Hollywood Husbands (47 page)

Bye-bye Eddie
.

She was going to tell Uncle Jack she wanted to transfer from her high school. Better still, stay out altogether and become a professional singer – with concerts, and gold records, and personal appearances – the whole deal.

As the last stragglers left she turned to Rocky in the debris of a once perfect house.

‘Sit down,’ she said, determined that
someone
was going to hear her tapes. ‘And listen.’

* * *

Driving along the Pacific Coast Highway, Jack broke the speed limit with reckless abandon. He let the Ferrari rip, tearing up the road with a cool forcefulness.

The dawn light was breaking, casting a pale glow along the coastline. Traffic was light and he enjoyed the effortless drive. New York seemed like a dream. In. Out. It was almost as if he’d never been there.

Humming softly to himself he arrived at the Trancas house in record time.

* * *

‘This is not bad,’ Rocky said grudgingly. ‘Kinda catchy.’

She had played him the slow tape of her new song; now she decided to try him with some good old rock and roll. She put on the fast stuff and waited for his reaction. While she was busy watching Rocky, lolling in a leather chair smoking a recreational joint, Jack walked in.

Rocky noticed him first. ‘Hey—’ he began, starting to sit up. ‘Aren’t you—’

‘What the
fuck
is going on here?’ Jack asked coldly.

Somewhere in the Midwest…

Sometime in the seventies…

The girl ran from her foster home. She ran at night and she ran fast, having first stolen three hundred dollars from a savings stash she had discovered hidden behind a sack of flour in the kitchen.

She was still only a teenager, but she looked older than her years and attractive, in spite of cheap clothes and amateurish makeup.

It did not take her long to find a job in the city she ran to. Working behind the toiletry counter of a five-and-dime store gave her enough money to rent a room, and just about scrape by.

The manager of the store liked her. He was a short man with a bulbous nose and two fingers missing from his left hand. Middle-aged and married, he watched her constantly. She hadn’t been working there two weeks when he trapped her in the back room and stuck his hand – the one with the missing fingers – up her skirt.

She shoved him off and told him he was a pig. Her angry words only seemed to excite him more, and he continued to chase after her.

The girl tried to ignore him, but he was persistent, and never seemed to leave her alone.

One day his wife came to the store. The woman was even shorter than her husband and quite fat. A fine black moustache decorated her upper lip.

The manager behaved himself that day, which was a relief. Only the next day he was twice as bothersome, and the girl found herself complaining to the driver of one of the delivery trucks.

‘I know how y’can deal with
him
,’ the young driver said. ‘Meet me after work an’ I’ll tell yer.’

She met him. And one thing led to another, and before long she found herself going out with the driver, who was called Cheech, and seemed decent enough, although he had a bad case of acne and never bathed.

Of course he wanted One Thing. The girl knew by now that all men wanted One Thing. And she also knew what could happen when you gave in, so she vigorously rejected his advances.

Cheech was not used to being turned down. In spite of the acne and the body odour, girls loved him. He was a real loverboy. Cheech always made out. ‘I can’t see you no more if’n ya don’ give me no lovin’,’ he warned her.

‘Okay,’ she replied.

‘Okay
what
?’ He was startled by her cool attitude.

‘Don’t see me.’

The girl puzzled Cheech. She must be… what was the word he’d heard Jane Fonda use in some movie?

Frigid – yeah, frigid, that was it.

They stopped seeing each other.

One day the store manager came into the ladies’ room while she was sitting on the toilet. ‘Get out!’ she screamed.

It was after six, and the other staff had gone home for the night.

‘You don’t fool me,’ the short man said. ‘You want it. I’ve seen you looking at me with your hot eyes.’

He was on her before she could pull up her pants.

For a moment she was caught off balance as he lunged for her, shoving his fat hand between her legs.

She saw that his penis was out, protruding from his trousers like a fat white slug.

With all her strength she jammed her knee up, catching him in the balls.

‘
Aaiieee!
’ he screeched, doubling over.

She ran from the store and never returned.

Two weeks later Cheech turned up at her rooming house. ‘Why didn’t yer tell me you was leavin’?’ he asked.

‘Why should I?’ she replied.

Grabbing her around the waist he said the words she had been waiting to hear. The words that would protect her from the world forever. ‘Let’s get hitched.’

They were married two days later in a civil ceremony. She told him she was nineteen and an orphan. They were well suited, for his only relative was an older brother whose house they moved into.

Cheech wanted sex five minutes after they walked through the front door, and she obliged, because now she was his wife she could hardly keep on saying no.

He pulled her into the small room they were to share and lifted her skirt. Then, pushing her down on the narrow bed, he went to work, grunting all the time.

‘Yer not a virgin,’ he said, after a minute.

‘I never said I was.’

‘
Fuck
me!’ he screamed angrily. ‘Yer not a fuckin’ virgin. Yer tricked me, bitch!’

He slapped her hard, and continued to cuss and scream.

Cheech never recovered from what he referred to as her ‘trickery and lies’. But his anger did not stop him from thrusting himself upon her every night, and sometimes in the morning too.

His brother was a surly fellow, with a common-law wife who came and went when it suited her. She worked as an exotic dancer, and refused to do a thing around the house, so the girl found herself cleaning and washing, shopping and cooking for everyone. Including Cheech’s brother’s friend Bryan, who stayed over on Friday nights after their beer and poker binges. Bryan was a huge man. Six feet two inches tall, and three hundred pounds wide. He had long hair, matched by an unruly beard, and a permanent sneer.

The girl soon realized that marrying Cheech was a mistake; however, it was better than being alone. She suffered in silence, accepting her fate as inevitable. At least she had a husband, and that was something.

It was on a Friday night, shortly before Christmas, that she sensed danger in the air. Cheech came home drunk, waving a half-full bottle of scotch – a seasonal present from his employer. His brother arrived shortly after, angry because his common-law wife had phoned him at work to inform him she had met another man and was never coming back. By the time Bryan got there, both Cheech and his brother were drunk. It didn’t take Bryan long to catch up.

The girl hovered in the kitchen nervously. She served them a meal of fried steak and potatoes, and then got out of their way by shutting herself in the small room she shared with Cheech.

Outside, the three of them were laughing bawdily and shouting at each other. Soon she knew that Cheech would come in and crawl all over her. At least he was quick, and when he was finished she could shut her eyes and seek solace in sleep.

Sure enough, no more than twenty minutes later, he staggered in, drunkenly mumbling under his breath.

She steeled herself to accept his advances as he lunged on top of her. No preliminaries for Cheech – he went right for the goal, chafing against her dryness.

‘There’s somethin’ wrong with ya,’ he grunted disgustedly. ‘Yer got no juice.’

Silence.

‘I’m talkin’ to ya,’ he screamed, slapping her across the face, as he had taken to doing a lot lately.

She tried to sit up, but he pushed her roughly back on the narrow bed. ‘Yer’ll go when I say so.’

He slapped her again, and once more thrust into her.

With a weary sigh she let go and relaxed. The sooner it was over the sooner he would leave her alone.

Alcohol had slowed him down, and he could not maintain an erection. With a steady stream of curses he fell off her. ‘It’s yer fault,’ he muttered angrily.

His brother pounded on the door. ‘What’s goin’ on in there?’ he shouted in a slurred voice. ‘Thought we was goin’ t’a bar.’

‘I’m comin’,’ yelled Cheech irritably, standing up and zipping his fly. ‘You’ve given me a belly ache, bitch. Yer nothin’ but a prick-tease.’

He stormed out, and she thought it was over.

Five minutes later his brother entered the room. ‘Why’ja havta upset Cheech?’ he whined.

‘I didn’t do anything,’ she said softly.

‘He’s not so bad to ya, is he?’ the brother asked, sitting on the side of the narrow bed.

‘No,’ she lied.

‘He feeds ya, puts clothes on ya.’

‘Yes.’

His big hand swooped over and enclosed her left breast.

Shrinking back against the wall she whispered, ‘Please don’t touch me.’

Whiskey breath enveloped her. ‘I gotta do it. I gotta see if yer normal. Cheech says ya ain’t.’

His fleshy mouth descended on hers, while his hands worked on dragging her legs apart.

She began to struggle as she felt the full weight of him. And then she started to scream with fury and frustration as he plunged inside her.

‘Cheech’s right. Yer a dumb bitch,’ he slurred, pinning her arms to the side with a show of macho strength.

‘And you’re a dumb bastard,’ she responded gamely, in spite of the pain he was inflicting.

‘Doncha call
me
names, cunt.’ He hit her twice, across the face, quieting her futile struggle. And then he finished what he had started with an animal growl of satisfaction.

When he got off her she touched her mouth and discovered blood seeping from the corner. She explored with her tongue and felt a loose tooth. Her breasts were sore, and both eyes were swollen and blackened. It was another nightmare. There had been too many in her short life.

Shakily she attempted to sit up. Before she could, Bryan entered the room. They stared at each other warily. Bryan was drunk; if he had been sober she might have been able to talk him out of what he was about to do.

‘No!’ She shook her head as he approached her. ‘No! Please, no!’

He didn’t say a single word as his huge bulk crushed her beneath him.

She must have passed out, for when she came to she was lying in the back of Cheech’s panel truck, and she could hear the three of them in the front, talking.

‘We’ll throw her right in the middle of the city dump.’ She recognized Cheech’s voice.

‘Naw’ – his brother talking – ‘the river’s better.’

‘Ya stupid fuckers,’ snarled Bryan. ‘We coulda got a prostie for twenny bucks.’

‘You fuckin’ did it,’ accused Cheech. ‘Ya fuckin’
smothered
her to death.’

If she had known fear before, it was nothing compared to now. Her skin crawled with clammy horror as she realized that, when she lost consciousness, in their drunken state they must have thought she was dead, and that they had killed her. And now they were disposing of her body.

Shivering uncontrollably she decided not to put them out of their misery.

Twenty minutes later the truck ground to a halt. The three of them were still arguing among themselves, deciding on alibis and explanations in case anyone asked awkward questions.

Cheech finally did his own summing up. ‘She was just a nobody – who’s gonna notice she’s not around anymore?’

Grunts of agreement as they manhandled her body from the truck and flung it into a deep pit of garbage.

As she fell she knew the revenge she would take.

And six weeks later she did.

Lighting the first match was easy…

BOOK FOUR

Hollywood, California

November 1985

Chapter Sixty-Eight

‘Andermon Productions,’ Unity said into the white telephone. ‘Just one moment, please.’

She tapped on the glass window of the pool house, attracting Wes’s attention as he lounged outside catching the winter sun – which in California is sometimes just as hot as the summer.

‘Who?’ he mouthed.

‘Mr Samuels. Revolution Pictures.’

He made the effort and ambled into the pool house office to take the call.

In three months, Wes Money had learned a lot. He had taken over Silver’s career with a vengeance, and although Zeppo White was her official agent, Wes himself was her personal manager, and went over every deal with a street-sharp eye.

‘Harry, baby.’ He had learned the lingo right away. ‘Have you rethought our deal?’

Harry obviously had, for they spoke for five minutes, and ended with a luncheon date.

‘Put me down for a twelve-thirty at the Palm on Wednesday,’ he told Unity, hanging up.