Sinners

by Jackie Collins

  ‘Hello, my darling,’ Natalie said. ‘What a divine day. I’ve simply got to strip off and collapse in the pool.’ She kissed him on the cheek and set off for the house to change.

  Clay squatted on the grass and indicated the lifeless body of Polly.

  ‘Asleep,’ Charlie explained.

  Clay winked. ‘Hard night, I expect,’ he said with a chuckle.

  Serafina cackled knowingly, as Cindy and Sean came running over to say hello.

  Lunch was served in the garden.

  ‘Who needs Hollywood?’ Natalie said, spooning in mouthfuls of strawberries and cream. ‘This is heavenly. Clay, darling, why can’t we build a pool?’

  ‘Because, my sweet, for the two weeks of summer we get a year it’s just not worth it.’

  ‘Charlie thought it was worth it. If he can do it, why can’t we?’

  There were times, Clay reflected, when Natalie was a pain in the bum.

  ‘I wish you would sit down,’ Charlie said to his mother. ‘The maid will clear away.’

  Serafina gave him one of her girlish smiles, revealing rotten teeth. ‘I have too much nervous energy,’ she trilled. ‘I must keep on the go. That is my secret.’

  ‘What secret?’ asked Natalie.

  ‘Eternal youth, my dear. Joy and vitality.’

  Natalie looked at Clay, who quickly looked away. He knew she wanted to send the poor old lady up.

  ‘Can we swim, Daddy?’ asked Cindy.

  ‘Yes, come on. Want a dip, Poll?’

  Polly had finished her lunch. She jumped up and obediently joined Charlie and the children as they raced for the pool.

  ‘What a fat tub of lard,’ Natalie remarked. ‘Charlie really goes through all the scrubbers.’

  Clay had just been admiring Polly’s retreating bottom. ‘Do you think so?’ he asked mildly.

  Natalie snorted. ‘I suppose you fancy her. You would. Just your type, big breasts and fat ass.’

  Yes, not bits of skin and bone like you, Clay thought. Since the birth of their baby, Natalie had dieted away to nothing.

  In the pool Cindy sat on Charlie’s shoulders, squeaking with joy. He dropped her into the water and she squealed for more. Polly leisurely swam the length of the pool and back again. Then she got out and flopped on the grass.

  Charlie joined her. ‘Where do you want to eat tonight?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m easy.’ She spread her arms to the sun.

  I know that, he thought. ‘Well, let’s have a bite at my hotel, then. I’ll get them to arrange something on the terrace.’

  ‘Fine.’ Her eyes were closed.

  Actually he had already arranged everything before leaving. Champagne on ice. Caviar and sour cream, steak and asparagus.

  Natalie came walking over. ‘What day are you leaving?’

  ‘Wednesday.’

  ‘Only two weeks and we’ll be there with you. It seems a shame to leave England with this wonderful weather.’

  Charlie grimaced. ‘I’ll be glad to get away.’

  Natalie put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. ‘I know. It’s been rough for you.’

  His eyes misted over. God, it was good to have friends. ‘Yes, you do understand, don’t you, love?’

  ‘Of course I do. And anytime you want to talk about it, just don’t hesitate to phone me. Clay is always so busy. I have lots of free time. If you want to have lunch or something before you go, call me. Really, Charlie, it would do you good to get it all off your chest. Actually I’m free tomorrow. I’ll tell you what, I’ll come by the hotel about twelve and we’ll have a good old heart to heart.’

  ‘I’m having lunch with my agent. It’s awfully sweet of you but—’

  ‘You know,’ Natalie stared thoughtfully into space, ‘I think I’m one of the few people who actually knew Lorna. We talked quite a bit; she confided a lot in me.’

  ‘Did she?’ Charlie was at once interested. ‘What about tea tomorrow? I could be back at the hotel by three.’

  ‘I think I could manage that.’ Natalie glanced at Polly who was breathing evenly and seemed asleep. ‘Only don’t mention it to Clay. I’m supposed to be visiting his parents and he’ll go all stuffy on me if I get out of it.’

  The weather stayed hot for the whole day, and it was past seven by the time Charlie and Polly left.

  At the hotel Polly collapsed in a chair and announced, ‘I’m absolutely exhausted!’

  Charlie looked at her in surprise. As far as he had seen she had spent the day flaked out on the grass, not moving a muscle.

  He put on a new Sergio Mendes tape and rang the desk for his messages. His mind was half-occupied wondering if Polly would indulge in a little pot-smoking. He needed something to relax him.

  The switchboard told him Mrs Lorna Brick had telephoned twice, and would he please return her call.

  Charlie sat quite still by the telephone. Lorna had phoned him. Lorna, who hadn’t even spoken to him, except through lawyers, for months. All thoughts of Polly, getting high, and dinner were forgotten.

  Perhaps Lorna wanted to come back.

  Perhaps he would take her back.

  They had been through a lot together, and there were the children to consider. He had known all along that Lorna would see sense. She could fly to Hollywood with him, a sort of second honeymoon.

  He glanced over at Polly, sprawled in a chair with her eyes closed.

  ‘Listen, love, I’m rather done in myself. All that sun. Let’s take a raincheck on dinner tonight. I’ll call you a cab.’

  Her eyes flicked open. ‘I’m not that tired, Charlie.’

  But he was already on the phone ordering her a taxi. With Polly gone, he paced the room, wondering how to play it.

  Should he be hard and unforgiving, softening as the conversation progressed? Or should he acquiesce immediately and say something like, ‘We’ve both made our mistakes. Let’s just forget about it and start afresh.’

  He had a moment of doubt as to why Lorna was calling him, but the moment passed and he was sure it could only be for one thing. He dialled her number, feeling elated. It was almost like calling a girl you fancied for the first time.

  A man’s voice answered, which threw him. Hadn’t the berk left yet?

  Lorna got on the line, her familiar flat accent cool and impersonal. ‘Hello, Charlie, thank you for phoning back.’

  ‘That’s all right.’ He paused awkwardly, waiting for her to say something.

  ‘How’s everything?’

  ‘Well, y’know, fine, I suppose. I just left Cindy and Sean.’

  ‘Oh. Listen, Charlie, I want to ask you a favour.’

  Here it came. He breathed deeply. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I would have asked your mother but she hardly talks to me any more. The thing is I’m getting married.’

  ‘You’re what?

  Her voice went very cold. ‘Getting married, and I wondered if the children could stay with you in America on July 15th instead of the 29th. You see, I’m going to Africa on location with Jim, and I won’t be here when they break up from school. I thought it would be better for them to be with you.’

  Charlie was stunned. ‘You’re not actually marrying that – that stupid prick!’

  ‘Let’s not resort to childish insults, please, I can’t stand it. Now that we’re no longer connected with each other, can’t we at least be civil? Can you take the children on that date or not?’

  ‘Yes, I bloody well can. I can take them for good and all, get them out of your clutches.’

  Lorna sighed. ‘They’ll be returning at the end of August as arranged. I shall be back by then.’

  ‘You silly cow. What are you marrying that layabout for? Is he a good screw? You don’t even like to do that – so what for?’

  ‘Goodbye, Charlie. My lawyer will take care of the details.’ She hung up.

  He stared blankly at the receiver. Rotten bitch! How could she possibly marry a lousy stuntman? It just wasn’t logical, not when he was prepared to forgive and
forget and have her back. Christ Almighty, why had he sent Polly home? Her body was just what he needed now.

  It was great being a movie star, wasn’t it? Just great. Sitting in a hotel suite all alone and no one anywhere Who gave a fuck. Charming! Perhaps it would have been better if he had stayed plain Charlie – not the Charlie Brick.

  The phone rang and he wondered abruptly if it was Lorna ringing back to apologize.

  It wasn’t. It was Kristen Sweetzer.

  ‘I thought you was going to call me?’ she said reproachfully. ‘We had such a good time together. When shall I see you?’

  ‘Soon, love, soon. But this week’s been impossible. I’m going away tomorrow. I’ll call you when I get back.’

  He wondered why he found it necessary to lie, to try to be nice. He had no intention of ever seeing the big horse again.

  ‘Charlie, you are a very bad boy. But I shall forgive you. How long will you be away?’

  ‘Not long. I must rush now. See you soon. Bye.’ He replaced the receiver. He hated these women who chased him. They either gurgled with the thrill of being with a film star, or they tried to put him down, insulting him and his films in the hope that this would make them more interesting.

  Damn Lorna and her stupid stuntman!

  He wondered what Natalie would have to tell him tomorrow, something of interest he hoped. Determined not to spend the evening alone, he phoned his chauffeur and told him to get hold of a good movie they could run.

  George, who was enjoying his day off, relaxing in bed with a plump secretary, reluctantly sent her home and did as his boss asked. He had a great job, more a sort of friend than an employee. He had been with Charlie six years, and he prided himself on always being available. With Charlie Brick you never knew what he would want, and whatever it was, George did his best.

  Chapter Six

  Sunday liked Carey immediately, so when Carey asked if she might become her manager and press representative, Sunday was only too pleased.

  She didn’t want to stay off the movie, and she certainly didn’t want to go back to Rome, but she was determined that Abe Stein and Jack Milan should apologize.

  Once Carey realized that this was something about which Sunday was serious, she suddenly switched sides and came around to her way of thinking.

  And it worked. Oh, how it worked.

  The next day, Sunday was headlines. Nothing much else was happening. The papers were short of stories, so they played it up. Sunday was the hard-done-by heroine, and Abe and Jack were the big bad villains.

  Carey arranged everything. She gave out brief ladylike press releases, arranged the right TV talk-shows, and by the end of the week Sunday was back on the film.

  Abe Stein had sent her a short stilted letter, expressing his concern for her feelings and asking her forgiveness. He was furious about having to do it, but realized it was for the best.

  Jack Milan threw a huge press party and was exceedingly charming to Sunday. Privately he said to his wife, ‘The little bitch could really screw up my reputation.’ He had read some of the letters from his fans who were shocked at his treatment of her.

  Meanwhile Sunday’s part in the film was enlarged, and the nude scene took place on a closed set, with Carey nearby. Abe ordered it printed after one take.

  In spite of the fact that Carey had been telling Marshall for some time that she was going to leave, he was nevertheless upset. ‘At least give a couple of weeks’ notice,’ he said. ‘What am I supposed to do with Charlie Brick coming in any day, and the deal you were arranging for Salamanda Smith? I’m up to my ears with the TV package.’

  ‘You’re the one that taught me to be tough in this business and grab all the chances when they come,’ Carey said, perching on his desk and swinging her long legs. ‘Sorry, Marsh, but I’m grabbing. Send me Charlie Brick as a client if you like.’

  ‘Listen, baby, who are you kidding? You can’t buck the big outfits here, they’ve got everyone tied up. You’ll flop right on your nice round ass.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ She smiled. ‘By the way, now that I’m Sunday Simmons’s manager, how would you like her as your exclusive client?’

  ‘Forget it. I have enough to handle. She’s just another broad. You’ll learn your lesson and come wiggling back for your job.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Don’t be so sure. Well, I have lots to do, so I’ll be on my way.’

  Marshall got up and put his arm around her waist. He was a wide-faced man in his early fifties and he wore the best that Cy Devore had to offer. Nothing could hide the fact that one leg was shorter than the other and that he dragged a heavy club foot.

  ‘You know I wish you luck, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘And believe me, you’re going to need it.’

  * * *

  When the film was finished, Jack Milan decided to throw a party at his Bel Air mansion. Sunday was invited.

  She hated parties. She didn’t really enjoy drinking, social small talk, and sly passes from drunk old men whose wives stood not five feet away.

  The Hollywood wolf-pack would be present. Following her publicity, she had been approached by various well-known actors for a date, but had turned them all down.

  ‘Who needs it?’ she said to Carey. ‘I don’t enjoy going out unless it’s with someone I really want to be with.’

  Carey shrugged. ‘Your personal life is your own. Do what you like.’

  So Sunday did just that. She bought herself a Yorkshire terrier and a stack of books, and each evening she stayed home reading. She remembered her last experience with a man, her husband, and she didn’t feel able to cope with any new relationships – however casual. That was why she had fled from Rome.

  It all seemed like yesterday, not three years ago, when she was first introduced to Count Paulo Gennerra Rizzo. She had been in Italy seven months, and still thought often of Raf. But Paulo had finally made her forget.

  He was a romantic, an expert in the art of making a woman feel completely beautiful. He flattered her constantly, showered her with flowers, looked only into her eyes adoringly. When they walked into a restaurant, people stared. What a couple they made! How the press loved them, and how Paulo adored the publicity. They were married three months later.

  A few weeks afterwards Sunday discovered the truth about Paulo. She found him in the bathroom one day, his leather belt tied tightly around his arm, his eyes bulging, just about to stick a syringe in a waiting vein.

  She cried out in horror. His eyes bulged even further, distorting his arrogant Roman features, then the needle was safely in, and he sucked in his breath quickly and turned his back to her.

  She rushed from the room.

  When he emerged his face was perfectly composed.

  ‘Don’t be frightened, my little one,’ he said. ‘It is correct for me to inject myself daily under my doctor’s orders. I did not wish to tell you before, however now . . .’ He shrugged, perfectly at ease.

  ‘But why?’ Sunday asked, still horrified by the sight she had seen.

  ‘Oh, depression you know, nothing very serious.’

  ‘I’ve never seen you depressed.’

  ‘That is because of my good doctor. You see? There is nothing to worry about.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said uneasily, ‘but why do you have to inject yourself ? It’s horrible.’

  ‘I could not bother the doctor every day, could I now? So he showed me what to do, and I just do it. See, it is simple. Come, let me take you to the beach for lunch. Make yourself even more bellisimo.’

  Later they left their apartment and drove in Paulo’s Lamborghini to the beach, where they lunched with friends, and then played miniature golf and lay on the sand at Freggenni. Paulo had put her mind at rest. After all, if his doctor had told him to do it, then it must be all right.

  She enjoyed the afternoon. She was due to begin work on a film the next day, and it was good to relax.

  The new movie started, and this time her voice was not dubbed. She spoke her part in Italian, which took up all
her time and attention. Paulo fetched her in the evenings, and they dined with friends. Once home she would collapse into bed, exhausted. It only occurred to her after the film was finished that Paulo no longer made love to her. She also noticed that at night, when he thought she was asleep, he would creep from their bed and prowl around the apartment.

  The first night she realized this she fell asleep soon after. But the next night she forced herself to stay awake, and an hour later crept out of bed to look for him.

  The apartment door was wide open, and Paulo was nowhere to be seen. She knew he couldn’t have dressed without her seeing him, and he couldn’t have gone very far with just his pyjamas on, so she waited by the door and surprised him when he came back. He was carrying a package, which he dropped when he saw her, spilling the contents – box after box of glass ampoules, three syringes and two bottles of large green pills.

  They stared at each other. ‘Why are you up? Why are you spying on me?’ he asked coldly, as he bent to pick up the things.

  ‘The door was open,’ she stammered. ‘Where have you been? What do you need all that for?’

  He slammed the door in a fury. Then, eyes narrow and mean, he hit her across the face and screamed, ‘Spying bitch!’ With that he marched off to the bathroom, locking the door.

  She was stunned. Her face blazed red where he had hit her. She bent to the bathroom keyhole and peered in. He was giving himself an injection. Frightened, she ran to bed.

  The next morning he appeared charming and gay as if nothing had happened.

  Sunday found out who his doctor was and went to see him. The doctor was as shocked as she was. Paulo had never been under orders to administer drugs to himself.

  Together they planned to catch him. The next afternoon Sunday went out, only to return immediately with the doctor, who had been waiting downstairs by arrangement. They caught Paulo in the bathroom, the door open, injecting himself in the leg.