1. Graham Greene - Our Man in Havana (1958)
2. Harper Lee - To Kill a Mockingbird (1960)
3. John Steinbeck - The Winter of Our Discontent (1961)
4. Harold Robbins - Where Love Has Gone (1962)
5. Truman Capote - In Cold Blood (1966)
6. Jacqueline Susann - Valley of the Dolls (1966)
7. Mario Puzo - The Godfather (1969)
Harold Robbins was an American author of popular novels. One of the best-selling writers of all time, he wrote over 25 best-sellers, selling over 750 million copies in 32 languages.
Robbins was born in New York City. His parents were well-educated Jewish emigrants from the Russian Empire, his father from Odessa and his mother from Minsk.
Robbins dropped out of high school in the late 1920s to work in a variety of jobs.He was employed by Universal Pictures starting off as a clerk and rising to an executive.
Harold Robbins - Where Love Has Gone
Wars are the whetstones that man uses to sharpen his appetites. I looked at her and I knew I was gone.
Some girls are bitches, some are ladies, and once to every man there is one who is both. I knew that as soon as I touched her hand. The dark-blue eyes were almost violet, hidden by long heavy lashes, and the thick black hair was pulled up and away from her forehead. Her creamy translucent skin, taut across the high cheekbones, and the slim,
small-breasted, almost boyish, figure added up to all the wrong kinds of arithmetic. But it was just right for me.
This was the deep end. Life and death. Over and out. Her mother wandered off somewhere and I was still holding her hand. Her voice was low and had that carefully cultivated affectation that is common to girls who go to the good Eastern schools. “What are you looking at, Major Carey?”
I let go to her hand quickly.
It was like losing touch with a peculiar kind of reality, like beating your head against a wall because it feels so good when you stop. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to stare.” “How did you know where to find me?”
“I didn’t. It was just a lucky accident.”
“Are you always this lucky?”
I shook my head. “Not always.”
I saw her eyes move across the ribbons on my blouse. I knew what she saw. Besides the Purple Heart and Cluster, there was enough color there to brighten up a small Christmas tree.
“At least you’re alive.”
I nodded. “I guess I have no complaints. I’ve made it this far.”
“You don’t believe you’ll make it all the way?”
It was more a statement than a question. I laughed.
This girl wasn’t one to waste time, she zeroed right in. (?)
“I’ve been lucky twice,” I said. “There’s no three times lucky.”
“Are you afraid of dying?”
“All the time.”
She glanced at the ribbons again. “I’m sure they wouldn’t send you back if you told them.”
“I guess not,” I said. “But I wouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“I guess I’m more afraid of chickening out than I am of dying.”
“That can’t be the only reason.”
I was beginning to feel uncomfortable.
She never stopped pressing. “Maybe it isn’t,” I admitted. “Maybe it’s because death is like a woman you’ve been chasing for a long time. You want to find out if it’s as bad or as good as you thought it would be.” “Is that all you think about?” she asked. “Death?”
“For almost two years now I haven’t had much time to think about anything else.” I glanced toward the statue I had noticed as I came in, The Dying Man. I felt her eyes follow mine. “I’m like the man in that statue over there. For every moment that I live.”
I saw her study the statue for a moment, then she took my hand again.
I felt her shiver. “I didn’t mean it to sound so bloody awful.”
“Don’t apologize,” she said quickly. Her eyes were dark now, almost purple-black, like the heavy wine grapes in the vineyards near Sacramento. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“I believe you do.” I smiled and then looked away. I had to.
“You know,” I said, “when I first heard about this
shindig, I thought it was going to be pretty dull. Another society girl playing at the arts.” I felt it was safe to turn back to her now. “But I’ve got a hunch you’re pretty good.”
“She’s better than that, Luke.” The familiar voice came from behind me. “She’s very good.”
I spun around. It had been more than three years since I’d heard that voice. “Professor Bell!”
He sounded excited and pleased as he shook my hand. “Luke was one of my boys just few years back,” he said to Nora. “He majored in architecture.”
“Building.” I grinned, reviving the old argument between us. “Architecture is something for pigeons to sit on, building is for people.”
“The same old Luke.” He looked into my face and I saw the shock in his eyes. I had seen that look before in the eyes of old friends. The tiny crisscrossed shrapnel scars in my coppery leathered skin somehow didn’t belong on the pink-cheeked boy who had gone away to war.
“Not quite the same, Professor,” I said, trying to make it easier for him. “It’s been a long war.”
And all the while we stood there talking I felt her hand growing warmer and warmer in mine.
* * *
Dinner was served in the big dining room looking out over the hill toward the bay. Everyone else had gone. There were just the three of us—Nora, her mother and I. I looked towards the head of the table where the old lady sat. She seemed so right sitting there. Everything belonged. The rich oak paneling, the large roundtable, the candles glowing in the gleaming silver candelabra. She sat straight and tall, and there was something about her that reminded me of a shining blade of steel.
She was strong and sure of her strength in her calm, quiet way. You were aware of the wisdom that was in her, though there was never any need for her to assert it. From what my father had told me, a lot of people had been surprised when they’d had to deal with this quiet young widow who had inherited two large fortunes.
“My late husband often spoke of your father.” She smiled across the table at me. “They were such good friends. It seems strange that we should never have met.”
I nodded silently. It wasn’t so strange to me. Until Dad retired last year, he had been the postmaster in the small Southern California town where I was born. He no more belonged in Gerald Hayden’s world than Hayden belonged in his. All they shared was the memory of having been in the same platoon in the First World War.
“Your father saved my husband’s life during the first war, you know.”
“I heard the same story. But it was the other way around when my father told it.”
She picked up a small silver bell from the table in front of her. It tinkled gently. “Shall we have coffee in the solarium?”
I looked over at Nora. She glanced down at her wristwatch. “You and Major Carey go ahead, Mother,” she said. “I have an eight o’clock appointment downtown.”
A hint of a frown crossed Mrs. Hayden’s face and disappeared. “Do you have to, dear?”
Nora didn’t look at her mother. “I promised Sam Corwin I would go over his plans for a show on modern sculpture.”
Mrs. Hayden glanced at me, then at Nora. Her tone implied only the mildest
but I had the feeling that she was choosing her words carefully. Whether it was because I was there or not I didn’t know. “I thought you were beyond that sort of thing,” she said. “It’s been such a long time since you’ve seen Mr. Corwin.”
“I have to, Mother. After all, it was Sam who was responsible for bringing Professor Bell to my show.”
I turned to the old lady. “Please don’t be upset on my account, Mrs. Hayden,” I said quickly. “I’m due back at the Presidio at eight thirty myself. I can drop your daughter off, if you’d like.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble,” Nora said.
“It won’t be. I’m using an Army car, so I don’t have to worry about gas rations.”
“All right,” she said. “Just give me a few minutes to change.”
We watched her leave, and when she was gone I turned to her mother. “You have a very talented daughter, Mrs. Hayden. You should be very proud.”
“I am,” she answered. Then a curious expression came into her bright blue eyes. “But I must confess, I don’t always quite understand her. At times, I feel completely bewildered. She’s so different from the young girls of my time. But then Nora is an only child and I had her late in life.”
“It’s the war. We’re all very different.”
“Nonsense. I hear that all the time,” she said sharply. “It’s poppycock. Your generation isn’t the only one that fought a war. Mine did. And so did the young people of my parents’ generation.”
I could have argued about that but I didn’t. “Your daughter is very talented,” I said again. “Professor Bell often told me that talent isn’t always the easiest thing in the world to understand, or to live with.”
Her eyes brightened in amusement. “You’re a nice young man. I hope you’ll come to see us again. I have a feeling that you’ll be very good for us.”
“I hope so. But I’m going back overseas. Perhaps we’ll make it when the war is over.”
She looked directly into my eyes. “It may be too late then.”
I guess the astonishment showed in my face, because she grew even more amused. I reached for a cigarette.
“I’ve heard you were a very promising young architect before you went into the service, Major Carey.”
“Apparently you don’t miss very much, Mrs. Hayden.”
“I try not to, Major Carey. It’s very important for a helpless widow to keep her eyes open.”
I started to
. Helpless widow indeed! Then I saw her smile again and I knew she was having me on. “What else did you find out about me, Mrs. Hayden?”
“Before the war you applied for a position with Hayden and Carruthers. They were quite impressed with you.”
“The Army was more impressed.”
“I know that, Major Carey,” she said. “I also know your war record—”
I held up my hand. “Spare me that, Mrs. Hayden. What are you getting at?’
She looked directly at me. “I like you, Major Carey,” she said. “Under the right circumstances there could be a vice-presidency for you at Hayden and Carruthers.”
I stared at her. That would be starting at the top. Pretty good for a guy who never held a job after graduation. Hayden and Carruthers was one of the leading architectural concerns on the West Coast.
“How do you know that, Mrs. Hayden?”
“I know,” she said quietly. “I own the controlling interest in the firm.”
“And what would you consider ‘the right circumstances’?”
She glanced at the doorway and then back at me. Her eyes were bright and steady. “I think you already know the answer.”
Just then Nora came back into the room. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”
“Not at all,” I said.
“The Major and I were having a most interesting little chat, Nora.”
I caught the quickly curious glance Nora threw at her mother. I looked down at the old lady. “Many thanks for the dinner, Mrs. Hayden,” I said formally.
“You’re quite welcome, Major. You just think about what I said.”
“I will, ma’am. And thank you again.”
“Goodbye, Major.”
“Night, Mother,” Nora said.
Her mother’s voice caught us at the door. “Don’t stay out too late, dear.”
* * *
I caught the fragrance of Nora’s perfume as she settled back in the seat. It bugged me. It wasn’t the kind of perfume one wore to a business meeting.
“Where to?” I asked.
“Lower Lombard Street. I’m not taking you out of your way, am I?”
“Not at all.”
She moved closer and I felt her hand on my arm. “Did Mother talk about me?”
“No.” I wasn’t exactly lying. Or for that matter, telling the truth. “Why?”
“No reason,” she said casually.
We drove silent for a few blocks.
“You’re not really due back at the Presidio by eight thirty, are you?”
“No,” I said. “What about you? Can you get out of your date?”
She shook her head. “Not now. It’s too late.” She hesitated. “It wouldn’t be fair. You understand, don’t you?”
“I read you loud and clear.”
She looked at me. “It’s nothing like that,” she said quickly.
“I didn’t say anything.”
I stopped the car for a traffic light. Its red glow turned her skin to flame. “What are you going to do now?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Go down to Chinatown … the one on maybe.” ???
“That’s pure escape.”
The light changed and I started the car again. “The purest,” I agreed. “But it’s still the best way I know to turn things off.” ??? I felt her hand tighten on my arm. “Is it that terrible?”
“Sometimes.”
I could feel her fingernails through my jacket. “I wish I were a man!”
“I’m glad you’re not.”
She turned toward me. “Will you meet me later?”
I felt the hardness of her small breasts against my sleeve. I knew then that I had been right. She was everything I’d thought and it was there for the taking, but something held me back.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Why?”
“No reason.” I was annoyed with myself. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me. Tell me.”
I sensed the angry harshness creeping into my voice.
“I know at least a dozen places in this town where I could get seconds if that was all I was looking for.” She let go of my arm and moved away. I saw sudden tears forming in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve been away so long, I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how to act.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I deserved it.” She looked out the window. “Turn here. It’s in the middle of the next block.”
I pulled the car to the curb.
“You have three more days of leave?”
“That’s right,” I said
“Will you call me?”
“I don’t think so. I’m going down to La Jolla to get in some fishing.”
“I could come down there.”
“I don’t think that would be wise.”
“Oh! You’ve got a girl there?”
I laughed. “No girl.”
“Then why—”
“Because I’m going back to war,” I said harshly. “Because I don’t want any ties. I don’t want to have anything to think about but making the next day. I know too many guys who lost all their tomorrows looking behind them.”
“You’re afraid.”
“You’re damn right I am. I told you that before.”
Her tears were for real now. They rolled slowly down her cheeks. I put my hand on her shoulder. “Look, this is silly,” I said gently. “Everything is screwed up right now. Maybe, someday, when the war is over. If I make it—”
She interrupted me. “But you told me yourself that no one is three times lucky.”
“That’s about the way it figures,” I admitted.
“Then you really don’t believe you’ll call me. Ever.” There was a strange sadness in her voice.
“I always seem to be apologizing to you. I’m sorry.”
She stared at me for a moment, then got out of the car. “I don’t like goodbyes.”
I didn’t have a chance to answer as she ran up the steps without looking back. I lit a cigarette and sat there watching as she rang the doorbell. After a moment a man came and let her in.
When I got back to my hotel, around three in the morning, there was a message under my door.
Please call me in the morning so that we may continue our discussion.
It was signed Cecelia Hayden.
I crumpled the note angrily and threw it into the wastebasket. I went down to La Jolla in the morning without bothering to call her.
Within the week I was on my way back to Australia and the war. If I ever thought that the old lady was hung up waiting for me to call I would have only been kidding myself.
There were some things she couldn’t wait for. The next day she called Sam Corwin.
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