‘The start of the New Year should be celebrated in a proper way. I’ll make this celebration memorable,’ he replied.
‘I bet you will,’ she murmured, already aware of some of his plans to make it an event to be remembered. Belly-dancers, break-dancers, a Brazilian trio, disco music, fireworks. And all on a spectacular cruise between Long Beach – where the party guests would join the yacht, courtesy of a fleet of limos – to Laguna and back.
Beverly found that living with Zachary – in spite of his age – was an adventure. And the only part of the adventure she couldn’t stomach was his predilection for having sex while hookers watched. God – how she hated it! At first she had thought of it as one of life’s more bizarre experiences, shutting her eyes, gritting her teeth, and going with the flow. Now the whole sordid scene disgusted her.
She had moved in with Zachary to advance her career – no use in kidding herself on that score. Unfortunately she had fallen in love with him.
Not with his money.
Not with his power.
Beverly D’Amo loved Zachary K. Klinger – the man.
God help her.
Chapter Eighty-Eight
There was only one more day and night left before the cast and crew of The Murder left Puerto Vallarta and winged their way back to Los Angeles just in time for Christmas.
As a location it had not been an easy one. The oppressive heat made everything a constant effort. And when it wasn’t hot and muggy, it rained – putting the film even more behind schedule. Plus most of the cast and crew suffered at one time or other with what one wag had christened ‘the Mexican Hot Trot’.
Clarissa was one of the fortunate few. She ate only fresh vegetables, fish and fruit, flown in daily from L.A., and because of this had not succumbed to the dreaded runs.
Mannon was okay while he stuck to her regime, but a couple of days before leaving he cheated with an enchilada and a few tequilas with the crew, and lived to regret it.
‘It’s your own fault,’ Clarissa said bluntly.
Sometimes he thought she didn’t have a sympathetic bone in her body.
He made it through the day’s filming, and then lay groaning on his bed all night.
Clarissa did not visit him.
Clarissa was conspicuous by her absence.
‘You know, you’re a real cold-hearted bitch,’ he complained to her the next day.
‘I am not a nurse,’ she replied. ‘If you hadn’t filled yourself with junk food, you wouldn’t be sick.’
True. But still… she could show a little sympathy.
They had decided that when they returned to Los Angeles, he would move in with her. He hoped he was making the correct decision. Melanie-Shanna fussed the hell out of him if he had so much as a cold. And Whitney always had, too. But then how could he expect Clarissa to behave like other women? Indeed, he wouldn’t want her to. She was different, a true artist, and her blazing talent was her main attraction.
He felt a little better the next day, but by the evening his stomach was churning again, and he didn’t care to risk being anywhere except close to his bathroom.
Clarissa visited him later. Her fine hair was twisted in a knot and threaded with gardenias. She wore a white off-the-shoulder dress instead of her usual uniform of baggy slacks and a shirt.
‘You’re all dressed up,’ he remarked.
‘It’s the last night. I’m going dancing.’
‘Who with?’
‘Norman.’
He should have guessed. Norman Gooseberger. Her faithful slave.
‘Have fun.’
‘I’ll try.’
‘See you in the morning.’
Restlessly he lay in bed thinking. Tomorrow was the start of his new life. The Murder was the start of his new career.
And yet he couldn’t help worrying about the son he was leaving behind.
Jason.
The boy looked just like him.
Was he making the right move?
Yes. Clarissa was his woman now. She combined class and talent. She would bring him up to a new level.
When he awoke several hours later, he was bathed in sweat and had an awesome erection. Best of all, his stomach felt calm. In fact, he was in good shape. The pills the makeup girl had given him had obviously worked. ‘Take these,’ she’d said. ‘You’ll wake up singing.’
Getting out of bed he showered, waited for his erection to subside, and when it didn’t, decided to pay Clarissa a visit, sure she would enjoy it.
Fortunately, they were on the same floor in the hotel, just a few doors apart. Naked under a white towelling bathrobe, he padded barefooted down the corridor, humming softly to himself. Fitting the spare key to her room in the door, he entered quietly.
She was asleep – the room was in darkness. Faintly he could hear the steady rhythm of her breathing.
Slipping off his robe he slid into bed beside her.
She had her back towards him, and he nestled up against it, willing his hard-on to wake her. Or if she didn’t want to wake, he would be quite happy to accommodate her while she slept. Cupping her ass with his hands, he prepared to slip in through the back entrance.
Several things happened at once.
Mannon encountered balls.
Norman Gooseberger let out a yell.
And from the other side of the bed Clarissa mumbled a sleepy ‘What’s going on?’
‘Jesus Christ!’ shouted Mannon, with a rush of realization, leaping from the bed.
Norman sat up equally startled, just in time for Mannon’s fist to connect with his jaw.
There was a sickening splintering sound.
Howling with fury, Mannon dragged Norman from the bed, hitting him again and again.
Desperately putting up his hands to defend himself, Norman began to scream with pain. His jaw was hanging as if unhinged, and he knew it was broken.
‘You fucking phoney faggot!’ Mannon roared. ‘You cock-sucking ass-licking little prick!’
He continued to beat up on Norman, who slumped unconscious under the vicious rain of blows.
Clarissa went wild, first trying to grab Mannon’s arms and then kicking him on the legs. She couldn’t stop him. He was out of control with anger.
Spinning around, he whacked her across the face. ‘You cheating bitch! How dare you cheat on me.’
‘Fuck you!’ she began to scream. ‘Who do you think you are? Leave him alone, you monster, LEAVE HIM ALONE! YOU’RE KILLING HIM, FOR GOD’S SAKE!’
Chapter Eighty-Nine
Christmas morning.
Jack Python took a trip over to the Valley for lunch with Heaven and his father. George appeared to be even more vague and preoccupied than ever. The old man attended lunch, prepared by the housekeeper, then rushed off to his workroom, muttering about a new braking device he was working on.
Heaven waited until George was safely out of the way, and made an announcement. ‘I’m movin’ out,’ she said. ‘Rocky found me a great apartment – like with security an’ all that stuff.’
If she was looking for a fight from Jack, she wasn’t going to get it. He didn’t blame her.
They exchanged presents, then she went off to see Rocky, and Jack drove over to Kellie Sidney’s house, where there were children and dogs and family and food.
Being on his own, Christmas was not Jack’s favourite time. Last Christmas he had spent with Clarissa in New York, and hated every minute. He had heard the rumours about her affair with Mannon. What a strange combination! It was difficult to imagine those two together.
Briefly he thought about Jade Johnson, and wished that it had worked out.
It hadn’t.
No good thinking of her.
* * *
Rocky greeted Heaven, ushered her into his high-rise Hollywood apartment (cheaply furnished and functional) – and then ushered her into his bed.
She was lonely, but not that lonely.
* * *
Howard Soloman flew back from fixing thin
gs in Puerto Vallarta a nervous wreck. How come, when anything bad happened, the first person they called on was him? What was he? The original fixer?
The director of The Murder, Dirk Price, had telephoned him in the middle of the night in a total panic. ‘Mannon’s beaten up Clarissa and almost killed someone,’ he screamed hysterically down the phone wires.
‘Calm down,’ Howard responded, already climbing from his comfortable bed. ‘No police. No hospitals. Use the unit doctor, an’ keep everything under wraps until I get there. I’m on my way to the airport now.’
‘How can I do that?’ whined Dirk.
Howard toughened up. ‘If you ever want to work again, you’ll find a way,’ he warned, and then as an afterthought added, ‘Who did Mannon nearly kill?’
‘Norman Gooseberger.’
‘Holy shit!’
It had taken clout, but he had fixed it. Norman Gooseberger was in a private nursing home in Mexico City with twenty-four-hour guards to keep out any snoopers. He had suffered a broken jaw, a broken nose, kidney damage, and various cuts and lacerations. His condition was stable.
Clarissa was back in her rented house on Benedict Canyon. She was bruised and shaken, with a black eye Marvin Hagler would have been proud of inflicting.
Mannon had insisted on returning to Melanie-Shanna.
Keeping it out of the newspapers was a nightmare. Finally, Howard huddled with the unit publicist, and they released a short statement.
ON LOCATION IN PUERTO VALLARTA, MEXICO, STARS OF THE MURDER, CLARISSA BROWNING AND MANNON CABLE WERE INVOLVED IN A CAR ACCIDENT. BOTH SUFFERED MINOR BRUISES. NORMAN GOOSEBERGER, PUBLICIST TO MS. BROWNING, WAS ALSO HURT.
End of statement.
It took an hour before the rumours swept Hollywood like a tidal wave.
The most difficult part was telling Norman’s parents. Howard called them from Puerto Vallarta and gave them the same story as the press release.
‘What’s the truth?’ Orville asked bluntly.
‘Not an attractive scenario,’ Howard replied. ‘We’ll talk when I return. Meanwhile, Norman’s fine. All taken care of.’
‘Should we fly in?’
‘Not necessary.’
So they didn’t.
When Howard returned from Mexico, Poppy grilled him as if she was the F.B.I.
He didn’t crack – Poppy had a mouth like the Grand Canyon.
* * *
Mark Rand accompanied Jade to Connecticut for the Christmas festivities. He was a new Mark Rand – attentive, concerned, caring. He was also divorced.
‘I did it for you, sweetheart,’ he told her in his fine English accent. ‘Life was very dull without you. You do know we belong together, always. And now we can get married.’
She was confused. Mark was the man she had lived with and loved for six long years. Theirs had never been a perfect relationship, but she couldn’t deny they had experienced a lot of very good times indeed. And when Mark wanted to be, he was the most charming man in the world. He charmed her mother and her father.
‘Isn’t it about time you two got married?’ her father asked. ‘You’ve waited long enough.’
‘Just think,’ her mother whispered excitedly. ‘When you marry, you’ll have a real title, you’ll be Lady Jade!’
Fortunately, her parents were old-fashioned enough to put them in separate bedrooms. Jade was relieved because, much to Mark’s chagrin, she was not ready to leap back into bed with him as though their ten-month break had never happened.
‘I want us to get married at once,’ he informed her.
Was it what she wanted?
Hell, she’d wanted it for six years – why not now?
Jack Python. His name kept on intruding into her thoughts.
Damn Jack Python. He was one night of great sex.
That was it.
Period.
In yesterday’s newspapers there was a picture of him with Kellie Sidney at a film premiere.
How nice.
She hoped the two of them would be very unhappy.
‘We’ll get married in California,’ she promised Mark. ‘On New Year’s Day.’
‘You’ll never regret it, sweetheart,’ he replied with heartfelt sincerity. ‘I’ll make up for all the time we’ve wasted.’
Since arriving from California, Corey had seemed fidgety and nervous.
‘What’s up, bro?’ she asked.
‘It’s Norman,’ he said. ‘Everything was going so well between us, until he went off to work on The Murder.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with that, is there? It’s his job, and you know he’s the best at what he does.’
‘I know,’ Corey confessed miserably. ‘And at first he phoned me every day. But since he became Clarissa Browning’s personal P.R., I haven’t heard from him in weeks. He was supposed to be back in L.A. by now. I keep on calling the house, and there’s no reply.’
‘Try his parents,’ she suggested. ‘It’s Christmas Day – I bet he’s over at their place.’
‘Will you do it for me?’ he begged.
Sighing, she said, ‘Give me the number.’
Orville answered the phone, and wanted to know exactly who she was and why she was calling.
‘My name is Jade Johnson,’ she said. ‘I’m a friend of Norman’s, and a client. Can I speak to him?’
‘Norman’s not here,’ Orville said, lowering his voice. ‘He had a car accident in Mexico, he won’t be back for a while.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. It’s nothing serious, is it? Is he all right?’
‘Perfectly all right. He’s… er… recuperating. Somewhere, I’m not sure where.’
‘I’d like to send flowers.’
‘They’ll have to wait until he gets back. I have no address for him.’
When she put down the phone, Corey was frantic to know what had happened. She relayed Orville’s conversation.
He nodded, dully accepting the fact that Norman had no doubt found someone else.
Jade felt so sorry for her brother. She wished there was something she could do, only somehow words didn’t seem enough. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked full of concern.
He attempted a wry smile – didn’t quite make it and gestured helplessly. ‘I changed my life for Norman,’ he said.
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘You didn’t change just for Norman. You changed because it was what you wanted to do.’
He realized the truth in what she was saying and nodded again. ‘You’re right. Living a lie was killing me.’
‘And now you’re free.’
‘I guess I am.’
She squeezed his hand. ‘You know what Beverly always says – miss one taxi – there’s a dozen more around the block.’
‘I’m not looking.’
‘You will.’
He couldn’t help smiling. ‘Love ya, sis.’
‘You too, baby brother.’
* * *
Melanie-Shanna baked the turkey herself. And she fixed sweet potatoes, broccoli, corn bread, fresh peas, and a thick country gravy to go with it.
‘Sen… sational!’ Mannon praised, holding his plate out for seconds.
Piling more food on his plate, she wondered at the sudden difference in her errant husband. He had arrived back from Puerto Vallarta a changed man. The first words out of his mouth were ‘I don’t want a divorce. I love you. I love the baby. That movie made me crazy, WE ARE NOT GETTING DIVORCED. I want to sell this goddamn mansion and buy a place in Mandeville Canyon – near the beach. We’ll have room to keep horses and dogs. And I want us to have six more children. What d’you say?’
At first she had refused even to entertain the idea. But Mannon could be devilishly persuasive – not to mention charming, and eventually she succumbed. After all, she loved the man.
‘That place was a nightmare,’ he told her. ‘Next time I go on location you’re coming with me. You and the baby. No more lonely nights.’
He’d hugged her so tight she thought she might
break in two.
‘What happened, Mannon?’ she asked very quietly.
‘Nothing,’ he said. A pause. ‘Nothing I want to talk about… not yet anyway.’
* * *
Nora was at Silver’s Christmas lunch, along with Fernando, his friend Boyce, her makeup artist Raoul, and her ex-agent Quinne Lattimore – who had recently separated from his wife of twenty-eight years.
‘I can’t bear to think of anyone alone at Christmas,’ Silver confided to Wes.
‘Yeah,’ he agreed, thinking of all the Christmases he had spent alone and broke, usually ending up in bed with a woman as lonely as he.
Happiness was Silver speaking to him again. After bumping into Reba at Giorgio, she had flipped out – throwing a total jealous fit.
Who was that woman?
Have you slept with her?
My God, Wes. Where is your taste?
Or should I call you Wesley?
Wesley, indeed!
Was she hot in bed?
She looks like a prostitute.
An old prostitute.
A cheap hooker.
How could you?
When?
Recently?
Since we’ve been together?
I hate you!
A jealous Silver was a new Silver. Despite her acid tongue, he was glad she cared. So glad, in fact, that with a gesture of defiance he marched into the First Interstate Bank, requested his safe-deposit box, and took out the money he had stashed there. Screw the perpetrators of the Laurel Canyon scam. He was not returning one red cent. He had earned every dime.
And screw Reba Winogratsky too. What did she know anyway?
With the money in his pocket he strolled calmly into Tiffany’s, the jewellery store, and announced his requirements. ‘I want a necklace for around nineteen thou,’ he said casually. ‘Tax included. Show me what you got.’
The result was a ruby heart, embedded in pavé diamonds, on a diamond-studded gold chain. He hadn’t given it to her yet. The moment had to be just right.
‘Delicious turkey,’ Fernando said, dabbing his lips with a napkin.
‘Delicious,’ echoed Boyce, his quiff of silver hair bobbing agreement.
‘Did you cook it, Silver darling?’ teased Raoul.
‘Naturellement, mon chéri! Don’t you all know how handy I am toiling over a hot stove?’
Hollywood Husbands Page 49
