Hollywood Husbands

by Jackie Collins

  Dennis decided to say something to Silver about her houseman. The man had an attitude problem. Trust Silver to employ a Russian.

  * * *

  Reba insisted on driving.

  ‘I see you’ve still got your friend’s Mercedes,’ Wes remarked dryly.

  Reba extracted a piece of gum from the glove compartment and stuck it in her mouth. ‘I’ll let you in on a little secret, Wesley,’ she said confidentially. ‘This car belongs to my husband. I didn’t wanna tell anyone, ’cos – well… y’know, what with me goin’ around collectin’ rent an’ all. But yup, it’s the scurvy bastard’s set of wheels, an’ now, goddamn it, it’s mine.’ She chewed gum and went red in the face. ‘Just let the shithead try t’get it back from me an’ I’ll crush his balls in the blender.’

  Wes went pale at the thought. ‘Has he moved out?’

  ‘You betcha ass he has.’

  ‘So you’re alone?’

  She shot him a suspicious look as the powerful car careened down Pico away from the beach. ‘No, Wesley, I am not alone. I have a son and a maid and a German Shepherd. I am certainly not alone. And the last thing I need is a roommate.’

  ‘I wasn’t offering,’ he said quickly.

  She continued to chew gum. ‘Maybe, maybe not. I know I’m a catch – what with all the alimony I’ll be gettin’ an’ everything. Not to mention the car an’ the house.’ She paused reflectively. ‘I’ll be very… sought after.’

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ he said. And not by me.

  Taking one hand off the wheel she patted his knee. ‘That’s not to say I don’t like you. Only I can’t reduce your rent – I need the money – so don’t even ask.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘I’m tellin’ you just in case.’

  He decided to develop herpes. Again. Preferably tomorrow.

  To change the subject he said, ‘What does your old man do, anyway?’

  The car roared down Pico. Silence for only a moment. ‘He’s in the Mob,’ Reba said, adding spitefully, ‘an’ any time the cops want me t’sing – I’m ready.’

  Wes almost choked. A moonlight flit was definitely in order.

  * * *

  The great car discussion went on outside Silver’s house. Should they take Dennis’s car, a snappy Porsche? Or would Silver’s white Rolls-Royce be more suitable? They decided on the Rolls, with Dennis driving.

  Silver wore a red Adolfo suit with a beige lace blouse. Tasteful rubies adorned her ears and throat, and for a change of look she featured a chic short wig.

  ‘I wish you’d told me you were wearing yellow,’ she said, a trifle irritably.

  ‘We don’t clash,’ observed Dennis. ‘We complement.’

  ‘Hmmm…’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Yellow photographs better than red. Are we getting used to seeing ourself on the cover of the National Enquirer?’

  Dennis laughed self-consciously. She was right, he had given some consideration to the way his outfit would photograph. The paparazzi adored and worshipped Silver Anderson. Every time she appeared anywhere they whipped themselves into a frenzy. If he was beside her he certainly wished to stand out, not fade into the background like most of her previous escorts.

  The restaurant they were going to was called the Garden of Delight, and it was owned by the lover of Fernando, Silver’s hairdresser, and two lesbian friends of his. Silver had agreed to appear as a favour. She knew her being there on opening night would guarantee the place maximum publicity and possible success.

  Ah… power… She did so enjoy it.

  * * *

  ‘There’s a rumour,’ Reba confided, ‘that Silver Anderson’s gonna turn up tonight.’

  Wes didn’t believe it for a moment. Why would Silver Anderson honour a gay hang-out like the Garden of Delight with her presence? He eyed the crush in the pink and white candy-striped room. ‘I doubt it,’ he said.

  ‘Anyway,’ Reba said accusingly, shrugging off her mink jacket, ‘I thought you was gonna get me her autographed picture for my little boy.’

  ‘Next time.’

  Reba flung her mink jacket at him as if he were her personal maid. ‘You don’t even know her,’ she remarked scornfully. ‘Check that in, an’ be sure t’get a ticket. I don’t wanna lose it thankyouverymuch.’

  He fought his way through fag city to the door, where a girl in black leather accepted the jacket and handed him a numbered claim check. ‘Silver Anderson’s coming here tonight,’ she confided excitedly. ‘Don’t you just a-dore her in Palm Springs?’

  ‘Never miss it,’ he lied, and considered ducking out. Why was everyone telling him about Silver Anderson? As if he cared. Although he had been in her bedroom, and if this group knew, there’d be mass heart failure.

  By the time he got back to Reba she was guzzling cheap pink champagne while talking to an undersized man with a huge buoyant quiff of silver hair and matching eyebrows. ‘Boyce,’ she said, a perfect Miss Manners. ‘Meet Wesley.’

  ‘Looove your frayed collar,’ Boyce trilled, ‘Very Miami Vice.’

  ‘Looove your hair,’ Wes responded, quick as a flash. ‘Very Grecian Formula.’

  Boyce tossed his head like a frisky pony, and turned away.

  ‘Don’t be rude,’ Reba whispered furiously. ‘He lives with Silver Anderson’s hairdresser.’

  Wes slapped his forehead in mock horror. ‘Oh! Jesus Christ! Why didn’t you tell me before?’

  Reba’s mouth tightened into a thin scarlet line.

  * * *

  Smile fixed firmly in place, Dennis on her arm, Silver navigated her way through the crowds towards the bar.

  The sea of people parted. She was the Queen. They were quite prepared to pay humble homage.

  The photographers fought hard for their shots, elbowing and kicking everyone out of their way as they surrounded the star.

  ‘Gangway. Gangway, please!’ yelled Boyce, who had met Silver once before and was so overcome by her proximity he thought he might faint. He looked desperately around for Fernando, his roommate.

  ‘This place is impossible,’ Dennis whispered in her ear. ‘Shall I phone Spago for a table?’

  Smiling at her adoring fans, she acknowledged them with a regal wave.

  ‘Silver!’ a very young man in a diaphanous caftan screamed. ‘You’re beautiful! We love you! We worship you!’

  ‘Yes, do,’ she hissed to Dennis. ‘One drink and we’re out of here.’

  Fernando materialized and all but threw himself at her feet. ‘You came!’

  ‘Of course I did, darling. You know I wouldn’t let you down. I must warn you though, I can only stay ten minutes.’

  ‘You’re such a loyal person.’ Fernando’s eyes filled with tears of joy. He had produced Silver Anderson, and now – however long she stayed – he would be a hero.

  Dennis slipped away to call Spago and warn them of Silver’s imminent arrival. The crowd pressed around her. The photographers continued to fight and struggle.

  ‘Gangway!’ Boyce pleaded desperately. ‘Miss Anderson is getting crushed. Please!’

  Silver’s smile became a touch tight around the edges. She didn’t notice any security, and Fernando and Boyce were hardly a pair to make one feel secure.

  ‘Silver! Silver! Silver!’ The opening night mob swayed with joy as they pressed closer and closer. Over the din the paparazzi’s curses flew through the air.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Fernando said in a panicky voice. ‘Once we get you to the bar you’ll be safe.’

  Safe? Safe! Wasn’t she safe now?

  Silver began to steam. She was too kind-hearted, that was her trouble. And why hadn’t Fernando been prepared for her appearance?

  A bizarre face straight out of a Fellini movie bobbed in front of her. She couldn’t make out if it was a man or a woman. The voice was distinctly deep as it murmured, ‘You beautiful bitch-goddess. Sing for me! I beg you!’

  And then the pushing and the shoving and the quest to get close to her and touch her became seriously
dangerous. Fernando’s yells of panic filled the air, and a fight started with one of the photographers and a group clad in chains and leather.

  Silver felt a clutch of fear. She was going to be loved to death! Oh God! Where was Dennis? And why was she here?

  * * *

  Wes smelled trouble before it took place. When you worked bar you knew how to gauge a room. You always had one eye on the something that could happen, and the other on the nearest exit.

  ‘Shit!’ he muttered to no one in particular. He was caught up in the crush himself, Reba was nowhere in sight, and when the fight started he knew this was not the place to be. Bad enough for him, because when blows got traded he always managed to catch one. Even worse for Silver Anderson, who was well and truly trapped unless somebody did something fast.

  With a weary sigh and a quick scan of the crush he realized he was the only one capable of doing anything. The poor woman was on her way to getting trampled underfoot.

  ‘Shit!’ he repeated, and moved into action. ‘L.A.P.D.!’ he shouted authoritatively, causing a minor lull, and giving him enough time to grab Silver’s arm and mutter hoarsely, ‘If you want to get out of here fast, come with me and don’t waste time asking questions.’

  He had to hand it to her. She was with him from word one, as he propelled her through the seething mob towards the back exit, giving nobody any time to do anything about it.

  They hit the back exit door, and burst out into the parking lot.

  ‘Where’s your car?’ he asked urgently.

  Wordlessly she pointed at the white Rolls parked at the front. He bundled her into the passenger seat, grabbed the keys from a bemused attendant, leaped in himself, and they were on the move just as the crowd and the fight and a hysterical Fernando came pouring out of the door after them.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  For weeks Heaven had been placing phone calls to the great Antonio. Okay, she knew he was a world-famous photographer and all, but he had approached her at Silver’s party, she hadn’t asked him to do anything. He was the one with all the brilliant ideas – telling her she was young and now and had such a fabulous look and he simply had to photograph her.

  Bull.

  Shit.

  Another phoney – and she had met enough of those along the way. Only this one wasn’t going to get off the hook so easily. He had made her a promise, and she was going to see he kept it, however long it took.

  Since the party, Eddie had been a complete minus. He was embarrassed because she’d caught him with star-worship in his eyes as he rubber-necked all over the place. And he was pissed off because Antonio hadn’t asked him to pose. Now he was trying to be Mister Cool again, and he couldn’t wait to crow about Antonio not calling her back. ‘I guess you’re not the new Madonna after all,’ he sneered.

  ‘He’s only going to photograph me, not sign me to a record deal,’ she snapped.

  ‘Yeah. When?’

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘You said that last week.’

  ‘So?’

  He was also pissed off because she wouldn’t sleep with him again. Once was enough. She hadn’t enjoyed it that much, and who needed the hassle of worrying about getting pregnant? At least she wasn’t a virgin anymore. No one could tease her about that.

  One day she hopped into George’s car, a slow-moving Chevrolet, and drove over the Canyon to Antonio’s studio on Beverly Boulevard. She skipped school to do so. School was a drag anyway; she often took a day off and hung out at the movies or one of the big shopping malls. Once, she had driven over the hill into Hollywood and spent the entire day in Tower Records on Sunset. What a treat! Until two dorks tried to sell her drugs and get her to go to a motel with them. ‘Bug off,’ she had told them, which made them pursue her even more.

  Heaven liked to think she knew how to look after herself. Living with Silver from birth to ten (give or take the times she was dumped with nannies or left with a strange assortment of her mother’s ‘friends’) had certainly made her grow up fast. Most of the times she was with Silver were the lean times – and Heaven remembered them well. She also remembered the pills and the drugs and the booze and the men. Oh, how she remembered the men. Practically every week she acquired a new ‘uncle’.

  And then came the really bad days just before Silver’s breakdown. There were no men then, nobody to help them when they were evicted from a cheap London hotel for not paying the bill. Thank goodness for Benjii. He was definitely weird on account of the fact that he couldn’t make up his mind whether he wanted to be a man or a woman, but he was very kind-hearted, and took them both in without a murmur.

  It was Benjii who told her she had a well-known uncle in America. He helped her locate him, and Uncle Jack came rushing over to rescue her. Life changed after that. With Silver she had lived all over the place and learned to look after herself.

  Uncle Jack took her to her grandfather’s in California, and all of a sudden she was living in a proper house with proper mealtimes and a housekeeper to wash her clothes and make her bed. There was also a school to attend every day. It was all very strange, and took a lot of getting used to. Grandfather George was okay – but it was obvious to everyone that he lived in a world of his own. Uncle Jack was a hunk. He attempted to spend time with her – only it was never enough. Realizing he was very busy, she tried to understand.

  Silver never reclaimed her. Heaven could have bet on that.

  The old Chevrolet chugged grudgingly over the Canyon, slowing everything down behind it. She was only supposed to drive the car to school and back, and she fervently hoped it wouldn’t behave like Eddie’s Mustang and break down. Uncle Jack had promised her a car for her seventeenth birthday. Who could wait that long? She’d better get her act together and start scoring money of her own. Antonio was the key. If he photographed her then she’d be known, and maybe one of the creeps at the record companies she’d been sending her tapes to would actually listen to them.

  Unfortunately, Antonio was not at his studio. ‘He’s out on a location shoot,’ a bored receptionist told her. ‘You should really call first before coming here.’

  ‘I have called,’ Heaven pointed out. ‘Ten times!’

  ‘Make it eleven,’ said the receptionist. ‘Antonio is a very busy man.’

  Heaven returned to the Valley, dejected but not deterred. She would get to him. Eventually. And when she did, things were going to happen.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  A thousand thoughts went through Silver’s head. This man driving her Rolls could be a murderer, a kidnapper, a fan (God forbid!)…

  She glanced at him sideways. He had an interesting profile, masculine and rugged. And the air of authority he had shown when rescuing her from the crush and spiriting her outside was quite… hmmm… dare she think it? Horny.

  ‘May I ask exactly who you are?’ she demanded haughtily.

  ‘Just call me Robin Hood,’ he replied.

  ‘Robin Hood stole from the rich and gave to the poor. Is that what you intend to do?’

  He lightened his foot on the accelerator. ‘Oh, that’s nice,’ he said. ‘Really nice. You do a good deed and get kicked in the balls.’

  She thought she detected the slight trace of a rough English accent. Maybe he was a reporter. She gave him a penetrating look. There was something vaguely familiar about him. ‘I’d like to know who you are,’ she repeated crisply. ‘And exactly where you think you are taking me.’

  He glanced at her. She liked his eyes – they were knowledgeable eyes, horny eyes.

  ‘Listen, lady,’ he said. ‘You looked like you might be in a small spot of trouble – like getting crushed to death – y’know what I mean?’

  ‘Maybe,’ she allowed.

  ‘So I thought I’d do the Good Samaritan bit an’ get you out of there.’ He swerved the powerful car over to the side of the road. ‘I can always take you back if you like.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ she said quickly;

  He set the car in motion
again. ‘In that case I’ll take you home – an’ maybe you’ll give me cab fare to get back to my date, who is probably screamin’ thief on account of the fact that I ran off with the keys to her car and the ticket for her mink jacket.’

  ‘Did you leave your wallet behind along with your girlfriend?’ she inquired tartly.

  ‘Naw. I never carry a wallet.’

  ‘Where do you keep your money?’

  ‘Wherever it’ll do me the most good.’

  She began to laugh. ‘Who are you?’ she asked for the third time.

  ‘Just call me Wes,’ he replied. ‘An’ don’t bother with the introductions ’cos I already know who you are.’

  ‘Really?’ Her sarcastic tone was lost on him. ‘In that case you are one up on me. I’m famous, you’re obviously not. What do you do… Wes?’

  He was enjoying himself for a change. Having a conversation with a woman for a change. Christ, she smelled good. ‘What perfume are you wearing?’ he asked.

  ‘Giorgio. Do you like it?’

  ‘If I don’t get asphyxiated by the fumes.’

  She laughed again. ‘What do you do?’

  The Rolls was a dream to drive. He felt quite at home behind the wheel. ‘A little bit of this, a little bit of that.’

  She hoped he wasn’t an actor.

  He read her mind. ‘I’m not an actor.’

  ‘How did you know what I was thinking?’

  ‘It figures.’ He turned on Fairfax, and headed up towards Sunset.

  ‘I presume you know where I live,’ she said acidly.

  ‘Yeah, only you’ll have to direct me once we get into Bel Air. I always get lost.’

  ‘Exactly how do you know where I live?’ she persisted.

  ‘I bought a stars’ map. You were on it.’

  ‘Nonsense.’

  He shot her another glance. She looked different from the night of her party. Then it struck him. ‘You’ve cut your hair,’ he remarked.