Gina thrust out her formidable bosom, determined to dominate the conversation. “When I was in Vietnam entertaining the troops, some of the guys kept twelve-year-old hookers as pets. Can you imagine.” She paused, then added hurriedly, “Of course, I was only a teenager myself.”
Ross shot a quick look at Sadie. Her strong dark eyes met his and did not waver. He tried to stare her out but could not make it. Bitch.
Buddy glanced restlessly around the restaurant. Much as he enjoyed being in such illustrious company, he would sooner be home waiting for Angel’s phone call. He excused himself from the table with a muttered “I gotta make a call.” Then he checked with his newly acquired answering service. “Any messages?”
“One moment, Mr. Hudson.”
Angel had called him back! And he wasn’t even home! He hoped she had left her number.
“Shelly phoned you,” said the message service lady. “She wants you to return her call immediately. She said it was extremely urgent.” He took down the number and slumped with disappointment. He would have ignored Shelly’s call but for the fact that it might have something to do with Angel, so he sprang for another dime.
Shelly answered on the second ring, her voice flat, stoned, and frightened. “You gotta get over here quick, Bud,” she mumbled. “I think Randy’s dead.”
54
“Mrs. Nita Carrolle?” Deke asked politely.
“Who wants her?” crowed the old woman suspiciously, glaring at Deke, who stood on her doorstep, shaven head gleaming in the early-morning sun.
“A friend in Barstow suggested that I stop by and see her.” “Barstow!” she cackled. “I never had no friends in Barstow, sonnyboy.”
“Are you Mrs. Carrolle, then?”
“I sure as fanny ain’t Ava Gardner!” She placed one fat hand coyly on her hip. “Who sent you? Charlie Nation, I bet. He was hardly a friend—more of a son of a bitchin’ louse.” She roared with laughter.
“I’m Charlie’s son,” Deke lied.
“Charlie’s son!” she screamed. “No kiddin’? C’mon in, sonnyboy, tell me all about the bum. He still spend half his life at the track?”
It was that easy to enter Nita Carrolle’s house, where she lived with two yapping poodles and a plethora of frills and flounces.
Nita Carrolle was fat. Her arms were fat. Her legs were fat. Her chins wobbled dangerously. And beneath a voluminous caftan lurked more fat.
She was also old. Seventy or eighty, it was hard to tell. Grotesque makeup covered her leathery skin, a slash of vermilion lipstick, beads of sticky mascara, green eyeshadow that lay like leaded paint in the cracks of her eyelids. Dyed yellow hair swirled around her head. There were pearls at her throat, diamonds in her ears, jangling bracelets on each fat wrist, and an assortment of fancy rings.
She steered him toward a stuffed velvet loveseat, inquiring warmly, “How is the little worm? I ain’t seen Charlie in years.”
“He passed away,” Deke said tonelessly.
She visibly sagged. “Passed away,” she repeated blankly. “Old Charlie? Sonnyboy, they’ll never be a better louse on this earth.” She plucked a lace handkerchief from the folds of her caftan and blew her nose. “The old biddy is still going strong though, I bet,” she said, when she’d recovered.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Givin’ you a hard time, huh?” she asked sympathetically, blowing her nose again.
He nodded.
She pulled herself together. “So—what you got for me? He always promised me his diamond pinky when he went. You bring it with you? Is that why you’re here?”
“Do you live alone?” he asked politely.
“Just me an’ the doggies. Why?”
“Because I want to stay for a while.”
“Y’can stay as long as y’like.” She shook her head sadly. “Your daddy used to talk about you all the time. And your sister—what was her name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Huh?”
He stared at her. Expressionless eyes in a pale face. His shaven head adding a sinister starkness.
She made a soft noise in her throat. A very small noise for such a fat person. “You’re not Charlie’s son, are you?”
“No,” he replied calmly.
She gathered her strength and courage. “Then who in hell are you?”
He reached for his knife in one easy motion, and tested the blade on the tip of his finger. A spot of blood appeared.
“That’s what you are going to tell me,” he said calmly.
55
“I gotta split,” Buddy whispered in Sadie’s ear.
“What are you talking about?” she demanded in a low voice. “This may be a boring dinner but it is also an important one.”
“I know that,” he continued sotto voce. “But this friend of mine is in trouble an’ I have to help out.”
“In this business the only friend you have is yourself.”
He shrugged. “They’re not gonna throw me off the movie ’cause I didn’t stay for dinner.”
He made his excuses and strode quickly from the restaurant.
Sadie frowned. His career hadn’t even started yet, and already he was being difficult.
Gina pouted. She was not used to turndowns. Buddy intrigued her.
Ross was pissed off. Buddy’s early exit meant that he would have to stick around longer than he wanted.
Montana just wished that it were she making the early getaway.
Pusskins didn’t care either way. As long as the booze flowed he was happy.
• • •
Elaine clicked the television remote and stared at Merv Griffin. She adored Merv. He was so comforting and warm, full of gossip and fun. Sometimes she felt closer to Merv than to anyone in the whole world. He was always there, the same time every night. Reliable, dependable, and friendly.
Much as she loved Merv, tonight he could not hold her attention. The smell of Little S. Schortz was in her nostrils. Cheap after-shave, stale sweat, and sour hunger. The horrible little man’s image danced before her eyes as she leaned across the bed and reached for a large tumbler of vodka.
Ah! The clear sharp taste. So bittersweet and refreshing. She allowed a piece of ice to slip into her mouth, and sucked on it for a moment, enjoying the cold shock.
Little S. Schortz had certainly produced the goods. Pictures of darling Ross that would never grace the covers of Life or Ladies’ Home Journal. Even Playgirl would balk at using them. “Too much cock,” they would say. Hmmm, Elaine thought with a wicked drunken smile, was there ever such a thing?
She hiccupped in a most unladylike manner. One advantage about living alone, you didn’t have to look your best. You could cover yourself in bees’ come from head to toe and there was no one around to complain. She slathered on some more of the face cream Ross hated.
Little S. Schortz wanted ten thousand dollars.
She didn’t even have enough cash to pay the maid.
“I must have an answer by the weekend,” he had said. “I’ll be back.”
It occurred to Elaine that she could summon the police. Blackmail was an offense. They would lock the revolting little man away.
Only she was smart enough to realize it didn’t quite work that way. Some grubby lawyer would bail him out, the photos would become a cause célèbre, and everyone would know about Ross Conti and Karen Lancaster. She would become the laughingstock of Beverly Hills, not to mention the rest of the world.
With a rush of determination she picked up the phone.
“Maralee Gray here,” said her friend’s dulcet tones.
Elaine took a deep breath. “Maralee darling,” she said unevenly, “can you lend me ten thousand dollars?”
• • •
Shelly answered Buddy’s insistent buzz by opening the door an inch and peering through the crack.
He pushed past her into the stuffy apartment.
“Am I glad you’re here,” she said excitedly. “I’m gettin’ out.”
She did not argue, just slumped to the floor cradling her head in her hands. “I told him it was too much,” she mumbled. “I warned the crazy fuck, but he wouldn’t listen to me. And I know about drugs, man. Jesus. I know. My old lady was a junkie.”
He ignored her and approached Randy’s unclothed body. One arm dangled limply off the bed. Gingerly he lifted the wrist and felt for a pulse. There was none. He rolled Randy onto his back and stared at death.
For a moment he was in San Diego. The morgue. Tony. The smell of formaldehyde.
Vomit rose in his throat. He wanted to run.
Shelly began to snivel. “Wasn’t my fault. He wanted it. If he wanted it he shoulda been able to handle it. Right?”
“What did you give him?”
She threw her arms up in despair. “We were doin’ a little of everything—goofing around—havin’ good times.”
“Some good times,” he said grimly.
“Randy was depressed,” she said defensively. “Since that rich bitch dumped him. When you blew in with the money we just went wild. I scored some ace coke, and Randy wanted to speedball . . .” She trailed off. “It just all got to be too much.”
“Have you called a doctor?”
“Are you kiddin’? I’m gettin’ out, man. I don’t need no hassles with the cops.”
Buddy suddenly realized that he didn’t either. He could just imagine Sadie’s face if he was involved in a drug bust. There was nothing he could do for Randy now.
“Let’s go,” he decided. “We’ll call the paramedics from a phone booth.”
“Can I come with you?” she pleaded.
“Look—I don’t—”
“Please, Bud, please,” she begged. “I can’t be alone now. I’m really freaked by this whole scene. Just for tonight, that’s all.”
“Come on,” he said resignedly.
She cluched onto his arm. “You’re a pal,” she said thankfully.
“Yeah,” he replied cynically. “A real prince.”
• • •
“Give her his number,” Adrian said.
“It’s not that simple,” Koko argued. “She’s such a babe in the woods. This Buddy person is a user. In her condition, I don’t think it’s wise to put her in contact with him.”
Adrian spun his wheelchair around the kitchen. “She can handle it. She’s not as naive as you think.”
“She’s vulnerable.”
Adrian laughed bitterly. “Aren’t we all?”
“Oh dear!” Koko exclaimed. “You do still like her, don’t you? You’re not upset about my bringing her to live with us?”
Adrian shook his head. “I love her. You know that.”
“Good,” sighed Koko, relieved.
“But give her his number,” Adrian added. “She’s got her own life to lead.”
After dinner Koko did just that. “I’m sorry, dreamheart. I forgot all about it,” he explained.
Angel tried vainly to hide her delight.
Koko wanted to ply her with warnings, but Adrian was watching him, so he kept quiet.
A few minutes later she asked if she could make a call.
“Use our bedroom,” Adrian said. “You’ll be more private there.”
She glowed. “Thank you.”
Koko gave a deep worried sigh.
“Cut it out,” scolded Adrian. “You’re like an old mother hen.”
“Just call me the mother, darling,” Koko retorted tartly. “The old and the hen I can do without.”
• • •
They stopped at a call box and summoned the paramedics, then against his better judgment Buddy took Shelly to his new apartment. She was impressed. “Je . . . sus!” she exclaimed. “And what big mama is payin’ your rent?”
He was too down to even bother with an answer. Nobody had ever said Randy was the greatest guy in the world, but he had been a good friend, and Buddy felt a deep sadness, not only at Randy’s death, but at the way he had died. Maybe it could have been him, Buddy Boy, if fate and Montana Gray hadn’t taken a hand in his future.
He threw a blanket and a pillow on the couch in the living room. “You can sleep here,” he said.
“I’d sooner sleep with you.”
“Let’s get something straight up front. I don’t want you in that way.” He noticed that her pupils were dilated, her movements nervy and fast. She was still high on whatever cocktail had sent Randy over the edge.
“Why don’t you sleep it off?” he said.
“Are you kiddin’? It’s ten o’clock at night—I won’t be able to crash for hours. Not unless you get me somethin’.”
“What?”
“A few ’ludes will do it.”
“I’m fresh out.”
“You really became Mister Super-Straight, didn’t you?”
“I’m trying.”
She fished in her purse. “I got a prescription—you want to run it by a pharmacy for me?”
“Is it straight?”
“The genuine article, man.”
He took the prescription from her, figuring it was the only way either of them would get any sleep.
“I’ll be fast,” he said. “And don’t answer the phone. Let the service get it.”
As soon as he left she reached in her purse for a joint and lit up, letting the lazy smoke fill her lungs. She felt better immediately and started to look around the apartment, figuring that Buddy must have found himself a rich woman who had set him up for her convenience. The telephone rang, and ignoring his instructions she reached for it.
A casual “Yeah?”
Angel’s voice, breathy and sweet. “Can I speak to Buddy Hudson, please.”
She took a quick drag of her joint. “Who wants him?”
“Angel.”
“Hel-lo, Angel. This is your old friend Shelly. How’re you makin’ out?”
Angel’s voice faltered. “Fine, thank you.” Why was Shelly there?
“Haven’t run on back to the sweet old backwoods of Kentucky yet?”
“Is Buddy around?” Angel demanded, sounding stronger than she felt.
“Buddy is out. O-U-T. When he returns I shall tell him you phoned. And if you want my advice don’t call again.” She paused to let her advice sink in. “When it’s over, Angel-pie, it’s over. And I can get real mad about sharing. Get my drift?”
Helplessness and anger engulfed Angel. She could not understand why Buddy was playing these cruel games. First, at the party, telling her he would be right back, then not appearing at all. Now, asking her to call him, and having Shelly answer the phone. If he wanted Shelly he could damn well have her, because she had had enough. She slammed the receiver down with surprising force.
In the other room Koko and Adrian exchanged glances.
“Maybe you were right,” Adrian murmured. “Perhaps she shouldn’t have called him.”
Koko nodded wisely. “I would say it is time to suggest a lawyer.”
• • •
Montana left the restaurant shortly after Buddy. She had to work with these people, but she certainly didn’t have to eat with them.
She drove home in Neil’s Maserati. Somehow a fast car suited her mood. The Volkswagen was old times. The Maserati was her future. Speedy and sleek, capable of leaving everything in its wake. She felt really good. Apprehensive, but in control at last. She couldn’t wait for the movie to start, although Gina was going to be trouble all the way if her behavior tonight was any indication. Whatever had Neil been thinking of, taking that to bed? She hated him for his lack of taste. She could hardly bring herself to call him at the beach. The awful truth was she couldn’t care less anymore. When the movie wrapped, so would their marriage.
Secretly she hoped he would not be well enough to take over directing the film. It w
as her baby now. She loved the power and thrust of being in command. Momentarily Oliver was holding her back, but once they started shooting—watch out, asshole! Run for the hills, dope!
She thought of Buddy and their one night of passion, scrupulously never mentioned by either of them. He had arranged for the Volkswagen to be left outside her house, washed, the tank full, and the keys in the mailbox. She was glad he had turned out to be the sort of man who understood that beautiful nights sometimes happened between friends. And afterward, they could still be good friends with no inquests about how or why. She was looking forward to working with him.
Gina was another matter. She was going to have to clear up a thing or two at lunch. The woman might think she had gotten away with screwing her husband, but she certainly wasn’t going to screw her movie too.
Once home she stripped off her clothes, threw on an old shirt, searched for her tinted reading glasses, and sat down with the shooting script. Right now the movie was all she really cared about.
• • •
Watching a relationship develop between Gina and Ross was giving Sadie heartburn or heartache. One of the two. She made her excuses and left.
Pusskins Malone departed immediately after her. He had a date with a cabaret singer who crooned the blues and gave great head. Not at the same time, but near enough.
So then there were three. And Oliver was anxious to make tracks. But at long last Gina and Ross seemed to have found each other, and neither was interested in leaving.
Ross said, “I think I’d like another Irish coffee.”
Gina said, “And I’d like another Brandy Alexander.”
Oliver said, “I know you two kids’ll excuse me if I go home. I’ve taken care of the check.”
As if either of them cared. Ross was staring down her neckline, and she was wondering if the famous Conti dick was as large as rumor had it.
Oliver rose. “Goodnight.”
They barely glanced in his direction. He hurried out to the parking lot and gave his ticket to an attendant. While he was waiting for his car, Karen materialized from the shadows.
Hollywood Wives Page 47