Hollywood Husbands (34 page)

‘Exactly!’ she agreed.

Twenty-five minutes later, after he’d had to endure a mini fashion parade, the choice was made. An exquisite Oscar de la Renta short silk jacket in a kaleidoscope pattern of shimmering beads over a black velvet long dress. It had cost him nearly six thousand bucks, and she’d never worn it!

‘Thank you, honeybunch.’ She gave him a hug, and then noticed that he was still in his undershorts. ‘Get dressed, Howard!’ she exclaimed crossly. ‘If you make us late I’ll kill you!’

Muttering ominously, he locked himself securely in his bathroom. Poppy could drive a man nuts! This dinner party had changed dates, venues, and guest lists ten times. Now it was all set. An intimate little sit-down for seventy-five people, and it was tonight. Although why
they
should be the ones giving an exclusive wedding dinner in the upstairs room at the Bistro for Silver Anderson and her mystery bridegroom, was beyond him. He hardly
knew
Silver, and she and Poppy were certainly not close. Of course, he had realized two minutes into his marriage that Poppy combined the most ferocious qualities of a social climber and a star fuck. Personally he didn’t give a rat’s ass. Whatever made her happy.

Reaching for his rug he plopped it in place, securing the two clips that held it in position, then combing his own hair over the join.

The buzzer on the telephone next to his toilet signalled. He picked up the receiver and snapped a no-nonsense ‘Yes?’

‘Mr Klinger for you, Mr Soloman,’ said the housekeeper.

Why was Zachary K. Klinger calling him at home on a Saturday night? The man was an erratic prick. Seven times he had threatened to fly out to the Coast for a meeting, and seven times he had cancelled. Good. Howard didn’t need him. He was doing very nicely without Zachary K. Klinger looking over his shoulder. Orpheus was in good shape. Three movies in production, and three more just about ready for preproduction, including Howard’s brilliant idea – the old-fashioned musical starring Carlos Brent, with Orville Gooseberger producing, and Whitney Valentine even now reading the script, a remake of an original classic.

‘Hiya, Zachary,’ he said, in the friendliest tone he could muster, waiting for the latest cancellation. Zachary was supposed to be arriving on Monday.

‘I’m surprising you, Howard,’ Zachary said. He spoke in a sinister whisper, sounding very much like Marlon Brando in
The Godfather
.

‘I know, I know,’ Howard replied easily. ‘You can’t make the meeting on Monday. It’s okay, Zach.’ He used the nickname with confidence. ‘We all understand. Everything’s buzzin’ along without you.’

‘I’m here,’ Zachary announced with no preamble. ‘I’d like to meet tonight.’

‘You’re here?’ Howard repeated hoarsely. ‘Really?’

‘Flew in fifteen minutes ago.’

‘You did?’ Howard felt sweat break out all over his body. He didn’t need this kind of surprise. Months of farting around, and now the asshole had to appear on the night of Poppy’s big dinner for Silver Anderson. ‘Jesus, Zach. I wish you’d given me some warning.’

‘Why?’ Zachary asked mildly.

Howard knew the unruffled voice was a front, concealing unbridled fury. When Zachary K. Klinger wanted something, a person didn’t argue. The stories about him were legendary.

‘Uh… my wife, Poppy, she’s giving this uh – black-tie dinner. It’s for Silver Anderson.’ He laughed nervously. ‘Broads! If I backed out of this one she’d be at Marvin Mitchelson’s before breakfast!’

‘No problem at all,’ said Zachary understandingly.

Howard breathed again.

‘Fortunately, I always keep a tuxedo on both coasts,’ Zachary continued. ‘Which means I’ll be able to join you. What time? And where?’

For a split second Howard was speechless.
What time? And where?
Poppy had spent three days seating this dinner.
Three fucking days!
Zachary K. Klinger’s appearance was going to throw her into a tizz she might never recover from. And he, Howard Soloman, would feel her wrath for weeks, months, maybe even years!

‘This is great news, Zach,’ he managed. ‘Will you be coming alone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fine, fine. It’s at the Bistro. Eight o’clock. Black tie, but you already know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I do.’ A pause. ‘And, Howard?’

‘What, Zach?’

‘I don’t like being called Zach. My name is Zachary, or Mr Klinger. Make your choice and stick with it.’

The line went dead in Howard’s hand.
‘Shit!’
he screamed.

Poppy would never give him head again!

* * *

Nervously Heaven peeked at the third contact sheet handed to her by one of Antonio’s assistants. She could not believe that the image she saw in stark black and white was herself. The photographs were staggering.

‘You like?’ asked the assistant, a butch-looking female.

‘Sensational!’ breathed Heaven. ‘Is this really me!’

‘Yeah. Antonio’s hot stuff with a camera. As long as he has someone to work with – an’ you’ve got it.’

‘Do you think so?’ Heaven asked modestly.

‘Just look at the pix. You give out attitude. The camera can play with you and have a good time.’

She gazed reverently at the contacts. It was true. The success of the photographs was not just due to Antonio. Her personality shone through her eyes and gave the pictures real life. With a little help from a makeup artist, a hairdresser, and an incredible stylist. They had all done their bit.

She was glad she’d persevered and not given up on Antonio’s promise to photograph her. It had taken some doing, but she had finally got herself in front of his camera – and the results were brilliant! She was sure he’d enjoyed the session as much as she had. He’d played loud rock music, and encouraged her to move to the beat and have fun.

When signing the release she had made one stipulation – she had asked him to make sure that wherever he placed the photos, there was no mention of Silver Anderson being her mother.

‘
Bene
,’ he had said, and that was that. She trusted him.

Wow! Silver would freak out when she saw these pictures!

‘What’s he going to do with them?’ she asked Antonio’s assistant.

The girl said, ‘No idea. Feel relieved that he likes them. He’s
very
particular.’

‘Can I order some?’

‘You
are
joking, aren’t you? Antonio
never
gives out prints. Sorry.’

Heaven wondered if she could steal a contact sheet. What was the point of
doing
the pictures if she couldn’t get hold of any?

‘Well’ – the assistant relented a bit – ‘I’ll ask him what plans he has. Call me in a couple of weeks.’

Reluctantly she left the studio half excited and half let down. At least it was a
positive
move. How many other girls of sixteen got to pose for the great Antonio? And how many other girls got to spend the summer at the beach with their famous uncle? She was elated about
that
, even though Jack’s house was definitely in the wrong direction. Santa Monica was where all the action was. Still it was probably a brilliant house and she couldn’t wait to see it. It was dynamite of him to invite her – she knew how busy he was.

Her mother hadn’t even called to find out what she was doing for the summer.

Her mother…

Sometimes she wondered who her father was, and if she had known him would he have cared about her? Or would he be just like Silver?

She was frightened to ask his identity. Anonymity was better than more rejection.

Stopping at the big Rexall drugstore on the corner of La Cienega and Beverly, she stocked up on sun tan oils, and began to feel excited. At six o’clock that evening Uncle Jack was picking her up, and her summer at the beach would begin. As Jack had predicted, Grandfather George had hardly reacted at all. In fact, he had seemed quite pleased. Now she could look forward to six weeks of total freedom! Ah, if only she could get her career going everything would be perfect.

Driving over the hill she thought about Eddie. He was such a dork. She didn’t like his guitar playing anymore, and she didn’t like him. Perhaps this was the break they both needed.

The rambling house was empty when she got home. Her grandfather was in his workroom, and the housekeeper was out. She called a couple of girlfriends, found out nothing new, and began to pack.

What to take for six weeks at the beach? Bikinis, shorts, tank tops, tee-shirts and pants. She came across her long army coat hanging in the closet. A few months ago it was her favourite garment, but after Silver’s party she’d never worn it again. Dragging it out she slipped it on. Hey – this was a definite
look
– why had she abandoned it?

Because it reminded her of dear mother. Her caring mother who recently got married for the
third
time, and did not even bother to inform her. Like the rest of America she had read about Silver Anderson’s latest wedding in the newspapers.

She spun in front of the mirror, and the huge coat encircled her. Hardly right for the beach. Too hot.

She thrust her hands in the deep pockets and came up with a crumpled napkin. Written on it was
ROCKY
and a phone number.

For a moment she gazed at it blankly. Rocky? And then she remembered. The dude from Silver’s party. The one behind the bar with a friend in the record biz. She had forgotten about him, what with meeting Antonio and the quest to get him to do the promised photos.

On impulse she dialled the number.

No answer.

Carefully she folded the napkin and stuffed it in the side of her suitcase. Rocky. She would give him a call and see if he
did
have a friend in the music industry. After all, she was going to be seventeen soon. She wasn’t getting any younger.

Chapter Fifty

Wrapped in a soft leather Donna Karan dress, Jade arrived at the Ivy restaurant before her brother. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t changed the date as he had been consistently doing for weeks now. Since dinner never seemed to work out, she had finally pinned him down to a lunch. She was pleased, but also apprehensive. What if she hated his new girlfriend? What if the girlfriend hated her?

A Bloody Mary seemed like a good idea. She ordered one and sat back. A man at a nearby table smiled. She nodded distantly. Because her face was so familiar people always thought they knew her. Commercials did that for you. Wait until the Cloud Cosmetics campaign hit an unsuspecting public. It was going to be an all-out push to make Cloud bigger than Revlon and Estée Lauder put together. And her image was going to be on every television commercial, in every print ad, featured on the cover of every brochure – there would even be billboards across the country.

Cloud Cosmetics was already a famous and successful international company. Now the name Jade Johnson would be synonymous with Cloud. For she was not only the face to launch the new products, she was also the personality to sell them. There was a cross-country tour planned, personal appearances, and a host of other things. Mark would never have allowed her to sign such a deal. ‘It’s too public,’ he would have proclaimed. ‘Hang onto your privacy, it’s one of your most precious possessions.’

And thinking of Mark, she realized that if he’d wanted to pique her interest, he’d certainly done a good job. But then he always
had
been a
clever
English asshole.

Since turning up at her apartment and the subsequent phone calls, she had not heard a word from him.

Isn’t that what you wanted, Johnson? You ran off to Vegas fast enough
.

She wasn’t certain. Maybe he
was
divorcing Lady Fiona. Maybe he
had
changed.

Sure
.

‘Jade?’

She glanced up and exclaimed, ‘Beverly! I don’t
believe
it!’ Pushing away from the table she leaped to her feet and hugged her old friend Beverly D’Amo.

Beverly was a very tall, black, exotically beautiful model turned actress. She had jet hair hanging in a thick plait past her waist, and cheekbones that could cut glass.

‘Believe it, J.J.!’ yelled Beverly. ‘What the fuck you doin’ here, girl?’

Several people turned to stare. Beverly’s language never
had
been lady-like.

‘I called you,’ Jade said. ‘Your answering service told me you were in Peru or somewhere.’

‘I was doing a movie, babee. A real-life
DRAMA
! Shee
it
! I got the runs the moment I arrived, an’ spent most of my time visiting the can. Two minutes on the screen and two months in the crapper!’

Jade smiled. ‘Nothing changes. Still the same old Bad Beverly.’

‘Yeah. This may be hot-shot city, babe, but the
Brrr
onx is in my blood.’

‘You left the Bronx when you were fifteen,’ Jade pointed out.

‘So… I can have my roots, can’t I?’

Grinning, Jade said, ‘Why don’t you just sit down, shut up, and order a drink.’

Beverly grimaced. ‘I can’t. I’m having lunch with my agent. A power lunch, my dear. We have my
career
to discuss, you know.’ She waved across the room.

Jade shook her head. ‘You’re so full of it! But I still love you. Can we have dinner?’

‘Not tonight we can’t. Tonight I am attending a very chic little dinner party for Silver Anderson. Just seventy-five of her
very
closest dearest friends!’

‘And you’re one of them, I presume.’

Beverly let loose a wild, high-pitched Eddie Murphy type laugh. ‘Don’t even
know
the bitch! But hey, J.J., I’m a party animal, you remember that, don’t you?’

How could she ever forget? She had started modelling with Beverly, and for a while they were known as the Terror Team, because of all the practical jokes they played. Jade had nothing but warm memories of the wild and wonderful Ms. D’Amo. ‘How about tomorrow night?’ she suggested.

‘Babee, you’re on. We’ll go cruising. Where’s His Lordship?’

‘Dead.’

‘He deserves worse.’