Hollywood Husbands (48 page)

Opening a large leather appointment book she scrawled in the arrangement.

He leaned over her desk. ‘How’re y’doin’?’

‘Okay,’ she replied primly.

She certainly looked okay. A lot better than when he’d tracked her down to that sleazy bar she was working at. Shit! Was she in lousy shape then.

One morning, a couple of months ago, he had woken up and suddenly remembered her telling him that she worked at Tito’s, a bar on Hollywood Boulevard. And it was like
bingo
! He thought he might amble over, collect his thousand bucks she was holding for him, and see how she was doing. Maybe he’d even get his dog back.

He hung around until Silver took off to appear in a charity fashion show, and then he was out of there. Silver had wanted him to come and watch her. ‘No way,’ he’d said. ‘Women in clothes bore me.’

‘You’re such a macho man!’ She had smiled affectionately, not really minding at all as long as he was waiting when she got home.

He drove the Roller to Hollywood, cruising along the seedy boulevard searching for Tito’s.

He found it conveniently located between a porno movie theatre and a sex aid shop. Nice neighbourhood.

The thought of leaving the Rolls-Royce on a meter made him nervous, so he drove to the nearest parking lot, where he tipped the Mexican attendant ten bucks to keep a special watch on it. The Mexican thought he was crazy and rolled his eyes.

‘You gonna do it, or shall I take my money back?’ Wes asked threateningly.

‘Sure, me do,’ sneered the attendant.

‘You’d better,’ he warned. ‘If I come back and there’s one single scratch on this car, I’ll slice your balls an shove ’em in an enchilada.’

He walked briskly to Tito’s, by-passing the porno shop although he was tempted to pop in and buy Silver a gift. She would love something rude. Maybe a peek-a-boo bra for her, and a jar of Tiger Balm for him. Tiger Balm was an aphrodisiac cream that supposedly got it up and kept it there. He remembered using it once when he was sixteen and going with a twenty-year-old raver who was very demanding. Locking himself in the bathroom, he had rubbed the cream on his cock. Ten strokes later and he came all over the floor. So much for Tiger Balm!

Wes had been in seedy bars in his time, but this one was a real lulu. The barman looked like he’d just been released from Attica. The customers – all six of them – looked like his cellmates. And a crusty old cashier, hunched over an ancient cash register, appeared to resemble Mae West’s grandmother – long platinum wig and all.

‘Five bucks floor show fee,’ she wheezed as he walked in.

‘What floor show?’

‘You wanna peek, ya gotta pay.’

Fishing out a ten, he waited for change that was not forthcoming.

‘Two drinks minimum,’ the old hag said, hitching at a faded scarlet dress covering withered breasts.

Over by the bar the escapee from Attica watched him suspiciously.

He slid onto a bar stool and asked for a beer. In strange locations he found it was always advisable to order something that couldn’t be watered down.

A tough-faced woman with badly dyed yellow hair and black fishnet stockings peeking from a fake leather mini-skirt appeared from nowhere and sat beside him. She fished a cigarette from her purse, stuck it in her mouth, and turned to him with what she obviously thought was a provocative expression.

‘Light?’

‘What?’

‘I wanna match fer my ciggie.’

Even at his lowest point he would never have second-glanced this one. Obligingly he took out his solid gold Gucci lighter – another present from Silver – and allowed the woman to suck on her cigarette until it glowed.

‘I’m looking for a girl called Unity,’ he said. ‘I understand she works here.’

‘Who says?’

‘She told me she works here.’

‘When?’

‘A short while ago. Does she?’

The woman shrugged. ‘Don’ ask me.’

Leaning across the bar he summoned the barman. ‘You got a girl called Unity here?’

‘Who’s askin?’

‘Shit!’ he said forcefully. ‘I feel like I’m in a friggin’ James Bond movie. Does she work here or not?’

The barman pointed to a door in the back. ‘Second booth.’

Taking a swig of beer, he eased himself off the stool and made his way through the door, which led into a dark, foul-smelling hallway. Along the wall were three closely spaced peephole windows, each one covered with heavy black-out shades. A man crouched in front of the last window along, obviously indulging in an activity most people did in private. Trying to ignore him, Wes paused in front of what he presumed to be booth two. A slot signalled the deposit of two dollars before the shade lifted. He put in the money and watched the action.

Unity appeared on the other side of the glass. He hardly recognized her, for this was a different Unity. Her pinched little face was covered with makeup, the Lennon specs were gone, and she had on a straw-coloured Tina Turner wig which made her look ridiculous.

She wore a red shiny skirt, white plastic boots, and a tight tee-shirt.

Lethargically she began to take it all off, revealing a leopard G-string and minuscule bra on a painfully skinny body.

He tried to attract her attention to let her know it was him, and that she didn’t have to do this. But the glass was obviously one-way and she couldn’t see him.

‘Goddammit!’ he muttered as she stripped off everything.

The black shade – on a two-minute timer – snapped shut.

Stalking outside, he grabbed the barman’s attention. ‘I don’t want to watch her,’ he said angrily. ‘I need to talk to her.’

‘Who?’

‘Unity, for crissake.’

‘She gets off at three.’

‘I have to speak to her
now
.’

The barman cleared phlegm from his throat and spat on the floor behind him. ‘It’ll cost ya.’

‘Everything costs in this joint. Are y’sure you don’t charge to take a piss?’

After a short discussion they came to a financial arrangement, and the barman went off to get her.

Unity. His uptight little neighbour. He had thought she was a waitress, not some peep-show hooker.

She came out a few minutes later, sulky-looking, with a long woollen sweater covering her ‘ready to strip’ outfit.

‘Remember me?’ he asked.

She stared at him, her expression a mixture of surprise and insolence. Before he could utter a word she blurted, ‘I spent the money. I didn’t think I’d see you again. And after the way they beat up on me, I reckon I deserved it.’

‘You spent
my money
?’ he asked, outraged. He might have given it to her, but the thought that she’d spent it without asking infuriated him.

‘I had to get out, didn’t I? What was I supposed to do, wait for ’em to come back?’

‘Wait for
who
to come back?’

‘Your drug friends. You should have warned me it was drug money.’

‘It wasn’t.’

‘Don’t give me that. I may look stupid, but I’m not.’

‘I’m tellin’ you, it was
not
drug money.’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t care either way. I spent it, an’ there’s nothing you can do about it.’ She continued to stare at him, daring him to do something.

Shaking his head he said, ‘You’re a fucking thief.’

‘And what are
you
– a boy scout?’

‘Jesus
Christ
!’

‘Can I go now? I’ve got to make a living, you know.’

‘Some living. Taking it off for a bunch of jerk-off artists.’

‘Maybe I should deal dope instead. Pays more, doesn’t it?’

They glared at each other.

‘Where’s Mutt?’ he demanded.

‘I’ve got him.’

‘I want him.’

‘No way.’

‘I can give him a good home now.’

‘Bully for you. He’s stayin’ with me.’

What a pain in the ass she was with her semi-cross eyes and stupid crazy wig. She’d stolen his money, wouldn’t give him back his dog, and apparently suffered no guilt about ripping off his thousand bucks.

‘What are you workin’ in a toilet like this for?’

‘Because it pays my rent.’

‘I’ll give you fifty bucks for Mutt.’

‘Mister Generous,’ she sneered.

‘He’s half mine anyway,’ he stated self-righteously. For some insane reason he had a burning desire to recover the dog they had once shared.

‘Sue me.’

Maybe it was the wig, or the place, but Unity was like a completely different person. It occurred to him that she might be high. ‘What are you on?’ he asked.

‘Fuck
you.
’

Grabbing her arm, he rolled up the sleeve of her sweater before she could stop him. And sure enough he found what he was looking for – a thin line of recent track marks.

She snatched her arm away with a jerk of fury. ‘Whyn’t you piss off out of here?’

‘When did y’start
this
charmin’ little habit?’

‘None of your goddamn business.’

‘I guess my thousand bucks financed you.’

Staring at him arrogantly, she said, ‘You could say it started me off. When your
friends
came in and beat the shit out of me, forcin’ me to move on, I figured why not? I had the money for once.’

He felt immediately responsible. And although he didn’t do anything about her that day, he went back twice to see her, finally suggesting that she give up her present lifestyle and come to work for him as a secretary.

‘
You
need a secretary!’ She hooted with mirth. ‘What for?’

‘Because I married well. My wife is Silver Anderson.’

‘No shit? And I’ve been dating Don Johnson!’

She took some convincing, but he was very persuasive. There was something waif-like and appealing about Unity – and he wanted to use a little of his good luck to try and get her back on the right track. He offered her a drying out period in a drug rehab clinic, and then the job.

‘We’ll have to tell Silver you’re my cousin. I don’t want to go into long explanations.’

Three weeks ago she had started work. The old Unity. Quiet and serious-looking, with her John Lennon shades, makeup-less heart-shaped face, and pulled-back light brown hair. It seemed to be working out well.

* * *

‘It’s a wrap,’ the first assistant announced, after the director had called ‘Cut’ on the set of
Romance
.

Silver swept off to her dressing room, trailed by her entourage of Nora – who now worked for her exclusively – Fernando, her hairdresser; Raoul, her makeup artist; and Iggi, her personal stylist and dresser.

Being a movie star again meant great luxury. Compared to the daily grind of episodic television it was absolute ecstasy. Silver adored every moment.

She had an expensively furnished and large dressing room three times the size of the rat-hole City Television had given her for emoting three days a week on
Palm Springs
. A rat-hole she would no longer have to languish in, thanks to the swift, no-nonsense negotiating clout of the admirable Zeppo White. Thank God she had listened to Wes, and returned to the all-encompassing power of Zeppo. Quinne Lattimore had been distraught – naturally. But as Wes so forcibly (she was crazy about his forcefulness) pointed out – business was business. And since she had never signed a formal contract with Quinne, she was free and clear.

Goodbye, Quinne.

Hello, Zeppo.

Wes took care of the details.

Zeppo had taken one look at her contract with City Television and thrown a fit. ‘Slave labour!’ he tut-tutted. ‘Shouldn’t be allowed. Whoever had you sign this should be shot!’

He knew perfectly well who allowed her to sign it. Quinne Lattimore. She felt sorry for him at first, but when Zeppo and Wes explained to her how she had been taken advantage of – money and perks-wise – she didn’t feel so sorry anymore.

Wes sat her down one day and gave her a lecture. ‘You’re a beautiful woman.’

She preened.

‘And a great actress and a wonderful singer.’

This was getting better. She loved compliments, especially from Wes, on whom she grew more dependent each day.

‘But you’re not getting any younger.’

Her smile turned to frost. She hated mention of her age. Forty-seven was only three years away from fifty. And fifty was only ten years away from sixty. And… oh God, she felt quite faint.

‘What are you trying to say?’ she asked icily.

Catching her vibes, he jested around before getting to the main point. ‘You’ll
always
be the sexiest broad on the block – no doubt about
that
. But I don’t want you bustin’ your ass in a few years’ time. I want you to be able to sit back an’ say fuck ’em – I don’t think I’ll work this year. And to be able to do that we’ve got to rake in the big money now. Quinne held you back a couple of years. With Zeppo we’ve gotta go for it. An’ we gotta go for it
now
.’

She recovered her composure. He was right. It might be quite a change to sit back and do nothing – when it suited
her
. ‘I agree,’ she said.

The thing is,’ he went on, ‘don’t freak out, but Zeppo is trying to break your contract with City Television.’

She was aghast. Appearing on
Palm Springs
three days a week was certainly hard work, but without it what would she do?
Romance
was not going to take forever, and she had nothing else lined up.

‘I enjoy doing
Palm Springs
,’ she said quickly. ‘And if Zeppo negotiates more money…’

‘
Palm Springs
got you back, made you a star again. Now you don’t need it anymore. Zeppo can keep you as busy as you want to be. He’s already talkin’ about an hour special with NBC. An’ he’s talkin’ mega-bucks. There’s a recording deal in the works. Commercials, endorsements. Christ, Silver, do you realize the money we can make?’

‘Are you
sure
?’ she asked tentatively. She suffered from every performer’s lack of confidence when it came to viewing her own future.

‘Yeah, I’m sure, otherwise I wouldn’t be talkin’ this way. Zeppo wants to explain everything to you himself – I figured I’d run it by you first.’

That conversation had taken place three months ago. And in those three months, everything Wes and Zeppo promised had happened. Right now she was in the midst of shooting
Romance.
True to his word, Zeppo had got her out of her contract with City Television. How he did it she had no idea. But the great thing was that she was to guest on
Palm Springs
four times a year – at her own convenience. And for that four weeks she was to receive the same amount of money they had been paying her for a full year.