Hollywood Kids

by Jackie Collins

  'It's something to do,' she replied.

  He lifted his glasses and pinned her with his intense eyes. 'Something to do for fun, huh?'

  That's right,' she said, refusing to be sucked in by his movie-star charm.

  'I'm very demanding,' he said, watching her closely.

  'I'm sure you are.'

  What I'm trying to say is, it may be fun for you, but I expect the person I hire to be there at all times of the day and night.'

  'Day and night?' she asked quizzically.

  'You get to go home to sleep.'

  'How reassuring.'

  'What was your last job?' he asked.

  'I worked for a magazine in New York.'

  'Hey,' he began to laugh, 'you're not going to hand me your unfinished screenplay, are you?'

  'No, Mr Rush, I can assure you I'm not.'

  'Call me Bobby.'

  They entered the commissary. Bobby waved to several people as they made their way to his usual table.

  As soon as they sat down a middle-aged waitress was all over him. 'Hello, Bobby. Are we baconing and egging it today, or is it the fruit thing?'

  'The fruit thing, sweetheart,' he said, patting his washboard stomach. 'Gotta watch those rolls of fat.'

  The waitress giggled. 'Not to worry, Bobby. If you don't watch 'em, every other woman in America will.'

  'Hey, who cares about other women when you're around, Mavis,' he said, giving her a friendly pat on the ass.

  More giggles from the waitress who was old enough to know better.

  He picked up a menu. 'What'll you have?' he asked Kennedy.

  'An orange juice will do nicely,' she replied.

  'No muffins? No bacon and eggs?'

  'Tell me, uh... Bobby, do you always buy breakfast for the people you interview?'

  Now he was definitely coming on to her. 'Only when they're as beautiful as you,' he said, fixing her once again with the baby blues. 'What did you say your name was?'

  * * *

  Halfway down the freeway it occurred to Michael that he hadn't been thorough enough in searching through Rita's dirty laundry. All he'd done was tip it on the floor, taken a cursory poke through it, and then stuffed it back in the bag. But Rita was devious and he knew it. Something told him to turn the car around and take another look.

  Driving off at the next ramp he headed back to her place.

  When he arrived, Lily was leaning from her window.

  'You remember anything yet, Lily?' he called up to her.

  'Still thinking, Mister Cop,' she said coyly, fluttering her eyelashes.

  'Don't forget, if you come up with anything at all you've got my number.'

  He entered Rita's apartment, went straight to the laundry bag, once again tipped everything on to the floor, and started a more methodical search. She sure was into lingerie - there were lacy bras, skimpy teddies, and a variety of other delicate little items. It brought back all the memories. When the sex was good it was very good.

  Picking up a pair of black pantihose he noticed something stuffed in the foot. Investigating further, he discovered three Polaroids and a slip of paper with a name and a number written on it.

  He checked out the Polaroids first. They were standard Rita, she'd always gotten off on having fun with a camera. In the first photo she wore nothing but a smile, a black lace garterbelt and roll-up stockings. The second one showed her minus the garter-belt, smile firmly in place. And the third was of a greasy-looking man with an enormous hard-on pointed straight at the camera.

  Michael quickly read the scrawl on the piece of paper, recognizing Rita's bad handwriting. Heron Jones, she'd written. Club Erotica.

  Pocketing the information, he threw the clothes back into the laundry bag, dumped it on the bathroom floor and hurried from the apartment.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bobby Rush felt good, breakfast with a beautiful woman did it for him every time. He'd enjoyed meeting Kennedy Chase, even though she wasn't right for the job, she sure was something.

  He'd walked her to her car from the commissary. ''You're the one should have been doing the talking, not me,' he'd said with a rueful smile.

  'Really?'

  'That's usually the way it goes. I was supposed to be interviewing you, and you ended up asking all the questions.'

  'That's because I like to know what I'm getting into.'

  Well, you sure found out. I think I told you my life story.'

  'It was interesting.'

  'Uh, Kennedy, I'll be honest with you. You're way too qualified for this job.'

  'You have no idea what my qualifications are.'

  'No, but I bet they're first rate.'

  She'd laughed. Great laugh, very throaty. 'That sounds like one of those breakup lines where the guy says "You're too good for me, so I have to go find someone new." '

  He'd laughed too. 'I have to admit I've used that one a couple of times.'

  'So you're into using lines?'

  'Isn't everyone?'

  'I'm not.'

  That makes you very unusual.'

  He'd watched her drive off. Classy lady. He'd give it a day, send her flowers, maybe take her on a date, get laid.

  Ha! He was starting to think like his father. God forbid!

  Get laid, huh? It had been quite some time. Getting laid was not what it used to be. AIDS was out there now and casual sex was a thing of the past.

  He was well aware that just because he was a movie star he could have almost anyone he wanted. But today that didn't mean shit.

  He was on edge. Tonight was the big night - dinner with Jerry. Darla had insisted the reunion take place at the family mansion with both his brothers and their wives present. Great, and he didn't have a date. Maybe it was just as well - this way Jerry couldn't put a move on whomever he was with.

  He was apprehensive about seeing his father after all these years, although deep down he was hopeful that Jerry might have changed, that maybe he'd tell him he was proud of him and all his achievements. Wouldn't it be something to hear that from his old man?

  Dream on. Jerry is a selfish sonofabitch, he's always been a selfish sonofabitch. Why would he change?

  * * *

  'Are we going to Cheryl's party?' Shep asked, pottering around his tiny neat kitchen.

  'Why?' Jordanna replied, biting into an apple as she sat at the counter flicking through the pages of L.A. Weekly.

  'It might be amusing.'

  She put down the newspaper. 'Amusing to mix with a room full of hookers? I don't think so.'

  'Come on, Jordy, you used to be adventurous.'

  'You go if you want, but the thought of going to a party at Cheryl's while she pursues her new career as the Hollywood madam is not my idea of a fun night out.'

  'OK, OK,' Shep said. 'Let's meet later at Homebase.'

  'You got it,' Jordanna replied. She'd spent a restless day thinking about Cheryl's revelations and wondering if she should tell Jordan. After all, if Kim used to be a working girl, surely her father was entitled to know?

  Maybe I'll tell him.

  Maybe not. You want him to be even more pissed at you?

  I don't care.

  Oh, yes, you do.

  She called an actor friend of hers who was fun to be with and always had a great supply of pot. Wanna cruise the clubs tonight?' she asked hopefully.

  'I've got a new girlfriend,' he said.

  'Bring her along - I don't care.'

  'Sure, you don't care, but she probably will.'

  'Don't tell me you've hooked up with one of those jealous little things?' she needled.

  He sounded uptight, definitely pussy-whipped. 'You could say that.'

  She hung up the phone. Men. They sure as hell didn't make good best friends. But, hey, she didn't need a man to take her around, she could cruise on her own. In fact, hitting the clubs by herself allowed her more freedom.

  After Shep left she watched a couple of movies on television, ordered a large pepperoni pizza from Jacopos
, and shortly before eleven pulled on her oldest jeans, a pair of motorcycle boots, a man's oversize shirt and a Harley jacket.

  Jordanna was ready to hit the streets.

  * * *

  Standing outside the house on Bedford brought back every bad memory. Bobby felt like a kid again, a stupid little kid whose father always put him down and told him he was useless.

  Had to get his head straight. Had to remember he was not a kid. He was a successful businessman, producer, movie star.

  Screw Jerry Rush. He was not afraid of him any more. He was going to walk into the house like a man and be treated with respect.

  The black barman who'd worked for the Rushes for twenty-three years opened the front door. 'Mr Bobby,' the man exclaimed with a welcoming smile. 'Good to see you again after all this time.'

  Bobby nodded. 'Thanks, Jimmy.'

  He entered the house like a stranger. Darla had changed all the furniture. Hollywood wives had nothing much to do except redecorate and give great charity, and Darla was no exception.

  He walked through the hallway, passing a familiar Picasso on his left, and a glass-fronted cabinet of African artifacts on his right. He strolled into the main living room trying to appear at ease.

  Jerry sat in his favourite chair nursing a Scotch on the rocks. As soon as he spotted Bobby, he put down his drink, got up and threw open his arms. 'Welcome home, son,' he said magnanimously, as if playing to an attentive audience.

  'Hello, Dad,' Bobby said, hanging back.

  Gathered in the living room were Darla, clad in a shocking-pink Valentino suit and tasteful diamonds; stepbrother, Len, a florid-faced man with an aggravating wife called Trixie; and stepbrother, Stan, with his wife, Lana, a former Playboy bunny who'd put on thirty pounds since her glory days. From what Bobby had heard, Stan still fostered a major cocaine habit and his wife was into pill popping big time.

  'Hello, everyone,' Bobby said, hoping he didn't sound as insincere as he felt. 'Nice to see you all.'

  'Bobby,' Darla floated over, greeting him warmly. 'I'm so glad you're here. We're all delighted.'

  Trixie darted across the room. She was a pinched-faced woman with small beady eyes and a snub nose covered in too many freckles. 'How would you like to speak at my ladies' lunch, Bobby?' she asked, never one to hang back. 'We meet once a month to discuss politics and world affairs. We're quite a cultural group and we'd love you to join us. Will you do it for me?'

  'My schedule's full, Trixie.'

  She pursed her lips. 'Too important for family now, is that it?' she asked peevishly.

  It was starting already. 'No, Trixie, just too busy.'

  He moved away from his annoying sister-in-law. Len came over and placed a hand on his shoulder. 'Doin' pretty good, baby brother.'

  'Yeah, things seem to have worked out.'

  'Maybe we can talk about something for me?'

  Christ! Nothing like getting hit on the moment he entered the house.

  'So, Bobby,' Jerry said in a loud booming voice. 'When you gonna produce a movie for your old man to star in, huh? Huh? It's about time.'

  This evening was going to be twice as bad as he'd imagined.

  * * *

  By the time she reached Homebase Central Jordanna was on a high. She'd stopped off at a couple of other clubs, talked to friends, done a little dancing, a little gossiping, smoked a little grass.

  I thought your drug days were over?

  They are. This is just recreational fun.

  Bullshit.

  Arnie was right up front, greeting her with a sloppy kiss on both cheeks. 'How's it goin', Levitt?'

  She sighed. 'If you're going to call me anything, Arnie, call me Jordanna, it is my name.'

  He scowled. 'OK, OK. Don't go getting mad at me.'

  'Who said I was mad?'

  'I know your moods.'

  No you do not. 'Is the gang here?' she asked restlessly.

  'Nope. Your group hasn't arrived.'

  'They will.'

  Moving closer he lowered his voice, speaking near to her ear. 'I understand Cheryl's going into business, she's asked me to find her girls.'

  'That should be easy for you.'

  'I'll want commission.'

  'Of course you will, Arnie.'

  'Can I buy you a drink?'

  'No, that's OK.'

  Making a fast getaway she wandered through the club, looking for someone she knew, or at least someone she might want to spend time with. The pickings were sparse.

  As she passed Charlie Dollar's table, he waved at her. 'Hey, come sit with an old man.'

  'That's an irresistible invitation,' she said, strolling over.

  'You're always in such a hurry,' he said, with a crooked smile.

  'Better to be in a hurry than to be left behind,' she replied coolly.

  He slid over in the leather booth patting the spot next to him. 'I know your father,' he announced.

  'Everyone knows Jordan,' she said, sliding in beside him because she had nothing better to do.

  'Knew your mother, too.'

  'Hmm, you're a regular friend of the family.'

  I've been watching you,' he said, stoned eyes still watching her.

  'Why?' she replied.

  'Cause you're different.'

  'I am?'

  'You am.'

  Suddenly she was sitting there having a major flirtation with Charlie Dollar, a man old enough to be her father.

  Oh, God, what are you doing, Jordanna?

  Something that will really piss Daddy off.

  * * *

  Dinner was a nightmare. Bobby didn't know how he got through it. Fact of life. He'd grown out of his family and he didn't have to take their crap any more, especially Jerry's.

  Darla tried to make everything all right, but she could only do so much. Jerry didn't apologize for the past, he didn't apologize for anything. He merely sat at the head of the table guzzling Scotch and voicing his views on how the industry was falling to pieces because all they wanted to know about was hiring young talent.

  'Movies today,' Jerry pontificated. 'Got no point of view, they got nothing going for them. All you see are two-bit hookers flashing their tits, an' a bunch of muscle-bound assholes who can't act their way out of a sandbox.'

  Gee, thanks, Dad, Bobby wanted to say. But then he realized it didn't matter. He didn't need his father's approval any more.

  'I'm not talking about your movie,' Jerry said, burping loudly. 'Not that I've seen it, but I hear it's pretty damn good.'

  Screw you, Dad. How come you haven't seen it? How come everybody else in America has?

  'Thought you'd run it for me,' Jerry continued. 'I'll come by the studio. Hear you've got offices there.'

  Oh, yeah, sure. I'll have you over to see my movie.

  No fucking way.

  'I'll get you a print,' he said. 'You can show it in your screening room here.'

  We don't use the screening room any more,' Jerry said. 'Costs too much.'

  Oh, so now the great Jerry Rush was going to plead poverty?

  'Don't be ridiculous,' Darla interrupted, quite flustered. 'I'll call the projectionist.'

  Jerry shot her a deadly look. 'I'm not paying a fucking projectionist to come to my fucking house and charge me a fucking fortune to see a movie I can see in my son's screening room at the studio.'

  We have our own screening room, it's stupid not to use it,' Darla said, tight-mouthed.

  'You miss our screenings, don't you?' Jerry sneered. 'You miss all those freeloading friends of yours.'

  'Jerry, please!'

  He was not to be stopped. 'How many people did we have over every weekend? We fed 'em, showed 'em a movie, while they drank all my booze an' badmouthed me behind my back. Then they ran out on us when my fucking career stopped.'

  That's not true,' Darla said, her face flushed. 'Your career is fine.'

  Jerry laughed hollowly. 'Isn't it nice to have a loyal wife.'

  'Please, Jerry. Don't start.'

&
nbsp; Wake up, Darla. We don't get invitations any more.'

  'I can show you a pile of invitations,' Darla said defensively.

  'For charities we gotta pay for. Big fucking deal.' He picked up his drink, took a swig and muttered, 'I don't need their lousy invitations. Let 'em stay the fuck away. Who gives a rat's ass except you.'

  Later, Darla took Bobby to one side. 'Your father's getting old,' she explained. 'He doesn't like to go out any more. He suffers with his hip. I know he hasn't said anything to you, but eventually, if it gets any worse, he may have to undergo hip-replacement surgery. Don't mention I told you.'

  Oh, Jesus, was she trying to make him feel sorry for the old man?

  'Cash is a little tight, I'll admit that,' Darla added. 'But we do have a fine portfolio of stocks and investments.'

  What was she going to do now? Touch him for a loan?

  'If it was up to me I'd sell the house and move to a condo on Wilshire. We don't need this big place now all you boys are gone.'

  Do what you like, Darla, he wanted to say. It's nothing to do with me. I've moved on. I don't have to put up with him any more.

  Before he was able to make a clean escape, Stan and Len cornered him, both canvassing for a job.

  He tried to be nice about it. 'It wouldn't pan out. Y'know, family working together - not a good idea.'

  They got nasty. 'It's all right for you, Bobby. You've got plenty of money now. Big shot, huh? Don't want to help us.'

  They had short memories. Growing up in the same household they'd treated him like a punching bag, never giving him any love or encouragement. He could remember numerous incidents from his childhood when they'd turned their backs rather than help him.

  Screw this whole deal.

  After thanking Darla for dinner he made a fast exit, jumping into his car and roaring off into the night.

  He needed a drink. His partner, Gary, had said to meet him at Homebase Central. He set off in the right direction.