A note was enclosed. All it said was, ‘I don’t want to boast but . . .’
Sunday laughed. It was the most vulgar gift she had ever received.
* * *
Breakfast was a mango and some peaches by her small private pool. Then she swam, cleaning away the slight hangover. Next she did her daily exercises underwater.
‘My God, aren’t we the energetic one!’ It was Dindi, hidden from the world by a huge cowboy hat, tinted sunglasses, and a yellow pant suit. ‘I was sure you’d be up, so I thought I’d drop by before leaving.’
Sunday climbed out of the pool, shaking water out of her hair and hitching up the bottom of her bikini. ‘Are you going too? What a pity. Carey just called me from the airport. I suppose you have to get back to Charlie.’
Dindi hooted with laughter. ‘You’re kidding, aren’t you? I have to get back for work, darling, hard work. Did I tell you I’m starring in All the World Loves a Stripper? My reviews for Roundabout say I steal the whole film.’
‘That’s great. Can’t wait to see it.’
‘I’ll have it run for you,’ she said airily. ‘When are you coming back?’
Sunday shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Whatever Steve wants.’
Dindi took off her hat and threw her face back to catch the sun. ‘I think I should tell you, after all we are friends and I’m not one for keeping secrets. Anyway if it was me I would want to know.’
‘Know what?’
‘Well, I guess it was my fault too,’ she admitted, ‘but I was sort of stoned, and you know what I’m like when a guy comes on strong, and I was curious.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Sunday, I don’t want to hurt you. I know how uptight you are about sex, and Gods knows you had a bad enough time with that freaked-out first husband of yours. But I must be honest, and I do think you would be better off knowing.’
Coldly Sunday said, ‘Please don’t call my first husband names. He was sick, that’s all, sick. Why, you hardly even knew him.’
Dindi sighed. ‘I suppose I should have told you before. I knew him very well. As a matter of fact, Benno used to make me have scenes with the two of them. I was mad about Benno. I rather fancied myself as a Roman princess. He was, like all men though, a first-class shit, and after Paulo died he was so miserable he kicked me out. You know, of course, that Benno and Paulo were making it?’
White-faced, Sunday said, ‘You must be out of your mind.’
Dindi shrugged. ‘Believe me or don’t believe me, it doesn’t make any difference. Fly to beautiful Roma and ask Benno yourself. I thought you must have known, everybody else did. All those tall blond Roman counts and princes swing both ways, it’s in their blood. Listen, the three of us were holed up in a hotel for three days the week before he died.’
Very quietly Sunday said, ‘I think you had better go.’
‘Oh shit,’ Dindi exclaimed, ‘I’m doing you a favour, telling you the truth. I think you live in a little ivory tower or something. Anyway, that’s not even what I came to say. I thought you knew all that. What I wanted to tell you was about your new boyfriend, Mister Magnum.’
‘I don’t want to hear anything else you have to say, Dindi. Can’t you understand that I—’
‘Yeah – I can understand that you’re trying to shut yourself off from life. Well, whether you like hearing it or not, the fact is I screwed your big movie-star boyfriend last night. They’re all bastards, baby, and Steve Magnum ain’t no different. He screwed me at your party while you were chatting politely to his guests.’ She sighed. ‘In this life you have to look out for number one, you’re always alone in the end. You may think I’m a bitch, but I like you, and I figure you’re better off knowing what kind of guy you’re marrying.’ She stood up. ‘Well, there it is, I’m sorry if you’re upset, but that’s show biz.’ She put on her hat. ‘By the way, he’s a fantastic lay!’
For a while Sunday sat in silence. Instinctively she knew that Dindi had spoken the truth. She pushed the information about Paulo to the back of her mind to be dealt with later.
Steve Magnum.
Goodbye.
She didn’t want to listen to his lies.
Quickly she hurried into the bungalow, packed, and ordered a limousine. Then she called Carey’s secretary in Los Angeles and dictated a brief statement to be given to the press.
‘I’m going away for a week or so,’ she told the girl.
‘Tell Miss St Martin that I’m fine. I don’t want to be disturbed, and I’ll call her in a couple of days.’ She took the two gold figures Steve had given her and replaced them in their box. Then she wrote a short note saying, ‘I understand you’re fantastic’ Next she enclosed her large diamond engagement ring.
The Mexican driver arrived and began to load her suitcases into the car. She handed him the package and note. ‘After you have taken me to the airport please deliver this to Señor Magnum.’
The driver nodded, his eyes fixed firmly on her bosom.
Chapter Thirty
‘You’re a real friend. With friends like you I have no need of enemies.’ Charlie sat in his Beverly Hills hotel bungalow and stared Clay down. ‘I mean what the hell was all that bit about you met her with her mother? You laid her, didn’t you? Her mother – what a load of crap. And the horrible thing is I’m sitting here like a right schmuck, believing you!’ He shook his head. ‘Thanks a lot, friend.’
Clay gulped his scotch down quickly. ‘What did you want me to say, for Christ’s sake? Oh yes, I have met your wife, I fucked her with a drunken Italian in Rome. After all by the time I saw her again you were married to her.’
‘Bullshit! We’ve been friends long enough. You could have told me.’
‘What good would telling you have done? I thought maybe she had reformed. After all, if I’d told you then, you might have ended up hating me!’
‘That’s great, you weren’t concerned about me having made a right berk of myself marrying some ding-dong, you were just concerned about yourself. You’re a selfish bastard.’
Clay helped himself to another scotch from the bottle on the table. ‘Come on, Charlie. Let’s forget about it. Everyone’s allowed one mistake in life. Why did you marry her anyway?’
‘Who knows? I was stoned, getting over Lorna. She looked like some pretty innocent little angel, and she gave great head.’
‘So do half the hookers in Hollywood,’ Clay remarked wisely.
It was 10 p.m. Charlie had been back in Los Angeles a week, and he and Clay had just been to see a special rough cut of Roundabout. Natalie was at home.
‘She has a bad attack of morning sickness all day and all night,’ Clay remarked with a laugh. ‘It’s going to be a boy this time, I can feel it in my balls!’
After viewing the film, they returned to Charlie’s bungalow, chatting and drinking. It was the first time Charlie had been out since getting back. He had holed up in the hotel, working on a script, and playing with his tape-recorders and cameras.
Dindi had derived the maximum amount of publicity out of their forthcoming divorce, giving forth with several conflicting statements and posing for innumerable pictures until her lawyer had forced her to be silent.
Charlie merely produced that well-worn quote: ‘No comment.’
Along with the Sunday Simmons/Steve Magnum engagement breaking up, Dindi and Charlie were the show-business talk of the week.
‘What do you say we go out and have some fun?’ Clay suggested. ‘It’s not often I get a night off.’
‘Where do you want to go?’
‘Cruising. We could cruise a bit and pull two lovely little darlings.’
Charlie laughed. ‘You haven’t changed much, have you? Remember the first time we ever met?’
‘Could I ever forget!’ Clay exclaimed. ‘Vietary Studios. I was banging a real hot one in the dressing room and you barged in. She pulled up her knickers so quick, I thought she had taken my cock with her!’
‘You always were a randy old b
astard,’ Charlie said with an admiring chuckle.
‘You came in calm as you like and said in that camp faggot accent you were using then – “Oh, did I come at the wrong time?” I could have killed you! The bird scampered off, and I ended up with nothing!’
‘The start of a beautiful friendship.’
‘Yes. Well, we’ve both come a long way from those days, haven’t we? Of course, you’re in the best position. Famous film star. You can pull more or less anyone you want. When you were having that fling with Michelle Lomas, I don’t mind telling you I was goddam jealous.’
‘Were you?’
‘Sure I was. Any fellow worth his balls would have been.’
Charlie laughed modestly. ‘Michelle was a fabulous woman.’
‘Come on, let’s have another drink for Serafina, she was always fond of a drop of scotch. I’m going to miss that grand old lady.’
Solemnly they re-filled their glasses and toasted Serafina.
Clay said, ‘Fancy dropping into a disco?’
Charlie shook his head. ‘You go.’
‘Come on, it will do you good. Anyhow, I fancy having a ride in that flash car of yours.’
* * *
The discotheque was jammed as usual. Charlie had only ever been there once with Dindi. The place made him uncomfortable. It was jammed with starlets and beach-boys and actors and young celebrities and a few old celebrities who figured they were still young, and hookers of both sexes.
Clay pushed his way through and found them a place at the bar. He immediately started to chat to a blonde in a gold catsuit who looked completely stoned.
Charlie wished he hadn’t come. Clay meant well, but this really wasn’t his scene.
‘You’re Charlie Brick, aren’t you?’ a smaller, not so pretty version of Dindi asked him. She had the same flaxen hair and big blue eyes. ‘I’m here with my boyfriend, but I wanted to tell you that you really turn me on.’ She fidgeted in her see-through mini and abstractedly stroked her small breasts. ‘Your glasses are so sexy. What star are you?’
‘Virgo,’ Charlie replied, fascinated as he watched her nipples harden under her own touch.
‘Hmm,’ she cast her eyes heavenwards, ‘I thought so. I’m Aquarius. I’m an actress.’
As if I didn’t know, he thought.
‘Well, I guess I’d better get on back to my boyfriend. Shall I call you?’
‘Don’t call me, I’ll call you.’
‘Huh?’
‘Nothing. It’s a joke. Yes, do call me. I’m at the Hilton.’
She flitted away, and Charlie turned to see how Clay was getting on. He was doing nicely, whispering in the blonde’s ear.
‘Er, I think I’ve had enough of this place,’ Charlie commented. ‘Shall we move on?’
Reluctantly Clay agreed, scribbling the blonde’s phone number in a small notebook.
Then he suggested they cruise down the Strip to inspect the action there. ‘If I’m lucky, I might find myself a fourteen-year-old drop-out,’ he joked.
Charlie had lost all enthusiasm for the trip. They might just as well have phoned for a couple of hookers, because whoever they found wandering about at this time of night was bound to be one anyway. He wasn’t sure if he even felt like getting laid.
‘Slow down, get over to the side,’ Clay said excitedly.
Two girls were walking towards them, both dressed in tight chinos and clinging sweaters, both swinging fringed suede handbags and chewing gum. They edged towards the car as it stopped, first having a good look around for any cops.
‘Looking for a little action?’ the first girl asked, leaning down to the open window and peering in at Clay. ‘We’re available for any trips you care to take.’
He started to reply, but Charlie suddenly jammed his foot down on the accelerator, sending the car racing away.
‘Hey, what’s the matter?’ Clay asked indignantly.
‘For God’s sake, the pair of them stank. Hopped up to the eyeballs on top of the stink!’
‘I didn’t realize we were on the look-out for Miss Clean America.’
‘Fuck you.’
They rode in silence.
‘What do you want then?’ Clay finally asked.
Charlie shrugged. He was tired. What he really wanted was to go home to bed. They were passing by a strip joint. ‘Let’s go in here,’ he said, swerving the Lamborghini into an adjoining parking lot. It was certainly better than cruising up and down like a couple of hicks.
‘Good idea.’ Clay’s face brightened.
Charlie thought, What’s this all about? What the hell are we looking for? A quick flash of tit like a couple of high-school boys? He was annoyed with himself and annoyed with Clay.
The place was sleazy, with plain wooden tables arranged around an L-shaped stage. A waitress, wearing black tights and a tired red bra, took their order.
A girl was up on the stage, going through her routine. She was wearing a bathing suit and a sash saying ‘Miss Hot California’. She had flaming red hair and an enormous bosom. California packed in more enormous bosoms, thanks to all the doctors using silicone injections, than any other state.
She moved energetically, wriggling out of the bathing suit before you knew it, wearing just the sash and a red-white-and-blue G-string.
‘Get a load of that!’ Clay exclaimed happily.
Charlie sighed. The girl looked unreal. Two great globes of upstanding flesh. He ordered a bottle of scotch, which he proceeded to empty fast.
The next performer had piles of raven hair and a low-cut purple beaded evening dress. She was introduced as Crazy Harold, and the music blared ‘Big Spender’. She bumped and grinded her way automatically around the stage.
Charlie found the whole thing completely asexual. Clay was as excited as a schoolboy getting laid for the first time.
Between strippers, a comedian told weak blue jokes in a straight out of Brooklyn accent. Charlie studied the voice. He found it much more interesting than the girls. It had a particular nasal twang that he wished to capture exactly for the character he was playing in his next film.
‘Now I give you a coupla wild mustangs! Little Skinny Sackcloth and Fantastic Fat Fanny!’ the comedian said.
The way he said ‘Mustang’ knocked Charlie out. He muttered it under his breath, trying to get the intonation right.
Clay was roaring with laughter, along with the rest of the room, as the two new strippers appeared.
Little Skinny Sackcloth was a Twiggy-type girl, extremely pretty and wearing a pink mini shift.
Fantastic Fat Fanny was also pretty, but a mountainous balloon of a girl from her wobbling double chins to her jellylike legs. She too was wearing a pink mini dress.
They paraded the stage to the strains of ‘Hello, Dolly’.
‘Christ!’ Clay muttered. ‘I always fancied having a fat girl.’
Charlie was getting through the scotch and feeling no pain, but even in the most stoned of conditions he could never have fancied the fat one. The little skinny one was a different proposition. She was rather appealing, with her wispy yellow hair and fawn-like eyes.
The girls removed their clothes in unison. First the skimpy mini shifts, under which they were wearing bras, panties and stockings clipped to old-fashioned suspenders.
Fat Fanny was grotesque, rolls upon rolls of uncontrollable flesh, quivering and shaking in time to the music. In comparison, Skinny Sackcloth was a skeleton, with ribs sticking out of an emaciated ribcage.
The combination of the two female forms was almost obscene. Their bras unclipped down the front, and now rolling their hips in time to a honky-tonk arrangement of ‘Hard-Hearted Hannah’, they undid the clips.
‘I’ve got to have the fat one,’ Clay groaned.
If Natalie could only see him now, Charlie thought, amused at Clay’s enthusiasm. Fat Fanny looked like some sort of gross animal. Big boobs flopping and falling, nipples the size of the skinny one’s entire little buds.
They ended the s
how. The comedian leaped up on the stage, cracked a couple of stale jokes, and promised everyone a brilliant new show in exactly one hour’s time.
Clay grabbed the man on his way to the bar. Charlie called for the check and paid it. He was going to drop Clay off at his car and go to bed. Any more cruising Clay could do on his own.
Clay fumbled in his pocket and handed the comedian money.
Charlie got up. He had taken off his glasses, as no one ever recognized him without them, and who needed to be recognized in such a dump? ‘Come on,’ he said patiently.
‘It’s all arranged,’ Clay said excitedly. ‘All fixed.’
‘What’s all fixed?’
‘Fantastic Fat Fanny and the Skinny bit. I gave the fellow two hundred dollars and we’re to go across the street to their apartment. They’ve only got an hour. How about that for organization?’
‘Two hundred dollars for those two freaks. I think you’re going soft.’
‘Soft I’m not. Let’s go.’
Reluctantly Charlie trailed behind. Natalie had always said that Clay would screw anything, but this was ridiculous.
Little Skinny Sackcloth opened the door of the apartment. She was wearing a black chiffon ostrich-feather-trimmed dressing-gown and a vacuous smile.
The apartment was one room, and reminded Charlie of his first sexual encounter so long ago in a dingy dressing-room with a sister act. It had the same smells: cheap perfume and stale sweat.
Clay pushed eagerly forward. ‘Got any booze?’ he asked.
Skinny looked at him blankly. ‘Jake didn’t say nothin’ ’bout booze bein’ part of the deal.’
A toilet flushed and Fat Fanny emerged from the bathroom. She was wearing the same style dressing-gown as the skinny one. Immediately she took control. ‘You want scotch, it’s ten bucks a piece. Take your pants off and make yourselves at home, not too at home, we’ve only got an hour. Any rough stuff is extra, you read me – extra. And if you both want to make it with me at the same time, that’s also extra.’ She spoke very quickly in a fluffy light voice that didn’t match up to her size.
Clay looked at Charlie and Charlie looked at Clay and they both burst out laughing.