Free Once Is Not Enough by Jacqueline Susann

slowly. “But it wasn’t for a movie.”
    “A TV series,” she said. “That’s what it is! Right?”
    He looked out of the window. His words were measured. “I’ve made some pretty good moves in my life and this is about the best I’ve ever made. I’ve got some big surprises for you. Tonight you’re going to—”
    She cut in. “Oh, Mike, please, no surprises tonight. Just us and the champagne. If you knew how many months I’ve dreamed of being with you in our suite at the Plaza, looking out at the park, seeing my old wishing hill and toasting to—”
    “Will you settle for the Pierre?”
    “What happened to the Plaza?”
    “Mayor Lindsay donated it to the pigeons.”
    She smiled, but he saw the disappointment in her eyes. “The view is almost the same,” he said quickly. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to forget about your wishing hill. Drunks and junkies have claimed it now. Along with a few large dogs who use it as a lavatory. Everyone has large dogs now. Not for pets—for protection.” He knew he was talking too much. He stopped and stared at the approaching skyline, the uneven beauty of the buildings shrouded in smog. Lights beginning to glow in tiny square windows . . . evening in New York.
    And then the skyline was gone and they merged into New York’s traffic. As they made their way down Sixtieth Street, Mike called out to the driver. “Stop at that cigar store on the corner opposite Bloomingdale’s.” They pulled up and before the chauffeur could get out, Mike jumped out of the car. “I’m out of cigarettes.” He turned to the chauffeur. “You can’t double-park here. Drive Miss Wayne around the block. I’ll be out by then.”
    He was standing on the corner when the car rounded the block. He lit a cigarette when he got into the car. Suddenly he extended the pack as an afterthought. “Do you?”
    “No, I don’t. But did you?”
    “Did I what?”
    “Make the call.”
    “What call?”
    She laughed. “Oh, Mike . . . there’s a whole carton of cigarettes right here in the bar area of the car.”
    His jaw tightened. “Okay . . what call did I make?”
    She slipped her arm through his. “To order the caviar and champagne. I could tell by your face that you forgot.”
    He sighed. “Maybe I forgot a lot of things.”
    She put her fingers across his lips. “Just tell me one thing. Did I guess right about your call?”
    “Yep, you guessed right.”
    Her voice was soft. “Mike, you haven’t forgotten anything.”
    When she opened her eyes, she thought she was still at the Clinique. But the darkness in the room was unfamiliar; the dark shapes of the furniture were different. And then consciousness took over and she realized she was in her new bedroom at the Pierre. She switched on the lamp on the night table. Midnight. That meant she had been asleep only two hours. She stretched and looked around the bedroom. It really was beautiful. It didn’t look like a hotel bedroom at all. The entire suite was luxurious and huge. Bigger than anything Mike had ever had. He had explained the hotel had co-op apartments and some people sublet their suites. Well, the people who owned this one sure had taste. The living room had been so beautiful when she arrived. Candlelight, caviar, and champagne all iced, the velvet darkness of the park so many stories below. Then they had toasted one another, eaten the caviar . . . And, after just one glass of champagne she had suddenly gotten drowsy. He had noticed it immediately. “Look, babe, it’s only nine o’clock here, but by Swiss time it’s two or three in the morning. You go right to bed. I’ll take a little walk . . get the papers . . . watch some TV and turn in early too.”
    “But we haven’t talked about you . . . what you’re doing . . . or anything.”
    “Tomorrow.” His voice had been firm. “We meet in the living room at nine and have breakfast together and do a lot of talking.”
    “But Mike—”
    “Tomorrow.” Again that strange