He shook his head, said, “No.” Held up a hand to silence her sudden anger, and explained his future plans for her.
She listened intently, twisting a lock of platinum-blond hair between her fingers, biting her full lower lip, staring at him with protruding blue eyes.
The way he explained things it sounded good. No, she wasn’t Nikki. He had far greater plans for her. A new movie. A showcase that would really establish her as a serious actress.
“Have you got a script?” she demanded excitedly when he had finished.
He smiled to himself. She had taken the bait. “Enough of one to know that any actress in this town would mutilate to play the role.”
She licked her voluptuous lips, attempted to remain cool, but the need was in her voice as she asked, “When will it start?”
“As soon as Street People wraps.”
She stared at him even harder. Was he fooling her? Throwing out promises to escape from her trap? “Why can’t I do Street People first?” she demanded.
“Don’t you understand a word I’m saying? That would ruin everything.”
A petulance crept into her voice. “You’re offering me pie in the sky.”
“I am offering you, my dear, the chance to stop playing dumb cunt of the year—to become a serious actress.” She looked thoughtful, so he took the opportunity to add, “And I want the videotapes of us together. I have no intention of letting you run the show. You’ll be putting yourself in my hands. I’m going to make you the hottest actress in town. When I’ve finished with you they’ll all come running.”
“What guarantee do I have that you mean any of this?” she asked quickly. “It all sounds good, but I’m no fool.”
“I never said you were. You see, my dear, I am prepared to sign a contract with you. Oliver Easterne will negotiate the deal with your agent, but don’t be greedy—you need this film a lot more than I do.” He paused. “And no press or announcements. Nothing until I say so. Right?”
She chewed on her lower lip and nodded.
“I want the tapes back the same day you sign the contract. No games, Gina. No copies. Because once we embark on this venture, I can make you, and then again—I can break you.”
“Let’s go to bed, Neil,” she purred, his sudden forcefulness exciting her.
“Let’s not,” he replied harshly. “From now on our relationship is strictly business. You do understand that, don’t you?”
• • •
Montana slipped off her cowboy boots and buzzed the projection booth. “Run those tests through for me again, Jeff.”
“Coming up, Miz Gray.”
She settled back to watch one more time the four actors she had directed. Four actors. All different. All with something to offer. But it was Buddy Hudson who held her riveted. He was not the best actor by any means, but he had that special screen presence she had suspected all along, and she had brought it out in him.
Reflectively she sat in the dark and lit a cigarette. What she really wanted to do was share her discovery with Neil. They should be together at a time like this, but when she had asked him to come and see the tests with her he had made some excuse about a meeting he had to attend. What meeting? She wasn’t about to question him, and he had not bothered to elaborate.
A frown creased her forehead. Something was happening to their marriage. Something she could not control and did not like. They had always been so close, and now, suddenly, there seemed to be a huge void bridged only by the movie.
Her frown deepened. She wondered if it was just the pressure of working together for the first time. Pre-production was draining most of her energy, and Neil probably felt the same way. But somehow she knew there was more to it than that. Working together should be bringing them closer, not driving them apart. Angrily she ground out her cigarette. Maybe it was time for a long talk.
Buddy Hudson’s image played on the screen. He really had it. Electric magnetism. Just as she had thought the day he bluffed his way into her office.
She wanted him for Vinnie. Her mind was made up. Now all she had to do was convince Oliver and Neil.
26
The computer check on the Andrews family finally came in. Leon Rosemont studied it intently. There was not a lot of information, but one discovery was the date of their marriage—1946, Barstow, California. There was no information relating to Deke Andrews at all. He wired off immediately for a copy of the marriage certificate. If he was to find any clues at all, then he might as well start at the beginning.
In the meantime it was Millie’s birthday, and she had planned a family party. She went wild in the kitchen making spare ribs, fried chicken, and her special black-eyed-pea salad. For dessert he surprised her with a huge strawberry cake, and just in case he had forgotten she made chocolate fudge brownies which almost brought tears to his eyes.
He gorged himself, while her many nieces and nephews played the Jacksons on the stereo, and the grown-ups kept pushing for James Brown. There was dancing and laughter and more good-natured fun than he could remember in a long time.
One o’clock in the morning and they were alone, surrounded by stacks of dirty dishes.
“I’ll wash—you dry,” Millie suggested.
“Why don’t you wash and dry,” he countered.
“You lazy son of a gun!” she exclaimed, affection lighting her features. “Just get that big fat butt in the kitchen right now!”
• • •
“Who does the dishes, an’ your washin’ an’ all that?” Joey demanded.
“I have a cleaning woman.”
“Yeah?” Reflectively she chewed on her thumb. “I could do it if y’wanted. That oughtta save ya a buck or two.”
He did not want to save a buck or two. He wanted out of an unfortunate situation.
They had been seeing each other—if that was the right phrase—for two months. And he had helped her a lot. Got her a job selling ice cream at a movie theater. Moved her into a decent rooming house. Given her a feeling of self-worth. And in return she had given him her youth, and a mighty fine hard-on. She made him feel twenty-two, and for a while that was nice. Now she was talking about doing his cleaning and washing, and he knew the time had come to close the chapter. It was only fair, for both their sakes.
“Joey,” he said gently. “Don’t you sometimes think about having friends your own age?”
“Nope,” she replied blithely. “After all, you’re not exactly a grandpop, are you? You’re about the same age as Paul Newman.” She had just seen Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid twenty-eight times because it was playing at the cinema where she worked. And now every conversation was peppered with remarks about Paul Newman.
“I think,” he said measuredly, “now that we’ve got you back on the right track—”
“Right track? What am I? A fuckin’ train?”
“You know what I mean,” he said evenly. “And don’t swear.”
“Okay then,” she announced, desperately trying to change the subject. “I’ll be cleanin’ up for you. It’s a favor. Like I don’t wanna get paid—I was just kiddin’ ’bout that. Maybe you’d better give me a key.”
“Let’s face facts, Joey, we’ve gone about as far as we can go. Now you have to start making a life for yourself which doesn’t include me.”
“Why?” she demanded aggressively.
“Because it will work out better that way,” he explained patiently. “You’ve got your life ahead of you. There’s plenty of exciting things for you to do out there, and a lot of new people for you to meet. Somewhere there’s a nice young man—”
“Aw shee . . . it!” she exclaimed, disgust curling her lip. “Exciting things to do, nice young man. . . . What kinda dumb bunny ya think you’re talking to here?” She glared at him, then added, “I been around, y’know.”
“It’s not right,” he continued stubbornly. “It never has been, and I think you’re smart enough to accept that.”
“Found yourself another little chickie y’ki
n get off on?” she jeered. “Y’know, a real young one. Like I’m sixteen. Gettin’ past it, huh?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
They argued for more than an hour. Joey did not want to leave. She screamed and yelled. Tried being sweet. Hurled insults. Even cried.
The more of an act she put on the more he realized that he was making the right decision. Finally at two o’clock in the morning, she left.
The following week was not easy. She phoned him constantly, begging and crying for them to get back together or shouting more insults. He requested a six-week vacation that was due to him, locked up his apartment, and took off for Florida. On his way to the airport, he dropped by the rooming house where Joey lived and paid her landlady six months’ rent in advance.
Guilt money?
No. Just a parting gift to help her out.
He never saw her again.
Not until he saw her dead body lying slashed and mutilated on the floor of the house on Friendship Street.
• • •
Methodically Leon finished stacking the dishes, helped himself to a dish of ice cream, and followed Millie upstairs.
She was at the dressing table removing her makeup.
He wanted to confide in her, tell her about Joey. But he was so ashamed. He did not want to see the disgust in her eyes.
“Some party, huh?” Millie enthused.
He forced a smile, said, “Sure was,” and wondered what would have happened if he had agreed to meet Joey one week before her death. She had called him right out of the blue. A three-year silence, and then there she was on the phone, as if they had spoken only yesterday.
“I gotta see ya, it’s real important. I need your help.”
He did not respond. He disguised his voice and told her she had a wrong number. Millie was sitting across the room at the time.
Before he replaced the receiver he heard Joey say, “Aw, shee . . . it, Leon. I know it’s you.” But she hadn’t called back.
One week later she was dead.
27
On the morning of the party, Elaine awoke at seven. She left Ross snoring on his side of their bed and went into her bathroom. There she inspected her face closely in a magnifying mirror, tweezed a few hairs below her eyebrows, carefully squeezed a minute whitehead, and marveled at how clear and blemish-free her skin was. Some would say she had Aida Thibiant to thank. Aida gave facials to many stars—including Candice Bergen and Jacqueline Bisset, both of whom were coming to the party. But Elaine knew better. She knew whom she should really thank. Ron Gordino. Lithe, athletic Ron, whom she had really grown quite fond of in spite of herself.
Never get too familiar with the hired help, Elaine. Even if they are wonderful in bed.
Not that they had ever been to bed as such. Just massage table, couch, and floor! Elaine allowed herself a fleeting smile before slipping off her silk nightgown and stepping beneath the icy needles of a cold shower.
Carefully she ticked off details of the party in her head. Everything was taken care of, from table decoration to valet parking. She could not think of one thing she had forgotten. And soon an army of workers would be arriving to make it all possible.
She toweled herself dry, and quickly applied a light makeup before slipping into a brown silk shirt and beige cotton pants. Then she walked over to the window and gazed out. It was going to be a perfect California day, the sun already high in the sky without a cloud in sight.
Ross snored loudly. Impatiently she shook him awake.
“What time is it?” he groaned.
“Early, and I want you up.”
“I’m up all right,” he leered, indicating a healthy erection. “What about a little head?”
“Don’t be silly,” she said briskly. “Have you forgotten it’s party day?”
He groaned again. “How could I forget? You’ve breathed and lived this frigging party for more weeks than I care to remember.”
“Get up,” she said firmly. “Go to the gym or out to lunch or something, but please do not get in anyone’s way today.”
“Whose way? It’s my house,” he stated indignantly.
“Don’t be difficult, Ross. This party is for you.”
“No, it’s not,” he replied truculently. “It’s for George frigging Lancaster and Pamela frigging London. And it’s costing me a fucking fortune which we can’t afford.”
“It’s for Sadie La Salle. Let’s not lose sight of the real reason we’re having it. Why don’t we call it an investment in our future?”
He yawned loudly. “It better be.”
“I’m going out,” she said, not prepared to put up with his complaints.
“Where to?” he asked, consulting his watch. “It’s not even eight o’clock yet.”
“I thought I told you last night. I’m having an early breakfast with Bibi at her house.”
“What for?”
“Do stop questioning me. We’re going over the final list, if you must know.”
“Why doesn’t she come here?”
Elaine decided such a stupid question did not even deserve a reply. “See you later,” she said. “And don’t forget to go to the bank and pick up some cash—we’ll need a lot of twenties for tips.”
“Where are you going after Bibi’s?”
Elaine swallowed her annoyance. Since when did Ross have to know every move she made? “The hairdresser,” she snapped. “Can I go now?”
“Feel free.”
She hurried into the kitchen. Lina had just arrived with two helpers. The three women were chattering excitedly in Spanish. It was the first time Elaine had seen Lina employ an expression other than surly resignation.
“Buenos días, Señora Conti,” said the maid cheerfully.
“Good morning, Lina.”
“Theees my two amigas, Concepcion an’ Maria.”
The other two women nodded and grinned. Probably wetbacks, Elaine decided, only too delighted to be working in such a beautiful house. Well, it would be beautiful when they had finished cleaning it from top to bottom.
“Do they speak English?” she demanded.
“Leetle,” said Lina. “I ’splains everythings.”
“Good. I want this place spotless. The tent people will be here at eight o’clock. The flowers at nine. And there’ll be other deliveries. I’ve left a list in the hall.”
Lina nodded encouragingly. “No worry, señora.”
“You answer the phone, Lina, and take messages. Write them down.” Hesitantly she used her only Spanish. “Entiende?”
“Sure. I understand good,” replied Lina, grinning proudly at her friends. “You go. Everythin’ fine.”
“I’ll be back by twelve-thirty.”
Outside, safely in her Mercedes, she took a deep breath. The day had begun smoothly enough. Now if only everything went according to plan.
She started the car and set off. Thirty seconds later it occurred to her that she had not told Lina about the two ex-rock musicians arriving at twelve to set up their discotheque equipment. Ron Gordino had recommended them. “You want the funkiest party of the year, then go with Ric and Phil,” he had advised her. So it was the Zancussi Trio for the early part of the evening, and Ric and Phil for later on. God! Lina would never let them in with their wild long hair.
She spun the Mercedes into a U-turn and headed quickly back.
• • •
Ross heard the front door slam and the rev of Elaine’s Mercedes. For a moment he wondered if there was any truth in the things Karen had said about her having an affair. The very idea was laughable. She was Mrs. Ross Conti. She wouldn’t dare screw around. He rolled lazily over and punched out Karen’s number on the phone.
“What?” she mumbled sleepily.
“This is a dirty phone call.”
“Ross?”
“Who else do you get dirty phone calls from at this time in the morning?”
“You’ve woken me.”
He lightened his voice and did a passable imitati
on of Elaine. “Have you forgotten it’s party day?”
She laughed huskily.
“What are you wearing?” he asked.
“A red satin shortie nightie from Frederick’s.”
“With crotchless panties?”
“And nippleless bra.”
“Jesus, Karen, you’ve just given me a giant hard-on.”
“I would hate to see it go to waste. Why don’t you come on over?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? You know you want to suck on my tits.”
The thought of her erotic nipples in his mouth strengthened his desire. “You’re tempting me.”
“I know what turns you on. So climb into your jockeys, stick on some dark shades, and let’s chance it. I’ll leave the name Edward Brown at the desk.”
He had never visited her at the fashionable Century City apartment where she lived. They had both decided it was too risky and stuck to the isolated beach house. But what was a risk or two between friends?
“I’m coming right over,” he decided.
“No. Wait till you get here.”
“Fun . . . eee.” He replaced the receiver and hurled himself under an ice-cold shower. Then he was sorry, because without an erection he wasn’t sure if he did want to visit Karen. He felt anxious. The thought of Sadie La Salle in his house was unnerving. What if she refused him as a client again?
Unthinkable. He’d turn the Conti charm on full-force—dazzle her with it. She’d have no chance.
Quickly he dressed.
• • •
Elaine swept into the kitchen and was about to tell Lina about the two disco men when she spotted a light on the phone. Thinking it was for her, she picked it up, and heard Ross say, “Jesus, Karen, you’ve just given me a giant hard-on.” She listened silently to the rest of the conversation, hung up at the same time as Ross, and hurried out the back door.
Once in her car, she coasted down the driveway, started the engine, and ripped off down the street, barely screeching to a halt at the first stop sign.
She was being royally screwed by her best friend.
No. Correction. Ross was being royally screwed by her best friend.
Hollywood Wives Page 27
