Hollywood Husbands (35 page)

‘Oh. So you knew about him too?’

‘
Everyone
knew about him. His prick stood at attention whenever you left the room.’

‘Thanks for telling me.’

‘We’ll talk tomorrow. I’ve got gossip comin’ out my ears!’

‘Can’t wait.’

‘Call me in the morning. See ya!’

Jade watched Beverly slink across the room and settle at a table, her loud laughter ringing across the small, intimate restaurant.

Sipping her drink she waited patiently – brother Corey and friend were late. Signalling the waiter she ordered another Bloody Mary.

Corey walked in twenty minutes later, with what she had learned to recognize as his guilty face. When they were kids he employed it every time he did something naughty.

‘What’s up, bro?’ she asked, determined not to comment on his tardy entrance and spoil their lunch.

His greeting was strained as he glanced anxiously around the restaurant. A pretty blonde girl approached their table, and Jade steeled herself for the introduction.

The girl walked briskly past. Behind her was a very handsome young man, slight of build, with dark curly hair, and a dimpled chin.

Corey put his hand possessively on the young man’s arm. ‘Norman,’ he said in a strained voice, ‘I’d like you to meet my sister, Jade.’

Norman had an open smile, and a gold Rolex on his wrist. He extended a friendly hand and introduced himself. ‘Norman Gooseberger,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Delighted to meet you. I’m the mystery roommate. I’m sorry it’s taken so long for us to get together – but
you know
your brother.’

She had thought she did. Suddenly she wasn’t sure at all – for it was quite obvious that Corey and Norman were much more than mere roommates.

Chapter Fifty-One

They entered the Bistro like couple of the year. Which, of course, they were. Silver Anderson and her new husband, Wes Money.

The photographers skulking around the entrance went berserk when they drew up in a sleek limousine. Silver wore a shimmering long gown of gold and a big smile. Wes wore a recently purchased tuxedo and a white silk shirt with diamond and gold studs – a wedding present from Silver.

He was unused to the sudden rush of photographers, and nearly tripped. Grabbing Silver firmly by the arm he pulled her inside, his expression grim.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, with an amused smile.

‘Those people are animals,’ he complained. ‘Don’t pose for ’em, it just encourages the sleaze-bags.’

‘Charming! What a delightfully
visual
word.’

‘Believe me, it sure describes
this
group.’

She adjusted the top of her dress before ascending the staircase to the upstairs room where the party was taking place. ‘Get used to it, darling,’ she said casually. ‘Wherever Silver Anderson goes, the press follows. Sometimes it’s fun, most times it’s not. I just bare my teeth and take it in my stride.’

‘
I
don’t,’ he said grimly.

‘You soon will.’

‘Care to put money on it?’

‘We’ll see.’

They had been married for exactly five weeks. The wedding had taken place in Las Vegas. Quick, quiet, and very secret. So secret, in fact, that the press had no smell of anything going on, and Silver, unrecognizable in a long blonde wig and dark glasses, had completely fooled the old couple in the wedding chapel. Only later, when checking the register, had they noticed her name. By the time the wire-services and television crews were alerted, Silver and her new bridegroom had flown to a remote hideaway house in Hawaii, loaned to them by the executive producer of
Palm Springs
. There they stayed for several delicious weeks, shut off from the outside world, quite content to just relax and get to know each other. What they actually did most of the time was make love. A lot. As Silver later remarked to Nora in a confiding moment, ‘It was the perfect honeymoon. Sex, sleep, sex, food, and sex, sex, sex!’

Nora, as usual, marvelled at the woman’s energy.

Once Silver made the decision that, yes, she
would
marry Wes, everything fell into place like a perfectly planned chess game. She told only Nora, her lawyer, and the producer of
Palm Springs.
Together they eased the way for a publicity-free union. Not easy, but possible. Especially as Wes had never been publicly connected to her, and nobody knew who he was anyway.

Naturally they all tried to talk her out of it. She listened to one minute of
Who is he? You
know nothing about him. He could be after your
money,
etcetera. Then she told them, very politely, to kindly butt out of her personal life. Which they did. Albeit reluctantly.

Prudently she did have her lawyer draw up a document excluding Wes from sharing her wealth. He signed it quite happily.

‘Do you have any family you wish to tell?’ she had asked him shortly before the ceremony.

He’d shaken his head. ‘Nope. I come to you free and clear of any mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, children or ex-wives.’

‘Hmmm… You also come to me free and clear of any worldly goods.’

‘I’ve got a few things – nothin’ I’m in the mood to collect right now. I can get ’em when we come back.’

Their timing was perfect. One more day’s work, and then Silver was on hiatus from her television show for three months. She had been considering doing a Movie of the Week – fortunately nothing was signed.

Several days after he proposed, they did the deed, and Silver Anderson became Mrs Wes Money. Actually, Wes Money became Mr Silver Anderson, because that’s the way it goes in Hollywood. The famous name is the one everyone knows. So limo drivers and doormen and porters all referred to him as Mr Anderson. What did he care? He was safe. He was no longer a nobody – overnight, Wes Money had become a somebody.

Now they were back in L.A., still comparative strangers, although he
did
know her favourite food was golden caviar – which he hated. Her favourite booze, champagne – which gave him ferocious hangovers. And her favourite sexual position – anything, anytime, anywhere.

The whole scenario was like some kind of wild fantasy. He kept on thinking he was going to wake up and find himself lying on the floor in the hall of the Laurel Canyon house with the cops right outside and the murder weapon clutched in his hand.

Jesus! Every time he thought of that little nightmare he got the chills. But he had outsmarted them all the way down the line. First – he had escaped before discovery. Second – he had married well. They couldn’t try to pin anything on him now, he was no longer Joe Schmuck. And let them whistle for their money. As far as he was concerned they could all eat shit. He had nearly been tricked into oblivion, and they could damn well pay for it. The money and cocaine were stashed in a safe-deposit box at the bank. It was his insurance in case Silver ever threw him out.

‘Poppy, darling – this is Wes,’ Silver said, between cheek kisses which missed by half a mile. ‘I want
you
to be the first to meet him.’

Wes took in a short blonde with silicone tits (he could always tell), fabulous real diamonds (he could always tell) and a self-satisfied smile.

‘So
you’re
the mystery man!’ she exclaimed in a breathy voice. ‘How
exciting
!’

He nearly choked on her perfume.

‘
Do
meet my husband, Howard Soloman.’ She pulled at the sleeve of a short man with obvious shoe lifts and a rug. ‘Howard, poppet. Say hello to Wes.’

Howard Soloman winked at him, just as Silver said, ‘Congratulate me, Howard. I’ve done it again!’

‘Congratulations, kiddo,’ Howard said amiably. An out-of-control muscle twitched on his cheek. ‘Nice to meet you, Les.’

‘Wes.’

A lone female photographer stepped forward and took their picture.

‘
C’mon
,’ said Wes forcefully. ‘No pictures.’

‘Don’t worry’ – Poppy dimpled nicely – ‘it’s only George’s girl.’

‘Who’s George’s girl?’ he muttered to Silver.

‘George Christy, darling. He writes the wonderful back page in the
Hollywood Reporter
.’

‘They allow photographers into these things?’

‘Only the key ones. Oh look, there’s Dudley. He’s so wonderful. I adore him. Did you see him in
Ten
? Such a
funny
man.’

For the next half hour it was ‘spot the stars’. It seemed everyone from Johnny Carson to Kirk Douglas had turned out to inspect Silver’s latest husband.

Wes tried to maintain an aura of cool as he said hello to Jacqueline Bisset, Whitney Valentine Cable and Angie Dickinson. Three women he had lusted after forever.

And then came the men. He actually got to meet Carlos Brent. He had grown up
fucking
to the records of the legendary Carlos Brent.

What a night
this
was going to be!

* * *

Poppy took the news of Zachary K. Klinger as an extra guest extremely well. She moved Howard’s place card from his seat of honour beside Silver, and cleverly replaced him with Zachary. Then she switched place cards with Whitney Valentine Cable, and put herself the other side of the new guest. Howard and Whitney she relocated on table number two. Had it been anyone else but Zachary K. Klinger she would have screamed for days. As it was she felt quite elated. Getting Zachary K. Klinger was a hostess’s coup.

Meanwhile, it was past eight-thirty, and Zachary had failed to put in an appearance.

‘Where is he?’ she hissed at Howard. ‘I’m going to have to seat everyone in fifteen minutes.’

‘Go ahead, he’ll be here.’ Howard spoke in a carefree manner, but oh… was he going to get it if Zachary didn’t show.

He eyed Whitney, who was standing across the room, positively glowing in a strapless lime-green dress. He was purposely staying away from her until dinner when he would be sitting next to her. Maybe by this time she had read the script and wanted to do it. How could she
not
want to do it with Carlos Brent starring and Orville Gooseberger producing? The lady was going to move into heavyweight country, and
he
was responsible. He hoped she would be suitably grateful.

Mannon Cable made an entrance. Late, of course. The bigger the star, the later the entrance. Once the guest list passed thirty people, Poppy had decided it was perfectly proper to invite Whitney and Mannon. ‘After all,’ she had said, with a great deal of logic, ‘if one stopped inviting people because they were once married to other guests… well, in Hollywood, you’d end up with no one!’

Very true.

Mannon waved at Howard. Howard waved back. If he
did
have an affair with Whitney, and Mannon found out… It didn’t bear thinking about.

* * *

Zachary K. Klinger greeted his driver curtly, and stepped into the back of a maroon Rolls-Royce. The Rolls, although several years old, was in pristine condition. Zachary rarely visited California, but believed in keeping a car and chauffeur in every major city across the world. He was rich enough to have dozens of cars wherever he wished. In fact, his riches enabled him to do whatever he damn well pleased for the rest of his life.

Sighing, he leaned back against the plush leather upholstery. Money. It could buy him anything and almost anyone. Except…with nagging realization he knew the old cliche was true – money could not buy the happiness he so fervently desired.

‘Enjoying it?’ Silver gave Wes a sly smile. She was loving every minute of the attention.

He nodded. To tell the truth, he was quite bemused. All these people, all these well-known faces. He knew for a fact that if he wasn’t Mr Silver Anderson, they wouldn’t give him the time of day. Rich folks lived life different. They only wanted to mix with other rich folks. Wes knew this. He had stood behind enough bars in enough fashionable establishments to observe the way things were.

Famous people were exactly the same. Show a star another star and they’d break bones to be together. Unless they were deadly rivals, in which case icy politeness ruled.

Jeez! If this lot only knew who Wes Money
really
was.

Fortunately, the supermarket rags had managed to find out nothing. He was a complete mystery man.

Nora had released a statement on Silver’s behalf. It was short and to the point:

SILVER ANDERSON, STAR OF
PALM SPRINGS
, Married recently for the third time. Her new husband, Wesley Money Junior, is a businessman.

Wes had exploded when the announcement appeared. ‘What the
fuck
is this
junior
crap?’ he’d demanded.

‘Nora’s idea,’ Silver had replied. ‘And I must admit, it does give you
some
sort of background.’

‘You want a background, you should’ve married Teddy Kennedy!’

She had smiled. ‘Just a touch too plump. I do so
hate
love rolls, don’t you?’

He had to admire Silver. She didn’t give a damn about anything or anybody. She was a tough, gutsy broad who did what she wanted, and to hell with criticism.

‘My life hasn’t always been easy,’ she had informed him one balmy night on their lust-filled honeymoon. ‘Four years ago I had a nervous breakdown. I thought it was all over.’

‘Yeah?’ He wasn’t interested in talking pasts. He couldn’t imagine Silver anywhere but at the top. And once they were married he couldn’t imagine himself being anywhere except by her side.

This was not love. This was good times.

* * *

Poppy fussed among her guests as they began to sit down at their various tables. She wanted Howard. She wanted his blood. Zachary K. Klinger had failed to show.

Just as she was about to start screaming – discreetly, of course – Zachary K. Klinger walked through the door. She recognized him at once, and wasted no time in hurrying over. ‘Mr Klinger,’ she gushed. ‘This is
such
a pleasure! I am delighted you made it.’

‘Who are you?’ he asked, in his sinister rasp.

‘Why, I’m Poppy Soloman.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘Your hostess.’