Murder! Hollywood Style

by Carol Branston

  Images moved silently across three TV screens in Karen’s huge, crowded living room. The very latest mix of dance music, taped personally by a delightful little fairy named Roger, blasted throughout the apartment. Roger was in charge of music at the best discotheque in town. His tapes were being bootlegged, by him, for enormous amounts of money. He was very high on life at that moment, spending most of his new wealth on furs and jewels and wearing it all. He was about to do the soundtrack for an important underground movie that he insisted was being shot as he spoke. He eagerly told the crowd how his ear for music had finally been appreciated and accepted as an “art form.”

  Being “totally into” something was the mantra of the moment. Many of the people there really were the artists of the day. Andy Warhol with his bevy of beauties—Val’s first introduction to transvestites and sex changes—was being congratulated on his film of someone sleeping for eight hours. One woman—surrounded by a mix of women, some dressed in men’s suits and blazers while others wore dresses and makeup—was indeed a published law professor who wrote lesbian pornography novels to subsidize herself. Another women was related to Gertrude Stein, and sorry to say, there was indeed a family resemblance. Poor little rich girls still existed. One young heiress to millions stumbled around on downs. She was the topic of conversation among all the people on uppers who couldn’t stop talking.

  Nobody seemed to drink much anymore and the drinkers stood out like sore thumbs. They still liked their vodka: Stoli, 100 proof, kept in the freezer.

  This unique cast of characters filled the apartment. The air was full of smoke and the wonderful aroma of good grass permeated the place. It was so strong, all you had to do was inhale to get high—a contact high they called it. Val remembered a few days earlier when she’d heard the phrase for the first time; she’d thought they were talking about taking a couple of Contac cold pills.

  Val was hanging out with some gay boys who had auditioned for her show. They were hopefully going to be in the chorus. They adored her; she was their queen.

  “Tommy, what’s with that group over there? They don’t look too happy.”

  “Au contraire my dear, that one’s ex-lover is now doing it with that one’s ex-lover from last year. They want their exes to know how happy they are since they broke up and moved on. They’re dishing, that’s all.”

  To Val, it looked like war had been declared between them. When Joe dished, she found it funny. From what Val had seen, when those people dished it was vicious.

  She tried not to glance at the TV screens. The show was about to air in fifteen minutes. She was getting more and more uptight and wished she hadn’t gone along with the idea of having a party.

  One group of boys hadn’t taken their eyes off her since they’d arrived. They stopped speaking whenever she went near them. She fluffed it off, blaming the grass, telling herself she was just being paranoid. She looked around for Joe. He was nowhere to be seen, and Karen who was busy playing hostess, and mingling madly had hardly said two words to her all evening. Val excused herself from her chorus boys and darted for the bathroom. It was full. She went to Karen’s bedroom. A couple on the bed didn’t even notice her. She was standing there feeling foolish, when Karen walked out of her dressing room followed closely by a girl who looked like she had just stepped off the cover of European Vogue.

  “Phew, that was good timing, Val. One minute earlier and I would never have known what true love really is! Meet Zaria.”

  Karen with a woman! Her too. Was the whole world gay? Val knew of the men in Karen’s life; she’d been engaged and even had an abortion at one time. She herself had only known one man, Nicky, and had gone to bed with him because she loved him. These people seemed to change lovers and bed partners like they changed their clothes. Man, woman, it didn’t seem to matter.

  “What’s wrong, precious? You look upset.”

  “I’m a wreck. The show will be on in a few minutes and I don’t think I can handle it with all those people. They look like vultures and I’m the prey.”

  “Lovey, you’re stoned that’s all. I know just what you need.”

  With that Karen’s now famous antique watch appeared. She flipped it open with expertise, and out came a Valium.

  “Swallow this, precious. Right now, come on. Promise, you’ll be fine.”

  Val popped it in her mouth without hesitating and washed it down with some white wine.

  “Now, my love, come with me and Zaria. We’ll take up position center stage and ignore them all. Most of them don’t exist for me anyway.”

  She and Zaria laughed; Val, still at panic stage, envied them.

  “Come on, Val. Ve vill protect you from zees ‘orrible creatures out zer. You vill be safe vid us.”

  Zaria didn’t speak; she purred, sounding like Lisbeth Scott with a German accent. Not only did she have that amazing voice, she must have been six foot tall without heels and gorgeous!

  “How do you feel?”

  “I think I feel a bit better.”

  “Good. We still have time for a little toke.”

  Karen lit a J and by the time they’d had a few puffs, the combination of Valium, wine, and a J kicked in, the three of them were feeling no pain. As far as Val was concerned, Karen with her magic watch and chain was better than any doctor she’d ever known.

  The three beauties entered the living room to a standing ovation. They bowed and curtsied their way to the center of the room and sat down on the carpet. Pillows were brought to the trio, and a popper was put under their noses. After the first rush from the popper, they fell into uncontrollable fits of laughter. Everyone was either dancing, kissing, or laughing madly. At that moment, Val appeared on the TV screens. Someone turned up the volume. Someone else yelled.

  “Let’s stay up and never come down.”

  Someone else yelled.

  “We must watch the TV!”

  Someone else yelled.

  “Fuck the TV!”

  Everyone cheered. Karen was kissing Val, and Zaria was stroking her hair. She was acutely aware of it all and loving each sensation. At one point, she glanced over Karen’s shoulder and caught a glimpse of herself on the screen. She pointed at the TV. She was about to say something about Nicky, like how much she loved him, and how much she loved New York and didn’t agree with the stories she’d heard about it being unfriendly and cold. Nobody heard any of it. Karen grabbed her and kissed her again. This brought more cheers from the crowd. Someone yelled.

  “What would Nicky say to that?”

  “Peter would know if anyone would.”

  “Well, Peter. What would he say?”

  “I think Nicky would say thanks Karen for keeping the little bitch busy and off his back.”

  This was said when the volume in the room for some unknown reason, had subsided. Everyone seemed to have heard what Peter said. Suddenly, you could have heard a pin drop. Peter’s friends laughed loudly trying to cover for him, but it was no good. Val didn’t seem bothered and couldn’t have cared less, but Karen, wired up on coke, her favorite drug of the week, jumped up and went for him. Her hand slapped Peter’s face so hard it jerked his head. She let her fingernails drag down his handsome face and he screamed. He pushed her off. She lost her balance and fell on some people. Her rage was completely out of hand by then. She stood up trying to regain her composure.

  “You little worm. You horrible, fading queen. Get out of my house. You are below the level of shit. Get out of my life! You’re nothing but a jellyfish with no balls. You prissy faggot! You make me sick. Get out! Now!”

  Peter touched his bleeding cheek.

  “You stupid cunt; look what you’ve done! You’re damn right! I can’t wait to get out of this sickness you call home.”

  He reached the door, turned back, and hissed.

  “My lawyer will be in touch with you tomorrow. You’ll be sorry for this. And as for that little piece of blonde trash you’re all sucking up to. If anything, I feel sorry for her. You’ll be her frie
nd as long as her picture’s on the front of magazines. Then you’ll drop her like she’s poison.”

  Peter turned and looked directly at Val.

  “I’m going to tell you something, Miss Blonde Trash, before one of your so-called friends sidles up to you one cold night and whispers it in your ear. Nicky and I were lovers! Yes, my dear it’s true. Beware of these creatures. I was darling of the season once. You will be making an exit like this in the not too distant future.”

  Proudly, he turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

  CHAPTER 5

  Truth or Consequences

  The sound of silence was deafening. Confused, Val had no idea what was going on. She was very stoned, and when she tried to stand she couldn’t. She just sat there mumbling.

  “What did he say? What?”

  No one said a word. Embarrassed guests were discreetly getting their coats and belongings. Karen stopped them all in their tracks.

  “Before anyone leaves, I wish to say one thing. If this incident gets out it could be major. I want to emphasize one thing. Anything seen and heard here tonight will stay right here. If not, I have my ways of finding out whose mouths started to run, and I have my ways of shutting up those mouths.”

  She turned her back on everyone. The queen had dismissed her subjects. They were beyond thrilled to leave as quickly as possible.

  Val sat on a pillow in the now-empty room, looking around the gorgeous apartment, where just a few hours earlier her world had seemed so perfect. It had been blown to smithereens in a few seconds, and the haphazard sequence of events played with her mind like pieces from a bizarre jigsaw puzzle that wouldn’t come together. Karen had disappeared; then Val heard her shouting. She was on the phone in the kitchen.

  “I don’t care. I want it done. Now! That’s not a problem. Yes. So what! Yea, now. Bye.”

  From the corner of her eye Val noticed Zaria was still there. She sat half hidden in the stereo armchair. Only her long legs showed, crossing and uncrossing nervously. Karen strode across the room, sat down, and put her arm around Val who immediately started to cry.

  “We’ll have none of that. Come on, pull your shit together. You can’t fall apart now. We have to have a little tête-à-tête. But first, I think we could all use a good stiff brandy.”

  She walked over to the bar, and with a steady hand poured three snifters half-full. She placed a glass in Val’s hand and joined her on the pillows. Zaria took her own and, with just a glance from Karen, got the message to put the stereo earphones in place. They sat sipping their brandy in silence.

  Karen broke the ice. “I’m going to be frank with you, and what I say may not be what you want to hear. But here goes. When Joe first told me he was doing your hair and you were Nicky’s fiancée, I couldn’t wait to meet you. I thought you would be something totally different. I had no idea you’d led such a sheltered life and, shall we say, hadn’t been exposed to certain lifestyles so many of us here choose to lead. Then I met you and got to know you, and you really are this sweet, young kid who’s in love. That doesn’t show itself too often in this town, and at first I didn’t believe it.”

  She paused, took a drink, then went on.

  “I didn’t want to be the one to burst your balloon and tell you about Nicky. I always had the feeling it would just be a matter of time before someone in this gem of a town shot their venom your way. That’s why I was happy to have you stay with me—so I could stay on top of most of the flack being thrown around. I thought everyone in your business knew about Nicky and his preferred tastes in the bedroom. I honestly thought you were a publicity piece and had been around and knew the score. Val, I’m really sorry about what happened tonight because, well, because you deserve what you thought you had. But I’m afraid this is the reality.”

  She paused. Val was staring off into space, so she continued.

  “So now the question is what are we going to do? As far as the people here tonight, most of them will keep this episode to themselves, for the simple reason that they have positions, families, or some skeleton in their own closets. Peter could be a problem. I tend to think not. Then we have Nicky.”

  Val snapped back to reality. “Hold on. What about Nicky?”

  “Well, one of the prissy fags here tonight might call him and fill him in. Anyway it’s a maybe. All I’m saying is we should work out which line of attack or defense we’re going to take.”

  “Karen. Stop right there! What do you mean attack, defense? I’m in love with Nicky. I’m not a tap that turns on and off. I can’t stop loving him just like that. I wish he was here right now. He’d know what to do. He loves me. Nobody could fool another person that well. Okay, I’m not as worldly as you about some things, but I’ve been around enough to know when someone is lying to me, and he wasn’t! I’d swear to that.”

  Karen didn’t say a word.

  “It’s a hideous mistake. Whatever he did before me is his business anyway. People change you know, look at half the people here tonight. You included. You’ve had boyfriends and female lovers, why can’t he change? I’m going to call him right now. He’ll know what to do.”

  Val tried to stand and fell back on the pillows.

  “What if he doesn’t tell me what I want to hear? Oh God, then there’s my mother. This will kill her. She’s more of a problem than anyone. What about my show? How can I face those chorus kids who were here tonight? I’m going crazy.”

  She looked at Karen and over her shoulder saw the three TVs still on with no sound. The Tonight Show was just ending and all the guests were standing, congratulating each other on a good show. She watched her own image, smiling and chatting with Johnny. Did he know too? Were they smiling with her or laughing at her? She wanted to die.

  “I’m going to call Nicky now! I have to.” She managed to stand and make it to the phone.

  “Before you dial, think about it for a minute.” Karen stood up and joined her. “Personally, I think you should wait till tomorrow.” She gently took the phone from Val. “Just wait and see. Maybe you’re right. Maybe he has changed. I hope so for your sake. But…”

  “What will he think if someone else calls him?” Val looked at Karen for an answer, but none came. “I have to speak to him,” she pleaded. “That’s all there is to it.”

  “You know what you have to do.” Karen knew at that point whatever she said would make no difference.

  “I do know!”

  At the door, Val turned and hesitated, suddenly unsure. Almost apologetically she managed to say, “I just have to” before she staggered down the hall.

  Her room suddenly seemed so empty and cold. The phone beside the bed looked like an enormous monster. All the buttons that usually brought jokes and laughter when lit up were dark now, waiting to be used. She wished Mr. Bell had never invented the damn thing. She remembered the last time she’d pressed Nicky’s number on the touch-tone phone. It had sounded like the song “This Guy’s In Love With You.” All those details were wicked at that moment.

  She took a sip of the brandy she found in her hand and realized how sober she felt. What had happened to the greenie and the yellow and the pot and the poppers? She wished they were all still working; she wished she could take something, anything, and make everything disappear. She swallowed the whole snifter of brandy, sank back on the bed, and stared at the phone. A large roach lay in the ashtray. She lit it and inhaled deeply. The smoke burned her chest and throat. It didn’t matter. In fact she welcomed the physical pain. She wanted to feel something, anything other than panic. After three puffs the J was too short. She lay against the pillows waiting for its effect to take place. The frantic feeling started to subside. She imagined what would happen when she dialed Nicky’s number.

  Nicky will be home. He’ll answer the phone. It will be just like it’s always been. I won’t even mention what happened. That’s right. It was all lies. He’s my Nicky, and nothing’s going to change that. I won’t let it.

  She said his number to herse
lf adding up the digits in her head, playing the childish game she had learnt when she was six years old. She divided the total by seven; the number remaining meant the following: one for sorrow, two for joy, three for a letter, four for a boy, five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret never to be told.

  Damn, it adds up to forty three. That leaves a one. One for sorrow. Why did I ever learn that ridiculous game? Why did I add up his silly number?

  She tried to think of something else.

  What did Karen say? A publicity stunt? That seems a bit far-fetched. Although the way some of these people use each other, maybe it’s not. I’ve watched the phonies trying to get close to Karen. She handles that kind of thing easily. I can’t. I’m not like that. I don’t know how to be like that. I don’t want to be like that.”

  She thought of the boys she’d seen at the bars dancing together and even kissing. It hadn’t bothered her before, but she had never thought of them sexually. What they did together was their own business. Now she had to think about it: instead of imagining strangers, they were two people she knew, and one of them was her fiancé. She’d recently met people who spoke of their sex lives like it had absolutely nothing to do with love, and wondered if everyone got to that point? She hoped not. What she and Nicky had together was a culmination of their love—the way it should be as far as she was concerned.

  What if Peter had been another girl? Would the whole mess seem as hideous? Hideous yes, but more acceptable. To whom? To me.

  She shouted. “Yes to me.”

  She grabbed the phone and pushed Nicky’s numbers. Her stomach was in knots. She felt nauseous. His phone rang. One ring, two rings, three rings. No answer. She screamed. “Where the fuck are you Nicky Venuti?”

  Karen came running into the room.

  “Where the fuck are you?”

  She saw Karen and yelled. “He’s not home. Isn’t that a joke? We’re going through the biggest crisis of our life and he’s out!”