Hollywood Wives

by Jackie Collins

  Mrs. McQueen, a year or two older—an inch or two heavier. Streaked short hair, light suntan, freckles. White tennis dress and really impressive legs. Lots of turquoise and silver Indian jewelry, and a heart-shaped diamond ring that rivaled her friend’s in size.

  Sunday noon, and they both gazed at Buddy expectantly as Jason executed introductions in the dimly lit Polo Lounge.

  “Hey,” Buddy sing-songed, all charm. “Good to make your acquaintance, ladies.” He slid into the leather booth next to Mrs. McQueen.

  She patted him on the hand, fixed him with amused blue eyes, and said, “Tell us that when we leave, sugar. Not when you just set your peepers on us.”

  They all laughed.

  “I’ve ordered for you,” Jason announced fussily. “Champagne and orange juice. Smoked salmon with scrambled eggs.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Buddy replied with an ingratiating smile.

  What had he got himself into? What was he going to talk to them about? Light conversation had never been one of his smash acts.

  “So, sugar,” Mrs. McQueen said. “Jason here tells us you’re an aspiring movie star. How exciting!”

  Norma Jaeger leaned forward, green eyes glinting beneath the excess of amber shadow. “I was reading an interview in People magazine,” she said excitedly, “with this young actor from Knots Landing—or maybe it was Dallas, all those soaps seem the same to me. Anyway, it was one of those popular shows.”

  “Get on with it,” Celeste McQueen said affectionately. “It doesn’t matter what show it was, just come to the point.”

  “Shush, don’t rush me,” smiled Norma, wagging a long manicured nail at her friend. “You know I hate to be hurried along.”

  “Oh, don’t I just know it!” laughed Celeste.

  Buddy did not miss the intimate looks they exchanged.

  “Well, you see,” continued Norma, “the actor who was being interviewed said that he thinks that nowadays actors get the casting-couch treatment just like actresses used to.” She glanced wickedly at Celeste. “Now what I want to know, Buddy, is—do you agree?”

  “What she’s really asking you, sugar,” grinned Celeste, “is how far would you go to land a part?”

  “No, no, what I’m really asking,” interjected Norma, “is if you would—well, you know what I mean. I don’t have to spell it out.”

  “You just did,” laughed Celeste.

  “I did not!” objected Norma.

  They smiled warmly at each other, not at all interested in Buddy’s reply.

  He wanted to laugh aloud. They were a couple of dykes! He had been fixed up to escort a couple of lesbos! Oh boy! And he had been worried they would be after his body. They couldn’t care less about the Buddy Body Beautiful!

  • • •

  Their relationship was shifting into another gear, and Montana did not quite know how to handle it. But she was sure of one thing—no way was she ever going to become the little woman at home. Not that she thought for a moment Neil would want her to. But then what did he want?

  He was drinking again. It was his problem. He was a big boy; if he couldn’t handle it she was not about to slap his wrist. He was spending more and more time at the office—leaving early in the morning, coming home late. She had never believed in the where-were-you-who-were-you-with bit.

  She knew he was worried about casting the main parts, so she concentrated all her energies on getting the rest of the cast right.

  One day she got in the Volkswagen and drove downtown to the streets where it had all begun. She sat in the little car and gazed at the passing faces. The hell with actors—why couldn’t she use some of the real people?

  One of the kids who had been in her short film swaggered by. He had grown in a year—a teenage macho with holes in his sneakers and a thatch of black hair. He didn’t see her; he was busy blowing bubble gum in the face of a blond-haired child with advanced breast development.

  She was reminded of Gina Germaine. Neil was actually going ahead with the test. She couldn’t believe it, but the smart thing was to accept it—for now anyway.

  Ah . . . the power of big boobs. Gina had built an entire career on them.

  Montana watched as two middle-aged men passed the teenage couple. She knew exactly what they would do, and they did not disappoint her. They checked out the girl’s breasts, looked at each other, licked their lips, and sniggered some lewd remark which caused them both to roar with laughter. Just your average men in the street letting each other know that women were merely tits and ass. Because unconsciously that’s what they had been trained to think all their lives. It was standard behavior. She had seen it a thousand times before. Sometimes she felt she could climb into a man’s thoughts and actions with no trouble at all. In a group they were so predictable. But it was the unpredictable ones that had always attracted her.

  She thought of Neil when she first met him. A bum wasting his considerable talents by boozing himself half to death. But an unpredictable bum, brilliantly clever, witty, well worth the challenge.

  A hooker wandered by in polyester hot pants and stiletto heels. A bespectacled man scurried along behind her, getting up his courage for the transaction. Street people.

  Writing the movie had come so easily. She was an observer with an uncanny ability to figure out exactly how men thought. She understood them, had sympathy for them, and watching the interaction on the street she had been able to create a marvelous story of real people.

  Now. What was Neil going to do with it?

  Was he going to blow it because the pressures were on again and he had to deliver? Or was he going to come through, and make the film she knew he had in him?

  He was strong.

  She hoped he was strong enough.

  • • •

  All Elaine seemed to want to talk about was her party, and Bibi Hot Shit Sutton.

  “Christ, Elaine!” Ross snorted. “Don’t you know she used to be a hundred-buck-a-night hooker on the Champs Élysées? I had her—George had her—we all took a ride. In fact, when she first came to Hollywood there was a big scandal about her being knocked up by George.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “They were very tight until his wife found out. Story goes that Bibi went off to Tijuana for an abortion.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Elaine said primly. “It’s just Hollywood folklore.”

  “It’s not frigging Hollywood folklore. It’s the truth, for crissake, so stop licking her saggy ass.”

  “She’s in very good shape, Ross,” Elaine said crisply. “There’s nothing saggy about Bibi’s ass, it’s yours that could do with a few sessions at the gym. Especially before the party.”

  “You can never resist a dig, can you?”

  “And you can never accept the truth. Even when it’s for your own good.”

  “Don’t be so frigging sanctimonious.” He stalked into his study and thought about phoning Karen. With Elaine in the house it was too dangerous by far.

  He had taken the Corniche down to Nate ’n’ Al’s on Saturday morning, picked up lox, bagels, and cream cheese, then had stopped at a phone booth and dialed Karen’s number. An answering service had picked up. He had no wish to reveal his name, so as a gag he said flippantly, “Tell Miss Lancaster Mr. Elaine called and would like her to contact him about making another appointment.”

  She had obviously not received the message, for it was now Sunday night, and not a word. Of course, she could have called and Elaine picked up. Then again, maybe she figured phoning on a weekend was not the smartest move in the world, and Karen was nothing if not smart.

  Elaine was in the kitchen complaining about placing two frozen steaks on to broil. Lina did not come on Sundays, even though she had tried to bribe her with double money. She really hated cooking, it ruined her nails, and as for dishwashing, she left that to Lina, not even bothering to load the machine.

  Ross wandered into the kitchen and began plucking radishes from the salad bowl. “Who else is going to be a
t Bibi’s kill-and-maim lunch tomorrow?” he asked casually.

  “Learning to use Mace is hardly kill-and-maim. It’s an invaluable self-defense ploy.”

  “Sure. Some cat with a magnum grabs you, and what do you do? Reach inside your purse, locate your cute little spray, and say”—he affected a high squeaky female voice—“ ‘Oh, do excuse me, sir. Would you just stand still for a tiny minute while I give you a quick whoosh of my Mace. You don’t mind, do you?’ ”

  Elaine was amused in spite of herself. “I hope I never have to use it,” she said.

  “Kick ’em in the balls and run,” Ross advised. “Forget about anything else.”

  “What are you—an expert?”

  “A man.”

  She wanted to say, “You could have fooled me.” But she didn’t feel mean enough. Besides, as long as he didn’t balk too much at paying for the party—and costs were rising every minute. She peered at the steaks sizzling nicely. “Garlic salt?” she asked.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Going to get laid tomorrow?” she joked.

  He tweaked her left breast. “Tonight, if I’m lucky.”

  Don’t hold your breath, Elaine. Don’t hold your breath.

  • • •

  Gina Germaine’s voice was low and sexy on the phone. “I didn’t think my testing for your movie would end a beautiful relationship,” she purred.

  Neil took a deep breath. He had arranged for her to test, which was what she had wanted. Now she wanted him to continue making it with her too?

  “Gina, dear,” he said tersely. “I’m trying to get a film off the ground. I hardly have time to go to the bathroom, let alone anything else.”

  “All work and no play. I miss you, Neil.”

  God, the blackmailing bitch had her nerve. “I’m seeing you Wednesday, aren’t I? You are going to turn up for the test you made such a fuss about?”

  Injured actress. “Of course I am, Neil, sweets. And I’ll be good, you’ll be delighted with me.”

  “I’ll see you Wednesday.”

  “Wait!” Her voice held a sharp command.

  He sighed. “What?”

  “Come over later today,” she wheedled, changing tactics. “I need to discuss the scene. I’d like you to help me.”

  She was unbelievable. “Gina,” he said shortly, “I don’t think you’re listening to me. I am very busy. I—”

  “We could watch our video,” she murmured. “How does that grab you? Or would you prefer that I send a copy over to your house? I’m sure Montana would love seeing you on film. You look so virile and handsome and—”

  What a first-class cunt. “I’ll be there,” he snapped.

  “I’ll wear something sexy. Bye.”

  He sat staring at the wall opposite his desk. Staring and seeing nothing. What was it they used to say in those old Laurel and Hardy movies? “A fine mess you’ve gotten us into, Ollie. A fine mess.”

  • • •

  Mrs. Jaeger and Mrs. McQueen wanted to play tennis after lunch, and since Buddy readily admitted he was no Connors or Borg, they did not ask him to join them.

  Jason excused himself. “I always spend Sundays with Marvin—otherwise he sulks.”

  Marvin Gladrags Jackson a sulker? Never.

  “However,” Jason continued, “Mrs. Jaeger wants to visit her house later, so why don’t I meet you there around five-thirty? I’ve reserved a table at Matteo’s for dinner.”

  Buddy nodded, thinking of Angel at the beach with nothing to do but lie in the sun and swim in the surf. How he envied her. He waited until Jason left, then he excused himself from the tennis-playing ladies and headed for a phone booth. Angel answered on the second buzz.

  “Why aren’t you outside?” he demanded.

  “I’m cleaning,” she explained.

  “Cleaning what, for crissakes? The place looks like a hospital as it is.”

  Her tone was frosty. “I am cleaning out the kitchen cabinets. Did you know the builders left them full of wood shavings?”

  “Really?”

  His sarcasm was lost on her. “They certainly did,” she said, full of righteous indignation.

  “Uh, listen. I won’t be back for a while, maybe not till tonight.”

  “But I thought we were going for a drive.”

  “We’ll do it tomorrow.”

  She sighed.

  “Tell you what, kid. Forget about cleanin’, an’ move that beautiful body of yours outside. That’s an order. I want to see you tanned.”

  “Do you think it’s good for the baby?”

  “Yeah, yeah, the best.”

  “I’ll get changed right now.”

  He blew kisses down the phone, hung up, searched for more coins, then tried Montana Gray’s secretary, Inga.

  “Anythin’ happenin’?” he asked without so much as a hello.

  “On a Sunday?”

  “Just checkin’ in.”

  “You want to come over?”

  “I would, but I got my two aunts in town. I’m playin’ the good nephew.”

  “As long as it’s not the good fairy.”

  What did she mean by that remark? He ended the conversation and contemplated phoning Randy. Old pal Randy had been with some pretty heavy company at Ma Maison. Maybe he should talk to him about Maralee Gray, see if she knew anything on Street People. He punched out Randy’s number, but there was no answer. Disappointed, he hung up.

  Instead of heading straight for the tennis courts he detoured, checking out the activity poolside. There were a lot of heavily tanned guys wearing mucho gold around their necks. And a lot of heavily tanned females wearing small bikinis, diamond stud earrings, and thin gold waist chains. They all looked the same.

  He whistled softly as he strolled around. Quite a few of the women did a double-take. And one or two of the men. It didn’t surprise him.

  He recognized Josh Speed, an English rock star, and a couple of small-time I’ll-kiss-your-ass-if-you-kiss-mine actors. Still whistling, he returned to the tennis courts. Celeste and Norma were hard at it. Two aging Chris Everts in full swing. They were good, and they obviously enjoyed the game. Buddy watched, following the ball as it zoomed back and forth. Jeez! He was hot. It was just the right kind of day to spend lazing around at the beach. But he had an assignment, and right now, Jason Swankle was the only crap shoot in town.

  “Game, set, and match!” crowed Norma triumphantly. “Whew! You deserved it!” breathed Celeste.

  They walked off the court, linking arms and smiling secretly at each other.

  Buddy snapped to attention. “What now, ladies?”

  “A long icy shower,” said Norma.

  “And a long cold drink,” added Celeste.

  “Why don’t I wait for you in the coffee shop?” he suggested. “Then we can . . .” A shrug. “Whatever.”

  “How much is Jason paying you?” Norma asked, frizzy red hair glinting in the sun.

  “Hey—it’s a pleasure,” Buddy replied, surprised by her directness. “I’m enjoying myself.”

  Norma smiled. “I thought you might want to enjoy yourself even more—for, shall we say, double Jason’s remuneration?”

  He frowned. “Come again?”

  “And again and again and again. If we’re lucky. And I’m sure we would all be very—compatible.” She paused, licked full lips, and added, “Don’t you think?”

  The message was beginning to seep through. A cozy little threesome.

  “Uh, how much did you have in mind?” he asked. Might as well find out what they would be willing to pay. After all, it wasn’t as if he had never done it before.

  Before Angel.

  “I don’t wish to bargain. You name it,” Norma said crisply.

  Celeste nodded, and the two of them gazed at him expectantly.

  He thought quickly. It wasn’t as if he were exactly rolling in the mighty dollar. This seemed like an opportunity not to be blown.

  “Uh, I want a thousand bucks,” he mu
mbled, half expecting Norma to burst out laughing at what they both knew to be an exorbitant price.

  She didn’t. She grabbed his arm, linked up with Celeste on the other side, and drawled, “What are we waiting for?”

  • • •

  Angel finished cleaning the kitchen before changing into a white swimsuit and going outside. Truth was, she didn’t enjoy lying in the sun that much, she found it boring.

  She made her way carefully down the wooden steps at the side of the house, then over the sand toward the surf. The waves were gigantic, and farther down the beach two bronzed teenagers played dangerous games with their surfboards. She watched them, fantasizing that it was she and Buddy frolicking in the great swell of the ocean. And then she remembered Hawaii, and Buddy so attentive and romantic and somehow . . . different. Hollywood seemed to have made him tense, unable to relax.

  Slowly she wandered along the shoreline, the incoming surf tickling her bare feet. She gazed with awe at the luxurious beach houses, each one different from the next, but all in the two-or-three-million-dollar price range, or so the woman at the supermarket had confided.

  “Excuse me,” a male voice said.

  She turned around, startled. “Yes?” Her aquamarine eyes caught the light from the sun and seemed enormous.

  The man stared, struck by her innocent beauty. He cleared his throat. “You don’t know me,” he began hesitantly, “but I’ve been watching you. . . .”

  • • •

  They had a two-bedroom bungalow. The air conditioning was going full blast, and the shades were pulled down. After the heat of the afternoon the place was freezing. Neither Norma Jaeger nor Celeste McQueen seemed to notice.

  “Why don’t you fix martinis,” Norma ordered, indicating a fully stocked bar, “while we shower.”

  “Right.” Buddy stood in the center of the room and wondered why he felt nervous.