Hollywood Husbands

by Jackie Collins

  The waiter pointed out the various delights, and she picked chocolate chip cheesecake.

  ‘I’m a chocolate freak,’ she admitted guiltily. ‘Complete with withdrawal symptoms and all.’

  He laughed. ‘I can relate to that. Ice cream is my downfall. Show me a carton of Häagen Dazs and I’m anybody’s!’

  The waiter kissed his fingertips. ‘We have the best ice cream,’ he announced. ‘Made on the premises. We have vanilla, cherry, rum, banana, strawberry—’

  Jack stopped him. ‘You’ve hooked me,’ he said. ‘Bring a dish of banana.’

  ‘With hot chocolate sauce?’

  ‘The works.’

  ‘Nuts?’

  ‘Everything!’

  ‘And two cappucini?’

  ‘I think I’ll live dangerously and have a plain coffee with Amaretto on the side,’ Jade said.

  ‘Make that two.’ Jack smiled across the small table at her. ‘I knew you’d make me live dangerously – one way or the other.’

  She smiled back. ‘Is an Amaretto all it takes?’

  ‘That and a back rub.’ He regarded her closely. This was the most enjoyable evening he’d had with a woman in a long time. He hadn’t realized quite how serious Clarissa was. She would slit her throat rather than eat a meal like this. Not only was she a vegetarian, she also wouldn’t touch sugar or alcohol, which made culinary activities somewhat boring.

  ‘I hope you’re having a good time,’ he said, meaning every word.

  ‘I’m having a lovely time. You’re great company.’ And indeed he was. Even if he hadn’t been, just looking at him was a treat. Those eyes. Those penetrating green eyes. And the way he smiled, and his jet black hair which hit the back of his collar in exactly the right place. She had seen a lot of good-looking guys in her time, mostly models, and mostly gay. Jack Python was different. He was amusing and smart, with a cynical edge. And he was making her forget Mark Rand with a vengeance.

  The coffee and Amaretto arrived, along with Jack’s ice cream. She leaned across the table and stole some of his chocolate sauce. ‘Mmmm…’ she murmured, licking her lips. ‘Fan-tas-tic!’

  ‘Are you involved with anyone?’ he asked abruptly.

  She paused before answering, because she wasn’t quite sure if she was or not. Mark Rand wanted to be back in her life. She hadn’t said yes or no, just run for cover. She was supposed to be thinking things over – and yet here she was, having a perfectly wonderful evening. What kind of answer could she give him? It wasn’t that simple.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said softly.

  He stared at her quizzically. ‘You don’t know?’

  She picked up her glass of Amaretto and tipped it into her coffee. ‘Uh… it’s complicated. I was involved, very involved. Now I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Anything you want to talk about?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  They lapsed into silence.

  ‘And you?’ she said, breaking the pause in conversation.

  Okay. What did he tell her? That he was supposed to be considering getting married. That would go down well.

  ‘I guess I sort of see Clarissa Browning,’ he said guardedly. ‘We’ve been together over a year. She’s in New York at the moment.’

  She sipped her coffee. This wasn’t exactly fresh news; Antonio had filled her in before the date. ‘Oh,’ she said, and added as an afterthought, ‘She’s a magnificent actress.’

  ‘That she is,’ he agreed. And they looked at each other, and the look could burn bridges.

  ‘I want to sleep with you,’ he said.

  She was completely lost in his eyes. ‘I know.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I don’t think we’re the perfect couple – what with our commitments and all.’

  He stared at her intently. ‘Do you want me as much as I want you?’

  The ‘yes’ slipped from between her lips before she could help herself.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Okay, Wes knew it was some kind of set-up, only he couldn’t figure out the angle.

  He called Rocky and questioned him.

  ‘Don’t involve me,’ Rocky said. ‘I only gave ya the connection to help out. My advice is watch your balls, an’ tread carefully at all times.’

  That made him feel very secure.

  Next he called Silver at the studio.

  A raspy voice answered the phone with a not too friendly ‘Silver Anderson’s dressing room. What do you want?’

  ‘I’d like to talk to the lady herself.’

  ‘She’s on the set. Who is this?’

  ‘Wes Money. It’s important.’

  ‘I’ll have to take a message.’

  Shit! He had really wanted to explain things to her personally.

  ‘Go ahead – shoot,’ said the raspy voice.

  ‘Can you tell her somethin’ came up – business-wise – and I’ll be running late tonight. I’ll try to be with her by ten-thirty.’

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘Say I’m sorry, it’s unavoidable.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Tell her if I could have changed it I would.’

  ‘What is this – a continuing saga? I’m taking a message not writing a book!’

  ‘Sorry. Oh, the name is Wes Money. M-O-N—’

  ‘I know how to spell money.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I’ll give her the message.’

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Funny thing, whenever he was uptight or tense his nose always gave him trouble. Usually he got a dull ache right by the break.

  He had sealed the thousand dollars in an envelope, and now he had to decide where to hide it until this job was done. There was no safe place – break-ins were common along the boardwalk.

  He waited until he heard Unity return from work, and knocked on her door.

  She was fastening an apron around her tiny waist as she opened up. ‘You’re too early,’ she admonished. ‘Dinner won’t be ready for an hour. I’m fixing stew.’

  He loved stew! It was his favourite meal. In fact it was the only meal his mother had ever cooked.

  ‘I can’t make it over for dinner,’ he said regretfully, remembering her note.

  She didn’t look him in the eye. ‘That’s okay,’ she said, and he sensed her disappointment.

  ‘You didn’t give me much notice, did you?’ he complained.

  ‘I asked you. You can’t come. I understand,’ she said flatly.

  ‘Remember me next time,’ he urged.

  ‘Sure,’ she replied unenthusiastically.

  The dog appeared and wagged its tail. Wes leaned over and patted it. ‘How’s the paw?’ He glanced around her side of the house. Same rented furniture, dismal prints on the walls, cramped little kitchen. Reba’s taste was up her ass. ‘What kind of job do you do?’ he asked.

  She was busy peeling carrots. ‘I’m a waitress in a bar.’

  ‘No kiddin’! I work bar on occasion.’

  ‘Yes?’ she said, completely uninterested. ‘Where?’

  ‘Around. I pick and choose. How about you?’

  ‘Hollywood Boulevard. Tito’s.’

  ‘I don’t know it.’

  ‘You don’t want to.’

  He pulled the envelope of money from the pocket of his leather jacket and hoped he could trust her. Since he had no choice he asked her anyway. ‘Can you look after this for me? Just for a couple of hours?’

  ‘What is it?’ she asked suspiciously.

  ‘My life savings,’ he replied sarcastically. ‘What else?’

  Smoothing down her apron she glared at him, her slightly crossed eyes giving her a vulnerable look.

  ‘Seriously,’ he said. ‘There’s some important documents I can’t leave in the house. So if you wouldn’t mind…’ He trailed off.

  ‘I’m going to sleep early,’ she said, taking the envelope from him. ‘If you’re any later than ten you’ll have to pick it up in the morning before I go to work.’

 
‘What time’s that?’

  ‘Tomorrow my shift is eleven till three. I’ll be leaving here at nine-fifteen.’

  ‘Perfect.’ Silver usually booted him out at seven, when she left for the studio. He could collect his money at eight a.m. if he got held up tonight. ‘I’d appreciate it if you could do me this favour,’ he said.

  She nodded, put the envelope on the side, and continued peeling carrots.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, backing towards the door. ‘Enjoy dinner. Oh, and Unity?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Do me another favour. Don’t let the envelope out of your sight.’

  * * *

  ‘Your boyfriend phoned,’ Nora said. ‘He sounds a real charmer.’

  ‘What did he want?’ Silver asked, trying to conceal her sudden interest.

  ‘Your body. He says you’re the best lay he’s ever had!’

  ‘Thank you, Nora, I already know that. What did he really want?’

  ‘He’s running late. Cannot be with you until after ten tonight.’

  ‘Damn!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I hate being kept waiting. You know that.’

  Nora lit up her forty-fifth cigarette of the day. ‘He said it was business.’

  ‘What kind of business does he have to do at night?’

  Nora shrugged her shoulders. ‘Ask him, not me – I’m only the message taker.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ She swooped into a large Gucci tote bag for her telephone book and handed it to Nora. ‘Get him for me, will you?’

  Nora backed up. ‘I’m here to look after your publicity not your lovers. Where’s your assistant?’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Nora. Each one is worse than the last. I fired the last one, you know that.’

  Grumbling, Nora looked up Wes Money’s number. ‘I should be getting double pay. I’m doing two jobs.’

  ‘I’ll buy you a present,’ Silver said graciously.

  ‘Make it a condo in Miami. I think I’ll retire.’

  Nora punched out the number, and waited. An answering machine picked up. She passed the phone to Silver.

  ‘This is Wes. I’m out. I’ll be back. Leave your name, number and time of call. Go for it… NOW!’

  Perfect timing. The bleep sounded immediately.

  ‘Wes.’ She hated machines, she felt so stupid speaking into them. ‘Er… Why are you running late? It’s really most inconvenient. Phone me at home before you come over.’

  ‘That’ll tell ’im,’ remarked Nora sarcastically.

  ‘Kindly shut up, dear,’ said Silver grandly, and swept back to the set.

  * * *

  Wes took Sunset all the way in from the beach. He drove Silver’s Mercedes, and stayed in the right-hand lane and under the speed limit. It wouldn’t do to get stopped while he was carrying. He sweated at the very thought.

  Jeez! What had he got himself into, and why?

  He knew enough to realize if you carried you’d better be prepared to use. And he had no intention of doing that. In and out. That was his plan. If the guy gave him any trouble he would back gently off and split fast.

  Laurel Canyon wound its way off Sunset into the hills, and meandered all the way over to the Valley. The house Wes was looking for was located halfway up, along with several other homes on a private road. The numbers were listed on a row of mailboxes, and a sign read PRIVATE PROPERTY, STAY OFF. ARMED PATROL. BEWARE OF DOG.

  Talk about a warm welcome!

  It was dark up in the hills and he had to shine a flashlight outside the car window to be sure he was at the right place.

  Turning up the side road, he drove slowly, looking for the correct number. When he found it he idled past, just to get the lie of the land. There was one more house after it, and then the hills grew wild and steep.

  He turned his car around with difficulty, all the while planning, thinking. He didn’t want to drive up to the front door, park the car, and present himself just like that – a sitting target if things went wrong. He had to be in a position to make a fast getaway if the need arose – which he hoped it wouldn’t, but you could never be too careful.

  He drove two houses down. Each home had its own private driveway snaking up into the hills. None of the residences was visible from the private road. They all seemed to have these long, winding paths to negotiate.

  On impulse, he drove up the wrong one. It was not your manicured Beverly Hills type driveway. This was pure country, with overhanging trees, and a lot of wild bush.

  He reached a ranch-style residence with several cars parked outside. Switching off his lights, he turned his car around, and headed back to the main private road. Halfway there, he pulled the Mercedes tight into the side, killed the ignition, and got out. Pocketing the keys he checked his watch. It was five of nine. The man had said to collect at nine o’clock prompt. He was running on time.

  On foot he moved swiftly, having had the good sense to wear comfortable sneakers.

  Down the path, up the private road, until he reached the right number, and yet another sign warning of armed patrol and dogs.

  Feeling a shudder of apprehension, he made his way up the steep incline towards collection point. Shit! This whole cloak-and-dagger bit was like something out of a James Bond movie!

  The house, when he reached it, was silent. Only one light shone in an upstairs room. A silver Maserati, a black Jeep, and an old blue station wagon were dotted around outside. A coyote howled somewhere in the hills.

  With trepidation, he approached the front door. This is a piece of pussy, he thought.

  The hairs on the back of his neck told him it wasn’t.

  He groped for the gun. It nestled in his pocket like a security blanket. Not that he would ever use it. As the man had said, just insurance in case of trouble.

  What trouble?

  Confidently he rang the bell. It was nine o’clock exactly.

  Silence. Nothing. Nobody answered.

  He rang again.

  Repeat performance.

  Stepping back he glanced up at the lighted window. No sign of movement there.

  Shit!

  Drawn like a magnet he reached forward and tried the front door.

  It opened. Just like that. Deep down he had known it would.

  Inner voices screamed – Don’t go in, schmuck! Get your ass in gear and vamoose!

  Far off in the distance he heard police sirens. They harmonized with the mournful howling of the lone coyote.

  As he entered the house he thought about Silver. Her throaty laugh, expensive skin, hot, throbbing—

  Jesus! He had known it was a set-up.

  Sprawled halfway down the stairs was the body of a man. Blood dripped from him like a faucet, forming a pool on the hall carpet. He had been shot in the head.

  Drawn unwillingly, Wes stepped farther into the house, chills coursing through his body.

  Face down, half in and half out of a room, lay the body of a female – a fan of yellow hair spread out and spotted with blood.

  He felt the bile rise to his throat, and as he turned to run he glimpsed a shadow with a raised arm, and a lead pipe heading in his direction.

  ‘Oh, Jesus Christ – no—’ he began to say, raising his right arm to protect himself.

  It was too late.

  Blackness descended.

  Wes Money was temporarily out of the game.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Somewhere between the restaurant and the hotel, Jade changed her mind. Deeply attracted as she was to Jack Python, one-night stands were not her style, never had been. Besides, there were too many complications. She hadn’t made up her mind about Mark. And Jack had admitted he was deeply involved with Clarissa Browning. Nothing was ever easy.

  When she told him, he took it with a philosophical shrug. ‘I guess our timing is off, huh?’

  She touched her hand to his cheek lightly. Somehow she felt they were intimate strangers. ‘Something like that,’ she said softly.

  He understood per
fectly. And they parted good friends with no mention of further meetings.

  The next day, on the flight back to Los Angeles, Antonio was dying to know everything.

  She was noncommittal. ‘We had dinner. We talked. He’s a terrific guy.’

  ‘And, bella? You make love with him?’

  ‘It’s none of your business,’ she said firmly.

  Antonio sulked. He hated being left out of anything.

  She thought about Jack Python quite a bit on the way home. And then she thought about Mark. And she realized it wasn’t over. Not yet anyway.

  Mark had left several messages with her answering service. There was also a call from her brother, Corey, which made a pleasant change. She telephoned him first.

  ‘What’s up, bro?’ she asked cheerfully.

  ‘Nothing.’ He sounded wistful. ‘I was thinking about you. Thought I might take you out to lunch.’

  She glanced at the time. It was almost six on Sunday evening. ‘A little late for lunch,’ she said lightly. ‘How about dinner?’

  ‘Can’t do it. I’m all tied up.’

  You’re always tied up, she wanted to say. Don’t you remember how close we used to be?

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked, a trifle stiffly.

  ‘There’s this party… business.’

  Sometimes he really pissed her off. If she was going to a party and knew he was alone, she’d ask him to go with her. But no such offer was forthcoming.

  ‘You know something? I still haven’t seen your house or met your housemate,’ she said, and before he could answer she continued with, ‘Look, I know you think I don’t approve. And I have to admit that I was upset when you told me about you and Marita splitting. However, I love you, and whatever you do… well… it’s your life. When can I meet her?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your housemate, densehead!’

  A long pause. He obviously wasn’t insane about the idea.

  Too bad. She had waited long enough. She might as well get a look at the woman who had broken up her brother’s marriage.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ she said. ‘Why don’t I take you both out to dinner next week? My treat. How about Friday night?’

  He was silent.

  ‘Can I get an answer around here please?’ she persisted.

  ‘Let me check. I’ll call you tomorrow,’ he finally said.