The Chelsea Girls(79)
I had nothing to say to that. She was right, of course.
“You sicken me. Get out of my sight. Now.”
I stood, shaking, feeling as if my bones were so ancient they might crumble into dust at any moment.
Up in my room, I packed up the last of my suitcases and trunks. I wouldn’t be coming back to the Chelsea Hotel. I whispered goodbye to my room, to the place I’d come to love more than anywhere else on the earth, then called for the bellboys to bring my luggage downstairs before taking the elevator down to the lobby. Mr. Bard’s office door was open, and I knocked softly. He looked up from his ledger.
“Miss Mead. How are you this morning?”
“I’m leaving, Mr. Bard.”
He clicked his tongue. “I hear that we’ll be seeing you soon on the silver screen. California, I’m guessing, is your destination. When shall we expect you back?”
“It’s for good.”
He looked as if I had broken his heart, and even laid a hand over his chest. God, I would miss this place. “Where shall we forward your mail?”
“I’ll let you know once I’m settled. Thank you for everything.” I stepped into the office, shut the door behind me, and moved closer. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take care of Miss Ripley’s rent going forward. Well, not right away, but she may have trouble ahead.”
He inhaled dramatically. “I’ve been reading the papers. She’s in for a rough ride. But you know I always take care of my tenants in any way I possibly can.”
“You do. We all appreciate that.” The eclectic mix of art along the lobby walls and up the stairwell attested to that, works he’d accepted when a tenant wasn’t flush. But it wasn’t as if Hazel could write a play for him in lieu of rent. “When her troubles come, I’ll cover her expenses. But you have to promise never to tell her. It’ll just be between you and me.”
He gave a toothy grin, enthralled by our intimacy. “Of course. You have my word.”
With that, I left New York behind. Left Hazel behind.
I had no choice. At least, that’s what I told myself.
* * *
When I pulled into the MGM film studio in my cream convertible cabriolet, a gift from the movie’s producers, everyone turned and stared. Not only at the car, but at the girl inside it, my bright red hair streaming in the wind, a perfect complement to my emerald silk dress. Exactly the reaction I’d hoped for. Several photographers and fans clustered around the car as I eased it into my spot, and I posed, preened, and signed until the very last one of them was satisfied.
I’d also hit up the studio heads for a low-slung, Spanish-style bungalow in Brentwood with a pretty pool out back. A magazine had taken photos of me in a bathing suit, lounging away, last week. I hoped Hazel would never see them.
So far, my plan had worked.
Up on the roof with Lavinia and Hazel, stunned by the news of the movie role, I’d decided to burn bigger and brighter than ever. The one way I could stop Arthur and his cronies from coming after me was by becoming a big movie star. No, not big. A huge movie star, one whose every move was covered by a panting public. By placing myself in the spotlight, I’d make myself untouchable. I hired a publicist to set up interviews, offered to talk about the making of the movie with any reporter who’d have me. I got myself written up in every rag out there. That was step one.
We only had another week of shooting in California before the entire cast and crew flew off to Costa Brava in Spain to do the bulk of the scenes. The farther away from the United States, the better.
I reached into my car to grab my purse, and when I looked up, there was Arthur leaning over the other side, smiling at me with a quiet fury.
Step two. If I didn’t lose my nerve.
He looked like a native Californian, dressed in a Panama hat, crisp cotton pants, and a plaid shirt. Almost like he was trying too hard, in fact. He’d lost weight and when he took off his sunglasses, I noticed the skin under his eyes sagged like an older man’s. “I missed you, Max. We were surprised when you stopped answering our phone calls, didn’t leave us a forwarding address. That’s not like you. Luckily, you’re not that hard to track down.”
I reminded myself to stay calm, not show fear. “I’m shooting the movie.”
“It’s great to see you.” He walked around the car and placed a hand on my arm, gave it a squeeze. He smelled of coconuts, the final touch in his tropical ensemble. The thick scent made me nauseous, and a trickle of sweat ran down my back.
I stayed silent.
“Don’t be afraid, Max. You know you’re always safe with me. I’m not going anywhere. Is there a place we can talk?”
I didn’t want to bring him into my dressing room, best to stay in public. I gasped for air, my lungs betraying my anxiety at the sight of him.
“You all right?”
“I’m fine,” I whispered. “I need some coffee. Do you want to join me in the commissary?”
He considered it a moment. “Sure, babe.”
I checked my watch. “I have to be in hair and makeup in twenty minutes.”
“Whatever you say. I have all the time in the world.”
I shook as I carried the coffees to a table at the back where Arthur sat, waiting. He’d probably been tailing me, watching me, for some time now. I looked around. The commissary wasn’t very full, it was too early for lunch and too late for breakfast. Still, enough people stopped me and asked questions about the movie as I made my way through. I had a small army of supporters nearby in case he tried to pull anything sneaky.