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She spent most of the afternoon at the country club, straightening out problems with the arrangement of the tables. When she was done, it was nearly five o’clock, and she realized she hadn’t picked up her paycheck. Since she had exactly four dollars left in her wallet, she made a mad dash back to Windmill’s suite on the top floor of the hotel, hoping to get there before the woman who took care of the payroll had left.
To her disappointment, Willow was locking the door as she stepped off the elevator. Gracie hurried forward. “I’m sorry to be so late, but it’s been a crazy day. Would you mind letting me get my paycheck?”
Willow shrugged and opened the door. “I guess not.”
Gracie followed her inside. Even though she tried to be as helpful to Willow as she could, their relationship had continued to be strained, and Gracie suspected it was because Willow had planned to launch her own affair with Bobby Tom. She didn’t want to think how angry the producer would be if she discovered that the engagement was bogus.
“I know you can’t be crazy about me spending so much time away from the set, but you told me I’m supposed to be taking my orders from Bobby Tom, and he wants me to tend to these organizational details for the golf tournament.”
“It’s fine, Gracie. Whatever.”
Willow was a tough taskmaster, and Gracie couldn’t imagine her being so lenient with anyone else. Now, while they were alone, seemed as good a time as any to broach the subject of the future. “I’ve been wondering what your plans are for me.”
“Plans?”
“For L.A. Whether you want me to go there or not.”
“I guess you should ask Bobby Tom.” She began riffling through one of the portable files on top of the credenza. “I heard a couple of the Lakers have arrived for the golf tournament. I’ve followed the team for years, and I hope I get a chance to meet them at the dinner tonight.”
“I’m sure Bobby Tom will by happy to introduce you.” She hesitated, picking her words carefully. “Willow, I don’t want my personal relationship with Bobby Tom to influence my professional future. Regardless of who I take my orders from, you’re my employer, and I guess I’d feel better if I knew what you have in mind.”
“I’m sorry, Gracie, but I can’t tell you any more right now.” She seemed to be having difficulty finding the check, and she started through the file again, only to pause. “Oh, that’s right. Your check is processed separately.”
A small chill crept through Gracie as she watched Willow move over to the desk, open the center drawer, and pull out a long envelope.
Her voice had a faintly hollow sound. “Why is that? Why is my check handled differently from anyone else’s?”
Willow hesitated a fraction too long. “Who knows why bookkeeping does things?”
“You do,” she forced out. “You’re the producer.”
“Look, Gracie, maybe you’d better talk to Bobby Tom about this. I’m really rushed for time.” She thrust the check into Gracie’s stiff fingers.
Gracie’s felt something cold trickle down her spine, and she could barely find enough air to speak as a terrible certainty took hold of her. “Bobby Tom has been paying my salary all along, hasn’t he? He’s my employer, not Windmill.”
Willow picked up her purse and walked to the door. “I really don’t want to get involved in this.”
“You already are.”
“Look, Gracie, one thing you learn fast if you want to survive in this business is not to piss off the star. Do you. understand what I’m trying to say?”
Gracie understood too much. Bobby Tom had been paying her salary all along, and he’d told Willow to keep it a secret.
Her knees were rubbery as she followed Willow from the suite. She felt as if something fragile had shattered inside her. This was a betrayal she had never expected. As the elevator descended, all her daydreams evaporated. This had been so important to her. So essential. Just this morning, she had tantalized herself with the notion that he might love her, but now she knew he didn’t see her any differently from all the other parasites who preyed on him.
She left the hotel and made her way numbly to her car. All along, she hadn’t been anything more to him than another one of his charity cases. She couldn’t hold back the tears. She was beholden to him for everything: the roof over her head, her food, every purchase she made from shampoo to Tampax. She cringed as she thought how proud she had felt when she’d left money in his desk drawer to pay her rent and reimburse him for the cocktail dress. How he must have laughed as he watched money he’d given her in the first place returned to him. Having private jokes at her expense seemed to be a specialty of his.
She clutched the steering wheel more tightly, but she couldn’t stop the flow of tears. Why hadn’t she figured it out earlier? He didn’t love her at all. He’d felt sorry for her, so he’d created a job for her out of pity in the same way he set up trust funds for children who weren’t his and wrote out checks to friends down on their luck. There had never been enough work to keep her busy, and she couldn’t even take any satisfaction in feeling as if she’d earned the money. He’d known all along that he didn’t need a full-time employee, but he hadn’t wanted her firing on his conscience. Bobby Tom liked playing God.
She stared blindly ahead. By not telling her the truth from the beginning, he had deceived her in a way she could never forgive. She had explain
ed to him how imperative it was for her to pay her own way. He knew it! But that hadn’t mattered to him because she didn’t matter to him. If he’d cared for her, he wouldn’t have stripped her of that dignity. I’m not going to take anything from you, Bobby Tom. I only want to give. What a joke. What an awful, painful joke.
Some men fought tuxedos, but Bobby Tom looked as if he’d been born in one. He’d added his own touches, of course: a pleated lavender shirt with diamond studs, black Stetson, and a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots he wore only with formal dress. The limestone clubhouse had been polished from the locker room to the dining room for the biggest event in its history. Ticket sales for tomorrow’s tournament had exceeded everyone’s expectations, and even the weatherman had cooperated by promising a sunny day, with temperatures in the low seventies.
The athletes were just beginning to arrive for the pre-dinner cocktail party when one of the waiters whispered to Bobby Tom that someone wanted to see him downstairs. As he made his way across the lobby, he glanced toward the entrance with some irritation. Where was Gracie? He’d expected her to be here by now. A lot of the guys were going to get a big kick out of her, and he wanted to start introducing her around. Gracie was the most sports-ignorant female he’d ever met, and he knew her tack of knowledge was sure to get her into trouble tonight, providing him with an entire evening’s worth of amusement. He still didn’t quite understand how her ignorance of sports sometimes seemed to be one of her best assets.
He headed down the carpeted stairs to the lower level, where the locker rooms were vacant for the night. The glass door that led into the empty pro shop should have been locked, but it stood ajar, and he stepped inside. Only a single light burned over the counter, and he didn’t see the man who stood in the far corner of the room until Way Sawyer came forward.
