anderson entered. They were introduced and Bonita decided right away that she liked the woman. She marveled at how much like Noel his wife, Cynthia, looked. They could have been mistaken for twins. She too had a head of curly blonde hair, enveloping her well-tanned face. Her eyes were the same deep blue as her husband's, and she had the angular, well-boned features of a model.
Cynthia was wearing a blue-and-yellow, one-piece ski outfit with white fur boots. The couple looked to Bonita like real health freaks. She thought they probably jogged every day. Suddenly, Weston, who was sitting on the edge of his desk, began to laugh.
"What's so funny?" asked Noel.
"Regarding you two, my office looks like the dressing room of a sporting-goods fashion show," he answered, laughing heartily. Bonita watched him and was glad David was in a cheery mood.
"Well, guys," he beamed. "Let's saddle up!"
The drive up to Connecticut was delightful. They were like a earful of college kids on a ski trip. The ladies sat on the jumpseats, and David and Noel on the regular seats so they could stretch their long legs out in front of them. David had brought along several chilled bottles of a very tasty Spanish white wine and long-stemmed glasses to drink it from.
Bonita was glowing with happiness. Even though it had begun to snow, she took comfort in the fact that he seemed to be the gregarious David of old. The men told funny anecdotes about their college years, David at Harvard and Noel at the Yale School of Drama.
After a while, when the wine had put a fine edge on their festive spirits, they began to sing. So contagious was their mood that Andrew, the chauffeur, who hadn't had any wine, joined in the spirit of things.
Finally, the limousine turned off the main highway and took a narrow road that rambled up a hillside. Bonita didn't realize that they were on David's estate until they passed a serene ice-covered pond. David announced that in the summer there were swans on the pond. A mountain stream gurgled down from above and passed by a small cottage at the side of the road.
This was a relic of bygone days that David had restored to its former glory. It was where the groundskeeper and his wife lived the year around. Bonita could see wicker furniture on the tiny veranda that hung over the stream, reminding her of the F. Scott Fitzgerald era.
As they came around the last turn in the road, they spotted the mansion sitting atop of another, smaller rise. It was a hundred-year-old building, built in the style of an
English baronial mansion. Formal gardens surrounded the main house, and Bonita could see a tiny guest cottage in the rear that was a duplicate of the mansion.
When they entered the main hall, which was done in dark wood paneling, they were greeted by the warmth of a bright, crackling blaze in the huge stone fireplace. So huge was the fireplace that a man could have entered it without bowing his head. There was a tiny bar behind the main hall, with glasses racked overhead, pub-style. In the living room there were bookshelves that climbed from floor to ceiling.
David had the butler take Bonita's luggage out to the guest house. After a hot toddy to warm them up, David, Bonita and Noel went into the den to begin work. Cynthia went back outside to explore the estate.
Noel removed a yellow secretarial pad from his case and handed it to David. "I started working on the penthouse scene last night, and I think I've got the flavor you asked for, David."
He began to read Noel's handwritten pages. It was hard for Bonita to tell from his expression whether he liked it or not. He finished one page and continued with the next. Still there was no sign of how he felt. Then, as David read the last page, a burst of laughter escaped him. Now, a wide grin stretched across his face, and David nodded his head.
"Wonderful, Noel, wonderful! That's exactly what I felt was lacking," he said enthusiastically. "Let's follow that thread."
David tore the pages from the pad and handed them to Bonita. "There's a typewriter in that small office just off the main hall," he told her. "I guess you can start typing up the sides. When you're finished, we'll have more."
Bonita left the den and hurried down the hall to the office. Through the window, she noticed that it was still snowing. She paused to enjoy the winter scene.
The property behind the house inclined at a steady slope, and beyond she could see several hills capped with tall green pines. They aren't steep enough for skiing, thought Bonita, but just perfect for tobogganing.
She withdrew from the window, placed a piece of paper in the machine, and began to type the sides. As Bonita copied Noel's neat writing, she realized they were building up the role of Susan, making it even bigger. She thought excitedly, now that David seemed to be in a better frame of mind, she'd be able to find the right moment and tell him of her desire to at least audition for the part of Susan.
When she had completed the last page, Bonita stacked them all in a neat pile and rose to return to the den. On the way out, she glanced through the window again and saw the steadily falling snow. Bonita wondered if there was a slight possibility of their getting snowed in.
Wouldn't that be grand, she thought. Just David and me and the Andersons, snowbound. She was certain they'd be finished with the rewrites at the end of the day. Then, if they did become snowbound, maybe David could hire a horse and sleigh and go touring the back country.
Bonita took the finished pages into the den and picked up another batch. It went on like this all day long, late into the afternoon. Finally, when she looked up from the last page, Bonita saw that it had gotten dark out.
She hurriedly typed the last few lines. Bonita was looking forward to a steaming shower and a hearty country meal. She could smell the delicious aroma of roast beef wafting up from the kitchen. Her stomach growled at the thought of food. At last, she was finished for the day.
CHAPTER TEN
Bonita's skin glowed with warmth from the hot water and the vigorous rubbing she'd given herself with the large, white terry cloth towel. She patted the last bit of moistness from beneath her breasts and wound the towel turban-style around her head. At that very moment, she heard someone knocking on her door.
"Yes, who is it?" called Bonita.
"It's me, Cindy," a voice answered. "Can I come in?"
"I'm in the bathroom, but the door's not locked," she called. "Make yourself at home; I'll be right out."
Bonita could hear Cynthia enter and close the door. She threw her velvet-blue dressing gown around her and tightened the sash. As she entered the living room, Bonita was curious at the reason for Cynthia's visit.
"Hi, Bonnie. The boys are still finishing their last bit of work, so I thought you might like some company."
"My, my, Cindy. You look the picture of health with your red cheeks!" exclaimed Bonita. "What did you do all day?"
"First, I looked over David's property. It certainly is lovely and large," answered Cynthia. "Later, I ran into a bunch of high-school kids on the other side of the hill out back. I spent the entire day tobogganing."
"Lucky you. No wonder you look so healthy, but you must be chilled teethe bone," Bonita replied. "Would you like a little brandy?"
"That would just hit the spot," Cynthia agreed.
Bonita went to the side table and poured two snifters of brandy from a crystal decanter. She picked up the glasses and handed one to Cynthia.
"To a successful weekend of work," toasted Bonita.
"AaAplay" laughed Cynthia.
As she sipped her brandy, the woman appraised Bonita from head to toe. Bonita smiled nervously, feeling a flush rise in her cheeks.
"Honey, that dressing gown just suits you so well. I mean, darling, it's lovely," Cynthia commented as she moved toward Bonita, then around her, all the while admiring the gown. "I mean, the way it clings to you, just so. It looks as though it was tailored for you."
"Well, it wasn't," said Bonita. "I picked it up at Blankton's on 57th Street. It was on sale."
"It's sooo beautiful. What is it ... velvet?" asked Cynthia as she reached out with her free hand and stroked the material intimately, running her hand casually down Bonita's back as she continued her admiration. Then, just before she stepped away, Bonita felt Cynthia's hand as it fleetingly caressed her buttocks.
It had all seemed innocent enough, but there was something about Cynthia that made her feel very uncomfortable. Perhaps, thought Bonita, it's her cloying sweetness. She was certain that Cynthia was sincere in her approval of the gown, but it was just that her saccharine manner made Bonita nervous.
"Darling, you're going to have to give me the address of Blankton's so I can pick one up just like it before we return to the Coast."
"Sure, I'll write it down for you," Bonita said.
"It's so lovely that I can't seem to take my eyes off you."
"Look, I don't mean to be rude, Cindy, but do you mind if I continue to get ready for dinner while we talk?" Bonita asked.
"Of course not, dear," Cynthia smiled. "In fact, I still have to change, myself."
Feeling greatly relieved, Bonita took her glass and walked her to the door.
"Then I'll see you at dinner," said Bonita.
Cynthia's face lit up with an angelically sweet smile. Her eyes gleamed with a secret knowledge. "Bonita, darling," assured Cynthia, "I think you and I are going to become very close pals."
"I'm sure we will, Cindy," Bonita agreed.
Then, much to her surprise, Cynthia quickly hugged her and placed a delicate kiss on her cheek. Before Bonita was able to respond, Cynthia was out the door.
David had one of the best cooks in the area, and the meal had been splendid. The roast beef was done perfectly, brown around the edges and juicy and red in the center. There were mashed potatoes, pearl onions in a creamy sauce, carrots and peas, and a wonderful red cabbage that was cooked German-style. For dessert, they had a rich peach cobbler.
Bonita had eaten as though she hadn't had a meal in days. Now they were sitting around the cleared table, drinking coffee and snifters of twenty-year-old Napoleon brandy. Bonita felt as warm and content as an infant in its mother's arms.
The dining room was copied from the cabin of an old English sailing vessel. The floors were old-fashioned wide planks, nailed down with hand-carved wooden pegs. The woodwork was a shiny dark oak and the broad beams in the ceiling were exposed.
They sat together for an hour after dinner, making cheerful small talk and enjoying each other's company in the warmth of the glowing fireplace. Bonita had hoped that the Andersons would go to their room early so she would be alone with David. But Noel and Cynthia showed no signs of being tired. After a while, the warmth of the fireplace and the brandy began to make Bonita feel sleepy. She had given up hope that the Andersons would leave.
Noel and David were involved in a conversation about football, and Cynthia didn't seem to want to talk of anything but surfing, a subject which Bonita knew nothing about. After a polite period of time, she said goodnight to them all.
David rose from his chair. "I'll see you to the door, girl," he said, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder. She could feel the warmth of his big hand through her blouse. He held her coat and helped her on with it. Then, kid-dingly, he pulled the collar tightly around her neck, like a father buttoning his little daughter's coat.
"Go straight home," he said sternly. "And right into bed. We've got a big day of playing in the snow tomorrow."
Bonita looked up at him, longing for David to kiss her, but she knew that it wasn't going to happen. Yet she thought that she could perceive a look of warmth and, perhaps, of longing in his eyes.
"And Bonita, thanks for today," he told her. "You were great."
As she looked up at him she could see flecks of gold in his dark eyes from the reflection of the fire. Bonita could feel a lump form in her throat, and she hurriedly turned to the door.
Back in the cottage, Bonita tossed another log on the fire. She undressed, turned out the lights and climbed beneath the heavy patchwork quilt on her bed. She felt as warm as toast as she yawned and heaved a deep sigh, weary of trying to figure out David Weston.
Bonita reflected on how he looked at her when she left. She was certain that something had passed between them in that moment. Bonita even had the feeling that David wanted to kiss her, but for some reason had controlled the impulse by kidding with her.
What in heaven's name is wrong with him? What is he afraid of? She punched her pillow in frustration. Considering everything, it had been a wonderful day. The drive up from New York had been lighthearted and gay. It had even been fun during the working hours.
In a little while, Bonita drifted off to sleep. Her last thought had been of David's dark-brown eyes during those few seconds at the door. The way he had looked so soulfully at her. like Scarlett O'Hara, she thought, I'll try again tomorrow.
Bonita couldn't have been sleeping for long when she awoke with a start. The head beams from a car flashed momentarily through her window. From out in the front she heard the sound of voices, coming to her across the snow. She wondered who it could be and what time it was.
The voices faded and Bonita turned over on her other side, snuggling beneath her covers. A moment later the telephone startled her wide awake. Bonita sighed with consternation, leaned across the bed and picked up the receiver.
"Yes?"
"Bonita, what are you doing?" It was David. "I'm trying to sleep, David, " she answered, the least bit annoyed.
"Well get your butt over here," he said. "We've got company."
"Oh, David. It's awfully late and..."
"It's only nine o'clock, girl," he interrupted. "I'm awfully tired, David."
"C'mon, Bonita. The gang drove up from New York and there are some people I'd like you to meet."
"Please, David, couldn't it wait until tomorrow?" she pleaded.
"Hey. Get over here. That's an order."
Bonita wasn't able to tell if he was kidding or not. She shoved her pillow back and sat up.
"C'mon, Bonnie. You worked hard today and you deserve a little celebration," said David. His voice was gentle now and he had never called her Bonnie before. Bonita felt a tingle of warmth.
"C'mon. Leslie Burnham brought a case of imported French champagne over. It should be fun."
Leslie Burnham, thought Bonita. She could feel the hackles on the back of her neck rise, and her breathing quickened. Couldn't they go anywhere without her showing up?
"What do you say, pal?"
Okay, pal, she thought angrily, then said, "All right, David. Give me a little time to put myself together."
"Good girl," said Weston. "See you then."
He infuriated her. Pal, thought Bonita. Who does he think he's talking to, one of his barroom buddies? Okay, Leslie Burnham. If it's a fight you want, you've got it, she said within the confines of her brain.
Bonita sat smoldering before the mirror as she brushed her long, lovely hair in anger. She opened the closet and took out the pretty cocktail dress she had brought along for just such an occasion.
When she was finished dressing, Bonita stood back and observed herself in the mirror. It pleased her the way the blue silk dress clung to her, accentuating every lovely curve of her lithe young body. Her delicate nostrils flared with emotion, and her eyebrows arched scornfully. The fury that she felt brought Bonita to the height of her beauty, and when she caught the look in her smoldering dark eyes, she had to smile at her own anger.
like Kathy had told her, she was more beautiful than that hussy. And what's more, she had youth on her side. Bonita swung her coat around her shoulders and marched out the door. It was bitter cold as she picked her way through the snow, and she could heard raucous laughter and the many loud voices. The celebration was in full swing.
She noticed a Mercedes and two Cadillacs in the parking lot. Inside there were over a dozen people, not counting the Andersons. A buffet table had been set up with all kinds of cold cuts-sliced roast beef, ham, turkey, several different kinds of cheeses, snacks covered with dips of shrimp salad, crabmeat and caviar. In the center of another table was a huge sterling-silver bucket filled with ice and over a dozen bottles of champagne.
Bonita marveled at the fact that David's company had arrived not more than half an hour before, but the room was set up as if the party had been planned weeks in advance. No one noticed her when she slipped inside. She spotted the Andersons in busy conversation on the far side of the room. The visitors appeared as if they had been chosen right out of central casting. They were all expensively dressed. The men were handsome and the women were beautiful. It struck Bonita as unreal. There wasn't a homely person in the crowd.
The overwhelming confidence that she had felt while getting dressed was beginning to vanish. She felt more and more provincial in this throng of beautiful people. Bonita fondled the string of cultured pearls at her neck with nervous anxiety as she searched the room for David.
"Well, well, what have we here!" exclaimed a voice from behind her. "Avision, I say a vision of fair-haired innocence!"
Bonita turned to look at the man with the British accent. He was a large man with a rotund stomach. He had a beautiful deep voice and, though he was completely bald, with bushy silver eyebrows, there was something attractive and appealing about him. Bonita had the feeling she knew him from somewhere. Then she realized she'd seen him in many British films.
"I'm Peter Livingston," he said with a courtly bow. "And you must be David's lovely new girl whom I've heard so much about."
"Yes, I'm Mr. Weston's new assistant," Bonita said, trying to hide her annoyance at his referring to her as David's
'new girl.'
"Come, come, my dear. Don't be so modest," Peter Livingston said. "From the way I hear it, you're practically running the bloody show."
"You're much too kind, Mr. Livingston," she smiled demurely. "I'm just David's assistant."
"Ah-ho, assistant indeed," Livingston said with a rumbling laugh. "May I get you a drink, dear girl?"
"Yes. Thank you, Mr. Livingston," answered Bonita.
"Please, child, do call me Peter," he told her. "I'd suggest you try a glass of this champagne before it's bloody well gone. These sorts I jokingly call my friends are making quick work of it."
"All right, Peter. I'll take you up on that."
Bonita watched as Peter Livingston walked to the table. For a large and portly man, he was very graceful and light on his feet. In a moment he was back with a glass for her. He handed it to her, then held his own aloft in a toast.
"Here's to our new production," said Livingston.
"I don't understand," replied Bonita, looking at him quizzically.
"Oh, didn't David tell you, my dear? No, of course not, how could he," said Livingston. "I just only now found out myself."
"Found out what?" Bonita asked.
"I'm playing the actor in Stage Struck. David offered me the role tonight and I've accepted," Livingston told her. "It's been a bloody six months since my last picture, and that was a devilish dud at the box office, so I thought
I'd better get into something before the public forgets all about me."
"That's wonderful, Peter. You're perfect, just the way I visualized the character should look," Bonita said.
"Well, I'm glad you approve, old girl," he remarked.
"We're beginning auditions on Monday," she told him, "so I guess we won't have to worry about that part."
"I dare say. Has anyone else been cast?" he asked.
"Not yet. Robert Trebor is flying in from the Coast to audition for the role of the playwright."
"Yes, I've worked with Trebor before," said Livingston. "He's a fine performer."
"The role of Susan is the difficult one to cast. David wants to use an unknown actress."
"That shouldn't be hard. Why don't you play it?" suggested Livingston. "You're certainly pretty enough. And wouldn't we have a bloody good time working together?"
Bonita couldn't believe her ears. People were constantly telling her how pretty or beautiful she was and asking why she wasn't an actress, when all the time her heart cried out to play the role of Susan. She considered Peter's remark a good omen.
"You're much too kind, Peter, but thanks for the compliment," Bonita replied innocently. "I could never be an actress."
"Of course you could. There's nothing to it. We actors just make it seem mysterious and difficult. Why, you'd be splendid."
"Do you really think so?" asked Bonita.
"I wouldn't say so if I didn't," Livingston answered. "I've a good mind to tell David that his troubles are over."
"Please, Peter. Don't do that," she said breathlessly. "I'm afraid David would be quite angry if he thought I wanted to be an actress."
"Don't be silly, child. Why should he? You'd be doing him a favor and solving the problem of finding an unknown actress beautiful enough to play the role."
"No, Peter. You see, when I applied for this job, the ad said that no actors need apply," Bonita explained. "I'm afraid David would fire me if he thought I had anything to do with acting."
"That's absurd," said Peter. "But tell me, Bonita. Would you like to have a go at it?"
"I'm afraid I wouldn't know where to begin," answered Bonita. "I'd be scared stiff."
"I don't believe you. Call it what you like, but I have a strange feeling that you would," said Peter, a knowing gleam in his eyes. "That you are an actress."
Bonita's heart began to beat faster. Here was the opportunity she had longed for, staring her in the face. Should she risk telling this virtual stranger the truth? Perhaps another chance would never materialize. She took a deep breath.
"The truth, dear girl. You would like to play it," said Peter. "Wouldn't you?"
"You must never tell anyone. Especially David," Bonita confessed. "But the minute I finished reading the play, I knew I wanted that part more than anything in the world."
"Aha! I was certain the moment I laid eyes on you," he beamed. "You can never fool an actor, dear child. There's an intangible quality that an actor conveys about himself. And when I first laid eyes on you I said, 'Peter old boy, there's an actress.' Perhaps it's the magic of your beauty that told me."
"You won't tell David, will you?"
"Of course I shall," said Livingston. And then, seeing her look of panic, added, "But you needn't worry your pretty little head about it, dear girl. I shall be very subtle and find a means whereby David will think it's his idea. Of course, you know nothing about it. It's our little secret."
Could it be possible that this is really happening to me? Bonita asked herself. That at long last I'm really going to have the chance to play this wonderful role? She smiled nervously at him.
"You're very kind, Peter, but I'm afraid you're in for a big disappointment," Bonita told him. "There's no way that David Weston is going to let me or any other untried actress play an important role like that of Susan."
"I would venture to guess you have a background of study in the theatre and, most probably, you're currently taking classes in New York."
"Peter, you are possessed! How could you know?" she asked.
"Remember, I too am an actor, darling heart. I've also been through the bloody mill," said Livingston. "So there, you see? You're not really an untried actress after all."
"You're a warlock, Peter," she laughed happily.
"No, dear girl, I shall be your spiritual father," he replied. "I shall be the instrument whereby you get your first Broadway part."
"Why are you doing this for me?" Bonita asked. "You don't even know me."
"I dare say, it's not for the reasons you're probably thinking," said Peter, chuckling softly. "I happen to have a wife and a daughter your own age."
"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking anything like that at all. It's just that you're being very kind for no reason at all."
"Quite frankly, Bonita, I do have a reason. I call it the actor's code or, if you will, the Peter Livingston code," he told her. "You see, many, many years ago-more years than I care to think about-when I had my first big success on the London stage, I made a vow that if ever the opportunity arose in which I could be of assistance to a deserving young actor, I would do so."
"That's very inspiring," said Bonita.
"I had a bloody awful time of it getting my first break, and then someone gave it to me at the Old Vic Theatre. When it happened, I made a vow to help other hopefuls.
"So you see, lovely girl, when you get the role of Susan, you too must take up the actor's code and one day be of aid to another young artist."
"I take a solemn oath right now, Peter, that I will," Bonita promised. "But I have to get the part first, don't I?"
"That, my dear, is all but done," he laughed. "You don't know the will of Peter Livingston when he puts his mind to something."
"Oh, Peter, I hope you're right," said Bonita.
"Consider it done, fair lady," he calmed her. "And now, if you'll excuse me, I seem to be out of liquid refreshment."
Bonita watched Peter Livingston, her possible benefactor, disappear in the crowd around the champagne table. She looked around the room, wondering where David was. He had called her and insisted she come to the party, then didn't even have the courtesy to greet her. Bonita was impatient with his bad manners.
"You must be Bonita," said the woman huskily.
Bonita turned and saw Leslie Burnham standing beside her. She was dressed in a tight, white angora sweater, with a white satin scarf around her long, graceful neck. The white cotton slacks fit so tightly that Bonita could see the imprint of the woman's cleft in the crotch of her pants. On her feet she was wearing white leather boots. Sleek was the only word Bonita could think of to properly describe her. Her raven shoulder-length hair glistened brightly with highlights from the fireplace.
"So you're David's latest," she said, looking directly at Bonita with envious green eyes.
"I'm his new assistant, if that's what you mean," Bonita said, with little effort to disguise the coolness in her voice.
A trilling laugh of skepticism greeted Bonita's statement. Bonita's eyes went dark with fury, but she forced a smile to play in the corner of her mouth.
"That's a fresh way of putting it," the Burnham woman replied. "But then again, dear David always did have a mind for the clever approach."
"Pardon me," snapped Bonita, "but I don't think I quite understand what you mean!"
"Yes, I'm sure, my dear," the woman said. "But I've heard so much about you that I was certain you'd be quite capable of understanding every bit of what I mean. Isn't that right, David, you naughty boy?"
David had appeared beside Bonita, who turned and looked at him scornfully.
"Now, Leslie," he laughed, draping an arm lightly around her shoulders, "what's all this naughty-boy business?"
"I was chatting with your lovely friend, here," the Burnham woman said as she gave Bonita a brutal appraisal. "And she tells me you hired her as your new assistant!"
"And so I have, old girl," said David. "And I think she's going to be the best one I've had yet."
"I'll bet she will," said Leslie. "You always did like them young and beautiful."
"Ah, Leslie, now who's being naughty?" David laughed, chucking her lightly under the chin.
Peter Livingston returned with a fresh glass of champagne for Bonita. She thanked him with a carefree smile and a dainty curtsy. In no way was she going to allow this woman to intimidate her.
"Well, I see you've made a conquest, Bonita," said David, an undercurrent of jealousy in his tone. "So I'll leave you with your new friend."
He placed an arm around Leslie's fragile waist and led her away toward another group of people.
"I say, what was that all about?" asked Livingston.
"It was nothing at all," Bonita answered, her nostrils flaring passionately.
"You're angry at something, Bonita," he said. "What is it?"
"Who is that witch?" she asked heatedly.
Peter chortled softly. "That's Leslie Burnham. Years ago, she was one of the highest-paid fashion models in the world. She was famous for being known as the Princess Cleo cosmetics girl. Then she wisely married the president of the Princess Cleo Company. The poor chap died a year later, leaving her a fortune. She's been trying for years to get her claws into David."
"I should have known," Bonita replied.
"Is that why you're angry?" Peter questioned.
"Not at all. That bitch made some snide insinuations about why David hired me," Bonita fumed. "She was seconds away from getting a smack in the face."
"My, my! The princess has a temper," remarked Peter. "Are you sure that's the only reason?"
"You can be certain it is," she informed Peter emphatically.
Peter gave her an amused smile, but didn't pursue the subject any further. As they chatted, Bonita watched
David and Leslie across the room. They were in a crowd, but seemed unaware of anyone else. They were close together, talking intimately. At one point, a shrill peal of laughter caused Bonita to glance across and see Leslie reach up and kiss David. It inflamed Bonita and she looked away quickly, not wanting Peter to notice.
If that was what he wanted, he was welcome to her, thought Bonita. She finished the champagne and had several more glasses during the rest of the evening. Later, she realized that David and Leslie had disappeared.
The party was still going strong when Bonita bid good evening to Peter Livingston and left. Back in her cottage, Bonita realized that she had drank too many glasses of champagne. She wasn't staggeringly drunk, but the wine had made her incredibly drowsy. She couldn't wait to get into bed.
Bonita undressed and collapsed onto the bed. As she lay there, waiting for sleep to overtake her, she thought bitterly that what had promised to be a pleasant weekend had all gone sour. She wondered about David and Leslie disappearing during the party. Could it be possible that he's having an affair with her? She closed her eyes and tried to put the thought out of her mind. It wasn't long before everything faded as she fell into a deep sleep.
Much later, Bonita was awoken by the familiar sensation of a warm, moist tongue teasing the nipple of her right breast. She opened her eyes and, in the dark of the room, she saw David's naked form as he hovered over her.
She smiled to herself, realizing that she was dreaming. Yet the dream persisted and she could feel his tongue lick a trail slowly down the center of her stomach. At the same time David cupped a breast with each palm.
It amazed Bonita that she hadn't awakened as she did in the past whenever she dreamed and became aware of it during the dream. But this time she felt herself surrendering to the dream and the sensuous touch of his strong hands as they explored every inch of her satin-smooth flesh. Bonita closed her eyes again and gave herself over to the wonderful building sensation as she reached toward her pinnacle.
It seemed to be happening more quickly in her dream than it did for her in real life. Bonita began to moan softly, realizing she was close to coming. And then she felt his mouth working across her vulva. He hadn't even touched her clitoris yet when she erupted into the first of a number of orgasms.
Her climax seemed to go on in a series of levels, stretched out for a long period of time and so realistic in a physical sense that, in her deep state of slumber, she would have sworn it was the real thing. Now, as the pitch of her orgasm began to fade, Bonita could feel David's tongue as he sucked around the edge of her throbbing lips.
Then the wonderful building feeling started again and she felt his tongue slip inside and dart anxiously at her tingling clitoris. She cried out with joy and began to come again in one long, glorious, unending stream, which almost lifted her to the surface of consciousness.
All the champagne that she had consumed earlier only seemed to make each orgasm more real and, as Bonita opened her eyes, she saw through the dreamy haze, not the round muscular buttocks of David, but the voluptuous, heart-shaped outline of a woman's soft and delicate derriere. And between her legs, a pile of golden-blonde curls cascaded across her stomach. The figure had changed from David to that of a beautiful blonde and, as she watched the golden ringlets move as the woman feasted at the center of her sex, Bonita wondered if, subconsciously, it had been a woman whom she desired all along.
Whatever, in the haze of her dream it was all too confusing and Bonita didn't care as she closed her eyes and heard a roaring in her ears, like that of the sea, and felt the orgasm fade. Now the figure changed back to David and, as he devoured her, he began to finger her clitoris at the same time. Suddenly, she exploded into one final, excruciating orgasm. , "David, David, David..." Bonita murmured his name over and over.
Then slowly the dream began to fade and Bonita sank back into her pillow and the pleasurable warmth of her bed. In a little while she rolled over and came to the surface of another dream. In it, she raised up on her elbow and, in the dawn shadows, she saw the figure of Cynthia Anderson slip stealthily out her cottage door. Bonita sighed with exhaustion as the dream faded and she sank deeper into the depths of slumber.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The early dawn light leaked into the bedroom through the tiny slit between the shade and the window sill. Bonita opened her eyes and stretched luxuriously, appreciating the warmth and comfort of the bed. Except for a dryness in her throat and the strong desire for a glass of something ice-cold, she felt no other ill effects from all the champagne she'd had.
Bonita was certain the same could not be said for David and the rest of that gang. She rolled over on her back and locked her hands behind her head. Upon recalling the pleasurable and erotic dream of the night before, she could feel a tremor in her loins. The mere memory of how fervently David had licked her there made Bonita begin to feel moist again. As she continued to recall her countless orgasms and the sensual reality of the dream, she could feel a warmth creep into her cheeks at the memory of the blonde woman who had performed cunnilingus on her. That part of her dream upset and confused her, for the more she concentrated on it, the more uncertain Bonita became. The memory of it was so real that she was unable to tell if she'd actually seen Cynthia leave her room or merely dreamed it.
Bonita got up and took a quick shower. Afterward, she dressed warmly in a heavy pair of cotton slacks and her thick turtleneck sweater. She had decided not to go sleigh-riding with the Andersons or David, even if he didn't have a violent hangover. Bonita wanted to be by herself this day.
Outside, the light was still murky, as the sun had yet to rise. She pulled her jacket collar tightly about her neck and headed toward the main house. Bonita was amazed at how hungry she was and decided it was the healthy country air that had given her such an appetite. There was no sign of life at the mansion and Bonita wondered if they might have all gone sleigh-riding.
She entered through a rear door and was greeted by the pleasing aroma of eggs and sausages cooking, and a fresh pot of coffee brewing.
"Morning, miss," the cook said as she entered the kitchen.
"Good morning," Bonita responded. "Where is everybody? Have they all gone sleigh-riding over the hill?"
"Sleigh-riding?" the cook asked incredulously. "There was a bit of a party last night. I don't think you'll be seeing Mr. Weston or his guests for a few hours yet."
"You think they overdid it?"
"I'd say so," the cook laughed good-naturedly. "The place looked like a bomb hit it when I got up this morning."
"It was that bad?"
"Took me an hour to clean up before I could start breakfast," she told Bonita. "How did you get out of it?"
"Oh, I was here, but I got tired and went home early."
"Good for you," said the cook as she poured her a cup of coffee. "I've set a place for you at the breakfast nook. You get yourself settled and I'll fetch you a plate."
A moment later the cook was back with a heaping plate of eggs, sausages, a thick slice of ham and a goodly portion of home fries. Bonita ate ravenously, with an appetite like a lumberjack.
Out the window she could see a road that wound its way up into the woods behind the cottage Bonita was staying in. She decided that, after breakfast, she'd take a solitary stroll and have a look at the countryside. The road had recently been plowed, so Bonita knew there would be little difficulty walking it. After cleaning her plate, she had a second cup of coffee and left for her trek.
Though it was still bitter-cold, the sun was up now, making it a pleasant day for a walk. The snow crunched beneath her feet and she could hear the creaking of the trees when the wind blew through them. She watched as a flock of sparrows playfully flitted from tree to tree.
In spite of everything that had happened the night before, Bonita felt good. She inhaled the fresh air deeply, feeling the funny sensation as the tiny hairs in her nostrils froze. She was filled with a wonderful feeling of exhilaration, almost as if she were indestructible on this beautiful day.
There was a peaceful inner calm about her, and even when she thought of Leslie Burnham it didn't bother her as much as that woman had last night. Since she saw no cars in the driveway, Bonita assumed that the Burnham woman hadn't stayed over. This thought alone made her feel better.
She thought of David and wondered what was really going on between him and Leslie. Though Bonita realized that she cared for David more than was good for her, she tried to put this from her mind and concentrate on the conversation she'd had with Peter Livingston.
Bonita wondered if the British actor had been merely talking through his champagne or if he had been sincere about his plan to approach David and ask him to consider her for the role in Stage Struck. That alone would be worth all the emotional pain she had already suffered.
When Bonita reached the summit of the hill, she could see all around her. She had been walking for hours and had come so far that the mansion was out of sight over the ridge of a hill below her. In the valley she could see a winding creek. The edges of the creek were frozen and, in the center, the water rippled as it gurgled gaily downstream.
When the sun had dropped below the rise, Bonita started back. She hadn't realized how far she'd come or how late it was. She wasn't anxious to face David alone again and hoped that the Andersons would be up and around.
Bonita vowed that no matter what, she would not make the mistake of letting his charming ways sway her again, only to have her hopes dashed by another of his inexplicable moods. She would not subject herself to that emotional upheaval again.
By the time her cottage, with the house beyond, came into view, the light was almost gone. Bonita wondered what time they would be eating dinner. She realized with an inward smile that she was hungry again.
Maybe a nap before dinner would be nice, thought Bonita, stretching out on the bed. Then later, she would shower and dress for dinner. Slowly she began to drift off when the shrill ringing of the phone brought her wide awake. Drowsily she reached for the phone and picked up the receiver.
"Bonita?"
"Yes, David," she answered.
"Could you come over to the house? I'd like to talk with you," he said.
Bonita could feel her stomach go tense with nervousness. She wondered what David wanted to discuss with her. From the sound of his voice it was difficult to tell what kind of a mood he was in. Maybe, thought Bonita, Peter Livingston had already approached David about her.
"All right," Bonita told him. "I'll be over in a few minutes."
Weston was waiting for her in the hallway. He was wearing a red silk smoking jacket with a paisley ascot. His hair was neatly combed and appeared to be grayer at the temples than it usually was. Though there were shadows couched beneath his eyes, David was clean-shaven and didn't appear any the worse for wear after his night of debauchery.
He looked so handsome standing there, his eyes dark and somber, that her heart turned over at the sight of him. Bonita was filled with a strong desire to be near him and desperately hoped she could successfully hide the depths of those feelings.
Weston took her coat and hung it in the closet. Then he led her into the living room. The room was dimly lit with the only illumination coming from the fireplace. Bonita looked around and saw that they were alone.
"Where are the Andersons?"
"They spent the day sleigh-riding over the hill," he told her. "They're upstairs now, freshening up before dinner. That's why I called so early, so I could talk to you alone."
"I see," said Bonita, trying to appear calm. She had no idea why David wanted to talk to her, nor could she perceive any from his present behavior.
"The cook told me you've been out in the countryside all day. You must be chilled through and through. Would you care for a brandy."
"That would be nice," she answered. Weston went to the side table, took the stopper out of the crystal decanter and poured two healthy snifters. As he handed one to her, Bonita had the impression that he, too, was struggling against something. She assumed that it wasn't his desire for her, but the struggle against the private demons that tortured him.
Bonita took a sip of the brandy and felt a warm glow in the pit of her stomach. Walking to the fireplace, she stood before it, watching the dancing flames. The heat felt good on her and the brandy relaxed her entire body. The tensions she had felt earlier seemed to drain out of her.
"Bonita ... I've been thinking about you all day, and about last night. I'm afraid the combination of brandy and champagne didn't leave me at my best behavior. I know that's no excuse, but, I am truly sorry for my godawful behavior. I've been a despicable cad. Do you think you could forgive this one last time?"
"There's nothing to forgive, David," said Bonita softly. "You owe me no apology. You did nothing wrong."
"That's not true. I was very rude inviting you over here and then ignoring you. I don't know what came over me," he said. "I apologize for my terrible behavior and for the behavior of that foolish woman, Leslie Burnham."
Bonita's heart skipped a beat when she heard David say that. Still facing the fire, she smiled contentedly. "It was a harmless moment, David," she said. "The poor woman probably had too much to drink."
"That's no excuse to be nasty to someone, just because that someone happens to be younger and more beautiful than she ever was," said David.
Bonita held her breath, wondering if she had actually heard what David had just said or was imagining things. She could feel the warmth of his body close behind her. Then he laid a hand on the back of her neck and caressed it gently. The mere touch of his hand sent chills of ecstasy feathering up her spine.
"Bonita, darling," he murmured softly, his lips touching her tiny, perfectly shaped ear. Slowly he turned her to him, took her brandy snifter and placed both of their drinks on the mantel. Now David took her in his arms and stroked her silken hair, which shone like gold in the light of the fire.
Slowly Bonita raised her eyes and stared deeply into his. They were dark and depthless, and instantly she could feel the electric charge that raced through her. She felt suddenly weak in the knees. It was the same feeling she had known the first time he ever held her; it was as if she were drained of all her strength. His hand caressed her cheek softly.
"Bonita, beautiful Bonita," he said.
And then his lips were upon hers and she was drawn inexorably to his kiss as a moth to a candle's flame. She desired him more intently than ever before. As his lips burned like a hot iron upon hers, Bonita could feel her own lips move eagerly. She caught his tongue with them and drew its length inside her mouth. She longed for him to be one with her.
David's arms tightened about her delicate waist, drawing her ever nearer to him. Bonita could feel his penis growing firm until its blunt head was pressing against her stomach. Every fiber of her being yearned to have him up inside her, and every doubt that had haunted this woman's mind about this wonderful man flew from her heart. Now there was no existence except Bonita and David. And in that moment, she knew nothing had ever existed before.
Their lips parted and David looked into her loving eyes. She gazed back at his, seeking confirmation there of what he felt. There was no need for either of them to speak. Bonita had dreamed of this moment for so long and now, at last, it was real.
"I didn't know what to think when you returned from the Coast and made no mention of your note or that night in the park," she told him.
"I know, darling. I wasn't thinking rationally," he said.
"I hope you're not going to change on me again."
"There's no chance of that, little one," he smiled at her. "Being here in the country has cleared my mind thoroughly."
"We still have tomorrow before we have to return to the city, " said Bonita.
"I know. I've hired a horse and sleigh to take us for a ride before we make the drive back," David said. "I took the chance that you'd forgive me."
"How could I not forgive you, darling," she said with tears of joy glistening in her eyes. David kissed her again and Bonita could smell the manly fragrance of his cologne, which made her dizzy with passion and desire for him. She arched her back and pressed forward, making it easier to feel his throbbing penis.
"Hello, down there. Anyone home?" They heard Nod Anderson call from the stairway.
"Damn," Bonita whispered.
David shrugged helplessly. "We'll have all day tomorrow to ourselves," he told her as he released her from his arms.
"Hi," said Noel as he came into the room with Cynthia.
"Hi, guys," she greeted them.
At first Bonita felt ill at ease when she saw Cynthia. She remembered the sensuous dream of last night and could feel a flush come to her cheeks. Now, as she observed Cynthia, Bonita wondered if it had really happened or if it was just a crazy dream. She gave the woman a furtive examination as Cynthia went on with animated enthusiasm and told them all about their day.
"Boy! Did we have fun!" she exclaimed. "We went over the hill where I had been yesterday and found those same kids. Noel and I spent the better part of the day tobogganing."
As Cynthia continued her tale, Bonita realized that she gave no signs of embarrassment or recognition of what might have happened last night. There were no surreptitious glances or secret smiles toward Bonita. She felt herself breathing easier at the realization that it all had been a dream. Bonita decided not to make mention of it to David, especially now that she was positive it had never taken place.
The sleigh bells echoed cheerfully on this clear wintry day, with the sun high overhead, glistening across the fields of untouched snow. Bonita snuggled close to him as the wind rushed past their faces.
"Oh, David darling. It's heavenly!" she cried happily.
"I knew you'd like it," he replied.
David had driven the sleigh up a different trail than the one she'd been on the day before. The trees were taller and more numerous. They grew along both sides of the trail, with their great branches stretching toward the center, high overhead, forming a natural archway.
As the powerful animal trotted onward through the snow, the tiny bells laced along the harness jingled merrily in the country air. Bonita admired the strength and confidence with which David handled the reins.
"I didn't know you were a sleigh-driver," she teased.
"Little one, there're a lot of things you don't know about me," he smiled, but his eyes were dark and serious.
An hour later they came out of the woods into an open area. It was a large meadow, and the snow was unmarked in all directions. Bonita could see nothing but snow off on the horizon. She turned on the seat and watched the curving trail the sleigh was carving through the virgin snow.
She looked up at David. "Are we still on your property?
"Yes. I bought all this land years ago, when it was a lot cheaper than today."
"It's so beautiful and so vast," she said. "About a mile up ahead, I have a hunting lodge," David told her. "We'll stop there and have lunch. I keep it well-stocked with provisions."
"After that great breakfast this morning, I'm not at all hungry," said Bonita. "And what about heat? Do you keep it heated all winter?"
"I sent my man ahead to build a fire, early this morning."
"How come we haven't seen any other track?" asked Bonita. "It hasn't snowed since Friday."
David turned to her and quirked an eyebrow. "You're an inquisitive little cuss," he answered. "I had him come in from the other direction. I didn't want him making tracks and spoiling the illusion for you."
Bonita hugged his arm tightly and pressed her face against his shoulder. "That was sweet of you. You think of everything, don't you?"
"I try, little one. I try."
Up ahead in the near distance, the lodge came into view. It was built out of logs, and the seams and furrows of the structure were covered with snow. They were almost there now.
"Oh, David!" Bonita cried as they pulled up in front. "It's so quaint and absolutely lovely!"
David jumped down from the sleigh and lifted Bonita out. Then he tied the horse's reins to a low-hanging limb. He lifted a feed bag from the back of the sleigh, filled it with oats and hung it around the horse's neck. After covering the animal with a heavy blanket, they trudged up to the door.
He took out a key and, with little effort, unlocked and pushed open the door. The front room was large and comfortable, with a stone fireplace. The oak-wood floor was bare, except for the area directly in front of the fireplace. This was covered with a bear-hide rug. A varnished wooden table with matching chairs was off-center in the kitchen area. Near the fireplace, around the edges of the bear-hide, were a large sofa facing the fire and two heavy easy chairs on either side, facing each other. The only other room was the bedroom in the rear.
When they entered, Bonita noticed that it was pleasantly warm and she hugged herself in appreciation of the fire. As she looked around, she noticed it had a definite masculine touch to it. Above the fireplace mantel, in a rack, were several hunting rifles. On the other three walls were expensive western hunting scenes, done in oils.
David watched Bonita curiously as she took in the length and breadth of his lodge. Finally, she came to a door.
"What's in there?"
"Guess," he replied.
"The bedroom," she told him.
"Right," said David, and Bonita tilted her head and wiggled her eyebrows saucily at him.
"Well, what do you think of the place?"
"It's wonderful," Bonita answered, whirling around. "I don't want to ever leave here."
"Would that it were true."
"I mean it. I'm never going to leave."
David laughed at her. "What would you like to eat."
"I'm really not hungry, David. Maybe a little brandy, if you have it."
"I just happen to have a bottle here," said David. He opened the pantry door and took a bottle of cognac from the shelf. When they had their drinks, they sat on the bearskin rug in front of the hissing and snapping fire, their backs resting against the sofa.
They sat silently, sipping their drinks. Bonita felt happier at that moment than ever before in her life. She turned from the fire and caught David staring at her. His eyes once again seemed dark and sad. She smiled silently at him as he reached out and caressed her cheek.
A moment later she was in his arms and his warm, eager lips pressed heavily on hers. Bonita could feel a burning passion and desire well up from deep within her and she pushed herself against the length of David, wanting to feel every part of him.
"Bonita," said David, his voice low and distant.
"Yes, darling!" she answered softly.
"Bonita," he said, taking a deep breath, "I love you ... I never thought I could feel like this toward another woman again in my life."
"Oh, David darling!" cried Bonita.
"I guess I've loved you from the first moment you walked into my office."
"Yes, yes, my sweet darling," she murmured. "I've loved you since forever."
Bonita could feel his massive chest against the tips of her erected nipples, and she reached a hand inside his shirt and entwined her fingers in his bristly hair.
"I tried to fight it. I tried to deny myself. I didn't want to come to the office, knowing you were there," he told her. "And yet, I couldn't wait to arrive. Just being able to look at you made my heart sing with joy. And then that night in the park. I could no longer stand being close to you, without being able to touch you, to take you in my arms and feel your tenderness."
Bonita continued to stroke the hair on his chest. She felt dizzy with passion. She wanted to be his totally and for all time. She kissed him heatedly on the mouth, slipping her tongue inside.
"I love everything about you, darling. The way you move, the way you smell, the way you walk and talk," David told her. "I know that I have no right to say these things to you. I know I'm much too old for you, darling, but I can't help myself."
"Oh, David, that's silly," she whispered breathlessly. "You're a young man in the prime of his life."
"My beautiful Bonita," he said, holding her so close that she could feel his penis against her.
"Tell me you love me, my beautiful one," said David. "Please tell me you love me."
"Yes, yes, yes, my wonderful darling," she whispered, feeling her passion grow to a point where it seemed to possess her entire being. "I love you, David. I was so afraid when you returned from the Coast that you hadn't meant any of what had happened in the park."
"I have to have you, Bonita. I don't think I could exist without you," said David, and the intensity in his voice suddenly frightened her. Bonita looked up fearfully.
"I'm asking you to be my wife," he said in a strained and unnatural voice. Then, pulling her close to him again, he begged her, "Please, little one, please say you'll marry me?"
"Oh, yes, David darling!" Bonita cried. "I will, my darling! I will!"
And then, as they clung lovingly to one another, Bonita thought she could feel him tremble. When she looked up, she could see the shiny moisture beneath both of his dark, somber eyes.
"Oh, David!" she cried, holding him to her bosom and kissing her forehead. "My poor darling!"
"All these past few weeks, I've been trying to deny my feelings," he told her. "I tried to keep the whole situation in a light vein. And each day I was falling more and more in love with you. Yet I was afraid to admit it; I was afraid you'd laugh in my face."
"All the time you wasted, my foolish darling," whispered Bonita.
She knew him as a sophisticated, charming, hard-headed businessman of the theatre. He was a man rough and rugged of nature, yet now he seemed so gentle and tender.
"I need you, Bonita, more than I've ever needed anyone in my entire life," he told her. "Yes, yes, darling. I want you too," she whispered.
Bonita could feel his fingers as he nimbly began to unbutton the front of her skirt. He slipped it off easily. She wore no bra and, as the shirt fell away, Bonita noticed the look of appreciation on David's face. He admired her lovely rounded breasts, with their coral-pink nipples.
She helped him by raising her hips and letting him skin down her trousers. When Bonita was completely naked, she rose up on her knees and began to unbutton David's shirt. She felt a warm, melting sensation, as for the first time she viewed his chest and the massive forest of dark hair growing across its expanse.
His bristly hair trailed down over his flat stomach and disappeared at the waist of his jeans. Eagerly, Bonita undid the buttons and zipped open his fly. Then she pulled down his jeans and undershorts at the same time. When she saw his endowment, Bonita thrilled at the sight of it, immediately feeling her sex begin to moisten with the juices of her own passion.
She had thought that Billy McCarthy's was the biggest one she'd ever seen, but not only was David's thick, but it was easily over eight inches long. What filled Bonita with a frightening pleasure more than anything was the fact that it was still flaccid. Not for long, she told herself, and then it occurred to her. Good heavens, she thought, if it hangs down that long while it's soft, what must it grow to when it gets hard! She didn't care, Bonita told herself. She yearned to take every single inch of his lovely phallus up inside her.
"Is there anything wrong?" asked David.
"No, darling. I was just admiring you," Bonita answered. "I never saw one quite so big."
"Don't be afraid, little one. I won't hurt you. I promise, I'll be gentle," he said.
"I'm not afraid, David," said Bonita as she caressed his equally endowed hairy testicles.
She pushed him back gently and leaned forward. While holding his large testes in one hand, Bonita held his penis against her cheek. It pulsated heatedly and as she slowly and delicately rubbed a single finger along its underside, it began to thicken. The unique smell of his penis, combined with that of his testes, made Bonita dizzy with passion and desire.
Bonita raised her head and watched it grow stiff. It was the loveliest penis she'd ever seen. For as it grew to its full length, it appeared a delicate, rosy, silky-satin color, with its huge head a throbbing pinkish-blue. In her fascination as she studied it, it seemed somehow innocent, ever vulnerable, and more than anything to her, the most beautiful and exciting object in the world.
Bonita leaned forward again and with her tongue she flicked the tip of his phallus, then ran her tongue ever so lightly all around the swollen edge of the now-purple glans. She could taste the salty sweetness on her tongue and hear David's soft moan.
Then she took the head in her mouth first and slowly and tantalizingly sucked the rest of him in as much as she was able. She pulled the inside of her cheeks against his throbbing penis, at the same time flicking the underside and tickling the glans with her fervent tongue. What part of his phallus she was unable to get into her mouth-and it was considerable-she took in her supple fingertips and massaged in rhythm with her sucking.
Bonita began to move her head up and down on the length of his root, taking in more and more of it with each pass, until she had found a way to get almost the entire length in her mouth. Writhing with excruciating pleasure, David groaned. She sucked on his member with a voracious appetite. He began to writhe faster as Bonita sucked harder and harder, pumping her sensuous lips along his viscid shaft. At the same time, she began to rub the edge of her teeth tenderly along his throbbing penis.
"Aaaaah, God, oh, baby!" David cried out. "Please, darling Bonnie! No more, I want to come in you."
Bonita stopped the ministrations of her tongue immediately and raised her head. His shaft was a swollen, throbbing purple. The veins of his phallus were thick and dark as they wormed their trail up the length of it. At the very tip she could see the white pearl of his seed, waiting to be called forth.
David raised up and softly kissed the nipples of both her breasts. Then he laid her back on the comfortable bear-hide and crouched between her legs. Gently, he parted her lips with one hand. With the other, he guided his great penis to the mouth of her vagina.
In seconds he slipped up inside of her and Bonita closed her eyes and took him all the way, right up until she could feel his heavy testes against her bottom. There was no question of her not being able to take him, for she was so slippery from the slime of her passion that she felt at that moment as if she could have handled any man.
He began to pump her with a gentle ease, and she could feel the moist pressure of his flesh sliding in and out of her secret place and with it the immediate rise of her passion. Bonita hugged him around the waist with her legs and dug her tiny heels into David's slippery buttocks. He drove forward, doubling his rhythm. The rush was upon Bonita as she screamed out with exquisite joy. My God, she thought, it's like nothing I've ever had before. It was instant orgasm.
And then she felt the rippling muscles of his back stiffen beneath her palms, and David let out a great, roaring groan as he exploded his seed within the depths of her vagina.
After he had finished coming, David relaxed and lay next to Bonita, cuddling the length of her to him.
He raised her face and kissed her with a gentle passion. When their lips parted, he held her ever-so-close against him. They remained this way for a long time. Neither of them spoke, almost as though each was afraid of breaking the spell. Both were lost in their own thoughts. The only sounds were the crackling and hissing of the dying fire, and the muffled snorts from the horse outside.
Bonita opened her eyes and watched David silently as he studied her face. The strange looks she used to see and the dark sadness of his eyes were no longer there. He smiled down at her.
"A penny for your thoughts," said Bonita.
"I was just thinking, as I looked at you with your eyes closed, how much you look like Margo," David told her. "The resemblance is incredible."
His statement was like a knife piercing her heart. She looked away, not wanting David to see he had hurt her.
"How long ago did she die?" Bonita asked.
"Five years ago," he answered. "The plane she was on crashed in the mountains just outside of Mexico City."
"I'm sorry, David," Bonita said, torn between a sincere feeling of pity for him and a strange feeling of jealousy toward his dead wife.
"It was a terrible tragedy," she said. "Your wife was still a young woman and had so much to live for."
"Yes, Bonita. What you say is all true," he sighed.
"She was so very talented," said Bonita. "You're still in love with Margo."
A lump formed in her throat. It had been more of a statement than a question.
He smiled wanly at her. "No, darling," said David. "That was a long time ago. If anything, I still have the memory of that love. That's something you'll have to understand, Bonita."
"I do, David."
"I was in the middle of producing Night Life when I got the word," he said.
"Does it bother you to talk about her now?" asked Bonita.
"No, that part of it's all over with now."
"I'm glad," she said.
He looked at her pensively. "You're a lot like her in many ways. Not only in physical beauty," David told her. "You even sound like her sometimes. And you have the same gift of warmth and understanding."
"Thank you," Bonita replied hesitantly, wondering if David had fallen in love with her or the memory of his wife.
"Does it bother you-my talking of Margo like this."
"No," she answered, then paused. "Well, maybe a little."
"Well, don't let it, little one, because I'm in love with you."
"How can you be sure?" Bonita questioned, her eyes wide with the fear that, in some strange way, David might still be in love with Margo and, through her, attempting to reach back to his wife in the grave. Just the thought of it sent a chill feathering up her spine. Her lips trembled and her eyes filled up.
"No, darling. Don't," said David, taking Bonita's face in his hands and looking deply into her eyes. "I know I love you, little one. You're here. You're Bonita, not Margo, and I love you. You must never doubt that, darling, never."
"I'm sorry, David," she murmured. "I'll try, but it just frightens me that I'll wake up and discover you no longer care."
"You mustn't let it," he told her. "After her death, I tried to find someone to fill the void. Time and again I tried to convince myself that I was in love. But it just wasn't true. I was only trying to run away from reality."
"That's why I don't understand how you can be so sure of it now," said Bonita.
"Because, darling, when you walked into my life, I fell deeply and devotedly in love," said David. "Not because you looked like Margo, or walked like Margo, or even sounded like her. I tumbled because I fell madly in love with Bonita Rossi. You, darling, the girl right here in front of me."
"Oh, David, I hope so," she whispered. "I hope you're sure."
Bonita reached out and touched his face. He turned and kissed the palm of her hand. David pulled her to him again and she could feel the soft sensation of his chest hairs tickling her nipples. She looked up and saw the glint in his eyes. He kissed Bonita lustily on the mouth. She could feel the urgent throbbing of his penis against her tummy.
When Bonita looked down, she saw that it was limp, but still thick and swollen. In the light of the fireplace, his penis gleamed with the mingled juices of their love. She smiled happily when it moved with a tremor, and knew that in moments the little fellah would be standing firm and tall again. She felt his hand move down and begin to caress her liquid lips.
"David," she whispered, "do we still have time, darling?"
"I'll always have time," answered David, getting more excited by the moment.
"I know, darling. But we still have that long trip back to New York ahead of us."
David's hand stopped moving between her legs and he sighed heavily. "You're right, Bonnie," he agreed reluctantly. "The others will be waiting for us back at the house."
"I'm sorry to be spoilsport," said Bonita. "It's all right, little one. We still have a lifetime in front of us."
CHAPTER TWELVE
When Bonita arrived at the office on Monday morning, David informed her that Robert Trebor, the Hollywood star, had agreed to play the part of the playwright, and all the other roles were set. Now all they had to do was find a girl to play Susan Bromberg.
Bonita longed to tell him that the girl he was searching for was sitting right there in front of him. But she still feared that he might be very upset if he discovered that she was really an actress. She wondered when Peter Livingston would make the suggestion to David, or if he even remembered their conversation of the booze-ridden Friday night in Connecticut.
When David and Bonita arrived at the rehearsal hall on 46th Street, the lobby was filled with young actresses of all types, hoping for a chance to audition for the role of Susan. Bonita looked around furtively, hoping that she wouldn't run into anyone from her acting classes or from the days she used to hang around the fast-food joints on Broadway when she wasn't making the rounds.
The throng was so large that they actually had to push their way inside. The stage manager greeted them and showed David to the office where the girls would be interviewed.
Rupert Hindset, the casting director whom David had hired to do the major casting for the show, had already arrived. He greeted them, and David introduced him to Bonita. She would be assisting the casting director. Since this was the first day of interviews, David wouldn't stay very long.
It was a very tedious and boring chore. He wanted Bonita to work with Rupert, to get the experience of interviewing people. David would stay only after they had weeded out this crowd and decided which actresses would be given an audition.
Bonita brought the first girl in and introduced her to David and Rupert. The actress was about twenty-five, a pretty, dark-haired girl, but hard-looking. David signaled Rupert by raising an eyebrow that she wasn't right for it. They interviewed her a moment and thanked her for coming.
The next young lady was a petite blonde, with big blue eyes and a turned-up nose. When she was introduced, they realized she was extremely nervous. Her name was Marcia Donner. She handed her picture and resume to Bonita, who, in turn, gave it to Rupert.
"Won't you be seated, Miss Donner?" said Bonita.
"Thank you," she said, smiling nervously. "I've been standing out there in that crowd since seven this morning. My feet are killing me."
"How old are you, Miss Dormer?" David asked while Rupert studied her resume.
"Please call me Marcia," she smiled at David. "I'll be twenty-four this summer."
"Except for the off-Broadway plays and a showcase at the New Dramatists' Play Guild, you haven't had any other New York experience, have you?" Rupert Hindset asked.
"No, I haven't, Mr. Hindset, but I toured for six months with the bus and truck company of Butterflies Are Free and, since last September, I've been studying with Soma Moore."
"Where else have you studied, Marcia?" David inquired.
"I have my Masters from the Boston University School of Drama," she told them.
He turned to Rupert and nodded. Rupert marked her picture and handed it to Bonita, who put it in her briefcase. Bonita knew what the girl was going through and felt sorry for her, but she was potential competition and, therefore, the enemy.
"We'll be in touch with your agent to let you know when the audition will be," the casting director told her.
"Thank you so much, Mr. Hindset! Thank you, Mr. Weston!" the girl gushed. She shook hands with them and thanked Bonita on the way out of the room.
Bonita's heart went out to her, in spite of how she felt. The girl was going to get an audition, and she was as happy as if they already told her she had the part. It occurred to Bonita that this part of the acting profession was a lousy business. David halted the proceedings before the next hopeful was called in.
"I think you've got an idea of what type we're looking for," he told Rupert. "It pains me to see the changes these kids go through. I'll see you at the office later, Bonita. I'm meeting Peter Livingston for lunch."
So, thought Bonita, Peter hasn't forgotten. Suddenly she became very nervous at the idea that Peter Livingston might be able to talk David into giving her an audition.
After David had gone, they called the next girl in. The interviews continued in this manner all through the morning. They broke for a quick lunch at one o'clock and were back at the rehearsal hall by one-thirty. Slowly the crowd of girls began to thin out. By three-thirty in the afternoon, Bonita saw that there was only a handful of people left to be seen.
She was exhausted and now understood why David didn't watch the interviews. Besides their being boring, one had to have a thick skin not to be moved by the vulnerability of these actresses. They arrived wearing their hearts on their sleeves. Most of them hadn't worked on Broadway. The few who had, had not been employed thereafter for a very long time. There was only one role and a job for one girl as an understudy.
They had interviewed ninety actresses that day. Most of the interviews were abrupt. Rupert had been doing it for years and he knew how to brush off someone without ruffling their feathers. Of the ninety interviewed, only five girls had won an audition.
Bonita couldn't wait to get back to the office and see what David had to say. She hoped with all her heart that Peter had been able to convince him to give her an audition. When she entered the office, David came around from behind his desk and gave her a big hug. Her heart pounded wildly in anticipation of his telling her that she could audition.
"Well, darling," he said, "how do you like sitting in on interviews?"
"It's more than depressing," Bonita answered. "Now I understand why you don't like it. And we still have two more days of it!"
"It's a necessary evil, because somewhere out there among those hundreds of girls is Susan Bromberg. Just waiting to be a star."
She's standing right in front of you, dummy, thought Bonita. She was disappointed now and wondered why Peter had not mentioned her to David.
"You realize, of course, that the girl who eventually plays Susan might very well become a big star," said David. "The part is perfectly written. Now all we have to do is find that someone."
Bonita heaved a heavy sigh and flopped into a chair.
"Is anything wrong, darling?" David asked.
"No. I'm just tired and need a stiff drink and a good night's sleep," she answered.
"C'mon then, I'll buy you a drink and we'll have an early dinner and get you home to bed."
"I'm not really hungry," said Bonita.
"You have to eat something," he replied. "C'mon, put on your coat and we'll go over to the Bavarian Rumba Room, have a bite, and I'll put you in a cab from there."
They had two more days of interviews on Tuesday and Wednesday. Over three-hundred girls had passed through the office. Each afternoon when Bonita would return to her office, her briefcase was stuffed with pictures ofingenues.
It struck her as quite ironic that here she was, the girl who longed to play the role, carrying hundreds of photos of other girls back to David for his final check. Damn it, it just isn't fair, she thought.
When the final day of interviews was over, only nine girls were given auditions. They were scheduled to begin on Friday at the same rehearsal hall. The theatre had not yet been contracted.
On Friday, Bonita would meet them in the hall and take them one at a time to audition for David; the director, Arnie Friedman; and Noel Anderson. The stage manager would read the other parts with each auditioning actress.
The first actress's name was Marcia Keller. Bonita chewed nervously as the girl went through each scene she had been told to study. The actress had talent that stood out. She had confidence and style, and she moved well. Bonita knew the girl was convincing and could play this part very well if given the opportunity. She watched David's face for some sign of how he felt about her. She couldn't tell a thing.
David sat backwards on his chair, leaning on the back of it, his chin resting on his arms. His expression never changed until the girl finished her audition. Then he broke into a broad smile, thanked her and told her that, one way or the other, he'd be in touch with her agent.
When the girl was gone, he turned to the others. "She's very good," lauded David.
The director rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Good carriage," he said. "And she knows how to use her voice."
"I like her," Noel said. "But we've still got eight other girls to see."
"Right," said David. "Bonita, put Miss Keller's name on your call-back sheet."
The next girl was a stunning beauty with light-brown hair and an olive complexion. When the actress started reading, Bonita had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at David's amazed face. The girl was beautiful, but had a high-pitched, nasal-sounding voice. They stopped her midway through the audition and thanked her. They were noncommittal and again said that, one way or the other, they would be in touch with her agent.
The next three came in one after the other. All three were good, but, it was decided, not pretty enough. They broke for lunch with four actresses yet to be seen. Out of the five already auditioned, only Marcia Keller won a callback.
After lunch they started again. The sixth actress was a beautiful, auburn-haired girl, who was shapely, but a tiny bit overweight. She wore a loose-fitting dress to hide her extra weight. She read her scenes so well that the director asked her to read one scene over again. It was an emotional love scene and she was very good in it. When the actress-Monica Moran-was gone, the three men put their heads together for another discussion. They were merciless.
"Excellent actress," said David.
"And beautiful," remarked Noel.
"But," added the director, " she's a Crisco Kid!"
"Yeah, I noticed she was a little broad-beamed," David agreed. "But we could probably put her on a diet and in a gym during rehearsals. Put her on the list, Bonita."
The Moran woman appeared to Bonita to be more of a threat than the Keller gal. She had everything going for her. Talent, beauty, and, when Monica lost a few pounds, Bonita knew that she'd be ravishing. She hated having to sit by silently and watch people go after the part she felt was hers.
Bonita had the feeling that the director, Arnie, had a little crush on her. Every time she'd walk one of the others before them, she noticed that he couldn't keep his eyes off her. Maybe he thinks I'm right for the part, she thought to herself.
The last actress was brought in and introduced to everyone. She was a tall, statuesque redhead. When she had first spotted the girl, Bonita thought it was Kathy until she got a closer look. Her name was Anne Farrell. She's beautiful, thought Bonita, but in a hard way. With the proper makeup, Bonita knew she'd be perfect for the part. After her audition was over, Anne Farrell was added to the list of call-backs. When she had gone, everyone yawned and stretched, glad the ordeal was over.
Out of the nine girls, only three were going to be called back. And of the three, Monica Moran stood out as the most likely to get the role. This was only Bonita's opinion, but she felt she was a good enough actress to tell who the director would like most.
David took a last sip of cold coffee, made a face and then took out a cigarette and lit it. He stood up, stretched and walked around the room, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. Finally, he stopped pacing and faced the others.
"We'll have the theatre on Monday," he said. "It's the Madison on 47th Street. I want to see how these girls look on a stage."
"Maybe we should hold more auditions," said Noel.
"We're going to have to if none of these young ladies work out, " said David. "If I have to, I'll go to the Coast to find the right girl."
"You'd think that out of all the beautiful actresses in New York, there'd be one right for the part," said Arnie Friedman. He looked over at Bonita and smiled. "What about you, Bonita? I couldn't help noticing all afternoon how lovely you are. Have you ever acted before? Wouldn't you like to have the chance to become a star?"
David Weston whirled around and smiled menacingly at him. He looked over at Bonita, who thought her beating heart would jump out of her chest. So that's it, she thought. That was why he'd been staring at her all day. The director saw her as Susan.
"Tell him, Bonita," said David, grinning intensely at her. She was unable to fathom what was behind that grin. "You want to play the part of Susan?"
Suddenly, there it was. All she had to do was reach out and take it. Her heart pounded wildly as she took a deep breath. All she had to do was say yes. Why am I hesitating! she wondered.
"Well, Bonita?" David demanded.
"You said you wanted an unknown, David, not an amateur," Bonita said forlornly.
"Don't worry, Bonita," said Arnie Friedman. "You won't be an amateur when I get through with you."
The room was silent now as David looked smugly from one to the other. "Ah, she's right, Arnie. She doesn't want to play that part," he said. "Besides, I don't want to lose a potentially good producer. We'll just have to go with what we've got and hold more calls if none of them work out.
"Bonita, call their agents and tell them ten o'clock, Monday morning at the Madison."
Bonita was stricken. Her throat felt sore from the need to cry as she fought back unshed tears. The role that she wanted so desperately to play had been laid in her lap and she didn't have the courage to tell him she wanted the part. Bonita knew it was the grandest opportunity in her life and she had let it go by.
"What's the matter, Bonita?" David asked, noticing her clouded eyes.
"I. . . " Her voice broke. "I got something stuck in my throat."
"Here, take a sip of my coffee," advised David.
"No. It's all right now," she said, smiling wanly.
"Well, you'd better get back to the office," he told her. "We want to notify those agents before they leave for the weekend."
"All right, David. I'm on my way."
The sorrow she felt only moments before turned into anger. Both at herself for not having the courage to tell David and at him for not seeing what she was going through. Then, upon reconsidering the facts, Bonita realized that there was no way for him to know. Hadn't she convinced David of her desire to learn everything in the world about being a producer? That's what I get for being a good actress, she told herself.
If only she'd had the courage to speak out and say, "Yes, yes, I want to play the role," and worry about what David would have said later. All he could have done was to refuse her the audition.
Bonita was certain that, by now, David was too much in love with her to fire her for having taken the job falsely. And now she sadly realized that the opportunity of a lifetime had come and gone. Now she would have to steel herself and become resigned to the fact that she was not going to play the plum role of Susan Bromberg.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
On Monday morning, everyone showed up at the final auditions, including Peter Livingston. He took Bonita aside before they began and told her that he had heard what had occurred on Friday.
"What happened, dear girl?" he asked her. " There was your big chance."
"Oh, Peter. It happened so fast that I was stunned," said Bonita. "And I blew it."
"Don't worry, dear heart," he said. "Arnie Friedman is a dear old friend of mine. We've worked together in Europe. You're not finished yet."
"What do you mean?"
"I had a word with Arnie over the weekend," Peter told her. "He's all for you having an audition. So all we have to do is get a turn-down on these three young ladies today."
"Oh, Peter. That's not fair to them," said Bonita.
"I say. Who said anything about not being fair?" he smiled. "It's really not our fault if David agrees with his director's opinion and turns thumbs down."
"Dear, Peter, you are a rogue," said Bonita, kissing him on the cheek.
They joined the others in the orchestra. Bonita's heart beat happily, knowing she was still in the running. Arnie Friedman looked over at her and winked slyly. Bonita knew David would be furious if he realized what was going on. She smiled contentedly as she waited for the auditions to begin.
The first girl to audition was Marcia Keller. She was good, even better than on Friday. When she finished and had left, David turned to the others. "What do you think?"
"She was good," remarked Arnie. "And she's quite pretty...."
"Yes," said David. "But the girl who plays Susan has to be beautiful?
The second actress was Monica Moran. This time the girl wore a business suit with a white blouse and, as she did the scene, Bonita noticed the others shaking their heads unconsciously. She was as good as she had been on Friday, but this time something was missing. After she left the stage, David sat back wearily and rubbed his hand over his eyes.
"Did you people see what I saw."
"Good Christ!" exclaimed Arnie Friedman. "She almost looked like a baby elephant."
"How the devil could we have missed that on Friday?"
"It was the loose-fitting dress she wore," said Noel. "She camouflaged all that fat and fooled us."
Peter Livingston caught Bonita's eye and gave her the thumbs-up and crossed-fingers sign. She smiled nervously and winked.
"Bring on the next one," David called to the stage manager.
Bonita could hear the men catch their breath as the third and final actress came out on the stage. She was Anne Farrell and she looked stunningly beautiful. She began the scene and everybody watched the lovely redhead intently. Bonita had to admit to herself that Anne was going to be stiff competition. When she was finished, everyone broke into applause. She bowed and walked gracefully off the stage.
"There's an actress," commented David.
"Some talent," murmured Noel.
"I dare say she's certainly easy on the eyes," Peter Livingston remarked. Bonita's heart beat wildly as her hopes began to fade once again.
"Yes, and if we hired her we'd have to get a pair of stilts for Robert Trebor," said Arnie. "It's a rotten shame."
"Wait a minute," said David. "I like this girl. There must be some way to work it out."
"What about the love scenes?" asked Arnie Friedman. "He's got to stand next to her to kiss her, David, and it'll look like a little boy kissing his mother goodnight."
"We could have them do the love scene on a platform behind a sofa," said David. "Or lying down."
"What am I gonna do, have them crawl out on the stage?" Arnie grinned. "It's no good, David. It just wouldn't work. Besides, Robert Trebor has an ego bigger than the state of Texas. He'd never agree to appear with that giant, as lovely as she is."
David sighed in disgust. "I guess you're right," he said. "All right, Bonita, call the trades and book an ad for open calls next Friday and Saturday"
Bonita was so elated that she had to force herself to restrain her joy. When she glanced over at her coconspirators, Arnie winked and Peter, who was standing out of David's sight, raised his hands above his head like a victorious fighter.
"When you've placed those ads, meet me over at the bar across the street; I need a drink desperately," said David.
"Mind if I join you, David?" asked Noel. "I'm beginning to get nervous about this bloody play of mine."
"I'd like to complete casting as soon as possible," said David. "Dammit, there must be one beautiful girl in New York who could do this role!"
You're in love with her, you big lug, thought Bonita.
"Did you get those ads placed?" asked David, as Bonita joined him at the bar.
"Yes, they'll appear in this week's theatrical mags," she assured him.
"Good. I'm leaving for Chicago this evening," said David. "I have a lecture to give at the Chicago University, so I won't be back until Tuesday night or early Wednesday morning."
"Damn," said Bonita, "I wish I could go with you!"
"Wish you could too, Bonnie," David replied. "But I need you here to keep an eye on things. Wednesday evening I'm hosting a party for my backers, so I'm depending on you to arrange the catering for it."
"David, I don't know anything about catering," said Bonita.
"You don't have to. The information is all in the top drawer of my desk," he explained. "You know ... whom to call, number of guests, bakeries, bartenders, and so forth."
As David had said they would be, the next day in the office, Bonita found the caterer's number and a list of guests for her to call, in his top drawer. She returned to her own office to begin making arrangements for the backers' party.
The buzzer on her intercom sounded and Bonita picked up the receiver. "Yes," she answered.
"Miss Rossi, there's a Miss Burnham to see you," the receptionist told her. Bonita furrowed her brow, wondering, Whatever does that bitch have to see me about"!
"Send her in," said Bonita.
A moment later, Leslie Burnham swept into Bonita's office wearing her expensive sable coat with matching sable turban. The coat was open and Bonita could see the beige suede skirt and white silk blouse she had on. She also wore a pair of high, beige-colored leather boots. And perched atop her lovely patrician nose was a pair of large, dark glasses. In spite of what Bonita felt about the woman, she had to admit that Leslie Burnham had taste to the nth degree.
"Bonita dear, you look lovely," she said condescendingly. "All that fresh country air does wonders."
"Quite, Miss Burnham, but it's more than the country air," she smiled mischievously. "Now to what do I owe the honor of this visit?"
"Dear girl, you're much too formal," she answered. "Please, do call me Leslie."
"All right, Leslie. What can I do for you?"
"Well, I was in the neighborhood and I thought I might drop up and invite you to lunch," she told Bonita. "That way, we can get to know one another a little better."
Bonita thought she'd like to get to know Leslie Burnham about as much as she'd like to get to know a rattlesnake.
"I'm afraid, Leslie, that I'm much too busy to take a lunch break today," said Bonita. "What with David out of town and all, I'll just have to order in."
"I'm sure that David is not such a slave-driver that he'd begrudge you an hour for a little tete-a-tete," said Leslie, smiling scornfully. "We girls must stick together."
Leslie Burnham rose and began to stroll about the office. As she smoked her cigarette, she quietly appraised things, picking up knickknacks from the shelf and examining them. Bonita watched her curiously, feeling the anger begin to build slowly in the pit of her stomach.
"Well, Bonita," said Leslie at last. "If you won't join me for lunch, I suppose there's nothing I can do about it."
"Sorry, Leslie, but that's how it is."
"I'm sure you've heard the rumors," said Leslie.
"What rumors are you talking about?"
"About you and David."
"No, I haven't," replied Bonita, her curiosity aroused.
"Well, it's all over Shubert Alley that David has asked you to marry him," said Leslie.
So, thought Bonita, that's what it's ail about. Now it's my turn to be a cat.
"It isn't a rumor, Leslie," she said. The effect of her statement was like a bolt of lightning. Leslie Burnham whirled around and stared mutely at her. With the sunglasses hiding her eyes, it was difficult for Bonita to tell what she was thinking. The air tingled with electricity as Bonita waited for her to speak.
"You don't honestly mean to tell me that David has proposed to you?" she asked finally.
"That's right, Leslie," Bonita replied calmly, enjoying every delicious moment of it. "It happened the afternoon before we returned to New York. It was very romantic."
"Oh, really?" asked Leslie, one eyebrow wickedly arched.
"Yes. We took a sleigh ride," Bonita said with sweet innocence. "And David asked me in front of the fireplace in the hunting lodge."
"Oh," said Leslie, smiling sardonically, "you've been that route too?"
"What is that supposed to mean?" Bonita asked with a sudden flash of anger.
"Dear Bonita," she answered, "the road out to David's hunting lodge is a well-traveled trail. We girls could form a club and call it Weston's hunting honeys."
"That might have been so, but it doesn't matter now. David has told me all about the girls he dated before."
The comment wiped the smile from Leslie Burnham's face.
"You don't actually believe he's serious, do you, child?" she said, trying to keep her voice even. "Little girl, you're just another in a long string of girls whom David has carted out to his hunting lodge. So prepare yourself for a big letdown."
"Maybe," Bonita said with a calm that belied the doubt she was beginning to feel in her heart. "But I'm the only girl he asked to be his wife."
The room was filled with the echo of Leslie's shrill laughter. "Don't you believe it, dearie," she said. "That's just one of David's old ploys. I'm surprised a bright girl like you would be fooled so easily."
"We'll send you an invitation, Leslie dear," replied Bonita in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're much too old to be a flower girl."
"He wouldn't marry a silly little bitch like you!" she hissed. "Not in a hundred years!"
Bonita could feel her hackles rise as her face flushed with anger. She rose from her chair and leaned threateningly across her desk.
"Miss Burnham, leave this office, now!" demanded Bonita. "Before I forget I'm a lady and toss you out ass over tea kettles."
Leslie Burnham was about to make another comment, but after seeing the intensity in Bonita's eyes, she thought better of it. "No need to get physical," she said. "You couldn't pay me to stay in the same room with you."
"No one invited you in the first place," Bonita reminded her.
Leslie picked up her purse. Then, trying to maintain what little dignity was left, she flounced to the door and turned.
"Don't say I didn't warn you."
"You just keep your eyes on the wedding announcements in the paper," said Bonita, getting in the last word.
When Leslie was gone, Bonita began to tremble with emotion. Bonita didn't believe a word she had said, but still a seed of doubt lurked in the dark corner of her mind. She was hopelessly in love with David; and recalling that afternoon in front of the fireplace, she was almost certain that he loved her as much.
Still, David was a handsome, virile man and, like most men in a glamorous business like the theatre, he was subject to a great deal of temptation. Sighing softly, Bonita resolved to put such faithless thoughts out of her mind.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Bonita stood at the arrivals gate, looking for David in the crowd of people who had been on his flight. For a few anxious moments, when the last of the passengers came out of the tunnel, her spirits sagged. Then she spotted David, the last one off.
"Darling!" she cried, and ran toward him.
He looked up and grinned. "Did you miss me, Bonnie?"
"Oh, darling. Did I ever."
"Missed you too, little one," he whispered. They stood there, among the throngs of people, locked in an embrace. They were oblivious to their surroundings. "We'd better stop meeting like this," he teased. "Or people are going to start talking," said Bonita. They waited in the limo while Andrew picked up his bags.
"Boy, have I got a lot to tell you," Bonita said, holding tightly to his arm.
"Did you get everything arranged for the party tonight?" asked David.
"It's all set."
"Good. We gotta keep the backers happy. They're the ones who make this all possible."
"Guess who I had a visit from, in the office yesterday."
"I give up."
"You're old drinking buddy."
"Leslie came up to visit you?" David asked with an inquisitive grin.
"Yes, and it's not funny. She accused you of being the biggest skirt-chaser in New York City," Bonita pouted. "And I'm not certain she wasn't telling the truth."
"Well, I'm not the biggest, maybe," David bragged, "but I'm one of them.
"Oh, you," she said, feigning a punch at him.
"Good old Les, ha, ha," he laughed. "She never quits trying."
"Good old Les almost got bounced out of the office on her bottom," Bonita told him.
"Nah, my little Bonnie wouldn't do a thing like that."
"Your little Bonnie is quite capable of doing anything when it comes to a predatory bitch like that."
"Whoa! Tough lady," said David, hugging her.
After Andrew had put his luggage in the trunk, he got in the limo, greeted David and headed the car back toward the city. They were both silent for the moment, lost in their own private thoughts. Bonita stared out of the window and watched a huge, silver 747 come in low over the highway.
"It's going to be quite an interesting evening," said David, suddenly interrupting her. "How do you mean?"
"For one thing, Leslie is on the backers' list."
"Oh, no, David!" Bonita cried out.
"Sorry, Bonnie. She's one of the biggest backers," he said with a shrug.
"And I'll bet she's got the biggest mouth of any of your backers too."
David laughed out loud. "You just stay by my side tonight and everything will be all right," he advised her.
"You don't honestly think I'm afraid of her, do you?"
"No, but I'm afraid for her," admitted David. "I bet you pack quite a wallop."
"I can take care of myself, big boy," she said, acting the tough street urchin.
"I'll just bet you can," said David as he took her in his arms and kissed her soundly on the mouth.
When Bonita was finished dressing for the party, she appraised herself in the mirror. She had brought a floor-length, light-blue silk party gown especially for the occasion. It clung to her shapely body, looking as though it had been made for her. Around her neck she wore a lovely gold chain with a tiny heart-shaped diamond that David had given her as a coming-home gift.
Her lion's mane of golden-brown hair tumbled to her shoulders, making her look like the star she longed to be. Kathy had loaned her the fur coat again, and now she was all set to knock everyone off their feet.
The party was being held at David's duplex on Sutton Place South. When Bonita arrived, the main room was already crowded with people. All of New York's glittering society were in attendance. There were politicians, movie stars and many famous jet-setters whom Bonita had often read about in magazines. But none of them shone more brightly than she did. A maid took her coat and Peter Livingston hurried to her with a glass of champagne. She spotted David in the center of a group of backers, busy selling the show.
"I dare say, you look simply ravishing," praised Peter. He was dressed in a tuxedo with a bright-red cummerbund. For a portly man, he looked rather attractive to Bonita.
"You look quite dashing yourself, Peter."
"It's all part of selling the show, dear girl."
She looked around at the swirl of beautiful people, who were eating, drinking and talking. She thought it quite exciting and was thrilled to be a part of it. Robert Trebor stopped by to say hello to Peter and was introduced to her.
He was very blonde, and she suspected that he bleached his hair. He was too handsome-almost pretty-and he had an engaging smile, full of even, white teeth. Bonita realized that without his lifts, she'd be taller than he was.
After a polite conversation, he moved on to chat with others.
She spotted Leslie Burnham in the corner, by herself, staring hatefully back at her. Leslie looked slinky and sexy in a predatory kind of way. She was wearing a white, tight-fitting satin gown. Bonita stared right through her. Bitch, she thought to herself. Finally, she turned away.
"Peter, don't let anyone take my drink," she said. "I have to visit the little girls' room."
Bonita set her glass on a side table and walked to the sweeping staircase that led up to a large balcony at one end of the immense room. In the center of the ceiling was an enormous crystal chandelier. The balcony led back toward the bedrooms and the bathrooms. As Bonita walked down the hall, she came to what she thought was the bathroom door. When she opened it and looked in, she realized that she had been wrong. Just as she was about to close the door, something caught her eye on the dresser of the large bedroom.
Bonita stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. It was a photograph of two people, and when she picked it up to examine it, a gasp escaped her throat. It was a picture of a much-younger David, and the woman who he had his arm around looked so much like Bonita that, for the moment, in her confusion, she had thought was herself.
Then she realized it was Margo Chandler and was amazed at how closely she did resemble the dead woman. David hadn't been lying when he told her so. She put the picture down and looked around the room. Lying across the bed was a purple dressing gown. Overcome with curiosity, she went to the closet and opened the door. It was a huge, walk-in closet, and the dead woman's entire wardrobe was there. On the floor, placed in neat rows, were all of her shoes. It gave Bonita a chill. It was as though everything were ready and waiting for her return.
When Bonita came out of the closet, her blood turned to ice. For there, in a corner she hadn't noticed before, was a small altar-like table, covered with a white linen cloth. On top of the table was another photo of Margo Chandler, surrounded by vases of freshly cut flowers. A small candle flickered in front of the dead woman's picture.
My God, she thought to herself, this must have been her room and now poor David has turned it into a shrine. Bonita hugged herself, feeling a sudden chilli. It was as though she could sense the spirit of Margo Chandler in that very room with her. Then Bonita felt a cold draft, yet all the windows were closed. Badly shaken, she hurried from the room.
When Bonita had left to go upstairs, Leslie Burnham strolled casually over to Peter Livingston. On her right hand she wore a gold ring with an overly large setting on top. It was mindful of the rings used to carry poison, back in Machiavellian times. As she approached, Leslie nervously fingered the ring.
"Good evening, Peter," she crooned sweetly. "Has your young friend deserted you?"
"No, Leslie. She's trotted off to the restroom."
"Quite a blast dear David is giving, isn't it?"
"Yes, I'd have to agree," Peter answered.
"Goodness! Isn't that your countryman over there?" queried Leslie, distracting Peter's attention for the moment.
"Over there by the fireplace. Isn't that Richard Dexter?"
Peter strained toward the other side of the room. "I don't think so," he said. "Dickie's on the Coast, last I heard."
"Oh, you're right," said Leslie, stroking her ring again as Peter turned back to her. "I must be getting blind or seeing things."
Leslie smiled sweetly and continued on toward another group. Moments later, Bonita rejoined Peter.
"My God, child! Do you feel all right?" he asked, alarmed. "You look as though you've seen a bloody ghost!"
"I'll be all right," she said with a shaky voice. "I just feel a little warm."
"Here, dear. Take a sip of your champagne," he said, handing her the glass. "It'll cool you off."
Bonita took the glass and, as she lifted it to her mouth, she spotted Leslie Burnham watching her again. She paused, holding the glass just before her lips, and stared evenly back at the woman. Then she put the glass to her lips and drained what was left in it. Leslie Burnham smiled with a secret pleasure and turned away, as though dismissing her.
The champagne had tasted horrible and Bonita set the empty glass on the table, thinking it must have gone sour.
"Peter, would you be a dear and get me another champagne?"
"Certainly, my luv," he said, bowing from the waist.
She felt terrible about the discovery she had made upstairs. She realized now that David most certainly must still be in love with his late wife. She was confused, not knowing if she should break off with him or try to help him overcome this hopeless love. Bonita still loved him, even though she knew now that David thought he loved her because of her resemblance to Margo Chandler.
She quickly drank the champagne Peter had gotten for her and ordered another. Across the room, she saw David. When he looked up, their eyes met and he smiled and motioned for her to join him.
In that moment, her heart turned over, and Bonita vowed she'd stick by him no matter what. She loved him desperately and he needed her to bring him back to the real world. She'd stay by his side and make him learn to love her and not a memory.
"You're the most beautiful woman here tonight," he whispered as Bonita joined his group.
"And you're the most handsome man," she said in turn.
David introduced her to the investors gathered around him. They were all important to the success of his shows and always bought large blocks of shares in his productions. After a little while, David excused himself and started circulating again. Bonita smiled and blew him a kiss as he moved to the next group of backers.
Much later, Bonita found herself sitting on the stairs near the balcony. She felt a little lightheaded from the amount of champagne she'd consumed. And with it, a strange sensation enveloped her. At times she would catch herself grinning at her reflection-for no reason at all-and have to restrain herself from giggling. At that point, Bonita decided not to have any more champagne.
Down below, the party had thinned out somewhat, but there was still a pretty good crowd. The crystal chandelier twinkled brightly as Bonita looked at it, making her feel as though it were one of the most beautiful objects she'd ever seen. She was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of unending happiness.
Peter Livingston looked up and saw Bonita standing by the railing, looking toward the chandelier. He watched her quietly, admiring how the light reflected across her lovely young face. Then, inspired by her beauty; Livingston took a few steps to the foot of the stairway. He looked up at Bonita and called to her.
"But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! See how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!"
His magnificent Shakespearean voice echoed through-out the room. Bonita paused, her hand against her cheek, and looked lovingly down at him. She had already assumed the character of Juliet and, before she realized it, she began.
"Ah me!" her lilting voice rang out clear and true.
"She speaks," Livingston continued. "O speak again, bright angel! For thou art as glorious to this night, being o'er my head."
"O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou, Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name; or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love and I'll no longer be a Capulet."
As they played the scene beautifully together, couple by couple, group by group, conversation around the room stopped until finally all attention was focused on them.
"Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?" cried Livingston.
"Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to man."
There was no doubt in the minds of the people watching Bonita that she was truly Juliet. Peter continued his portrayal of the young Romeo and together they played the scene to its conclusion.
David, who had been talking to some people in another room, heard their voices and came back into the main room to see what was going on. He stood in the doorway, watching them, a look of silent shock on his face.
When they finished, the room was filled with applause.
Livingston bowed nobly to Bonita and she curtsied gracefully back to him. As David entered the room, Peter Livingston spotted him.
"There, David old boy," he called to him. "There is your Susan Bromberg!"
David brushed by him and walked to the foot of the staircase. The guests seemed to realize that something was amiss and slowly quieted in an embarrassed hush. His face white as alabaster, David stood at the bottom of the stairs, glaring up at her. Never before had Bonita seen a look as insane and filled with hate as David's now was. His black eyes were smoldering, locked into hers, holding her transfixed where she stood.
"David, darling?" she cried softly.
He glowered at her a moment longer, then turned and stormed out of the room.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Bonita could not remember what had possessed her. She guessed that it must have been the champagne. She could recall a strange compulsion had come over her. A sense of unreasonable euphoria and the feeling that she was indestructible.
When David didn't return to the party, Peter Livingston took her home in a taxi. Once there, Bonita became violently ill. Afterward, she felt completely exhausted, and the last thing she remembered before falling off to sleep was crying over David.
There was no doubt that she had made a tremendous impression at the party. Everyone had raved about her and couldn't understand David Weston's irate response to his assistant's playing a harmless scene from Romeo and Juliet with Peter Livingston, one of the stars in his next production.
Bonita was too ill to go to work the following day. She called the office around ten o'clock and, when she spoke to the receptionist, Bonita sensed a funereal tone in the woman's voice. She spoke in a whisper, as if the office were in mourning over someone's death. After telling the woman that she wouldn't be in that day, Bonita asked to speak with David. She was put on hold.
A few minutes later, the receptionist came back on the line and informed Bonita that Mr. Weston said that he would speak to her when she came into the office on Friday. David's insensitive message left her feeling cold all over. Bonita spent the rest of the day thinking over all that had happened. She was certain that she would be fired on Friday.
Late in the afternoon, Bonita received a call from Peter Livingston. He told her that the word was out about what had happened at David's party. That rumors were floating all over Shubert Alley that she was the girl who was going to play the prized role in David Weston's next production.
"You're already a star in the theatre world, luv," claimed Peter. "Everybody, but everybody, is talking about you!"
"I wish it were true, Peter," Bonita said. "I certainly don't feel like a star."
"How are you feeling, old thing?"
"Much better than I did this morning. I guess I'll survive."
"You'd better. You're going to have a long run in Stage Struck" Peter told her. "Have you heard from David yet?"
"No. He wouldn't talk to me when I called in this morning. I guess he's still too angry. He said that he would see me tomorrow at the office," Bonita answered in a shaky voice.
"Stiff upper lip, old girl," Peter said. "He'll probably tell you, you've got the part tomorrow."
"I wish I were as confident as you, Peter. I'm sorry now that I did such a foolish thing."
"Don't be, luv. It was a stroke of genius, pure and simple," he replied.
After Peter had rung off, Bonita sat in the window seat in her living room, staring down into the empty street. The sun hadn't been out all day and now it was beginning to snow.
David Weston was waiting for Bonita when she arrived at the office the next morning. When she entered, he looked up morosely. He was pale, and black lines were couched beneath his eyes. And though his stare was cold and unfriendly, her heart went out to him. She thought he looked terrible.
"I'm sorry about Wednesday night, David," Bonita told him.
"Sorry? That's all you have to say ... you're sorry?" he asked. "And meanwhile, I'm the laughing stock of Broadway!"
"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me," she replied.
"You don't, heh," he snarled. "I'll bet you don't."
"It's the truth, David. What more can I say."
"You can start by really telling the truth."
"It is the truth, David! I swear it."
"You're a special piece of work, you are."
"If you don't believe me, ask Peter Livingston," Bonita said.
"Livingston!" he shouted. "I wouldn't believe him any more than I do you. I have the Reeling that I've been had, that this whole thing was planned."
She sighed wearily. "I'm sorry you feel that way, David. It's not true."
"You lied to me!" he shouted again.
"David, I did not," said Bonita. Her voice was shaky, and she fought to control herself.
"You've been lying to me from the beginning," David told her. "I've done a little research on you, girl, and I found out just what a conniving little bitch you really are," he said. "You were a drama major in that college you went to. And your teachers told me that you were one of the best actresses the school has ever produced. And I believe them! That was a lovely performance you put on for me. You wanted to be a producer, you said, and, like a damn fool, I believed you, you lying bitch!"
Bonita slumped into a chair and began to weep softly. Weston began pacing back and forth in front of his desk as he berated her.
"Can the tears, Bonita. I'm on to you now. Oh, boy.
And I thought Leslie was a conniver. Why, you make her look like a rank amateur! Well, you can cry from now until doomsday, baby, but it's not going to help you."
"Oh, David. Please try to understand," Bonita sobbed.
"Understand? What understand? All I understand is that you took this position under false pretenses," he shouted. "You knew from the very beginning that I didn't want any stage struck brat in this office, and you lied!"
"All right, David, all right! So I stretched the truth a little! Is that so terrible?" she shouted through her tears. "You, above all people, know how difficult it is to get a leg up in this business! I'd have thought at least you would understand!"
"You took this job under false pretenses," he repeated. "If there's one thing I cannot tolerate, it's a liar!"
"No! That isn't it at all!" screamed Bonita. "You're just afraid of what your precious friends will say about you!"
"Ooh, nooo. I love being made to look like an ass-hole," he said. "I can just hear them now. 'Poor old Weston's losing his touch. He let a little chicklet put one over on him.' Well, the little chicklet isn't getting away with it!"
"I'm not a chicklet, David," she replied with quiet dignity. "Don't call me that."
"No? Just what should I call you then?"
"Just a girl who made a terrible mistake," Bonita answered.
"Oh. boy! I'll say you did!"
"Yes, David. In more ways than one," she told him.
"As far as I'm concerned, we're finished," said Weston.
"You get your things the hell out of the office. I'll have the bookkeeper mail you your check."
"All right, David," Bonita said softly. She was all cried out by now. "Just know that I didn't lie when I told you that I loved you."
"Love? What the hell do you know about love?"
"I guess not very much."
"That's another thing," Weston said. "You earned my affections under false pretenses."
"That's not true!" Bonita blurted in a sudden flash of anger. "You never loved me! You might have thought you did, David, but you're really in love with the image of your dead wife!"
He whirled around and stared at her. His eyes were as black as coal. "That's not true," he said. It came out in a snarling whisper. "How could you dare say that?"
"I believed you at first," she countered. "But Wednesday night, I wandered into Margo's room by mistake and-"
"You what!" Weston roared.
"Yes, David. I was the shrine you've made of her bedroom," replied Bonita. "And in some way, you think that through me you're still loving Margo."
"How dare you pry into my private affairs!" he shouted, outraged.
"I wasn't prying, David. It was a mistake. I thought I was going to the powder room-"
"How dare you, you bitch!" Weston raged.
His face went ash-white and he began to tremble. Then he staggered behind his desk and slumped into his chair. Leaning forward, he rested his head in the palms of his trembling hands. Bonita rushed to him.
"David, darling!" she cried. "Are you all right?"
"Get away from me!" he snarled without looking up. "Get the hell out of here!"
Bonita had never seen him like this. Her heart went out to him as her eyes filled with tears. She longed to hold him, to console him, in his moments of torture. Then he looked up at her with those wonderful eyes, now dark, bottomless pools of rage.
"Get out of here, you bitch!" he growled low, like some wounded animal.
Fearfully, Bonita backed away from him and left the office.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The breakup with David was a bitter pill for Bonita to swallow. She was shattered. It was more important to her than losing the part of Susan Bromberg. David Weston was a man she deeply loved, and now that was also over. Once again, Bonita was faced with the need of getting a job or having to go back to Ohio.
After a week of moping and crying until there were no more tears left, she finally pulled herself together and started to make plans. She was a mature young woman and vowed that she was not quitting New York until she got her chance on Broadway.
All right, Bonita told herself. So she lost at love, so she lost a major opportunity for her first big break. So what. Life goes on and Bonita resolved to pick up the pieces and make the best of a sad situation.
Peter Livingston called to see how she was bearing up. They chatted briefly and he told Bonita that David had tried to fire him, but, fortunately, he had already signed an ironclad contract. Weston was in a stew over it, but there was nothing he could do. He told Bonita to keep her chin up, that the auditions on Friday and Saturday were a fiasco and that they still hadn't found the right girl to play Susan.
A week later, Bonita received a phone call from the Weston office, requesting her to come in at three o'clock the following day. It was Tony Preston, one of the senior members of Weston's staff. He was very mysterious on the phone. When Bonita inquired what it was all about, she was told that he would rather not talk over the phone. It all seemed very mystifying to Bonita, but she agreed to the appointment.
David Weston was nowhere to be seen when she arrived. Tony Preston was warm and cordial as he led her into his office. There, she was introduced to four of Weston's biggest backers.
"Well, young lady," a Mr. Markowitz said. "That was a splendid little audition you gave us last week."
"I don't understand, sir?" replied Bonita.
"I'm referring to your Juliet portrayal with Peter," Markowitz explained. "I'm sure you must have an inkling why we asked you to come in this afternoon."
"Frankly, I'm afraid you've got me at a disadvantage," answered Bonita.
"Well, let me clear the air a little," said Markowitz, smiling pleasantly. "We think that you'd be perfect for the role of Susan Bromberg."
Bonita was stunned. Tony Preston grinned and held a chair for her. The other gentlemen nodded approval as Markowitz removed a contract from the top of the desk. "If this meets with your approval and you'll sign it, we can go into rehearsal on Monday," he said.
Bonita looked at all four men in silent awe, then took the contract in hand. She couldn't believe it was actually happening to her. After all she'd gone through, they were laying the role in her lap.
"But what about David?" she asked. "Does he know about this?"
"Yes, he knows, Bonita," Tony Preston told her awkwardly. "That's why I'm handling it."
"I don't understand," said Bonita.
"It's quite simple, Miss Rossi," Markowitz explained. "We four gentlemen hold the largest block of shares in the production of Stage Struck. As you know, Mr. Weston was opposed to you being cast in the part. We told him flat out that if you weren't signed, we were pulling out."
"I see," she said.
Along with the realization that David hated her so much was a tremendous hurt. Bonita had become resigned to the fact that she'd lost his love, but she didn't have time to let this new aspect of David's feelings upset her. She signed the contract and was immediately thrown into the hustle and bustle of rehearsals.
In time, the pain of her loss faded, but the scar was indelibly etched on her heart. During the rehearsals, David never came near the theatre when she was there. And if he did, Bonita was never aware of it. Only once did she see him, one afternoon when she went to a nearby restaurant to have a drink with Peter. Seeing him again had such an unsettling effect on Bonita that she stopped going to the bistro.
They worked hard and she had some happiness in the knowledge that at last she was getting her big chance. The company rehearsed for four weeks in New York and had their first tryout at the Colony Theatre in Boston. After two weeks there, they moved the show for another two weeks at the Sashay Theatre in Philadelphia.
Bonita matured quickly as an actress, and Peter Livingston predicted a huge career for her. He was her mentor and spiritual father on the road. She grew very close to him during this period, and he took her under his wing and taught her everything he knew. Bonita felt that it was like having a private drama coach with her, besides his being a dear and loving friend.
The out-of-town notices for Stage Struck were all raves. It was easy for Bonita to play the part well, because she felt like she was playing a slice of her life-except that the romance in the play had a happier ending.
They returned to New York on a Friday evening in April. Stage Struck was due to open the following Monday evening. It's good to be in New York in the spring, Bonita thought. To be young and beautiful and starring in your first Broadway play was more than a girl could hope for. But there was still a heaviness in her heart whenever she saw a familiar place that reminded her of David.
On Sunday night, after the full dress rehearsal was over, Bonita changed into her street clothes and went out in front of the theatre. She was thrilled to see her name in lights for the first time in her life. Bonita stood there on 47th Street for a long time, looking up at the huge sign over the theatre.
Bonita Rossi in STAGE STRUCK....
The huge lights shone brightly against the evening sky. She swallowed hard and had to blink her eyes to stop the sign from blurring, so overcome with emotion was she. If only David were there at her side, thought Bonita, everything would be perfect. It was such a lovely spring evening that Bonita walked all the way home. She wasn't tired and hoped the walk would make her sleepy. Tomorrow was the biggest day of her life, for tomorrow she would become a star.
First call was at seven o'clock, so Bonita arrived at the theatre a half-hour early to start her preparations. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion now as the hour for curtain time drew nearer. Bonita walked in a daze down the passageway to her dressing room.
The wardrobe mistress had hung up her costumes and had the first change lying on the chaise lounge, waiting for her. After undressing and putting on her bathrobe, she sat before the mirror and arranged her makeup on the table-top. As she began to apply it, Bonita said her lines to herself. Whenever she went up, she would nervously open her script to see what she had forgotten. Bonita realized she was more nervous tonight than she had ever been before.
Her heart was beating so loudly that she was certain they could hear it in the next dressing room. She tried to kid herself out of it and laughed at her shaking hand when she started to apply her lipstick. Concentrate, concentrate, Bonita, she kept telling herself. You have nothing to worry about. They loved you in Boston and Philly and they'll love you here. Oh, dear God, she thought, all the big critics will be out front tonight!
The room smelled like a funeral parlor from all the flowers. When she finished her makeup, Bonita walked about the dressing room, reading the different cards that accompanied each bunch of flowers. There were also some early telegrams from Kathy and Billy, but the one she hoped for most of all wasn't there. Not even on opening night would he give in and wish her luck.
Someone tapped lightly on the door. "Telegram for you, Bonita," the stage manager called.
Bonita opened the door. "Thanks, Herbie," she said.
"And Bonita, it's seven o'clock," he grinned. "One hour till flop sweat time."
"Some sense of humor," Bonita replied, smiling very weakly.
She hurriedly opened the telegram, hoping against hope that it was from David. She read the message quietly to herself. "Dearest Bonita, Be as great as I know you are stop. Break a leg stop. Love, Steve Coppola."
How sweet of Steve, she thought, and finally gave up hope of hearing from David. Bonita was getting more nervous by the minute and thought that if she'd lie down, she'd calm herself. It didn't work. She was up pacing the floor in a few minutes. Oh. God, she thought. This is horrible. She began to think it was all madness. Why would people want to subject themselves to such torture? she asked herself inwardly.
Then, as she sat down shakily and looked at herself in the mirror, it happened. Bonita's face caved in and the tears gushed forth. Don't do it, she thought. Don't go on in this condition. Bonita was frozen with fear and her frail shoulders began to tremble.
"I say, are you decent?" called Peter Livingston as he entered. "Well, lovey, this is the night we've been looking for. I told you I'd get you here, old girl-" He stopped short when he saw her trembling shoulders.
"Darling heart! Whatever is the matter?"
"Oh, Peter," Bonita sobbed. "I can't do it! I can't go on!"
"Why ever not, luv?"
"I'm too frightened, Peter! I haven't got it," she said, then broke down into another flood of tears.
Livingston put his arm around her and patted her gently on the cheek. He waited until the tears subsided.
"There, there, darling girl. You're going to be fine," he said. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Just a tiny case of opening-night jitters. We all go through it, lovey, one time or another. Wouldn't be worth a farthing if we didn't. There, now, you're a great actress."
"Look at me, I'm a mess!" she cried.
Livingston hugged her a moment, chortling softly. "Mess, indeed," he said. "There, now, luv. It's all right; you're going to be wonderful. I promise you."
He took out his handkerchief and dabbed lightly at her tears. And as he did so, he crooned softly to her. "Steady, old girl. We don't want to muck it all up now, do we?"
The great actor's soothing voice seemed to have a calming influence on her. When her eyes had dried, Bonita touched up her makeup, took her first costume behind the screen and changed. While she was doing this, he started to feed her first-scene cues and slowly she could feel her confidence beginning to grow.
"Magic time!" a voice called from the hallway.
Bonita stepped from behind the screen. Peter chuckled and gave her another big bear-hug. "You all right now, luv?"
"I'll be fine, darling Peter," she giggled nervously. "Thank you so much. Lord knows what I'd do without you."
"Never mind that," Peter said sternly, holding open the door. "Come along now, Bonita. Let's go out there and show them what this acting business is all about!"
He followed her out the door and, as she walked toward the wings to make her first entrance, Bonita heard Peter call out to the others. "Come along, Lads! Into the breech, we've got them on the run!"
When the curtain came down on the final act, the audience exploded into thunderous applause. Bonita was drained, but as happy as she could be at that moment. And as she rushed from the stage, Peter turned to her with a wide grin.
"It's your night, sweetheart."
"I couldn't have done it without you, dear Peter."
"Oh, I knew you could do it, old heart," he said, embracing her. "It's all gravy now."
The others took their curtain calls before her and then, as she came back out, Bonita could hear the applause swell. In a moment, the entire audience was on their feet, giving her a standing ovation. It was the highest tribute an actor could receive. She was their new darling, and they wouldn't let her go. Bonita received thirteen curtain calls before she was able to get off the stage.
It was bedlam in her dressing room. Actors and actresses, friends and friends of friends, all doing the crazy, wonderful things that show people do, crying and kissing and hugging. Bonita was swept away with euphoria. They started to leave after a while, until Peter Livingston was the last one remaining.
"There, now. What did I tell you, old girl," he said.
"Peter darling, if it weren't for you, I think I'd have died."
"Never mind that talk. You're a part of the theatre now and we don't die," he grinned. "Except out there, now and again." Bonita blew him a kiss.
"I'll see you at the restaurant," he said, going out the door. "The champagne's on me."
At long last she was alone. She looked around her dressing room and thought, So this is what it's like. While she changed into her street clothes, Bonita couldn't help wondering what was the matter with her.
Here it was, the biggest night of her life, and she realized that she wasn't happy. She had won the choice plum against unbeatable odds and now the brightest future any young actress could hope for was hers. Money, fame, and adulation were all out there, just waiting for her. This was the moment she had dreamed of ever since she had been a little girl. And now, Bonita knew it was all an empty victory.
There was a tight tapping on the door and she wondered who it could be. "Come in," called Bonita.
She was staring in the mirror, removing the last of her greasepaint, when the visitor entered. Bonita looked into the darkness behind her and at first was unable to see whom it was.
Then David stepped into the tight and her heart flipped over. He looked fantastic, better than she'd ever seen him before. Bonita knew he'd gone down to St. Thomas and now he was tanned and well-rested.
"You were wonderful tonight, Bonita," he congratulated.
"Thank you," she replied, trying to still her fluttering heart. "I didn't think you would come."
"I wasn't going to, but I couldn't stay away," David confessed. "You were the only one, from the first."
"That's interesting, David," answered Bonita. "Considering how hard you tried to keep me out of it."
"I don't blame you for being angry or even hating me, for that matter," said David. "But I'd just like to tell you I'm sorry. I was all wrong."
"It's all right, David. It's over with now," she said, trying to keep her hands from trembling.
"No. It's not all right. Please hear me out and then I'll be gone," he said.
Bonita concentrated on taking off her makeup. She knew that she'd begin to cry if she looked at him again.
"This should be interesting," she remarked as brusquely as possible.
David took a deep breath and began. "My marriage to Margo Chandler was not so ideal as everyone thought. Oh, I loved her all right and she loved me in her way. I was a lot younger those days, not very mature. Anyhow, I hated her being away all the time, either in a show or off to Hollywood, doing a picture.
"I wanted children, and Margo kept putting it off. Finally, it got to be too much for me and I made a serious miscalculation. I thought she loved me as much as I loved her. So, I gave her an ultimatum. I told her either me or her career. Margo chose her career."
"I'm sorry, David. I didn't-"
"No, Bonita. Please don't interrupt me," said David. He paused a moment and lit a cigarette. She watched him through the mirror as he squinted his eyes against the smoke. Finally, he sighed and continued.
"Margo was on the way to Mexico for a divorce when her plane went down. I never forgave myself, and all these years I have foolishly accepted the blame. I thought if I had never pushed her, she'd still be alive today. That's why I did that crazy thing with her room, and that's why I didn't want to get involved with another actress."
"David, you don't have to tell me these things. It's really none of my business," Bonita uttered softly.
"I'm not finished yet. I had a lot of time to think things out when I was in St. Thomas, and I think I've made some sense of it all. I know now, since loving you, that it wasn't my fault. All that wasted suffering is behind me. I realize it's too late for us now, but I just wanted you to know that that foolish shrine is no longer there. I think I've paid for my sins these past five years and I'm sure Margo would agree. Anyhow, I'm selling that place and letting the ghosts rest where they are."
David paused a moment and took a long drag on his cigarette. Then he tamped it out in an ashtray. Nervously, he licked his lips and wiped a hand across them.
"I was dead wrong about you too. I had no right to try and stop you from acting. And after seeing you tonight, I know you're going to be a great one. You have too much to give, and it would be a sin to deprive the world of seeing these gifts. Anyhow, kid, I thought that I owed you an apology and that you'd just like to know how it is with. . . "
David's voice broke and Bonita looked up and saw that he was weeping. She was on her feet, throwing herself into his arms in a second, and with such force that she nearly knocked him down. The two stood there, clinging to each other and crying shamelessly. After a while, he regained his composure and grinned at her through tear-filled eyes.
"Oh, David, David, you big lug. You're breaking my heart! " she cried.
"I love you, Bonita," he murmured. "And if you'll still have me-"
Bonita put her hand over his mouth to stop him from speaking. "I love you, my precious darling David," she said softly. "More than life itself, but you must understand right now ... I'll never stop acting, I can't help it, I'm sorry-"
"Hush, little one. It's not important. As long as we have one another, I don't care," said David. "Just tell me you'll marry me."
"Oh, yes, yes, yes, my darling!" cried Bonita. "I'll continue acting, but we can still have children."
"I know, I know, little one," said David, holding her close and resting his face against her cheek.
"Oh, darling! You're going to get cold cream all over you!"
"Who cares?" David grinned, then kissed her again.
