The Fourth K

  Rosemary said abruptly, “I’ll drive myself.” She did not look at David when she said it.

  Hocken said smoothly, “I can’t allow that, Rosemary, you are my guest and I did give you too much wine. If you hate the idea of David driving you, then of course I’ll take you back to your hotel. Then I’ll order a limo to Malibu.”

  It was, David realized, superbly done. For the first time he detected insincerity in Hocken’s voice. Of course Rosemary could not accept Hocken’s offer. If she did so, she would be offering a grievous insult to the young friend of her mentor. She would be putting both Hocken and Gibson Grange to a great deal of inconvenience. And her primary purpose in getting Gibson to take her home would not be accomplished anyway. She was caught in an impossible situation.

  Then Gibson Grange delivered the final blow. He said, “Hell, I’ll ride with you, Hock. I’ll just take a nap in the backseat to keep you company to Malibu.”

  Rosemary gave David a bright smile. She said, “I hope it won’t be too much trouble for you.”

  “No, it won’t,” David said. Hocken clapped him on the shoulder, Gibson Grange gave him a brilliant smile and a wink. And that smile and wink gave David another message. These two men were standing by him as males. A lone powerful female had shamed one of their fellow males and they were punishing her. Also, she had come on too strong to Gibson, it was not a woman’s place to do so with a male more than equal in power. They had just administered a masterful blow to her ego, to keep her in her place. And it was all done with such marvelous good humor and politeness. And there was another factor. These men remembered when they had been young and powerless as David was now; they had invited him to dinner to show that their success did not leave them faithless to their fellow males, a time-hallowed practice perfected over centuries to forestall any envious revenge. Rosemary had not honored this practice, had not remembered her time of powerlessness, and tonight they had reminded her. And yet David was on Rosemary’s side; she was too beautiful to be hurt.

  They walked out into the parking lot together, and then when the other two men roared away in Hocken’s Porsche, David led Rosemary to his old Toyota.

  Rosemary said, “Shit, I can’t get out at the Beverly Hills Hotel from a car like that.” She looked around and said, “Now I have to find my car. Look, David, do you mind driving me back in my Mercedes, it’s somewhere around here, and I’ll have a hotel limo bring you back. That way I won’t have to have my car picked up in the morning. Could we do that?” She smiled at him sweetly, then reached into her pocketbook and put on spectacles. She pointed to one of the few remaining cars in the lot and said, “There it is.” David, who had spotted her car as soon as they were outside, was puzzled. Then he realized she must be extremely near-sighted. Maybe it was nearsightedness that made her ignore him at dinner.

  She gave him the key to her Mercedes, and he unlocked the door on her side and helped her in. He could smell the wine and perfume composted on her body and felt the heat of her bones like burning coal. Then he went to the other side of the car to get in the driver’s seat, and before he could use the key the door swung open—Rosemary had unlocked it from the inside to open it for him. He was surprised by this, he would have judged it not in her character.

  It took him a few minutes to figure out how the Mercedes worked. But he loved the feel of the seat, the smell of the reddish leather—was it a natural smell or did she spray the car with some sort of special leather perfume? And the car handled beautifully; for the first time he understood the acute pleasure some people took from driving.

  The Mercedes seemed to just flow through the dark streets. He enjoyed driving so much that the half hour to the Beverly Hills Hotel seemed to pass in an instant. In all that time Rosemary did not speak to him. She took off her spectacles and put them back into her purse and then sat silent. Once she glanced at his profile as if appraising him. Then she just stared straight ahead. David never once turned to her or spoke. He was enjoying the dream of driving a beautiful woman in a beautiful car, in the heart of the most glamorous town in the world.

  When he stopped at the canopied entrance to the Beverly Hills Hotel, he took the keys out of the ignition and handed them to Rosemary. Then he got out and went around to open her door. At the same moment one of the valet parking men came down the red-carpeted runway and Rosemary handed him the keys to her car, and David realized he should have left them in the ignition.

  Rosemary started up the red-carpeted runway to the entrance of the hotel, and David knew she had completely forgotten about him. He was too proud to remind her about offering a limo to take him back. He watched her. Under the green canopy, the balmy air, the golden lights, she seemed like a lost princess. Then she stopped and turned; he could see her face, and she looked so beautiful that David Jatney’s heart stopped.

  He thought she had remembered him, that she expected him to follow her. But she turned again and tried to go up the three steps that would bring her to the doors. At that moment she tripped, her purse went flying out of her hands and everything in that purse scattered on the ground. By that time David had dashed up the red carpet runway to help her.

  The contents of the purse seemed endless—it was magical in the way it continued to spill out its contents. There were solitary lipsticks, a makeup case that burst open and poured mysteries of its own, there was a ring of keys that immediately broke and scattered at least twenty keys around the carpet. There was a bottle of aspirin and prescription vials of different drugs. And a huge pink toothbrush. There was a cigarette lighter and no cigarettes, there was a tube of Binaca and a little plastic bag that held blue panties and some sort of device that looked sinister. There were innumerable coins, some paper money and a soiled white linen handkerchief. There were spectacles, gold-rimmed, spinsterish without the adornment of Rosemary’s classically sculptured face.

  Rosemary looked at all this with horror, then burst into tears. David knelt on the red-carpeted runway and started to sweep everything into the purse. Rosemary didn’t help him. When one of the bellmen came out of the hotel, David had him hold the purse with its mouth open while he shoveled the stuff into it.

  Finally he had gotten everything, and he took the now full purse from the bellman and gave it to Rosemary. He could see her humiliation and wondered at it. She dried her tears and said to him, “Come up to my suite for a drink until your limo comes, I haven’t had a chance to speak to you all evening.”

  David smiled. He was remembering Gibson Grange saying, “She’s slick.” But he was curious about the famous Beverly Hills Hotel and he wanted to stay around Rosemary.

  He thought the green-painted walls were weird for a high-class hotel—dingy, in fact. But when they entered the huge suite he was impressed. It was beautifully decorated and had a large terrace—a balcony. There was also a bar in one corner. Rosemary went to it and mixed herself a drink, then after asking him what he wanted, mixed him one. He had asked for just a plain scotch; though he rarely drank, he was feeling a little nervous. She unlocked the glass sliding doors to the terrace and led him outside. There was a white glass-topped table and four white chairs. “Sit here while I go to the bathroom,” Rosemary said. “Then we’ll have a little chat.” She disappeared back into the suite.

  David sat in one of the chairs and sipped his scotch. Below him were the interior gardens of the Beverly Hills Hotel. He could see the swimming pool and the tennis courts, the walks that led to the bungalows. There were trees and individual lawns, the grass greener under moonlight, and the lighting glancing off the pink-painted walls of the hotel gave everything a surrealistic glow.

  It was no more than ten minutes later when Rosemary reappeared. She sat in one of the chairs and sipped her drink. Now she was wearing loose white slacks and a white pullover cashmere sweater. She had pushed the sleeves of her sweater up above her elbows. She smiled at him, it was a dazzling smile. She had washed her face clean of makeup and he liked her better this way. Her lips were now not voluptuous, he
r eyes not so commanding. She looked younger and more vulnerable. Her voice when she spoke seemed easier, softer, less commanding.

  “Hock tells me you’re a screenwriter,” she said. “Do you have anything you’d like to show me? You can send it to my office.”

  “Not really,” David said. He smiled back at her. He would never let himself be rejected by her.

  “But Hock said you had one finished,” Rosemary said. “I’m always looking for new writers. It’s so hard to find something decent.”

  “No,” David said. “I wrote four or five but they were so terrible I tore them up.”

  They were silent for a time, it was easy for David to be silent; it was more comfortable for him than speech. Finally Rosemary said, “How old are you?”

  David lied and said, “Twenty-six.”

  Rosemary smiled at him. “God, I wish I were that young again. You know, when I came here I was eighteen. I wanted to be an actress, and I was a half-assed one. You know those one-line parts on TV, the salesgirl the heroine buys something from? Then I met Hock and he made me his executive assistant and taught me everything I know. He helped me set up my first picture and he helped all through the years. I love Hock, I always will. But he’s so tough, like tonight. He stuck with Gibson against me.” Rosemary shook her head. “I always wanted to be as tough as Hock,” she said. “I modeled myself after him.”

  David said, “I think he’s a very nice gentle guy.”

  “But he’s fond of you,” Rosemary said. “Really, he told me so. He said you look so much like your mother and you act just like her. He says you’re a really sincere person, not a hustler.” She paused for a moment and then said, “I can see that too. You can’t imagine how humiliated I felt when all that stuff spilled out of my purse. And then I saw you picking everything up and never looking at me. You were really very sweet.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He could smell a different sweeter fragrance coming from her body now.

  Abruptly she stood up and went back into the suite; he followed her. She closed the glass door of the terrace and locked it and then she said, “I’ll call for your limo.” She picked up the phone. But instead of pressing the buttons she held it in her hand and looked at David. He was standing very still, standing far enough away not to be in her space. She said to him, “David, I’m going to ask you something that might sound odd. Would you stay with me tonight? I feel lousy and I need company, but I want you to promise you won’t try to do anything. Could we just sleep together like friends?”

  David was stunned. He had never dreamed this beautiful woman would want someone like him. He was dazzled by his good fortune. But then Rosemary said sharply, “I mean it, I just want someone nice like you to be with me tonight. You have to promise you won’t do anything. If you try, I’ll be very angry.”

  This was so confusing to David that he smiled, and as if not understanding, he said, “I’ll sit on the terrace or sleep on the couch here in the living room.”

  “No,” Rosemary said. “I just want somebody to hug me and go to sleep with. I just don’t want to be alone. Can you promise?”

  David heard himself say, “I don’t have anything to wear. In bed, I mean.”

  Rosemary said briskly, “Just take a shower and sleep naked, it won’t bother me.”

  There was a foyer from the living room of the suite that led to the bedroom. In this foyer was an extra bathroom, in which Rosemary told David to take his shower. She did not want him to use her bathroom. David showered and brushed his teeth using soap and tissues. There was a bathrobe hanging from the back of the door with blue-stitching script that said elegantly “Beverly Hills Hotel.” He went into the bedroom and found Rosemary was still in her bathroom. He stood there awkwardly, not wanting to get into the bed that had already been turned down by the night maid. Finally Rosemary came out of the bathroom wearing a flannel nightgown that was so elegantly cut and printed that she looked like a doll in a toy store. “Come on, get in,” she said. “Do you need a Valium or a sleeping pill?” And he knew she had already taken one. She sat at the edge of the bed and then got in and finally David got into the bed but kept his bathrobe on. They were lying side by side when she turned the light out on her night table. They were in darkness. “Give me a hug,” she said, and they embraced for a long moment and then she rolled away to her side of the bed and said briskly, “Pleasant dreams.”

  David lay on his back staring up at the ceiling. He didn’t dare take off the bathrobe, he didn’t want her to think that he wanted to be naked in her bed. He wondered if he should tell Hock about this the next time they met, but he understood that it would become a joke that he had slept with such a beautiful woman and nothing had happened. And maybe Hock would think he was lying. He wished he had taken the sleeping pill Rosemary had offered him. She was already asleep—she had a tiny snore just barely audible.

  David decided to go back to the living room and got out of bed. Rosemary came awake and said sleepily, “Could you get me a drink of Evian water.” David went into the living room and fixed two Evian waters with a little ice. He drank from his glass and refilled it. Then he went back into the bedroom. By the light in the foyer he could see Rosemary sitting up, the bed sheets tight around her. He offered a glass and she reached out a bare arm for it. In the dark room he touched her upper body before finding her hand to give her the glass, and realized she was naked. As she was drinking he slipped into the bed but he let his bathrobe fall to the floor.

  He heard her put the glass on the night table and then he put out his hand and touched her flesh. He felt the bare back and the softness of her buttocks. She rolled over and into his arms and his chest was against her bare breasts. Her arms were around him and the hotness of their bodies made them kick off the covers as they kissed. They kissed for a long time, her tongue in his mouth, and then he couldn’t wait any longer and he was on top of her, and her hand as smooth as satin, a permission, guided him into her. They made love almost silently as if they were being spied upon until both their bodies together arched in the flight toward climax and they lay back separate again.

  Finally she whispered, “Now go to sleep.” She kissed him gently on the side of the mouth.

  He said, “I want to see you.”

  “No,” she whispered.

  David reached over and turned on her table light. Rosemary closed her eyes. She was still beautiful. Even with desire sated, even though she was stripped of all the arts of beauty, the enhancements of coquetry, the artifices of special light. But it was a different beauty.

  He had made love out of animal need and proximity, a natural physical expression of his body. She had made love out of a need in her heart, or some spinning need in her brain. And now in the glow of the single light, her naked body was no longer formidable. Her breasts were small with tiny nipples, her body smaller, her legs not so long, her hips not so wide, her thighs a little slender. She opened her eyes, looking directly into his, and he said, “You’re so beautiful.” He kissed her breasts and as he did so she reached up and turned out the light. They made love again and then fell asleep.

  When David woke and reached out, she was gone. He threw on his clothes and put on his watch. It was seven in the morning. He found her out on the terrace in a red jogging suit against which her black hair seemed even darker. A table had been wheeled in by room service, and on it were a silver coffee pitcher and a silver milk jug and an array of plates with metal covers over them to keep the food warm.

  Rosemary smiled at him and said, “I ordered for you. I was just going to wake you up. I have to get my run in before I start work.”

  He sat down at the table, and she poured him coffee and uncovered a dish that held eggs and sliced-up bits of fruit. Then she drank her orange juice and got up. “Take your time,” she said. “Thanks for staying last night.”

  David wanted her to have breakfast with him, he wanted her to show that she really liked him, he wanted to have a chance to talk, to tell her about his life, t
o say something that would make her interested in him. But now she was putting a white headband over her hair and lacing up her jogging shoes. She stood up. David said, not knowing his face was twitching with emotion, “When will I see you again?” And as soon as he said it he knew he had made a terrible mistake.

  Rosemary was on her way to the door but she stopped. “I’m going to be awfully busy the next few weeks. I have to go to New York. When I come back I’ll give you a call.” She didn’t ask for his number.

  Then another thought seemed to strike her. She picked up the phone and called for a limo to bring David back to Santa Monica. She said to him, “It will be put on my bill—do you need any cash to tip the driver?”

  David just looked at her for a long moment. She picked up her purse and opened it and said, “How much will you need for the tip?”

  David couldn’t help himself. He didn’t know his face was twitching with a malice and a hatred that were frightening. He said insultingly, “You’d know that better than me.” Rosemary snapped her purse shut and went out of the suite.

  He never heard from her. He waited for two months, and then one day on the movie studio lot he saw her come out of Hocken’s office with Gibson Grange and Dean. He waited near Hocken’s parking space so that they would have to greet him. Hocken gave him a little hug and said they had to have dinner and asked how the job was going. Gibson Grange shook his hand and gave him a sly but friendly smile, the handsome face radiating its easy good humor. Rosemary looked at him without smiling. And what really hurt was that for a moment it seemed to David that she had really forgotten him.