‘Of course. Well, I’ll leave you two to discuss details.’
‘Charlie – the re-write was started today. All being well we can start shooting again next week.’
* * *
Back at his hotel Charlie changed into a black track suit. He then decided he didn’t like it, and was just struggling back into his original outfit when Dindi arrived.
She had dressed carefully for the occasion. Nothing too far out, she didn’t want to frighten him off with some wild outfit. After all, each star was a golden opportunity, and one of these days she was going to strike it rich.
Of course she had heard of Charlie Brick – who hadn’t? And when Marshall had called her about entertaining him, she had jumped at the chance. Marshall had promised to see she got a small part in Roundabout. They had a good working arrangement.
She remembered with amusement her first encounter with Marshall. Seeing he was such a big important agent and all, she had thought she had better put out for him. But he hadn’t wanted to know, practically fell under his desk with embarrassment when she unzipped her dress and wriggled her bare ass at him.
In moments of idleness, which were few in Dindi’s life, she tried to figure out what the agent’s sexual hang-up was. He didn’t swing with girls. Boys? She didn’t think so. Anyway, she entertained his more important clients, and he got her a small contract and plenty of walk-on speaking parts; so as far as she was concerned it was a good arrangement.
Charlie Brick was thinner and more attractive than on the screen. Not her type at all though. She liked them big, young, and good-looking. Maybe he was sensational in bed. The English were pretty wild in that department.
She played it sweet and friendly.
‘Hi, I’m Dindi Sydne. What a fabulous suite. I’d love a frozen banana daquiri.’
Charlie thought her a charming girl, obviously not a hooker – exceedingly pretty, with silky blonde hair pulled back and tied with a big blue bow that matched the sleeveless dress she was wearing. The dress clung in all the right places and had diamond patterns cut around the midriff which showed off her glowing tan.
‘Marshall tells me you’re an actress,’ he said, wondering why on earth he had brought up that subject.
‘Trying to be, but I’m not terribly ambitious.’ She smiled disarmingly.
He ordered drinks from room service, put on a José Feliciano tape, showed Dindi a book of stills from his latest film, and reminded himself to thank Marshall for sending him such a delightful girl.
Dindi admired pictures of his children, sipped her drink like a lady, enthused over his stills, and carefully and unobtrusively saw to it that her skirt hitched its way up, showing lots of naked tanned thigh.
Several frozen banana daquiris later she pretended to be ever so slightly drunk. Actually they didn’t affect her at all, but she was smart enough to know when to play it tough, and when to play it Baby Girl. Charlie was definitely Baby Girl. Already he was telling her about his wife, the divorce, and how lonely he was.
She made sympathetic clucking noises, and secretly thought here was a goose good and ready to be plucked.
After he had complained bitterly about all women being after his money, fame, or both, she said, ‘How awful. I guess people just use you, and girls hope you can get them in your movies.’
‘That’s right, love, that’s absolutely right.’ What an intelligent girl, he thought, hardly aware of the fact that he had been doing all the talking. ‘Y’know, if I ever get married again, one thing I’ll be sure to do, and that is see my wife has a separate bedroom. I understand that she wouldn’t want to be with me all the time.’
This guy is a nut, Dindi thought, an out and out nut. ‘I understand how you feel,’ she said softly, ‘although if I was your wife, that would be the last thing I’d want.’
Charlie suddenly grabbed her and kissed her. What a wonderful understanding girl. He moved his hands over her breasts and she gave a little gasp.
‘Listen, love,’ he said quietly, letting her go and moving over to the desk drawer. ‘There’s something I want you to try with me.’
Oh goody – action at last, Dindi thought.
‘Yes?’ she said, her voice barely a whisper as he lowered the lights and turned up the music.
‘I want you to smoke a little grass with me. It will make you feel good, you’ll enjoy it. Here.’ He lit the joint and passed it to her. ‘Just drag deeply and inhale very very slowly.’
She choked back a laugh. She had been smoking pot on and off since she was fourteen. Gingerly she took the brown cigarette and puffed, manufacturing a small frightened cough. It was weak stuff, had no kick to it.
‘There’s a clever girl.’ Charlie was pleased. He took the joint from her and dragged long and hard. It was the only thing in the world that really relaxed him.
They lay back on the couch and shared the rest. Dindi despaired of him ever making a move. But at last he began to kiss her again and run his hands over her body. She sighed and moved and moaned and said, ‘I feel so wonderful, you make me feel so wonderful.’
Then he was gently pulling her dress off, and manipulating her bosom over the top of her bra (a Fredericks special – black lace and pink ruffles), and kissing her nipples until they stood up firm and hard. She suppressed a desire to scream at him what to do next. He was so slow. After five minutes of playing with her breasts she wanted him to shove it into her good and hard, but he was making no move in that direction. Shit! she thought – shit! shit! shit! And she squirmed uncomfortably until at last she came to an unsatisfactory climax.
Unaware of this, Charlie continued to play with her nipples. By this time she was a mass of raw nerve-edges silently screaming at him to stop.
Could a Baby Girl reach for his prick?
Why not, if she were a stoned Baby Girl?
She deftly moved out of his grasp and felt for his fly. What the hell were all these buttons?
‘Can I touch you?’ she asked shyly.
‘Of course, darling, of course.’
He got up quickly, feeling a bit guilty at having made her turn on, and struggled out of his pants.
Before he could sit down, she fastened her mouth on him like a limpet, forcing him to a quick climax.
He gave a long and anguished moan.
She let him free, and fell back on the couch murmuring, ‘Oh Charlie, I’ve never done that before. You’re so sexy. So great.’
He smiled. Yes, he could give women a good time. Movie star or dustman, he was a good lover. Hadn’t this sweet girl just said so?
The phone started to ring and he padded to answer it, feeling stupid in just his shirt, socks, and horn-rimmed glasses.
Dindi lay back, feeling pleased with herself. She was definitely playing all her cards right. With any luck she would get a good cameo part in Roundabout, plus maybe a spell as Charlie Brick’s girlfriend. It was always good to go with a star, got you around to all the right parties and premières, where important people noticed you. He obviously liked her. She could see his big bag was flattery, and man, she was the best at that. The main thing with any guy was sweet-talking him about what a stud he was.
Charlie was surprised to hear Clay Allen on the phone. It was early morning in London, and since Clay was arriving in Hollywood the following week, he wondered what he wanted. He hoped to God that Natalie hadn’t said anything. Not that there was anything for her to say, but you never knew with women. They had a way of fabricating things.
They exchanged pleasantries, then Clay said, ‘Look, old boy, I think there’s something I had better tell you before some smart reporter blurts it at you. It’s about Lorna. As you know, she’s marrying that berk, and what is more, my friend, she’s pregnant – five months.’
‘Is it his?’ Charlie blurted foolishly, in a state of shock.
‘Well, it certainly isn’t yours. Anyway, Natalie found out and we thought you should know.’
‘Yes, yes, thanks, Clay.’ He replaced the receiver.
>
Lorna had really gone and done it. Now there was no hope of them getting back together, no hope at all. His Lorna. Pregnant with another man’s child.
He gazed blankly at Dindi lying on the couch. Blonde hair spread around her pretty face, bosoms peeking at him over the top of her bra, long brown legs. She was at least ten years younger than Lorna, a real little beauty. One whom all his mates back in London would really fancy.
‘Hey,’ Charlie said. ‘Let’s get in the Maserati and drive somewhere – anywhere. How about Las Vegas? I’ve never been there. Let’s get married.’
Chapter Fourteen
‘Smile,’ Carey whispered to Sunday, ‘you look like a girl who’s just had bad news.’
Sunday obediently manufactured a smile for the photographers buzzing round her and Steve Magnum. Actually the last thing in the world she felt like doing was smiling. She had had a terrible morning.
First, the pornographic letter with its sickening contents. Then, in her confusion, her little dog, Limbo, had somehow or other got lost. She had visions of it being trapped on Sunset Boulevard, and couldn’t wait for the press conference to end, so that she could get back to the search.
‘You’ve done a pretty good job of avoiding me,’ Steve said, putting his arm around her for the photographers.
‘Thank you for the flowers,’ she replied dutifully.
‘Is that all you’ve got to say on the subject? Why don’t we discuss it over dinner tonight?’
‘I’m sorry, I’m busy.’
He looked at her quizzically. It was such a change to meet a girl who played hard to get. He had a reputation as a lady-killer and most of the ladies couldn’t wait to get killed.
In the whole of Steve’s life there had only been two women who had actually turned down the opportunity of going to bed with him. One was a girl in high school who had called him skinny, and the other his mother’s best friend. He bet they were sorry now. They were shrivelled-up old bags by this time anyway.
Still, it was refreshing to meet a girl like Sunday. She was so unlike the usual Hollywood actresses, and really great-looking, not your hairpieces and false-eyelashes type of beauty. Jack Milan had been right when he said, ‘There’s a broad you’ve got to meet. I’m sitting you next to her.’ Angela was getting to be a habit. Sunday had appeared at just the right time.
‘What’s the matter, am I too old for you?’ he said with a smile. He knew that at fifty he was not too old for anyone. Not with the fame, the millions, the various homes around the world, the private plane, and the reputation – especially the reputation.
‘How old are you?’ Sunday asked sweetly, wondering if maybe Limbo had got shut in a closet somewhere.
Carey, watching on the sidelines as the photographers jostled for good shots, wished that Sunday would ease up just a little. She was really uptight. The best thing in the world for her would be an affair with someone like Steve Magnum – although those movie stars were such unpredictable bastards.
‘That’s enough, fellows,’ Steve said, ‘you’ll be seeing a lot more of Sunday in our new movie.’ He turned to her, fixing her with his famous pale blue eyes. ‘The dinner invitation is open any night you care to pick it up. Otherwise I’ll see you in Acapulco.’
‘OK.’ She did find him attractive, or was it that his face was so very familiar?
It was quite an achievement for Steve Magnum to appear at a press reception to introduce his latest leading lady. It made the whole thing more important.
Carey was delighted. ‘You looked great, honey. It will make every front page tomorrow.’
‘I must get back to the Château. Can we leave now?’
‘Sure. Don’t worry, Limbo’s probably safely asleep under the bed.’
But he wasn’t. Sunday searched her suite again, and wandered around the hotel, looking everywhere. She hired a taxi and cruised up and down Sunset. She called the police. By six o’clock she gave up hope and went home.
It took some time for the knocking on the door to get through to her. It was past seven, and her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks streaked.
Branch Strong stood there, Limbo barking cheekily under his arm.
‘Er – Miss – er, I guess this is your dog, huh? Found him jigging about outside, down by the pool. I think he must have fallen in a few times ’cos he’s wet through.’ He handed the tiny dog to Sunday and it immediately covered her face with wet licks.
‘Oh yes, yes. Come in.’ Her face lit up as she muttered to the dog half scoldingly, half lovingly.
Branch walked in, swaggering unconsciously in his very tight blue jeans and thin white T-shirt. He was really quite knocked out with Sunday.
‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am. I’ve been going mad with worry. I was imagining the most awful things.’
‘Yeah.’ Branch stood awkwardly, his hands dangling beside him. ‘I guess it was a good thing I found him.’
‘You bet it was. Honestly, I am so relieved. If there’s anything I can ever do for you – just name it.’
‘I’ll name it,’ he hesitated. ‘That is – er – I thought maybe you might like to have a bite to eat with me tonight.’
He paused hopefully, then quickly added, ‘Nothing fancy – there’s this great health-food place I found. What do you think?’
‘Can we take Limbo?’
‘Sure, yeah, sure. You mean you’ll come?’ His big boyish face beamed. ‘That’s great. I guess I’d better go and wash up, and I’ll fetch you in half an hour. Is that all right with you?’
‘That’s fine.’
She took Limbo in the kitchen and gave him a dish of meat and some water, then watched as he wolfed the lot down. Then she changed into a pair of white slacks and a sweater, brushed her hair and cleaned her face. Branch seemed nice; there could be no harm in having a quiet dinner with him.
In the bedroom she noticed the revolting letter she had received that morning, still lying in fragments in the waste-paper basket. She shuddered. It was so vile, so obscene. Carey had laughed when she told her about it. ‘You’ll be inundated with pieces of garbage like that. Don’t even bother to read them; it gives some poor sick guy somewhere his jollies. Forget it, they never do anything else but write.’
Didn’t they? In spite of the fact that they seemed convinced that they would do the things described?
Of course they didn’t. Only it gave Sunday a bad feeling to know that somewhere, someone knew where she was and had such thoughts about her.
Chapter Fifteen
Charlie tried to get hold of George but couldn’t locate him. George, taking advantage of his night of freedom, was sitting in a strip club admiring the scenery.
Charlie was very stoned, and completely carried away with the idea of running off to Las Vegas with Dindi.
She was sceptical. Could this nut really be serious about getting married? But if it came off, what a break!
Charlie thought: Screw you, Lorna. Screw you, Michelle. Screw you, Natalie. I’m going to show the lot of you. They would all see how much he cared when they read their papers tomorrow.
He told Dindi they wouldn’t bother picking up any of her things, she would have everything new in Las Vegas. Then, throwing a few clothes in an overnight bag, they headed for the Maserati and took off.
It was an easy ride, freeway all the way, and Charlie really put his foot down, revelling in the sound of the powerful engine. He played his new stereo tape equipment and they shared another joint.
Dindi hoped to hell they wouldn’t get stopped for speeding or anything. If they got booked for smoking pot it would ruin a beautiful scene.
She contemplated giving him a little going over while he was driving, but at the speed they were travelling it was probably unwise. Anyway, she didn’t want to appear too forward – yet. Maybe it was her supposed innocence that he went for. She lay back in her seat and listened to the music.
It was around four a.m. when Vegas loomed ahead. It was a mass of blazing neon signs as they d
rove through the downtown section. In spite of the hour the streets and gambling halls were crowded. It was a waste of time to go to bed in Vegas – unless of course that was the business you were in. Charlie had never been there before, but he had had the desk clerk at the Beverly Hills phone through to the Forum hotel to alert them of his arrival. It was the latest hotel to be built on the main strip.
Dindi had fallen asleep. Charlie woke her. ‘Which way to the Strip?’ he asked.
She had already told him she had been there before, although not in what circumstances. She had been dating a small-time hood at the time who had dumped her there without a cent, after three glorious days together. She had hung around and worked as a cocktail waitress and made it with a few fantastic swimming coaches, and had then got a ride back to L.A. with an up-and-coming actor – the only trouble was he was up and coming practically the whole trip! That was before Rome.
‘Just keep on this street and take a right at the top.’ She thought a minute, then added, ‘Hey, there’s a fabulous new hotel – the Forum. I’d love to go there, it’s supposed to be wild, TV in the john and fruit machines in the elevators.’ She had decided it was better to go somewhere she might not be known. It wouldn’t be cool to have half the croupiers greeting her by name.
‘That’s just where we’re going.’
The Forum was approached through a driveway of marble Roman soldiers – very impressive. Several bleached-blond boys in short togas surrounded the Maserati as it arrived at the entrance. They opened the doors, took the one bag, and escorted Charlie and Dindi inside.
Charlie asked for the manager, who appeared almost immediately – a dead ringer for a young George Raft. He appraised Dindi with a flick of his eyes, greeted Charlie profusely, and organized the biggest suite in the hotel. He was no slouch at recognizing celebrities, and was used to dealing with all their peculiar requests. However, it did shake him a bit when Charlie said they wanted to get married right then and there. ‘Give me an hour,’ he said.