by Joe Corso
“Scariest part?” Gonzo asked. “Come on, Swifty, don’t leave us hanging. Explain what you mean.”
Swifty grew serious for a moment. “You know, I really enjoyed Satchico’s company. The girl was beautiful, smart and she knew how to make love to a man. She was from the old school where the young girls were taught the secrets of how to please a man. I don’t think she ever expected to meet a guy like me. We really met by accident. If her boyfriend hadn’t stood her up it wouldn’t have happened. But after that first night I saw her every weekend. While every other guy was paying for sex I got it for free because, like she said, I was her friend.”
“So what happened?” Gonzo asked.
Swifty took a few seconds to collect his thoughts. “Well, one morning I woke up to find her sitting beside me holding what I thought was a blue comb in her hand. She put her lips close to my ear and whispered these words to me. ‘If I find you sleep with other Jo-San your face not so pretty anymore.’ I looked more closely and noticed it wasn’t a comb she was holding. It was a straight razor. I grabbed her wrist and carefully wrenched the razor from her hand. Then I got dressed and walked out and I never saw her again. That girl loved me and, to tell you the truth, I loved her. I sometimes regret not taking her back to the States with me. But then I think of the razor and I know I made the right decision.”
“Wow,” Gonzo said. “You’re just full of surprises. Now I’m getting a little pissed off at you. Shame on you for keeping secrets like that from your buddies. But there was that one other whorehouse I’ll never forget.”
“Which one was that, Gonzo? There were so many of them.”
“The whorehouse that only had virgins working in it.”
“Yeah, I forgot about that one,” Henri muttered. “That was the suckahatchie house, where the girls only performed oral sex so they could remain virgins and save themselves for their husbands.”
“Yeah, I remember we visited that place only once,” Swifty said. “We had some good times all right. But come on. I need a drink to clear my head after hearing all the bullshit spilling out of your mouth.”
Gonzo put his big arm around Swifty. “That’s why I love you man. Come on, let’s have that drink.”
The boys enjoyed reminiscing about their adventures while in the service, but their thoughts turned to Red. Deep down the boys knew he had given them their chance for a future when they had none before and, in return, he expected their loyalty. He had committed a large amount of dough in Hollywood and they knew he depended on them.
“Speaking of Red,” said Henri, “wasn’t he supposed to be here already?”
“Yes,” Swifty said. “I called him this morning and he told me he had a few problems to take care of, then he’d fly out here. He told me he was hoping for next week.”
“Next week?” Gonzo asked.
“That’s right, next week; but that’s only if the problems are resolved. If they aren’t he may not be able to leave for another week or two.”
Gonzo smiled. “Do you guys want to go to the track tomorrow?”
Swifty looked at him like he had a screw loose. “Are you kidding? After witnessing Red’s horse win every Wednesday I’ll never bet on a horse race. Who knows? It might be fixed.” They chuckled at that.
CHAPTER 8
Moose arrived at LAX early because of the unexpected light highway traffic on the way to the airport and had been waiting by the gate for half an hour for the two girls to arrive. He’d only met them once and he would have missed them but for the wrist corsages Red instructed them to wear. “Excuse me, but would you happen to be Iris and Tiffany?” The girls smiled radiantly.
“That’s us.”
Moose relaxed. It wouldn’t do to have missed the girls. That would have pissed Red off.
The drive back to Swifty’s house took a while because of the heavy traffic that seemingly materialized out of nowhere, but in fact was normal for southern California.
“Are you girls excited about tomorrow?”
Tiffany shuddered. “I’m scared to death.”
“Me too,” said Iris.
“Nah, you have nothing to worry about. You’re both under Red’s protection now. Even if you bombed tomorrow, Red’d see that you had a great job in one of his companies.” Moose was quick to add, “But you won’t bomb. Red has a sixth sense when it comes to things like this. He just knows what’ll work and what won’t. So don’t you worry none, you’re both gonna do all right, and I’ll be right there with you to make sure everything goes the way it should.”
Iris gently tugged Moose’s arm. “Moose, just knowing you’ll be there makes me feel a lot better.”
Tiffany added, “Iris is right, Moose. It’s nice to know you have a friend near that you can depend on.”
“Listen up, girls. Tomorrow morning when you meet with Bernstein, listen to what he has to say. The guy is an absolute genius when it comes to creating movie stars. And trust me on this, he’ll make both of you big stars. So listen to him and heed his advice and you’ll both have successful movie careers.”
Swifty had his own room, Henri and Gonzo shared a room and Maria slept in the third bedroom. The house had four bedrooms so Maria took Iris and Tiffany to the fourth bedroom and told them they had to share the room. This pleased the girls, who had so much to talk about.
Early the following morning, after a restless night’s sleep, the two young ladies showered, applied their makeup and slipped into their new dresses, bought especially for the Bernstein interview. When they stepped out of the room they looked like the movie stars they were soon to be.
Moose got them to the Columbia Pictures studio early and the girls had to wait fifteen minutes outside Bernstein’s office, under the green-eyed glare of the secretaries who worked there. Each of them wished it was she who was about to be interviewed by the studio mogul; but since they were resigned to their fate they could only cast envious glances at the two beautiful women. This would not be the first time Iris and Tiffany had met Bernstein. Red needed leading ladies for his films, but before signing them to a contract he wanted Bernstein’s input. He introduced the girls to the president of Columbia Pictures during one of his lavish parties at the Starlight Club. Bernstein had an ability to pick those who had the potential to become stars and Red wanted Bernstein’s assessment. After meeting the girls Bernstein gave Red his approval.
After a twenty minute wait, Bernstein’s secretary told the girls, “Come with me, please. Mr. Bernstein will see you now.”
If you had asked them, the two girls would tell you they couldn’t remember their feet touching the floor when they walked into the office. It was as if they were walking on a cloud.
“Have a seat please.”
The two women sat in the comfortable chairs facing Bernstein’s large mahogany desk. Bernstein chatted with them for a while, more to relax them than to garner information. Finally, his experienced eye told him it was time to get down to business.
“Now about your names, girls. ‘Iris Montgomery’ and ‘Tiffany Archer’ just don’t work for me.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Iris, Iris. No, that won’t do. I have it. ‘Ida,’ like Ida Lupino, the great actress of the 40s. Ida Montgomery. No good, the name’s too long. Long? Ida Long, Ida Lange. That’s better. Ida Lange. I like the sound of that. From now on you’ll be billed as Ida Lange. Everything you do from now on you’ll do as Ida Lange, understand?”
Bernstein pointed to Tiffany. “Tiffany Archer. Hmm, Tiffany, eh? I have to think about that name. But your last name has to go. Archer is too masculine. Sounds like you’re an archer in a Robin Hood movie. But Tiffany may be something I can use. Please stand up for a moment.” Tiffany stood. “Turn around slowly. I want to see your figure. I think we’ll keep your first name. I’d like to create a star using only her first name, like Judy or Marilyn. You see what I’m talking about. I’ll create a star so bright that when the name Tiffany is mentioned the fans won’t be thinking about Tiffany the jeweler but Tiffany the
movie star. Yes, we’ll keep Tiffany but change your last name to something more exotic, more romantic. Let’s see now . . . I have it. Tiffany LaMarr. That will be your new name from now on. Tiffany LaMarr with a double ‘r’; but your name on the marquees will only say TIFFANY.”
Bernstein buzzed his intercom. “Have Marla come to my office.
“Marla, I want you to meet Ida Lange and Tiffany LaMarr. They’ll be working under contract for Starlight Productions, but for the time being they’ll be working under contract in three pictures for Columbia Pictures. I’d like your assessment of them.”
Marla walked around the girls with her arms folded in front of her, with her right hand cradling her chin, studying the girls’ facial features and their figures. She touched Tiffany’s chin and pushed it gently away so she could study her profile. “Good,” she said quietly to herself. “Come over by the window.” She pushed the curtain aside to let the light in. “Step into the light, please. Now turn around slowly. You can have a seat now. Now you. Please come over here.” Marla did the same with Ida. She studied her profile and how the sunlight reflected off her face. She was looking for blemishes the camera would pick up. “I’ve seen enough. You can sit down now.” Marla raised her eyebrows, a signal to Bernstein that she’d like a word with him alone.
“Girls, would you two mind sitting in the waiting room while I speak to Marla for a few moments.
“Well, what did you think of them?”
“I studied their faces both in the shadow and in the sunlight and there’s no question they’re two very beautiful young ladies. They appear to take good care of their bodies. They’re toned and in shape, which is surprising in this day and age of fast foods and ice cream sodas. Now we have to find out if the camera likes them and if they can remember their lines. Do you have a screen test scheduled for them?”
Bernstein gave a slight nod. “Tomorrow morning 8 a.m. I’m having Jack Lemmon do the screen test with the Tiffany. Jack’s been in the business far longer than anyone gives him credit for. Did you know he did training films for the troops while in the army during the Second World War?”
Marla shook her head. “No I didn’t.”
“Anyhow, he said he’d do the test with Tiffany. I know that with his personality he’ll relax her—and God knows she’ll need it! William Holden has agreed to do Ida’s screen test with her, so tomorrow should be an interesting morning for them and for us. It’ll be the litmus test for both of those girls. The camera doesn’t lie!”
Bernstein buzzed his secretary and told her to send the girls back in.
“Okay, here’s what you two are going to do. Tomorrow morning, Tiffany, you will report to makeup at 7 a.m. At 8 a.m. you’ll go to Stage 4 for a screen test with Jack Lemmon. Ida, you’ll go to makeup with Tiffany at 7 a.m. and then you’ll go to Stage 8 for a screen test with William Holden. Marla will give you your scripts. Memorize your lines tonight so you’ll know them tomorrow; and remember, this is your big chance, so don’t blow it. Not many people are lucky enough to have a man like Red Fortunato sponsoring them, so don’t disappoint him and me.”
CHAPTER 9
Tarzan and Shooter left their car and walked toward Chicken Wing’s house. They were about to make a statement by executing Sally Chicken Wings. They didn’t intend to do what normally would have been done in a situation like this. He was caught skimming money from Big Red and everyone knew the penalties for disobeying the rules. The penalties ranged from a fine, to a beating, to banishment from the family or the city they worked in. If the crime was severe enough they could face death. But even that wasn’t the worst of it. Punishment could be extreme by being killed in front of your family while having dinner. This penalty was suggested by Piss Clam for Sally Chicken Wings, but Red knew that was the wrong message to send. He shook his head. “I won’t ever approve of someone getting whacked in front of his family. Make sure his wife is in another room when you hit him.”
Shooter rang the front door bell and was rewarded by soft footsteps coming to the door. Glenda, Sally’s wife, stared at the two men in top coats, wearing fedoras and dark glasses, pointing their guns at her. She was terribly frightened but tried her best not to show it.
“Yes, can I help you?” she asked in a quavering voice, never taking her eyes off their guns.
Tarzan pushed her out of the way and walked into the living room. Chicken Wings was sitting in front of the TV holding a paper in his hand. He turned his head to see who came in. Tarzan, in a commanding voice, told him, “Face the TV and put the paper down. And you!” He pointed to Sally’s wife Glenda. “Get in the other room NOW! Go on get out of here. Go and lock yourself in the bedroom, and don’t come out. UNDERSTAND?”
Glenda understood all too well what was about to happen. She just hoped it didn’t happen to her too. She went into her bedroom, sat on the side of the bed furthest from the door and rested her head against the side of the bed, sobbing silently. She did her best to be as quiet as possible, trying hard not remind those men that she was in there. Suddenly, BANG!, a shot rang out. Her husband was dead. She knew without a doubt that he was dead. She lifted her head and stared at the door, fully expecting the men to burst into the room and shoot her too. But there was only silence . . . and then more silence. She could hear her heart thumping against her chest as she waited for fifteen long minutes, before she got up enough courage to tiptoe softly to the bedroom door—and then worry that a man with a gun would be there when she opened it. She opened the door just wide enough to fit through. But before leaving the bedroom and stepping out into the hallway, she listened. Silence. Everything was quiet, so she got up her courage and tiptoed down the hall, trying to be invisible to the men she thought could still be in her home. She walked slowly down the hall and cautiously forced herself to peek into the living room. Her eyes locked on the couch. The TV was loud but she didn’t see her husband, who she had last seen sitting there. She turned her head, forcing herself to look over her left shoulder, fearing that the two men would still be there, pointing their guns at her. But when she looked, no one was in the room but her.
Glenda was a good, Christian, God-fearing woman. She married her Sal because she loved him and he her. He had a nice job, making a better than average salary, but over the last fifteen months he was making five times what he usually made. Sal told her he was given a promotion, and with the promotion came much greater responsibility. He explained his raise was commensurate with the greater responsibilities he now had.
She slowly walked to the edge of the couch, then everything went black. She fainted, seeing her husband’s body lying face down on the floor, his head tilted precariously on the shattered glass top of the coffee table.
Glenda woke up with a start from a pungent odor. A paramedic was holding a smelling salts capsule under her nose. She looked around the room and was surprised at how crowded her living room was, with curious people milling around. The police arrived and shooed everyone out into the yard but the paramedics. Glenda looked bewildered.
“How did you people get here?” she asked the young policeman.
“A neighbor walking his dog thought he heard a gunshot, so he rushed home and called 911 to report it. And it’s a good thing too, because we wouldn’t have known your husband was killed. It would help our investigation if you could you give a description of the men who did this.”
“I’m sorry, Officer, but it all happened so fast. There were two of them, but I don’t think I could tell you anything about them.”
“Well, let’s start at the beginning. How did the men get in here?”
She thought for a moment, trying to get her heartbeat down and her breathing under control.
“The doorbell rang so I went to the door to see who it was. When I opened the door they were standing there.”
The officer interrupted her. “Can you describe what they were wearing?”
“Why, yes, I can tell you that much. They were wearing dark overcoats, fedoras and dark glasses; but all I c
an remember is the guns they were pointing at me.”
“Hmmm. Go ahead. What happened next?”
“I remember my husband turning to see who I let in, and they told him to turn around and face the TV. Then they ordered me to go to my bedroom and stay there. I was so frightened. I thought they were going to kill me too.”
The police officer jotted some notes on his pad. “Did they kill your husband already?”
“No. I was sitting on the side of my bed when I heard the shot.”
“Show me where you were.”
Glenda walked to her bedroom with the officer trailing close behind her. She showed him exactly the position she took when she came into the room. “I waited for fifteen minutes, thinking any minute they’d break into my room to kill me too. I was so frightened, but they never came for me. They must have left soon after they killed Sally, but I never heard them leave.”
“Did you notice what kind of watches or rings they wore? Did they have scars on their faces or tattoos?”
“No, I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”
“Can you give me an idea how tall they were?”
Glenda looked the officer up and down, mentally comparing his height to the killers. “They were just average size men. If I had to guess, I’d say they were about your size. Just average. Sorry I can’t be more specific, but that’s about all I can tell you.”
“Okay, ma’am. I know the ordeal you just went through, and I’m sorry for your loss. Here’s my card. If you remember anything, call me.”
***
Red and the boys left the Starlight Club and walked across the street to the mechanic’s shack. They walked through the shack and out the back door to the table in the yard. No one could hear them talking there. In his office he had been monitoring the TV that was tuned to the local station. Nothing was being reported about the shooting.
The three men sat on the wooden benches, with Red on one side and his two men on the other bench. He wanted to see their faces because he wanted a full report, from the moment they entered the house to the moment they left it. He gave a nod to Tarzan who explained everything from start to finish. Then Red turned to Shooter. “Your turn.” Shooter’s story was the same as Tarzan’s. He had nothing new to add.