Yes, he remembered. The fading old theatres, stale smells and Serafina’s boyfriends.
‘Those were the days.’ A tear sprang to her eyes. ‘Those were the good times. Just your father, you and me.’
What good times? Charlie thought. Stuck outside a pub in some asshole of a town with a packet of crisps and a lemonade while Serafina and her latest ‘beau’ lived it up. Anyway – so what. No good looking back. He loved Serafina. She was his mother. She had kept him with her when he was a boy, and that was the main thing.
‘I always knew Charlie would be a star,’ Serafina said sharply. ‘I encouraged him in everything he wanted to do. He’s got my vitality and drive. I could have been a star myself, but I gave it all up to look after him.’
Dindi yawned openly. People’s pasts were a bore. As far as she was concerned, Charlie was a big movie star, and before that she didn’t want to know.
‘Tired?’ Serafina questioned.
‘Yes,’ Dindi replied, ‘I had a job to do this afternoon that tired me out.’ She shot a secret smile at Charlie.
He smiled back. She looked so pretty and innocent. He could hardly believe that she was the same girl who had made love to him earlier.
‘You pop on up to bed, love, if you like,’ he said. ‘Serafina won’t mind, and I’ll explain to the Allens.’
‘Are you sure, darling? I would like to.’ She wanted to go upstairs and try on her new clothes and read the script of Roundabout now that she had the part.
‘You go ahead love, see you later.’ He watched her say goodnight to Serafina, then peck him on the cheek. She had such a compact, sexy body. It made him feel good to think that she was all his. It might not be such a bad idea having her in the movie after all. Other men could look but not touch. Let the world see what Charlie Brick had.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Acapulco was hot. After the first day’s shooting in the mountains, Sunday was a wreck, the heat was impossible.
She had been working hard, surrounded by a mostly Mexican crew, and three Americans – the director, Woody, the cameraman, Mike, and the continuity girl, Marisa.
Woody and Marisa were having an affair. He was a pleasant, thirtyish man whom Steve Magnum had picked personally. He had not directed a movie before, only television. Marisa was twenty-four and pretty.
Sunday liked them both. As a director Woody was quiet, considerate and extremely encouraging. There was a great difference between him and Abe Stein. Abe represented the old-style Hollywood. Woody the new.
Upon arrival, she had received a huge basket of flowers from Steve, with a note saying ‘Welcome’. Apart from that, no word from him at all.
‘You had your chance and blew it,’ Carey said. ‘He’s probably shacked up in that mansion of his with a beautiful Mexican virgin.’
‘I hope he is,’ Sunday replied. She was secretly glad. Now that she had reached the stage of deciding to get involved, there was no need to.
For a week she and Carey had done nothing but loaf around, sunbathing and swimming.
The day before she started work, Carey left, saying, ‘Well, I guess it’s decision time.’
She found it lonely with Carey gone. The Las Brisas Hilton Hotel was very beautiful, but somehow Sunday felt it was the sort of place one should be with a man.
She spent a quiet evening on her own, sending out for food, and studying her script. The next day Steve was due to appear for a scene in the mountains where he was supposed to rescue her. In the script she had escaped after being kidnapped. It was also a love scene, and she looked forward to it with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty.
* * *
‘Ha!’ Marisa exclaimed. ‘How about that bundle of goodies?’ She nudged Sunday, who was sitting in the canvas chair next to her, reading a book.
Steve Magnum was approaching accompanied by a young curvy Mexican girl, with long black hair flowing to her waist and green hungry eyes.
‘Hello, ladies.’ Steve waved casually from a distance, and patting the young girl on the bottom, shoved her towards them. ‘Keep an eye on Enchilada for me, Marisa baby.’ He then went off in a huddle with Woody.
‘That man!’ Marisa said, shaking her head and laughing. ‘He’s too much!’
The girl, nicknamed Enchilada, came over with sulky suspicious eyes.
‘Hi,’ Marisa said, ‘grab a chair and make yourself at home, it’s going to be a long hard day. I’m Marisa and this is Sunday Simmons.’
The girl nodded briefly and sat in a chair several yards away. She then turned to stare at Steve and Woody.
‘Friendly,’ Marisa remarked. ‘Sunday, I think they’re going to be ready soon. You want to get dressed, I’ll send wardrobe in to you.’
‘Good idea.’ It was eleven in the morning and Sunday was becoming bored just sitting around. The Mexicans seemed to take much longer to get started than the Americans. She had arrived at eight, spent two hours in make-up and hairdressing, and then had a long wait. Steve had now disappeared into the make-up caravan, so perhaps they would start soon.
In the scene she was wearing white trousers and a skimpy white top. A matching jacket was around her shoulders. She was supposed to appear dishevelled and distraught.
‘You look great,’ Steve said, when they were in front of the camera. ‘How do you like Acapulco?’
‘It’s nice.’ She smiled at him with her eyes. ‘Thank you for the flowers.’
‘You’re always thanking me for flowers. How about sending some?’
They both laughed while Enchilada glowered from the sidelines.
‘Took myself a little insurance,’ he said.
‘Insurance?’
‘Against you, baby – against you. My little Mexican tomato is only sixteen, so I guess that should keep my greedy hands from grabbing you. That’s the way you want it, isn’t it?’
She just smiled. She wasn’t sure at all that that was the way she wanted it. Steve was magnetically attractive, and it had been a long time between men.
Woody came over and chatted to them about the scene.
The rest of the morning passed quickly. Steve and Sunday worked well together and they finished three short scenes with hardly any retakes.
When the lunch break came, Steve grabbed Enchilada and took off in his helicopter. Sunday had her lunch with the rest of the crew from a mobile canteen. She sat with Woody and Marisa. She was beginning to be a little piqued by Steve’s apparent uninterest.
The first scene after lunch was the love scene. It started with Steve pulling off her jacket, laying it on the ground and pushing her down on it. In the film she was supposed to fight him, struggle, and then submit.
‘Look,’ Woody explained, ‘when you’re on the ground I want him to pull your top down. That’s when I want you to lie very still and just stare at him with those eyes of yours.’
‘How far down?’ Sunday asked suspiciously.
‘Well, off, sweetheart. The camera won’t see anything, Steve will be covering you.’
‘In that case my top won’t have to come right off.’
Woody laughed. ‘I’m not looking for a free show, but sure the top will have to come off. When I say the camera won’t see anything, I mean we’re not going to pan in for a great close-up on your bosom. But it’s quite obvious that you can’t have the top down a little; it will look messy and awkward. He’s got to get it off and throw it out of shot. Then you’ll be in an embrace with him, so all we’re going to see is arms and sides and things.’
‘Woody, I have a clause in my contract that says no nude scenes. Didn’t you know?’
‘No, I didn’t,’ he, snapped. ‘Christ, you make me feel like a dirty-minded little schoolboy trying to glimpse a lady’s boobs. I’m a director and I hope a good one, and in these days of truth and realism you’re going to look mighty silly clutching a top around you to preserve a little old-fashioned modesty.’ His tone changed, becoming persuasive and soft. ‘Trust me, honey. I know what’s going to look right
.’
She sighed. ‘I don’t understand what difference there is whether I keep the top on or not.’
‘There, you see,’ he was triumphant, ‘you don’t understand the difference, but I do. So please believe I’m right.’
‘I had a horrible experience with Abe Stein on—’
‘I am not Abe Stein. Well send everyone who’s not needed home. OK, sweetheart, OK?’
‘If you really think it’s necessary.’
‘I really think.’
She wished that Carey were still there. Why was there this obsession with nudity? Why didn’t she have the strength to stick to her decision? Was it because she liked and trusted Woody? Or did she know in her own mind that the scene would be more realistic the way he wanted it.
Steve returned in his helicopter, Enchilada sulky by his side.
Woody was getting rid of crew members whose presence was not strictly necessary.
Marisa entered Sunday’s caravan and offered her a stick of gum. ‘Believe me,’ she said, ‘I’d be the first one to yell if it wasn’t right for the scene. Do you think I want my boyfriend getting an eyeful of what I’m sure are a beautiful pair?’
* * *
They rehearsed the scene first.
Steve grabbed her from behind, snatched the jacket off her shoulders and forced her down, pinning her arms to her side. Then he kissed her.
‘The mechanics are fine,’ Woody said when they had got that far.
‘Yeah!’ Steve agreed. He was lying on top of Sunday and she could feel his thin hard body, and shivered in spite of herself. His lips had been insistent and demanding.
‘Now,’ Woody said, ‘I want you to keep holding her with one hand and edge the top down with the other. We’ll take it from the beginning and shoot.’
Steve smiled at her as he got up. ‘One take, huh?’
She smiled back at him. ‘I’ll try.’ She felt elated and excited in spite of herself. She knew Steve would be impressed with her body. She became unaware of the crew, Woody, everybody, and immersed herself in thinking only of Steve.
The scene started smoothly, but then Steve fluffed a line and Woody shouted, ‘Cut.’
They began again, the small Mexican clapper boy saying in his fractured English – ‘Cash, scene 31. Take two.’
Everything went well. Steve started to kiss her and pull off her top. ‘Mamma mia!’ he muttered under his breath as he looked at her briefly, and then embraced her tightly.
His shirt was open and she felt a cool film of sweat between them. Her fingernails raked his back.
‘Cut,’ shouted Woody. ‘Cut,’ he repeated as they made no move to separate.
Steve drew slowly off her. She was breathing heavily and staring at him.
‘I think I just blew my insurance,’ he said.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Roundabout was going well. The new script favoured Charlie, and even Angela Carter’s part had become minor in comparison.
He threw himself into his role completely, enjoying himself. He knew he was giving a good performance – the dailies told him that, and the way the crew laughed after certain scenes. It was notoriously hard to get any reaction from a crew. They were there to do their job and nothing ever moved them.
Angela and he were casually friendly. Since her break-up with Steve Magnum, she had started an affair with Cy: it occurred to her that professionally Cy was a much better bet. So she concentrated on playing her part effectively, and getting Cy to dump Emerald.
A rush of publicity resulted from Dindi joining the cast. The newspapers started to refer to her as film star Dindi Sydne or Mrs Charlie Brick. She posed for countless stills and enjoyed it all thoroughly.
On the screen she came over as surprisingly fresh and appealing, and Angela started complaining to Cy that her part was too big.
In a way Charlie was pleased, but it didn’t please him when reporters visited the set and took more interest in her than in him. After all, he was the star of the family.
Eventually he insisted that all reporters be banned, and a feud between him and the publicity department began. Dindi was on the publicity department’s side, and she and Charlie had a series of fights about his attitude. They also had fights about the money she was spending. And about Serafina and the children, who had been with them nearly a month.
Charlie complained that Dindi spent no time with them at all. He was busy at the studio every day, but she was only needed a couple of days a week, so she had plenty of time to spend with his family if she wanted to.
She didn’t want to. She loathed Serafina and thought the children a couple of brats.
Charlie was furious, especially because he had only agreed to her appearance in Roundabout so that she would be polite to his family. Secretly he tried to get her taken off the film, but that was one request he wasn’t granted. It was too late.
He fully realized now that he had married a tough, money-grabbing, ambitious female. Just the sort he had been running from.
One lunchtime he confessed his mistake to Clay.
‘I don’t know what to do, love, I don’t know what came over me. I must have been bloody mad. I don’t even fancy her any more.’
He didn’t tell Clay that the reason he no longer fancied her was because in a recent argument she had yelled at him, ‘You might be a good actor, but you’re a lousy lay.’ The remark had stayed with him. He was extremely sensitive about his sexual prowess.
Was he a lousy lay? Michelle Lomas hadn’t thought so.
He brooded on it and finally went to bed with a pretty extra, who assured him that he was ‘fantastic’.
Clay was embarrassed. He was in two minds whether to tell Charlie about Rome. He decided not. The marriage was floundering anyway and Charlie might be choked that he hadn’t mentioned it before.
Serafina had fortunately found herself a boyfriend. He was a gardener on the estate, a former character actor, about the same age as she was, and very charming. They made a colourful pair.
Charlie suggested that they went on the trip to Las Vegas which he had promised Serafina. She would be returning to London with the children in two weeks, and he wanted to be sure she enjoyed herself. He hired a private jet for the short journey.
Dindi was unenthusiastic about going, but it was either that or staying in Los Angeles with the children, so she agreed to go. It would only be a two-day trip, and perhaps she could fit in a little session with the George Raft-type manager.
Clay and Natalie came along, and Serafina’s friend, whose name was Morton, and whom Dindi had cruelly nicknamed Mortuary. She was especially furious that he was accompanying them. ‘A fuckin’ gardener, only your mother would pick a gardener!’ she moaned.
* * *
They stayed at the Forum, arriving early on Saturday morning.
Clay, Natalie and Charlie relaxed round the pool, while Serafina and Morton, armed with six hundred dollars given to them by Charlie, set off to try their luck at the tables.
Dindi complained she was tired and left to take a nap.
‘This is the life!’ Clay exclaimed, as a toga-clad redhead served him a giant Planters Punch beside the pool. ‘What a great place!’
‘Any place would be great for you where they have girls sticking their bottoms in your face,’ Natalie said tartly. She smiled at Charlie. ‘Coming for a swim?’
‘No, love, I’m just going to relax.’
Two women in multi-coloured flowered bathing-caps were arguing nearby. ‘It is him, Ethel, I know it is.’ ‘No, it’s not, he’s much fatter than that.’ ‘Ethel, I’m telling you it’s him.’ They stared pointedly at Charlie until the one called Ethel suddenly approached and said loudly, ‘Are you Charlie Brick?’
He lapsed into his Indian voice, ‘I’m very sorry, madam, but you are quite mistaken.’
Clay joined in and said, ‘This is the very famous Swahili poet, Señor Charles Bleakworth.’
‘Oh!’ The woman’s mouth dropped open. ‘I told my friend
you weren’t anyone.’
The woman departed, leaving Charlie and Clay in fits of laughter. It was a game they had been playing for years, making up names, characters, confusing people. For a movie star, Charlie was very infrequently recognized – a fact that both disturbed and delighted him. He became so immersed in each role he played that he became that character on the screen and as each role was different, the real Charlie Brick became very hard to spot.
* * *
By lunchtime Charlie wondered if he should phone the room and wake Dindi.
‘I’ll get her,’ Natalie said, ‘I have to go upstairs anyway.’
‘We’ll find Serafina and meet you in the Orgy Room,’ Charlie said.
‘The what?’
‘It’s a restaurant, great food and near-naked waitresses.’
‘Oh, Clay will love that. I’ll see you there in about twenty minutes.’
* * *
‘She’s a great girl,’ Charlie remarked, watching Natalie’s slim figure out of sight. ‘You’re a lucky man.’
Clay laughed. ‘I suppose I am. You know it’s going to be seven years this month. Seven years!’
‘Lorna and I would have been married thirteen years this year. December’s our anniversary. December the fifth.’ He sighed. ‘You know, with all I’ve got now, the money, the fame, everything, all I really want is Lorna back.’
‘Oh come on, Charlie, it’s over, finished. She’s married to someone else now, and so are you. For Christ’s sake don’t keep thinking about her. You’ve got a world of cooze at your feet.’
‘Is that all you ever think about?’
Clay laughed. ‘Give me something better to think of. I’ve knocked off two beautiful little pieces since I’ve been here.’
It irritated Charlie when Clay talked about his sex life. It was a known fact that he was well hung, and the thought made Charlie extremely jealous. He always made a careful point of never going to bed with a girl with whom Clay had slept.
‘Doesn’t Natalie mind?’ he asked, thinking of the embarrassing scene he had had with her in London.
Sinners Page 13