Sinners

by Jackie Collins

  ‘I’ll talk to Charlie.’

  She gave him a kiss on the cheek. ‘You’re a doll. You won’t be sorry. I’ll become a big star and you’ll make a fortune off of me. And Marsh, anytime I can return the favour,’ she winked, ‘just give me the word.’

  * * *

  Max Thorpe was a plumpish man of Charlie’s age. He had a bright red suntan, and had recently bleached his mousy brown hair with vivid yellow streaks. He wore a black and white striped cotton suit with matching shirt and tie.

  ‘All he needs is a straw hat with “Kiss me quick” on it, and he would fit straight into a Brighton day trip,’ Charlie remarked to Natalie.

  However, Max Thorpe was the hit of the party. Nobody could resist knowing what good things the future had in store for them, and it was Max’s policy only to predict good things. He was soon surrounded by anxious outstretched palms, but the hand that really interested him was that of Branch Strong.

  Max, like Charlie, had come a long way from the Soho joints where he had first appeared. And along the way his tastes had changed from flat-chested long-legged girls to muscle-bound beautiful young men. Branch was a perfect specimen.

  Max felt his heart pounding as it hadn’t done since he had met a fake Indian at Disneyland. He recognized a kindred spirit in Branch immediately, and holding his hand tightly, he foresaw great fortune and success, and that someone with the initial ‘M’ would become most prominent in his life. He advised the young man to follow his natural inclinations, and asked whether he would like to appear on an I Predict television show?

  Branch listened intently, a wide grin on his perfect features. Fame, fortune and success were just what he wanted, and then perhaps he could get rid of all the perverts who swarmed around him. ‘M’ must stand for Mother. He had been too ashamed to go home and see her for two years. Follow your natural inclinations must mean tell all the queer boys to stay away from him. As soon as he achieved the fame, fortune and success, he could do just that, including getting rid of his agent, whose demands were the most demeaning of all. Then perhaps he could have a real relationship with Sunday. He didn’t feel it would be proper to touch her until all his past associations were finished.

  ‘How about appearing on my show?’ Max persisted.

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m off to Mexico tomorrow. Got me a great little part in a cowboy movie, but when I come back, I’d sure love to.’

  Max asked anxiously, ‘When will that be?’

  ‘They reckon I should be there six or seven weeks.’ Branch pushed a lock of fallen blond hair off his forehead.

  ‘We could pay in advance.’ Max lowered his voice and said this quickly. ‘In fact I could pay you tonight if you could come back to my house and collect. Fifteen hundred dollars.’

  ‘Yeah?’ It slowly dawned on Branch what Max Thorpe had in mind. If he had fame, fortune and success he would punch him right on his burnt-up red nose. But he didn’t have any of those things yet, and fifteen hundred dollars was an awful lot of money. ‘Is that so? Well, I guess I could meander by later. First, I have to take a little lady home.’

  ‘Fine, fine. Any time will do.’ Max felt his whole body slump with relief. ‘I’ll let you have my address.’

  * * *

  Later in the evening Charlie found himself the object of Max’s interest. ‘Remember what I told you, old boy. You didn’t like it at the time, but it’s all come true.’

  ‘Some of it,’ Charlie admitted reluctantly.

  ‘Pretty accurate I was.’ Max chuckled at his own cleverness, and also because he knew he was annoying Charlie, whom he disliked. ‘Broken marriage. New marriage across water. The initials “R” and “S”. Well, “S” is your wife’s second initial, isn’t it? Two more children.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Charlie interrupted, ‘but what about all the things that didn’t happen? An accident or illness. A scandal. The initials “H.S.” What about them?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about them,’ Max said tartly, ‘there’s plenty of time for them. As far as I remember you have rather a good lifeline. Shall we have another reading?’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  * * *

  After dinner Carey said, ‘What was the business you wanted to talk about, Marsh?’

  He was smoking a short fat cigar and didn’t answer.

  ‘Hey listen, I gave up a hot date for tonight, don’t brush me off with your agent’s stare.’

  He took the cigar out of his mouth and studied it. Then he suddenly said, ‘I’m fifty-six years old, a cripple – and don’t give me any bullshit about a club foot not making me a cripple – you try dragging it around for a few days. I’ve been married once and made a mess of it. On the good side I’m rich, powerful in my own little way. I don’t gamble, drink too much or screw any good-looking piece of ass that comes my way. I’m kind, generous and clean. I don’t give a shit about the black so-called problem and I want you to marry me.’

  Carey looked at him in amazement. ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me right. I want to marry you. You’re a very sharp broad, you should jump at the chance.’ He was trying to play if funny, but the way he was shredding the leaves of tobacco, on his cigar with nervous fingers made it quite plain he was serious.

  Carey recovered her composure. She had never even considered Marshall in a romantic sense. He had been the boss figure in her life for seven years, and during that time she had watched and learnt from him, and pulled herself right up from being a dumb little secretary to where she was today.

  ‘You don’t have to answer me at once,’ he said. ‘Take time to think about it. I know it’s a shock for you, but I’ve been thinking about it for the last year. We’d be good for each other. If you like, I’ll romance you a bit, take you out to dinner, send you flowers, although Christ knows I’m a bit too old for all that. But if it’s what you want, I’ll do it.’

  She put her slim hand over his. ‘I’m very flattered, Marsh. I’m sort of speechless though. I never thought, well, I mean, what I want to say, well, Oh God, I told you I was sort of speechless.’

  He stood up. ‘Think it over. We’ll talk about it later, or not at all. See how you feel.’

  He limped off to join the crowd gathered around Max Thorpe.

  * * *

  ‘I predict,’ Max was saying to Natalie Allen, ‘two more beautiful babies, could be twins, and plenty of travelling; it seems you’re always on the move. It looks like you and Clay are going to have a long and happy life together.’

  Natalie pulled her hand away and covered her irritation with a charming smile. It wasn’t what she had wanted to hear at all.

  ‘Who’s next?’ Max enquired, enjoying himself immensely. ‘How about you?’ He addressed himself to Sunday. She started to protest, but found herself propelled towards Max by an enthusiastic Dindi.

  ‘You have very delicate hands,’ Max remarked. ‘You are not married but perhaps you have been. Yes, I see a definite indication that you have been. It was not a happy marriage. I see signs of great stress – very great stress. Your parents are dead – a crash – perhaps an aeroplane? You are on your own, you are very quiet. I see many lovers, another marriage.’

  Sunday sat quite still, listening intently. This man was uncanny. He knew everything. She forgot about the other people listening too.

  ‘You’re right,’ she whispered. ‘What else do you see? Will I be happy?’

  A strange question, Max thought. Usually they asked, Will I be rich, famous, successful?

  He said, ‘I would have to do a proper chart to tell you that. I see an extremely strong career line, fantastic success. I see – a letter, a letter. You must not ignore the letter. Your lifeline broken – no, no, no, I mean marriage.’ He stopped abruptly. ‘I can’t see any more.’

  ‘Oh, please!’ She wondered if Paulo had left a letter she had somehow or other missed. She pushed her hand back at Max. ‘Please tell me more.’

  His eyes clouded over and his head ached. Sometimes this happened and he go
t carried away and went too far. He had gone too far with this girl. He should never have mentioned a broken lifeline. It was so strange, this power he had. ‘I’m sorry, dear. There is no more. I can see nothing else.’

  Charlie noticed how upset she was and he broke up the gathering around Max to tell a funny story. Then when everyone was drinking again, he went to find her. He had noticed her slip out onto the patio.

  She was standing beside the pool, but as he went to join her, Branch appeared and from the shadows he watched them chat for a while and then turn and walk to the house. Charlie went quickly back inside.

  * * *

  Once home, Max Thorpe changed into a silk dressing gown, hand-embroidered with the signs of the Zodiac. First he washed and liberally splashed his round pink body with a musky-smelling perfume. He put on some Japanese music – so soothing – and opened a bottle of champagne in preparation for Branch’s arrival.

  Then he sat on a pile of cushions and let his mind drift back over the evening. It had been another triumph for him. Practically every party he went to now came under his spell. The great Max Thorpe held court, and all the most important people gathered around him. He made it a firm rule never to tell them anything bad; they were only interested in hearing the good things. Sometimes it was difficult though. Sometimes, when their faces became mere shadows and words poured forth from his mouth, words he found hard to control. He remembered the year before when a very famous actor had sat beside him, and in the man’s palm he had only seen emptiness. He had talked fast about new deals and triumphs and successes. The man was pleased. Two days later he died in a plane crash en route to Spain. Such was life. Max would certainly have made him no happier by telling him he had no future. With the girl tonight he had seen strange things, not necessarily death, but something strange.

  The doorbell chimed and he hurriedly got up. What a marvellous physique Branch Strong had. What a wonderful night lay ahead.

  He turned the Japanese music louder and answered the door. Branch shuffled from one foot to the other, making no attempt to enter. ‘Hi,’ he muttered.

  ‘Come in, dear boy, come in.’

  They went together into the living room and Max gestured for Branch to sit on the cushions. Then he poured him a glass of champagne and waggled a short pink finger at him. ‘Tonight, I predict, you are going to get fucked!’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The next two weeks passed quickly for Sunday. She was busy with fittings, interviews and publicity photos. She heard from Steve Magnum only once. He telephoned to know if she would like to use his private plane to fly to Acapulco. She politely refused.

  Carey had lined up some houses for her to look at, and she rented a car so that she could get around without having to depend on Carey or cabs.

  The houses were not what she wanted – either too big and ornate, or not near enough to the sea. Finally she found a beach house at Malibu which was available for a year.

  It was situated on a private road right by the beach and, although small, was just what she wanted. She loved the small patio at the back, with wooden steps leading practically into the sea. The house would be vacant by the time she returned from Acapulco, and she rented it at once.

  Branch had written her one long scrawly letter. She missed him and their dinners at his favourite health restaurant.

  Since the party at Dindi’s, she had tried in vain to see Max Thorpe. It seemed imperative to her that she talk to this man. Perhaps he could tell her more. Anyway it became an obsession that she have a meeting with him.

  He was impossible to get hold of. His secretary said on the phone that he no longer gave private readings. She tried to contact him at his television studio, but he was unobtainable. She wrote and received no reply. Finally, she asked Carey’s advice. Carey said, ‘Forget it, he’s an old faggot quack. But if you really want to see him, get your boyfriend Branch to arrange you an appointment – he’ll have no problem.’

  She called Branch in Mexico. It took three days to locate him, and although unenthusiastic, he promised to see what he could do.

  The next day Max Thorpe’s secretary phoned and said an appointment had been made for her on Saturday at twelve o’clock. It would cost her a thousand dollars and please bring cash. In the meantime, what were her time and date of birth?

  * * *

  Max Thorpe rarely did personal charts any more. It was too time-consuming and he had other things to occupy him. His television show took up most of his time, and then he wrote a weekly column of horoscopes which was syndicated to one hundred and forty newspapers. He had various other forms of activity also. ‘I Predict’ T-shirts and badges and posters. In fact, he was involved in negotiations to open a chain of ‘I Predict’ shops throughout the country.

  Max Thorpe was doing very well indeed.

  He only agreed to see Sunday because of Branch’s phone call. For days, he had been trying to reach the boy. He had sent cables and letters and tried to get through on the phone, but all to no avail. After the one night at his house, Branch had collected his fifteen hundred dollars and taken off for Mexico. He hadn’t even acknowledged the cables. Then suddenly out of the blue he had telephoned. Max was delighted and asked if he could come up to see him for a weekend.

  ‘Sure,’ Branch drawled, ‘only we’ll have to meet away from the location, and I want you to do me a favour.’

  ‘Anything,’ Max declared. Branch had far surpassed the fake Indian from Disneyland.

  So that was how Sunday got her appointment.

  * * *

  She appeared at Max’s house promptly at twelve. The thousand dollars cash had come as a bit of a shock, but she wanted to see him, and if that was what it cost – well, that’s what she would have to pay.

  He kept her waiting twenty minutes in a strange dark room with the sunlight curtained firmly out.

  He swept in finally, wearing a Zodiac shirt and black leather trousers that emphasized his plumpness. He then talked for half an hour about himself, his show, and his talent.

  Sunday was beginning to despair about him ever getting around to her.

  At last he said, ‘I think we shall start with the cards. I have a chart for you, but perhaps you would care to take notes.’ He handed her a notepad embossed at the top of each page with ‘Max Thorpe – Predict’.

  He started to speak very rapidly in short unfinished sentences, things about her that she knew no one could have told him. It was incredible.

  He covered her past briefly until he came to the time of her marriage. Then he talked for quite some time about how she should not blame herself for what had happened, that it would have come to pass anyway.

  He stared at her with watery eyes. ‘You must forget all about it. It is a closed period of your life. You are not to blame. You must close it from your mind and think no more of it. Look to the future with a light heart, for I see much success.’

  He told her initials of people important to her future. Of contracts, of advice from an older man to which she must listen. Then he stopped. He could go no further. There was something strange, something he couldn’t fathom – not death, just something.

  He stood up. ‘Sunday, you are a very lucky girl. Yours will be no mediocre fame. Take great care of yourself and always behave with caution. But believe me, you must forget the past.’

  He had been talking to her for over an hour.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Thorpe. I really appreciate your seeing me.’ She felt lightheaded and relieved. He had been right about everything else, so perhaps he was right that the whole thing with Paulo wasn’t her fault. She fumbled in her white shoulder bag. ‘I have the money, the cash.’

  He held up his hand. ‘No. I have changed my mind. I don’t want your money. Feel free to see me again. We shall be friends.’ He had decided payment was a petty gesture, and perhaps it would disturb Branch. After all, he certainly didn’t need money, and anyhow, he liked the girl, they would be friends. And if he were right about her future, she would b
e a friend worth having.

  * * *

  Sunday flew to Acapulco feeling much better. Somehow the session with Max Thorpe had relieved her immensely. The fact that he had told her she must forget the past seemed to change things. She would forget. She would forget about Rome and Paulo and start afresh. She would go out and mix and date and do all the things that Carey had been nagging her to do. Acapulco and the new film would be a starting point, and then she had the beach house to look forward to on her return.

  Carey was delighted with the change in her. ‘That Maxie boy must be one hell of an analyst,’ she said. ‘Maybe I should see him myself Since the party and Marshall’s proposal, she was confused. She had never thought of Marshall as a potential boyfriend, let alone a lover. Her life was very well organized – several boyfriends at a time, one of whom she would be sleeping with. Then, when it looked even vaguely serious, on to the next. She had worked too long and too hard to put her job second to anything or anyone.

  However, Marshall was different. She had always looked up to him, admired him, copied him, even been a little bit in awe of him. His proposal had come as a great shock. She had decided to fly to Acapulco with Sunday and stay a few days, think things out.

  They sat in the black Cadillac sent to meet them at the airport, the air conditioning going full blast and a glass partition separating them from the young Mexican driver allocated to Sunday.

  ‘What am I going to do?’ Carey asked for the fifteenth time.

  ‘It’s simple,’ Sunday replied patiently, ‘if you love him, marry him, and if you don’t love him, don’t marry him.’

  ‘Oh honey, what the hell has love got to do with it? It’s far more complex than that. I might hate him in bed, he might hate me if we should have black children, I might—’

  ‘That’s a healthy sign, at least you’re considering children.’

  ‘I’d love children,’ Carey’s eyes clouded over, ‘only they might be little black cripples.’