TIL MORNING

Chapter Three

“I’d like that an awful lot,” I said.

 

CHAPTER THREE

Dorothy

            In the weeks following the party, Dorothy found herself phoning home more frequently. “Just checking in,” she’d say to Julian, sensing in the silence before he spoke the impropriety of her behavior.

            Johnnie Ray had said he’d call, and she knew he would, although she still wasn’t certain why. He was impressed by her power, she knew. As she waited for the message that would surely come, she collected anecdotes for him. She’d tell him about her spontaneous dance with Bobby Short at Eartha Kitt’s opening at the Plaza, and her privileged coverage of Grace Kelly’s wedding the month before.

            At times, she tried reminding herself that she was a journalist, not just New York’s finest woman Broadway columnist. The Lindbergh kidnapping in 1932 when she was a nineteen-year-old rookie, the Dr. Sam Sheppard murder case in 1954. She counted her major scoops like beads. She didn’t need any distractions, she told herself, not even a friendship or whatever it was with this odd young man. She resolved to do nothing, no sweet note of thanks, no more innocent calls to his record company. If she appeared indifferent, then she wouldn’t be disappointed and wouldn’t be humiliated.

            Besides, maybe the rumors about Johnnie being with other men were true. Maybe it was more than swinging both ways, a sticky subject she always chose to avoid in her column. But then what about Ava Gardner, The Barefoot Contessa herself? Ava had made it clear to reliable insiders that her relationship with Johnnie was more than platonic.  

            Dorothy had never been the type to kid herself. Even when, years before, she had hoped against hope that Tyrone Power would marry her, a solid part of her had known better and steeled her softer self against the truth. She felt no such protection now, only the pleasant flow of anticipation. Johnnie Ray had said he would call.

             A month after the party, to the day, he did just that.

            They agreed to see An Affair to Remember, Johnnie’s idea. She told him about her misunderstanding with Vic Damone, who sang the title song, and how they were now great pals. It seemed important that he understand that not everyone she wrote about hated her.

            Although she and Dick had long since pursued other interests, she felt almost clandestine as she dressed for her movie date. Silly. She had many male friends. Was ermine too much for a movie? Well, they would surely stop somewhere after. What about a hat, that cute black cloche that dipped below her eyes? No, hats were for dowagers. Better to brush out her hair and let the wind take care of the rest. Did she need more perfume? At least on her wrists, and don’t forget the backs of her knees. As her father always said, she might be a journalist, but she was feminine to her fingertips. And for tonight, to her toes.

            In the end, she decided to tuck the folded cloche hat into her purse. For once she was grateful that Dick had left the house before her. Julian barely looked up as he summoned a cab for her and bade her goodnight.

            The glaring New York cold made her grateful for the ermine and knit dress beneath it.  The rest of her apprehension vanished when she spotted Johnnie’s face. He waited for her outside P.J. Clarke’s, standing under the flashing Michelob sign in a black topcoat and suit. As she stepped from the cab, he took both of her hands in his. “Would you look at that?” he said, as if boasting to someone else about her.