Hollywood Husbands

  The trouble with Howard was they had known each other too long, and instead of Howard treating him with the deference a star of his stature deserved, he talked to him as if they were equals.

  ‘You don’t have to be nice to him,’ Clarissa pointed out. ‘He’s nothing more than a coked-out buffoon. Zachary Klinger’s messenger.’

  ‘You think he’s on something?’

  ‘Don’t be naive. The whole town knows.’

  Mannon digested this information in silence. Back in the sixties, when he had shared an apartment with Howard and Jack, they had all experimented with various drugs. Jack and he got into smoking grass for a while. Howard was the straight one. He tried everything once, and never came back for seconds. ‘Addles the brain,’ he had said. Now this little revelation.

  ‘Cocaine?’ Mannon asked.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Jesus!’

  He wondered if Jack knew, or even cared. Lately the three of them saw less and less of each other. Really they had nothing in common anymore.

  He hated knowing Clarissa had been with Jack. For almost a year, too. It took all his control to stop himself from asking what his good friend was like in bed, and if he was better.

  Clarissa would never say. She was secretive about past loves. He had to curb a strong desire to kill all of them. Clarissa was an unusual woman. He had never been with anyone remotely like her.

  If someone had said to him before the start of the movie that he was going to fall in love with Clarissa Browning, he would have told them they were stark, raving crazy.

  It had all happened so fast. He had knocked on the door of her hotel suite the first night they arrived on location, just to say hello and be friendly. Four hours later he was still there, discussing script changes, characterizations, and the film in general.

  ‘We fall in love in this movie,’ she had said. ‘We make love.’

  ‘We sure do!’ he had joked in his usual light-hearted way.

  ‘When we interact on screen it has to be real,’ Clarissa continued seriously. ‘We have to generate excitement and passion and longing.’

  ‘Just try me, baby!’

  ‘Do you know what I believe in, Mannon?’ she had asked him gravely.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That we should work our roles through before we get in front of the camera.’

  ‘Really?’

  She’d stared at him intensely. ‘Let’s make love.’

  He had no idea this was a line she used with all her co-stars, and he fell for it immediately, immensely flattered such a serious actress would want to go to bed with him.

  Lying back, he had enjoyed every moment of her fiery passion. After that they were an inseparable team.

  The newspapers got wind of it – blind column items appeared daily. He knew he had to tell Melanie-Shanna, but as usual he kept on putting it off. She was expecting their baby any day, and he was only too aware what an uncaring louse he would look if he walked out on her now. His timing was off. ‘Wait six months,’ his lawyers had told him.

  Clarissa never mentioned his wife. She behaved as if he didn’t have one. He managed to phone Melanie-Shanna every few days. She sounded fine, and in spite of his passionate affair with Clarissa he was looking forward to becoming a father for the first time.

  Mannon Cable wanted it all. And he saw no good reason why he couldn’t have it.

  * * *

  The dinner was a bore. Howard never had been good at playing Entourage. For that’s what the people around Whitney were. Norman, an adoring fan; her secretary, a willing slave; Joy Byron, a wacky, off-centre flatterer. Every one of them spent the entire evening buttering Whitney up, while Howard fidgeted uncomfortably.

  ‘Let’s get outta here,’ he muttered over coffee. ‘Say goodbye to the go-fers, an’ let’s split.’

  Whitney yawned. ‘I’m sooo tired,’ she announced.

  ‘You need plenty of sleep when you’re working,’ Joy Byron said crisply. ‘Peace, calm, work, and rest.’

  ‘Yes, Whitney,’ Norman joined in quickly. ‘We’re being selfish, keeping you up. Why don’t I take you back to your hotel?’

  ‘I’ll take her,’ said the secretary possessively.

  ‘Perhaps you would like to go through a scene or two before sleeping?’ Joy suggested.

  Howard managed to kick Whitney under the table. A kick that said, ‘Get rid of them,’ as sure as if he had spoken the words.

  ‘Um, I have some business to discuss with Mr Soloman. So why don’t you all take my car to the hotel, and I’ll be back later.’

  Within five minutes they were alone in the restaurant.

  ‘Thanks,’ Howard said.

  She looked at him serenely. ‘You’re welcome.’

  His eyes dropped to her breasts, their magnificent outline clearly visible beneath the pale pink angora sweater she wore.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for this night for years,’ he said, his voice thick with desire.

  ‘Are we being fair to Poppy?’

  Clutching her hand he came up with ‘Think of it as an act of mercy.’ Frantically waving for the check he said, ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  Hand in hand they walked outside to his waiting limo. He was as excited as he’d ever been, and on the way to the hotel he thought about how it would be.

  Good. That’s how it would be.

  Sensational.

  Fucking sensational.

  Sensational fucking!

  With a practised move he pressed the button, raising the dark glass separating them from the driver. And then he grabbed her, his hands reaching for her fabulous breasts beneath the soft angora.

  ‘Howard! Not here!’

  Silencing her objections with his lips, he plunged his hand beneath her bra, and popped a tit.

  Oh, Jesus! He thought he was going to come in his pants. This was better than high school!

  Bending his head, he sucked on the rosy nipple bursting from the rim of white lace.

  ‘Not in the car,’ she protested.

  Her struggles were in vain as he sprawled all over her.

  ‘HOWARD! WE’RE HERE!’

  The limo pulled up outside the hotel. Quickly he leaped off her, as she hurriedly pulled her sweater down.

  There was a nuclear explosion waiting to go off in his pants. He hoped he could make it upstairs.

  The driver opened the door and they climbed out.

  ‘My suite or yours?’ he asked, bursting with expectation as they entered the hotel.

  Before she could reply, Chuck Nielson came bounding eagerly out from behind a potted palm. He carried flowers in one hand, and a huge stuffed toy panda in the other.

  ‘Baby!’ he yelled. ‘I’m sorry. I love you. I’m a bum. What can I tell you?’

  Howard’s hard-on deflated like a pricked balloon.

  Chapter Eighty

  Drawing into the parking lot behind the Bistro Garden, Jade wondered what she was doing. Surely she could have thought of some excuse to extract herself from Poppy Soloman’s lunch?

  She had tried, phoning Poppy at ten in the morning. ‘I don’t think—’ she’d started to say.

  ‘I hope you’re not even considering telling me you can’t make lunch,’ Poppy interrupted. ‘You are the guest of honour. And I have gone to a great deal of trouble.’ A pause. ‘Of course, if you’re dying…’

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ she’d said, coward that she was. ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Wonderful. Your friend Beverly is coming. Melanie-Shanna Cable, Ida White, and Carmel Gooseberger. We’ll have a good time.’

  ‘Great.’

  It wasn’t enough that Jack Python had turned out to be just another cheating liar. Now she had to get stuck at some ladies-only lunch she was dreading. Well, at least Beverly would be there.

  The day was a Californian blisterer. A freak November blazing sky, and the temperature way up in the eighties.

  Last night she had ended up drinking too much and staying out far too l
ate with a group that included Corey, Antonio, and Penn Sullivan. A strange combination but they all seemed to get along surprisingly well. Norman Gooseberger had flown off to Arizona to visit Whitney. ‘I don’t see why I should sit around while he’s out of town,’ Corey had said defiantly.

  ‘No,’ she’d shrugged. ‘Nobody should sit around waiting for anybody.’

  And then she had proceeded to get good and drunk.

  Corey brought her home at three in the morning. He guided her to bed, and camped out on the couch. In the morning they shared coffee and a companionship that had been missing far too long.

  ‘Are you happy?’ she had asked him.

  ‘Getting there,’ he’d replied. ‘How about you?’

  The phone had saved her from answering. A business call about her upcoming trip to New York for a special Cloud promotion party. She was glad to be rescued. There seemed no need to burden Corey with her problems.

  * * *

  It was easy to get rid of Danielle. Jack just dropped her off at Senator Richmond’s hotel, bade her goodbye, and she was history.

  Considering that Jade was out on the town without a moment’s pause, gazing into the eyes of her next conquest, he should have kept Danielle, taken her to his hotel, and vented some of his frustration and disappointment.

  He was more than disappointed. He could have sworn that he and Jade Johnson were on for a beautiful, long, crazy ride.

  Wrong.

  Another one hits the dust.

  She couldn’t even wait one day. What an operator!

  And yet… he remembered her note – all about how it was impossible to wipe the smile off her face, and did he want her to cook for him.

  Sweet.

  Phoney.

  Shit!

  He went to bed and slept badly. In the morning he was woken by Heaven on the phone. She sounded suspiciously cheerful, and suspiciously guilty.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked. ‘Do you need money?’ He saw to it that she received a healthy allowance, only most months she seemed to run out of funds.

  ‘Nope.’

  That was a surprise. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve heard from your mother?’

  ‘Get serious, Uncle Jack.’

  ‘You can drop the uncle. Aren’t you going to be seventeen next week? I think plain Jack’ll do just fine.’ He groped for his watch and realized it was only seven-forty-five. Too early for idle conversation.

  ‘I’m seventeen the day after tomorrow,’ she corrected.

  Damn Aretha. He’d told her to remind him – now it looked like he’d forgotten. ‘I know that,’ he said quickly. ‘Just testing to make sure you remembered.’

  ‘Very funny.’ A short silence. ‘I’m dropping out of school.’

  Struggling to sit up, he said, ‘You’re doing what?’

  ‘Don’t freak out. It’s okay – really. I’ve got something exciting to do – it’s not like a job exactly—’

  ‘Can we discuss this over lunch?’

  ‘Why?’

  Why. The kid asked him why. He was in no mood to play the father figure, but it seemed unavoidable.

  ‘Meet me at Hamburger Hamlet on Sunset at twelve o’clock. Be there,’ he said sternly…

  ‘I don’t see why I have to…’

  ‘I said be there.’ He hung up abruptly.

  * * *

  Poppy Soloman adored her ladies’ lunches. They gave her an ideal opportunity to star in her own productions.

  She dressed up accordingly, and wore important pieces from her ever-growing collection of fine jewellery. Sometimes she had her hair and makeup done by a professional. It was nice to look one’s best, especially when most women were supercritical – usually behind her back.

  Howard had phoned early in the morning. Poor Howard. He could hardly survive without her. ‘I’ve got a stomachache,’ he’d complained. ‘I feel lousy.’

  ‘Get on a plane and come home,’ she’d said sensibly.

  ‘I will, as soon as Whitney gets her ass back on the set.’

  ‘Hurry, pusskins, Poppy misses you.’

  She knew he loved it when she babied him. There was no doubt about it, she could take care of him better than his other three wives put together.

  Sighing, she consulted her watch. It was nearly twelve-thirty, and her guests would soon be arriving. She always liked to be there first so she could decide on the seating and position herself in a key spot.

  The garden restaurant was already abuzz with activity. She waved to several acquaintances, and blew kisses to a favoured few. Poppy Soloman was a force in so-called Hollywood society. As the wife of a studio head she expected and received deferential treatment wherever she went.

  How different from her first months in Hollywood, when she worked as a lowly secretary… How very different…

  ‘Don’t even tell me I’m the first! Jeez! And you look so lonely sittin’ there all by yourself. Hi – I’m Beverly D’Amo. What a pleasure to finally get to have lunch with you.’

  Poppy looked up at the extremely tall, exotic black woman. Beverly certainly was striking.

  ‘Sit here,’ she said, indicating the chair next to her. ‘I’m delighted you could come today.’

  Beverly rolled her eyes and winked wickedly. ‘Girl, I come whenever the opportunity presents itself! Doesn’t everyone?’

  Poppy was saved from answering by the appearance of Jade Johnson, clad all in white and looking spectacular. ‘I’m not late, am I?’ she asked breathlessly.

  ‘Not at all,’ replied Poppy, patting the chair the other side of her and saying, ‘Please sit here.’

  ‘Hiya, J. J.,’ Beverly greeted Jade. ‘Who’s the guy? Seems to me you’re sending out those special signals.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You heard.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Babee, it’s me. C’mon, tell.’

  ‘Champagne, everyone?’ interrupted Poppy.

  ‘Why not?’ replied Beverly. She grinned at the waiter. ‘Make mine a Mimosa. Fresh orange juice, the best bubbly, an’ a little shaved ice.’

  Poppy could see that if she wasn’t careful, Beverly would take over her entire lunch. Quickly she asserted herself, making her position clear up front. ‘Beverly,’ she said sweetly, ‘Howard speaks so well of you. He’s very impressed with your performance in Romance. Even though it’s only a small role he says you have great potential, and he hopes to use you again soon.’ Actresses had to be put in their place. Firmly.

  Beverly’s grin widened. She, too, could play power games. ‘No shit? The little guy said that about me? Hey – I’m really flattered. I guess that must be why old Zach’s promised me the lead in my next flickeroony.’

  Before anyone could say anything else the odd couple arrived – Ida and Carmel. Poppy busied herself with introductions, placing Carmel next to Jade, and Ida beside Beverly. There was one chair left for Melanie-Shanna, who was late.

  ‘Didn’t I see you at Spago with Jack Python?’ Ida said, peering myopically across the table at Jade, her striking white hair shimmering in the sunlight.

  ‘Uh… yes, I guess so.’

  ‘Ah ha!’ yelled Beverly triumphantly. ‘Jack Python, huh?’

  ‘A rutting dog,’ boomed Carmel. ‘He’s had more women in this town than Silver’s had men.’

  ‘Silver?’ echoed Beverly. ‘As in Anderson?’

  ‘They’re brother and sister, you know,’ said Poppy. ‘It’s not a well-publicized fact.’

  ‘I never knew that,’ said Beverly. ‘They don’t look anything alike.’

  ‘Of course, she’s much older than he is,’ Carmel confided knowledgeably. ‘Silver and I go way back.’

  ‘She had Orville once, didn’t she?’ remarked Ida.

  ‘No, she didn’t,’ replied Carmel crossly. ‘I wish you’d stop suggesting that Orville has had every woman in this town.’

  ‘Probably one of the few he missed,’ chortled Ida, surprisingly lively for once.
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  Carmel glared at her.

  ‘It sounds like brother and sister have covered the waterfront,’ observed Beverly. ‘And I wouldn’t mind covering him any day of the week. How was he, Jade? All tight pants, teeth an’ talk? Or is there gold in them there hills?’

  Shrugging vaguely Jade said, ‘I’ve no idea. We were just… uh… talking business.’

  Beverly raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Business?’

  Sometimes Beverly got completely on her nerves. ‘Yes, business,’ she said shortly. ‘He wants me to appear on his show.’

  Noting her guest of honour’s discomfort, Poppy switched subjects. ‘And what is everyone’s opinion of the new Mr Silver Anderson?’ she asked.

  ‘A sly one,’ Ida said without hesitation.

  ‘Who is he? Where does he come from?’ Poppy mused. ‘That’s what I wonder.’

  ‘Orville says he’s quite sharp,’ interrupted Carmel.

  ‘Must be,’ Ida said. ‘He got her to marry him, didn’t he?’

  ‘Has she ever had anything lifted!’ Poppy asked curiously. ‘She looks so wonderful – for her age.’

  ‘There are more plastic surgeons in Los Angeles than anywhere else in the world,’ Beverly announced authoritatively. ‘My gyno told me. Amazing what they’ll come out with when they’re eyeballin’ one’s snatch!’

  ‘I wonder where Melanie is,’ fussed Poppy. She had called her the day before, dropped a big hint about Mannon and Clarissa, then invited her for lunch. ‘I hate people who think they can walk in half an hour late. It’s so rude.’

  ‘Does she know about hubby dearest?’ inquired Carmel, lighting a long thin cigarillo.

  ‘I really have no idea,’ replied Poppy innocently. ‘Isn’t the wife always supposed to be the last to find out?’

  Jade felt lost in a sea of idle gossip. She abhorred the casual way they were picking everyone over. Jack Python probably was a rutting dog, but she didn’t want to hear about it from this group.

  * * *

  ‘Like I think you gotta let me do this,’ Heaven said earnestly. ‘And if it doesn’t work out, I’ll go back to school, college, the whole bit. Uncle Jack, you gotta understand – if I don’t do it, I could like totally miss out on the greatest opportunity of my life.’

  ‘You should have told me at the beginning,’ he said sharply. ‘Before you signed contracts, and made a record, and committed yourself.’