Secrets (4 page)

Don't make it too tempting, Mel. She laughed her sultry laugh, and he felt a strange little thrill, both at the victory he hoped to achieve in wooing her for the part, and at just being with her. She was a very exciting woman, and that was why he wanted her for his show. He had always sensed that about her, and he felt it again now. But for a moment, he had to remind himself that wanted her for his show, and not just for his own entertainment.

I can make it a lot more tempting than that, Sabina. But I want you to read the script first. He was teasing her now, but that was a game she was good at.

And here I thought you invited me to lunch because you suddenly discovered I was the love of your life. She was teasing, but her eyes held a caress that almost choked him, and for a long moment he didn't answer.

I enjoyed seeing you again, Sabina. His voice was quiet, and she knew he meant it. And she enjoyed it too, whether she liked his script or not, and whether or not she ever decided to change her iron-clad position about doing television. For the moment, it didn't really matter. Give me a call when you've read it.

I will.

He jotted his home number down on a card for her, and signaled to the waiter for the check and she was sorry to see their lunch come to an end. She liked being with him.

By the way, who else have you got for this so far?

No one. He looked her straight in the eye. I'm starting with the most important part. I have to fill this one before I deal with the others. But I have some people in mind. I'm thinking of Zack Taylor for the male lead, and I think he might like it. He's free now too. He's in Greece at the moment, but I'll be talking to him in a few weeks when he gets back.

Sabina did not look displeased. Zack Taylor was one of the best-looking actors in the country, and his credentials were good. He had done everything from theatrical films to television to legitimate theater. He had even had a major success on Broadway a few years before. He would certainly be a strong counterpart for whoever took the role, and that appealed to Sabina. You don't go halfway, do you, Mel?

Never. He smiled and stood up and guided her gently through the tables until they were out-side on North Canon Drive. There was a children's shop next door, but he never looked at things like that now. He had no need to. He concentrated his gaze on Sabina. I enjoyed seeing you again ' not just for this' . She had the script in her hand, and he was carrying his now empty briefcase. His car was waiting at the curb, a Mercedes 600, driven by a man who had worked for him for years. The 600 was expensive and important and discreet, like Mel himself. And it had style. Just as he did. Call me, Sabina.

Her green eyes held his for a long moment and she smiled, completely forgetting the script in her hand. For a moment, she had completely forgotten Manhattan and all she could see was Mel, and how appealing he was. He was someone she would have liked to know better. I'll call' . and then her hand tightened on the script and he offered her a ride, but she declined with a smile that made him want her. There was a quality about her that drove him wild, a sensuality mixed with cool reserve that made you want to tear her clothes off, just to see what the rest of her looked like. He suspected that it looked damn good. And he wouldn't have cared if it didn't.

She waved as she headed back toward Rodeo Drive, and he watched her as his car pulled away from the curb and too quickly turned a corner, obscuring her from his sight. But the thought of her haunted him all afternoon, and he was no longer sure what he wanted from her. If he wanted her for his new show, or for himself, or both. All he knew was that he couldn't stop thinking about her.

Warwick had gone to three auditions on the same afternoon that Sabina was strolling back toward the Beverly Wilshire to retrieve her car and go home to swim in her pool before reading Mel's script for Manhattan. And unlike Sabina and Mel, he was not in a pleasant mood, nor was he feeling sensual, or as though life had something exciting in store for him, be it a part or an affair. He had been turned down at all three auditions and the last thing on his mind was getting laid. All he wanted was to get work. Anything. All he had left was eight hundred dollars in the envelope in his desk drawer, a dog that ate too damn much, and a wife who hadn't worked in almost a year, although she'd had a good role in a sitcom when they got married the year before. But she'd gotten canned six weeks later, and she hadn't even tried to get work since then. Nothing. She just sat on her ass day and night, and got stoned all the time. They hadn't made love in almost two months and she was so thin now she looked anorexic. She had started with diet pills years before, gone to uppers and speed, and then downers and heroin, and finally cocaine, and these days she was into speedballs, a mixture of heroin and cocaine that kept her high but gave her the illusion of making sense, but the truth was she didn't. And she was so badly hooked, he wondered if she'd ever be free of it.

He loosened his tie, and prepared to wait an hour for the bus, if he was lucky. They'd had to sell their car, a battered Volkswagen, and if he didn't pay the rent soon, they'd be out on their asses, which might be a relief in some ways. Maybe it would finally shake some sense into Sandy. She was twenty-five years old, and her life was going down the tubes in a hurry. And she'd been so damn cute when they met, all long black hair and big brown eyes, like a puppy. She was like a little girl. He still felt a gentle glow of tenderness when he thought of meeting her at a Hollywood party for the first time. She had looked like a lost child, and his heart melted the moment he saw her. She had seemed so helpless, and so unable to cope with the wolves who abounded in the business. The trouble was, she was still unable to cope with them, and in order to deal with the pressure, she got more and more addicted, and she expected Bill to solve all their problems. And now she expected him to make enough money to pay for her habit.

What do you expect me to do? Street mime, for chrissake? He remembered the fight they'd had only that morning, and he was sick of fighting with her. They'd been fighting for so long, and he was beginning to wonder if his parents were right. According to them, acting was for children, morons, and totally unstable people. Sandy was certainly no tower of strength, and he was beginning to wonder if he didn't have what it took. His demo reel, which showed pieces of commercials and television shows he'd acted in, had made the rounds of every studio, producer, director, and ad agency in Hollywood, and he wasn't getting anything from it. He had even shouted at his agent that afternoon. He had wanted to put him on The Dating Game, and Bill exploded at the suggestion.

God damn it, I'm married.

So who knows that? You two have kept it such a big secret, no one knows. And besides, you think anyone cares?

I do. But the question was, did Sandy? Did she care enough to clean up? He was beginning to wonder. She didn't seem to give a damn about anything, except her connection. All her money from the show had been blown, and she spent every dime of her unemployment on coke. It was a great life. And Harry was right, no one knew they were married because Sandy's agent thought it would ruin her ingenue image. So would the tracks on her arm, if anyone saw them.

As usual, the bus took forty minutes to arrive, and halfway home, Bill decided he couldn't face her. Couldn't face the unmade bed, the empty icebox, and last night's half-eaten enchiladas still sitting on the kitchen table. He hated going home these days. Even his dog looked unhappy. And he felt so fucking guilty. That was the worst of it. He kept thinking that if he made it big, he could put her in some fancy hospital and get her to clean up. But for the moment that was out of the question. He was thirty-two years old, married to a drug addict, and he was sick and tired of being an unemployed actor. He had been to every audition he'd heard of for months, and lately no one wanted him. He'd done two commercials earlier that year, big ones, thank God, but even that money had finally run out. There would be residuals eventually, but not for a long time, and in the meantime, he was going to have to start borrowing money from his agent. He had done it before, and Harry was always a good sport about it, crazy fool that he was. He was the one who always told Bill he'd make it big one day. But when? Christ, he needed the work now. Desperately. It was a word that was really beginning to apply to him. Bill Warwick was desperate.

He sat staring at the passing traffic as he rode along on the bus, and a mile before he reached the house in the Hollywood Hills, he decided to get off and stop in at Mike's for a quick beer. It was a place where he'd hung out for the last fourteen years, ever since he'd come to UCLA from New York, with all his bright hopes. He knew he was going to make it big then, he only wished he were as sure now. The only one who still believed that now was Harry, his agent.

He blinked for a minute as he walked into Mike's Bar. It was the same as it had always been, dingy, dark, reeking of beer, and filled with unemployed actors. Even the bartenders were actors he knew, including Adam, who was on duty now. He had gone to school with him, and they'd been casual friends for years. He knew Sandy too, although only slightly. Four good-looking young men in cutoffs and jeans were playing pool, and there were clusters of them at various tables, discussing parts they'd either gotten or auditioned for, or had heard about. There were a few women here and there, but the crowd was mostly men, and Bill sat down at the bar and ordered a beer from Adam and told him about his bad luck trying out for three executive roles in commercials. As they talked, Bill stretched his long legs in the khaki suit he was wearing. He felt as though he had walked miles, and for nothing.

One of them thought I looked too young, the other too sexy, and the third one wanted to know if I was queer. Terrific. I'm beginning to look like a baby-faced sex-crazed faggot.

Adam laughed. He had just gotten a small part appearing once on a series, and they had promised to have him back soon. But he had never been as ambitious as Bill Warwick. Most of the time, he was perfectly happy tending bar at Mike's, but he was amply familiar with the problems of the business.

And my agent wanted to put me on The Dating Game. I'm beginning to think my old man is right and I should have gone into insurance. He rolled his eyes at the thought, and Adam set the beer down in front of him.

Hang in there, kid. The biggest part of your life may be just around the corner.

You know Bill took a sip of his beer and looked sobered by his own thoughts I'm really beginning to wonder. It's kind of like playing the slot machines, maybe some people never win. Maybe I'm one of them. I just don't feel like there's anything out there for me anymore.

Bullshit. The bartender looked good-humored, but Bill looked exhausted and depressed, and the heat and rejections had obviously gotten to him. He still remembered summers on Cape Cod when he was a kid, and he had never quite adjusted to the heat of the California summers. Sandy had been born in L.A. and she loved it. Not that she felt the heat anymore. She didn't feel anything. How's Sandy? It was as though Adam had read his mind. But he could see instantly that the subject was not going to cheer Bill. He looked even more depressed as he shrugged.

Okay ' the same, I guess ' He looked bleakly up at Adam then, and their eyes met, I think we've about had it.

What about methadone? He also knew she'd been into heroin for a while. He'd seen enough of it to recognize the signs and she'd offered him some cocaine the last time she'd been in with Bill. And Bill had been so annoyed, they left shortly after. Adam was well aware of how much her addiction upset Bill, and he felt sorry for him. He knew what it was like himself. He'd been through it with a girl from Newport Beach several years before, and he'd finally given up on her after a year. Her parents had had her in every sanitarium and hospital in the state, and she'd finally OD'd in a sleazy hotel in Venice.

I don't know. I've suggested everything. She doesn't want to hear it. The only thing she's interested in is protecting her addiction. She doesn't even go to auditions anymore. There's no point anyway. She nodded out at the last one. Made a great impression on the director.

She's going to get a rep for that if she doesn't watch out. Even Adam looked sobered. He knew she already did. And Bill sat in silence, as Adam went to serve someone else. Eventually, Bill ordered a hamburger, and it was eight o'clock before he got on the bus again, and twenty minutes later he was home. He walked in, expecting to find Sandy asleep, nodding out after a fix, or high as a kite after getting some cocaine from her connection. But instead, the house was empty, the usual disorder was everywhere, the bed unmade, the dishes unwashed, their clothes intertwined on the floor and Bill's Saint Bernard exploding with glee as Bill came through the door and he saw him.

Hi, old guy ' where's Sandy? The dog wagged his tail, pushing against Bill's legs with his enormous head, hungry for affection. There was no note to explain her whereabouts, but it was easy to figure out that she'd either gone out with her friends, or alone in search of drugs, or to meet up with her connection. It was the only full-time job she had these days and it was more time-consuming than her acting. His eyes met a photograph that had been taken of them the year before, just before he'd married her, and it startled him suddenly to see the difference in her. She had lost at least fifteen pounds, if not twenty, and there was a glazed look in her eyes almost all the time now. Her hair was always unkempt and she didn't seem to care what she wore. Either she was high, or she was out looking for drugs, too sick to care what she looked like. It was pathetic, and he felt a familiar surge of anger just thinking of her. He began cleaning up the mess himself, as the dog followed him with wagging tail, hoping for something to eat, but there wasn't even dog food in the house, Bill realized as he opened the cupboard where they kept his food. He opened up two cans of beef stew instead and dumped them in the dog's bowl. The huge Saint Bernard lapped them up with relish as Bill piled the dishes in the sink and threw out the rotting food that she had just left sitting in the kitchen.