Hollywood Husbands (64 page)

* * *

Nora was at Silver’s Christmas lunch, along with Fernando, his friend Boyce, her makeup artist Raoul, and her ex-agent Quinne Lattimore – who had recently separated from his wife of twenty-eight years.

‘I can’t
bear
to think of anyone alone at Christmas,’ Silver confided to Wes.

‘Yeah,’ he agreed, thinking of all the Christmases he had spent alone and broke, usually ending up in bed with a woman as lonely as he.

Happiness was Silver speaking to him again. After bumping into Reba at Giorgio, she had flipped out – throwing a total jealous fit.

Who was that woman?

Have you slept with her?

My God, Wes. Where is your taste?

Or should I call you Wesley?

Wesley, indeed!

Was she hot in bed?

She looks like a prostitute.

An old prostitute.

A cheap hooker.

How could you?

When?

Recently?

Since we’ve been together?

I hate you!

A jealous Silver was a new Silver. Despite her acid tongue, he was glad she cared. So glad, in fact, that with a gesture of defiance he marched into the First Interstate Bank, requested his safe-deposit box, and took out the money he had stashed there. Screw the perpetrators of the Laurel Canyon scam. He was not returning one red cent. He had earned every dime.

And screw Reba Winogratsky too. What did she know anyway?

With the money in his pocket he strolled calmly into Tiffany’s, the jewellery store, and announced his requirements. ‘I want a necklace for around nineteen thou,’ he said casually. ‘Tax included. Show me what you got.’

The result was a ruby heart, embedded in pavé diamonds, on a diamond-studded gold chain. He hadn’t given it to her yet. The moment had to be just right.

‘Delicious turkey,’ Fernando said, dabbing his lips with a napkin.

‘Delicious,’ echoed Boyce, his quiff of silver hair bobbing agreement.

‘Did you cook it, Silver darling?’ teased Raoul.

‘
Naturellement, mon chéri!
Don’t you all know how handy I am toiling over a hot stove?’

Everyone laughed.

In the kitchen Vladimir and Unity faced each other across the table and solemnly raised their shot glasses of the finest Russian vodka in a toast.

‘To freedom,’ Vladimir said, downing the colourless liquid in one fast gulp.

‘To money,’ Unity said.

They smiled at each other like conspirators. Which they were.
True Life Scandal
was paying them one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars for the
real
story of Silver Anderson, Wes Money and Heaven. It was to be serialized over three weeks, and the first instalment was due to hit the stands on the Monday after New Year’s.

By that time, Unity and Vladimir would be long gone.

Somewhere in New York…

Sometime in the seventies…

The girl found that living with Eli was the beginning of her life. He was the most unfailingly cheerful and good-natured person she had ever met, and after a while she couldn’t help responding to his kindness.

‘Where are you from?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘What do you wanna do?’

‘Being a waitress is fine.’

‘No, it’s not.’

‘Why?’

‘Because we are all put onto this earth to do something amazing with our lives. Make a goal, an’ go for it!’

She didn’t have any goals. Just living was enough.

Eli wouldn’t allow her to drift. He insisted she accompany him to his singing classes and dancing lessons. One day he took her to his drama group, and she watched enthralled as he acted out a role in
Macbeth.

‘It’s Shakespeare,’ he told her.

‘What’s Shakespeare?’

‘Are you kiddin’ me, girl?’

On her birthday he bombarded her with books on great playwrights and text of their best work. ‘You gotta be more than just a pretty face,’ he told her.

She was captivated by the realistic scenes of great pathos and drama.

Occasionally Eli brought a friend home. She hated it when this happened and if it was early enough, she would go out and walk the streets rather than listen to the unwelcome sounds of their lovemaking.

One day he brought a friend home to stay. ‘This is Luke,’ he said, and she shivered with certain knowledge of bad things to come.

Luke was a burly British blond with bulging muscles and a permanent sneer. He never dressed in anything but crotch-hugging Levis and torn tee-shirts.

‘Luke thinks he’s Marlon Brando,’ Eli joked.

‘Don’t fockin’ laugh at me – yer spade fairy,’ Luke spat.

Eli winced and took it.

Luke didn’t work. He sat on the roof all day, concentrating on his suntan and guzzling beer.

The girl did not understand what Eli saw in him. She knew it was only sexual and hoped the attraction would soon pass.

At night she heard them together and buried her head beneath the covers, desperately trying to shut out the disturbing sounds.

Luke soon became violent. After several weeks he began to take Eli’s money and go out on drinking binges.

He tried to steal money from her one day but she turned on him with such ferocity that he never went near her again.

She slept with a knife under her pillow and was ever watchful.

‘Get rid of the fockin’ bitch,’ she heard him tell Eli.

‘She stays,’ Eli replied, standing up to him for once.

‘She goes or
I
go.’

‘So be it,’ replied Eli bravely.

To her enormous relief Luke departed.

‘I don’t know what happens to me,’ Eli confessed. ‘When it comes to the Lukes of this world I just can’t control myself.’

They talked late into the night, and for the first time, falteringly, she began to confide in Eli as he was confiding in her. They shared a closeness that was very special.

Sometime in the early morning, Luke returned. The girl was roused by stifled noises. Luke was not alone, he had two friends with him. They were taking turns holding Eli down and using him.

She felt the fear leap into her throat as she remembered that time – not so long ago – when she had been abused in the same way. Leaping from her bed, she brandished her knife in the air, shouting, ‘Stop it! Go away! Get out! STOP IT!’

They took their time before leaving, finishing what they’d set out to do.

The ambulance arrived too late.

Eli bled to death from internal injuries on the way to Emergency.

Several weeks later the girl tracked Luke down to a seedy walk-up he was sharing with a male prostitute in a condemned building. She waited until the prostitute was out plying his trade, and then she torched the building.

Lighting the first match was easy…

BOOK SIX

Hollywood, California

New Year’s Eve

December 31 1985

Chapter Ninety

‘Our limousine awaits,’ Mark said, with a twist of irony. ‘I do love you Americans – you do things with such panache. The driver tells me there are forty-nine identical white limos with fully stocked bars and a supply of the best caviar, to transport Zachary Klinger’s illustrious guests to his waiting yacht. You’d think he might want to double up, save a bob or two. I wouldn’t have minded more of the incredible Zeppo White and that strange, zombie-like lady he’s married to.’

Jade stifled a laugh. ‘Don’t be so rude.’

‘You must admit, they do make strange bedfellows.’

‘Well…’

Taking her hand he said, ‘Speaking as a premier photographer of wild and beautiful creatures, you, my dear, are the most beautiful of all.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Surpassing even a pregnant leopard I recently had the privilege of observing.’

‘You’re such a flatterer.’

‘Part of my English charm.’

‘And
sooo
modest.’

‘One tries one’s best.’

She had to admit that being with Mark again was pleasurable. He made her laugh with his dry sense of humour. And she was almost convinced that marrying him was the right thing to do.

It better be. They had taken out the licence, had the requisite blood tests, and tomorrow was the big day.

Beverly had freaked out when she’d told her. ‘
Whaaat?
You an’ the English asshole? This girl does
not
believe it.’

‘Now that I’m marrying him, Bev, let’s drop the asshole bit, huh? I don’t think it’s really appropriate, do you?’

‘Whatever you say. I’m easy.’

When Beverly realized that Jade was seriously getting married, she offered the use of Zachary’s mansion for the ceremony, sure he wouldn’t mind.

‘No guests,’ Jade warned. ‘We just want to do it quietly, and then take off for a couple of days in Carmel before I have to shoot the final batch of commercials.’

‘Try this for fit. The two of you. Corey. Me. A sunlit garden – if the goddamn weather doesn’t change – and a nice friendly preacher. Zachary’s flying off to New York right after the party. How does the scenario grab you?’

‘Perfect!’

‘It’s arranged.’

Mark had liked the idea when she told him. ‘I can’t wait, my darling,’ he’d said.

She knew why. She still hadn’t slept with him, and he couldn’t stand that she was making him wait.

‘Aren’t I worth waiting for?’ she’d teased him;

‘Jade. This is ridiculous. We lived together for six years. Why are you doing this?’

‘Because it’s romantic. Besides, it’s such a short time, and it’ll make our wedding night really special.’

For Zachary’s New Year’s Eve cruise she had chosen to wear a black cashmere Ralph Lauren sweater, sleeveless, with one shoulder completely bare; white silk pants; a bronze buckled belt; and a whirl of delicately thin bronze bracelets around her upper arm. Hoop earrings and slave bangles on each wrist completed her look. On her engagement finger was the antique sapphire and diamond ring Mark had presented her with on Christmas Day.

‘Let’s go,’ she said, with a dazzling smile. ‘I promised Corey we’d pick him up on the way.’

Mark was ready.

* * *

Poppy was in gold. From the ornament in her hair to the shoes on her feet, everything was gold, including her nails.

Howard took one look and decided she should be frozen in time, reduced in size, and placed on somebody’s mantel – next to an Oscar.

He did not feel well. After snorting cocaine all day, gulping a few Quaaludes and a Valium or two, he felt like shit.

Once, cocaine was the answer to everything. A couple of toots and he was King Kong. More, and he was ready to take over the world.

Now the rush didn’t last. It brought him up, and sank him back down almost immediately. And his nose was killing him. Every time he snorted, the pain was like a thousand tiny needles jabbing the sensitive membrane in his nostrils.

Of course, he knew there were other methods of doing it. If he wasn’t so queasy about needles, he could inject himself with the magic potion.

He’d tried it once and nearly passed out. Besides, injecting drugs? Wasn’t that getting a little desperate? He was no junkie.

‘Honeybunch, have you set the tape machine?’ Poppy asked. ‘I don’t want to miss Zachary on the Python show.’

‘If I know old Zach,’ Howard said, with a manic twitch, ‘he’ll have a screening room on the boat, and we’ll all have to sit and watch. Talk about a captive audience! That’s probably why he’s having the party on his yacht in the first place. Nobody can escape.’

Poppy adjusted a huge gold earring. ‘I think it’s a
wonderful
way to spend New Year’s Eve. I’m bored with normal parties.’

‘As long as you don’t get seasick.’

‘Oooh. It’s not going to be
rough
, is it?’

‘Just kidding.’

On their way out to the car, Roselight’s nanny came running after them. ‘Mr Soloman,’ she called, ‘there’s a call for you from Mexico City. The operator says it’s urgent.’

* * *

‘I can’t imagine like
why
they invited
me
,’ Heaven said, excitedly gobbling caviar as the white stretch limousine transported her and Rocky to Long Beach and Zachary K. Klinger’s exclusive party.

‘’Cos you’re a star,’ Rocky said confidently. ‘An’ don’ forget who did it for ya.’

‘Maybe Uncle Jack suggested they ask me,’ she mused.

‘Naw. Why’d he do that?’

‘It’s New Year’s Eve. He always tries to see me then.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yes.’

‘Forget about ya Uncle Jack,’ Rocky said, flicking on the built-in television. ‘You’re a big girl now – ya got me.’

* * *

‘I must have been unhinged to even
think
about letting you get away from me,’ Mannon said, his arm around Melanie-Shanna as they entered the limousine.

‘I was sure it was what you wanted,’ she replied softly. ‘You were so cold towards me. I could never do or say the right thing. And when I got pregnant it was like you couldn’t care less.’

‘I guess the idea of becoming a father made me nervous.’

‘It wasn’t exactly easy for
me
. Especially with your attitude…’ She hesitated. ‘And Whitney…’

He hadn’t thought of Whitney in months. One thing Clarissa had cured him of was his obsession with his ex-wife. And now he was cured of Clarissa too. Christ! When he remembered that night in Puerto Vallarta he was so ashamed. Beating that boy, half killing him. The memory was a nightmare. Thank God for Howard, who kept the whole deal out of the press and spirited him out of there.