“Yeah, Marty’s got a club date at Meyer Lansky’s Rivera and the Havana Grand Prix is on, and one of my young actresses, Georgia Evans, is making a movie there, which is a mistake.”
“You’re her agent, why are you letting he do it?”
“I’ve been overruled. She’s seeing Marty, and sees the trip as some kind of vacation. She’ll find out what a location is like in the jungles of Cuba with that drunk Erroll Flynn and some guerrilla leader named Fidel Castro.”
“Nathan has asked me to go Havana. He’s having some meetings with Meyer Lanksy. I’ve been having second thoughts about going. But with you there we can play. Come let’s have dinner.”
Dorothy led Clint into the dining room. A large brass English chandelier hung in the middle over the large oak planked table. Dorothy lit the candles, which warmed the room with a soft light. The table was set with old English ironstone china and the silver was heavy King’s Pattern sterling.
Clint’s thoughts were on the opportunity she was giving him.
Dorothy’s taking care of Clint again. He liked that.
The maid brought in oxtail soup. Dorothy served it from a soup tureen and passed it to him.
Clint noticed it was not clear in color. “It’s wonderful,” he said as he tasted it.
“It better be. It took all afternoon.” They finished the soup and the maid brought in medallions of veal. Dorothy served them. When Clint tasted them he could tell they were overcooked. “It tastes great.”
Dorothy was pleased. The sauce was separated and she had added too much tarragon.
“Clint, I’ve given you a career and you’ve become successful. I keep promoting you, I guess it’s because I trust you. Or do I still have a thing for you? I could bring you down if you fucked with me.”
“What do you want me to say? That I’ve always known you’re my angel? Our relationship, let’s say, it’s different.”
Dorothy smiled. “I have a stock for you. Marsh International Gaming. It’s listed on the Exchange. I recommend you buy big.
It’s selling for forty dollars. In six months it will be one hundred and fifty.”
“How do you know?”
“Let’s say, I know someone on the inside.” “Can I pass it on to my friends?”
“Why not? The more that buy in, the more the stock goes up. You’ll be a hero.”
When the dessert came Clint was so excited, he thought, if it were horseshit, he would have eaten it. Dorothy dished up the omelet Norwegian and served it.
“It’s delicious,” he said as he took a large bite, and it was.
After dinner they adjourned to Dorothy’s bedroom to watch television. To Clint this room looked the most lived in. It had a large fireplace, a fire was burning. Overstuffed down chairs sat in front of a low marquetry table. Dorothy’s bed was king-size and a four-poster.
Clint thought it was like the kind of room any man would feel comfortable in. He could take off his shoes, put his feet up on the table, take out a cigar, smoke and relax. Everything was masculine, except for the sheets on the bed. They were white fine cotton with tiny lace embroidery around the borders. Large pillows with tiny lace and small pink bows attached lay puffed up on the bed. The sheets were to be the only feminine touch in the room. Clint settled into one of the large comfortable chairs and Dorothy turned on the television and sat on her bed.
“I like the comfort in your bedroom. Can I take off my shoes?”
“Of course, would you like to smoke a joint?” she asked.
“A joint?”
“Marijuana.”
“I’ve never done it.”
“Do you want to try? It’s fun. It makes you happy.” Clint was skeptical, not sure he wanted to try.
“You sure it won’t make me do anything I might regret?”
“Like what?”
“Hell, Dorothy, I don’t know. I’m cautious of anything I don’t know about.”
“I didn’t bring you in here to have you to do anything that you don’t want to do. Three of your senses will come alive. You’ll laugh, you’ll feel horny and you’ll die for something sweet. Save the horniness for someone else. I’m not interested.”
“Why? You always wanted to get it on with me before. Have I become ugly, or have bad breath or something?”
“Sweetheart, you’re the same unspoiled handsome cowboy I met at that old bag’s house, but times have changed for both of us. We had a good time together, but we can’t go back even if it’s for a fast orgasm.”
“That’s a shitty way to look at the past. I’m disappointed. Where’s the marijuana?”
Dorothy went into her closet and came out with a rolled marijuana cigarette. She picked up a book of matches by the fireplace and lit it, took a long drag, and handed it to Clint.
Clint examined it and then put it in his mouth and took a drag.
Dorothy watched him as he inhaled. His eyes started to tear as he handed back the joint. Dorothy took a drag. They both settled down.
Dorothy on her bed and Clint in the chair.
Clint peered around the room and said. “You know … this has got to be the most comfortable room in town … .What would you do if one of these old farts you entertain would have a coronary while he visited.
What would you do?”
Dorothy got up from her bed, gave him the joint and went into her closet and came back out wheeling a large cylinder tank of oxygen. “A girl has just GOT to be prepared,” she said in a cute way. Clint started to laugh and laugh and couldn’t stop. He grabbed his stomach; it hurt. Dorothy watched him and began to laugh too. She fell over on to her bed laughing and couldn’t stop. Finally they quieted down.
Clint said. “What have you got that’s sweet?”
“How about a big piece of chocolate mousse cake?”
“The thought gives me an orgasm,” said Clint.
Dorothy got up and went into the kitchen.
Clint felt horny. He yelled to Dorothy.
“Can I use your phone?”
“Go ahead!” she yelled back from the kitchen.
Clint picked up the phone and dialed. “Hi, it’s Clint. What’s going on? Are you busy? There was a pause. “Can I stop by? I just did something I’ve never done before.” Pause “I can’t tell you over the phone.
I’ll see you in thirty minutes. Bye.” He hung up the phone as Dorothy entered the bedroom with two big slices of cake.
She handed one to Clint who dived into it. “Who was it you called?”
“Tana Williams”
“The black actress?”
“Yes. Do you know her?”
“We’ve worked on a picture. What is it with you guys? You get horny and the first thing you do is call a black girl. You’re not from the south, what makes you think they’re a better fuck?”
“I never thought of it that way. You sound like you’re pissed off.
You asked me who I called.”
Dorothy’s phone rang. She picked it up.
“Hello. Hi darling. Can you hold for a minute?” She put the phone on hold. “I got to take his call. It’s Nathan. Remember what I told you.
Let yourself out. I’ll see you in Havana.”
As Clint drove down the hill, he couldn’t help think of what an ego Dorothy had. She’s a bitch, he thought. She has changed but not for the better. I wonder if I’ve changed too?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Georgia gazed out the porthole window of the DC7 airplane as it banked for a landing. She could see the green covered mountains emerging from the fluffy meringue-shaped clouds in the distance. The sun had set in the west over the violet and blue tropical sea as they made their descent into Port-au-Prince, Haiti. Going through Haiti was the only way for them into Cuba because of the tight security there. French was spoken here, but no one in their party spoke a word. When they left the plane they could smell the smoke burning from humid tropical fires amid the exotic fragrant flowers.
Jake, their cameraman, gave the customs man som
e money under the table for passing the camera equipment.
A man approached Luis when they walked into the small corrugated-metal-roofed air terminal. He was dressed in olive green fatigue pants and shirt with a matching hat. He started speaking Spanish, waving his hands, obviously telling Luis something he wanted to hear.
Luis brought the man over to be introduced. “Es la Senora Evans, Senores Flynn Y Jake permitar presentar al Senor Alfonso, un fidelista,” said Luis.
“Mucho gusto,” said Alfonso and took some of their luggage.
Erroll peered around. “Where’s el bar, old boy?” he said to Alfonso.
“No se Sr. Flynn, no hay tiempo, ahora vamos.”
“The hell with you, old boy. I want a drink and I’m going to have one.” Erroll looked inside of the terminal and saw the bar at the end of the building. He walked up to the bartender.
“Dos Remy Martin, Dos,” he said and held up two fingers. The bartender took the bottle of Remy Martin and poured him a double.
“Aqui” The bartender was confused. Erroll realized that he didn’t speak Spanish, so he motioned him to leave the bottle. Erroll was contented.
Jake approached. “Jake, thank God you speak Spanish, old boy.
What’s this Alfonso say?”
“We have to leave right away. It will take all night to reach Cuba.
There’s a boat waiting for us at a private inlet up the coast, fifty miles from here. A two-hour drive.” Erroll pulled a wad of U.S. bills out of his pocket and laid them on the bar. He picked up the bottle of Remy Martin and followed Jake out of the terminal. The waiting car was packed with luggage and camera equipment, so Luis arranged for a cab to follow.
After two hours of bad roads, mule-drawn carts, pigs in the streets, old trucks, broken-down cars and bicycles, they pulled onto a deserted beach with palm-frond-covered roofs of shacks along the shore. Dusk shone its last light as they peered at a twenty-five foot fishing boat anchored close to shoreline.
“I hope we’re not getting on that tub, “ said Erroll as he left the cab.
He watched the boat as a black man brought a small dingy to shore. It took two loads to get them aboard. Erroll surveyed the small craft. It had a marine diesel with a center mast with sail. He went below and saw the cabin with four bunks, two on each side and a small table.
“There’s no frills, but it’s safe,” he said when he came back on deck. Georgia was concerned.
“Will we fit on this little boat?” she asked.
“It’s going to be tight, but we’ll make it. I know a lot about boats.
I’ve owned a few in my time. These old fishing boats are built to take rough seas, most of the time they’re safer than a fast cruiser. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, darling,” he said.
Georgia felt reassured. She glanced at Luis who smiled at her. She held on to him as he helped her into the cabin. The others got aboard and Erroll became captain of the ship as they made their way out to sea.
Erroll knew boats, all right. It was small for comfort, but it would get them there. Erroll could tell the boat operator had a lot of experience, but he spoke French. The sea was calm and the swells were small. Erroll knew this part of the world, for he had sailed these seas in his schooner, the Sirocco, which he kept in Jamaica. They would be traveling on the windward side of Cuba, so when the winds came up it could prove to be rough. The swells could grow to a two-story building.
Georgia started off the trip in the cabin, but came up on deck. “I get seasick down there. I need fresh air,” she said.
“It’s a wonderful night, darling. Go up front and sit on the cabin roof,” said Erroll.
“I hate the ocean, and I hate sailing. I always get seasick, but worst of all I imagine all kinds of black awful creatures down there waiting for me. I’m scared to death. I could be in Hawaii with Elvis, living in a four-star hotel having a driver pick me up and take me to the set.
Look where love has put me. I’m sorry, Erroll, I don’t want to sound spoiled, but I’m frightened.”
“I understand, dearheart, when we get to Cuba, everything will be fine. I hope,” said Erroll.
Georgia called down to the cabin. “Luis, Luis come on deck. Come, hold me.”
Luis had been checking the camera equipment with Jake. He came up on deck. Georgia moved to hold on to the mast. When he got to her she was crying. He lay down next to her and held her.
“Luis, Oh, Luis, I’m frightened. Hold me.”
“My darling, please don’t cry, mi amor.” He kissed her on the forehead and the cheeks.
She peered up at the black sky, with its millions of bright flashing beams, as the soft tropical wind dried her tears. She felt this overwhelming urge to have him.
Erroll watched from the stern of the boat as he kept on course.
Georgia rolled over on the top of Luis. Erroll motioned to the boatman to take the wheel. The wind had come up and filled the sails. He called down in the cabin. “Hey Jake, can you give me a hand with the sail?”
“I’ll be right up.” Jake climbed out of the cabin and untied the rope that wrapped around the sail. He pulled on the halyard that hoisted the spinnaker and secured it. A soft wind filled the billowing sail and the boat moved ahead on course.
Erroll went below. He opened his handbag and brought out a hypodermic. He pulled up his pants leg and injected himself in the leg. By the expression on his face, he got instant gratification.
They sailed all night. A freighter crossed their path in the early morning. It came close enough to throw them around in its wake.
Georgia, who had gotten used to the motion of the waves, had gone below to sleep on one50182201 of the bunk beds. The freighter’s wake threw her from her bunk against the mast, bruising her leg and arm. Luis, who was on watch, rushed down to the cabin, reassured her and explained what had happened. She glanced at Erroll who slept in the bunk across from her, still in a deep sleep undisturbed by the incident.
Their boat sailed into a small fishing village east of Santiago de Cuba. It was an arid part of Cuba, because of the high mountains.
Cactus grew instead of tropical plants. The village was deserted when they docked. Most of the villagers were working up in the hills where they raised sugar cane, Alfonso told Luis.
Alfonso went ashore to make contact with the rebels for the journey into the mountains.
The wardrobe for the movie was simple: olive green fatigues.
Georgia tried on the fatigue hat to hide her long blonde hair. Being a blonde in this part of Cuba would be like carrying an American flag.
Alfonso returned to the boat. He escorted three mules with burlap bags on their backs. He opened the bag, which contained peasant clothes: straw hats, white shirts, denim pants, leather belts and crude leather sandals. He spoke to Luis in Spanish giving him instructions. “Get into these clothes to make the trip. The army is very close.” Luis picked up an outfit and gave it to Georgia. He also gave one to Erroll, who was reluctant. Georgia went below to change. Jake wrapped the camera and film in burlap sacks. They were ready for their journey into the mountains.
With their new wardrobes, they assumed the role of peasants who had come in from the sugarcane fields. They helped each other off the boat. Jake, with Alfonso’s help, loaded camera and film into the mule packs. They covered the equipment with the raw sugarcane and started to leave the village in a caravan. Georgia adjusted her straw hat.
“How do I look?” she asked Erroll.
“Like a Cuban doll, my love.”
Georgia laughed. “Erroll, you always know what to say. Have you heard how long we are going to be with these mules?”
“I understand we will be picked up by a vehicle as soon as we get out of this village. These outfits are supposed to camouflage us for the time being. Christ it’s hot. I’ll be glad when we get up in the mountains where it’s cooler,” he said.
As they proceeded up a narrow dirt road outside the village, they were approached by a platoon of Cu
ban soldiers. Georgia started to panic at the sight of them.
“Keep your head down. Stay behind the mules,” said Erroll.
The troops passed without incident. They were tired and beat. A few soldiers walking in the rear of the platoon were wounded. Georgia’s heart beat fast. She felt like she might faint. She held onto the mule for support. Luis saw her condition and walked up beside her and took her hand. With his reassurance, everything came back in focus.
They started up a steep forested canyon. From the top of the canyon, sentries of the fidelistas gazed down, their guns sighted on the procession.
“How far are we from Castro headquarters?” yelled Erroll. Jake, Luis and a tall gaunt-looking man approached him.
“This is Captain Guzman, of the fidelistas,” said Jake.
“Mucho gusto, Sr. Flynn. Soy ran aficionado et VD.”
“What’s he say?” asked Erroll.
“He told me that we are about five miles down river from Castro’s headquarters. The bad news is, we’re going to have to continue by mule. The road is bombed out,” said Jake.
Erroll looked for Georgia and yelled. “Get me the brandy. I put it in the pack on one of those mules.” He asked Jake. “Did he say how the war was going?”
“They’re winning. More and more of Batista’s army are surrendering every day.”
Georgia returned with the bottle of brandy. Erroll took it, drinking big gulps.
“Better get going. I can’t believe that I have to ride one of those beasts, but it’s better than walking.”
With the help of one of the rebels Erroll got on the back of the mule.
Georgia was helped onto the other.
Captain Guzman and his troops led the way through the dense tropical forest. Overhead, the sound of airplanes could be heard. They stopped and waited. The forest was so thick that they could hear the planes but not see them.
“Don’t fret. They can’t see us either,” said Erroll.
“Erroll, I know why I’m here, I fell in love with Luis. But you?
Why? “ said Georgia.
Erroll nursed the bottle of brandy. “It goes back a long time to the civil war in Spain. I had gone there and gave my support to the Fascist cause. Ernest Hemingway was there, also, writing articles on the war.
Confessions of a Hollywood Agent Page 10
