by Ray Connolly
To keep up the constant exposure on the group, Porter Lee took over Colin Day’s proposed 42-city tour and merely kept extending it as new bookings came in, thus effectively keeping the Stray Cats on the road for the best part of the first four months of 1966. America had been made to wait for Jim Maclaine but now that he was here there wasn’t going to be a fan who wouldn’t get a better than even chance to see him, to fall in love with him, and to contribute to his growing wealth.
To the four other Stray Cats the tours were woefully tiring, but to Jim and Danielle, for she never left his side now, it was a mentally exhausting experience. As Jim put it later, he felt at that time as though he were trapped inside his own bubble of publicity, always looking out on the world from hotels, limousines and aeroplanes, but never being allowed to go out and play in it. The other boys didn’t complain too much about this, partly because their growing anonymity in comparison to Jim allowed them more freedom to get outside and see those parts of America which interested them, and also because they were happy to have all the things which they desired imported into the Stray Cats’ sanctuaries. Now it was no longer for Mike to go looking for the groupies: they had other, better, local pimps for that: and their reputation made sure that the local pushers always found them within a few minutes of them hitting a town. Still, as the claustrophobic weeks went on the rift between Jim and the rest of the band grew, their different pressures and goals drawing them all further apart. And the tolerance which they had all once shared for one another’s weaknesses was certainly diminished by that feeling of being shut in.
Now while travelling from gig to gig the group would always fly in a chartered Boeing - Jim, Mike and Danielle up in the first-class compartment with Porter Lee and Hoffman and their ladies, while the Stray Cats would sit in the main tourist body of the ‘plane playing cards, tripping out and just drinking with the ever-growing retinue. Sometimes Jim and Stevie would try to write new songs for recording but Jim’s style had changed since he’d met Danielle and he and Stevie didn’t appear to have the same musical interests any more. At first Stevie resented being left out but as Jim concentrated more and more upon writing by himself, Stevie too began to develop his own style.
Concerts by now had become absolute bedlam as thousands of Instamatic flashes would preserve for purposes foolish and dubious those moments when Jim Maclaine was on stage in Oakland, Dallas, Cleveland or Buffalo; while sometimes a misguided or over-avid fan would throw a firework towards the stage in excitement and Mike, mindful of the risks of assassination, would freeze in fear, as over-zealous police tore into the crowds to drag out the bruised and screaming fun or protest maker. By the sides of the stage rows of cripples would queue in their wheelchairs, waiting to be touched by the pretty messiah; civic heads would stand proudly with sprightly daughters to reap a perk of their profession and get to meet the visiting stars; and Red Indians, cowboys or Eskimos (depending upon the location) would further debase their histories by being photographed for the local papers presenting Jim with head-dresses, holsters and guns or fur skins. No promotional stone was left unturned in Porter Lee’s drive for vast profitability and nothing was too naff for Jim to agree to do. Within four months he became all things to all men: as cute as a Monkee; as mean as a Jagger; as intelligent as a Dylan and as plastic as a Beatle.
He was also as tired as a dog, and by July Porter Lee realized it was time to call a halt. There were recording sessions to be finished, a new album to be planned for Christmas and the boys needed a good break. Why don’t you come down to Bermuda, he asked Jim. And for want of anywhere better to go, Jim agreed.
Porter Lee Austin’s Bermuda houseparty was, he liked to say, a family affair. When he had first made it into the big time in rock music management he had bought a large colonial mansion, and during the summer he could pack off his wife Sophia and two boys down to the sea while he stayed in Manhattan, scratching his 17-year itch. Married at 18 to a girl from just two Texan blocks away, Porter Lee had aged splendidly while Sophia had been less fortunate. Consequently, although he loved Sophia, the mother of his boys, like no man had ever loved before, he also felt it his right to surround himself with younger and more beautiful objects-a situation which Sophia didn’t much care for but one that she was quite unable to alter. All the same, no matter how Porter Lee might abuse his wife’s hospitality by allowing his other women to stay as guests in his house, and no matter how he might flaunt them in front of her and their other guests, he never for a moment treated her with less respect than he would expect for the mother of his two sons-or indeed for his own mother: in her own way Mrs Sophia Porter Lee Austin was queen of their home and her husband’s guests stayed only because she, in her wisdom, allowed it. And though Porter Lee didn’t talk to her too much, he was ever ready with the little fond gestures that showed her he still loved her, even though there was less lust in him than when they’d both been teenagers in Houston.
And so it was to this unorthodox family summer home that Jim took Danielle for their first holiday together since the Stray Cats and he began their American campaign.
Chapter Ten
On the first day of the vacation the whole party took their first real opportunity of the summer to enjoy the sun. Danielle loved the sun, whatever the company, which was just as well because lying toasting by Porter Lee’s pool with the man himself carrying on a business monologue to Hoffman, Mike and a curvy Miss Memphis that Mike had picked up called Lucille, was not her idea of pleasant company. But they were part of the deal that came with Jim: and it was well worth being bored to distraction just to be with him.
She could feel the sun burning the tip of her nose and, reaching for her Ambre Solaire, she slid her hands playfully along Jim’s leg. They were lying side by side, on holiday at last, but still the talk was of business and money. In her mind’s eye she plotted how she might make off with Jim, steal him away from his fans, managers and his retinue, and set up a home in Provence. He might even marry her, she considered idly, but then immediately chastised herself for even considering such silly dreams. Jim, despite his current exhaustion, lived for his fame: his retinue. Though he pretended to despise it, he actually loved being the big star, the centre of everyone’s life. She decided firmly to make a positive effort to stop living in a dream world and, rubbing a sliver of Ambre Solaire into her shoulder, she tried to sleep.
‘I tell you he was a monster,’ Porter Lee’s voice was making sure no one would sleep. It was his home, so he was going to do the entertaining which, as he was wearing a Stray Cats T-shirt, a pair of dark glasses, Bermuda shorts and a jockey cap, he had already succeeded in doing to some extent. He leant across the table and slapped his hand down on a wad of contracts and notes. Mike, sheltering in the shade of the umbrella, smiled back at him. It was always best to agree with Porter Lee. ‘I’m telling you we just couldn’t ship enough of that mother’s albums he was so big. You know at one time both Capitol and Columbia had plants over in Detroit and Chicago pressing for us. King Kong he was for a time. And then the branch broke,’ and pausing for effect, he let out a happy guffaw. Mrs Porter Lee Austin smiled at her husband as a mother would towards a garrulous son, and then excusing herself, went off to the house to see how lunch was coming along. As she disappeared Porter Lee began stroking the thigh of Loretta, the secretary he’d brought down from New York for a rest. She had terrible shorthand he agreed, but her fantastic long legs looked like expressways to delirium in her blue bikini. At least she appreciated his sense of humour. ‘Believe me, no put-on,’ he was off again, ‘after that no kind of hyperama was going to get him back on his perch. We couldn’t give the mother away. One day he was guest of honour at one of them barbecue things that Lyndon Johnson has down there in Texas and the next he could hardly get served with a sandwich in a Second Avenue delicatessen. Jesus! Did you know that, Jim?’
At the sound of his name, Jim stirred. He had been day dreaming and had no idea who Porter Lee was talking about. He opened his eyes and, look
ing up, found himself staring at the top of Lucille’s legs. Well done, Mike, he thought. But he shook his head for Porter Lee’s benefit.
Reassured of his audience’s attention Porter Lee returned to his theme: ‘There were no problems with returns either … I don’t imagine we had more than five per cent returns in the whole of the two year period we had him under contract.’ He smiled again at Jim. ‘Anyway, returns are no problems so far as you’re concerned, Jim. No way.’ Jim smiled back and settled down on his tummy next to Danielle. She half-opened her eyes and looked up at him. He was already picking up a tan. Gently she ran her hand up the inside of his thigh. Jim smiled in gratitude. Danielle had intended her little intimacy to be secret but both Mike and Lucille had noticed. Mistaking Mike’s expression for one of envy, Lucille leaned her delicious little body across his and kissed his tummy.
‘Get away,’ he said, pushing her back as though ridding himself of some particularly irritable bug. Lucille pulled back offended. She just couldn’t understand Mike. Why had he invited her along if he didn’t like her? She liked him but he treated her with about as much affection as he would a lavatory. At that moment the potentially ugly little scene between the two was interrupted by the arrival of a black butler carrying a telephone.
‘New York, sir,’ he said quietly and moved away as noiselessly as he had arrived.
Porter Lee snatched at the ‘phone: ‘Sandy?’ he shouted. ‘Is that you? Did you book it? Right. Last two weeks in September? Right. Sure, sure he’ll be ready. Isn’t he always?’
Realizing he was under discussion, Jim wriggled in annoyance.
‘And you can tell London they’ll all be new songs … that’s right … all Jim Maclaine originals.’
Danielle felt Jim growing tense next to her. She put an arm out to console him.
Porter Lee was continuing his telephone conversation unaware of his star’s discomfort: ‘What about the tour? Oh really? Very good. They’re firm? Sandy, will you hold on one minute …’ He turned to Jim again. ‘Sandy says they’re already laying 36 new dates on us for the autumn tour-that’s including Canada, of course.’ He looked towards Hoffman, the only member of the party not sunbathing. In a light cotton suit Hoffman had been noiselessly consulting the Wall St Journal. ‘What d’you make of that, Felix?’
Hoffman didn’t bother to look up but allowing his Ivy League computer brain a moment’s programming, he began speaking in the soul-less monotone with which they had all become familiar. This was the way these two always operated. Porter Lee making the deals, while Hoffman spewed out information at a second’s notice. So far neither Jim nor Mike had ever seen him caught out: ‘At an average of fifteen to twenty thousand and an average of between two fifty and three dollars a seat depending upon the situation, that would be just short of a two million gross. Without knowing full details of itinerary, crews, and locations we could hazard an approximate net of between 900,000 and one million.’ Hoffman, thus spent, went back to his newspaper.
Porter Lee frowned for a second and made a note on a pad at his side: ‘Sandy, anything on Japan?’ He paused, rapping his fingers on the table. ‘In that case tell them nothing before next Easter unless they can double the front money and give us a bigger piece. That’s right. And while I’m on you can tell London, tell Colin Day that his boy’s in perfect condition …’ he was smiling again at Jim. ‘Yeah, he’s getting a great tan … good shape … tell you, stick him inside a bread loaf with a pickle in his ass and mustard in his hair and you’d have yourself a real Selznicker hamburger.’ And Porter Lee guffawed with ribald delight again.
‘Having a nice holiday?’ Danielle, just showered, was beginning to dress for dinner, allowing her towel to fall from her waist in a way she knew was provocative.
Jim lay between the recently crumpled sheets of their bed and watched her: ‘Not bad. Weather good, hotel good, food good … wish you were here.’ He patted the empty space next to him in the bed.
Danielle carried on dressing: ‘You’ve had your ration. You’re getting greedy.’
‘Okay, wish you weren’t here …’ Jim teased, adding cheekily: ‘Wish you were her.’
‘Who?’ She had taken him half seriously. He shook his head to dismiss her silliness. Danielle persisted: ‘Lucille?’
Jim laughed. Women always imagined they were surrounded by opposition. ‘Don’t be silly. She’s more Mike’s type. You know that.’
Danielle paused in fastening up her dress: ‘Mike doesn’t like me.’
True, thought Jim. ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘I love you … in spite of what they say.,
He was trying to be flip and dismiss the awkward moment of truth. But Danielle hadn’t finished: ‘He thinks I’m in the way.’
‘He just doesn’t understand … I mean … oh hell, you know what I mean.’ The last thing Jim wanted on his holiday was an argument between his two friends.
Danielle wasn’t to be put off: ‘Anyway, I don’t like him much. He scares me.’
There was a long pause while Jim was given time to consider the implications of this.
‘Do you like him?’ Danielle was pressing for a response.
Jim thought hard for a moment. It was a question that he’d never allowed himself to face before: ‘Sometimes,’ he said. ‘Sometimes on Fridays.’
Mr Edgar Spencer-Tennant was not, to put it mildly, overjoyed at his wife’s acceptance on behalf of them both to dinner at Porter Lee Austin’s place. He didn’t know the man, other than that he was some kind of show business tycoon, and he didn’t much care for Americans anyway. They were ruining Bermuda. But worst of all he couldn’t abide pop music and those despicable types who made it, and he had no desire whatever to meet Jim Maclaine or any of his crowd. His wife Helen, however, while not appreciating the Stray Cats music herself thought it important that they at least try to keep up with the younger generation and when asked by her neighbour, Mrs Sophia Lee Austin, to dinner, she had thought it great fun that they go. The trouble with Edgar was that all he wanted to do was sit and drink pink gins with his old City and army cronies and talk about how marvellous it had all been in the Burma campaign. The times had changed and if they were going to enjoy their retirement to its fullest, then they must change a little too, even though they were in Bermuda.
And so it was with considerable misgivings and some annoyance that Edgar Spencer-Tennant allowed himself to be dragged along to Porter Lee’s for dinner. The moment he was inside the place he knew he’d made a mistake. For a start there was far too much conspicuous wealth around, he thought. The place looked common. And his temper did not improve when, on being introduced to his fellow guests, he realized that he was the only person present dressed properly for dinner. Helen was indeed going to have to answer for this mortifying experience.
Dinner started badly. Just as they were about to begin Porter Lee was dragged away by a telephone call from New York so the slight conversation about comparative business methods he had shared with him was interrupted, and for some moments of embarrassment the meal progressed in silence. At last Mrs Spencer-Tennant broke the ice.
‘You must have a terribly exciting life,’ she said sweetly and conversationally to Jim.
Jim looked up arrogantly from his hors d’œuvres. Danielle, Mike, Lucille, Hoffman, Mrs Lee Austin and the Spencer-Tennants were waiting for his answer. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Sometimes it’s terrible, sometimes it’s terribly exciting and sometimes it’s living hell.’
Oh God, thought Danielle. Why does he have to be so boorish? For her part Mrs Spencer-Tennant was not to be seen to be offended, and laughing daintily she addressed the girl who seemed to have bubbled out of her dress: ‘Is this your first visit to Bermuda?’
Jim leapt in before Lucille had time to answer: ‘Yes. We came to see the penguins,’ he said. And laughed.
I’d like to tear his balls off thought Spencer-Tennant but said nothing. Lucille came to the party’s rescue in her fashion.
‘When I was in high school I w
as just never out of Bermudas.’ Mrs Spencer-Tennant laughed and encouraged, Lucille carried on. ‘Did you wear Bermudas in high school in Paris, Danielle?’
‘No,’ said Danielle. Lucille bored her stiff with her stupid inanities.
Again silence filled the table, finally to be broken by the noisy Porter Lee returning from his ‘phone call: ‘I’m sorry about that, folks … that was Jim’s record company in New. York. It seems there’s a little confusion about dates but nothing to worry about.’ He sat down and beamed round at his party.
‘What’s the confusion?’ Jim wanted to know of anything that concerned him.
‘Oh, now they’re telling us they want the album completed by the last week of August to be sure and have it ready for the pre-Christmas sell-in …’
‘It isn’t possible,’ Jim broke in crossly.
Porter Lee smiled again: ‘That’s what I told ‘em. That’s what I said. But you know them, they won’t take no for an answer.’
‘They’ll have to.’ Jim had stopped eating and was staring in fury at Porter Lee. Porter Lee pretended not to notice.
‘You see … you didn’t believe me,’ he said, turning to Spencer-Tennant, ‘but the record business is just like any other. We have to get the product to the stores at the optimum moment to maximize on capital expenditure -just as though we were making hula hoops or automobiles. Felix, tell the man …’
Spencer-Tennant swallowed hard and turned to Hoffman who had become suddenly energized. ‘Well, an album by the Stray Cats can gross an extra two million dollars world-wide if it is released in time for the Christmas sell-in period. A week or two late and you’re giving your product competitors a free million.’