by Peter Corris
'Bit young aren't they? I seem to remember Louise saying it's a three generation story, that book.'
'Doesn't matter. They'll age 'em up. Have to age me some too. I go from my twenties to my forties or thereabouts. No problem, I feel forty sometimes.'
You don't act it, I thought. But I kept my mouth shut. He went on a while about the absence of talent in Hudson and Taylor and how lousy the script was until I began to feel bored. 'Why're you doing it then? You must have some say in what you do?'
'Not much, but the truth is I wanna do it because George Stevens14 is directing. You see A Place in the Sun?'
I nodded. I'd thought it a bit slow and heavy but it had won Stevens the Oscar for directing.
'He got a brilliant performance out of Monty Clift,' Dean said. 'He's gotta be good. Maybe the picture won't be so bad.' He stared at the floor and seemed to be thinking that over, then he suddenly lifted his head. 'Say Dick, the location work's going to be in Texas. How about you come on down there and help out with the horses and cows and all? I reckon I could fix it.'
7
DON'T ever let anyone tell you James Dean wasn't smart. He was a natural-born sizer-up of situations and manipulator of people. Here he was, within minutes of agreeing to do something he probably didn't want to do much to discharge an obligation, and he was already turning the tables. Trying to reverse or at least square the obligation. I laughed it off at the time and suggested that Dean might be able to get Rock and Liz to visit Sherman House as well as himself and really give the place a push along. He'd considerably lowered the level in the jug by this time and his eyes were dropping. He looked as if he might just have enough energy to make it to the bed.
'Yeah, maybe I could do that. Maybe we could have a barbecue over there. Get Tennessee Ernie Ford and Burl Ives along. Something like that.'
I knew when I was being had and I was determined to get the last word in. I got up from the table and pointed a finger at him. 'Just one thing, Jimmy — no motorcycles.'
He grinned at me. 'I kinda enjoyed riding that horse. Might travel that way from now on.'
Then I said something I've never forgotten. 'You should get yourself a car.'
'I got a car. I got me a Porsche roadster.'
'I mean a real car,' I said, meaning a Ford or a Buick, even a Cadillac.
Dean rubbed the graze on his chin. 'Maybe I'll do that. Maybe I will.'
Back at Sherman House, I gave Louise an edited version of my encounter with Dean, leaving out the drugs and not mentioning the idea of my working on Giant because I hadn't taken that seriously. I told her that Jimmy said he'd bring Rock and Liz to a barbecue, meaning it as a joke. Louise, who normally could see a joke as quickly as anyone, was too worried to let her sense of humour work. She seized on it.
'Oh, Dick, that's marvellous! That could really turn things around here.' She kissed me hard and pressed herself against me in a way she had that always caused me to lose the thread of what I was thinking. I kissed her back and before we knew it we were reconciling like crazy on the living-room rug. After that, I didn't have the heart to tell her that her plans were pipe-dreams and that once the mob got a hold they never let go. You could get too big in Hollywood for the gangsters to be able to give you any grief — people like Zanuck and Goldwyn and Tracey and Hepburn, Parsons and Hopper15 were like that, but Louise and I and Sherman House were never going to climb that high.
I got the first whiff of trouble within a week. I was on the court giving a tennis lesson to a girl whose breasts were so large she couldn't hit a proper groundstroke without them getting in the way. It was a novel problem for a tennis coach and I was trying to figure a way around it when I noticed a grey Dodge coupe come up the road and park in the shade of a stand of eucalypts. The driver got out and for a minute I didn't know who he was because he wasn't dressed as if he was going to a garden party. He wore dark pants and a plain jacket, but the jaunty way he whipped off his sunglasses and stowed them in his pocket was familiar. He beckoned me with an arrogant wave and that's when I recognised Stompanato.
I made a point of completing the instruction I was giving.
'On the forehand, Sally, you'd do better to take the ball on the rise. Hit it a bit earlier and benefit from the pace that's already on it. Try hitting your backhand double-handed, like this.'
'Why?'
I knew what she wanted me to say — because that might get your great big beautiful tits out of the way. I didn't. I hit two balls in demonstration, both perfect strokes as it happened, patted balls at her and watched while she tried to do the same.
'Better,' I said, although it wasn't. 'Keep practising and excuse me for a minute.'
'Nice jugs,' Stompanato said through the mesh fence.
'Thought you might notice. Here for your riding lesson?'
'I don't need lessons from you at anything, Dick. Let's get that straight. No, I got a guest for you.'
'We don't take guests, just fee-paying students.'
Stompanato laughed. 'You'll take this one. I want you to put him in one of the cabins, far as possible out of sight. He'll need meals, booze, maybe a broad if he wants one. Like that.'
I shook my head. 'The cabins're all full. Try again next week.'
Stompanato gripped the mesh. I noticed that he wasn't wearing his diamond ring and that he hadn't shaved for a day or so. His eyes were red-rimmed and his breath smelled of booze and tobacco. Normally he was fastidious about those things. 'Listen, Browning, I'm not asking you I'm telling you. Which means other people are telling you, understand?'
Of course I understood. I glanced across at the Dodge and could just make out the shape of a person sitting in the back. 'Who is he?'
He was still tense, still gripping the fence, and the laugh he gave was more nervous than amused. 'Don't ask. Don't think about it.'
'Mr Browning!' Well-endowed Sally was calling me from the centre of the court. She'd run out of balls.
'It'll take a while to arrange,' I said. 'An hour or so.'
Stompanato glanced at his watch. 'We'll drive around. Be back in one hour exactly. Be ready!'
Louise was off on a trail ride so I made the arrangements myself — moved one of the cabin dwellers into the house and left him a note saying we'd lower his fees. He wouldn't like it because he was romancing one of the actresses but he'd have to put up with it. The cabin I allotted to the mystery man was the furthest from the house, situated in a little clutch of pine trees. It was private but not the most comfortable of the out-buildings — there were squirrels in the roof and the place leaked on the rare occasions that it rained. I got some satisfaction out of that.
The Dodge cruised along, looking like the sort of car a country doctor might drive. Stompanato stopped where I was standing, got out and took a suitcase from the trunk. His passenger climbed from the back seat. He was short and slight, wearing a grey suit, wide-brimmed hat and large-lensed, very dark sunglasses. The suit didn't quite fit him, and from the way he stood it looked as if the nondescript black brogues weren't such a good fit either.
'This is Mr Lewis,' Stompanato said. 'Where's the accommodation?'
I pointed. Johnny Stomp picked up the suitcase and indicated with a jerk of his head that I should lead the way. I took the track that ran behind the stables; although there were other ways to get to the cabin, this was the most private. I didn't look at Stompanato's companion for one second longer than I needed to. It was probably my imagination, but he seemed to chill the mild Californian air. I stepped up onto the porch to the cabin and heard the wheezing breath coming from Mr Lewis as he followed. We hadn't walked more than a hundred yards, — not a well man.
I waited outside while the two of them looked the cabin over. It had two bedrooms and the basic facilities, no luxuries but no cockroaches or bed bugs.
'It's a dump,' I heard Stompanato say.
'It'll do fine. It ain't for long. Give the guy his instructions and tell him to blow. I wanna have a rest.'
I can hear tha
t voice to this day — it was thin and reedy with a touch of Italian under the accent of the Lower East side of New York. You could tell that the man was used to being obeyed instantly. He was one of those people who wield so much power they can't actually have any conversations. They just talk and someone jumps. Stompanato came out onto the porch and lit a cigarette.
'Mr Lewis'll be here for a few days, a week maybe. He'll have visitors and he'll make some trips. None of this is any fuckin' business of yours or of the fruits and broads you got around here. I'll be with him some of the time and when I'm not here there'll be someone else. Is the phone connected to the house?'
I nodded.
'We want, you bring. Got it?'
'What do I tell my wife?'
'You tell her if she doesn't do exactly what she's told your note gets called in, or maybe the place gets torched, or some horses break their legs. Whatever it takes to keep her in line.'
'A week?'
Stompanato scowled and flicked his butt into a pile of pine needles not far from the cabin. I jumped down and went across to put my boot on the smouldering butt.
'That's a good way to send Mr Lewis straight to hell, Johnny.'
Stompanato's snake eyes bored into me. 'Shut your stupid mouth. That ain't funny. Go get my bag from the Dodge and bring it here. Then wait till you're wanted.'
I walked back to the car, mentally running through the accidents I'd like to happen to Johnny Stompanato. What troubled me most was the sense I had that Johnny Stomp was scared of the man he was bodyguarding, and if he was scared, I was terrified.
'But who is he?' Louise asked, puffing furiously on a cigarette.
'I don't know and I don't want to know. Some kind of gangster who's hiding out, sort of.'
She snorted derisively. 'What kind of an answer's that? I'm going right over there and find out what this is all about.'
We were standing just inside the door of our house where I'd grabbed Louise as she was on the way to the shower and given her the bad news. Like any good North Shore girl, she didn't like to hang around all hot and sweaty, but she meant what she said and moved towards the door. I gripped her arm hard enough to make it hurt.
'Listen to me, love. If you don't do exactly what Stompanato says, I'm almost certainly a dead man. You could get your face rearranged and when he says that this place could get torched he means it. He'd enjoy doing all three things, or having them done.
'This is insane. Let me go!'
'Not until you promise you won't go near that cabin.'
'How will I explain it to Joe and Patty? What will they think?' These were the lovebirds, rapidly moving into battle stations with each other.
'I've given Joe the second best room in the house. The french windows make it semi-private. I've left him a note saying I'll drop his fees. It doesn't matter what people think just what they do! This is our place. What we say goes.'
She stared at me and I realised the stupidity of what I'd just said. I shrugged. 'It can't be helped. It's only for a week.'
She banged her riding hat with her fist. Louise could give quite a bang and the hat dented. 'And then what? What will it be next time? A whole car load of hoods taking over the house?'
Easily, I thought. Or worse. I shrugged again and let go of her arm before she decided to put a dent in me.
'All right,' she said. 'We'll do what you say, but we'll have to get something out of this ourselves. Doing this has to count for something.'
'You don't bargain with the mob, Louise. You do what they say or else. If you get real lucky someone rubs out the people who're giving you a hard time and then you get left alone. That's the best outcome you can expect.'
'Is it? That's ridiculous. We'll see about that. Give me a cigarette.'
I gave her a Chesterfield and lit it. She puffed on it like a serious smoker. She graduated quickly from the filters. I watched her as she got herself under control and a look I'd come to know came into her eyes. It was a combination of calculation and stubbornness, very worrying in the present circumstances.
'What've you got in mind? Don't cross these guys. There's no percentage in it.'
'Like I say, we'll see. This tastes disgusting. I'm not going to do this anymore.' She dropped the butt into a pot plant and I never saw her smoke a cigarette again. Louise fully determined was a scary sight. It was my day for being frightened all right. But it was too serious to let her have the last word and I reached for her again. She skipped away, eluding me easily.
'Louise! This is life and death. What're you planning to do.'
She was heading for the stairs. 'I'm going to get a lawyer.'
I let her go. I had to. I was laughing too hard to do anything else.
8
THE next week at Sherman House should have been a disaster, with a man hiding out in one of the cabins, being served his meals, coming and going in his dark glasses and receiving visitors at dead of night, and the paying students being re-shuffled and told nothing about the new arrangements. Throw in the nervousness of the manager and his wife's agitation over everything and you have a recipe for a colossal fuck-up. But we got lucky. All these disruptions were over-shadowed by the news that Jimmy Dean was bringing Rock Hudson and Elizabeth Taylor to a weekend barbecue. It was all anyone could talk about and the arrangements necessary to make it a success absorbed Louise and soaked up even her reserves of energy.
I kept an eye on Mr Lewis, figuratively speaking. In fact, I never saw him. There was a kitchen in the cabin so Stompanato or the other bodyguards were able to take care of most of the food requirements. When something was required from the house, I was the one who delivered it and then only as far as the porch. That suited me. I was careful not to look at any of the late night visitors if I happened to be around when they arrived, or to pay any attention to their cars. A worry to me was that our guest or his visitors or both threw their cigar butts out of the cabin windows. I made a point of putting a fire extinguisher at the front and back doors. The next time I looked there were no more cigar butts. With gangsters, actions speak louder than words.
Still, I was nervous. A police siren could make me jump and a backfiring engine almost had me diving for cover. The standard of my teaching fell off badly, but the students put it down to excitement over the visit of the stars. If only they knew. I'd seen too many stars drunk and incapable, cheating at games, pleading for another chance, chiselling and penny-pinching to have any illusions about that species. When Dean telephoned me with the glad tidings, the first thing I did was check that Hudson and Taylor were actually in town. They were, so Jimmy's story had a chance of being true. But in Hollywood you can't be sure a star you're expecting has arrived until you hand him or her the first drink. I told Louise not to get her hopes up too high. I don't think she even heard me. She wasn't star-struck herself, she was simply seeing it as a possible way out of the financial hole. Me, I was just glad of the distraction.
The bill for the steaks and salads and rolls must have come to a couple of hundred bucks plus the outlay for beer, wine and liquor. Louise was making a big investment in Jimmy Dean's credibility. Stompanato wasn't happy when I told him about the gala event, but he knew Hollywood and that, no matter how much clout Mr Lewis had, Rock Hudson and Elizabeth Taylor outranked him.
'Maybe Mr Lewis would like to meet them,' I suggested. 'You know, get their autograph for Mrs Lewis and the kids.'
'That smart mouth of yours is going to get you dead one day,' was all he said.
The great day dawned fine and clear, like three hundred days a year in southern California, and the stars arrived dead on time, accompanied by the usual hangers-on. Hudson was in a two-tone Cadillac convertible, Taylor in a Rolls Royce and James Dean headed the parade as an outrider on his motorcycle with Pier Angeli as his pillion passenger. He grinned as he brought the bike to stop a yard in front of me.
'Thought I'd just kinda ride escort, you know? Seeing as I knew the way and all.'
'I wonder what a pound of sugar in
the gas tank would do to it.'
'Now, Dick, didn't I deliver? Aren't those two great stars of the silver screen here to make you and your place famous?'
Hudson was bigger than I expected him to be and Elizabeth Taylor was smaller. Louise wasn't over-awed. Before long she had the students cooking steaks and serving drinks — which was what a good few of them had been doing for a living before this anyway — and the event started to go with a swing. Dean hung around on the edges, saying little, eating nothing and drinking steadily. I didn't know what his relationship with Pier Angeli was like in general, but that day they seemed to be barely on speaking terms. She flirted with the students, he glowered. Some of the students tried to talk to him about acting but he froze them out. They expected it and his behaviour didn't dampen the proceedings.
Hudson was quietly spoken and polite. He seemed a little bored by the company and not at all interested in horses or the outdoor life. He resembled a cattle baron the way a duck resembles a donkey. Elizabeth Taylor was queenly as if she was getting ready to play Cleopatra which she did a few years later. Some of the students got drunk and one broke his leg falling off a horse. He was one of the worst riders I'd ever seen and I was impressed that he'd even managed to get up on the horse. He couldn't do it sober.
Louise had made sure the newspapers were represented and she took care that the reporters got their share of the food and drink as well as a chance to pick up a few quotes from the stars. Hudson said that Sherman House was 'mighty fine'; Taylor said it was 'charming' and Jimmy Dean just grunted. Taylor put on a Texas accent and said, 'Now Jett, you jus' be more polite, you hear?'
Dean grinned, mimed pulling off his hat and said, 'This place you got here, Mr Browning, why it's mighty fine and charming.'
Smiles all round with Hudson and Taylor dimly aware that they'd been sent up. They left pretty soon after, taking Pier Angeli and their entourage with them. Dean was very drunk by this time. He'd taken off his leather jacket and was arm-wrestling with one of the students. I took the motorbike keys out of the jacket and prepared myself for one of those encounters you have with drunks who want to drive home when they can barely stand. Dean lost the match, had another drink and reissued the challenge. I went up to the house to phone the hospital for a report on the broken leg.
