L. A. Connections, page 8
‘Is this the hamburger queen?’ said a male voice.
‘Huh?’
‘It’s me, Jake. Am I catching you at a bad time?’
On impulse she’d given him her number, but she’d never thought he’d call. In spite of herself she felt a tiny buzz of excitement. ‘Well . . .’ she said hesitantly.
He sighed. ‘Guess I am.’
‘No, no . . .’ she said quickly. ‘I can talk.’
‘I realize this is kind of late notice,’ Jake said, ‘but I’m on my way to my brother’s house for a home-cooked meal. Can you come?’
No, Jake, I will be otherwise engaged with a disgusting perverted freak.
‘I’d love to, only—’
‘I know, I know,’ he said ruefully. ‘You’ve probably got guys lined up around the block.’
What did he mean by that?
‘Actually, I have a business appointment,’ she said stiffly.
‘I was thinking,’ he said, ‘what with me doing all the talking last night, I never got around to asking what you do.’
I’m a call-girl, sweetheart. Extremely expensive. Very talented. So if you know what’s good for you – stay away.
‘I . . . uh . . . I’m a makeup artist,’ she lied. ‘I go to people’s homes and give them a professional makeup.’
‘No kidding?’
‘Yes. It’s what I do.’
‘Hey,’ he said cheerfully, ‘in that case maybe I can hire you.’
‘Excuse me?’ she said, frowning.
‘Photographer. Makeup artist. We should work together.’
One part of her wanted to keep talking, but sanity warned her to steer clear of all personal relationships. Getting involved could only lead to big trouble.
Then why did you give him your phone number?
How the hell should I know?
‘Uh . . . I have to go,’ she said, aware that she sounded flustered. ‘I’m running late for my appointment.’
‘How about I give you my brother’s address, and maybe you can drop by later when you’re through?’ A meaningful pause. ‘I’d very much like to see you again, Kristin.’
And I’d like to see you, too, Jake.
‘Okay,’ she said, reaching for a piece of paper and a pen.
She had no intention of going – but just in case she changed her mind . . .
* * *
On their way to Jimmy Sica’s house in the Valley, Madison recounted her afternoon with Salli T. ‘I never thought I’d say this,’ she said. ‘But Salli’s adorable. If I was a guy, I’d probably fall in love with her – silicone boobs and all.’
‘Oh, come on,’ Natalie said disbelievingly, racing her car along the freeway. ‘Salli T. Turner is the definitive Hollywood cliché. All giant tits and candy-floss hair.’
‘She plays that role,’ Madison explained. ‘Which is why she’s so successful. But I’m here to tell you that underneath all the dumb gloss and glitter lurks a very nice little kid who’s enjoying every moment. Trust me – this woman had it tough getting to the top.’
‘Sure,’ Natalie said with a toss of her head. ‘I can tell you about tough.’
‘Don’t be such a mean bitch.’
‘I’m not a bitch,’ Natalie objected indignantly. ‘I’m merely voicing the way everyone thinks about her.’
‘No, you’re being judgemental. If you got to know her, I promise you – you’d really like her.’
‘Okay, okay, if you say so,’ Natalie said, barely missing a huge truck as she skimmed past. ‘And how about the cute husband? Did you get to meet him?’
‘He’s in Vegas,’ Madison said, making sure her seatbelt was firmly buckled because Natalie’s driving was a trip indeed. ‘He called ten times, and they had these lovey-dovey conversations. It was quite sweet. They certainly seem to be in love.’
Natalie pulled a face. ‘Think I’m gonna throw up!’
‘Will you stop being such a cynic.’
‘Thing I’m surprised at is you,’ Natalie chided, as she zoomed her car alongside a Ferrari. ‘I’d take a bet with you that their marriage will not make it to the end of the year.’
‘No, Natalie,’ Madison said, shaking her head. ‘You’re wrong. What they have between them is genuine. Y’see, they both come from small towns, both arrived in L.A. determined to make it big. Now they’ve got everyone falling all over them to do anything they want, and they’re loving it. I’m telling you, I like her a lot, and so would you if you got to know her.’
Natalie was still unconvinced. ‘Puleease,’ she said.
‘She told me some great stories,’ Madison offered.
This got Natalie’s attention. ‘Hmm . . .’ she said, eyes gleaming. ‘Tell me every detail.’
‘No. You’ll have to read about them in the magazine like everyone else.’
‘Oh, come on,’ Natalie complained, almost rear-ending a white Toyota. ‘You wouldn’t do that to me – your best friend.’
Madison placed her hands on the dashboard. ‘Oh yes I would.’
‘Here’s the deal,’ Natalie said, blithely changing lanes. ‘You give me all the juicy bits before the magazine hits the stands, and I’ll do a whole programme on it – y’know, give the mag a big plug so people’ll be racing out to buy it.’
‘I hate to tell you this,’ Madison said, ‘but they race out anyway.’
‘Why can’t you be like everyone else and get behind plugging something?’ Natalie grumbled as she exited the freeway, cutting off a man in a sports car who gave her the finger.
‘In my next life,’ Madison joked.
‘You’re no fun.’
‘Never said I was.’
A few minutes later Natalie pulled her car to a shuddering stop in front of a modest country-style house on a quiet side-street. ‘Okay, so I’d better fill you in on Jimmy Sica.’
‘What about him?’ Madison asked, releasing her seatbelt, relieved they’d arrived in one piece.
‘He’s incredibly handsome, with a lovely wife – picture displayed prominently on his desk.’ A succinct pause. ‘And . . . I think he’s coming on to me.’
Madison raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean, you think he’s coming on to you? Either he is or he isn’t.’
‘Well,’ Natalie said unsurely. ‘I guess he is, but somehow I can’t believe it ’cause he’s married to such a gorgeous woman.’
‘Oh, like you’re not gorgeous. Is that your new trip – putting yourself down?’
‘I’m not his type.’
‘Maybe it’s not a type he’s looking for. Maybe a fast blow-job would do it for him.’
‘Get your mind out of the gutter, girl!’
Laughing, they both got out of the car.
‘You know, you’re awfully naïve, Nat,’ Madison said, as they walked towards the house. ‘Married men are all the same, none of them would say no to a little action on the side.’
‘Now who’s sounding cynical.’
‘It’s the truth,’ Madison said defensively.
‘Yeah, yeah, you and your truths.’
‘Listen, do what you want, but I’m here to tell you that I have absolutely no respect for married men who cheat.’
‘Get a life, girl. That’s major unrealistic.’
‘I suppose so, especially when we have a president who does it all the time.’ She shook her head. ‘What in hell happened to moral values?’
Natalie shrugged as they reached the front door. ‘Moral values – what’s that?’
‘Wasn’t it something we used to believe in when we were in college?’ Madison said dryly. ‘Remember?’
‘That was before all these tell-all books came out revealing every little detail.’
Madison frowned. ‘I find it totally disheartening that every president from Kennedy on was running around the Oval Office with his dick in his hand and WD40 on his zipper!’
Natalie giggled and pressed the doorbell. ‘A power hard-on! Tell me – please – where can I find one?’
Madison said sardonically, ‘Like I said – try the White House.’
Chapter Seventeen
Kristin was excited, and it wasn’t at the thought of seeing Mr X again. As she sat behind the wheel of her car, driving towards her destination, she couldn’t keep her mind off Jake. It was ridiculous really, because she was too smart to let anyone come between her and her goal of scoring enough money to get out of the call-girl business. And if she allowed herself to get involved, that’s exactly what would happen.
Forget about him, her cold, calculating side warned her. He’s only another john who doesn’t think he has to pay.
And yet . . . he had a warmth and a laid-back sincerity, friendly eyes and a smile that melted her heart.
For the first time since she’d started in the business she actually felt a deep sexual longing. She wanted to sleep with him, she yearned to have long, leisurely unpaid-for sex, wake up in the morning to find herself safely enclosed in his strong arms.
Get real.
Why should I?
She pulled up at a stop light and began drumming her fingers nervously on the steering wheel. Enough thoughts about Jake; she’d better get ready to deal with Mr X and his bound-to-be-kinky demands.
She’d dressed all in white, as instructed, including a short dress and white-framed Christian Dior sunglasses. Darlene had faxed her the address of the motel where she was to meet him, and instructions to sit in her parked car outside cabin six until further notice.
A car pulled up next to her, and the male driver leered suggestively through the window. She pretended not to notice and drove quickly off.
The motel – way down Hollywood Boulevard – was a seedy, run-down dump. Automatically she checked that her car door was locked as she pulled into the dilapidated courtyard and drove up to cabin six.
A drunk ambled out of the shadows carrying a half-empty bottle of cheap booze. He winked at her, burping loudly as he lurched past her car.
Ten minutes passed. She tried to stay calm, thinking only of the four thousand dollars and how it would pay her sister’s hospital bills for a while.
IF ONLY I DIDN’T HAVE TO DO THIS!
Ah, but you do.
A gloved hand knocked on her window. A man in a chauffeur’s uniform all in black – his peaked cap pulled low over his forehead – opaque wraparound shades completely covering his eyes.
Was it Mr X?
She couldn’t tell.
‘Leave your car here and come with me,’ he said in a muffled voice.
She took a deep breath and got out of her car, locking it behind her.
‘Over here,’ the chauffeur muttered, leading her towards a dark-coloured limo parked kerbside.
He opened the rear door and she obediently climbed inside. He moved to the front of the car and slid behind the wheel.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, a certain numbness taking over her mind.
‘Mr X requires you to put on a blindfold,’ the chauffeur said, without turning round. ‘You will find it on the seat beside you.’
She groped on the plush leather seat, found the blindfold and placed it over her eyes.
Four thousand dollars. Cash.
It didn’t matter. This was the last time she was doing business with Mr X.
Chapter Eighteen
Diana Leon greeted her husband at the front door of their Bel Air mansion. ‘You’re late,’ she said crossly.
‘Didn’t realize I was on a time clock,’ Freddie said, entering the house, which was now full of caterers preparing for their dinner party.
‘How can you do this to me?’ Diana said, glaring at him.
‘Do what?’ he said, distracted and out of breath.
‘Invite an extra two guests.’
‘You can fit ’em in,’ he said, hurriedly heading for the stairs.
‘No, I can’t,’ Diana said, angrily following him. ‘Our dining table accommodates sixteen people, now you’ve added two more.’
‘So we’ll squeeze a little. No big deal.’
‘Why didn’t you put them on our original list?’
‘Diana,’ he said irritably, ‘do I tell you how to run the house?’
‘No.’
‘Then don’t tell me how to run my business,’ he snapped. ‘It’s extremely important that Ariel is here tonight.’
‘And her husband, whom you can’t stand,’ Diana pointed out, her voice tart.
‘Sometimes you have to put up with the guy behind the woman, or under the woman, as the case may be.’
‘Ariel was here last month,’ Diana said, folding her arms.
‘So now we’re having her again.’
Diana followed him into the bedroom. ‘Why did you leave it until the last minute?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ he snapped, entering his private bathroom. ‘I have to take a shower. Leave me alone.’ And with that he slammed the door in her face.
Once rid of Diana, he stood in front of his marble vanity staring blankly into his shaving mirror. Moments passed before he cleared his mind and began thinking coherently. He still couldn’t believe that Max would be stupid enough to attempt to sell out his half of IAA without consulting him first. Surely he had some idea of what it would be like to have Freddie Leon as an enemy?
No, Max Steele probably didn’t, because Max thought with his dick most of the time which was useful when dealing with female clients, but as any fool knew, the brain has more staying power than the dick any day. The brain is always hard.
* * *
‘Hello, ladies,’ Jimmy Sica said, throwing open the front door of his house and ushering them inside.
‘Hi,’ Madison replied, as they entered the comfortable house. Natalie was right, Jimmy Sica was incredibly handsome in an I’m-a-TV-anchorman-with-a-sensational-smile way.
‘Nice to meet you,’ Jimmy said, squeezing her hand a tad too tightly as a chocolate-box-pretty woman appeared behind him. ‘And this is my wife, Bunny,’ he added, putting his arm around Bunny’s narrow waist.
‘Bunny?’ Madison questioned.
‘I know,’ Bunny said, with a wide smile that matched her husband’s. ‘It’s such a silly name, everyone says so. I was nicknamed Bunny as a little girl, and it kind of stuck. I collected bunny rabbits, still do, only Jimmy makes me hide them in a closet.’
‘Now, now,’ Jimmy said, patting his wife on the ass. ‘Mustn’t go giving away all our secrets. Madison’s likely to write about them. She’s a big-time writer from New York.’
‘I know,’ Bunny said, wriggling away from him. ‘You already told me, Jimmy pie.’ She dazzled Madison with a big smile, revealing perfect white Chiclet teeth. ‘Welcome to our home, Madison. We’re so excited to meet you. I hope we can all become good friends.’
Oh God, Madison thought. Why did I agree to do this? I’m perfectly happy alone. I could be writing my piece on Salli. I don’t need to be with people. Especially these people.
Natalie had gone straight to the bar, plopping herself down on a velvet-covered bar stool.
Jimmy ran over, deftly placing himself behind it. ‘What’ll you have?’ he asked.
‘Isn’t it Margarita time?’ Natalie replied, flirting in spite of herself. ‘Can you make one?’
‘Can I make one?’ Jimmy said, as if it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. ‘I can make anything I put my mind to.’ He gave her a look that underlined his double-entendre.
Natalie quickly glanced around to see if Madison noticed, but Bunny was busy showing her a painting they’d recently bought of two rabbits being chased by a ferocious-looking fox. ‘The thing I like about this painting,’ Bunny explained to Madison in a serious voice, ‘is that the wicked old fox hasn’t caught them yet. Isn’t that something?’
‘Uh-huh,’ Madison agreed, stifling a yawn.
A toilet flushed somewhere in the distance, then an exceptionally big, black man ambled into the room.
‘Say hello to my college buddy, Luther,’ Jimmy said, steering him in the direction of Natalie. Luther towered over her. ‘Luther used to play for the Chicago Bears,’ Jimmy offered. ‘That is, until he got his shoulder busted.’
‘Wow!’ Natalie said, thinking that this was one big handsome hunk of a guy. ‘I guess you’re okay now, huh?’
‘Still alive, sister,’ Luther said, with a huge grin. ‘Got me a nice little electrical business. Better than gettin’ the crap kicked outta me every weekend – ’scuse my language. Oh, yeah, Jimmy tells me you’re on TV with him.’
‘No,’ Natalie said. ‘Jimmy’s on TV with me.’ And she smiled sweetly, realizing that if they ever had sex, she’d probably be crushed to death.
* * *
‘Kevin, dear,’ Lucinda gushed, balancing a martini in one hand and a caviar-loaded toast point in the other. ‘I’m thrilled we’re doing a project together. I’ve seen every one of your movies – three in eighteen months. Poor overworked boy, you must be exhausted.’
Kevin straightened up from a terminal slouch. ‘Thanks,’ he muttered, considering that a word with his agent might not be a bad thing. Now that he’d seen Lucinda Bennett in the flesh he realized she was too old for the part, she’d make him look ridiculous.
‘Hey, Freddie,’ he said, veering in the super-agent’s direction. ‘We gotta talk.’
‘Later,’ Freddie said, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. Ariel was at the door, and he needed to speak to her before Max put in an appearance.
* * *
Meanwhile, Max was pacing around his penthouse apartment in a fury, having just hung up on Inga. ‘I will be late, Max,’ she’d said, in her precise Swedish accent. ‘Go to the dinner and I will try to join you.’
Try to join him. Was she totally nuts? Tonight was her big night, an opportunity to meet important people in the industry, and the silly Swedish blonde was blowing it. ‘Why?’ he’d demanded. ‘What are you doing?’
‘It’s private,’ she’d answered curtly.
Bitch! Bitch! Bitch! Just who exactly did she think she was?
‘You’d better make it, Inga,’ he’d said, endeavouring to remain calm. ‘If you want to be in movies, you’d better make it soon.’
