L. A. Connections, page 5
Cole grinned. ‘Hey – you never know . . . he’s a real player.’
Madison mock-frowned. ‘Behave yourself. I knew you when you were nothing more than a horny delinquent!’
Cole’s grin widened. ‘Yeah, well, nothing much has changed. ’Cept now I’m horny in the opposite direction.’
‘So Natalie told me.’
He grabbed an apple from the counter. ‘She kinda gets a buzz from it – y’know, her brother, the fruit. When the two of us go out we take bets on which guys are straight an’ which ones dance with Dorothy. I fake her out every time, ’cause my instincts rule!’
After Cole went off to shower, Madison tried Salli again. This time Salli answered her phone, all breathy-voiced. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘This is Salli T.’
‘Remember me?’ Madison said. ‘Your flying coach.’
‘Course I do,’ Salli said, sounding pleased. ‘Wow! You’re actually calling me. Didn’t think you would.’
‘I spoke to my editor. He loves the idea of an interview.’
‘That was quick.’
‘Very. Can I come by sometime after twelve tomorrow?’
‘Well . . .’ Salli said hesitantly. ‘I really should tell my publicist. He’ll be mad at me if I arrange something on my own.’
‘Publicists have a habit of screwing everything up,’ Madison said crisply, trying to discourage her because dealing with publicists was a total pain in the ass. ‘Do it if you want, but I should warn you, by the time he gets into it, I’ll probably be long gone.’
‘You’re right,’ Salli agreed. ‘And I do want to be in Manhattan Style. It will be like a kind of new image thing for me, right?’
‘We’ll have fun,’ Madison promised.
‘Okay,’ Salli said, like a little kid planning something naughty. ‘I’ll give you my address and you can come to lunch tomorrow.’
‘Looking forward to it.’
And she was. There was something very appealing about Salli T. Turner. In spite of the obvious sex-bomb presentation – big boobs and clouds of bleached hair – she had a certain sweetness and vulnerability. A kind of early Marilyn Monroe quality.
Madison used her laptop to email New York, requesting a clippings file on Salli. Then she checked out her copious notes on Freddie Leon, and finally relaxed, adding a slug of vodka to her boringly healthy apple juice as she kicked back in front of the TV and waited for Natalie to get home.
L.A. was turning out to be better than she’d thought.
Chapter Nine
On impulse Freddie Leon decided to stop by Lucinda Bennett’s Bel Air mansion. He was tired of waiting for the signed contracts, tired of being prisoner to her capricious will. He didn’t usually make house calls, but since Lucinda was being so difficult, he felt a little hand-holding might be in order. Hold a child’s hand and you can lead them wherever you want – his father had told him that when he was thirteen, and he’d never forgotten. Yes, it was time to put an end to all this nonsense, as only he could.
Nellie, Lucinda’s faithful Bahamian housekeeper, answered the door. ‘Why, Mr Leon, what you doin’ here?’ Nellie asked, throwing up her massive arms as if to ward him off. ‘Madam – she no expectin’ you.’
‘Correct, she’s not,’ Freddie agreed, handing her the three dozen red roses he had prudently purchased at Flower Fashions on the way. ‘Put these in a vase, Nellie, and give them to her. Tell her I’ll be waiting in the living room.’
‘She be in the middle of a foot massage,’ Nellie confided.
‘I’m sure you can disturb her,’ Freddie replied, striding into the tastefully decorated living room, overlooking a cool blue infinity pool. Lucinda owned several houses; this one in Bel Air was his favourite. He stood by the window staring out, aware that he might have a long wait. Knowing Lucinda, she’d have to get herself together, check her makeup, hair, clothes. Lucinda was one of the old-fashioned breed of stars, unlike the young actresses today who slumped into his office looking like they’d just stepped out of somebody’s bed. Angela Musconni was the hottest young star around, and when Max Steele had encountered her leaving Freddie’s office last week, he’d grabbed his partner by the arm and whispered in his ear, ‘You gotta be kidding? I wouldn’t fuck her with somebody else’s dick.’ Trust Max to say exactly what everyone else was thinking. Angela looked like a heroin addict on the run, but she was an excellent actress.
After twenty-five minutes Lucinda made her entrance. She was a tall woman with dramatic features and smooth, pale red hair worn in a becoming bob. She was not traditionally beautiful, more striking with her aquiline nose and piercing eyes, but her talent was ferocious and her fans equally so. Lucinda had been a star for almost twenty years.
‘And to what do I owe this honour?’ Lucinda asked, sweeping into the room, resplendent in a pale beige cashmere pantsuit and extremely high heels.
‘I’m playing errand-boy today,’ Freddie said, kissing her on both cheeks.
Her finely pencilled eyebrows shot up. ‘Freddie Leon – errand-boy? I can hardly believe it.’
‘Believe it, sweetheart. I’m well aware of how insecure you get, so I’m here to personally pick up your signed contract.’
Lucinda’s finely rouged scarlet lips pursed dramatically. ‘Really?’
‘Lucinda, dear, you should know better than anyone, there is no way I would push you into anything that wasn’t right for you.’
Lucinda collapsed into an overstuffed chair, kicking off her shoes like a petulant ten-year-old. ‘It’s not that I’m being difficult, Freddie,’ she said. ‘It’s simply that I don’t want to look . . . foolish.’
‘How could you possibly look foolish?’ Freddie asked forcefully.
‘Well, Dmitri said—’
‘Who’s Dmitri?’ he interrupted.
‘Someone I’ve been seeing,’ she said, becoming uncharacteristically coy.
Oh, God, now he got it. She had a new man in her life, and like the legions before him, he was putting in his ten cents. ‘Have I met Dmitri?’ he asked.
‘No,’ Lucinda replied, still verging on the coy side. ‘But you will.’
‘I’m sure,’ Freddie said. ‘Is he around today?’
‘He’s out by the pool,’ Lucinda said. ‘Let’s not disturb him, he might be sleeping.’
God, no! Freddie thought. Let’s not disturb him if he’s working on a tan. Jesus! Where do these women find these men?
‘Have I told you that you look incredibly beautiful today?’ Freddie said, changing his strategy.
‘No,’ Lucinda said, slightly flustered. ‘As a matter of fact you haven’t.’
‘Well, you do. You’re my most important client and that’s why I’m here.’ He began pacing. ‘Sign the contract, Lucinda. Otherwise, this deal is about to fall through, and I wouldn’t want that happening to you.’
She hesitated. He could sense that she was almost his – not quite.
‘But Dmitri said that if I was to star opposite Kevin Page, it might make me appear . . . older,’ she said, waiting for him to convince her that this was not so.
‘You – older?’ Freddie shook his head. ‘Every young guy in America will be wishing he was in Kevin Page’s shoes.’
‘Yes?’
‘Come along, Lucinda, let’s go into your office, sign the contract and then I can get on with my day.’
‘If you’re really sure . . .’
‘Have I ever guided you wrong?’
Fifteen minutes later he was back in his car with the signed contracts on the seat beside him. Sometimes a little personal attention was all that was needed. And for a twelve-million-dollar deal, Freddie didn’t mind putting out.
* * *
The two men playing racquet ball were going at it with a ‘take no prisoners’ attitude. Both men were very fit; even so the vigorous workout was making them sweat profusely.
Max Steele slammed the final shot, clinching the game. ‘Fifty bucks!’ he yelled triumphantly. ‘And I want cash.’
Howie Powers slumped against the wall. He was a sandy-haired man in his thirties, with crooked features, a stocky build and a permanent tan. ‘Shit, Max!’ he complained, irritated at being beaten. ‘You gotta win at everything?’
‘And what’s wrong with that?’ Max said cheerfully. ‘No point in playing if you don’t plan on winning.’
Howie stood up straight. ‘I might go to Vegas for the day tomorrow. Wanna come?’ he offered. ‘We can hop a ride on my dad’s plane, he’s goin’ on business.’
‘Don’t you ever work?’ Max said, grabbing a towel as they made their way to the locker room.
‘Work? What’s that?’ Howie said, smirking.
Max shook his head. ‘Beats me why I hang with a bum like you,’ he grumbled. ‘You’re useless.’
‘Why would I wanna work?’ Howie questioned, genuinely puzzled. ‘I got plenty of bucks.’
‘Yeah, handouts from your old man.’
‘You’re forgetting my trust fund,’ Howie said, with another satisfied smirk. ‘Who needs handouts? I only take ’em ’cause my old man insists.’
‘Aren’t you ever bored?’ Max asked, thinking how much he would hate having nothing substantial to do.
‘Bored?’ Howie said with a manic laugh. ‘You gotta be shit-tin’ me. There’s not enough time in the day to cover all the things I do.’
Max nodded knowingly. ‘Yeah, like uh . . . go to the track, hang with the guys, play poker, smoke some primo grass, pick up girls, gamble, do a little coke, go out and get drunk . . .’
‘Sounds like a life to me,’ Howie said, the smirk creeping back on to his face.
‘I’m into work,’ Max said forcefully. ‘I get off on the power.’
‘You, you’re an over-achiever,’ Howie said. ‘Me, I’m into getting my rocks off while I can still get it up!’
Max thought to himself that if he’d been born with a silver spoon up his ass, he’d probably enjoy the good life, too. But he’d had to work for everything he’d achieved – starting off in the mail room at William Morris, where he’d hooked up with Freddie. A fortunate meeting, for the two of them had risen together, until they’d made their break ten years ago and started their own agency. Now they were one of the top three agencies in town. In fact, right at this moment IAA represented the biggest stars, the hottest screenwriters and the best directors and producers in Hollywood.
And yet, in spite of their well-earned success, for quite a while now Max had been thinking of making a change. Being an agent was one thing, but running a studio would give him a lot more of the power he craved. Hey, if guys like Jon Peters could do it, he was in, like a sailor in a room full of hookers.
The only problem was telling Freddie, who had no idea he was thinking of defecting, and would throw a total shit-fit when he told him of his plans. But that was nothing Max couldn’t handle.
Not a word until the deal was done. Only then would he think of the perfect way out.
Chapter Ten
Natalie rushed in from the studio all smiles. ‘Did you catch me on TV?’ she asked enthusiastically. ‘How about the bit I did on Salli T. and Bo Deacon?’
‘Must have missed that,’ Madison said. ‘What did you say?’
‘Oh, something like, “Guess who flew into L.A. together,’’ you know – provocative inside gossip. The audience loves it.’
‘They weren’t together,’ Madison pointed out.
‘Who cares?’ Natalie said airily. ‘They’re both publicity hounds. They’ll get off on hearing their names mentioned.’
‘If you say so,’ Madison murmured, not so sure that Salli would be thrilled.
‘I know so,’ Natalie said confidently. ‘You should read some of the letters I get – all they want is the dirt.’
‘That’s sad.’
‘No. That’s just how it is.’
‘If you say so,’ Madison murmured.
‘C’mon,’ Natalie said, full of energy. ‘Move your butt, I’m buying you dinner and hearing all about what happened with you and David.’
‘It’s a short story,’ Madison said crisply.
‘Good. You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine. Did you get to see Cole?’
‘I certainly did,’ Madison said, grabbing her purse. ‘He came home, jumped in the shower, took off again and told me to tell you he won’t be home tonight.’
Natalie rolled her eyes disapprovingly. ‘He met some big showbiz executive – the type who picks a boy of the month. Trouble is, Cole won’t hear anything against him.’
‘You’re not his mother so quit trying to run his life, especially his love life.’
‘Ain’t that the truth.’ Natalie sighed, as they headed for the door. ‘But hey – I’m way more street smart than he is, he should listen.’
‘He told me he trains Freddie Leon’s partner, Max Steele,’ Madison said.
‘Didn’t I mention it?’
‘No, you didn’t. But Cole told me if I’m on the jogging track at UCLA at seven in the morning, he’ll introduce me.’
‘Seven!’ Natalie wailed, opening up her car door. ‘Honey, don’t count on me to fix you coffee.’
They went to Dan Tana’s for dinner and sat in a cosy booth.
‘Did I tell you I’m doing a piece for the magazine on Salli T.?’ Madison said, ordering a vodka martini because she felt like it, and knew it would guarantee a good night’s sleep.
‘Yes. Didn’t old Victor get all excited when you mentioned her name?’ Natalie said, requesting a beer.
Madison nodded. ‘I plan on getting her to talk about the men who run Hollywood. They all seem to have this thing about hookers and strippers with hearts of gold – y’know, Julia what’s-her-name in Pretty Woman – the one with the big hair. And Demi Moore in Striptease. I’d like to get Salli’s take on it.’
‘Good, you can give me all the leftovers,’ Natalie said, studying a menu. ‘I’ll use them on my show.’
‘You’re really into your show, huh?’
‘Hmm,’ Natalie said, making a face. ‘Sometimes I am, sometimes I’m not. It’s so predictable. All these people out there plugging books, movies and their goddamn exercise tapes – and I have to pretend I’m interested.’
‘What do you want to do?’
‘Be a network news anchor, of course.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
‘Yeah?’ Natalie said ruefully. ‘How many black news anchors do you see?’
‘Here’s my philosophy,’ Madison said. ‘If you want something bad enough, you gotta go for it.’
‘Let’s order,’ Natalie said. ‘My philosophy is – food solves a shitload of problems!’
A few sips of her martini and Madison began talking. ‘I think I genuinely loved David,’ she said wistfully. ‘But the truth is he got scared.’
‘Typical!’ Natalie interrupted.
‘Some men say they’re okay with strong women, only when they find themselves with one, they can’t handle the pressure,’ Madison continued. Natalie nodded her agreement. ‘We never talked about marriage,’ Madison added. ‘We were happy just being together. Until one day he went out for cigarettes and failed to come back.’ She paused, remembering, shaking her head because the memories were still painful. ‘The thing that hurt the most was that after he left, he ran off and married his high-school sweetheart. That was the real pisser.’
‘Girl, I know exactly what you mean,’ Natalie said. ‘Denzl and I had this great thing going until I woke up one morning and the slippery sonofabitch wasn’t there. Nor was my CD collection, which, as you can imagine, totally freaked me. Losing him was one thing, but losing Marvin Gaye?’
They stared at each other and suddenly burst out laughing. ‘Who’d believe this? Natalie exclaimed. ‘Two smart, hot-looking women like us, and we just got ourselves dumped!’
‘At least we can laugh about it now.’
‘Maybe you can.’
‘Think about it,’ Madison said. ‘You weren’t supposed to be with Denzl. And I wasn’t supposed to be with David. Somebody bigger and better will come along.’
‘Hmm . . . bigger,’ Natalie said with a dirty laugh. ‘I like it!’ Then she added quickly, ‘Not that I’m interested in getting involved again.’
‘Me neither,’ Madison agreed. ‘All this double-standard crap about how only guys can go out and have sex whenever they want, and it doesn’t mean a thing. Women can too. Why should we have to be in a relationship?’
‘Right on!’ Natalie agreed. ‘Give me a great-looking guy with a great body. We’ll have great sex, and don’t call me, I’ll call you.’
‘Yes!’ Madison said. ‘As long as they use a condom. Things sure have changed since we were in college.’
‘Oh, by the way,’ Natalie said, ‘the anchorman on my show asked us over to his house for dinner tomorrow night. I said we’d go. Okay with you?’
‘You’re not fixing me up, I hope,’ Madison said suspiciously.
‘He’s married.’
‘In that case, okay. I am not into fix-ups.’
A waiter hovered by their table. ‘The gentleman at the bar would like to buy you two ladies a bottle of champagne,’ he said.
They both looked over to the bar. An ageing playboy with an ill-fitting black toupee perched on top of his head waved merrily.
‘Tell the gentleman thanks, but no thanks,’ Madison said.
‘Yeah, suggest he save his money for his old age,’ Natalie added. The waiter moved away. ‘That’s the oldest pick-up line in the world,’ Natalie said, grimacing. ‘Surely the poor old dude could come up with something more original?’
‘Pick-up lines are universal,’ Madison said wisely. ‘They go on for ever.’
‘How much you wanna bet he’ll come over spouting another corny line?’
Madison shook her head. ‘No balls,’ she said.
‘Is that a rug he’s wearing, or am I seeing things?’ Natalie said, stifling a crazed giggle.
‘Do not make eye contact,’ Madison warned, suppressing her own laughter. ‘Otherwise, he will come over, and then we’ll be forced to insult him.’
Two minutes later the man was standing by their table. He was seventy-two and still considered himself a player. ‘Surely it’s not true that two beautiful young women like you do not drink champagne?’ he demanded.
