After what happened with Bailey, I went up to the Vineyard to stay with my mother and sisters at Wild Acres. Wild Acres was Mother’s summer home. Not far from Thorncroft, my grandparents’ estate, it was a 125-year-old farmhouse that she had remodeled into a charming, inviting home. Neither the house, nor my family, nor the Vineyard’s brilliant blue skies lifted my spirits. Desperately sad, I walked on the beach, played with Nan and Bobby, and listened to a band concert in the village. I was waiting for the right moment to tell Mom about Bailey, but when we were finally alone after the girls were in bed, she broke down and told me she was divorcing Dad. I was stunned by the news. It was Dad’s drinking, of course. I was afraid for her, and for Nancy and Bobby, who were as protective of Mom as I had been at that age. I was worried about their being alone.
I could see how unhappy my mother was. My broken heart would have only added to her sorrow, so I returned to New York keeping my troubles to myself. I stood on the deck of the ferry, waving good-bye to those three little faces smiling bravely up at me from the dock. They made me even more determined than ever to work harder and become successful, so that I could be of help. And as soon as I reached New York, my prayers were answered. I was asked to sing at the Club New Yorker.
I started rehearsing. I didn’t dare allow myself to think about Bailey, or to speak of him to anyone, not even to Ware or Jeannie. He was a taboo subject, until Jeannie broke the ice. “You don’t know how lucky you are,” she said. “I told you he was a creep, not worth your little finger.”
“Just wait,” Ware chimed in. “Someday you’ll meet the man who not only loves the body, but the voice, the charm, the character of the girl.”
“Find him for me!” I pleaded, laughing.
Then I met Paul.
THAT FIRST NIGHT that I met Paul, at the New Yorker with Betzi, Fred, Jeannie, and Ware, once Jeannie had explained that “oil” was not a stage show but gasoline, Paul suddenly turned to me.
“I just struck a new field in Oklahoma, Teddy, so let’s all go to Elmer’s and celebrate right now!”
“It’s too late for us, Paul,” Betzi cut in. “Couldn’t we make it Sunday?”
“Fine with me!” he replied. “Ware, what about you and Jeannie?”
“Sunday’s perfect!” they answered.
“And you, Teddy, will you still join me tonight?”
I glanced over at Betzi. She nodded with a smile.
I looked back at Paul. “Yes,” I said, “I’d love to.”
As we said our good-byes, I took Paul’s arm, stunned by the suddenness of it all. We walked down the spiral staircase and out into the night.
“Elmer’s” was the nickname for El Morocco for those who frequented the New York nightclub world. When we arrived, it was obvious Paul was well known there. Passing the famous zebra-striped banquettes, we were immediately greeted by owner John Perona, who quickly signaled a waiter.
As if by magic, a bottle of Dom Pérignon and a tray of caviar followed us to our table—which was nowhere to be seen. Waiters soon appeared, carrying our table aloft. They placed it in a corner of the dance floor, there being no more room anywhere. We were quickly seated as the waiter popped the cork with a flourish. Paul smiled and lifted his glass. “Here’s to a girl with a lovely voice. And I’m going to tell her what she should do with it, but first—let’s dance.”
His words startled me. What did he mean? I had no time to think, because he had quickly led me onto the dance floor, and was holding me as if he never wanted to let me go. The floor was so crowded that the other couples just stood and swayed to the music. So did we. I closed my eyes and let my body respond to his. I was in the arms of a stranger, but I felt I belonged there. For one mad moment, I wanted to belong to this man I knew nothing about, who had already tried to take possession of my future artistic plans, and who was now taking possession of me.
After the band stopped playing, we stood there a moment. What must he be thinking? Does he feel the same way I do? I wondered. I looked at him; he smiled. I turned away, trying to hide my thoughts and feelings from him, but I could tell that his eyes were reading mine. We sat down and I took a pack of cigarettes out of my purse and put one to my lips. He lit it. I closed my eyes as I inhaled. I blew the smoke out slowly and up into the twinkling lights. I knew he was watching me, that he found me desirable.
“Betzi tells me you’re from Greenwich,” Paul said, “that you studied in Paris, that you were both in the same show on Broadway. Before she married Fred, the two of you shared an apartment at the Algonquin Hotel.”
“I’m still there,” I said.
He looked straight through me with those very blue eyes. “I want to know more about you,” he said.
“But we’ve talked about me all night,” I replied. “It’s your turn, Paul. I only know you’re Betzi’s friend from California. You produce oil for cars, you just arrived here in New York, you love to dance, and you are very persuasive in telling this girl, a perfect stranger, what she should do with her career. Now, please, tell me about you!”
He smiled. “Why don’t we have supper tomorrow night, Teddy, after your performance, when we have more time? You must know I want to see you again, and then we’ll talk about me, all right?”
I nodded yes and walked out of El Morocco on a cloud. When we arrived at the Algonquin, Paul escorted me into the lobby. As I entered the old elevator, I saw him stop and smile as he watched me disappear . . . And suddenly I realized I didn’t know his last name!
Arriving at my apartment I found this note under my door.
Teddy, You certainly made a great impression on Paul! I’ve never seen him so attracted to anyone as he was to you tonight. Hope you had fun.
Call me tomorrow,
Betzi
All the next day I kept thinking about Paul, about his wanting to see me again—and so soon—and about what I felt when I was in his arms. Damn! I wished I could talk to Betzi, but she wasn’t home. Older men kind of scared me. He was probably only about forty, but he seemed so wise.
“Oh, Teddy,” I told myself with a sigh, “just be yourself. That’s who he wants to know. You: Miss Teddy Lynch, the glamorous debutante singer of the Club New Yorker . . . who is really a scared young girl, afraid that if he finds out who she really is, he’ll never call again.”