Hollywood Husbands (68 page)

‘We’re unfinished business. And there is no way I am letting you marry that jerk tomorrow. No way at all.’

Chapter Ninety-Four

Clarissa left the powder room, her pale face impassive. She ignored the activity around her – giggling women dressed to the hilt, two belly-dancers hurrying to their makeshift dressing room, waiters rushing back and forth.

She headed down the corridor, away from the noise of the party, entering the part of the large yacht where the staterooms were located.

She was approaching Zachary Klinger’s private suite when a uniformed security guard stopped her.

‘Can I help you, Ms. Browning?’

‘You startled me!’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I suppose you’re just doing your job.’

He grinned happily – after a night of solitary boredom he was finally meeting a star. ‘Sure am!’

‘I bet you’re an actor,’ she said.

‘How’d you know that?’

‘We all had to moonlight at one time or another.’

‘You too?’

She smiled. ‘Me too. What have you done?’

‘A few television shows. It doesn’t pay the rent. I’ve been doubling with this job for three years.’

‘You’ll get a break.’

‘D’you think so?’

‘It happens.’

‘From your lips…’

‘Can you do me a favour?’

By this time he was ready to do anything she asked. ‘Name it.’

‘One of my future projects takes place on a yacht.’

‘No, really?’

‘It’s true.’

‘Is there a role for me?’ he asked boldly.

‘You never know…’

He’d heard stories about Clarissa Browning being aloof and difficult to work with. This woman standing before him was so nice and natural. Friendly too, not at all a big movie-star phoney.

‘There’s just a little information I need,’ she said lightly. ‘Perhaps you can give me a quick tour. Nobody will miss you, will they?’

‘I’m not supposed to leave my post.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘But for you—’

She smiled. ‘Thank you.’

Chapter Ninety-Five

‘Mr Klinger wants to meet you.’

‘He does?’ Heaven’s eyes were wide saucers of surprise. ‘Why?’ She was still recovering from her exciting encounter with Penn Sullivan, who Rocky had frozen out with a baleful glare. ‘Catch you later,’ Penn had said as he left, giving her hope for the future.

Beverly grinned. ‘I guess he gets off on your music. C’mon, girl, he’s waiting.’

‘Me too?’ asked Rocky hopefully.

‘Nope. But hang around, big boy – if Central Casting ever sees you, you’ve got a job for life!’

As she spirited Heaven off, Wes appeared. ‘What are
you
doin’ here?’ he demanded of Rocky.

‘Hey – hey – hey. The big time only suitable for
Mister
Anderson? I found the kid, y’know. I like – discovered her.’

Wes couldn’t conceal his amazement. ‘
You?
’

‘Yeah,
me
. Ya think I’m not good enough or somethin’? I’m makin’ it too.’ Rocky smoothed down the lapels of his rented white tuxedo, his muscles bulging. ‘An’ while we’re talkin’, the word is out you’re cat food if you don’ pay back the money ya owe.’

‘I don’t owe
one fuckin’ dollar
,’ Wes said angrily. ‘I was set up – you know that better than anyone. A fine friend
you
turned out to be.’

‘I told ya t’be careful,’ Rocky said sulkily.

‘I was. An’ that’s why I’m here today. An’ they ain’t gettin’ back
one thin dime
of the bucks they planted on me. Fuck ’em. Let’s see what they can do about it.’

‘Blow you away,’ Rocky muttered.

‘Just let ’em try. I’m ready.’

* * *

‘I can get into Los Angeles once a month,’ Senator Richmond said, devouring Whitney’s delectable flesh with ravenous eyes. ‘No problem.’

‘Why would you want to?’ she asked demurely, her breasts rising and falling, nearly escaping from the confines of her sprayed-on dress.

‘Because I’ve met you,’ he said with deep sincerity. ‘And you’re special.’

Lowering her eyes she murmured, ‘What a lovely compliment.’

‘Why don’t we go downstairs to one of the staterooms where we can talk properly?’ he suggested. ‘There’s so many people here, so many interruptions. I’d really like to get to know you better.’

‘Well… I don’t want to miss the fireworks display. I understand it’s going to be spectacular. I’ve always loved fireworks, haven’t you?’

‘My passion,’ he said, glancing at his watch. ‘They’re not due to go off until midnight. We have an hour.’

* * *

There was something about being on a boat, confined for hours on end, that Mannon didn’t like. It gave him a trapped feeling, which indeed he was. Everywhere he went there were the same familiar faces with the same predictable questions.

What film are you doing next?

Who’s producing?

Who’s directing?

Who’s your co-star?

Quite frankly, he’d had the movie business for the time being. He needed to take a long vacation with Melanie-Shanna and the baby. He needed to go someplace where they didn’t even know what a movie
was
.

In the distance he saw Howard approaching. Manic Howard Soloman, whose outrageous coke habit was the talk of the town.

‘Can we have a word together privately?’ Howard requested.

‘What do you suggest we do – jump off the deck and swim alongside?’ Mannon said sarcastically.

Howard didn’t crack a smile. ‘It’s a serious matter.’

‘I’ll be back in a moment, sweetheart,’ Mannon said to Melanie-Shanna.

Howard walked with him to a quiet spot along the main deck. ‘Bad news,’ he said soberly. ‘I’m gonna give it to you straight. Norman Gooseberger died tonight.’

‘What?’

‘Complications. An internal haemorrhage. I don’t know…’

‘Jesus Christ! Does this mean
I’m
responsible?’

‘Technically – yes. In the real world – no. I’m taking care of it. Paying off the right people. It’ll be fixed.’

‘And I’ll be forever in your debt. Is that what you’re trying to say?’

Howard shrugged philosophically. ‘Hey – that’s what friends are for.’

Angrily Mannon stared down at the dark, cold water rushing by. ‘I let you talk me into a cover-up,’ he said bitterly. ‘You promised me everything was going to be all right.’

‘Listen, sport, I’m not God. I didn’t kill the poor bastard –
you
did. You wanna come out in the open now? Is that it? You wanna play Truth and Consequences an’ let the media rip you to shreds? Be my guest.’

Mannon leaned over the side and began to sob.

Embarrassed, Howard turned away.

* * *

‘Nice to meet you, Heaven.’

‘You too, Mr Klinger.’

He peered at her intently, searching for a clue. She was pretty in spite of her outlandish makeup, hair and clothes. But he couldn’t spot any striking resemblance.

‘I understand your record is doing extremely well.’

‘Zoomin’ up there. Like it’s number two with a bullet. Which means by next week it could be—’ She paused to draw a huge expectant breath. ‘Number one!’

‘I hope so.’

‘Yeah! What a blast!’

‘Heaven.’

‘Yes, Mr Klinger.’

‘I have some information that I think you should know.’

‘Yes, sir?’ She waited expectantly, quite awed to be in the presence of such an important and powerful man.

‘Er… there seems to be a possibility – only a possibility, mind you – that I might be your father.’

Chapter Ninety-Six

The breeze was cool on her face. She knew what she was doing, and she had no regrets. They all deserved it. Every one of them.

IT’S TOO LATE FOR JUSTICE
.

Really, Howard. Is that what you think?

BELIEVE ME, CLARISSA BROWNING IS A GRADE A CUNT.

Thank you, Whitney. It takes one to know one
.

YOU’LL END UP DOING ART MOVIES IN SIBERIA
.

Better than ever having to do anything for you again, Howard.

HE SAYS CLARISSA WAS A BAD NIGHTMARE
.

Did Mannon say that? Poor Mannon, he doesn’t know what a nightmare is. Yet.

ONE WORD OF THE TRUTH AND IT’S OVER FOR YOU.

And you, Howard. And all your Hollywood friends.

SHE WOULD HAVE MADE HIM NOTHING BUT MISERABLE
.

You should know, Whitney. You tried for long enough. Now you’ll never make anyone miserable again.

I’LL PERSONALLY SEE TO IT, ALONG WITH ZACHARY KLINGER AND MOST OF THE OTHER PEOPLE ABOARD THIS YACHT TONIGHT.

Will you, Howard. Will you?

Lighting the first match was easy…

Epilogue

February 1986

Seven weeks later

There were two major events taking place in Hollywood on a cool weekend in February 1986.

The first was a funeral.

The second, a wedding.

Some people felt obliged to attend both. Although, of course, they changed outfits for each occasion
.

* * *

Compared to what took place on
Klinger II
, the night of December 31, 1985, the impact of
True Life Scandal
hitting the stands a few days later was considerably diminished. Who cared about Silver Anderson’s indiscretions when an entire yacht – filled with Hollywood celebrities – had been blown sky high the night of Zachary Klinger’s exclusive New Year’s Eve party.

No movie could beat
this
story. A desperate struggle for survival in the cold night sea, while explosions rocked the luxurious yacht, raging fires spread from one end of the boat to the other – and an insane fireworks display gone wrong shot rockets and stars, blazing wheels and jumping crackers into the dark sky.

This was the most headline-making drama possible, with the most expensive cast ever assembled. Every ingredient was there. And the world couldn’t get enough.

The horrific accident was quite obviously sabotage. Investigators sifting through the debris of the gutted vessel found traces of rags soaked in gasoline near each of the firework displays, and elsewhere on the boat.

The tragedy was not caused by one fire, but by a series of them, set by a person or persons unknown to cause the maximum amount of damage. Obviously, by sparking the fireworks – resulting in explosions and chaos – mass mayhem and panic took place. Fortunately, the lifeboats had been successfully launched, otherwise the tragedy could have been infinitely more serious.

Now, seven weeks later, things were finally quietening down. And today, after the wedding and the funeral, maybe the focus would shift from Hollywood and people could resume their normal lives.

The funeral was due to take place at eleven o’clock, the wedding at three in the afternoon. There was plenty of time to attend both.

* * *

Poppy Soloman, draped in black Saint Laurent, glanced anxiously at Howard standing next to her at the Forest Lawn cemetery. He looked all right, a touch pale. It was taking some getting used to – seeing him without his hairpiece – but at least he was well again.

Howard had suffered a heart attack the night of the accident. Huddled in the lifeboat, he had suddenly clutched his chest and started to groan. By the time they were picked up by rescue teams, he was unconscious. She had thought he was dead.

The last few weeks had not been easy. He had been rushed straight to the hospital, and Poppy found herself alone – unprepared and frightened.

His doctors had been embarrassingly frank with her, talking about his cocaine problem as if she knew all about it.

She’d had no idea he took drugs. Oh, the shame!

When Howard recovered, he told her he was stepping down as head of Orpheus.

Poppy saw her whole world crumbling. ‘Why?’ she wailed.

He’d looked at her for a long time, and finally said, ‘If it doesn’t suit you, Poppy, we can separate. I don’t need the pressures any more.’

She’d thought about what he’d said, and then she’d thought about life without him. True, she loved being the wife of a studio head, but that wasn’t the only reason she was with Howard. She loved her husband. It was as simple as that.

* * *

Nearby, Melanie-Shanna and Mannon held hands. It had been a terrible few weeks. Mannon had insisted on standing up and taking full responsibility for Norman Gooseberger’s death, only nobody wished to prosecute him. ‘An unfortunate accident,’ said the Mexican police. ‘There is no case.’ And that was that.

He had behaved like a hero the night of the yacht disaster. Along with Jack Python and Senator Richmond he had helped to launch the lifeboats, and after seeing that Melanie-Shanna was safely aboard, had bodily thrown frightened, screaming women into them. After that he had dived repeatedly into the sea to rescue survivors with horrible burns who had flung themselves into the water. Carmel Gooseberger was one of the people he saved. Somehow that made him feel better.

There had been five fatalities. Four bodies discovered within days.

Funerals for Chuck Nielson, a security guard, and two waiters had taken place almost immediately. The Chuck Nielson funeral had been a lavish affair, with many touching speeches from producers and directors who had refused to employ him for the last year and a half of his life. The only genuine gesture was from Whitney Valentine, who laid a single red rose on his coffin and wept discreetly.

And now the fifth victim was being buried – Hollywood-style. The body had washed up on shore and been found by a beachcomber only a few days ago.

* * *

Senator Peter Richmond attended the latest funeral as a mark of respect. Never underestimate the glamour connection between politics and Hollywood. The public loved it.

Besides, the funeral gave him an excuse to visit Whitney Valentine. She stood nearby, her blonde hair shrouded by a black lace veil, her brilliant eyes shielded by opaque dark glasses. Next to her stood Kellie Sidney, and then Zeppo White. Ida had been the unfortunate recipient of an exploding firework in her face. She was lucky not to have lost the sight in her left eye. Currently she was undergoing extensive plastic surgery.