The Predators

by Harold Robbins

  11

  It only took seven hours to drive down to Cannes in the big silver Rolls convertible. Seven hours and six bottles of Dom Pérignon and a kilo of Malassol caviar. Jack and Archie were on their own diet. They didn’t even get out of the car to piss. There were special urinal bottles, on which were engraved J. P. that were stowed away in a large rubber-lined compartment under the convertible top.

  I couldn’t believe it. They thought it was a lark and were betting between themselves how long I could hold it back. I fooled both of them when they had to stop for gasoline, just before we got to Cannes. It was the longest piss I had ever had.

  When I went back to the car, they were standing up and applauding. Then Jack placed a ribbon on my neck which held a gold-plated medal. The Number One Pisser in the World. He kissed me French style on each cheek. “You are now an honorary fag!” Then they fell back into their seats laughing, and seemed to fall asleep.

  I was seated in the passenger’s side next to the chauffeur. We looked at each other. “They’re having fun.” He smiled as he spoke in English.

  “Is it always like this?” I asked, taking the medal off.

  “Not as much when J. P. is around,” he answered. I looked at the backseat. They were gone. I turned around and took out a cigarette. I offered one to the chauffeur. He shook his head as he held the lighter from the dash toward me. “I can’t smoke while I’m on duty,” he said politely.

  There was nothing we had to say until we reached Jack’s villa. Then the chauffeur went into the house and came back with two burly housemen. Jack and Archie were still out when the men threw them like sacks of potatoes over their shoulders and took them to their rooms.

  I walked into the entrance hall and then the living room. It was just another palace, not as grand as J. P.’s, but something important enough to blow my mind. I walked to the windows. The view was the same as J. P.’s but from lower on the hill. Cannes was starting to slip into night and the lights were coming on both in the town and on the yachts in the marina, turning into a picture that only an artist can paint.

  A woman’s voice came from behind me. “Bienvenue, Monsieur Jerry. The Villa Jocko is at your command.”

  I turned. She was a very well dressed lady about forty and very attractive. “I am Arlene,” she said. “I am the hostess for Jack. May I offer you a drink?”

  “No, thank you,” I said. “But I would like to go to my room and clean up.”

  “No problem,” she said, and clapped her hands sharply. One of the housemen who had caried Jack into the house nodded. She spoke briefly in French. “Monsieur Jerry will have the blue room.” She turned back to me and spoke in English. “Dinner will be at nine this evening.”

  “Thank you, Arlene,” I said, and followed the houseman up the staircase. I wasn’t surprised that my luggage was already in the room.

  The houseman spoke to me in English. “I am also your valet,” he said. “May I unpack you, sir?”

  * * *

  I had never been in Cannes at the time of the film festival. Now that it was almost ten days before the opening, the excitement was already building. There were billboards and signs hung outside the entrances to all of the big hotels. They were advertising movies from many countries and many languages. Only a few of them were in English.

  I would sit during the morning at a table of the Festivale, a restaurant that was located catercorner to the Palais de Festivale. It was there that all of the participants of the festival had to register and collect the tickets for the motion pictures that were being shown. In addition to the films being shown at the festival, there were at least fifty or more other movies trying to be sold and distributed in other countries around the world.

  That was the morning. At luncheon I moved down to the beach restaurant of the Hotel Carlton. There were the most beautiful starlets in the world here, and influential producers and directors who controlled the flesh market. And they, too, men and women, came from all over the world. And these were not the most important actors and actresses, producers and directors that were competing in the festival. That was yet to come. But it didn’t matter. This was where the action was.

  I thought it was like a dream. But Jack and Archie didn’t give a damn. They had been through it too many times before. At night they had their own cabarets and discos. I would have dinner at the villa with them and then I would try to find English newspapers and magazines to read. Then everything changed. First Paul appeared. Two days later, Giselle came down. And finally, a week later, J. P. returned.

  12

  Giselle was very excited about the festival. She told me that several girls that she had known while working with Paul were in the movies now. Not really stars but important enough for them to be recognized by the paparazzi. The result was that their photographs would end up in movie magazines, tabloids, and newspapers around the world.

  Paul pushed his “girls,” as he called them, into more and more photograph opportunities with well-known stars. One of the best stories he told was about his publicity stunt he planned in the festival of 1954. Simone Silva, an actress with small movie credits, did a striptease on the steps of the Palais de Festivale. She did it while the most important producers and artists were entering the theater to watch one of the most important movies of the festival.

  The next day, of course, she was banished from Cannes. Paul didn’t give a damn. He had photographs of her being published all around the world. Very soon, he had a contract from one of the smaller studios in Hollywood for three movies. This finally cemented Paul’s reputation as an artists’ agent and manager. It was at this time that he signed some male actors as well as the “girls.”

  In 1955, he took over the career of one of the most physically attractive stars of the Italian cinema, “Atlas.” As Atlas, he played the world’s fastest man in the costume drama of the Greek Odyssey. Paul immediately changed the actor’s name to an American-sounding name: George Niagara. In one year, he made three of the most popular movies in the world. Children in all countries adored him. He became an idol.

  Paul was lunching with Giselle and me at the Carlton when he pointed out George Niagara signing autographs on the beach. Paul looked at us and shook his head. “I have just one problem with him. Even though he speaks perfect English, since he was educated in Great Britain, I cannot get him a movie in Hollywood. They think that he’s foreign and that they would have to dub him in English.”

  “Maybe they don’t think he can act,” I said. “Look at him—he’s nothing but muscle. He could put Mr. Universe to shame. All they watch him do in his movies is run until he can catch the bad guys and beat them up.”

  “There still has to be a way,” Paul said.

  Giselle saw someone whom she knew. She waved and called to a girl, who came over to the table. A beautiful blonde, blue-eyed, bikinied beauty. Giselle introduced her to me. “Annette Duvallier, mon ami, Jerry.”

  I nodded and smiled. Paul asked her to sit down with us. He knew her even though she was not one of his clients. Giselle later told me that despite the name she used now, she was English and she was one of the Blue Bell showgirls from the Lido. She had already had several good parts in French movies.

  “It’s warm,” she said.

  “Let me get you a drink,” I offered.

  She smiled. “Thank you, but I can take care of myself.” Then I watched her as she took a liter bottle of Plescassier from her bag and began to sprinkle the water over her face and shoulders.

  I looked at her, then at Giselle. Giselle knew what I was thinking. “Can I ask her?” I asked Giselle.

  She laughed. “Annette and I are old friends. You can ask her.”

  I turned to Annette. But she too knew what I had been thinking. “Yes.” She laughed. “On my pussy too.”

  I turned to Paul. “It’s a new world. I have an idea that I want to talk to J. P. about.”

  “Will it need artists? Maybe I could have a place in this idea?”

  I lo
oked at Annette. “Do you have an agent?”

  “Not really,” she said. “All of my jobs have come from friends.”

  “Then you sign with me,” Paul said. “Then you will have a real career.”

  Giselle looked at me. “What are you thinking about?”

  “There is one thing I will need,” I said to Paul. “Is George available for promotions?”

  “For money he’ll do anything,” Paul said.

  “Good,” I said. “Then tonight I will talk to J. P.; maybe this is the right time to get back into business.”

  13

  Jack had moved up the hill to Villa Plescassier to be with J. P. when he returned to Cannes. That left Giselle, Archie, and me to stay in his villa. But we still went up the hill to have dinner with J. P. every day. J. P. looked well, but he still wore the black mourning band on his sleeve. Giselle had told me that the old family kept that on for six months.

  Earlier, when I had sent back the twenty thousand to J. P., I had spoken to him about why we had failed and given him all the reasons. I was very careful not to complain about any of his father’s plans to sell the water in the States. He had known how I felt about that even before we left for the States. Now I had to find out if he still wanted to go into the States with Plescassier.

  That night I had the opportunity to talk to him about trying again. It was now only a question of time before other water companies would start going into the market before us. I looked at him. “The last time we went unprepared. The wrong packaging, very little advertising, but most of all we didn’t tell them of the many wonderful qualities that Plescassier has.”

  J. P. looked at me. “You’re talking about a lot of money again.”

  I stared at him. “And you’re talking like your father again. And whether you like it or not, that’s why we bombed the last time. Believe me, Evian and Perrier won’t make the mistakes that we made.”

  “What’s your plan besides the money?” J. P. asked.

  “I remember that some time ago during the war you were stationed in London. You also knew an important army officer, Colonel Matthew Fox, who was on Eisenhower’s public relations staff.”

  J. P. looked at me. “What has this got to do with selling the waters in the States?”

  “Colonel Fox was in the motion picture business and the early beginnings of television advertising in the States. He and an associate bought advertising time on many television stations. They promoted a cleaning product of their own and made it the biggest household product in the United States.” I looked across the table at him. “I can use that same idea to sell Plescassier waters in America.”

  “But that was many years ago. TV advertising is more expensive now,” J. P. answered.

  “George Niagara, who plays Atlas in the movies, is one of the most handsome men in the world. He drinks Plescassier only for his health. He drinks it when he exercises. There’s a well-known actress, Annette Duvallier. The world thinks she is French, but she is really British. She has a body that doesn’t stop, and a gorgeous face to match. All I need is Niagara and Duvallier in the tiniest bikinis coming out of the water on the beach of Cannes, each of them drinking and pouring a bottle of Plescassier over their beautiful bodies.” By this time, I was almost out of breath.

  “It’s exciting,” J. P. said. “But then how do we follow it up?”

  “I’m going to have TV exercising clips of them, together and separately, talking about their health and beauty exercises and Plescassier,” I said.

  “And how much do you think that will take?” he asked.

  “The film clips are cheap. We’ll make them here in Europe. TV advertising in the States, maybe one million dollars. Shipping half-liter and liter bottles of Plescassier to Los Angeles won’t be that much. And we would bring the two stars to Hollywood for an important promotion.” I looked at him. “You have the money. I know you are spending more than two million dollars in advertising alone in France.”

  “You know a lot about Plescassier’s business,” he said.

  “Working for almost ten years with you, J. P.,” I answered, “I had to learn something.”

  “Why don’t you want to begin in New York again?” he asked. “It’s the biggest market in the States.”

  “We were a loser there,” I said. “They don’t forget. Besides, the Mafia and the unions control everything there.”

  J. P. sat silently for a while. I watched him. Finally I couldn’t wait any longer. “Do you still want to go into the States or don’t you?”

  He looked at me. “It will be almost a two-million-dollar investment, not one million.”

  “But the market,” I answered. “If you win, you will cover the world.”

  14

  I hadn’t realized that J. P. had so many friends at the film festival. I also hadn’t known that J. P. had financed several of the smaller films and one of them was accepted in the competition. On the weekend before the festival finished, J. P. had a large, extravagant party on Saturday night. He invited over one hundred guests for a buffet dinner and dance on his yacht. He ordered that the yacht sail out of the marina and anchor in the bay to show all the lights along the Croisette and behind Cannes.

  I had been busy in the last few days before the party, trying to get the promotion for Plescassier water planned for the States, so I had not had time to be with Giselle. She told me that she was helping J. P. with the party. On the night of the party she told me that J. P. had asked her to act as hostess with him. I thought that was really nice to give her that honor, even if it meant that she would have to go early in the afternoon to the yacht.

  I was curious. “What’s happening with Jack?”

  “There are many political men coming to the party, especially Monsieur Mitterrand, who is minister of information and really controls the festival. There are a lot of rumors that he may become president of France in time.” She turned to me. “It’s a real honor for me,” she said. “This means that I am accepted in French society.”

  “Where does that leave me?” I asked.

  “You’re American. It doesn’t change anything. At the film festival they only care about American stars. Kim Novak and Susan Hayward will be at the party and they will be seated on each side of Mitterrand like a sandwich,” she said, laughing.

  “I don’t know what is so great about stars. It’s just movies and the people that work in that business,” I said.

  “There is also a lot of business going on here. You would never have met George Niagara or Annette and you would have never had your promotion idea for Plescassier,” she replied.

  “Where am I going to sit if you’re next to J. P.?” I asked.

  “I have had Paul arrange everything. You will be seated with him and George and Annette in a special corner where the paparazzi will be taking a lot of pictures.” She smiled. “And just for your information, Jack will be seated next to me with J. P. on my other side and a little French starlet, Brigitte Bardot, on the other side of Jack and then Archie on her other side.”

  I laughed. “I hope he won’t take out his teeth and dildo at dinner. If he does, it’ll blow the ship out of the water.”

  She laughed with me. “It would be funny, but it won’t happen. He’s a real professional and there are several producers that will be there that are interested in using him for a movie.”

  “Does anyone know yet who is going to win the prize at the festival?” I asked.

  “Nobody really knows. The jury has Preminger and Buñuel on it and their lips are sealed. But the favorite is Susan Hayward for I’ll Cry Tomorrow,” she replied.

  “But that’s an American movie. I thought they were all against it.”

  She smiled. “It’s a jury,” she said. “Like in a courtroom, anything could happen.”

  * * *

  But, it was a great party, I heard. Of course, the moment the motors on the yacht were turned on, I became seasick, and I spent the whole of the night in one of the cabins in the toilet. It w
as about one in the morning when Paul got me off the yacht and up to Jack’s villa.

  I looked at Paul. “Where’s Giselle?”

  “They are having the party go on to the Playgirl disco. Everybody will be there all night,” he answered. “Why don’t you freshen up and we’ll go down to the party.”

  My head was splitting. “All I need now is some aspirin and sleep,” I said.

  I closed the door behind me as I walked into the entrance hall. Arlene was standing there. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I need some aspirin,” I said, and started up the staircase to the bedroom.

  “I’ll bring some to you in your room,” she said. “I’m sorry, both the housemen are doing guard duty at the party.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll manage.”

  I did until the room and then the world began spinning around again. When Arlene came into the room I was half on and half off the bed. “Let me help,” she said. I didn’t know until now how strong she was. She lifted me up onto the bed with her hands under my armpits. Then she quickly took off my jacket and shirt. “Still dizzy?” she asked.

  “A little,” I said, looking up at her. “You act like a real expert.”

  She laughed. “I spent ten years being a nurse in the American Hospital in Paris.”

  I shook my head. “I never would have known.”

  She gave me two pastilles and dropped them into a glass of Plescassier water. The pastilles began to fizz in the water. I looked up at her. “This reminds me of Alka-Seltzer in the States.”

  “The same idea,” she said. “But this is just aspirin.” She smiled, looking down at me. “Can I help you take off your shoes and trousers, so you can get into bed?”

  I smiled. “That’s real service.”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” she said. “Now lean back and try to get some sleep. If you need any help later, just call.”