Hollywood Husbands (25 page)

‘I told you I knew her. We’re old friends.’

She perked up. ‘I’d love to meet her.’

He dodged that one. ‘So would half the world.’

‘Maybe we could all have dinner,’ she suggested hopefully.

Reaching for a cigarette he said, ‘Maybe.’ He threw her a stern look. ‘What was the welcoming note on my door when I got back this morning? What kind of crap was
that
?’

‘Oh.’ She looked embarrassed. ‘You
do
owe me, Wesley.’

‘And I’m gonna pay you. Next week. I don’t appreciate being threatened with eviction.’

She licked her scarlet lips flirtatiously. ‘Would I do that to you?’

He played along – after all, he didn’t want to find himself out on the street, did he? ‘I don’t know
what
you’d do to me, given half the chance.’

Laughing lasciviously, she edged along the bed. ‘Wanna find out, Wesley?’

‘I can’t, darlin’,’ he said, quickly. ‘I gotta see a man about a job. Y’want your rent, don’t you?’

She stood up. ‘It’s not that I’m pushin’ you, Wesley. Only now that I’m about to be a single woman, I can’t let my finances lag behind.’

‘I quite understand,’ he said gravely.

Pursing her lips she said, ‘Well, next time there’s some sort of an event—’

‘You’ll ask me.’

She preened coquettishly. ‘I’ll have to see.’

‘Yours truly will be waitin’.’

Her voice took on a businesslike tone as she prepared to leave. ‘Please telephone me as soon as you get my money.’

‘I don’t have your number. You want to give it to me?’

She thought about that one – and decided against it. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll drop by next week.’

‘Can’t wait,’ he said, with a friendly wink.

As soon as she left he reached for the Yellow Pages and called up the nearest locksmith. There was no way Reba Winogratsky was going to come and go as she pleased in
his
house. Who the hell did she think she was, letting herself in and standing over him while he slept, like a wronged wife?

Screw
her.

It was over.

* * *

‘Your behaviour was quite reprehensible,’ Nora said sternly. ‘However, after a day of thought, Miss Anderson has decided to keep you on.’ Dragging on her cigarette she added, ‘Why, I don’t know.’

Vladimir, head bowed, allowed relief to flush his cheeks. ‘Madame Silver is very kind,’ he murmured.

‘She sure is,’ agreed Nora. ‘I hope you appreciate it.’

‘I do.’

‘You’d better.’

‘I do, I do.’ He backed gratefully out of the room.

‘You’re on parole,’ Nora called after him. ‘So watch it, sonny!’

He didn’t reply.

Nora buzzed the bedroom. ‘All done,’ she said.

‘Thank God!’ replied Silver. ‘I do
so
hate scenes.’

‘Are you coming down, or shall I come up?’

‘Neither, Nora dear. I’m going to soak in a long hot bubble bath. Wes will be here at eight. Thanks for doing the dirty work. I’ll see you at the studio.’

‘Don’t you want me to stick around and meet the new Boy Wonder?’

‘Not necessary,’ Silver replied crisply. ‘And he is
not
a boy, Nora. He is a man.’

‘How old?’

‘I haven’t asked him.’

‘Fifty? Sixty?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Nineteen? Twenty?’

‘Cradle snatching is hardly my style.’

‘Give me a clue.’

‘Good
night
, Nora.’

Talk about being dismissed! Nora gathered her purse, and a stack of photographs Silver had autographed. She was tired after a long day. How come Silver never got tired? With a shake of her head she set off to her apartment in West Hollywood and a quiet TV dinner.

Upstairs, Silver relaxed in a Calèche-scented tub. A Frank Sinatra tape serenaded her. She loved Frank. He was a survivor, just as she was. He would be a performer until he dropped, and so would she.

* * *

Getting dressed was a problem. He couldn’t wear the same suit again, and it was his only suit. He couldn’t wear his one white shirt either, it didn’t smell too fresh.

Wes inspected his closet. A depressing experience. He possessed two pairs of worn jeans, a pair of black gaberdine pants with a dodgy zipper, two blue shirts – both with frayed collars to match his white one – several unexciting sweaters, a leather bomber jacket and one sports jacket with old-fashioned large lapels. A fashion plate he wasn’t. Usually he just stuck anything on and didn’t give it a second thought.

A date with Silver Anderson required second thoughts.

He checked the time. It was a quarter to seven, and she had told him to be at her house by eight. She had also said they were staying in, which meant tonight he didn’t have to sweat it. Tonight the jeans would pass muster, and maybe a blue shirt (if he could only hide either the missing button on one, or the gravy stain on the other) and his well-worn leather jacket. Of course, tomorrow was another matter. If indeed there was a tomorrow.

He showered, found a small shaker of Jean Nate talcum a girlfriend had left behind, and liberally tossed the powder over his body. Underwear presented no problem because he never wore it.

A quick shave, on with the chosen outfit, and he was ready.

* * *

Silver could not make up her mind what to wear. Should she be casual? Dressy? A cross between the two? Finally, after discarding several outfits, she settled for black silk jersey floppy pants, and a black sweater with Joan Crawford shoulders. She doused herself with scent, and wore her dark hair drawn tightly back.

When she was satisfied with her appearance, she swept downstairs and surprised Vladimir in the kitchen.

He jumped to attention. ‘Yes, madame. Vas there something you needed?’ Her visits to the kitchen were not a frequent occurrence.

She tried to forget she had seen him naked, in all his Russian glory. Oh God, banish the very thought! ‘Yes, Vladimir. I’d like a glass of Cristal. And I’d like you to set the dining room table for two – use the best cutlery and china. Then I want you to phone Trader Vic’s and order dinner for two. Have them deliver it, and when it arrives lay out the dishes on the hotplate in the dining room, and go to your apartment. In other words – get out until the morning. I don’t want you hanging around.’

‘Not even to clear up, madame?’

‘Didn’t you
hear
me, Vladimir?’

‘Yes, madame.’

She left him to organize everything while she selected more Sinatra to put on the elaborate stereo system, and lowered the lights – all the better to flatter her complexion.

It had been a long while since she’d felt like this about a man. Wes Money had her juices flowing. She couldn’t wait to see him.

* * *

Just as he was leaving there was a knock at his front door. He hoped it wasn’t Reba – he wouldn’t put it past her to return.

‘Yeah?’ he called out.

The lock was safely changed, so at least there was no way she could come marching in.

‘Are you busy?’

He recognized his neighbour’s voice.
Don’t tell me she’s going to drive me crazy too
, he thought.

‘I’m just on my way out,’ he shouted back.

Silence. She must have taken the hint. He turned off the television in the bedroom, grabbed the keys of Silver’s Mercedes from the dresser, and set off.

Leaning against the wall outside was Unity with their newly acquired dog. ‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Hello,’ he replied.

She had let her hair down. It was soft and brown, and curled around her heart-shaped face. She was getting prettier every visit.

‘I took Mutt to the vet,’ she said.

‘That’s nice.’

‘Don’t you want to know what he said?’

‘What did he say?’

‘He looked at his paw, cleaned it, and put another bandage on.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Yes.’

‘Great. You’d already done that, hadn’t you?’

‘Yes, but we had to make sure.’

‘How much?’

‘Your half comes out to nine dollars.’

‘You mean he charged you eighteen bucks just to look at the dog’s
paw
?’

‘And a flea bath.’

‘What’s with the flea bath? I never agreed to that.’

‘He had to have it. The poor dog was crawling.’

Wes shook his head. He was down to about fifty bucks, and now he had to shell out nine of them because the dumb dog had fleas. Jesus! If there was an award for sucker of the year he’d win it for sure.

Reluctantly he dug into his bankroll, peeled off a five, and four grubby one-dollar bills.

She accepted the money before springing the next bombshell. ‘I bought him a collar and lead,’ she announced.

‘You’re a generous little thing, aren’t you?’

‘I guess you don’t want to pay half?’

‘Look,’ he said patiently. ‘I am broke. Busted out. I would like to help you, but nine bucks for a dog is about as far as I’m prepared to go.’

‘What about its food?’

‘Jesus!’

‘You promised you’d pay half.’

‘How much?’

‘Your split is a dollar fifty-seven. I got a bag of Gravy Train – I think it will last the week.’

‘If it doesn’t,’ he said fiercely, groping for more money, ‘the mutt goes hungry.’

She accepted two more dollars from him, and began to search for change.

‘Forget it,’ he said grudgingly. ‘Put it towards the collar and lead.’

‘That’ll give you a five percent share,’ she said gravely.

He couldn’t help laughing. The dog began to bark. Gingerly he patted it on the head.

‘Did you work things out with our dragon landlady?’ she asked.

He nodded.

‘I told you it would be easy for you.’

‘Yeah, well y’just have to know how to handle her.’

‘And I expect you do.’

Was she giving him a jab? He couldn’t tell. God, she was young. Too young to even know how to jab.

‘How old are you?’ he couldn’t help asking.

‘Older than I look,’ she replied mysteriously.

Since she looked about twelve that didn’t help much. ‘Lucky you. I’m about ten years
younger
than I look.’

She almost smiled. He couldn’t tell what was going on behind her John Lennon specs. ‘Well, I gotta get goin’,’ he said. ‘See you.’

He strode briskly away, leaving her standing outside his front door, a rather forlorn little figure. Didn’t she have any friends?

What did he care whether she did or not?

Come on, Wesley. Get your ass in gear. The star is waiting.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

In the Bistro Garden, an elegant Beverly Hills restaurant, the hum of conversation was muted as the rich and famous checked each other out. Poppy Soloman had a table in the tree-shaded garden. She had invited two other women apart from Melanie-Shanna, and while she waited for her guests to arrive, she sipped Perrier with a slice of lime, and inspected the other diners.

There was a well-known producer – well known for his shoplifting proclivities.

There was his wife – an English rose from whom the bloom had long since faded.

There was a young screen writer – whose main claim to fame was his perpetual state of inebriation.

There was a teenage actress who had slept her way
down
the ladder.

Scattered among them were the stars, the true royalty of Hollywood. Poppy counted two retired greats, and a semi-retired almost-great. She also spotted Chuck Nielson with his agent. They exchanged waves.

Melanie-Shanna arrived before the other two women. She was flushed and full of apologies. ‘Am I late? I’m so sorry. I do hope I haven’t kept you waiting.’

Poppy tossed back her long blonde hair. Her thick tresses were her best feature, and she always made sure her hair was clean and shining and smelled of deliriously expensive shampoos and conditioners. ‘You’re not late,’ she said, consulting a diamond-studded watch. ‘As a matter of fact, you’re exactly on time.’

‘Thank goodness!’ sighed Melanie-Shanna.

Poppy summoned the waiter with an authoritative gesture. ‘What would you like, dear?’

She quickly looked to see what Poppy was drinking. ‘The same as you, please.’

‘No, no. You must have something alcoholic. I’ll join you in a minute.’ Poppy clicked her fingers at the waiter. ‘Bring Mrs. Cable a Mimosa.’

Melanie-Shanna hesitated for only a second, then asked, ‘What’s a Mimosa?’

‘Champagne and orange juice,’ Poppy replied patronizingly, as if everyone should know. Before she married Howard, and got herself an education, she’d had no idea either.

Melanie-Shanna looked apologetic again. ‘Mannon doesn’t like me to drink.’

‘A Mimosa is hardly a drink. You’ll love it.’ Poppy stared critically at her luncheon guest. The girl was pretty enough in a very Texan sort of way. She had wonderful hair and skin, widely spaced eyes, and a body men watched. However, she was not Whitney – who apart from being dazzling was also a big star. Things like that made a difference. Poppy wondered where Mannon had found this one. It seemed every time he went on location to Texas he came back with a wife. ‘You know, dear,’ she said, ‘we’ve never really had an opportunity to
talk
before. I want to hear
all
about how you and Mannon met.’

Melanie-Shanna shrugged. ‘The papers were full of our story. I thought everyone knew.’

‘Not
me
,’ said Poppy. ‘I never have
time
to read the newspapers, what with my charity work, catering to Howard, and watching Roselight. She’s such an
active
little girl, just like her daddy. You must come over and see her one day.’

‘I’d like that.’

The waiter placed a Mimosa in front of Melanie-Shanna. She sipped it delicately, and wished she hadn’t come. Ladies’ lunches always made her feel uncomfortable, as if she had a run in her tights or chipped nails.

‘Good,’ Poppy said brightly. ‘Here are the girls.’

The ‘girls’ were two women of indeterminate age, although both would never see fifty again. Ida White was the fourth wife of super-agent Zeppo. She was put together with cement to hide the joins, and had pale skin, dramatically white hair pulled back in a tight chignon, an Yves Saint Laurent ensemble, and a blank stare. Rumour had it that Ida was permanently stoned, preferring the land of la-la to life with her womanizing husband. Zeppo was an infamous Hollywood character known for his sharp tongue and two-inch cock, which – at one time or another – he had offered to every actress in the Western world.