Hollywood Kids

by Jackie Collins

  Quincy got up and went over to greet her. 'Marjory, how you feeling today?'

  'I received another letter,' she said, in a barely audible voice.

  'Do you have it with you?'

  She glanced nervously at Michael. 'Who's he?'

  'My colleague. Michael Scorsini. He's helping out.'

  Her pale-blue eyes stayed fixed on Michael. 'Does Daddy know?'

  'I spoke to him, told him I was bringing somebody in. Michael and me were partners in New York.'

  She thrust a piece of paper at Quincy. 'This is the latest.'

  Michael watched her closely. Boy, she was agitated. She couldn't keep still, her hands in constant motion pulling at her hair, her dress, anything she could get hold of.

  Quincy read the letter, scrawled in red ink on a lined page torn out of a school notebook. The handwriting was barely legible. He handed it to Michael, who scanned it quickly.

  Rich princess you will die soon

  Your money can't save you

  'Where's the envelope?' Quincy said.

  'I have it,' she replied, her eyes darting around the room. Fishing in the pocket of her dress she passed a crumpled envelope to him.

  Quincy took it, weighing it in his hands. 'Your father here today?'

  She shook her head. 'No, Daddy's out of town.'

  'So you're by yourself?'

  There's eight servants and two guards on the premises,' she stated blankly.

  What a way to live, Michael thought, staring at the skinny little thing. No wonder she was scared, obviously she had not grown up in the real world, and the letters came as a rude shock.

  'When do you think you'll find this man?' Marjory asked with a frightened expression.

  'I'm working on it,' Quincy said confidently. 'Building up a profile. You know, handwriting analysis - putting together where the letters were sent from, all that stuff. It takes time, but we'll nail the sonofab - er - I mean the perpetrator eventually. The good thing is you're safe as long as you're here. And if you need anything at all I'm only a phone call away.'

  'Thank you, Mr Robbins. That's very reassuring.'

  * * *

  Later that day Michael met with Rosa. She'd called and invited him down to the television station to sort through some of the letters they'd received after his interview.

  This is it, Michael,' she said, leading him into her office and indicating a huge sackful of letters. 'Your fan mail. I thought you'd want to take a look through it.'

  'Fan mail?' he asked with a note of surprise.

  'I told you we had a fantastic response to the programme.'

  'Any information that could help me?'

  'I really don't know. A couple of kids in the office read them, whether there's anything pertinent is up to you to find out.'

  He was daunted by the big sackload of letters. 'I'll take 'em home,' he decided.

  'You know, I've been thinking,' she said, moving around her desk. 'Isn't it about time you got out and had some fun?'

  He laughed drily. 'You sound like my best friends. They're always after me to do just that.'

  'I have a suggestion. My girlfriend, Kennedy Chase, is smart, attractive and available. She writes for a magazine, and it occurred to me you might make an interesting couple. How about I fix the two of you up?'

  'How about not.'

  'Huh?'

  'I'm not into blind dates. In fact, right now I'm not into dating at all.'

  'It wouldn't exactly be a blind date. I've told you what she looks like.'

  'Thanks, but I'm not going out right now.'

  'Hmm,' Rosa said thoughtfully. That makes two of you.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'I told her about you - she doesn't want to go out either.'

  He laughed. 'So what are you trying to promote here?'

  She smiled back. 'Apparently nothing.'

  'Listen,' he said, thinking she was a very attractive woman. 'I appreciate your concern.'

  'Ah,' she said wistfully. 'If I was single, Michael, I'd be more than concerned.'

  'You're married?' he asked lightly.

  'Taken,' she replied, wishing for a moment that she wasn't.

  'Sounds serious.'

  'I'm hoping.'

  They smiled at each other and Rosa decided that Kennedy had made a big mistake turning this one down. He was a great-looking guy with a very sexy edge. Not to mention his mouth - full lips, sensual lips...

  'Michael,' she said, pulling herself together, 'it's time to do a follow-up piece on you before people forget. This is my suggestion, take the letters home, read through them, then give me a call by the end of the week and we'll set up another appearance.'

  He was unconvinced. 'If you think it'll help.'

  'I'm sure it will,' she said, very positively. 'People love watching real-life dramas, and your story is extremely appealing. The more attention we can bring to it the better. You should feel fortunate you've got this opportunity to be on television. Actually,' she added playfully, 'you should be kissing my ass.'

  'Rosa, if I was in a better mood, I'm sure there's nothing I'd like better.'

  She laughed flirtatiously. God! She must be crazy to let this one go. 'Ohhh, Michael, I bet you can be a bad one.'

  They exchanged smiles again and he left, stopping at a small Italian restaurant he frequented for dinner. He sat outside at a table for one and ordered a simple plate of pasta.

  The pretty waitress was all over him. 'Alone again, Michael?' she asked, with a definite come-on in her voice.

  'That's the way I like it,' he replied, thinking that there would be no women, his experience with Shelia had made him realize that unless it was meaningful it simply wasn't worth it. And how could anything be meaningful until he'd found Bella?

  Or her body...

  The thought that his daughter might be dead haunted him. It lurked in the shadows of his mind and refused to go away.

  He ate his pasta and drove home to his apartment, stopping at the supermarket for a carton of milk and two bottles of fresh orange juice.

  Once home he took the big sack of letters and tipped them out on to the floor, staring at them for a while before sorting them into neat stacks.

  Somewhere in one of the piles of envelopes there might be valuable information. He could hope, couldn't he?

  By seven o'clock he was reading.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jordanna was in a state of shock. She could not believe that Mac Brooks and Bobby Rush were actually considering testing her for the role of Sienna in Thriller Eyes. It was like one of those insane dreams come true.

  She would never forget the look on their faces when she walked back into the room. The three of them sitting there staring at her - Bobby, Mac and Nanette.

  And then Mac came out with the famous words. 'Jordanna, have you ever thought about taking up an acting career?'

  'Who, me? No way,' she replied, flip as ever, although of course she had.

  'You're good,' Bobby said. 'You're really good.'

  She barely glanced in his direction. 'Hey, I was just following the actors,' she said, gathering up photos and resumes, trying to appear disinterested.

  'Here's the thing, Jordanna,' Mac said. 'We're searching for someone to play Sienna. It's a challenging role, and so far we haven't come up with the right actress. You could be her.'

  'I could?' she gulped.

  'Yes, you could.'

  'What we thought,' Bobby said, joining in, 'is that we should run a test on you.'

  'Test me?'

  'I don't see anybody else in here.'

  'Well, yeah, sure,' she said, attempting to sound nonchalant, although her stomach was jumping butterflies. Dammit, she was probably coming across like a total idiot. What was it about Bobby that made her completely lose it?

  Mac nodded seriously. 'It's worth a shot, after all, you come from a talented family.'

  That was the trouble - her talented family. Like Jordan said, how could she ever live up to the gr
eat Levitt reputation? On screen her mother, Lillianne, had been an incandescent presence, a beauty that made grown men drool. And a wonderful actress, too.

  'Uh, let me think about it,' she mumbled.

  'We'll do the same,' Mac said.

  She left the office as fast as she could, full of mixed emotions. She almost forgot about Midnight Cowboy waiting across the street, but he hadn't forgotten her, he was right there when she drove out of the studio gates, waving anxiously.

  What did they think of me?' he demanded.

  They, uh... they liked you very much.'

  'Did they think I was good? What did they say about my reading?'

  They loved it,' she lied, not wanting to tell him it was her they were interested in.

  His words were tripping over each other. 'Have I got the part? I know it's only a small role, but Mac Brooks is an ace director, and I'd sure get off on working with Bobby Rush. Who's set for the girl?'

  'Beats me,' she said vaguely.

  She had a coffee with him while she mulled things over. Should she tell Charlie? Or her father? What if her test was terrible and they hated her?

  Oh, God, what had she got herself into? This was ridiculous.

  Midnight Cowboy was on a roll talking about himself. He told her he'd come to California four years ago, done some modelling, then a few one-liners in movies. He stated that he wanted to be as big as Clint Eastwood. 'And I will be,' he said, actually believing it. 'One of these days.'

  Sure, baby, she thought, and Clinton will grow flowers out his ass and boogie down Main Street.

  Eventually he made his pitch. Normally she would have said yes because he was real hot looking with the requisite tight butt. But wasn't she supposed to be improving her life?

  Gotta stop sleeping with actors. Especially the tight butt brigade.

  She jotted down his phone number, told him she'd call him later, and drove back to Charlie's.

  The place was buzzing. Charlie was entertaining. He sat in the middle of his old brown couch, smoking a joint, surrounded by hangers-on. Sport, his three-year-old son, crouched at his feet playing with an electric train set. Dahlia lingered at the bar sipping Perrier, her face long and mournful.

  'I didn't know you were having a party tonight,' Jordanna said accusingly, thinking the least he could have done was warn her.

  Charlie smiled dreamily, his eyes on a space trip. 'Hey, kiddo, it's only a little celebration - for Sport.'

  'He's three, Charlie,' she pointed out. 'Shouldn't the guests be younger?'

  He chuckled and offered her a drag on his joint.

  She declined. She'd been dying to tell him her news and now he was too stoned to care.

  'I'm going up to my room,' she said. Like he gave a shit, he was too busy playing genial host to a room full of drugged-out freeloaders.

  Once in her room, she slammed the door, put on a CD of Madonna singing 'Bad Girl', and sat back on her bed.

  Opportunity knocks. Was she going to open the door or not?

  Picking up the script of Thriller Eyes she started reading.

  The role of Sienna was wild. In fact, if Sienna hadn't turned out to be a psychotic killer at the end of the piece, she would have been a lot like her.

  Reaching for a yellow marker she went through the script again, highlighting certain passages, saying the words aloud, getting deep into the character.

  Wistfully she thought it would have been nice if Charlie was around to read with her, but no, he was too busy partying, and she had no desire to join in.

  Madonna gave way to Prince singing 'Cream'. The music drowned out the noise coming from downstairs. She glanced out the window and observed that the party was getting bigger. Valet parkers were shuttling cars back and forth, and there were now two catering trucks parked around the side.

  Charlie should have told her he was planning a party, she did live there, after all.

  Around midnight she decided to venture downstairs and check out the action.

  There were people everywhere, spilling out on to the terrace, crowding the bar, hanging out around the swimming-pool. The smell of pot was heavy in the air. A skinny girl - star of a TV sitcom - sat cross-legged on the floor popping pills, while a well-known country singer in snakeskin boots and matching vest snorted cocaine from a side table. Belly-dancers undulated their way through the crowd, and the noise was deafening.

  She didn't know anybody except Cheryl, who held court on the big leather couch surrounded by two bimbo-type blondes, an under-age redhead and several attentive men. Charlie was nowhere to be seen.

  She went over. 'What are you doing here?'

  'Hi,' Cheryl said vaguely. 'I wondered where you were.'

  'Conducting a little business?' Jordanna asked, indicating the girls gathered around her.

  'Socializing,' Cheryl replied, sipping a tequila on the rocks. 'It's good to socialize.'

  'So I see.'

  'Is it true you're living here now?'

  'Yes.'

  'Thanks for telling me. I had to find out from Shep.'

  'I never see you any more, Cheryl, you're always too busy.'

  'Business comes first.'

  'I guess business is booming.'

  'In this town - always,' Cheryl said, attracting the attention of a waiter. 'Another tequila rocks,' she said tersely, before turning back to Jordanna. 'You seen Grant?'

  'Is he here, too?'

  'Over by the bar.'

  She had no intention of hanging around Cheryl and her merry band of hookers, so she fought her way through to the bar, where Grant had a Chinese girl pressed up against the wall. They were exchanging tongues.

  'Grant,' she said, tapping him on the shoulder.

  He stared at her with a foggy expression.

  'Jordanna,' she said, adding a sarcastic, 'Remember me? We grew up together.'

  A stupid grin spread across his face. 'Yeah, Jordy... How's it goin'?'

  He was stoned out of his head, and when Grant was stoned he was bad news. A couple of years ago he'd had a serious heroin problem. His father had found out and forced him into Rehab. When he'd gotten out he'd been fairly straight. Now he was obviously back on the merry-go-round.

  The Chinese girl pulled him back towards her, wiggling her tongue in his face. 'C'mon, honey baby, let's get into it,' she crooned.

  'See ya, Jordy,' Grant said, his stupid grin firmly in place.

  She wandered around the party searching for Charlie. Where the hell was he? And why did he want all these stoned people in his house?

  She poked her head around the kitchen door. Chaos reigned as the caterers did their stuff. Mrs Willet was nowhere to be seen, she'd probably taken off the moment the party started.

  Back in the front hallway she was just in time to see Arnie arrive, accompanied by another batch of hangers-on.

  'Levitt!' Arnie exclaimed, hardly able to believe his luck.

  'Arnie,' she replied coolly.

  'Where's the man?'

  'He's around.'

  'Haven't seen you in the club lately. You've missed some radical nights.'

  'I've been working.'

  'You? He chortled with laughter. Working? I don't believe it.'

  'Fuck you, Arnie.'

  Arnie turned to his friends. 'You see,' he said proudly, 'she loves me.'

  Jordanna stalked away and headed upstairs. She was about to go to her own room when she changed her mind and decided to wait for Charlie in his bedroom. Eventually he'd stagger upstairs, and then she could talk to him about her test, maybe even read through some key scenes with him. That's if he wasn't too out of it.

  She entered his large untidy bedroom. It was dark, but she could hear noises. 'Charlie?' she said, switching on the light.

  His head was between Dahlia's legs, eating her pussy like he'd been on a starvation diet. He came up for air, completely unembarrassed at being caught. Dahlia lay there without moving, her face a study in stoicism.

  'Oooops,' Charlie said, his half-crazed smi
le at full mast. 'I guess you caught me with my mouth in the cookie jar!'

  She stared at the two of them. Her heart was beating very fast, but she managed to remain calm. 'Yes, I guess I did,' she said quietly.

  Wanna join in, kiddo?' he asked, raising an extravagant eyebrow.

  She shook her head. 'No, thank you, Charlie.' And with that she turned the light off and left the room, closing the door behind her.

  It was definitely time to move on.

  Midnight Cowboy got a call at one a.m. He was asleep. 'Who's this?' he mumbled.

  'Jordanna. Remember me? I read with you at the casting session today.'

  'Hey, yeah, Jordanna, what time is it? Have I got the part?'

  'Oh, like I'd be calling you at one a.m. to tell you that you got the part,' she said edgily. 'I gave you a good recommendation, can't do more than that.'

  'So what's up?'

  Thought I'd drop by.'

  'Now?'

  'No, tomorrow morning.'

  'Yeah, yeah, yeah - come by now, it's cool.'

  'Where do you live?'

  'Venice.'

  'Shit.'

  'What?'

  'You mean I've got to drive all the way to Venice?'

  'You don't gotta do anything.'

  'OK, give me directions.'

  Throwing a few things in an overnight bag she took off, her Porsche zooming all the way down Wilshire to the beach. She felt let down and hurt. OK, so she hadn't been foolish enough to imagine Charlie was a long-term relationship, but she also hadn't expected to find him in bed with his ex-girlfriend while she was still living in the house. Men. They always let her down. That's why she was better off with one-night stands. Hit and run. Make out on her terms.

  Rule number one - never stay around long enough to get hurt.

  Midnight Cowboy's tumbledown house was situated in a rough neighbourhood near the boardwalk. She couldn't decide where to hide her car, so she left it on the street hoping it wouldn't get vandalized or stolen.

  He greeted her in Levi's and nothing else. Great body. Great sex. And he didn't mind using a rubber. At least she made that concession to good behaviour.

  In the morning her Porsche was still there, untouched by human criminal. She drove back to Charlie's, took a shower and changed clothes.