Hollywood Wives

by Jackie Collins

  Elaine talked of nothing but Ross.

  Maralee talked of nothing but Neil.

  Ron Gordino and Randy Felix were never mentioned. But in a town dedicated to who you were and how much money you had, this was only to be expected.

  • • •

  Montana raged. She paced her house on the hill with the wonderful view and called Oliver Easterne every name she could think of—and a few more besides. She felt helpless, a feeling she was not used to and did not like.

  The movie business.

  You could shove it.

  She had contacted her attorney in New York and demanded that he get the rights back to Street People. When he returned her call an hour later he informed her it was impossible.

  “Nothing’s impossible,” she stormed.

  “I’ll work on it. But what are you worried about, anyway? You’ve been paid.”

  She had always sensed that beneath the Savile Row suits lurked an insensitive fool. What did money matter?

  Mental note. Change attorneys.

  She tried to calm herself by sorting through Neil’s desk. In a drawer she found a first draft of Street People, her handwriting scrawled across the title page: To my darling husband from your darling wife—together we shall rise above the bullshit.

  Oh yeah? Where was Neil when she really needed him?

  An idea formed in her mind, and for the first time in ages she managed a small smile. She would show Oliver Easterne something he wouldn’t forget in a hurry. Something the whole fucking town wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

  Oh yeah.

  Her smile widened as she remembered a little saying Neil had taught her. Don’t get mad—get even.

  She had a plan. It was crazy. But oh . . . the satisfaction! Neil would have loved it.

  62

  Once things started to happen, they happened fast. Over the years Leon had discovered it was always that way. One break set the course. A hunch had told him that now that Deke Andrews had resurfaced it would be hard for him to vanish again. Pittsburgh, Texas, and now Las Vegas. A trail of death. Two hookers, a pimp, a rootless hitchhiker. A pattern was beginning to emerge. Deke went after the low life. Women were the enemy, women who sold their bodies.

  These thoughts crossed Leon’s mind as he raced his rented car across the desert highway toward Las Vegas. And another thought. Did Deke Andrews have anything to do with the murder and arson case that had taken place in Barstow only two days previously? No definite signs that he was there. The building had gone up like a tinderbox, destroying all evidence. But an autopsy on the charred body of the secretary revealed she had been stabbed repeatedly. There was nothing to tie Deke Andrews to the case, but Leon had a gut feeling, and over the years his gut feelings had been proved right more times than not.

  As his car sped down the highway he was unaware of the oncoming traffic headed west. Even if he had been, he would have taken no notice of the shabby brown van speeding resolutely toward Los Angeles. The driver was Deke Andrews, his face a blank mask, black sunglasses concealing eyes of death.

  Leon felt a chill for no particular reason. He reached forward and turned the air-conditioning down.

  The lights of Las Vegas twinkled a false welcome in the distance.

  63

  Normally, last-minute invitations were ignored by one and all, but Gina’s secretary was a persuasive English girl with a seductive voice and a smart brain. It also helped that nothing else was going on the night of Ross’s birthday. No premieres, private screenings, parties, or special events. So a perfectly respectable group arrived to celebrate in the upstairs room of the Bistro on Canon Drive.

  Gina and Ross naturally made a late entrance. On the street outside lurked a group of paparazzi. Gina posed for them prettily, clinging to Ross’s arm.

  Gently he tried to loosen her grip. She was wrinkling his jacket.

  They entered the restaurant and proceeded upstairs, where the group waited. Ross was really surprised by the turnout. He had expected maybe a dozen people, but there were at least sixty.

  Gina turned to him with a wide smile, her perfect teeth dazzling. “Not bad, huh? And all arranged at the last minute.”

  He surveyed the room and boasted, “I’m a star again. I can lure ’em out anytime I want.”

  “Sure you can. Only a little phone call from me helps, you know.”

  She hoped his agent had told him about Street People being canceled. She had a horrible feeling the putz hadn’t. If Ross knew, he would be bitching and beefing from here to the beach.

  Oh, well. It was not her problem. She refused to be the bearer of bad news. Let Oliver or someone give him the word. Then, when he came to her with the inevitable, “Why didn’t you tell me?” she would shrug and casually say, “I told you to speak to your agent.” Then she would add, just so he could see how concerned and thoughtful she was, “Besides, I didn’t want to spoil your birthday.”

  • • •

  Buddy stood in the doorway and checked out the action. He saw fame, power, and money mingling easily together. And for a moment he felt he belonged.

  Not yet, Buddy Boy, not yet. Don’t get carried away. Keep your cool.

  He had offered to pick Sadie up and go with her, but she had declined. Now he searched for a familiar face.

  Karen Lancaster sat at a table with spiky-haired English rock star Josh Speed, a caustic television comedian, and three assorted groupies.

  Josh, the comedian, and Karen conversed excitedly, while the three groupies—all shaggy hair, skinny bodies, and eager eyes—listened hopefully.

  Buddy wandered over. He didn’t see anyone else he knew.

  “Hey, Karen, how’re you doin’?”

  She gazed up at him, total nonrecognition.

  “Buddy,” he reminded her, slightly miffed. “Buddy Hudson.”

  Josh Speed and the comedian looked at each other, took a beat of three, and chorused, “Buddy . . . Buddy Hudson.” Then they fell about laughing.

  Karen, as stoned as they, joined in the laughter, followed quickly by the groupies.

  The amusement slid from the comedian’s face. “What the fuck you laughin’ at?” he demanded of the youngest girl.

  Her laugh froze. “Nothing,” she whispered.

  Buddy backed away. He wasn’t sure why he was here. Sadie had said she might have some good news for him, and he trusted her to save him from falling back into obscurity.

  He edged over to the bar and scored an orange juice. Earlier he had spoken to Angel. “My movie’s been canceled,” he told her regretfully. “But I got me this agent—Sadie La Salle—who is the best. And she says she’ll find me something else. I still get paid. We’re rich, babe.”

  He was proud of the fact that he was being honest with her. And she seemed to appreciate it, for her voice filled with warmth, and he knew that any day now she would agree to come back.

  • • •

  Across the room, chatting to a talk-show producer and his doll-like wife, Sadie noted Buddy’s arrival. She watched him carefully. He handled himself well, and as he moved toward the bar she noticed the eyes of several women following him.

  “What do you think of my new client?” she asked the wife, pointing out Buddy.

  The woman—at least thirty years younger than her jovial husband—stared longingly. “Handsome,” she said at last, fingering a ruby-and-diamond necklace which swamped her pale swan neck.

  “Yes,” agreed Sadie. “He’s going to be a big star.”

  “Should we have him on the show?” asked the producer.

  “I’m sorry,” Sadie said regretfully. “I’ve promised him to Carson first. But I’ll give you second shot.”

  “C“mon, Sadie. Don’t give me that. We want him. First. Name a day.”

  “Why don’t we speak tomorrow?” she said, excusing herself and hurrying over to Buddy.

  How easy it was to play the game—and win. When you knew all the rules.

  She patted him on the shoulder. “On time
. Looking good. Drinking orange juice. You see, I told you it wasn’t the end of the world.”

  He grinned ruefully and shrugged. “Guess I’ve learned to roll with the punches.”

  “Well, roll with this. There’s a very strong chance that you are going to get the leading role in Gina’s new film.”

  He perked up. “You’re kidding.”

  “Sadie La Salle does not kid.”

  Jeez! Why hadn’t he been nicer to Gina? Maybe she would badmouth him.

  “When will I know? What kind of a part is it? Can I see the script?”

  “The script is being rewritten. When it’s ready you’ll do a test with Gina, and if the sparks fly . . .”

  He had known it was too good to be true. “I’ve got to test again?” he groaned.

  “Yes. But I have every confidence that you’ll be wonderful. Don’t you?”

  Glumly he nodded.

  “Smile, dear. Produce the charm. Tonight you are going to be exceptionally polite to Oliver Easterne—who, need I tell you, is the producer of the new vehicle. And even nicer to your fellow client Gina Germaine.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “I want better than that.”

  “I don’t think Gina likes me.”

  “Make her like you. That shouldn’t be too difficult for you.”

  “You want me to fuck her?” he snapped angrily. “ ’Cause I don’t fuck to work.”

  “I never said you did. And don’t speak to me like that.”

  He glowered. “Sorry.”

  “Come. Let’s start with Oliver.”

  • • •

  “Sweetie. So sorry to hear your film no more. They offer it Adam but he turn it down. No right for him. Perfect for you. Darling, I so sorry.”

  Ross stared at Bibi Sutton blankly. He never understood a word she said.

  “Sweetie. Elaine? She fine now? I hear she drinkie too much. She fine now though, yes?”

  “You’re looking magnificent, as usual, Bibi.” He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “One of these days I’ll catch you in the sack and screw the life out of you.”

  She offered a coy smile. “Naughty boy!”

  Adam Sutton appeared at her elbow, nodded curtly at Ross, and said, “The Lazars and the Wilders want us to sit with them.”

  “Yes?” She glanced around to see if she could spot a better offer. “In a minute, I come soon.”

  Adam retreated. Ross leaned forward again. “If you were between the sheets with me you would!”

  “Ross! You bad boy!”

  “Who’s a bad boy?” Karen Lancaster thrust herself between them, all beige satin and erect nipples. She was accompanied by the rock star. “This is Josh Speed,” she announced formally. “He’s in the middle of his American tour. This is his first Hollywood party and he’s bored out of his skull, aren’t you, baby?”

  He spoke perfect cockney. “ ’Ere, leave it out, gel. I’m lovin’ every bleedin’ minute.”

  “He sounds like Mick Jagger,” Karen said knowledgeably. “Only Mick fakes it. Josh is the real thing.”

  “How George, sweetie?” asked Bibi.

  Karen did not answer. She glared balefully at Ross. “I’m glad your movie bottomed out,” she said spitefully.

  “I wouldn’t mind ’aving a bash in a fillum,” remarked Josh.

  Karen grabbed his arm. “How old are you?”

  “Twenny-two.”

  Bibi became bored with the conversation and moved away.

  “Really? Ross is fifty, you know. Today.” She laughed. “Practically old enough to be your grandfather.”

  They both sniggered.

  Ross was unamused. Grandfather indeed! She was being ridiculous. And what did she mean about his movie bottoming out? He looked around for Gina, and came eyeball to eyeball with Sadie on her way to the ladies’ room. They greeted each other stiffly and both moved quickly on.

  Gina was deep in conversation with Oliver. Ross strolled over.

  “Having fun?” she beamed.

  His eyes dipped to her considerable cleavage. She certainly gave Dolly Parton a run for her money. “I think I’ll have more fun later,” he said, pinching her behind.

  “You don’t know how sorry I am,” Oliver said insincerely. “But these things happen. I don’t have to tell you that, Ross.”

  “Excuse me,” Gina said hurriedly. “I must say hello to Wolfie.”

  “Sorry about what?” demanded Ross.

  “You’ve been in the business long enough to understand the way things are,” Oliver continued expansively. “As long as you can take the money and run. Right?”

  Three thoughts hit him.

  Call your agent.

  Sweetie. So sorry to hear your film no more.

  I’m glad your movie bottomed out.

  Christ. He didn’t have to be a genius to figure things out.

  “Oliver,” he said sharply, “what the frig is going on?”

  • • •

  Buddy learned fast. Being nice to people usually meant listening to what they had to say, and not interrupting. He hung on every word, tried to look interested, and watched their eyes constantly flick around the room. Twice he was deserted in midsentence when a better prospect came into view.

  Adam Sutton granted him a few moments of his valuable time.

  “I think you’ve got a great future ahead of you,” Adam said. “With Sadie as your agent and—” He never finished the sentence. Bibi beckoned and he ran.

  Buddy saw Gina, took a deep breath and went over.

  She greeted him coolly.

  He exerted all the charm he could muster.

  She thawed. “Changed your mind about screwing a movie star?” she purred sexily.

  He was saved from answering by her personal PR man, who strode over, threw him a dismissive look, took her arm in a proprietary fashion, and said, “Army Archerd wants to talk to you.”

  Buddy cruised around the room again, smelling the money, anxious to be a part of it all, wanting to be recognized. Then he saw Wolfie Schweiker and stopped dead. The plump man was entertaining a small group with an obviously hilarious anecdote, for they were all falling about laughing.

  • • •

  Butterball. That’s what Buddy had called him in his head. Butterball.

  On second sight he was sure it was the man who had fed Tony cocaine the night of the fateful party. He continued to stare. His black eyes chips of ice.

  Wolfie felt the power of Buddy’s stare and glanced over. His stomach tightened with sexual anticipation. “Who is that?” he asked Bibi.

  She looked casually over. “Sadie’s new discovery. Nobody important, darling. Why?”

  “I saw him at George’s party. I just wondered.”

  “Sweetie. Gina’s dress. You think she make it herself?”

  Wolfie tore his eyes away from Buddy and applied himself to keeping Bibi happy. He inspected Gina’s outfit, a red dress which plunged to the waist. “Hmm . . .” he said archly. “Zody’s with a touch of Frederick’s of Hollywood, don’t you think?”

  • • •

  And out of the giant cake sprang a nubile redheaded girl in a fluffy white bikini. She leaped on Ross’s knee while everyone yelled and cheered and catcalled. Business conversations were suspended while the men inspected the nearly naked girl, who began to sing “Happy Birthday” as she wriggled around on Ross’s lap. She was stacked, but not stacked enough to allow business discussions to be held up for long.

  Ross acted out his role. He was no slouch when it came to putting on the right face for the right occasion. He grinned, made all the correct noises. Blew out fifty candles while trying to dislodge the stoned ding-a-ling from his lap. And all the while he seethed.

  Goddam Gina Germaine. How dare she put him through this charade? How dare she do it to him when she knew—had to know—that the film was a no-go situation?

  Why hadn’t the dumb broad told him? He could not wait to get her alone. Oh, how he seethed. Bu
t the easygoing smile remained in place. The blue eyes—a little crinkly around the edges but still knock-out—flirted their way around the room.

  He was humiliated. Sadie would never have let something like this happen to him.

  “I can score you some ace coke,” the girl on his knee whispered.

  “Get lost.” He dislodged her by getting up.

  “Speech,” someone yelled, and the request echoed around the room.

  In a pig’s ass they’d get a speech.

  • • •

  Seeing Butterball soured the evening for Buddy.

  He wanted out.

  He wanted Angel.

  “Is it all right for me to split?” he checked with Sadie.

  “Yes,” she said. “We’ll speak on Monday. I’m going to Palm Springs tomorrow, but I’ll be back in time to get something definite out of Oliver early in the week. Don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine.”

  “I hope so.”

  He drove home fast and dialed Angel’s number.

  “Yes?” answered a male voice.

  She had told him she was living with two gay guys. “Angel,” he demanded.

  “She’s asleep.”

  He controlled the edginess in his voice. “Do me a favor and wake her. This is important.”

  “May I ask who’s calling?”

  “Buddy.”

  An unfriendly “Just a minute.”

  A long wait and then at last she was there. “I can’t go on like this,” he blurted urgently. “I need you to be with me.”

  “Are you high?”

  “Stone-cold straight, babes.”

  “We made an agreement. Why are you calling me in the middle of the night?”

  “Because we decided to be honest with each other. And if I’m honest then you have to know that I can’t go another day without you.”

  “Buddy—”

  “I love you. We should be together.”

  “I don’t know—” she began hesitantly.

  “Yes you do know, an’ I’ll tell you what’s going on.” He took a deep breath. “Like I have a mother I never mentioned—”