Hollywood Husbands

by Jackie Collins

  She glanced over at Zeppo as if she did not quite believe him. ‘Is this true?’

  ‘You’re damn right it is. And I got you double money, kiddo.’

  Howard watched her nipples carefully. They were hardening before his very eyes. He urgently required the chance to see them unadorned, and decided then and there to add a nude scene to the script.

  ‘Will Mannon do a film with me?’ she asked both of them.

  ‘The offer is out. I think he’ll say yes,’ Howard replied.

  ‘You bet your bananas,’ agreed Zeppo.

  Whitney smiled, and thought of her humble beginnings.

  She was about to achieve more than she’d ever dreamed possible.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Morton’s, a fashionable West Hollywood restaurant located on the corner of Melrose and Robertson, was crowded with Hollywood’s movers and shakers. Beverly D’Amo steamed in like she owned the place, exchanging kisses with the maître d’, while waving greetings to everyone in sight.

  ‘You sure made yourself at home in this city,’ Jade remarked.

  ‘Girl, I make myself at home just about every place I go. It’s the only way to operate. Especially here.’

  They were given a table at the front, which, according to Beverly, was the only place to sit. ‘The back of this restaurant is Siberia,’ she warned. ‘Land of the under-achievers. Don’t even glance in that that direction.’

  Jade laughed. She had never understood people’s fixation with getting good tables in restaurants.

  ‘You’re lookin’ hot, babe,’ Beverly announced. ‘I wanna hear all about the dead Englishman, an’ the Cloud deal. Rumour has it that you’ve moved into megabucks country. True or false?’

  ‘True, I guess,’ Jade admitted modestly.

  ‘Fanfuckintastic!’

  ‘How about you?’

  Beverly grinned. ‘I’m gonna be a movie star. Doncha love it?’

  ‘I think it’s great, if that’s what turns you on.’

  ‘Sure does. I’ve already made two films – nothing memorable. But this week I changed agents an’ signed with Zeppo White. He’s gonna do it for me. He’s a wild character and horny as a sailor, an’ I love him! He’s a real goer. You’ve got to meet him, you’ll love him too!’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Hollywood men do not turn me on. They are what they drive, and they all look like Porsches to me!’

  Beverly hooted with mirth. ‘I don’t mean you’ll want to fuck him. He’s like a cute little dog. You’ll enjoy watching him get feisty. And apparently he gives great dinner – parties that is.’

  Beverly paused to swap kisses with a good-looking man in a white sweater and matching pants. From his smooth suntan to his white shoes he was perfection. The woman with him was older and crusty. She dug him in the small of the back to hurry him along. She was not interested in being introduced to a couple of devastatingly beautiful models.

  ‘Penn Sullivan. He’s in my acting class,’ Beverly said knowledgeably as the couple moved off. ‘And the old broad with him is Frances Cavendish, a casting agent. I bet she’ll be casting around in his pants tonight!’

  ‘Do you know everyone in town?’

  ‘Only the ones who matter.’

  Jade felt good being with Beverly. A little of the New York excitement rubbed off; she enjoyed swapping stories and hearing all about their old friends. Beverly seemed to know what everyone was doing, and with whom. It certainly took her mind off Mark. He had been difficult to get rid of. And Corey – she knew she had to call him and let him know that however he wished to live his life was his business and perfectly all right with her. After twenty-four hours of worrying, she had finally realized that whatever he did was okay. It was his life.

  ‘Now here comes a man I’d like to meet,’ said Beverly, her voice filled with admiration – ‘Mister Big. Zachary K. Klinger. He owns Orpheus Studios, you know.’

  They both watched the large man settle at the front round table with a skinny redhead and a cool blonde.

  ‘I can’t believe there’s actually someone you haven’t met!’ Jade said teasingly.

  ‘I’ll meet him before the end of the evening,’ Beverly replied confidently. ‘I nearly did last night at the wedding party for Silver Anderson. He was at the next table, and just as I was going over, Mannon Cable and Chuck Nielson started to have this amazing fight!’

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘Haven’t you heard?’

  ‘Beverly, I am not – repeat, not – remotely interested in the movie business. Why would I hear?’

  ‘Because, my dear, you have to know what’s goin’ on.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Good question.’

  Beverly continued to chat, but her focus of attention had shifted. Her eyes were now on Zachary Klinger. She wanted him to notice her, and it wasn’t long before he did. In fact, he noticed both of them. They were hardly low-key. Beverly was clad in a red body-suit with a purple Claude Montana leather jacket and boots, her jet hair scraped back into one long plait. Jade’s shaggy copper hair framed her direct, challenging face. She wore a black jeans jacket over a short knit dress, and lots of silver jewellery.

  Most men in the restaurant were trying to cool it, pretending not to notice them. However, there were a record number of trips to the men’s room just to check them out.

  Zachary stared.

  Beverly, who was facing him, stared back.

  ‘A little eye contact?’ Jade teased.

  ‘I bet I can get him hard at fifty paces!’

  ‘Trouble is, you’ll never know.’

  ‘Don’t lay money on it.’

  ‘Beverly, he’s old.’

  ‘So’s Reagan. And I’d jump into bed with him too, if he asked me. I’m into power, girl. It really creams me up.’

  ‘You’re impossible!’

  ‘I’m truthful.’ She leaned forward. ‘The two bimbos with him look like hookers, and – hold everything – here come the rest of his party.’

  Poppy and Howard Soloman walked in, followed by Ida and Zeppo White.

  Beverly was on her feet in a flash. ‘Zeppo!’ she shouted. ‘It’s me. Your new star, babee!’

  Zeppo paused, undecided as to whether he should kiss Zachary’s ass, or greet Beverly D’Amo. He chose Zachary. One of the first lessons you learned in Hollywood was whose ass to kiss first.

  ‘Just a minute, kiddo,’ he said with a distracted wave, hurrying to pay homage to Zachary.

  ‘Who are those two women?’ Zachary demanded, ignoring Howard and Poppy, who were both busy apologizing for being late.

  ‘That’s Beverly D’Amo,’ Zeppo said. ‘Lovely girl. Good actress. She’s expensive, but if Orpheus has something for her I’m prepared to talk a deal.’

  ‘And the other one?’

  ‘I don’t know. Do you want me to find out?’

  ‘Later. Sit down. I’m ready to order.’

  Across the room Beverly sank back into her chair and watched the action from afar. ‘Shit!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Jade asked.

  ‘The little mouse is not coming over. He’ll pay for that.’

  Sipping her wine Jade said, ‘Don’t you think you’re taking this all a bit too seriously?’

  ‘Hell, no! Hollywood is a combat zone. And baby – I fight to win!’

  Poppy’s bright eyes darted around the restaurant. She wore her new cabochon ruby and gold necklace like a badge of honour. Howard loved it. He hadn’t seen the price-tag yet.

  ‘Thank you for the gorgeous flowers, Zachary,’ she gushed. ‘So thoughtful of you. I’m mad for orchids. How did you know?’

  He gazed at her blankly.

  Go on, light up a cigar, you ill-mannered pig, she thought. The least he could do was tell her how wonderful her party was.

  She glanced around the room again with a feeling of pride. Mrs Howard Soloman. Hostess supreme. Nobody knew what a struggle i
t had been to get where she was today.

  Nobody knew how hard it had been…

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  At night the pounding of the waves thundered on the beach. Heaven decided she never wanted to be without that sound again.

  ‘How long is your uncle gonna be away?’ Eddie asked, comfortably stretched out on the deck listening to an old Elvis album, a can of beer nearby.

  She shrugged. ‘I dunno. He’s gonna phone tomorrow. A few days, I guess.’

  ‘We should throw a party,’ he suggested.

  She had to admit the thought had occurred to her. ‘Who’ll pay?’ she asked.

  ‘We’ll make it a bottle party. Everyone brings their own.’

  Hesitantly she said, ‘Gee, I don’t know…’

  ‘We could have it out here on the deck an’ on the beach. Nobody would havta go in the house.’ Digging in the pocket of his shorts he produced a sorry-looking joint. ‘Whaddya say?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘It’s too late to get it together tonight. How about tomorrow?’

  She was angry that Rocky hadn’t shown. Dumb geek. He was probably a loser anyway. ‘Yeah, let’s do it!’ she agreed, knowing full well that Uncle Jack would be pissed off if he ever found out.

  ‘Right on! Let’s go for it!’ exclaimed Eddie. ‘We’ll get the group down, an’ some of the other dudes. We can tell the Fish to pick up pizzas. It’ll be a full blast!’

  ‘Like no more than fifty,’ Heaven warned. ‘And not in the house.’

  ‘No way,’ Eddie said adamantly.

  * * *

  Jack Python was drunk. Uproariously, rip-roaringly drunk. And he did not care. In fact, he felt great as he sat at a back table in Elaine’s and held court. At least he wasn’t sloppy drunk, he was talkative and very funny.

  Elaine herself watched from afar, as she kept an eye on all her famous clientele to make sure none of them was bothered. Occasionally she came and sat, tossing back a drink or two and missing nothing.

  Jack shared a table with a couple of writers, ace publicist Bobby Zarem, a publisher, and a wicked-tongued socialite. Elaine’s mixed group. She enjoyed shaking up her famous singles at a large round table.

  Getting drunk, Jack decided, was not the act of a desperately unhappy man. It was an act of celebration. He was out of a relationship he had been reluctantly hanging on to because it was good for his image.

  Well, screw his image. And screw Clarissa Browning. Jack Python was back on the field.

  He couldn’t help laughing.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ asked the socialite. She had red hair worn in a bun, sharp cheekbones, and dazzling diamonds.

  ‘Just thinking,’ he explained, reflecting on the irony of it all. He was the one with the supposed stud reputation. Clarissa had told him how all her friends warned her he would never be faithful. And she was the one screwing around. Unbelievable!

  ‘Thinking about what?’ she persisted, determined to attract his interest.

  He looked her over, slowly, lazily. She was old money, an heiress to a billion-dollar fortune.

  He lowered his voice so only she could hear his reply. ‘I’m thinking about how I’d like to fuck you.’

  Billion-dollar heiresses did not have to play games. ‘What are we waiting for?’

  And so, later on, he ended up in the socialite’s bed in a Park Avenue penthouse, with the scream of police sirens outside, and the clink of diamonds inside. ‘I never take them off,’ she announced with a restless smile.

  She was an insatiable woman, but that was Jack’s speciality. Once he got on for the ride he never quit until the lady asked him to.

  Later, when he awoke, he had a relentless hangover, and a strong desire to be elsewhere. The woman slept beside him. Red hair, naked white skin, and gleaming diamonds at her ears, wrists, and throat.

  Not wanting to wake her, he dressed hurriedly, and let himself out of her sumptuous apartment.

  Early morning light filtered through the tall buildings as he walked briskly to the Helmsley Palace Hotel, where he had a suite.

  The desk clerk in the private tower section greeted him warmly, as did the pretty elevator operator.

  He rode up to the forty-eighth floor thinking of the lucky escape he’d had. If he hadn’t flown to New York and caught Clarissa cheating on him, he might never have known. And he had actually given serious consideration to marriage!

  Christ! One mistake in his life was more than enough.

  ‘I love your show, Mr Python,’ smiled the elevator operator.

  ‘Thank you.’ He smiled back, his hangover receding.

  In the privacy of his suite he clicked on the televison, stripped off his clothes, and allowed a cold shower to wash away the faint aroma of Private Collection.

  Jack Python was back where he belonged. Single and up for grabs.

  * * *

  Found out and unrepentant, Clarissa studied the script of The Murder, along with an incredible financial offer, which was really quite ridiculous and very tempting.

  She read the script twice. Carefully.

  And then she called Cyrill, collect. Clarissa had never been known for her loose purse strings.

  ‘Well?’ asked her agent anxiously. ‘I know it’s garbage. However, for five days’ work, at that price… Clarissa, I have to leave it entirely up to you.’

  ‘It’s not garbage,’ she replied crisply. ‘Not at all. It’s a very interesting and provocative thriller, with a fine relationship between the two main characters, and a strong line of humour.’

  He sounded relieved and surprised at the same time. ‘Does this mean you want to do it?’

  ‘I most certainly do. Only listen to me carefully, Cyrill. I will not play the victim. I desire the leading role. It’s exactly the kind of part I’ve been searching for.’

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  ‘Hello,’ Wes said. ‘Make yourself comfortable – Silver’ll be down in a minute.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Quinne Lattimore, a stocky man in his fifties, with a florid complexion. He regarded Wes warily. Like all Silver’s friends and acquaintances he viewed the new husband with deep suspicion. Who was he? Where had he come from? And what was he after?

  ‘Silver tells me you’ve got good news,’ Wes said amiably.

  ‘Excellent,’ replied Quinne, full of confidence. ‘I have something to tell Silver that will make her a very happy woman indeed.’

  Wes drifted over to the bar. Vladimir had already served an English tea, but he felt like something a touch stronger, so he poured himself a hefty scotch, added a couple of ice cubes, and turned to check out the agent.

  The man did not look big-time. The man looked comfortable but not affluent. He didn’t give off any energy, and he certainly didn’t have killer eyes.

  Wes remembered his own short career as a singer. The group he was with had an agent who made big promises and never came through. More-successful groups had agents with energy. The big boys had agents with killer eyes. Wes always remembered the look. Zeppo White had it written all over him.

  Chuck Nielson had warned him, ‘Lattimore’s nowhere city. Silver can be with whoever she wants. You should get her to change.’

  Silver made her entrance a few minutes later – hair swept up, makeup perfect, simple lounging pyjamas in gold lurex. She enjoyed creating impressions. Even in her own house, with only her agent for an audience.

  ‘Quinne, darling!’ She kissed him on each cheek, European style.

  ‘You look gorgeous as usual,’ he said. Quinne had always had a little bit of a hidden crush on her.

  ‘I feel outrageously wonderful.’ She reached out her hand for Wes. ‘It’s marriage, you know, it agrees with me. I adore it!’

  Quinne chortled uncomfortably.

  ‘Pour me a glass of champagne, darling,’ she said to Wes, and then lowering her eyes coquettishly she added, ‘I think I deserve it, don’t you?’

  He moved into the role of barman easily. It didn’t bother h
im.

  Quinne took Silver’s arm and led her over to the couch. ‘Sensational news,’ he announced, puffed with pride. ‘Orpheus wants you to co-star with Carlos Brent in Romance. It’s a definite offer, and wait until you hear what they’re going to pay us!’

  Silver, who had quite resigned herself to being a television star, and did not consider movies – because they did not consider her – shrieked with delight. ‘I can’t believe it! When did this happen?’

  Wes poured the champagne and kept a steady ear on the conversation.

  ‘Today,’ Quinne said happily. ‘Out of the blue. Shooting starts in ten days, and the schedule fits right into your Palm Springs break.’

  ‘I’m thrilled!’ she exclaimed. ‘When can I see a script?’

  Ambling over, Wes handed her a glass of cold champagne. She looked up at him, glowing with delight. ‘Did you hear, darling? They want me for a movie!’

  ‘Why shouldn’t they? You’re a star, aren’t you?’

  ‘A television star,’ Quinne said pointedly.

  ‘The biggest female television star in America,’ Wes replied, equally pointed. ‘I’m surprised this hasn’t happened before. What movies have you suggested her for? It’d be interesting to know exactly who’s turned her down and why.’

  Quinne began to stutter about movies never being their goal, and timing, and how great this deal was.

  Silver went to say something, and Wes silenced her with a look. He knew he had the agent on the defensive.

  ‘Were you out hustling this deal, or did it just turn up on your desk?’ he asked.

  Quinne was a truthful man. It was probably his downfall as far as his relationship with Silver Anderson was concerned. ‘I didn’t exactly chase after them. I must admit they came to me.’

  Wes just looked at Silver as if to say – This is an agent?Agents are supposed to be out there selling. Getting more money for their clients. Hustling. Hustling. Hustling.

  Quinne Lattimore was useless – and by the time he left the house twenty minutes later, they both knew it.

  After he’d gone, there was a meaningful silence. Silver walked over to the large terrace windows, opened them, and walked outside.