Return to Peyton Place (35 page)

In another moment, Jennifer went directly to the linen closet off the bathroom. Her fingers closed around a box of soap flakes which Roberta kept for washing stockings and nylon underwear, and in another moment her probing hand touched the key ring. She lifted it carefully out of the box of soap flakes, cupping her hand under it so that she would leave no telltale trail of soap on the shelf, and she laughed out loud.

She unlocked the cedar chest in the front hall, but there was nothing there but winter blankets, a bottle of brandy and sixty-eight dollars in two-dollar bills. Jennifer left everything as she had found it and slammed down the cover of the chest. So her mother-in-law nipped at imported brandy on the sly and saved two-dollar bills. How dull, thought Jennifer in disappointment.

She went downstairs and unlocked the desk in the living room. There was the usual collection of bills and canceled checks and unanswered letters. Jennifer examined everything without interest and glanced at her watch. The family would be back in less than half an hour. She unlocked the bottom drawer of the desk, expecting to be disappointed again, but she felt her interest quicken as her eyes fell on a loose-leaf notebook that hadn't been there on her last visit.

She picked it up and began to leaf through it, and her face paled as she read. Roberta had mapped out a plan for murder. A plan so simple and stupid that it might just work for those very reasons. Jennifer's heart pumped hard and fast as she read, and it was not until she heard a car stop outside that she raised her head. They were back.

In a flash, Jennifer locked the desk and ran upstairs. She buried the key ring deep in the box of soap flakes and ran to her room. Before she got back into bed, she looked out the window and was just in time to see Roberta coming up the walk. You sly old bitch, she thought. You jealous old bitch. What a surprise you have in store for you!

Lying in bed, listening to Ted's footsteps coming up the stairs, Jennifer thought, This is going to be a memorable Thanksgiving Day.

Roberta had scheduled her murder for tomorrow.

A
LLISON
, M
IKE AND
C
ONSTANCE
sat up late with their guests on the night before Thanksgiving Day. Stephanie lay sprawled on the rug in front of the fireplace, Lewis sat in the armchair. Allison could tell that Mike liked Lewis very much. They had all begun the evening by talking about politics and literature, but now the night was coming to an end with gossip about Jennifer.

Stephanie described her behavior on the train, and added, “I know the type. New York is full of them. Glossy, teasing little bitches, all golden promise on the outside and empty as a tin cup on the inside.”

Lewis smiled, amused by Stephanie's colorful language. He said, “I've known a few Jennifers. And they've all run pretty much to type. They have the feeling that they can say anything or do anything, and Daddy's money will always be there to protect them. I hope you ladies won't jump on me, but I must say that no man I've ever met— and in my business I've met some pretty egocentric ones—has ever been as arrogant as these women are.”

“Why is that?” Mike asked, like the good teacher he was.

“I think there's a very simple explanation,” Lewis said. “Men are always a bit worried that if they are too arrogant, someone will haul off and punch them in the nose. But women don't have that worry.”

“You can say anything you like about Jennifer Carter,” Constance said. “I won't jump on you. She's a queer one. I've never seen a girl so drawn and tense. And, at the same time, there's a nerveless quality about her. I have the feeling she could do the most monstrous thing, and not turn a hair.”

Mike stood up. “If I refill everybody's glass, will you all promise to change the subject? I don't think Jennifer Carter is the best choice for an end of the night conversation. I think I'd have pleasanter dreams if we told stories about vampire bats.”

“I promise,” Stephanie said, and held up her glass.

Not long after that they all went upstairs to their rooms. Allison shared her room with Stephanie, and Lewis slept in the guest room next to it. It tormented her, lying in bed with the knowledge that Lewis was just the other side of the thin wall.

As if reading her thoughts, Stephanie murmured, “Your friend Lewis is a beautiful man.” She sighed. “I've come to the conclusion that all beautiful men are married.”

“You'll find someone someday who is both beautiful and unmarried,” Allison told her.

“I suppose,” Stephanie said. “But meanwhile, back at the ranch, things are very lonely. I'm a girl who's good and tired of the single state, Allison. If I didn't have an exaggerated sense of my own worth, I'd accept the first producer who asked for my hand. Not that it's my hand they ask for.”

Allison laughed. “You needn't worry. Eventually you're going to meet a man who sees right through you, right through your hard beautiful shell to the soft warm heart beneath. And that will be the end of him and the end of you.”

“That's the first and probably the last time I'll ever feel complimented at being called a fraud,” Stephanie laughed.

“Oh, I didn't mean that you're a fraud, and you know it. But you've built up defenses, we all have. God knows, after my experience since the book's been published, I wouldn't dream of accusing you of being fraudulent. It would be a case of the pot calling the kettle black.”

“Why do you say that, Allison?” Stephanie raised herself up on her elbow and looked at her.

Allison replied, “Lewis says nearly all writers feel this way. They feel like confidence men who have pulled off a fast one on the public. When your novel is successful, when a million people are reading it, when everyone is talking about it, you can't believe that all this is the result of your talent. So you begin to think you've tricked them all and that you're a walking fraud.”

“Do you still feel that way?”

“I don't know, Stevie. I really don't know. With one or two important exceptions, I feel my whole life is unreal and fraudulent now. I need to get back to work, to start writing my new book.”

“Why don't you? This is the most perfect place for work.”

“It's not easy. Sometimes I think it's because life is too exciting. I don't want to seal myself up and cut myself off from it. I have the feeling I'll miss something, something important.”

She turned to Stephanie. “I've developed such a large appetite for life, Stevie. Success makes living so delicious that you don't want to miss a moment of it. I guess that's why the Hollywood people are so frightened of being alone. Even for an hour. I guess they figure that they've given so much for success that it would be a sin not to enjoy every minute of it to the full.”

“Do you know what you want yet, Allison?”

“Yes,” Allison said. “Everything.”

Stephanie was silent then, and after a little while Allison could hear her regular breathing and knew she was asleep. She thought of Lewis, so near and so unreachable. She wondered if she dared sneak into his room. I can't, she answered herself, not in Constance's house. Finally, she fell asleep, exhausted by her thoughts.

It seemed only minutes later that she opened her eyes to the brightness of day and heard, remotely, as if from miles away, the sounds of Constance in the kitchen preparing the Thanksgiving dinner. She dressed quickly and hurried down to help her mother.

Mike was at the kitchen table with Constance; they were drinking coffee and talking in soft voices. Allison thought she heard Lewis' name mentioned.

Constance saw Allison standing at the door and said, “What are you doing up so early?”

“I wanted to help you with the dinner,” Allison said.

Mike said, “We have the perfect job for you. It calls for intelligence and requires that the applicant be a person of responsibility.”

“I don't think she's old enough for it yet,” Constance said, playing along with Mike.

“I think we ought to give her a chance,” Mike said.

He said to Allison, “Have you got grit and determination? Do you want to make something of yourself? If not, do not apply for this job.”

Allison smiled at them. “You crazy fools,” she said. “All right. I've got grit and determination. I want to get ahead. Now, what's the job?”

Mike pointed to the stove. “You see that little window in the oven?”

Allison nodded.

“Your job,” Mike said, “is to draw a chair over to the oven, sit down on that chair and watch the turkey through the little window. We wouldn't want it to get away, would we?”

“I think the job is too big for her,” said Connie. “After all, she's had very little experience as a turkey-watcher.”

“I could rise to the challenge,” Allison told them, speaking with mock fervor. “Please. This job could be the making of me.”

“It's a lifetime career,” Mike said. “Don't rush your decision. Here.” He pulled out a chair. “Sit down, have a cup of coffee and think it over.”

“We'll keep the job open while you're making up your mind,” Constance said.

“Fools,” Allison told them, shaking with laughter.

”Slacker,” Mike said. “Coming down when the work's all done and offering your services.”

“Why didn't you wake me?” Allison said.

“Because,” said Constance, “we are the kind of parents who like to make sacrifices for our children and then tell them about it.”

“Yes, we get our kicks that way,” said Mike.

Allison got up and kissed them both.

“What was that for?” asked Mike.

“That,” said Allison, “was for
not
being that kind of parent.”

Thanksgiving Day at the MacKenzie house began with laughter and continued with laughter, through dinner and after it. Allison had never seen Lewis so happy, his face suffused with the joy of living and the happiness of being with people whom he liked. He sat next to Allison at dinner and, in the midst of laughter, squeezed her hand under the table. It was quick and almost painfully hard, and it expressed his joy and his gratitude to her for having brought him this.

He had once told Allison that until he had met her he had given up all hope of happiness. There were times that Thanksgiving Day when the look of love on his face was so naked that Allison thought Constance and everyone else was bound to notice it.

Dinner lasted two hours. It was late afternoon when they finished. Allison had wanted to take Lewis walking. She wanted to show him Road's End and the view of the town, wanted to share all her secrets and memories with him.

“I wanted to take Lewis up to Road's End,” she said to Mike and Constance, “but I'm afraid it's going to be dark soon.” She turned to Lewis. “We won't have time, I'm afraid.”

“Nonsense,” Mike said. “Take the car. You can be there in ten minutes and back again before nightfall.”

“Wonderful idea,” said Allison. And wondered why she hadn't thought of it. The car would give them more privacy, too. It would be the only chance they'd have for being alone together before Lewis left in the morning.

At the door, with the alpaca hood of her old coat over her head, she called back to Constance and Stephanie, “Now wait for me. Don't start on the dishes till I get back.”

“Slacker!” Mike called after her.

When Allison and Lewis had left, Mike admitted that he was stuffed to the ears and needed nothing so much as a nap. He got up and walked to the stairs where he turned and smiled at Constance and said, “Now listen, darling. I want you to promise me that you won't start doing the dishes till I get up.”

Constance wadded her napkin and threw it at him. From the top of the stairs, he called down, “Missed.”

“He's a wonderful man,” Stephanie said.

“Yes, he is,” said Connie, “but don't tell him I said so.”

Constance and Stephanie began to clear the table and carry the dishes into the kitchen. Steve was wearing a pair of tight, leopard-spotted slacks and she looked more like a contented well-fed cat than anything else. As they washed the dishes they began to gossip. Steve began it by asking about Selena.

“She's going to marry Peter Drake,” Connie said.

“Really?” asked Steve, delighted.

“Yes,” said Connie. “In June, after Joey graduates from high school.”

“I'm so glad,” said Steve. “She's such a doll and she's had such a helluva time.”

“Worse than you think,” said Connie. “Did you ever run into an actor in New York named Tim Randlett?”

“Him?” yelled Steve. “Jesus, yes. He's one of the biggest pains I've ever met.”

“Well, he was up here this past summer and made a big play for Selena. For a while, she thought that she was in love with him.”

“Oh, no,” moaned Steve. “Listen, I'll tell you about that guy. He's the biggest phony in the business.”

“What do you mean?” asked Connie, remembering Mike's words about Tim Randlett.

“Oh, you know. The big star bit. He never got over the fact that because he could cry convincingly and made a pot of money in Hollywood he was a star. He still thinks he's the greatest. Honest, like he was Olivier or something. I worked with him on a TV program once. Believe me, he's strictly from squaresville. Thinks he's irresistible because of his profile. You know what he does? He
acts
twenty-four hours a day. I'll bet he even poses in the shower. He chose to see me as the small-town girl gone wrong in the big city and gave me a big pitch about how he could save me from all the emptiness and false glitter. You know. A real creep. Selena is well rid of him. I've watched him with girls when he's been acting the father, the priest, the vile seducer, the big brother. The whole bit. Tell me, what did he play for Selena?”

“I don't know,” said Connie thoughtfully. “But it must have been something dreadful. I thought she was going to die from it.”

“It must have been his season for villains,” said Steve. “That phony!”