Naked in LA (20 page)

We didn’t say much to each other in the car. He was right, I didn’t own him, but that worked both ways.

He didn’t own me either.

I met Ted for lunch at Chasen’s. It was when I knew that I had arrived in Hollywood. It was just the second time he had taken me to lunch; the first time was to tell me I had won the audition for
Wings of Eagles
, but this time it was because he wanted to be seen with me. He was announcing my arrival.

The chili at Chasen’s was legendary - Elizabeth Taylor was in Rome shooting a picture about Cleopatra and I’d heard she’d had the owner fly some out to her - but Ted wasn’t interested in the food. He went there to see and be seen. It was like an insider’s club with its red leather booths and wood panelling. Celebrities and movie people like him were always given a booth in a room off to the side so they wouldn’t be bothered by ordinary people staring at them.

“So you made a big impression on the Brother in Lawford,” he said.

“Even though I didn’t sleep with him?”

“You shouldn’t joke about these things. Screwing the right people can be as good as winning an Oscar.”

“Without the speeches.”

“Well, you can thank who you want afterwards--everyone gets a minute.”

I was never sure when he was joking and when he was serious.

“So he wants you to go to their pool party on Sunday.”

“Who?”

“Peter
Lawford
.”

“I don’t even know where he lives.”

“Malibu. But don’t worry about directions, they’ll send a car for you. Show plenty of skin. The Kennedys will be there.”

“The President?”

“He was supposed to stay in Palm Springs with Frank, but these days Sinatra’s too much of a political liability. He can’t really sleep in Frank’s house when his brother is trying to put all of Frank’s mafia friends in prison.”

I had forgotten all about this. I vaguely remembered the invitation but I hadn’t expected anything to come of it. “Why me?”

“You’re beautiful and you’re a novelty. Make the most of it.”

I tried to make sense of what he’d just told me. I was going to meet the President
and
Bobby Kennedy? I still remembered the good-looking senator with the million-dollar smile who had once visited my father’s club in Havana four years before. Now he wasn’t just the President of the United States, he was Jack Kennedy. How fast the world can change.

I sat there, stunned.

“I hear Reyes is back in town.”

“What?”

“I said, I heard Reyes is back in town.”

“Yes, he got back a couple of weeks ago. He’s had to fly to Miami again. He won’t be back for a week or two.”

“Perfect. It’s not the sort of party you can bring a date to.”

“You sound like a pimp, Ted.”

I wondered what Reyes would say if he heard I was going to a pool party with the country’s two most powerful men. He would probably make some smart joke about it.

Or perhaps he’d be jealous. I wished he would be jealous, it would teach him a lesson.

And then Angel walked in.

He was with three other men, clearly not movie people, though Angel was beautiful enough to be mistaken for a movie star. He wore a silk suit and more jewellery than me, every inch of him gangster. He looked me over, as all men did when they first saw me, then his expression changed when he recognised me.

He walked over. “Hey, baby, this is a surprise. Wow, you really look something.” He kissed me on the cheek, shook hands briefly with Ted then ignored him. “It’s good to see you again. I hear you’re doing real well, I always knew you would.”

“Thanks. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I like the movies, I come to LA once in a while to see people, maybe play some golf with Frank. The family still has a lot of friends in the entertainment business.” He looked me up and down, a more intimate inspection this time; my dressmaker didn’t even look that close. “You really are looking fine.”

“How’s Miami?”

“Most of Havana’s there now. You walk down Biscayne and it’s like walking along the Prado. They got a sign at Boyero Airport, “Will the last one out please turn off the lights.” That’s what people think of Fidel and his fucking Revolution, right?” He slid into the booth next to me even though I didn’t remember anyone inviting him to sit down. “So you going to be in another picture anytime soon?”

“I’ve just finished shooting a picture with Steve McQueen,” I said, happy to let him know there was more to life than being his mistress.

“Hey, that’s terrific, you’ll have your name up in lights this time next year.”

“I’m working on it.”

He lowered his voice. “I still miss you, baby, you know that? Maybe we could have dinner while I’m here.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He gave me a sulky look; it didn’t go with the suit. Poor Angel wasn’t accustomed to getting blown off. “Hey, well good luck with everything. When you’re a big star send me an invite to a premier or something.” He gave me a wolfish smile and was about to leave, then turned back as if he had just remembered something. “Hey, I hear you’re with Reyes these days.”

“Maybe,” I said and wondered how he knew. But of course he knew, he and Reyes knew the same people, that Jack Rubenstein, or Ruby, or whatever his name was, and Winstone and all those other spooks and crooks from his Havana days.

“Be careful with him,” he said.

“I can look out for myself.”

“Yeah? Because you know, this is what that guy does. You fall for him and he’ll break your fucking heart. He’s got a girl in Miami, you know that, right?”

Maybe I gave myself away, just for a moment, because I saw a flicker of satisfaction on his face.

“Well, I’ll see you around,” he said, and then he left to rejoin his three associates without even a glance in Ted’s direction.

Ted just stared at me. “Oh, my God. You know that guy?”

“We go way back.”

“But do you know who he is?”

“I even know who he was.”

Ted stared at her. “First Reyes and now Angel Macheda. You know some seriously heavy people for a young girl just starting out in the movie business.”

“I guess life would have turned out differently if I’d been born in Hackensack instead of Havana.”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been to Hackensack,” he said. He winced as he reached for his whisky sour. “When we shook hands I think he broke my fucking fingers.”

I didn’t care about Ted’s fingers, I was thinking about what Angel had said. Did Reyes have a woman in Miami? Well, of course he did, hadn’t I always expected something like that? So why did it hurt so much?

Hadn’t I always told myself not to get in too deep?

It seemed like it was already too late.

Chapter 27

A Cadillac pulled up outside my apartment at three o’clock, the logo on the side said: CAREY CADILLAC RENTAL COMPANY. A uniformed chauffeur got out and held the back door open for me. I climbed in.

This was it--I was going to meet the Kennedys.

I wondered what Papi would say if he saw me now.
Look at you, cariña, all grown up. What a thing you done with your life.”

I played with Papi’s ring, thought about us in that tiny flat in Little Havana, my coffee-stained uniform hanging up in the kitchen-bathroom, being Angel’s casual daytime whore to pay the medical bills. He’d always told me to watch out for Angel. “You were wrong about Reyes though,” I said to him.

“What’s that, ma’am?” the driver said over his shoulder.

“Nothing.”

He smiled and touched his cap. I had a chauffeur; I was a princess again.

A valet stepped up to open the door for me as soon as we drove through the gates. There were Secret Service guys all over the place.

Lawford’s wife, Patricia, was there to greet me at the door. “You must be Madeleine,” she said and shook my hand. “Call me Pat.”

She allowed herself a moment’s double take at my tight, black lace sheath dress. I had already decided that if I was going to meet the two most powerful men in America, I was going to make sure I got their attention. She led the way inside. “So pleased you could come. I’ve heard so much about you.”

I’d also heard a lot about the Lawford’s Malibu home; Ted called it the Western White House. It was enormous, all marble and stucco in the style of a Mediterranean-Spanish villa. I stood in the foyer staring around with my mouth open. I must have looked like I’d just stepped off the bus from Muskogee, because Pat smiled and said: “Would you like a tour?”

She led me into the living room. There was a huge, curving window with views right up and down the Pacific Palisades. They led onto a wrought iron balcony. There was a strong onshore breeze raising endless whitecaps as far as I could see up and down the coast. The sun on the ocean was so bright it hurt my eyes.

Some men and a horde of children were playing touch football down on the beach, surrounded by a pack of yapping dogs. Their laughter drifted to us over the pounding surf. “Peter's down there somewhere,” she said, waving a hand airily in the direction of the beach, “with the boys.”

The boys; I assumed she meant her brothers, the President of the United States and the Attorney General.

“Is Jackie here?” I said.

Pat gave me an incredulous look. “Of course not, that would spoil Jack's fun.” She stopped and looked me straight in the eye. “By the way, one thing I should mention. Did you know Marilyn?”

“I met her once,” I mumbled.

“Whatever you do, don’t mention her name to Jack or Bobby. It will kill the party. All right?”

I nodded and she led the way back inside.

“Louis Mayer built this place nearly forty years ago. There are thirty-foot pilings so if we ever have a tidal wave, everyone will drown but the house will still be here.”

I pointed to the vacant lot next door. “I guess you don’t know who your neighbours are going to be?”

“Oh, we did have neighbours once. They were Republicans so we had the National Guard blow it up. Let me show you the rest of the house.”