Men had hit on her from all directions. A plump politician with an indecipherable accent. A Broadway star who liked to score. A former consort of Silver Anderson’s. And a tall, thin dress designer who swung both ways.
She’d declined every offer, having decided – quite firmly – that men were out, career was in.
Christmas was only a few days away, and when it was over she planned to return to Los Angeles and shoot the final batch of Cloud commercials and photographs. Actually she was looking forward to it. After nine months of living on the Coast she’d gotten used to the L.A. pace, the beautiful weather, and friendly people. She even missed her apartment, and thought she might buy a couple of cats when she returned. If the movie deal panned out she entertained the thought of renting a house – maybe at the beach.
Christmas shopping in New York was frantic. The stores were packed. Choosing presents was fun – paying for them a nightmare. And Jade found that everywhere she went she was recognized. Losing her freedom was quite a blow.
Finally, all shopped out, she was ready for a family Christmas. Corey was flying in from the Coast, and when the holidays were over they planned to travel back to L.A. together.
The day before she was all set to leave for Connecticut, Mark Rand re-entered her life with a vengeance.
He was divorced, and ready for commitment.
* * *
‘We need decisions, Jack,’ Aretha said, in her best persuasive voice. ‘Otherwise we are going to be producing shows with just li’l ole you sitting all on your lonesome in front of the camera.’
‘I told you,’ Jack said stubbornly. ‘I want Jade Johnson on the show.’
‘And I told you,’ Aretha replied patiently, ‘she is in New York, and will not be back until after Christmas.’
‘I’d like to have a definite commitment from her people that she’ll do the programme the week she returns.’
Sighing, Aretha fluffed out her hair. ‘I’ll do my best. Ever since Norman Gooseberger took off from Briskinn & Bower, it’s a bitch getting them to return a call – let alone anything else. They’re all a bunch of deadheads over there. Our show is hotter than Carson, an’ those assholes can’t even put their finger in the dial.’
‘Get her,’ Jack said sternly.
‘I’m workin’ on it. Meanwhile, the Carlos Brent booking looks like a definite. And we’re still working on Zachary Klinger.’
‘Sounds good.’
As he walked from the office, Aretha made a face behind his back. He’d been a real pain in the ass for weeks now. Usually he was such a sweetheart, but when he had something on his mind – watch out! Somehow foxy Jade Johnson had gotten under his skin. Aretha couldn’t figure how or why, she just knew he was hot to confront her. If Jack wished to destroy someone, he did it in front of a camera, and Ms. Johnson was his next proposed victim.
She placed another call to Briskinn & Bower, this time asking for Bernie Briskinn. Aretha had found that if you couldn’t get what you wanted from the employees – go to the boss. It always worked.
* * *
Jack hit the freeway in his Ferrari, already late for a meeting with Heaven and his business manager. Suddenly his little schoolgirl niece was an earner – heading for big bucks, and he wanted to make sure her money was well protected and invested correctly.
What a shock he’d had the day of her launch party. Expecting some minor hype which would fizzle out to nothing, he’d walked into a major event.
Heaven was all set for stardom, and when he heard her record he flipped. She had a sensational voice. Without a doubt he knew she possessed that very special quality which would propel her right to the top. She was going to be a star. Just like her mother.
At first he was assailed by so many different emotions. She was too young to get caught up in the crap. And then he felt an almost parental pride that she was good, a winner, for Jack was a winner himself, and he knew what it was like to have to struggle for achievement.
How was Silver going to feel? It would be interesting to observe her public reaction if the kid actually did make it.
After Heaven had lip-sync’ed her song, he made his way over, pushing through the crowds of congratulators.
‘Hey – I’m one proud uncle,’ he whispered, aware she didn’t want anyone making the family connection.
‘Really?’ She glowed with triumph and delight.
‘Call me tomorrow. I know you’re busy now, so I’m taking off.’
She nodded excitedly, amber eyes gleaming.
Lindi moved in. ‘I’m getting questions about why Jack Python is here,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘Hi, I’m Lindi Foxworthe. In charge of P.R.’
‘And I’m making a fast exit,’ he said, kissing Heaven on the cheek, and slipping her a small gift-wrapped package. ‘Happy birthday, sweet seventeen.’
He hadn’t seen her since, although they spoke on the phone often. As soon as her record took off he had suggested this meeting with his business manager.
‘I have a manager,’ she’d said, which was news to him.
‘Who?’
‘Remember Rocky?’
Sure – he wasn’t likely to forget Rocky. And how’d she ever got caught up with that creep, when he’d issued specific instructions she wasn’t ever to see him again?
Goddammit! He wasn’t her father. He was her uncle. She would be eighteen in a year, and how could he prevent her from doing what she wanted? At least when she reached eighteen he could stop worrying.
‘Bring all the contracts George signed on your behalf and meet me at my business manager’s office in Century City, Thursday at two-thirty,’ he instructed.
She was there, and so was Rocky – a walking nightmare in a white suit, black shirt, white tie, and two-toned shoes.
‘Hiya, man,’ Rocky greeted him, friendly as an over boisterous puppy.
Jack ignored him, checked out the contracts with his business manager, and was shocked to discover that Rocky owned fifty-one percent of her blossoming career.
‘Why didn’t you show these to me before you got George to sign them?’ he steamed.
‘Because,’ she shrugged, ‘you’re always so busy. Anyway,’ she added saucily, ‘you might’ve not let me do it.’
Indicating Rocky he said, ‘This Stallone clone owns fifty-one per cent of you. Does that seem right?’
‘Hey, man,’ objected Rocky, adjusting his cuffs, ‘I got her the gig with College. Without me she’d be just another little girl tryin’ to make it.’
‘Back off,’ warned Jack. ‘These contracts are going right over to my lawyer’s office.’
‘They’re legal,’ Rocky scowled. He didn’t appreciate being treated like a nothing.
‘We’ll see.’
‘Stop!’announced Heaven. ‘I’m perfectly happy with Rocky getting his cut. Lay off him, or I’m going home.’
Could it be his imagination, or was there the faint shadow of Silver emerging? Was this budding young rock star going to turn out to be just like mommy?
The least he could do was see that the money she earned was well looked after. Then she was on her own, if that’s the way she wanted it.
* * *
Heaven skipped out of the meeting, a disgruntled Rocky trailing her. ‘Your uncle treats me like a real shitheel,’ he complained. ‘I bin good t’ya. Haven’t I?’
‘Yep.’
‘So what’s his problem?’
‘I guess he just wants to see that I’m okay. He’s my only family, y’know.’
‘No shit? You gotta grandfather, and a mother. S’more than I’ve ever had.’
‘You must have had a mother.’
‘Naw. I got dumped on the steps of a church when I was born. Nice, huh?’
Staring at him earnestly, she said, ‘I didn’t know that, Rocky. It’s like really awful.’
‘What can I tell ya – I survived,’ he mumbled.
They walked towards her car, a bright red Chrysler convertible – Uncle Jack’s birthday pr
esent. The gift-wrapped package he’d handed her at the launch party had contained the keys. How thrilled and surprised she’d been. What a hot car!
‘Mebbe I should get me a business manager,’ Rocky mused. ‘Handle all my loot.’
Sliding behind the wheel she said, ‘Why don’t you?’
‘HEAVEN! HEAVEN!’ Two teenage girls ran over to the car. ‘Oooh, you’re so pretty! Can we touch you? Can you write your name on our hands? Oooh!!’
‘Get outta here,’ Rocky growled, jumping into the passenger seat.
Not quite sure whether he meant the girls or her, she started the car and zoomed off. Being recognized was such a blast! She loved it more each time.
As they drove along, Rocky threw her a sidelong glance. Sweet, sweet baby flesh. And he hadn’t laid a finger on her, although the prospect was tempting.
He knew he was in on a pass – one false move and maybe her uncle would start checking with his big-shot lawyers. Everything was legal… but if Jack wanted him out of the picture…
Hey – he had no urge to go back to dealing drugs. It was a dangerous occupation and he’d had about enough. This kid was going all the way. And he was going all the way with her. Meanwhile, she was still living with her grandfather. He had to get her out of there, set her up in her own place. And to make things really tight – how about if he married her? Then Uncle Jack could go take a hike.
The thought appealed.
‘Listen, babe,’ he said lightly. ‘Ya wanna go t’a party tonight?’
Rocky had never asked her out socially; it was always business. ‘I don’t know…’ she replied guardedly. ‘Whose party?’
‘Friend of mine at the beach. You’ve bin cooped up writin’ that theme song for The Murder all week. It’ll be a trip t’get outta the house.’
‘I guess…’ she said hesitantly, wishing it was Penn Sullivan asking her out. Meeting him at her record launch party had been a real thrill. Unfortunately it was true – since her success it was all work work work, and no time for play. Eddie had telephoned on a couple of occasions, and she hadn’t even had time to return his calls. Getting the plum assignment to write the theme song for The Murder was probably more exciting than ‘Gonna Eatcha Tonight!’ climbing the charts faster than anyone expected. It was currently at number four with a bullet on the Billboard chart – which meant it was still rising.
‘You’re gonna be number one!’ everyone at College Records assured her. And then they had asked her if she would like to write and perform the theme song for The Murder.
Would she? wow!
Originally Orpheus had wanted Cyndi Lauper or Madonna. An executive at College Records had taken a meeting with Howard Soloman and convinced him that Heaven was the hottest and youngest meteor on the horizon.
The Murder was still filming, behind schedule, in Puerta Vallarta. Heaven had been shown a rough cut of the dailies, and even she knew the finished product was going to be a smash. Clarissa Browning was staggering; Whitney Valentine looked breathtaking; and Mannon Cable gave a wonderful performance. It wasn’t a youth picture, but she loved every scintillating minute – for it combined all the elements of exciting moviegoing.
‘You like?’ Howard Soloman asked, having snuck into the screening room while she was watching.
‘Brilliant!’ she enthused.
‘Write us something tricky,’ he requested with a wink.
‘I will, Mr Soloman, I will!’
And she had. As far as she was concerned it was the best song she’d ever written.
Grandfather George was in his workroom when she returned home, which meant that he wouldn’t emerge for the rest of the night.
She had dropped Rocky off at his Hollywood apartment. ‘Pick me up at ten,’ he’d said.
‘Ten!’ she’d exclaimed. ‘What time does this party start?’
‘Babe – no party worth goin’ to starts before eleven.’
‘If I can get out.’
‘If ya can get out!’ He’d laughed derisively. ‘We gotta start thinking ’bout movin’ you to a place of your own.’
The seed was planted. He had to pull Heaven away from any sign of family. She was going to be a rock star. What kind of a rock star lived in the Valley with her grandfather?
Yeah, Rocky decided. Tonight was the night his sweet little piece of baby flesh was going to grow up all the way.
Chapter Eighty-Five
Puerto Vallarta was hot in more ways than one. If the days were steamy while the cast and crew toiled away shooting the final scenes of The Murder, then the nights were even more so.
Everyone was on edge. They all knew the film was special. They all wanted to be finished with it before Christmas, and get home to their families.
Between Arizona and Puerto Vallarta there was only a three-day break. Clarissa had said to Mannon, ‘What shall we do?’
‘Honey,’ he’d replied apologetically, ‘I’ve got to go see Melanie-Shanna and my baby. There’s no way I can’t.’
On the day Poppy Soloman had thrown a lunch for Jade Johnson, Melanie-Shanna had given birth. Somehow, bearing Mannon Cable’s son had seemed a more pressing engagement. Mannon had wanted to fly to L.A. as soon as he heard, but Clarissa stopped him.
‘For the first time in your career you are giving a fine performance,’ she had told him. ‘If you break your concentration now it will spoil everything. Trust me.’
He trusted her. Clarissa was like no other woman he’d been with in his life. Her intensity had him caught in a web he really didn’t want to escape from. With Clarissa Browning he was not a macho superstar with startlingly blue eyes and a way with the ladies. He was a real man, with honest feelings. And he was a damn good actor.
Strutting, sexy, good-humoured Mannon Cable had taken a walk. Clarissa taught him to centre his feelings and care about himself more.
‘You’re much too nice to people,’ she’d said. ‘They walk all over you, and treat you like a fool.’
He hadn’t realized that. So he withdrew a little, became more aloof, stopped being so unassuming and good-natured.
‘And you eat like a wild animal,’ she informed him. ‘No more red meat, sugar, salt, alcohol.’
‘Hey—’ he’d objected.
‘Trust me,’ she’d said patiently. It was her favourite expression.
He’d trusted her, and he knew it was working, because he’d never felt so physically healthy in his life.
There was no way she could stop him from visiting his son. Wasn’t he entitled to be excited about becoming a father for the first time? Even if he did plan on divorcing Melanie-Shanna, as soon as his lawyer gave him the go-ahead. So, in spite of Clarissa’s objections, he flew to Los Angeles. She wasn’t pleased.
‘What’ll you do?’ he’d asked her, before leaving.
‘Don’t worry about me. Please,’ she’d said icily.
‘I don’t want you to be angry.’
‘I’m not.’
He knew she was, but he figured he could straighten everything out once he got to Puerto Vallarta.
Clarissa had formed an alliance with Norman Gooseberger. He had arrived in Arizona to take care of Whitney Valentine, but once Clarissa ascertained he was very good at what he did, she decided she wanted him for herself. Placing a direct call to Howard Soloman, she demanded Norman’s exclusive services for the remainder of the picture.
Howard was bemused. ‘You refuse to do publicity,’ he pointed out. ‘Why would you want Norman?’
She did not reply that she had a whim to take him away from Whitney. She just said one word – ‘Because.’
Howard understood Because when it was spoken by a star. ‘He’s yours,’ he said resignedly, wondering how Whitney would take the news.
Howard phoned Norman personally to give him the good news. ‘I’ve cleared it with Bernie,’ he said. ‘Just do whatever she wants, and stay close.’
Norman was thrilled. Clarissa Browning was his idol. He regarded her as one of the finest actresses of h
er generation – she ranked alongside Meryl Streep and Vanessa Redgrave as far as he was concerned.
Corey was not so thrilled. Norman had left for the weekend, and now could be away for weeks. ‘You mean you’re not coming back?’ he asked anxiously.
‘Don’t sweat it,’ Norman replied. ‘I’ll fix it so you get a few days in Puerto Vallarta. Meantime, pack me a suitcase and get it out on the next plane.’
Clarissa and Norman spent the three-day break between locations redefining Norman’s sexual urges.
‘You’re not really gay,’ she teased him, the night Mannon and the crew took off. They were in her suite, lying on the bed fully dressed, downing lethal concoctions of grapefruit juice, vodka and gin.
He nodded affirmatively. Not many people discussed his sexual preferences.
‘Come on,’ Clarissa said lazily. ‘How do you know?’
His voice sounded surprisingly dry. ‘It’s always been that way.’
‘Always?’
Another nod.
‘You mean you’ve never had a woman?’ She trailed delicate fingers across his cheek.
Shaking his head he remembered his mother’s loud voice when she discovered Penthouse magazine hidden under his pillow. He was thirteen at the time. ‘Filth!’ Carmel had boomed. ‘Pornography! You want to grow up just like your father, humping every open-legged starlet you see?’
No. He didn’t want to be like Orville. He’d heard the fights in the huge mansion the three of them inhabited with four Filipino servants. He’d seen the anger and hurt they inflicted on each other. So one day, when an older boy at Beverly Hills High made a suggestion to him, it seemed like a safe alternative. If he wasn’t to be just like Orville, he had to strike out in the other direction. And the other direction turned out to be extremely pleasurable.
Dropping out of school at seventeen, he went to New York, and enjoyed himself in the fast lane of the gay culture for several years. His parents, although horrified when they first found out he was what Orville called ‘a faggot’ and Carmel termed ‘queer’, were only too delighted that he chose to do his growing up out of sight. They gave him financial support, and the feeling they’d be happier if he stayed away.