Hollywood Wives

by Jackie Collins

  Koko agonized for a few minutes, then phoned Angel and told her the story. “What do you want to do?” he asked anxiously.

  “I’ll speak to him and tell him that I don’t want to see him again,” she said firmly.

  “And about the divorce,” Koko prompted.

  “Yes,” she said, and at the time she meant it. But came six o’clock and Buddy on the phone and she was weakened by just the sound of his voice.

  “Things are different,” he told her. “It’s all happening for me, and I want us to be together—y’know—like some kind of a new start. What do you say?”

  She hesitated. “Buddy. It could never be the same between us. I’ve changed. I don’t want to go back to the life we had.”

  “Hey—aren’t you listening to me? The past is behind us. We both did things we shouldn’t have. Let’s give it a fresh shot, babe.” He was huddled over the phone, his voice a low husk, while Koko stood across from the desk with folded arms, pretending not to listen.

  “Why don’t you stay with Shelly?” Angel said desperately. “She’s your kind of girl. I’m not like her.”

  He laughed. “If you were like her I’d shoot myself!”

  “You’ve been living with her since I left,” she accused. “Twice she’s told me to leave you alone. I just don’t understand. What do you want from me?”

  “Shelly told you to leave me alone?” he asked incredulously. “She told you that?”

  “I don’t lie.”

  “She’s full of shit. I’ve been searching for you ever since you walked.”

  “You moved in with her.”

  “No way.”

  Angel gave a little sigh. She wanted to believe him, but then again she was not fresh off the plane from Louisville anymore.

  “I have to see you,” he urged. “We’ve got to discuss this.” He huddled closer to the phone. “I love you, babe. Only you. You’ve got to know that by now.”

  “I’m confused, Buddy.”

  “I’ll unconfuse you.”

  “I need time to think things out.”

  “Think what out? I’ve got a great apartment, a new car. I’m starring in a movie.”

  “I know. I saw your picture in the paper. I’m very happy for you, Buddy.”

  “Be happy for us. So much has happened, but I need you to share it. Without you it doesn’t mean anything. Can you understand that?”

  He realized as he spoke that it was the truth. Everything was going his way, but he had to have Angel to make it complete. When she came back to him he did not intend to keep it secret. He would tell the world, and if Sadie didn’t like it, too bad. Angel was his wife, and he was proud of it. Together they would make a new start, and this time it would work.

  “Give me a few days,” she said at last.

  “What do you need a few days for?”

  “I have to be sure that you mean what you say and that tomorrow you won’t change your mind.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “I’m very serious,” she said gravely, and added, “Are you still involved with drugs?”

  “I’m so clean I don’t even do grass.” He paused. “Can I at least know where you are?”

  “I’m staying with friends.”

  “Where?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Why don’t we speak tomorrow at this time?”

  “You got it.”

  “But please, promise me that you won’t try and see me until I say so.”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  She laughed softly. “You were never a Scout, Buddy.”

  “I am now.”

  She gave him her phone number, which he committed to memory before they said their goodbyes.

  Koko glared at him, bad vibes filling the air.

  Buddy did not say a word. He walked from the salon without a backward glance.

  As far as he was concerned it was just a matter of time before he had Angel back.

  • • •

  “Street People is canceled,” Oliver said bluntly. “Over. Finished, Kaput.”

  Montana stared at him, not quite registering what he was saying. They were in his office, everything gleaming, polished, and meticulously clean. Neil Gray had been buried an hour before. A stately funeral, with a respectable turnout.

  Montana had conducted herself with dignity.

  Maralee had thrown herself across the coffin in screaming hysterics.

  “What?” she said at last, unable to believe what she was hearing.

  “The party’s over.” He was quite enjoying the moment, even though she was a recently bereaved widow. “This film has cost me a fortune with delays and everything. Now, with Neil’s . . . er . . . untimely death, I can pick up on insurance and cover my losses.”

  “You can what?”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll get paid.”

  Her voice was controlled, but inside she was shaking. “Let me get this straight. You’re canceling the film so you can collect the insurance?”

  “Business smarts. Gotta have them if you expect to survive in this town.”

  All the emotions she had been bottling up came spilling out in a diatribe of fury. “You no-talent ass-licking crawling little turd. How can you do this?”

  “You’ve got to stop holding back your thoughts, Montana. Get ’em out. Say what’s on your mind.” He sniggered, enjoying himself. He had total power, and he reveled in it.

  She recovered her composure quickly, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her crumble. “Oliver,” she said sensibly. “Surely you must know what this film means to me? It’s an important good film. It’ll make money. A lot more than your insurance.”

  “Every movie is a risk,” he said patiently. “It can star Robert Redford and Jane Fonda and nobody knows if the public’ll go see it. This way I come out on top—it’s a no-risk situation.”

  “You’re really serious?”

  “The movie is canceled.”

  She was too tired to fight him further. “Is that all that interests you—making money?” she asked wearily.

  “Let’s put it this way—I am not in this business to get my cock sucked.”

  “You’re a real charmer.”

  “I love you too.”

  She left his office head held high, but spirit defeated. There were moments when she needed Neil desperately, and this was one of them. She marched into her office and slammed the door. Then she took a deep breath and tried to control the tears which threatened.

  She did not need Neil. She had learned to get along without him. No good crying out in moments of stress. She had to be strong and deal with things herself.

  Neil is dead, she thought, and it’s his own damn fault. For a moment anger engulfed her. Once their love had been all-consuming . . . then time passed and things changed.

  He had deserted her.

  But she was a survivor.

  Finally she let the tears flow.

  It felt good.

  • • •

  Sadie accepted the news calmly. It wasn’t the first time and it would not be the last. The movie business was unpredictable, to say the least.

  Oliver told her over drinks in the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. He also informed her that he had found a director for the other project Neil had been working on—the one with Gina Germaine.

  “We can start on pre-production immediately,” he said. “Gina’ll be happy. It’s a much better part for her.”

  “I didn’t even know there was a completed script,” Sadie replied in surprise.

  “There wasn’t a few weeks ago. But ever since we signed the deal I’ve been behind it. Got a great script now—of course, it needs a little work—”

  “I’ll have to read it,” she said shortly. “The deal we signed was for Neil to direct. This is a different ballgame.”

  “But one we can work out, huh, Sadie?”

  She refused to commit. “We’ll see,” she said, thoughtfully sipping Perrier water. “Is there anything for Buddy Hudso
n in it? He’s going to be big, you may as well get in at the beginning.”

  “I think we can find something.”

  “Something won’t do. It’s got to be right.”

  “Read the material and see.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Fast, please.”

  “What a hustler you are, Oliver.”

  “Just like you, Sadie.”

  • • •

  Koko swept into the house later than usual. Angel was in the kitchen fixing Southern fried chicken, while Adrian sat in front of the television watching male go-go dancers.

  “Ah . . . sweet domesticity,” he snapped. “While I work my buns off.”

  Adrian clicked the remote and blanked the screen. “What’s eating you?”

  “Nothing. I was only physically abused by dear Angel’s macho husband today. Where is madam?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  “Ha! Hasn’t she run off into his waiting arms yet?”

  “What happened?” asked Adrian carefully.

  “You should know. You were sitting here with her.”

  “We can’t hold on to her forever,” said Adrian mildly.

  “For God’s sake. Don’t you go giving me lectures. I know. She’s old enough to look after herself. But Adrian!” His eyes misted over. “How can I explain this? She’s such a sweet person. I want her to stay with us so that we can protect her.”

  He had not heard Angel walk into the room. She stood quietly by the door. “Thank you, Koko,” she murmured softly. “But don’t worry, whatever happens we’ll still see each other, and we’ll always be friends. I’ll never forget how you’ve helped me.”

  “You are going back to him then?”

  Her hands fluttered toward the swell of the baby. “I’ve got to give him another chance.”

  “Ha!” he snorted. “You’ll regret it.”

  • • •

  Lying out by Gina’s Italian-tiled swimming pool watching two Japanese gardeners tend the exotic trees and blooms, while a maid served him iced tea, Ross decided that this was the life for him. All this luxury and activity for which he had not paid one red cent. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? Find yourself a working woman, sit back, and enjoy the advantages. After all, women had taken enough from him over the years—he deserved a little something in return.

  Today was his birthday. He had finally reached the big five-o and it was not half as painful as he had thought it would be. Upon waking, he had told Gina—he hadn’t meant to, but what the hell, it wasn’t every day you hit a milestone. And he could hardly hide his age—the film reference books had him coming and going. Fifty was hardly senile. Guys like Newman and Bronson had made passing the halfway mark a mere trifle.

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?” she exclaimed. “We could have had a huge party.”

  He did not want a “huge party.” He had just suffered through one, although maybe it wouldn’t be so bad with someone else footing the bills.

  Gina gave him several birthday presents of the physical kind, leaving him exhausted but content. Then she dressed and left for lunch with Sadie.

  He sat up, took a sip of iced tea, and reached for the script. His lines were underlined in thick red pencil. He knew every one of them. A first—usually he just sauntered onto the set and played it by ear. Things were different now. He had a great opportunity, and he did not intend to blow it.

  • • •

  Sentiment had never been one of Gina Germaine’s attributes. She breezed through life caring only about what was good for her public image. When Neil Gray died she did not think, Poor Neil—what a terrible thing. She thought, Thank Christ it didn’t happen while he was in bed with me—I’d never have lived that down.

  She attended his funeral, a vision in black lace, and posed happily for photographers, Ross Conti by her side. The chemistry she and Ross created together seemed to arouse great public interest. Ah! And the chemistry in the privacy of her bedroom was more than right too. For a guy his age he sure had what it took.

  When Sadie told her over lunch in the Bistro Gardens that Street People was canceled, she opened her mouth to yell.

  Sadie silenced her immediately with the news that the other movie she and Neil had planned was an immediate go situation with a finished script, a new director, and Oliver Easterne in charge.

  “I read it last night,” Sadie said briskly. “It’s a much better role for you. Trust me, dear.”

  Gina always had trusted Sadie; her judgment was the best. She chewed on a lettuce leaf, then said something so totally out of character that Sadie almost spilled her glass of Perrier.

  “I’ll do it if there’s a part for Ross.”

  “What?” gasped Sadie.

  “We’re good together,” Gina explained nonchalantly. “The press love us. We’ll be dynamite on the screen. Fix it—you’ve got the strength.”

  “There’s nothing for Ross in it,” said Sadie tightly.

  “Have them write him in.”

  Sadie stared at her lettuce-munching client. Why had Ross moved in with this calculating blond bombshell? She had wanted him for herself, and now Gina had him. And worse, Gina—who wouldn’t give a wooden leg to a cripple—wanted to help him. “Do you know what you are suggesting?” she said.

  “Sure I do.”

  “You’d better think about it carefully. Writing Ross in could take weeks, or even months. The film would be delayed, and you should work at once, I’m sure you realize that.”

  Gina gazed reflectively at her agent. One thing about Sadie, she always made sense. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea. “You’re right. I guess I shouldn’t wait. Send me over the script.”

  Sadie patted her large Vuitton purse. “I have it with me.”

  “By the way,” Gina said. “It’s Ross’s birthday—and I’m putting together a surprise party at the Bistro tonight. You’ll come—oh, and tell Buddy.”

  The last thing Sadie wanted to do was celebrate Ross’s birthday, but business was business, and Gina was a valued client.

  “Wouldn’t miss it, dear.”

  • • •

  Gina returned home at four o’clock laden with presents. A photographer from an Italian magazine accompanied her, and while she plied Ross with half of Gucci, the photographer captured every sentimental moment.

  Ross was not aware of the fact that in exchange for exclusive photos the magazine had paid for all the expensive gifts. He loved everything, although the photographer didn’t thrill him—a stoned lounge lizard in tight white pants who kept touching Gina’s ass.

  “Tonight we are dining at the Bistro,” she announced. “With a couple of friends.”

  “Who?”

  She giggled mysteriously. “Just you wait and see. I adore surprises, don’t you?”

  • • •

  “Huh?” A look of stunned disbelief crossed Buddy’s face.

  Sadie said, “There is no such thing as a sure thing in the film business.”

  “But I got the part,” he said blankly.

  “You certainly did.”

  “They can’t do this to me!” he yelled.

  “Producers play God. They can do what they like.”

  “Fuck ’em!” he screamed.

  Ferdie popped his head around the door. “Everything all right in here?”

  “Perfectly fine, thank you,” Sadie replied.

  Buddy was unaware of the interruption. He slumped into a chair, mumbling to himself.

  Sadie picked up a gold pen and tapped it impatiently on her desk. “Get hold of yourself. This is but a small setback. You’ll get fully paid, and you’ve had the benefit of quite a bit of publicity. Something better will come along.” She did not wish to reveal the fact that something already had. Timing was everything when dealing with a client.

  “Jesus!” he moaned. “Does Montana know?”

  “Yes. It will be in the trades tomorrow. And Buddy—I was going to surprise you. Monday your billboard goes up across
America, so pull yourself together and start feeling great again. This evening Gina is having a surprise birthday party for Ross—I want you there. You never know, by tonight I might have good news for you. I am not known as the fastest agent in the West for nothing!”

  He nodded with as much enthusiasm as he could muster—and wondered why every time he passed GO some smart-ass kicked him in the balls with a cement foot.

  • • •

  Gina did not create her nighttime appearance without a little help here and there. A professional South American makeup artist arrived at the mansion every evening promptly at six. He was preceded by a Hungarian masseuse, and followed by a French hairdresser.

  What with the Japanese gardeners, the Philippine maids, and Gina’s English secretary, the place was a regular United Nations. Seven magnificent bedrooms, seven matching bathrooms, six enormous living rooms, staff quarters, and a hotel-size kitchen, yet Ross still had trouble finding a quiet spot for himself.

  They did not treat him in the manner to which he was accustomed. This infuriated him. They treated him like the star’s boyfriend, blissfully unaware that he too was a star.

  Gina appeared between makeup and hair. “Did you call your agent today?” she asked crisply.

  “Should I have?”

  “Honey, everyone should speak to their agent at least twice a day.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’ve got to keep a finger on the pulse.” Damn! she thought. He doesn’t know the movie’s been canceled, and I’m not telling him. Why hasn’t his schmucky agent called him?

  “How about a finger on my pulse?” he leered.

  “For an old guy you sure are horny. But catch me before the makeup next time, huh?” She hurried from the room with an offhand “Call your agent.”

  He was speechless. Old guy. She had to be kidding. She was no nubile nineteen-year-old herself.

  He fixed himself a scotch on the rocks and admired himself in the mirrored bar. Old or not, he could still knock ’em dead. Ross Conti had a long way to go before they counted him out.

  • • •

  Elaine and Maralee resumed friendship. It was better to bore each other than not to bore at all.

  Neither lady was looking her best, so they avoided Ma Maison, the Bistro Gardens, Jimmy’s, and other fashionable places for lunch. Instead they stayed at each other’s pools, taking ruinous-for-the-skin sunbaths, and large glasses of various exotic alcoholic beverages. The ten thousand dollars Elaine had wished to borrow from her friend was discreetly forgotten.