She giggled again. ‘You’re so funny!’
‘I try to please.’
‘Oh, babykins, you do!’ What had he done right for a change? They were approaching their house, and he pressed the automatic gate opener, pulling the car to a halt while the massive iron gates swung open.
‘Howard?’ Poppy asked plaintively. ‘Do you love me?’
‘What kind of a question is that? You know I do.’ He hated it when things got sloppy.
They were in their own driveway now. ‘Pull the car over to the side,’ she whispered. ‘Park, Howard. Pretend we’re in high school.’
‘What?’
‘Do it.’
Reluctantly he obeyed. Poppy was a woman you didn’t fight with, not unless you wanted to be up all night.
As soon as he stopped the car she was on him, burrowing into his lap like a hungry rabbit.
‘What are you doing?’ he blustered, as she went for his zipper.
‘The thing you like best in the whole wide world, Howie.’ She reached his shorts, and triumphantly pulled his limp, exhausted penis out into the moonlit front seat.
‘Poppy—’
‘Be quiet. You know you love it.’
Enclosing him with her mouth, she gave him her special kiss-of-life technique. The same technique she had used the first time they became more than just boss and secretary. Somehow she had gotten under his desk and displayed her special talent. Three months later they were married.
‘Poppy!’ he groaned, as she did the impossible and summoned a dead person back to life.
For the first time in a long while he did not think of Whitney as he fell asleep later that night.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Rocky had the Sylvester Stallone walk. He had honed his imitation until it was perfection. Slight swagger, macho steps, a forward thrust. He could, if he wanted to, have made a living as a celebrity look-alike. But hey – as far as he was concerned Sylvester copied him.
The drive to Trancas was a bitch, and a couple of times he almost turned his jeep around and headed back to civilization. The Pacific Coast Highway drove him nuts. He always got this insane urge to cross the line and play chicken with the oncoming traffic. It bothered him that one night he might just get stoned enough to do it, and end up in the slammer for sure. Again.
Funny, he’d been living on the edge all his life, and the only thing he’d been put away for was reckless and drunken driving. Six months’ hard time just because this old couple broke down on the freeway and he was the jerk who had to run into them. If it hadn’t been him, someone would have hit ’em.
Heaven. A foxy little piece. With her own beach house. Probably some shack, but hey – check it out.
When he found the turn-off there were cars crowding the shoulder of the road, and a lot of noise and loud music coming from the house, which was situated beyond a series of stone steps.
Party time, he said to himself. There was nothing Rocky liked better than to party.
* * *
Stewardesses always came on to Jack; it was automatic. The one on the flight back was outrageously pretty, a blonde Californian peach.
‘How long have you been doing this?’ he asked.
‘Six weeks,’ she replied. ‘It’s hard on the legs, but I’m really enjoying it. I get to meet so many interesting people.’ She paused and twinkled, all shiny-bright and eager. ‘Like you, Mr Python.’
‘Call me Jack.’
‘Give me your number and I will,’ she said boldly.
He reckoned she would last another six weeks on the job before she was either discovered and became an actress, or lured off to get married. She was that pretty.
‘What will you do when we get to L.A.?’ he asked.
She laughed ruefully. ‘Flake out.’
He had a strong desire to take her to bed. She was so different from the socialite, and very appealing in a one-night-stand kind of way.
Strapped in his seat, with a scotch on the rocks and Jade’s picture shut safely in the magazine, he tried to make up his mind whether to come on to her or not.
Christ! he thought, as the 747 prepared to land. I’ve been almost faithful for eighteen months. And for what? To catch Clarissa with her talented ass in the air servicing some macho actor. The hell with it.
He rang the buzzer and the stewardess came running.
‘I’ll buy you dinner if you’re available,’ he said.
* * *
Heaven didn’t care anymore. She would make up a story for Uncle Jack. Like she invited a couple of people over, and a whole crowd gate-crashed. Which wasn’t such a lie, it was the truth.
The trashing of the house was almost complete. Couples were now making out in both bedrooms, and strangers surged everywhere. Someone had turned on the jacuzzi, which was packed with naked bodies.
She couldn’t see Eddie. She hated Eddie. She would never speak to him again for allowing this to happen.
* * *
Roaming around, Rocky figured he had fallen into teenage heaven. Baby pussy was knee deep, and he was in love with all the little foxes with their tight fannies and perky tits.
Rocky partied a lot, but usually the parties were full of hard-faced women who pretended to be actresses or models but usually turned out to be hookers on the side. He had lived with a few – more than a few, in fact. Good bodies – money-trap minds. Any money he made was strictly for himself. He had a decent apartment, and a third-hand Merc, which he used when he wasn’t in the Jeep. The Jeep was strictly for business purposes only. Like tonight, for instance. He had worked bar at a big party and walked away with three thou in drug sales, and a case of the best scotch.
He had not walked away with Silver Anderson – who wasn’t even there.
When he thought about his so-called friend Wes Money, and what he had gotten away with, he could hardly believe the jerk’s dumb-ass luck. And he, Rocky the man, was responsible, for it was he who had taken Wes to Silver Anderson’s house in the first place. And not so much as a ‘thank you’ for his trouble. No dinner invite. No ‘Come by the house.’ No nothin’.
Some people.
Some people were dogshit.
Rocky glowered. And flexed his not inconsiderable muscles. And said, ‘Yo there, fox-trap,’ to a fifteen-year-old, who moved away fast.
Conveniently, Rocky forgot it was he who had set his good friend Wes up the Laurel Canyon trap. Not that he’d known the extent of the scam, but he had known it was something heavy, and if he’d been a true friend he would never have given Wes the number to call.
Grabbing the attention of a tall lunatic in Levi cut-offs, he asked, ‘You seen Heaven, man?’
The boy jumped excitedly. ‘A few of the dudes got Ecstasy. What’s this Heaven shit?’
It occurred to Rocky he was wasting precious time. He had the perfect opportunity to go for sales. Business looked like it could be brisk.
* * *
The stewardess had peach-fuzz-smooth skin, a glorious mound of apricot pubic hair, and an obliging disposition. Making love to her was like taking a trip through a smalltown candy-store.
They were in Jack’s suite at the Beverly Wilshire, and it was past midnight. After the event he just wanted to get rid of her.
And then he got an attack of the guilts. She was genuinely nice, and tried so hard to please.
She was also a fan, which he couldn’t help being irritated by.
‘What’s it like being Jack Python?’ she asked in an awestruck voice.
What was it like?
‘Very public,’ he said at last, which seemed to satisfy her.
‘I bet you’ve met everybody.’
‘Not quite.’
‘I bet you’ve met Paul Newman.’
‘Yes,’ he admitted.
‘I always buy his salad dressing,’ she said reverently. ‘It’s excellent. Have you tried it?’
Time to extract himself.
Definitely time.
He was out of practice, and c
ouldn’t quite remember how to go about it.
She gave him the perfect cue by sitting up in bed and stretching – bouncy tits glowing with health. ‘I’m hungry,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you?’
He was out of bed in seconds. ‘I’ve got a great idea.’
‘What?’
He reached for his pants and pulled them on. ‘Where do you live?’
‘Santa Monica. Eleventh Street. I don’t have to be home until later…’ She gazed at him expectantly.
‘Get dressed,’ he said cheerfully. ‘We’ll go over to Hughes and buy everything in the market. Then I’m going to drive you to your place, and you’re going to cook me the best breakfast I ever had.’
‘I am?’ she asked uncertainly, disappointed because room service seemed like a much better plan.
‘You can cook, can’t you?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Let’s go!’
* * *
Making money with the kids was better than raking it in from their rich mommies and daddies. And they knew what they wanted too – a few uppers, downers, ludes, grass, coke. Especially Ecstasy – the new designer drug. Like their Calvin Klein and Guess jeans, they wanted only the best. And Rocky found that quite a few of the little foxes were prepared to barter for their goods.
He was just thinking about taking one grateful teenager for a walk along the beach, when he spotted Heaven, curled up in a corner, ignoring the wild action like it wasn’t even happening. With a growl of recognition, he pounced. ‘I made it!’
She regarded him with huge amber eyes, and dragged herself back to reality. ‘Like a day late,’ she muttered.
‘Din’t wanna miss the party,’ he said breezily. ‘This is some heavy place. You got an old man keepin’ you or what?’
‘I live here alone,’ she mumbled. She certainly didn’t owe him any explanations.
He was impressed. ‘Yeah?’
She stared at him warily. ‘Have you really got a friend in the record business?’
He scratched his armpit. ‘Yeah. Wanna warble somethin’?’
‘If you clear all these total creeps out of my house, I’ll play you my tape. Can you get rid of them?’
He looked affronted that she would even consider he might not be able to. ‘Yer askin’ Rocky,’ he said boastfully. ‘I’ve bounced ’em out of bigger parties than this.’
* * *
Jack purchased two hundred dollars’ worth of groceries in the market while the blonde stewardess kept on exclaiming, ‘You’re crazy. Who’s going to eat all this stuff?’
‘Let me enjoy myself,’ he insisted. ‘I never get to do this.’
Filling the Ferrari with paper sacks, he drove to her apartment, a modest place she shared with two other stewardesses.
‘Shhhh!’ she giggled, as he filled the tiny counter space in her kitchen. ‘It’s three o’clock in the morning!’
‘I’d better go,’ he said, when he’d delivered everything.
‘No, no. I’m going to cook for you, remember? That was why we went to the market.’
He kissed her button nose. ‘I’m not hungry anymore. And I’ve got a teenage niece alone in my beach house. I’ve got to be going.’
In a way she was relieved. Explaining Jack Python to her roommates at three in the morning was not a simple task.
Understandingly she nodded, and asked very softly, ‘Will I ever see you again?’
He wasn’t about to lie to her. ‘Tonight was special.’ Only a white lie. ‘The truth is, I’m just coming out of a long relationship, and I don’t want to make any promises I might not keep.’ He touched, her cheek. ‘So… pretty lady, don’t wait for the phone to ring, because right now I’m not the most reliable guy in the world.’
‘I appreciate your honesty… Jack,’ she said earnestly. ‘Take my number anyway – .you never know when you might feel like shopping!’
He grinned.
‘And thanks for the groceries,’ she added.
He left feeling good. It was nice to be able to walk away with a clear conscience.
* * *
He was doing it! Rocky was clearing them out in clusters. Telling them the party was over and brooking no argument.
Eddie was the only one to give him trouble.
Heaven turned away when Rocky forced him over to a quiet corner and had a word in his ear.
Eddie left shortly after, his face red, his guitar under his arm.
Bye-bye Eddie.
She was going to tell Uncle Jack she wanted to transfer from her high school. Better still, stay out altogether and become a professional singer – with concerts, and gold records, and personal appearances – the whole deal.
As the last stragglers left she turned to Rocky in the debris of a once perfect house.
‘Sit down,’ she said, determined that someone was going to hear her tapes. ‘And listen.’
* * *
Driving along the Pacific Coast Highway, Jack broke the speed limit with reckless abandon. He let the Ferrari rip, tearing up the road with a cool forcefulness.
The dawn light was breaking, casting a pale glow along the coastline. Traffic was light and he enjoyed the effortless drive. New York seemed like a dream. In. Out. It was almost as if he’d never been there.
Humming softly to himself he arrived at the Trancas house in record time.
* * *
‘This is not bad,’ Rocky said grudgingly. ‘Kinda catchy.’
She had played him the slow tape of her new song; now she decided to try him with some good old rock and roll. She put on the fast stuff and waited for his reaction. While she was busy watching Rocky, lolling in a leather chair smoking a recreational joint, Jack walked in.
Rocky noticed him first. ‘Hey—’ he began, starting to sit up. ‘Aren’t you—’
‘What the fuck is going on here?’ Jack asked coldly.
Somewhere in the Midwest…
Sometime in the seventies…
The girl ran from her foster home. She ran at night and she ran fast, having first stolen three hundred dollars from a savings stash she had discovered hidden behind a sack of flour in the kitchen.
She was still only a teenager, but she looked older than her years and attractive, in spite of cheap clothes and amateurish makeup.
It did not take her long to find a job in the city she ran to. Working behind the toiletry counter of a five-and-dime store gave her enough money to rent a room, and just about scrape by.
The manager of the store liked her. He was a short man with a bulbous nose and two fingers missing from his left hand. Middle-aged and married, he watched her constantly. She hadn’t been working there two weeks when he trapped her in the back room and stuck his hand – the one with the missing fingers – up her skirt.
She shoved him off and told him he was a pig. Her angry words only seemed to excite him more, and he continued to chase after her.
The girl tried to ignore him, but he was persistent, and never seemed to leave her alone.
One day his wife came to the store. The woman was even shorter than her husband and quite fat. A fine black moustache decorated her upper lip.
The manager behaved himself that day, which was a relief. Only the next day he was twice as bothersome, and the girl found herself complaining to the driver of one of the delivery trucks.
‘I know how y’can deal with him,’ the young driver said. ‘Meet me after work an’ I’ll tell yer.’
She met him. And one thing led to another, and before long she found herself going out with the driver, who was called Cheech, and seemed decent enough, although he had a bad case of acne and never bathed.
Of course he wanted One Thing. The girl knew by now that all men wanted One Thing. And she also knew what could happen when you gave in, so she vigorously rejected his advances.
Cheech was not used to being turned down. In spite of the acne and the body odour, girls loved him. He was a real loverboy. Cheech always made out. ‘I can’t see you no more if’n ya d
on’ give me no lovin’,’ he warned her.
‘Okay,’ she replied.
‘Okay what?’ He was startled by her cool attitude.
‘Don’t see me.’
The girl puzzled Cheech. She must be… what was the word he’d heard Jane Fonda use in some movie?
Frigid – yeah, frigid, that was it.
They stopped seeing each other.
One day the store manager came into the ladies’ room while she was sitting on the toilet. ‘Get out!’ she screamed.
It was after six, and the other staff had gone home for the night.
‘You don’t fool me,’ the short man said. ‘You want it. I’ve seen you looking at me with your hot eyes.’
He was on her before she could pull up her pants.
For a moment she was caught off balance as he lunged for her, shoving his fat hand between her legs.
She saw that his penis was out, protruding from his trousers like a fat white slug.
With all her strength she jammed her knee up, catching him in the balls.
‘Aaiieee!’ he screeched, doubling over.
She ran from the store and never returned.
Two weeks later Cheech turned up at her rooming house. ‘Why didn’t yer tell me you was leavin’?’ he asked.
‘Why should I?’ she replied.
Grabbing her around the waist he said the words she had been waiting to hear. The words that would protect her from the world forever. ‘Let’s get hitched.’
They were married two days later in a civil ceremony. She told him she was nineteen and an orphan. They were well suited, for his only relative was an older brother whose house they moved into.
Cheech wanted sex five minutes after they walked through the front door, and she obliged, because now she was his wife she could hardly keep on saying no.
He pulled her into the small room they were to share and lifted her skirt. Then, pushing her down on the narrow bed, he went to work, grunting all the time.
‘Yer not a virgin,’ he said, after a minute.
‘I never said I was.’
‘Fuck me!’ he screamed angrily. ‘Yer not a fuckin’ virgin. Yer tricked me, bitch!’
He slapped her hard, and continued to cuss and scream.
Hollywood Husbands Page 36
