Confessions of a Hollywood Agent

by William Louis Gardner

  That you’re not.”

  “The President’s mistress. I like that. I’m glad you said that. You’re such a diplomat. Do you think our past presidents had mistresses?”

  “I’ve heard tell. Why not? Terrible pressure goes with the job.

  A president is like everyone else. He needs a little diversification to relax. What harm is there if the players know their place.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. You’ll have no trouble from me. I’m here for your pleasure, my sweet. I thought up a presidential trick for you.

  I’m giving it to you as a gift,” she said in her most seductive voice.

  “Cut the suspense. What is it and when?” he asked as he adjusted his legs on the lounge.

  “I’ll need some props. Call the kitchen, have them brings us some champagne grapes, cherries, bananas, strawberries, whipping cream and a maraschino cherry.”

  “What are we going to do with all that fruit?”

  “I’m going to show you how to make a fruit salad, but this is a very special fruit salad and only for you.”

  “I believe I’m getting what you’re up to. Are you suggesting where I think you’re suggesting?” he asked, smiling.

  “Oh, Jack, how cute you are. You’re going to squigg it in my couzie woozie … and I can hardly wait.” JFK laughed and got up from the lounge.

  “Where are you going, Jack?”

  “To the kitchen. Oh, I don’t like maraschino cherries. Is that a problem?”

  “Of course not, darling, but … don’t be gone too long.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The Sea Cloud, a magnificent tall ship sailed into Los Angeles harbor with its owner, a Caribbean playboy, who was also a general and a son of a dictator. The ship was fitted with three large masts and carried a crew of one hundred sailors and thirteen musicians.

  It caused a sensation when it docked at San Pedro. The newspapers were full of stories about the yacht and the man who owned it. The playboy cut a path around Hollywood, dating some of the major female stars. The press kept a vigil at the dock site checking the coming and goings of his guests.

  The night of July 3rd, a party was held on the yacht. Clint had been invited. His reputation for knowing the young starlets in Hollywood got him the invitation. Clint constantly got asked to parties where he never knew the host or hostess, but everybody acted like they were old friends.

  When Dorothy heard about the party she wanted to meet the general and invited herself, joining Clint on the long ride to San Pedro.

  As they drove down the Harbor Freeway Dorothy said. “What’s wrong with you lately? You seem depressed.”

  “My life. It’s not turning out the way I planned.”

  “I guess I could say that, too. I’m a successful actress, but that’s all I am. Sounds awful doesn’t it? I’m sure most women would love to trade places with me. The glamorous life they think I have. If they only knew what I had to do to get it. And the assholes I had to screw to make it happen.”

  “Don’t put that in your memoirs. You’re still that girl I met in Beverly Hills years ago, Gale Lawrence, who got the cowboy out of me and gave me a fast education. I liked that girl; she was fun and wild.”

  “Clint, how sweet of you. Sometimes I think I’m a terrible person, and I wonder why I do what I do. I hate my past. I look back and see how my mother lived, and I want to cry. Being a bastard is a hard reality, Clint. I’m constantly haunted by the thought. I’ve tried to help my mother, but she resents it. I don’t blame her for not marrying my father, he’s a monster and I haven’t spoken to him in years. I try to give her things, but she puts me down. I never seem to get her approval. She never lets me forget how I got what I have, but she forgets my talent and I don’t think that’s fair.”

  “We’re no different from any of the others we know. Products of our environment, I say. We do what we have to do to survive. You can take it, you’re tough. I thought I was, but I’m not. I have a conscience and it bothers me. I’ve been living a lie,” said Clint.

  “What do you mean, a lie? We’re both pathological liars and you know why? Because we need to feel good about ourselves. That’s why we lie. It’s our protection. But it’s wrong because we believe our own lies and they become reality to us, and that is where the trouble starts.”

  Clint glanced at Dorothy keeping his eye on the freeway. “Aren’t you smart. I’ve got a confession to make. I’ve been carrying around this terrible guilt for years. I’ve felt I was inadequate. I wasn’t fulfilled in my life. I wasn’t sexually satisfied.”

  “You’re finally going to admit you like boys.” Clint glanced at Dorothy sitting in the passenger seat, almost swerving into the other lane.

  “You mean you know?”

  “Of course, darling. I’ve always known. That’s what I like about you. You’re sensitive, but strong. I like that. A fuck is a fuck and God knows I’ve had my share. We had a few good fucks, but I could tell you were uncomfortable. A girl knows those things. I’m so happy, Clint.

  You’re being honest with yourself.” Dorothy moved over in the car seat and kissed Clint on the cheek.

  “You mean you don’t mind? You don’t care? I’ve been trying to hide the facts about me for years. You know how homophobic

  Hollywood is. I felt I could never risk letting it get out.”

  “Sweetheart, darling face, they know, and frankly, I think no one cares what you are, as long as you don’t hurt anyone. You’ve never killed anybody. You’ve never robbed a bank. You’re a good guy, Clint, and we’re a good team. So, you pimped me off to a few important men, but that doesn’t make you a bad guy.”

  “I don’t like that word. It was an introduction. It’s life, and life has to be lived the way you have to live it. Does that make any sense?”

  “I like your philosophy. The Golden Rule, said Dorothy that made Clint laugh as they drove off the freeway in the direction of the harbor.

  The sign said Pier 10. Two police guards stopped to check their IDs and to see if they were on the party’s guest list. As Clint parked his car, he checked out the Sea Cloud and marveled at its appearance. It was long, white and graceful as it sat tied up to the pier. The sounds of Caribbean music coming from the yacht put them in a party mood.

  A throng of faces stood behind a fence and gawked at the arrivals.

  It reminded Clint of a Hollywood premiere. The crowd squealed when they recognized Dorothy as she got out of the car. She waved and smiled to them as she and Clint walked toward the gangplank.

  The word of the party had gotten out to the press because Clint noticed a few of its members, as he and Dorothy were about to go aboard. A reporter Clint recognized from Life magazine called his name.

  The man motioned Clint to come to the fence. Clint left Dorothy’s side and joined the reporter.

  “I know you, you’re Clint, a movie agent? Right?” said the reporter.

  “Hello, not letting you in, huh?” asked Clint.

  “No press allowed. Be a sport, Clint, and help me out. Call me tomorrow and tell me what went on at the party.” The reporter handed Clint his card. “This playboy’s causing talk in Washington as to why he’s here spending money like he is, when his country has gotten millions of dollars in aid from our government to keep it propped up,” said the reporter.

  “I’ll try if I can,” said Clint taking his card. The last thing he needed, he thought, was to get mixed up in a Washington scandal.

  He joined Dorothy and noticed the dress she wore. The gown flowed to the ground in white and blue chiffon over a sheath with shades of blue disappearing into almost white. A long scarf covered her head and draped around her shoulders. She looked taller and thinner than he had seen her before, almost like a model of high fashion.

  “Has anyone told you how beautiful you look tonight? I like your dress,” he said.

  “It’s an Irene. I borrowed it from the studio,” she replied with a big smile. They walked up the gangplank.

  Two s
hip’s officers waited to greet them, dressed in white uniforms with signets on their hats of their country and epaulets on their shoulders. They bowed and tipped their hats as Clint and Dorothy boarded, giving Dorothy an approving look.

  Clint knew Dorothy had to be the most beautiful girl at the party tonight and it was the first time he felt really comfortable with her, no more games. Why hadn’t he told her before, he wondered. My demons, they needed protection, he answered himself.

  The orchestra performed on the fantail. More than a dozen musicians played Latin music, dressed in their country’s white navy uniforms. The waiters, dressed in bow ties, carried trays of food and drinks around offering them to the guests. Clint thought the party had a feeling of an old movie he had seen. He recognized a few of the guests, but one he wished he hadn’t was Porfirio Rubirosa on the dance floor dancing the merengue with a tall model. Dorothy saw him, too and said. “Do you see who I see? I hate that man. I’m sure he’ll tell everyone here I’m sleeping with the President. That island Casanova seems to be everywhere. Come, Clint, let’s get out of here.”

  Rubirosa spotted Clint and Dorothy at the same time. Clint grabbed two glasses of champagne from the waiter’s tray and went on to tour the ship. They walked into the main salon. The walls and ceiling were paneled in dark mahogany with carved tables and matching chairs covered in dark green fabric. The maroon carpeting felt thick under their feet. A fire blazed in a fireplace at the end of the room.

  “Look who’s here? Do you remember him?” asked Clint. A tall Latin-looking man dressed in a dark suit, his hair slicked back, stood in the room as they came in. “He was at Billie Rodgers house the night we met. He’s famous now. Not as a gigolo, but as a painter. His oils are the rage. He paints poppies that look like vaginas to me,” said Clint, laughing.

  Clint and Manuel would meet from time to time at parties and would laugh about how they had met. He remembered what Manuel had said to him once. “You show me a mirror and fifty bucks, and I can get it up for anybody.” They kissed each other on each cheek, as was the custom in South America.

  “Clint … I have to paint your beautiful lady friend,” he said as he gazed at her. Clint winked at Dorothy.

  “Dorothy, this is Manuel. You remember him. He used to play the guitar for Billie Rodgers.” Dorothy gave him a knowing smile. Clint could tell Manuel didn’t like the reference to his past. Manuel smiled and took Dorothy’s hand and brought it to his lips and kissed it, something he did very well, thought Clint.

  “We’ve met. I’m Dorothy Winters, the actress.”

  “Yes, I know, but I can’t remember, where was it?”

  “That’s your problem, darling.”

  Manuel was confused. “You look prosperous, Manuel. I didn’t know you knew the general,” said Clint.

  “I just met him and he bought three of my paintings. A nice man,” said Manuel.

  “Three paintings! I hear he’s a big fan of pussy. No wonder he likes your painting,” said Clint with a laugh. A big smile came over Manuel’s face. They looked over and saw the host enter the salon with an actress that Clint and Dorothy knew, Mona Walker. The general was dark, trim and handsome about thirty-five, with a full head of slicked-back black hair, wearing a white double breasted suit and black tie. Mona was in a bright red gown, which showed off her dark hair and white skin.

  “There’s the general now, let me introduce you, come,” said Manuel. They followed Manuel. “General, meet Clint Nation, he’s a big Hollywood agent, and this is Dorothy Winters, the movie star.”

  “Mucho gusto,” said Clint showing off his limited Spanish. “Good to see you, Mona,” Clint said to Mona. The general took Dorothy’s hand and kissed it peering into her eyes. Dorothy smiled back at him causing Mona to frown. “Enjoy yourselves. I have a surprise for you later,” he said as he and Mona moved on into the room.

  They watched Rubirosa approach the General. Rubirosa had him deep in conversation. The general glanced in Clint and Dorothy’s direction with a serious frown on his face. This alarmed Clint. He could have told the general that Clint had blackmailed him. Clint sensed trouble, but didn’t want to mention it to Dorothy. They walked back to the fantail and went onto the dance floor and danced to the Caribbean rhythms.

  For a moment Clint thought of Georgia and how she would have liked the party and what a good dancer she had been, especially to Latin music. Dorothy danced well, but couldn’t dance the way Georgia had. While they were dancing near the starboard, Clint peered over the side and saw an armada of small boats milling around trying to get a peek at what was going on aboard, and calling out obscenities to the guests. Clint became paranoid thinking of what could happen to him.

  The yacht started to move. Everyone stopped what they were doing and went to the port side of the ship and saw the gangplank had been brought up. The ship moved away from the pier into the harbor.

  “How strange. I think we’re moving,” said Clint.

  “We’re being kidnapped. How exciting,” said Dorothy.

  “This must be the surprise the general talked about,” said Clint.

  None of the guests had been told about leaving the harbor. It increased the party mood. The band played louder and the guests danced faster and drank more, making it a night to remember. Clint realized what Dorothy had said was true. The general had in effect kidnapped them and there was no way they could get off the ship. When they got out into the harbor the crew pulled up the sails on the three giant masts.

  What a glorious sight, but there was little wind to pick up the sails. The word got out that they were sailing to Catalina Island, for a 4th of July party.

  Clint spotted Manuel coming his way, acting concerned.

  “If I were you I’d find a way to get off,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “The general told me you blackmailed Rubirosa and he’s pissed off about it. An accident could happen to you. We’re in a foreign country on this ship. You’re on their territory and anything could happen.

  “I’ll have to jump. Make sure that nothing happens to Dorothy.

  Take her home. And thanks, Manuel, you’re a friend.”

  Clint said nothing to Dorothy. She was too busy watching the activities for him to be missed. Clint made his way along the railing of the ship. He knew he had to make his move soon, before the yacht got too far out to sea.

  The crew was readying the big guns on the port side preparing to fire them.

  Two of the ship’s crew was following Clint as he passed one of the cannon stations. Clint stopped to pick up a life preserver he saw on the deck. As he bent down to pick up the life jacket, the two men came from behind. One hit Clint with an iron pipe on the head and the other pushed him over the side. Clint fell into the water as one hundred canons fired, one after another in a salute.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Dorothy walked around the ship to find Clint and found Manuel.

  “Have you seen Clint? He’s disappeared.”

  “He jumped overboard.”

  “He what? What do you mean, in the water?”

  “He didn’t want to alarm you. Rubirosa was going to have an accident happen to him. I found out and told him. I saw a small boat pick him out of the water, don’t worry, he’s OK.”

  “Rubirosa. What a dick.”

  “They say that about me too,” said Manuel with a whimsical smile.

  “We’re just a couple of old whores.”

  “You make me laugh, Manuel. Dorothy noticed Rubirosa on the dance floor. “Look! The asshole is on the dance floor again. I’ll fix him for Clint.” Dorothy left Manuel’s side and walked onto the crowded floor where Rubirosa was moving his date around. She pulled his arm away from his partner. He stopped and turned toward her. “Rubi, this is from Clint,” she snapped, and slapped his face.

  The Latin put his hand to his chin and hissed. “Puta.”

  “Me? Look, who’s calling who a whore … you asshole.”

  Rubi gave Dorothy a cold smile
and led his date away. Dorothy’s scene didn’t seem to make much difference to the other guests; they continued to dance away as if nothing had happen.

  The party went on and the music never stopped. Dorothy felt better after her encounter with Porfirio. She was amazed how these Latins could party, and the drinking they could do. One of the general’s aides ran around the dance floor with a scissors, cutting the ties off the men who weren’t in tuxedos. It was as if none of them cared they were being made fools of and kept on dancing. She went below and found an empty stateroom and locked herself in. She worried about Clint, and hoped he made it to shore. She heard a few couples outside the door pounding to get in and screw, but she refused to give up her refuge and remained until the yacht docked at San Pedro the next day.

  Manuel offered to take her home, but she took Clint’s car back to his house. She saw that he hadn’t come home and got on the phone to the police and the hospitals in the harbor area. A nurse at Long Beach Medical Center told her about a man that answered Clint’s description who was brought in last night. He had no identification and was unconscious in the emergency room. She left for Long Beach and the hospital.

  She entered the intensive care unit. A man who was a doctor stopped her.

  “Are you Dorothy Winters?” he asked.

  “Yes, I’m told a friend of mine could be here. He’s about thirty, sorta tall. He jumped off a yacht last night in the harbor.”

  “I’m Doctor Lucas. Your friend is here, but I have bad news for you. He’s been injured in the fall. He must have hit something when he jumped into the water. There’s a large contusion on the right side of his head. He has a concussion. I think there’s brain damage. It’s a little too early to tell how bad, but as far as I can tell his right side is paralyzed.”

  “Where is he? I must see him.”

  The doctor escorted Dorothy to a bed at the end of the room. Clint lay with his head wrapped in a bandage and was unconscious, strapped to a monitoring device with a tube down his throat and an IV in his arm.