Karen babbled on about how she’d been out of the country when Val got engaged and had bumped into Joe, who told her about the engagement. She just stopped by to wish her all the best. She didn’t tell Anne that Joe had also filled her in about Val’s black eye. He’d found out the details when he did Anne’s hair a few days earlier. Much to Karen’s surprise Anne broke down and started to cry.
“What’s wrong Anne? Where’s Val?”
Anne pointed down the hall. Karen walked to the room and opened the door. Val quickly turned her head away.
“Go away, Karen. I don’t want to see anyone.”
“But I want to see you. What happened?”
“Nothing, honestly. Please go. Marco will be here soon, and he’ll freak out if you’re here. He’ll think I called you. Please go!”
“Val, look at me.”
“No, I don’t want to. You of all people. You mustn’t see me like this.”
Karen walked over and gently took Val’s face in her hand. She couldn’t hide her shock when she saw what that son of a bitch had done to Val’s beautiful face.
“Why Val? Why did he do it?”
“He didn’t like the way I spoke to one of his friends.”
Val tried to laugh but winced with pain instead.
“It takes all kinds, Karen. Trust me, I know.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Nothing. Honestly, it’s all right. I’m going to Florida for a vacation. Marco has a house down there and thinks the sun and fun will do me good.”
“What about your work?”
“What work? Didn’t you know? I’m like a leper? No one wants to touch me. Marco says I’m lucky to have him. Without him, he said I’d be on a breadline.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it!”
Karen had heard nothing but bad news about Val since getting back from Europe and knew what she said wasn't bullshit. Sadly, Val had the reputation for being stoned out of her mind every night and running with Marco’s heavy crowd. Before Karen left that afternoon she tried to comfort Anne, telling her everything would turn out for the best and promising to stay in touch. Neither of them really believed that.
She took a deep breath when she stepped outside into the winter sunlight and walked along wondering how she could help Val. In a way, she felt responsible for the position she was in. When Sharon had called Marco to come to L.A. it had all been to get back at Nicky. Things had mushroomed to places unknown. Even she could never have imagined what had transpired since then.
God, what an outcome. She had another reason for not wanting to see Marco. It was Sharon. She had been with her since Boston. He wouldn’t have taken it well to know they were an item. Especially the way he felt about gays.
She and Sharon had spent a summer in Greece, visiting her friends on Hydra and Mykonos, then skied in Italy and enjoyed spring and summer in Provence, before finally ending up in London. They'd had amazing times together, sincerely liking each other.
In London, they’d run into Nicky. Time seemed to have healed old wounds between them. They were both in different places, finally happy with their lives and where they were.
Nicky had definitely found his niche in London. He was directing his second play—happy with someone named Fletcher Ingram who was not only gorgeous but talented and starring in Nicky’s new play. He wasn’t making a lot of money, not like when he was in the movies, but to him the accolades he’d received for his work meant much more.
One night, when the four of them had been out dancing, Nicky introduced Karen to a sleazy-looking producer who was trying to get the money together for a horror flick . He loved the way Sharon looked and as he put it, “for the right amount of dollars, she could be my leading lady.” He wasn’t kidding. The lead in his film wore only a flimsy nightgown for the whole movie, and Sharon was eye candy, that was for sure. Sharon had wanted to do it, insisting she still wanted to act. Problem was, it wasn’t going into production until the following year. Karen told her it would be on the back burner as a maybe.
Walking across town, she came to the conclusion a movie in London could be just what Val needed. By the time she arrived home, she couldn’t wait to get to a phone. Luckily, Sharon wasn’t home. She left a note saying she was shopping for a change. Her first call was to Murray in L.A. He was friendly with his “baby this” and “baby that,” but told her straight: “As far as I am concerned when Val’s through with the show, I’m dropping her as a client. I can probably get someone who owes me to give her a guest spot on a pilot for a new series, but that’s about it.”
Before she could say anything, he continued.
“Another property of mine is going to do the movie version of Val’s play. You know me, as long as I get my percentage I don’t give a fuck where it comes from. My property is getting big bucks for the film version, and I already see lots of zeros in my future. Val has a month or so; then she’ll be out of the play and out of my life for good.”
After that negative call Karen put through another call to the sleazeball producer in London. Mr. Sydney Greenspan came on the line like a shot.
“Yes, I’m still hoping to do the film.”
“Sydney here’s my deal. I’ll be good for a third of the money.”
She knew if he had that amount, he'd have no trouble raising the rest.
“Here’s the way it has to go down. Number one, I have to stay anonymous; that’s one important demand I insist on.”
“I can live with that.”
“Number two. You have to use Val Rhodes.”
“To be honest, I’m not thrilled with that. I loved the idea of that bird Sharon.”
“That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”
He got over his disappointment quickly. “I take it. Beggars can’t be choosers.”
“When do you expect to go into production?”
“Not till a few months from now. There’s a lot of preproduction stuff to do. I promise to try to speed things up.”
“I can live with that, Sydney. Just remember, I stay out of the picture.”
With that, the deal was made. She’d make it up to Sharon. She’d enroll her at the Actor’s Studio in New York; that was another dream of hers. She was sure Sharon would be satisfied with that. Anyway, she still liked the idea of having her around.
Her next call was to Dr. A. He said he was always happy to hear from her. But as soon as she mentioned Val, his mood changed. It seemed she had caused him nothing but trouble, and he was another one who had dropped her as a client. He was used to his clients being discreet and she definitely wasn’t. And that boyfriend of hers was from the gutter. On top of that, Val had persuaded his nurse to come to her house to give her the shots. At first the nurse had been able to get his preparation without his knowledge. When Dr. A found out what she was doing, she was fired immediately. He had no idea what had happened to Val.
Unbeknownst to Karen, Val now took amphetamines with vitamins in the morning and downs at night. She wasn’t alone using this setup. Most of the ultrathin, ultrachic men and women in New York City were in the same boat. At least things got done in the late sixties and seventies. The country was run by speed freaks.
Since getting home, Karen had noticed definite changes in the city. Live broadcasts of the Vietnam War came into people’s living rooms nightly. Kids burned draft cards and left for Canada to avoid the draft. Sit-ins on college campuses were common. Arrests were made. Kids were beaten up. Cops were called “pigs.” Authority was under attack.
Skirts were shorter, platforms were higher. Unisex had taken over. Tie-dye, blue jeans, and headbands were like a uniform for the hippies. Sunday at the fountain in Central Park was an ocean of color and sounds. The Beatles had helped make the Atlantic seem like the pond in Central Park. The jet set were filling the skies, getting there and back faster than ever.
Folk singers were the voices of the young protesters. Radical groups popped up. The Black Panthers and Malcolm X and the SLA—which had kid
napped heiress Patty Hearst—came into being. Bombs went off. Yet peace and love were all people sang about, and everyone insisted all they really wanted was to “Give Peace A Chance.”
The island of Manhattan was a refuge from the rest of the country. For the first time rock groups hit the charts and made fortunes. The poor sales ladies at Saks and Tiffany and Cartier were shaken out of their comfort zone. Kids would come to shop wearing blue jeans, and drop thousands in cash for the tank watch with the special clasp at Cartier. Roach clips and coke spoons hung blatantly from gold chains around necks. People experimented with drugs openly and discovered gurus and meditation. Everyone had to have a copy of The Prophet and everyone tried desperately to “Be Here Now.” Music was amazing! When Marvin Gaye released What’s Going On, and the Beatles, Sargent Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band, they captured every nuance of the times. Joe, still on top of the scene in the city took her and Sharon to see the pièce de résistance for every lucky New Yorker. Bette Midler. Usually at around three in the morning she performed at the boys’ baths. She’d come out dressed like Carmen Miranda, with Barry Manilow accompanying her on piano. You forgot about the half-naked boys running around dropping their towels, and diving into the pool. She was fantastic! Fire Island on the weekend was the favorite destination. With coke, mescaline, or LSD, and then a popper under your nose, you felt like you could dance or fuck for days.
Anything went in NYC. The fun seemed endless!
CHAPTER 43
Exits and Entrances
Broadway has always been tough. Once you’re through with a show, if you don’t go into something else immediately, the fickle fans and media are on to the next name to fill their columns and cocktail chat.
On Val’s closing night, a few loyal friends showed up at her dressing room. Most of them, especially the gay ones, split after a few minutes. They didn’t want to run into Marco. They knew how homophobic he was.
So the day after she closed, Val was on a plane to Miami with Marco.
They were met by two of his henchmen driving a big, black, four-door Lincoln convertible. Val was in a fog; she’d taken a Percodan for the flight and didn’t feel a thing. She managed to walk to the car. She felt a lot of eyes on them. They still made quite a striking couple, and she knew when they were the center of attraction it was one of their rare moments together that Marco loved.
When she collapsed in the back of the car, she closed her eyes for a while. Marco was catching up on details with his heavies, and she couldn’t have cared less. She opened her eyes and noticed they were going over a small bridge. They stopped at a little hut where an armed guard jumped to his feet, peeked inside the car, quickly withdrew his head, and saluted. Marco grunted and nodded, and the car continued on. They drew up to an enormous white house. A man servant came out and opened the rear door.
“Hey, Kent. Help the lady to her room.”
Val staggered out.
“I don’t think she’ll be joining us for dinner.”
Val heard this and felt a wave of relief sweep through her body. She could sleep and that’s all she wanted to do. She let herself be half-carried up an enormous staircase.
“Put the fairy princess to bed.”
She heard Marco laugh after he said this. He found it funny to use that line. In private, he called her a fairy fucker and would make her tell him in detail about what she did with Nicky in bed. She hadn’t wanted to, but he had twisted her arm till she thought it was going to break. She found if she stayed in a stupor, she could usually put up with his carrying on. His obsession with Nicky upset her. She had wanted to forget him; now Marco constantly made her think of him again. The last she’d heard, Nicky had been in London—not doing well, but surviving. As far as she was concerned, he couldn’t be doing any worse than she was.
When Kent left her bedroom, a young girl wearing a maid’s uniform came in. She had a Spanish accent.
“Can I help you mees?”
“Yes, I’d like to call my mother, and I don’t see a phone.”
“That’s right, mees. Mr. Marco, he take it out. So you can have the peace and the quiet. He ees so kind and thoughtful, no?”
“Yes, isn’t he.”
She was a prisoner. She knew she had to get out of the mess she was in, but at that moment, all she wanted to do was sink back on the enormous bed and drift off into nothingness. She couldn’t stop thinking of Nicky. She could have sworn he’d come backstage at the theater. She couldn’t be sure, maybe she’d just imagined it.
CHAPTER 44
Decision Time
Val hadn’t imagined Nicky’s visit. He’d shown up one Saturday afternoon between shows, when he was on his way to London.
In L.A. he had started to feel desperate. Nothing was coming his way. His series wasn’t picked up, and Murray told him in his sweet way he couldn’t get him arrested. One thing he had always wanted to do was direct. It would be close to impossible for him in Hollywood: he was an actor there. Once you were put into a category, it was hard to be taken seriously doing anything else in the business in that town. He had to figure out where he could go. He couldn’t go to New York; there were too many people he didn’t want to see. France always seemed to encourage young, interesting film directors, but he didn’t have any good connections there. And the language was a drawback. It had to be London. He pulled out his old phone book and finally found the name he was looking for: Maxie Ryman.
When they’d been happy together, Nicky and Peter had spent a lot of time in London looking for antiques or going to the theater. That's when Nicky met Maxie. They had become very close friends. Maxie visited the two of them in the States a couple of times. After Nicky’s breakup, they’d stayed in touch. If nothing else, they always spoke with each other at Christmas and on birthdays. Maxie was a dear old queen who had loads of bread, knew all the show biz crowd in London, and was starstruck.
Nicky paced the room trying to calm down before he put his call through. He heard the English phone ring five times and was just about to hang up when a familiar voice said, “Hello.”
“Hello, Maxie, guess who?”
“Nicky, you little bastard. How are you?”
“Well my dear, about as fed up to the teeth with Hollywood as I could possibly be.”
“Then come on over. I’d love to see you.”
“Maxie, I’ll come straight to the point. I feel a bit strange asking this, but I want to work on a new project over there, and wondered if after all this time, does the offer to stay at your place still go?”
“You know it does, me old darling. Any time.”
Nicky collapsed into the chair. They must have stayed on the phone for over an hour catching up on life in general. Maxie told him he’d be at the airport with his chauffeur as soon as he received a wire from Nicky with his arrival date and flight number.
When he hung up, Nicky let out two yahoos like a cowboy at a rodeo. To get away from all the bad vibes in L.A. would be the breath of fresh air he needed. The business was as cutthroat in London, but somehow they had panache when they made tough deals; it practically made it fun. He had very few loose ends to tie up in L.A. He got lucky and sublet his beach house to a director from Europe who was about to shoot a film in L.A. He paid Nicky six months’ rent in advance and bought his Jag. With cash in his pocket, he was ready to go.
The next thing he did was call Murray. As a last favor, he asked him to arrange for some press coverage when he arrived in London. It never hurt to get his picture in the paper. Murray was thrilled to get rid of what he considered just another problem, and he promised to have some photographers there waiting for him.
It was during his stopover in New York when Nicky went to see Val at the theater. The guy at the stage door recognized him and let him back. He watched the last act from the wings and thought Val was perfect in her role. That’s why, when he knocked on her dressing room door and they were face-to-face, he was blown away when he saw the state she was in. The first thing she did was hold
out her hand and show him her ring.
“You remember Marco, don’t you? Wasn’t he your best friend?”
She turned and faced the mirror and started to brush her hair. Nicky had wanted to say so much to her, but he could see there was no way that was going to happen. She was on something, he didn’t know what. She was bitter and kept ranting on about Marco and the terrible things he said about his ex-friend who was a fairy. Then for one brief moment she turned to him, nearly looking and sounding like her old self.
“You’d better go, Nicky. He’ll be here soon.”
He knew she was right. He kissed her on the cheek and squeezed her hand hoping it would convey some of the things he’d wanted to say. He left, sad.
CHAPTER 45
To the Max
As promised, Murray came through and there was a nice turnout from the London press when Nicky landed at Heathrow. After the interviews, he picked up his luggage and easily found Maxie’s Daimler. There, in the backseat covered in fur, looking like he was doing Elizabeth Taylor in the movie The V.I.P.s, was Maxie Ryman himself. They both sat back sipping champagne for the drive through London to Maxie’s place in Kensington and were in very good humor. Maxie lived in a converted mews flat. Photographers and artists had moved into these renovated spaces at first; then after the film Blow Up, it was the place to live.
Money was abundant in London. Homes and apartments were being sold for enormous amounts. Beirut and Egypt were changing politically, and a lot of Arab money came into the country. Casinos and private clubs had opened, and sheiks wearing western clothes loved putting a stack of one hundred-pound chips on red at the roulette tables, usually with a pretty blonde on their arms.
Old money in England was feeling a new pinch. High taxes took their toll. Quite a few of the gentry were forced to open up their “stately homes of England” to busloads of tourists, just to make ends meet. They had never believed the Industrial Revolution would end. But things had changed drastically.
Murder! Hollywood Style Page 19