Wes followed her.
‘Quinne’s been very good to me,’ she said.
‘Do you pay him commission?’
‘What kind of question is that? You know I do.’
‘Then he’s been well compensated, hasn’t he?’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘That we move on up.’ He put his arm around her. ‘You’re a huge star, baby. You belong with Zeppo White. He can do things for you that Quinne Lattimore can’t.’
It was the first time since the death of her mother that somebody was telling her what to do, making decisions, and really caring. ‘Do you think so?’ she asked tremulously.
‘I know so. And I don’t want you to worry. I’ll take over. Tomorrow I’ll go see Zeppo. We’ll hand the movie deal over to him, and make a generous settlement with Quinne. You can bet your ass Zeppo’ll get you better terms. And then I want Zeppo to check out your contracts with City Television. I don’t know what they’re payin’ you, but whatever it is, I bet it ain’t enough.’
‘Will you really take over everything?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Why not? I’ve got nothing else to do.’
‘The accountants and the lawyers and all the boring stuff I hate, hate, hate?’
He rather liked the idea of being in charge. ‘Everything, Silver. You just act. I’ll look after every single thing.’ He paused and hugged her tightly. ‘After all, if you can’t trust me, who can you trust?’
Chapter Sixty-Five
The ambience at Le Dôme, on Sunset, appealed to Mannon. The restaurant attracted a mixed clientele of music people, producers, agents, and entertainers. The tables were not on top of each other, and in the back the restaurant divided into several sections so you could always hide if you so desired.
Mannon strode through the bar to Sadie La Salle’s table. Sadie was a powerhouse agent. Short, dark, with one hand poised forever near the jugular. A scandal had rocked her life a couple of years before when two murders took place at her mansion. Sadie had survived the storm, and gone on to bigger and better deals.
She regarded Mannon with a critical eye. ‘You’re still the best-looking sonofabitch in this town,’ she announced, downing a shot of straight vodka. ‘How would you like to walk away with eight million buckeroonies for one lousy movie?’
He smiled. ‘If anyone can get me that kind of money, Sadie, it’ll be you.’
She picked up a script sitting on the chair next to her. ‘Here’s the words. That’s the price. It’s for Orpheus and they’re anxious.’
Taking the script from her he said, ‘Are we talking on the level here?’
‘Do I tango with midgets?’
‘Sounds good to me.’
‘Read it. They’re going for Clarissa Browning—’
‘If Clarissa does it, I’m in,’ he interrupted quickly.
‘Wait, there’s more.’
‘What?’
‘They want Clarissa for a cameo, and Whitney for the lead.’
He couldn’t conceal his surprise. ‘My Whitney?’
‘I thought she wasn’t anymore.’
He leafed through the pages, giving himself time to think. He was being asked to star in a movie with Whitney, for double the money he had received on his last project. So why was he even hesitating?
Because… he had always been opposed to Whitney’s acting career.
Because… Whitney couldn’t act.
Because… why should he pay half of eight million dollars to Melanie-Shanna when he was planning to divorce her?
‘Listen,’ Sadie said. ‘You know I never try to influence you in any way, but I’ve read the script, and it’s not bad at all.’ She paused, and signalled the waiter to get her another vodka. ‘Plus, this is going to raise your price to new heights. I’m not saying we’ll always get this kind of money, but we’re in a whole new ball park. And I think I like it.’
‘The money is acceptable.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Sooooo glad!’
‘I’ve got to think about it though.’
‘You have to think about eight million bucks? What’s the problem?’
‘Personal.’
She skewered him with a look. ‘Personal like you married some Texas bimbette on the rebound an’ now you want out? Or personal like being close to Whitney is gonna get your hormones workin’ overtime?’
He laughed. She knew him so well.
Sadie placed a soothing hand on his arm. ‘Here’s my advice. Take the money an’ run. It’s “fuck you” money. I’m tellin’ you, the script’s okay. It’s not Officer and a Gentleman but it plays. Whitney will be able to manage it.’ She shrugged. ‘And if you don’t want to do it, that’s okay too. I’m your agent, I can only advise you.’
Mannon nodded. Eight million bucks and he was hesitating! Jesus! Had he come a long way!
* * *
The beach party started at nine o’clock, with a straggle of Eddie and Heaven’s friends who toured the house saying ‘Holy shit!’ and ‘This place is it, man.’
They were impressed, but only for a short while, then out came the crates of beer and the boxes of pizza, and the grass and the Quaaludes.
Heaven enjoyed being the focus of attention. It was her party, and she strutted around taking full advantage, all thoughts of keeping them out of the house forgotten. As the evening progressed, more and more people started to arrive. The word was out. There was an open party going on, and everyone wanted to be part of the action.
Eddie got the group together, and they played a set of Elvis Presley’s oldies – with Heaven doing the vocals. When she first got into singing she really loved the loud stuff – as far as she was concerned the louder the better. Anything to be totally different from her mother. Silver’s voice was powerful and strong. In her time she had been compared to Streisand and Garland. Today, after years of misuse, her voice was thicker, more smoky. But Silver had always remained a traditional singer, excelling at show-tunes and material written by the masters – Sammy Cahn, Cole Porter, and the other great popular song writers of the forties and fifties.
Heaven was certainly different. She skidded out of a ballsy rendition of ‘Jailhouse Rock’ and took a rest.
The party was growing. Young people seemed to have a bush language all their own – news of the party had them arriving from as far away as Pasadena and Hancock Park.
Heaven thought that maybe they should put a brake on it, and cornered Eddie to tell him.
He was stoned, and had a line going with a Pali High senior who looked like a female version of David Lee Roth.
She knew why he was coming on to the girl. He was trying to make her jealous, only she couldn’t care less. One thing she had learned from her mother: never expect anything from anyone – that way you can never be let down. Silver taught her that when she was six or seven, and the lesson stuck.
‘We gotta push this blast out onto the beach,’ she warned Eddie.
He regarded her lazily, with blank eyes and slack lips. The excitement of playing for an appreciative and rowdy audience had worn off; now he just wanted to guzzle beer and get laid. ‘Everyone’s havin’ a good time,’ he said, pulling Miss David Lee Roth closer.
A loud crash signalled the demise of a crystal lamp.
‘Shit!’ Heaven snapped. ‘Move ’em outside, Eddie, or I’m callin’ the party off.’
‘Whaddya think I am, Superman? They ain’t gonna take any notice of me.’
She wanted to pull his long, dirty black hair and kick him in the crotch. He was the one who had talked her into having this party, and now he was backing off from the responsibility. Goddamn geek! She’d had it with him.
The place was being wrecked before her very eyes. Several guys were playing a makeshift game of baseball with empty beer cans, couples were lolling all over the couches with greasy pizza and burning cigarettes, someone had broken the lock on the cupboard in the bar and was passing out bottles of scotch and vodka, drugs were being used openly all over the place,
and a buxom blonde girl was taking it all off to shrieks of delight from the assorted gathering.
Heaven remembered London, six years earlier. She was ten and she’d been around. Silver and she were staying with a woman called Benjii. Only Benjii wasn’t a woman, she was really a man. Actually, at the time, Heaven couldn’t decide what Benjii was – she only knew that Benjii took them in when they ran from a London hotel in the middle of the night because mama – as Heaven called Silver then – couldn’t pay the bill.
For two months they put up with Benjii and his parties and his strange friends. Until one night mama just freaked. She ran out on to the little balcony which overlooked the King’s Road in Chelsea, ripped off all her clothes, and screamed and screamed. ‘I’m jumping! Don’t try to stop me. I’m jumping!’ And stark-naked, she attempted to climb from the shaky balustrade, while a petrified Benjii held her desperately around the waist and shouted hysterically for Heaven to phone the police.
Which she did. Calmly. Until they took her mother away.
After that she curled herself into a tight ball and sat in the corner sucking her thumb, listening to Benjii on the phone telling everyone what had happened.
Heaven felt numb them. She felt numb now.
A feeling of déjà vu overcame her. She was in a situation she couldn’t control, and all she wanted to do was find a corner and hide.
* * *
Jack took the last flight out of New York to Los Angeles. He thought about hanging around, taking in some meetings, doing a little business. But Heaven was alone in the beach house, so he figured he’d give her a nice surprise. Besides, he had made love to one of the richest women in New York, and where did he go from there?
Sitting on the plane leafing through a magazine, he came across an advertisement for Cloud Cosmetics. Jade Johnson stared out at him. She was stunning, and not in a Whitney Valentine or movie-starish way. She was pictured leaning against an old brick wall, clad in faded, skin-tight jeans and a washed-out denim shirt casually unbuttoned to the waist. Her breasts were hidden, but if you looked closely you could make out slightly erect nipples through the material, and the faint shadow of cleavage. Clasping her waist was a silver-buckled belt, worn low. And cowboy boots covered her feet.
She looked straight at the camera with a direct and challenging stare. Wide-apart eyes, straight nose, sensual mouth, and aggressive square-cut chin. Her copper hair, shaggy and shoulder length, tumbled around her face.
The copy was simple:
Smart women
wear Cloud
Jesus! How had he ever let her slip by? Their dinner together in Vegas remained a memorable occasion.
Jade Johnson.
He was free now.
He only hoped that she was too.
Chapter Sixty-Six
‘Mr White wondered if you ladies would care to join his table,’ the waiter said.
‘No, thank you,’ replied Jade swiftly, as Beverly snapped a quick ‘Yes, please!’
The waiter, an unemployed actor, winked at Jade as if she were some out-of-town hick. ‘Zeppo White. The agent,’ he said knowingly.
‘My agent,’ Beverly interrupted possessively.
The waiter was deeply impressed, and wouldn’t have minded a lengthy conversation about how one got the infamous Zeppo White to represent you.
Beverly ignored him. ‘C’mon,’ she pleaded. ‘This is business.’
‘I don’t want to sit with a group of people I don’t know,’ Jade objected.
‘I’ll introduce you.’
‘Big fucking deal.’
They glared at each other. Back when they shared an apartment over ten years ago, they had always fought. Both spoke their minds and never dodged a confrontation.
‘I’m asking nicely,’ Beverly said. ‘Like I’m saying please and will you and this means a lot to me.’
‘Why don’t you join them, and I’ll go home? I’ve got an early call in the morning. I really don’t mind.’
‘Hell, no.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because if you can’t help me out on this, then you’re not the friend I thought you were.’
‘Shit, Beverly. Don’t give me that line.’
‘Pllllleeease?’
With a sigh of resignation Jade said, ‘Okay, I’ll do it. But it’s against my principles to watch you play kissy ass with the rich and powerful.’
Beverly grinned triumphantly. ‘Observe a true professional in action.’ She rose from the table shrugging off her Montana jacket, causing a man nearby to almost choke on his drink. She was ebony-coiled perfection – beside her even Grace Jones seemed understated.
She undulated over to Zeppo’s table, where waiters struggled to fit in two more chairs.
‘Beverly, kiddo.’ Zeppo leaped to his feet, his bright orange hair standing on end.
‘Zeppo, babe! Say hello to my best best friend Jade Johnson.’
He clasped her hand. ‘Jade, it’s a pleasure. You ever thought of doing movies?’
She smiled politely. ‘Never.’
‘Lauren did it… Marisa… Kim Basinger. You’d be a natural.’
‘Thank you, Mr White, but I’m not interested.’
‘Call me Zeppo. All my friends do. And my enemies!’ He honked with amusement.
Meanwhile, Beverly lost no time in zeroing in on Zachary. ‘Mr Klinger,’ she purred. ‘I’m a fan. That article about you in Forbes last month was a dazzler. By the way’ – she extended a friendly hand – ‘my name is Beverly D’Amo.’
Poppy kicked Howard under the table. It was bad enough to be saddled with Zachary and what appeared to be two hookers, but now this black freak, although Poppy had to admit she admired Jade Johnson, whom she had seen on numerous Vogue and Bazaar covers.
Howard was busy slipping and sliding down memory lane. Beverly D’Amo reminded him of his first wife, the fierce activist to whom he had been married for a fast forty-eight hours. What a panther in the old sackerooney! Je-sus!
The two expensive call-girls exchanged bored glances. They had seen it all and done it all. Nothing surprised them. They knew for sure that later the black woman would be joining them for a delicate trot around Zachary Klinger’s sexual fantasies.
‘Goddamn hot in here,’ remarked Ida White crossly. ‘And noisy.’
Everyone ignored her, including Zeppo, whose hand was busily creeping up Beverly’s thigh under the table. She shook it off like an annoying gnat, and questioned Zachary about the stock market.
What an operator! thought Jade. Nothing changes. Once, on a cover shoot in Tennessee, Beverly had slept with a local department store owner, his son, and his son-in-law. On separate occasions, of course, just because the photographer had bet her a hundred bucks she couldn’t do it. Beverly loved to achieve the impossible.
Howard Soloman stared at Jade. ‘Haven’t we met before?’
She nodded, and took a deep breath. ‘About ten years ago,’ she said. ‘I came out for a screen test. You were a studio exec or an agent or something.’
Shaking his head sympathetically, he said, ‘Didn’t work out, huh?’
‘Howard!’ Poppy scolded. ‘Jade Johnson is one of the top models in the country.’
Howard was unimpressed. As far as he was concerned everyone wanted to be a movie star. It was the great American dream.
‘Excuse my husband,’ Poppy said with an ingratiating smile. ‘He doesn’t understand. I’m crazy for the new Cloud ad. Antonio is a wonderful photographer. Does he ever – you know – photograph real people?’
By the time Jade made her escape an hour later, Poppy was her new best friend.
‘I have to be up so early,’ she said as she excused herself.
‘Call me,’ Zeppo said insistently. ‘I can do things for you.’
‘Call me,’ Howard said, ‘if you ever change your mind about the movies.’
‘Call me,’ Poppy said, ‘we’ll have lunch.’
‘Call me,’ Beverly said, with a huge wink, ‘tomor
row for sure.’
She rushed out to the parking lot, where Penn Sullivan, the actor Beverly had greeted earlier, and Frances Cavendish, the casting agent, argued hotly while waiting for their car.
Jade caught ‘…I’m not just a piece of fucking beefsteak’ out of his mouth, and ‘…If I say it’s right, you’ll do it’ out of hers.
The two of them got into an old Mercedes, still fighting, and roared off into the night.
Jade found herself alone again.
Naturally.
* * *
‘Sit next to me,’ Zachary Klinger instructed, when Beverly arrived at his bungalow a few minutes after him. She had left her car with a valet at the front of the hotel. He travelled by chauffeured limousine.
‘I’m more comfortable over here,’ she said, settling into a couch across from him. ‘Where are your girlfriends? Did you drop them home?’
‘I want you next to me,’ he repeated.
‘He who wants might never get,’ she joked.
‘Don’t play with me, Miss D’Amo. Tell me what you want, and let us not indulge in childish and time-consuming games.’
‘I want to be a big, big star, Mr Klinger. Bigger than even you can imagine.’
‘Then sit beside me, and we shall see.’
‘Promises don’t interest me.’
‘What does?’
‘Action. Do something for me, and then I’ll do something for you.’
‘Agreed. But I need something tonight.’
‘No can do. You shouldn’t have sent your girlfriends home. Between ’em they looked like they could do plenty for you.’
‘And they will. Only you must sit next to me and watch. I won’t touch you. They won’t touch you. Unless you ask…’
A definite weirdo. Beverly complied – she had absolutely nothing to lose, and plenty to gain.
* * *
‘I’m tired,’ Poppy complained.
She was tired. Ha! She sat on her fanny all day, and only moved it out of the house to buy jewellery and have lunch with her cronies.
‘I’ve had a very tough day,’ Howard said. ‘I’m frigging exhausted.’
Poppy giggled. ‘Are we both too tired to play naughty?’
‘Sorry, sweetheart, tonight I’d need Arnold Schwarzenegger to lift it for me.’