The Prince of Beverly Hills

by Stuart Woods

  37

  RICK WOKE IN THE morning and, in the bathroom mirror, inspected his bruised and swollen face where Stampano had sucker punched him. After he had dressed and shaved, he put an ice pack on it for a few minutes, taking comfort in the certainty that Stampano was going to see worse in his own mirror.

  AS RICK WALKED INTO his office, Jenny was answering the phone. “It’s Eddie Harris,” she said.

  He went into his office, closed the door and picked up the phone. “Good morning, Eddie,” he said.

  “That remains to be seen,” Eddie replied.

  “What’s up?”

  “I had a call from Ben Siegel late last night, and he was furious.”

  “Oh?”

  “He says you and Clete beat the shit out of Chick Stampano last night.”

  “That’s only partly true, Eddie.”

  “Which part?”

  “I beat the shit out of Stampano while Clete held off his two goons.”

  “How the hell did he do that? Is he hurt? Has he got any marks on him?”

  “Not a scratch. Clete showed them my gun and kept them out of it, while I dealt with Stampano.”

  “What did you do to him?”

  “Well, I’m pretty sure I broke his nose, and he’s going to need a new white dinner jacket.”

  Eddie emitted a long chuckle.

  “And did I mention that this happened outside Glenna Gleason’s house?”

  “What?”

  “Clete and I drove her home after her second show, and as we were leaving, Stampano and his two goons showed up. I followed him around the corner of the house, and he was laying for me, sucker punched me, then he pulled a blackjack. I took it away from him, tossed it away and hit him a few times, then I threw him in his car and we left.”

  “Well, at least no gunfire was exchanged.”

  “I was pleased about that, too.”

  “And Clete had a gun in his hand?”

  “Eddie, the guy’s a Royal Marine, for Christ’s sake. He knows how to handle a weapon.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “What exactly did Siegel say?”

  “He was ranting about how you had lured Stampano into a fight. He said you had the blackjack.”

  “Nuts! Did he mention that I had warned him a second time to keep Stampano away from our people?”

  “No, but I did, and that seemed to stymie him a little. What I’m worried about is, he hinted that you could expect Stampano to get even.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that, but it doesn’t surprise me. He may just be blowing hot air.”

  “Maybe, but maybe not, so here’s what I want you to do: Wherever you go, until further notice, I want two studio cops with you—one in your car and one in another car, and I want them armed.”

  “That’s a little overcautious, isn’t it, Eddie? I can handle Stampano.”

  “Yeah, but how many of his goons can you handle all at once? And another thing, I don’t want you and Clete out on the town together for a while. If you want to have dinner, go out to Santa Monica or Pacific Palisades, and stay out of Ciro’s and, above all, the Trocadero. The Brown Derby and Chasen’s, too.”

  “All right, Eddie,” Rick sighed. Then he had a thought. “Eddie, it occurs to me that Stampano might try to retaliate against my old man.”

  “Then put a couple of studio cops on his place of business, too, and around the clock. I’m not going to have him hurt because of studio problems.”

  “That’s going to stretch our people pretty thin,” Rick said. “How about if I hire a few off-duty cops to help out?”

  “Good idea. It wouldn’t hurt to have a real cop around if something happens.”

  “I’ll make a call.”

  “Good. And thanks again for taking such good care of Glenna.”

  “I enjoyed that part.”

  “See you later.”

  Rick called the Beverly Hills department, asked for Tom Terry and was told that it was his day off. He dug out his address book and called Terry’s home.

  The phone rang half a dozen times before a gruff voice answered. “Yeah?”

  “Wake up, Tom, it’s Rick Barron.”

  “Hey, Rick,” Tom replied, a little more brightly.

  “You want to go Hollywood a little?”

  “You going to fix me up with Lana Turner?”

  “Nah, I’m going to fix you up with me.”

  “You’re not my type.”

  “I need three or four off-duty cops for some bodyguard work.”

  “Who’s the body?”

  “Me and my old man. He’s got a flying business out at Clover Field.”

  “Somebody dogging you?”

  “You know Chick Stampano?”

  “I’ve heard the name, saw him once at the track with some starlet.”

  “You get on the phone, round up three other guys who aren’t working today and get them over to Centurion. I’ll leave a pass at the gate in your name.”

  “Okay. Gimme a couple of hours?”

  “Sure; say, noon?”

  “That’s good. What can I promise them?”

  “Long hours and good pay, but no movie stars.”

  Tom laughed. “They’ll do it twenty-four a day and for nothing if you can promise them movie stars.”

  “See you at noon, Tom.” He hung up and called his father.

  “Hello?”

  “Morning, Dad. You okay?”

  “Shouldn’t I be?”

  “I’ve had another run-in with the Italian people. I’m going to send a couple of guys over to your place around midday, and there’ll be somebody there twenty-four hours a day until things calm down.”

  “What do I have to pay ’em?”

  “Not a dime. It’s all on Centurion Studios.”

  “Then it’s jake with me.”

  “Talk to you later.”

  Rick hung up and looked at his watch. He had a couple of free hours. He buzzed Jenny. “Call the production office and find out where the new musical is rehearsing.”

  38

  RICK DROVE OVER TO THE soundstage where rehearsals for the musical were going on. He’d seen the big battleship set under construction, but now it was about finished, and there were at least fifty dancers, boys and girls in rehearsal clothes, lining up along its tiers for their number. Rick spotted Glenna and her partner at center stage, she dressed in a tight bodysuit and black net stockings that accentuated the length of her legs. A colorful silk scarf was tied around her waist.

  “All right!” an assistant director yelled through a megaphone. “Places, everyone!”

  Rick found a spot where he could stand behind the camera without interfering.

  “We’ll go on the first beat of the playback,” the director said.

  “On the first beat of playback!” the assistant yelled. “Playback!”

  There were four loud, rhythmic clicks from speakers, and the music started. The dancers began their routine, making a racket with their taps over the music and mouthing the lyrics to the prerecorded soundtrack.

  “Cut!” the director yelled.

  “Stop playback!” the assistant shouted.

  The director stood up with his megaphone. “You’re all half a beat behind the playback!” he yelled. “Pick it up. I want it right on the money! And let me see those smiles!”

  “Places!” the assistant shouted, and the dancers resumed their first postures.

  “Playback,” the director said.

  “Playback!” the assistant shouted.

  The four loud clicks came again, and the dancers began on the first beat of the music. This time it seemed crisper, and the dancers more enthusiastic.

  When the number was done, the director stood up and clapped his hands together. “Great! Now we’re going to break for two hours while the painters finish and you kids get into costume and makeup, then we’re going to shoot it. Back here at one!”

  The cast broke up and went to their dressing rooms, and Rick made a p
oint of being at the set stairs when Glenna came down them.

  She spotted him and waved. “Good morning, Rick,” she said, dabbing at her face with a towel. “Did you see our rehearsal?”

  “I did, and I thought it looked wonderful, especially you.”

  “We had such a good rehearsal, we’re going to shoot today, instead of tomorrow. That’ll put us half a day ahead of schedule.”

  “Eddie Harris will like that,” Rick said.

  “Thanks again for taking me home last night,” she said. “And for dealing with Stampano. I’m sorry about your face.”

  “It’s nothing to worry about. Stampano looks worse. But he may try to retaliate, and I think you should move out of your bungalow for a little while. Is there someplace else you can stay? With a friend, maybe?”

  “I can move into my dressing room,” she said. “They’ve given me half a bungalow for this film, and there’s a bed.”

  “That sounds good. You’ll have plenty of security on the lot.”

  “It’ll save me the commute, too. I’ve got very early calls every day this week.”

  “What time will you be done today?”

  “It depends on how it goes this afternoon, I guess, but probably it will be at least six o’clock before we’re let go. Maybe later.”

  “I’ll go home with you to get your things and see that you get back here all right.”

  “Thank you. That’s very sweet.”

  “I’ll be back late this afternoon, then.”

  “See you later.” She ran for her dressing room.

  RICK WENT TO SEE Cal Herman, his assistant director of security, and told him what he would need, then he went back to his office, where he found Tom Terry and three young officers, in plainclothes, waiting for him. He shook hands all around and told them to sit down.

  “Here’s what’s happened,” he said. “I had a little set-to with a guy named Chick Stampano last night, not for the first time. He’s been roughing up girls from both here and Metro, and we’ve had it with him.”

  “Doesn’t he work for Jack Dragna?” Tom asked.

  “Yeah, but we’re not going to let that bother us. We’ve heard that he might try to retaliate, and Eddie Harris, our general manager, has instructed me to take some precautions. Our studio cops are going to handle the gates and watch over one of our actresses. Tom, you’re going to ride with me, and one of our studio cops will follow in another car. Then, I want two men, twenty-four hours a day, at my father’s place of business at Clover Field, in Santa Monica.”

  “I’m going to need some more guys, then,” Tom said.

  “Right. Get as many as you need. My father’s place is a big hangar, and I want one man inside and one outside, patrolling the perimeter. There are some expensive airplanes in the hangar, and I’m partial to my old man, too, so take care of them all.”

  “Do we follow him home at night?”

  “If I know him, he’ll sleep in his office. So who’s going to Santa Monica?”

  Tom Terry pointed at two men.

  “Fine. You fellows armed?”

  “We all are,” Tom said.

  Rick gave them directions to his dad’s place. “Introduce yourselves,” he said. “Dad knows you’re coming. It would be better if you don’t shoot anybody, but I expect you to protect yourselves and what you’re guarding, whatever it takes.”

  The two young men left.

  “I’m going to need one more man to follow Clete Barrow around,” Rick said. “Put your other man, here, on him. My secretary will tell you how to get to his bungalow.”

  Tom motioned for his man to get going.

  “Tom, use my phone and scare up some more guys for the other shifts, then I want you to ride with me back to my place. I’m going to pick up some clothes, then bunk in here for a few days.”

  “I’m with you,” Tom said, then he picked up the phone and went to work.

  By late afternoon, Rick had all his bases covered, and he had explained to Clete what was going on.

  “I’m going to have a bodyguard?” Clete asked. “I don’t need one.”

  “I wouldn’t want anybody to mess up that pretty face,” Rick said, “at least not until you’ve wrapped on your picture. Don’t worry, he won’t cramp your style.”

  “Your friend Al has finished building my new gun,” Clete said. “I think I’ll pick it up on the way home.”

  “Couldn’t hurt,” Rick said. “Stay safe.”

  He drove back to his cottage on Eddie Harris’s estate, with Tom Terry in the passenger seat and a studio cop following. He packed a bag and went back to the studio.

  “Going somewhere?” Jenny asked, seeing the suitcase.

  “No, I’m moving in here for a few days.”

  “What’s up?”

  He gave her an abbreviated account of what had happened.

  “Your sofa turns into a bed, you know.”

  “I didn’t know, but I’m glad to hear it.”

  “I’ll get housekeeping to send over some fresh sheets and towels.”

  “Housekeeping?”

  “They take care of all the bungalows and dressing rooms.”

  “Great.” He got back into his car and drove over to Glenna Gleason’s bungalow. She shared it with another female principal in her film. A studio cop was stationed outside.

  “Evening,” Rick said to him. “Everything all right?”

  “Yes, sir,” the man said. “She just got back from work.”

  “We’re going to drive over to the Garden of Allah and pick up some things of hers. I’ll ride with her, and you follow.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rick knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” she called.

  He took a deep breath and went in.

  39

  THEY DROVE IN SILENCE for a few minutes, then Glenna turned toward Rick and pulled her knees up on the seat. “Tell me about you,” she said. “You don’t seem the Hollywood type, somehow.”

  Rick smiled. “No?”

  “I’ll bet you came from somewhere else, like everybody else out here.”

  “Georgia,” he said. “A small town. But I came out here when I was ten, so by local standards I’m practically a native. Where are you from?” He knew, but he wanted to listen to her voice.

  “Milwaukee,” she said. “Home of beer.”

  “That’s right; lots of Germans.”

  “I’m one of them, I guess, or at least half. But we were talking about you.”

  He gave her the mini-biography.

  “Your dad’s a flyer, then?”

  “That’s right. So am I.”

  “I’ve never flown.”

  “We’ll have to remedy that. You’d enjoy it, I think.”

  “Will you take me flying?”

  He took his eyes off the road for a moment and looked into hers. “Maybe I can get Clete Barrow to join us.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t. I mean, he’s very nice, but he’s a movie star and far above me.”

  “Not so far, and from what I’ve seen, when your picture is released the distance will be even less.” He was relieved that she didn’t want Clete along.

  “I think I would have a lot of trouble thinking of myself as a movie star.”

  “Isn’t that what you want?”

  “It’s what I wanted when I came out here, but now I just want to do the best work I can. The money isn’t even all that important.”

  “Are you independently wealthy?”

  “I was, for a while, but not anymore. I mean, it seemed wealthy to me, but . . .”

  “You suffered reverses?”

  “Well, I had to support myself while I looked for work, and then . . . yes, you could say I suffered reverses.”

  “You’ll make it back in no time.”

  “Like I said, the money isn’t all that important to me.”

  “Don’t ever let Eddie Harris hear you say that. You’ll find your attitude reflected in your paycheck—not that Eddie isn�
��t a generous guy.”

  She laughed.

  They pulled up behind her bungalow and went in. Rick thought the place surprisingly neat for two girls sharing, but after all, the Garden of Allah had maid service.

  “There are some Coca-Colas in the icebox,” she said. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  Rick found himself a Coke and had a look around the living room. There were some photographs, apparently of her family, in silver frames on a sideboard. Glenna would have been the little dark-haired girl of about twelve in one of them, looking very beautiful even then. There was also a photograph of her in a beauty pageant, with a silk sash over her shoulder reading “Miss Wisconsin,” watching another girl be crowned. She was more beautiful than the winner, he thought.

  He finished his Coke and stretched out on the sofa for a minute. Then a cool hand was on his cheek.

  “I’m sorry I took so long,” she said. “You fell asleep.”

  “I didn’t sleep very well last night,” he said, looking up at her. The hand was still on his cheek and he took it in his. “I had something on my mind.”

  “No bad dreams, I hope.” She didn’t take her hand back.

  “Only good ones,” he said truthfully. He wanted to tell her that his dreams were of her, but he stopped himself.

  “Shall we get back to the studio, then?”

  He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Yes, let’s.” He was surprised at the number of bags she had, but he stuffed them wherever there was room in her little Chevy.

  THEY DROVE BACK in a comfortable silence. “Oh, pull over to that market,” she said, pointing. “I want to get some things for my kitchenette.”

  He followed her into the market, pushing a cart for her.

  “If you don’t have dinner plans, I’ll fix you something at the bungalow,” she said.

  “That would be nice.”

  She chose some lamb chops and some vegetables, and he paid the bill.

  “You’re the guest of the studio while this lasts,” he said.

  “You’re too kind, sir.”