“I’d like us to start fresh and be friends,” he said.
“Thank you, Cliff. So would I.”
Clifton felt an immeasurable sense of relief. “I want to give a dinner party for you and Toby. I’ll take over the private room at the Bistro. A week from Saturday. Black tie, a hundred of your most intimate friends. How does that sound?”
“Lovely. Toby will be pleased.”
Jill waited until the afternoon of the party to telephone and say, “I’m so sorry, Cliff. I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to make it tonight. I’m a little tired. Toby thinks I should stay home and rest.”
Clifton managed to hide his feelings. “I’m sorry about that, Jill, but I understand. Toby will be able to come, won’t he?”
He heard her sigh over the telephone. “I’m afraid not, dear boy. He won’t go anywhere without me. But you have a nice party.” And she hung up.
It was too late to call off the party. The bill was three thousand dollars. But it cost Clifton much more than that. He had been stood up by the guest of honor, his one and only client, and everyone there, the studios heads, the stars, the directors—all the people who mattered in Hollywood—were aware of it. Clifton tried to cover up by saying that Toby was not feeling well. It was the worst thing he could have done. When he picked up a copy of the Herald Examiner the next afternoon, there was a photograph of Mr. and Mrs. Toby Temple that had been taken at the Dodgers Stadium the night before.
Clifton Lawrence knew now that he was fighting for his life. If Toby dropped him, there would be no one around to pick him up. None of the big agencies would take him on, because he could bring them no clients; and he could not bear the thought of starting all over again on his own. It was too late for that. He had to find a way to make peace with Jill. He telephoned Jill and told her he would like to come to the house to talk to her.
“Of course,” she said. “I was telling Toby last night that we haven’t seen enough of you lately.”
“I’ll be over in fifteen minutes,” Clifton said. He walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a double Scotch. He had been doing too much of that lately. It was a bad habit to drink during a working day, but who was he kidding? What work? Every day he received important offers for Toby, but he could not get the great man to sit down and even discuss them with him. In the past, they had talked over everything. He remembered all the wonderful times they had had, the trips they had taken, the parties and the laughs and the girls. They had been as close as twins. Toby had needed him, had counted on him. And now…Clifton poured another drink and was pleased to see his hands were not trembling so much.
When Clifton arrived at the Temples’ house, Jill was seated on the terrace, having coffee. She looked up and smiled as she saw him approach. You’re a salesman, Clifton told himself. Sell her on you.
“It’s nice to see you, Cliff. Sit down.”
“Thanks, Jill.” He took a seat across from her at a large wrought-iron table and studied her. She was wearing a white summer dress, and the contrast with her black hair and golden, tanned skin was stunning. She looked younger, and—the only word he could think of somehow—innocent. She was watching him with warm, friendly eyes.
“Would you like some breakfast, Cliff?”
“No, thanks. I ate hours ago.”
“Toby isn’t here.”
“I know. I wanted to talk to you alone.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Accept my apology,” Clifton urged. He had never begged anyone for anything in his life, but he was begging now. “We—I got off on the wrong foot. Maybe it was my fault. It probably was. Toby’s been my client and my friend for so long that I—I wanted to protect him. Can you understand that?”
Jill nodded, her brown eyes fixed on him, and said, “Of course, Cliff.”