Hollywood Husbands

by Jackie Collins

  He felt a building excitement. Maybe he’d just lucked into a whole different lifestyle.

  There was a note tacked to his front door. It was short and to the point:

  PAY UP OR GET OUT BY NOON TOMORROW.

  Reba, venting her fury at being dumped last night. He wondered if she’d recovered her precious mink jacket for which he still had the claim check. Poor old Reba, she must be boiling.

  ‘Is this your dog?’

  Wes turned to confront his nextdoor neighbour, the uptight female who played classical records all night and drove him crazy with the noise. She was a skinny little thing, plain, with her scraped-back hair and granny glasses. She wore no makeup and looked about twelve in her baggy pants and tee-shirt. He had tried to talk to her several times – well it was only neighbourly to be friendly, wasn’t it? Every time he made an attempt she had ignored him.

  ‘You should be ashamed of yourself,’ she continued hotly, not waiting to find out if it was his dog or not. ‘The poor animal sat outside your door howling all night. That is, until I took it in. He had a nasty cut on his front paw which I cleaned and bandaged as best I could. You’d better take him to a vet.’

  Wes checked out the dog sitting patiently beside the girl. It was the same dog that had been following him around for a while – ever since picking him up on the beach one day. It was a mutt, a mongrel with stupid trusting eyes, and he’d thrown it a few bones once in a while – just to get it off his back. ‘It’s not my dog,’ he denied vehemently. ‘Never set eyes on it before in my life.’ He had no intention of acquiring any vet bills.

  ‘Liar!’ she accused. ‘I’ve seen this dog with you on many occasions.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Okay, okay. So it’s followed me around sometimes, but it’s not my dog. You can have it. It’s a stray.’

  The girl was busting with fury. ‘You bum! How can you give your dog away? How can you be so… so… uncaring?’

  He caught sight of her nipples – erect under the skimpy tee-shirt. If you did the old secretary trick – took off the glasses and let the hair loose – she might be quite pretty. ‘Who, me? You’re the one with the crappy loud music all night long so that nobody gets any sleep.’

  Glaring at him she said, ‘The last thing you do is sleep. You’re never home.’

  ‘Have you been spying on me?’

  ‘I’ve got better things to do with my time.’

  The dog whined pathetically, and lifted its bandaged paw.

  She calmed down. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘I took a day off work to wait for you. I thought it was your dog; you say it’s not. Why don’t we get together on this and take it to the vet?’

  ‘Go ahead. I’m not stoppin’ you.’ He indicated the note on his door. ‘I have problems of my own to take care of.’

  She glanced at the note then back at him. ‘Oh, you can handle our dragon landlady, I’ve seen you do it before.’

  ‘It seems you know a lot more about me than I do about you.’

  ‘I’m observant.’

  ‘So I’ve observed.’

  She didn’t crack a smile. But she did remove her glasses, and he noticed that her eyes were ever so slightly crossed, giving her a rather appealing look. She was extremely young. And on closer inspection quite pretty, as he’d suspected. She made him feel ancient. He watched her twirl her glasses in child-size hands.

  ‘If I take the dog to the vet will you pay half?’ she asked tentatively. ‘And if we keep it, then maybe we can split the cost of its food.’

  ‘Something tells me you’re not exactly flush,’ he remarked.

  She fidgeted. ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘I wasn’t really thinkin’ of getting a dog.’

  ‘Half a dog,’ she corrected.

  Shit! Why was he such a sucker? ‘Okay, okay,’ he said, giving in.

  Her face registered relief.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked. ‘I suppose that now we’re partners in a dog I should know.’

  ‘Unity.’

  ‘Wes.’ He held out a friendly hand. ‘And what’ll we call the mutt?’

  The shadow of a smile flitted across her face. ‘I think we should.’

  ‘Should what?’

  ‘Call our dog Mutt. It suits him perfectly.’

  He laughed – she was a funny little thing, but quite spunky. ‘You’re on. While I live here we’ll share the do— Mutt. Right?’

  She nodded. Little did she know he would be moving out at any moment.

  * * *

  Silver greeted everyone on the set with unusual friendliness. Purring her way into the makeup chair, she leaned her head back, closed her eyes and murmured, ‘Make me divine!’

  ‘Hmmm,’ commented Raoul, her makeup artist. ‘Somebody had a wonderful time last night, and it wasn’t me.’

  She giggled girlishly. ‘Do I look haggard?’

  ‘Quite the opposite actually.’

  Another giggle. ‘Great sex is better than sleep any day.’

  ‘Mr Denby living up to his reputation, is he?’

  ‘You’ve got to be joking.’

  ‘Not a new one?’

  ‘A real man.’

  ‘Oooh, I love real men!’

  ‘Don’t we all. And there aren’t too many of them around.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  By noon, news of Silver Anderson’s new lover had swept the sound stage. Everyone wanted to know who it was, only after her initial chat with Raoul she wasn’t talking.

  ‘I’m so sorry about last night,’ Fernando fretted, as he fussed with her hair. ‘It was an absolute mob scene. Boyce was awfully upset.’

  ‘I survived,’ Silver said dryly.

  ‘So I heard!’ Fernando pushed for information. ‘Anyone we know?’

  ‘Ouch!’ She pulled away from his teasing brush. ‘More care if you please.’

  ‘Sorry!’

  ‘So you should be.’

  She stared at her reflection in the mirror as Fernando darted around her like an exotic plumed cockatoo. Wes Money. An unusual name. An unusual man. He wasn’t in awe of her, not one bit. She adored that. Not like Dennis Denby, who was a waste of time.

  Wes Money. What did he do? Where was he from? Was he married? Divorced? Did he have kids?

  Last night was not a fact-finding mission. It was a night of hot sex, lustful sex. She smiled at the memories, still so very recent.

  In the morning there was no time for talk, she had an early call and had to rush. Tonight she would find out about him.

  Nora turned up for lunch. ‘I think I missed a page in your book,’ she said acidly.

  Silver blinked. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Cut the crap. Who is he? And what does he want?’

  Silver picked daintily at a chef’s salad. ‘Does nothing escape you? Are there no secrets anymore?’

  ‘Once Raoul knows, you may as well take out a full-page ad in Variety. Everyone is aware you got schtupped last night. And the big question is, by whom? Because it’s common knowledge poor old Dennis didn’t get lucky.’

  Silver smiled. She adored the attention and speculation her love life received. ‘Let them all keep guessing,’ she said. ‘I met a new man, with the emphasis on man!’

  ‘Big cock, huh?’

  ‘Nora!’

  ‘Don’t act shocked with me. I’ve seen a few in my time – before I changed tracks, of course.’

  ‘His name is Wes Money.’

  ‘And does he have any?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Shall I give him the Dun & Bradstreet treatment?’

  ‘I’m not planning to marry the man.’

  ‘Is he an actor?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  Nora chain-lit a cigarette. ‘What’ll I tell the news hounds?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘They’ll drive you crazy.’

  ‘There’s nothing unusual about that.’

&nbs
p; Indulging in a coughing fit, Nora said, ‘You love it, doncha?’

  Silver beamed. ‘I’ve been all the way to the bottom. And now I’m right back at the very top. Why shouldn’t I love it?’

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Forum Hotel accommodated Jack, Howard and Mannon in great style. They were given the Presidental six-room suite, which sprawled across the top floor of the hotel replete with terraced bedrooms, a sunken living room, an eight-seater jacuzzi, and a small screening room.

  ‘I like it,’ Howard announced. ‘I want to run the studio from here and never leave.’

  Mannon threw himself down on an oversize fur-covered couch. ‘Not bad,’ he agreed. ‘If we don’t have enough beds, this’ll do!’

  Jack wondered why he was there. In the plane, all the way to Vegas, Howard and Mannon had talked nothing but women. One might think they were a couple of out-of-towners on their first night away from their wives. Howard Soloman – the head of Orpheus Studios. And Mannon Cable – superstar. And all they had on their minds was getting laid.

  Jack knew for sure he’d outgrown them long ago, and it didn’t bother him one bit. What did bother him was that he’d agreed to come on this weekend. It was his own fault. He should have known what to expect.

  Howard was bounding around like a tennis ball. ‘I love it!’ he kept on exclaiming. ‘This is sensational! No phone calls. No wives. No pain.’ The phone rang and Howard automatically grabbed it. ‘Yeah?’

  Jack thought of Clarissa. He wondered how she was. He wasn’t sure if he missed her or not.

  Howard spoke rapidly and hung up with a smile on his face. ‘That was Dino Fonicetti,’ he said. ‘He and Susanna wanna throw a party for us tonight. Whaddya say?’

  Dino Fonicetti was the son of Joseph Fonicetti, who owned the Forum Hotel. He was married to Susanna, daughter of Carlos Brent – the legendary singer.

  ‘Sure,’ said Mannon at the same time as Jack said, ‘No.’

  ‘What’s with the no?’ Howard yelled excitedly. ‘We came here to party, didn’t we?’

  ‘I came here for a break,’ Jack said determinedly.

  ‘I can recall when the only break you cared about was between some bimbo’s legs!’ Howard laughed at his own humour. ‘You don’t wanna party, don’t do it. Mannon an’ I will show ’em. Right, Mannon buddy?’

  Mannon nodded agreeably.

  Jack wondered what would happen if Mannon ever suspected that Howard planned to hit on Whitney. He wouldn’t be so amiable then. ‘I’m going to take a walk,’ he said. ‘Maybe I’ll lay fifty bucks on black, lose, and go to bed. I’ve put in a heavy day.’

  ‘So what was I doin’? Lyin’ in the sun?’ demanded Howard indignantly. ‘My day was a crap-shoot from start to finish. However, I am ready to roll – all the way.’

  ‘Have a good time,’ smiled Jack.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Howard. ‘We’ll tell you what you missed in the mornin’. Y’can cry in your orange juice!’

  * * *

  From the moment they set off, Jade had her doubts about why she had wanted to accompany them. Antonio had a new boyfriend, a dapper interior designer whom he couldn’t keep his hands off. And along for the ride was a sulky male model with a waist-length mane of hair. Jade wasn’t sure who he belonged to, but he was Danish and didn’t speak any English, so she didn’t let it bother her. After all, he wasn’t her responsibility.

  Las Vegas was not her kind of town – she knew it the moment they arrived. Gambling had never interested her, and the heat on the streets was suffocating. The hotels were all glittering gambling palaces, the people tourists, and the noise of whirling slot-machines non-stop. She hoped Antonio wouldn’t be insulted if she hopped on a plane back to L.A. early in the morning.

  Yeah. Just in time to keep your lunch date with Mark. Who are you kidding?

  Antonio had arranged rooms in a hotel called the Forum. Talk about bad taste. The place was a salute to it! In her room she found a vibrating bed, thick-pile gold carpets, a mirrored ceiling, and porno movies on the closed circuit television.

  ‘Later we party,’ Antonio advised. ‘My friends, Dino and Susanna, they have the hot party.’

  Jade almost yawned in his face. Exhaustion had set in. Two days in bed, sleeping, might be the perfect way to spend the weekend. ‘I may pass on that,’ she said.

  ‘You may not!’ exclaimed Antonio. ‘You come here for fun. Bene. Fun you shall have!’

  * * *

  ‘Good evening, Mr Python.’

  ‘Hiya, Jack!’

  ‘Hello, Jack Python.’

  ‘I know you.’

  ‘God! You’re better lookin’ off than on!’

  The greetings and comments surrounded him until he felt he was drowning in a sea of flattery.

  ‘Do you like Bette Midler?’

  ‘Is Meryl Streep tall?’

  ‘Does Dustin Hoffman smoke?’

  ‘What’s Ann Margret really like?’

  The questions came at him from all sides, until a fixed smile slid into place on his face and stayed there as he searched for the nearest exit.

  ‘Hi. I’m Cheryl. Wanna have a nice time?’

  ‘Try my room, 703, in ten minutes.’

  ‘I’d really like to sleep with you. I’m a big fan.’

  ‘Wanna get it on, TV star?’

  The women were not shy. They were aggressive with their come-ons. A tiny blonde, with huge boobs hardly concealed in a shiny blue cocktail dress, trailed him relentlessly. Finally he had to turn on her and say, ‘Listen. Don’t follow me. I am not interested. Okay?’

  ‘Who d’y think you are?’ she shouted belligerently.

  ‘I know who I am,’ he muttered, and pushed through swing doors to the peace and quiet of the vast swimming pool.

  The outside area was deserted. It was past ten, and the sun-bathers and swimmers were long gone. He gazed up at the sky. The stars were out with a vengeance. Tomorrow was going to be a scorcher. Mannon had said something about taking a boat out on Lake Mead.

  What was he doing here? In theory it sounded great – a weekend with the guys. But he’d already realized he wasn’t one of them anymore. He had other things on his mind, and getting drunk and getting laid just for the sake of it had lost its appeal. Maybe he should alert Aretha to send him a fast telegram saying his presence was urgently required back in Los Angeles. Not such a bad idea.

  * * *

  ‘Hiya, beautiful.’

  ‘Want a drink?’

  ‘How about dinner?’

  ‘Do you live around here?’

  ‘Mama! Mama! I died an’ went to pussy heaven!’

  Jade ignored the remarks. She was used to getting attention. New York had taught her how to deal with it. Just ignore the suckers and they’ll soon go away.

  However, in Las Vegas they did seem a touch more persistent.

  She whirled on one man who made a particularly obscene remark. ‘Dream on, asshole!’

  ‘Right between your legs, baby!’

  She hurried away. Taking a walk around the casino to get the feel of the place was not such a good idea. In Vegas, a woman alone at night obviously spelled available. She followed the SWIMMING POOL sign, and walked outside.

  * * *

  ‘I love giving head,’ the expensive hooker in the filmy chiffon dress whispered into Howard Soloman’s ear. ‘It’s my favourite sexual act. How about you?’

  Howard, who had no idea the woman was a hooker, nodded happily. ‘If you wanna give it, who am I to stop you?’

  The woman smiled. Her teeth weren’t great, but the rest of her was verging on perfect. Long legs, big bosom, long hair. ‘I like a man who folds easily,’ she said, leaning all over him. ‘And you’re sooo attractive. Exactly my type.’

  Howard felt the old one-eyed snake stir. This broad was something else. She had been coming on to him from the moment she sat down next to him at Dino and Susanna’s party. ‘You’re not an actress, are you?’ he asked suspiciously.

&nbs
p; ‘No,’ she replied with a scornful toss of her head – although if the truth were known she was a better actress than most of the flibberty little bits of fluff she saw on television. ‘I’m in real estate,’ she added. ‘What do you do?’

  Was she putting him on? Perhaps. Perhaps not. After all, he wasn’t a famous face. ‘I’m a businessman,’ he said guardedly. Better she didn’t know too much about him.

  ‘I loove a man who handles things,’ she purred. Her expensively manicured hand moved onto his thigh. ‘Why don’t we go somewhere private?’

  Howard agreed readily. He didn’t find time to play around in Hollywood. Oh sure, he could always use the never-ending supply of actresses looking for a part – but he didn’t like the thought of a woman sleeping with him just because of what he could do for her career. And if you got laid in Hollywood, the whole town knew about it the next day. A lot of men simply didn’t care, they just went for it and the hell with the consequences. One well-known producer regularly checked into The Beverly Hills Hotel for an afternoon tryst with his various paramours. Once, his wife was attending a charity function in the Coterie Restaurant, but that didn’t faze the producer; he still checked in with a top-heavy redhead, and waved a greeting to his wife’s friends at the same time. That was called chutzpah.

  Howard didn’t have the nerve – Poppy would kill him. ‘Excuse me a minute,’ he said. ‘I’ll be right back.’

  Pino Fonicetti was talking to a group of people. Howard drew him to one side and indicated the woman. ‘Do you know her?’ he asked.

  Dino looked across the room. Did he know her? Oh, yeah, he knew her, she was the perfect sexual partner for some of his more important guests at the hotel, and he paid her handsomely to entertain them. ‘Yes. She’s very nice. Very respectable. Not a spinner.’

  ‘Spinner?’ This was a phrase even Howard hadn’t heard.

  Dino chuckled. ‘You know, a spinner. A broad who spins from one guy to the next.’

  Howard laughed too.

  ‘You’re not leaving, are you?’ Dino asked.

  Howard winked. ‘I’ll be right back.’ He indicated Mannon, who was playing poker with a tableful of high-rollers. ‘Tell him I’ll see him later, or in the morning.’