Charlie nodded. It seemed quite reasonable in his present state of mind that a marriage could be arranged at four a.m. in Las Vegas.
Dindi was starting to feel shaky. The sonofabitch was actually serious.
Charlie indicated the arcade of shops around the lobby. ‘Miss Sydne would like to buy a dress, and I’d like to get in the jewellers.’
‘Certainly.’ By this time the manager was unflappable. Charlie had slipped him a large tip, and as far as he was concerned he could have what he liked. ‘I’ll send a selection of dresses to your suite: size ten, Miss Sydne?’
She nodded. The manager was just the type of good-looking, smooth bastard she could fall for.
‘OK, Mr Brick, as soon as I’ve located the jeweller I’ll put him in touch with you. Meanwhile, leave everything to me. Will there be any guests?’
Charlie shook his head.
‘Do you have any objection to publicity?’
‘None at all.’ The whole point as far as Charlie was concerned was to have large photos of himself and gorgeous blond Dindi spread all over the newspapers for everyone to see.
* * *
The preacher was a southern cracker. Hurriedly dressed in a shiny blue suit, he peered at the couple before him and drawled out his version of the wedding ceremony.
Dindi noticed that his fly was undone and tried to stifle a giggle. She was wearing a pink frilled dress, and her blonde hair fell loosely around her shoulders. She looked like a lovely innocent doll. On her finger she wore a huge cluster diamond ring, a present from Charlie.
He had also noticed the preacher’s undone fly, and couldn’t keep his eyes from straying there. The funny old chap had probably been fast asleep. What an accent! He listened intently. This would be a great voice to use in some future film.
The manager had arranged the wedding in the penthouse, with the hotel photographer, press man and two representatives of the local newspaper, with their photographer, present. The manager and his girlfriend were the two witnesses.
* * *
The preacher pronounced them man and wife, belched unobtrusively, and shook Charlie’s hand. Then there was champagne, photographs, and congratulations all round.
The preacher sidled up to Charlie – ‘Here’s my card if you need me again.’
Charming – Charlie thought – only just married and he’s asking me if I need him again!
It was seven a.m. by the time they got back to their suite. Charlie was beginning to feel the strain. His eyes hurt behind his glasses, and the beautiful high he had achieved was beginning to wear off. For the first time he thought about the sanity of what he had just done. He had married a girl he didn’t even know. It was the most ridiculous insane thing. She was very pretty, but he didn’t even know her.
It was all Lorna’s fault. He had done it to spite her. What would Serafina say?
Dindi was dazed, but for different reasons. So suddenly and unexpectedly she was someone. She had married a movie star!
She took off her dress and caught Charlie staring at her with a puzzled expression.
She giggled. ‘Hey, lover, now we can do it legal!’
Chapter Sixteen
Sunday was as amazed as the rest of Hollywood when Dindi and Charlie Brick appeared on the front of all the newspapers – married in Las Vegas. She couldn’t understand why Dindi hadn’t mentioned it to her, as she wasn’t exactly the sort of girl to keep a secret.
Carey was laughing. ‘I tell you, honey, Marsh is fit to be tied, but beside himself ! Seems he fixed her up for Charlie to get himself laid, and the schmuck ups and marries her. Can you imagine? That chick had really been around – but I mean really.’
‘Maybe it was love at first sight,’ Sunday replied, always a believer in romance.
‘Maybe, my ass. She must have cast one hell of a mean spell on him.’
‘She’s very pretty, and she certainly has lots of personality. Why couldn’t it be love at first sight?’
‘Oh, Sunday, baby. Sometimes you are so naive. It’s times like this I realize you’re only twenty, and not the cool forty-five-year-old you usually come across as. By the way, they pushed you and Steve right off the front pages, but there’s still good coverage inside.’
‘Anyway, I think it’s wonderful for Dindi, I really do. I’m going to send her a telegram.’
‘Save your money. I don’t give it two weeks. When Charlie comes to his senses and finds out what a hooker she is – then – like – the party’s over.’
‘Carey, you’re much to cynical.’
Carey hooted with laughter.
‘By the way, I just turned down a part for you in Roundabout. The timing was wrong. Marshall suddenly accepted the fact that you exist and flipped. He saw a clip from the Milan movie.’
The two girls were talking over an ice cream. Sunday spooned peppermint into her mouth and said, ‘I wonder how Branch will do with his test.’
She had told Carey about her date with him the previous evening and how pleasant it had been.
‘Listen, kid, I know you think I’m always putting people down, but I checked up on Mr Branch Strong, and he is purely fag time. It’s not a good scene for you to go out with him.’
‘According to you, everyone is either a hooker or gay. I don’t intend to go to bed with him. He’s just very simple and straightforward, and I like him purely as a friend.’
‘Simple is the right word. All right, as long as you’re not planning a grand love affair, although while we are on the subject, about your sex life—’
‘Look, I appreciate everything you’re doing and have done for me, but my sex life is my own business, and if I don’t care to have one, that’s also my own business.’
Carey smoothed her hands over her sleek cap of black hair. Sometimes Sunday could be very cold.
They finished their ice creams in silence, then Carey said, ‘I’ll drop you off for your fittings.’ She noticed that everyone in the place turned to stare at Sunday as they left. When this girl was really exposed to the public, when her films came out, she wouldn’t be able to travel around alone. She was destined to be a Monroe-Sinatra type of celebrity, the kind they wanted to mob and touch. Marshall’s reaction to seeing her on film had been an indication. He never got excited about anything.
Carey thought of Marshall fondly for a few moments. She missed being with him, missed his sudden bouts of temper, and his gammy footsteps as he stamped about his office. He was a real character. Although she had worked with him for seven years, she knew practically nothing about his personal life, nor apparently did anyone else. There was a wife, long ago divorced and now living in Pasadena. The only reason she knew about her was because of the alimony cheques that were sent every month.
‘You want to go to a movie tonight?’ Carey asked, when she dropped Sunday at the costumiers.
‘Thanks, but I think I’ll study my script.’
‘Talk to you tomorrow then.’
* * *
The fittings were perfect: a white leather micro dress with matching bikini; a startling fall of white jersey folds to the floor, plunging to expose most of her bosom; a white linen suit with huge cowboy hat.
Steve Magnum had decided her wardrobe should be all white to complement her golden skin and tawny mass of hair,
‘You’ll adore Acapulco,’ Hanna said. Hanna, a gaunt English lady wearing a mannish suit and unappealing flat brogue shoes, was doing the fittings.
‘I’m sure I will.’ Sunday shivered slightly as Hanna’s stubby fingers delved across her bosom, adjusting a button.
‘There,’ Hanna stood back and surveyed her work. ‘You look quite ravishing.’
‘I love the clothes,’ Sunday said. ‘Who should I talk to about buying them for myself after the film?’
Hanna looked at her strangely. ‘I would think you’d have no difficulty with Steve Magnum. He’s very generous, especially to close friends.’ She allowed herself a fleeting private smile, which Sunday understood only too we
ll.
‘Thanks. But I don’t think I shall be asking Mr Magnum for favours like that.’
‘Really?’ Hanna’s arch smile said: Who are you kidding?
So that’s what they all thought. Sunday was furious, and furthermore she resolved to keep her relationship with Steve Magnum absolutely and utterly professional.
Let them all see just how wrong they were.
Chapter Seventeen
Herbert pissed a perfect arc, which landed delicately in Cy Hamilton’s horseshoe-shaped swimming pool. He zipped up his fly with pleasure. One more Hollywood pool had the addition of his wine. What a blow he was striking for the poorer classes!
Herbert had been in the habit of relieving himself in the best pools in Hollywood during the two years he had been working for the Supreme Chauffeur Company. The opportunities were not to be ignored, and as long as there were no nosey servants hanging around, he usually managed it while waiting to pick up his parties. He was always kept waiting, and it gave him a thrill when his passengers finally climbed in the car, all dressed up, to think of them the next day swimming around in his piss.
He had driven the Hamiltons before and he loathed them. The drunken woman with her steely eyes and skinny body, purposely giving him a good flash of her intimate parts as she got in the car and the man, so obviously rich and powerful, sitting and listening to the woman nag and whine and bitch her way to wherever they were going.
Tonight it was a party. The woman was wearing skintight leopard-printed chiffon trousers and hardly any top.
Herbert thought it disgusting the way some men let their wives go around. As a matter of fact, he was rather concerned about Marge – dear fat old Marge, who for so many years had been simply content to squat in front of the television and eat. Since her first outing with Louella Crisp – the new neighbour – she had changed. She was always popping over to visit the house next door, and her dresses actually looked clean. She made up her face, and had even gone to the beauty parlour to have her scraggy hair styled.
Herbert was amazed, and not pleased at all.
The final straw had come that evening, before he left for work.
‘Louella’s having a little party next week,’ Marge announced. ‘She wants to know if you can come. It will be awful good fun, games and things. Her husband’s gonna be there too. Will you be able to come, hon? I’m gonna get myself a pretty new dress, and go on a diet.’
Herbert regarded his wife’s elephantine form coldly. ‘I don’t want you going to no party.’
Marge’s eyes brimmed full of tears, which, mixing with her mascara, dribbled down her cheeks. ‘But Herbie, hon, she’s my friend, my only friend . . .’
‘She’s a bad influence on you. I don’t want you seeing her no more. Look at yourself – made up like a whore.’
She chewed on her lower lip, the tears ceased, and a crafty expression passed across her fat face.
‘If you don’t let me go, I’m gonna tell about you writing those dirty letters. I’m gonna tell the police and they’ll put you in jail for being . . .’
She trailed off as Herbert fixed her with his eyes. They were the meanest eyes she had ever seen.
‘What letters?’ His voice was very controlled, but inside he was shaking with fury. Nobody knew about his letters. He wrote them upstairs, locked away in the little box-room. Marge was always busy watching television. ‘What letters?’ he repeated, taking her fleshy arm in a tight grip.
She was frightened. Herbert got so strange at times. She wished she hadn’t mentioned the letters, after all she had only found two, and she certainly didn’t mind if he wanted to write to those fancy movie stars.
‘Angela Carter,’ she gulped, ‘it was torn up, and I stuck it together. It’s all right, Herbie, I was only joking. Herbie, you’re hurting my arm – Herbie . . .’ She screamed as his nails raked into her soft skin and drew blood, then she sniffled quietly as he paced up and down the room, beside himself with anger.
How could he have been so careless? He usually tore up, and flushed down the toilet, any unfinished efforts.
‘Get them,’ he demanded.
She scurried off immediately and fetched the two letters, hidden carefully under the mattress. She was reluctant to part with them. They had kept her company many a long and lonely night. She handed them over.
‘I wish you’d do some of those things you write about to me,’ she whined. ‘You never do anything to me any more.’
She rubbed her vast bosom up against him. ‘I’d like to do all those things again, Herbie. Can we start doing them again?’
He pushed her away. ‘You’re too fat,’ he muttered. How could he ever consider touching that gross body again when he had someone like Sunday Simmons?
‘But, Herbie.’ In desperation Marge was unbuttoning her blouse and releasing a mammoth bosom from the confines of a dirty white bra. ‘Look what I’ve got. I’ve got beautiful titties, you used to love my titties.’
He glanced at her with disgust. Big fat floppy bosom. He turned his back. ‘Get dressed, you whore. And see you stay in tonight.’
Then he grabbed his jacket and marched out.
* * *
Yes, the whole episode with Marge was most disturbing. Especially the sexual part, the exhibiting of herself to him. Didn’t she realize that that part of their life was over? It made him feel unclean and disgusted just thinking about it.
‘Hey, driver,’ the woman was leaning drunkenly forward from the back seat, a cigarette dangling from her painted scarlet lips, ‘got a light?’
‘Emerald, sit down please. I’ll light your cigarette.’ Cy’s voice was tense.
‘I wouldn’t dream of bothering you, my sweet. You don’t want me to smoke. You don’t think it’s the done thing for a lady to arrive at a party smoking. Well, fuck you.’
‘Emerald, please.’
She waved the cigarette at Herbert. ‘Light me up, Sam.’
Furious with the man in the back for letting this woman get away with such foul talk, he silently handed her the automatic lighter.
She threw it down on the front seat when she was finished, and Herbert burnt his fingers returning it to the dashboard. Then the man in the back pressed a button, and the glass partition slid up, cutting off the rest of their conversation.
Herbert resolved to pee in their swimming pool again on the return journey. He would drink plenty of beer and piss another perfect arc . . .
Chapter Eighteen
Charlie wasn’t sure when he first realized he had made a terrible mistake. Was it the day after his Las Vegas wedding – or the day after that?
Viewing things in the cold light of reality, he couldn’t imagine how he could have done it.
Dindi was just as pretty as ever, but an idiot, a pretty little unintelligent idiot. Every time she opened her pouty lips it was to ask for something.
Even after two days it was beginning to drive him mad.
‘Baby, can I have some money for roulette?’ ‘Sweetie, can I have those marvellous diamond and turquoise earrings?’ ‘Pussycat, what about a little mink to keep off the cold night air?’
He gave her everything she wanted. After all, it was their honeymoon.
Public reaction to their wedding was mixed. The newspapers made the most of it: Beautiful starlet marries Charlie Brick, and similar headlines all over the world.
Personal acquaintances were another matter. George arrived by plane, and he and Dindi seemed to become instant enemies. Marshall on the phone was positively rude; he talked business and ignored the marriage until the end of the conversation, when he mumbled something about lots of luck, you’re going to need it.
From England came a long telegram from his mother. ‘Son, what have you done? Couldn’t you have waited? Will arrive soon. Serafina, your loving mother.’
It irked Charlie that everyone wasn’t going around saying how lucky he was to have married such a gorgeous young girl. He was infuriated that there had been no word from Lorna.
<
br /> Serafina was merely upset because she had not been present. She hated to miss anything, and was looking forward to her forthcoming trip to Hollywood. A new daughter-in-law wasn’t exactly what she had been anticipating.
Dindi was immediately jealous of George. He arrived, summoned by Charlie after the wedding, and as usual, stayed near Charlie, available for all his requests.
‘Is he going to come everywhere with us?’ she questioned, a little put out because George had hovered near them at the swimming pool all day, and was now back in their suite setting up stereo equipment.
‘He doesn’t bother you, does he, darling?’ Charlie asked mildly.
‘Oh no,’ she shrugged, ‘I guess I’ll go downstairs and have a looksee through the shops. Can I have some bread?’
Charlie was beginning to be irritated by Dindi’s constant use of what she considered to be hip phraseology.
He gave her yet another stack of dollars, she seemed to go through money like confetti. She left and he went to watch George at work on the stereo.
‘How long will we stay here?’ George asked. He had already summed up the marriage as a dead loss, and couldn’t understand how Charlie had been so foolish.
‘A few days, maybe longer. I was thinking of having you drive the Maserati back and coming to fetch us in the Mercedes. There’s a couple of houses you can look at for me. I’ve got to get something settled before the children arrive.’
* * *
Downstairs, Dindi bought three new bikinis, and a big straw sunhat. The rest of the money she took over to the roulette table and covered number twenty: she bit her lip with excitement as she watched the wheel spin, and hey presto – twenty came up. She gave a little squeak of joy, and then the manager was beside her and muttered, ‘Let it ride.’
She looked up at him. He smelt of a very funky aftershave. She let the money ride, and twenty came up again. She had won a bundle.
Laughing, he took her arm. ‘Take it all off.’
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