Hollywood Husbands (10 page)

Howard was grateful, but not at all sure he wanted to stay in Colorado and make ladies’ dresses. He had bigger plans. He wanted to be like Howard Hughes. He saw Hollywood in his future. ‘What’s it like?’ he asked his friend Jack Python, as they struggled through a business administration course together. ‘You’re from L.A. Is Hollywood really something?’

Jack shrugged. ‘I live in the Valley. I don’t go over the hill much.’

‘What hill?’

‘The Valley is separated from Hollywood and Beverly Hills by several large canyons. You drive over Benedict Canyon or Coldwater or Laurel.’

‘And? What’s it like when you get there?’ Howard asked impatiently.

‘Streets. Palm trees. Tourists. It’s no big deal.’

‘Well, I’m going there. Summer vacation I’m getting a job and renting an apartment. Why don’t we take a place together?’

Jack shook his head. A year later he changed his mind, and when they graduated, they moved into a two-bedroom apartment just off Hollywood Boulevard. No luxury abode, but it was functional and convenient.

By that time Howard had already spent the previous summer in Los Angeles, and returning he felt like a veteran. He knew where to get the cheapest hamburger, the fastest dry cleaning, the best place to hang out for the price of one cup of coffee – and where to find the prettiest girls. He had already been married (though it was annulled), worked at one of the studios in the mail room, and had his first case of the clap (unfortunately not his last). Temple Soloman had been disappointed but understanding of his need to try his luck in Hollywood. ‘What do you want to do there?’ he had asked.

‘Be an agent,’ Howard blurted in reply. And the seed was sown. Why not be an agent? With his conversational skills he could be the greatest.

So he changed positions, and instead of going back to his old job at – yes – Orpheus Studios – he started in the mail room of S.M.I. Specialized Management Incorporated. And from there, history was made.

It had taken him seventeen years to get to the very top.

* * *

‘Howard!’

He could hear Poppy calling. Clearing up his coke paraphernalia, he unlocked the bathroom door.

‘Howard,’ she sighed, in the little-girl voice she had recently affected. ‘What do you think?’

She twirled for him.

Poppy was five feet two inches tall, rounded and perky looking. She had very long blonde curls, slightly protruding blue eyes, and a self-satisfied permanent smile which went nicely with her retroussé nose. She also had new tits – thanks to a man she referred to reverently as ‘plastic surgeon to the stars’. She wore a turquoise frilled, strapless dress, and many real diamonds. Her new tits protruded nicely.

‘You likee my dress?’ she asked.

He wanted to say no. He wanted to say that she looked like a short, tiered Christmas cake. He wanted to say, cut your hair, lose fifteen pounds and put on a plain black dress. He wanted to say –
Bring back the old tits, I liked them better
.

‘Dynamite!’ he exclaimed, wondering if Whitney would be at the party.

She smiled happily. ‘I knew you’d like it.’

When she was his secretary she had worn neat tailored suits and plain, well-cut dresses. She had kept her hair up and featured little jewellery. Now she looked like a walking advertisement for a fancy jewellery store.

She held up a bracelet-laden wrist. ‘You likee?’

He inspected multiple diamonds. ‘Very nice.’

‘Very nice!’ she squealed, grabbing him in a hug. ‘You’re the most generous man in the world!’

Wasn’t he just! Even his accountant – a seasoned veteran of Hollywood marriages – was beginning to blanch at the constant stream of bills. ‘Can’t you keep her home at least
one
day a week?’ he’d complained. ‘The woman is a walking charge card!’

Howard saw no way of stopping her, short of breaking both her legs.

‘Get dressed, Howie,’ Poppy said. ‘It’s party time. We don’t want to be late, do we?’

It was the first time she had been ready before him in five years of marriage. He was too busy thinking about Whitney to wonder why.

Chapter Twelve

‘I invited her,’ Nora Carvell said.

Silver felt a small stab of annoyance. Who needed a teenage daughter to remind her of the creeping years? ‘Is she coming?’ was her casual response as she stripped off her clothes in the privacy of her bedroom and pulled on a silk robe.

Nora lit a fresh cigarette from the smouldering butt attached firmly to her lower lip. ‘She said she’ll try.’

What Heaven had actually said was a sarcastic ‘Why doesn’t she wait until it’s all over to ask me? Don’t count on me bein’ there. As if she gives a shit.’ For her years Heaven was quite eloquent.

‘Why don’t you try to get along with your mother?’ Nora had rasped. ‘You haven’t even sent her a card.’

Heaven’s laughter rang out. ‘She’s
never
sent one to me. In fact I’m lucky to get a cheque three weeks later when
you
remind her.’

Nora couldn’t deny the truth. ‘Try and make it tonight,’ she urged before hanging up.

There was nothing she would like better than to see mother and daughter get along. A lot of people – including Heaven – thought Silver was a bitch. Nora saw another side of her. She saw a successful woman alone in the world with no real friends. She saw an ambitious woman who had been hurt and used by men. She saw a woman who had alienated her family yet needed them desperately.

‘God!’ Silver exclaimed. ‘She’ll try, indeed! You would think she would run barefoot over hot coals to attend my party.’

Nora said, ‘I’m going home to change, I’ll be back in an hour.’

‘Fine,’ Silver responded, as she tried to decide whether to refresh the heavy makeup she had worn for the Antonio photo session, or take it all off and start again.

She compromised. Left the dramatic eye makeup intact, and cleansed her skin with cotton pads soaked in witch-hazel.

The cold lotion on her face was delightfully soothing. She walked over to her luxurious king-size bed and pulled down the purple satin cover. Pratesi sheets awaited. A welcome lie-down for fifteen minutes was just what she needed.

Her bedroom was peaceful and cool. Pale lilac silk walls complemented the deep purple of the carpet. Mirrors abounded.

Lying back on the bed she tried to empty her mind, but tonight it was impossible. All she could think about was Heaven’s father, and what a bastard he had been.

* * *

Silver Anderson met ‘The Businessman’, as she always referred to him, when she was thirty-one and he was fifty-two. He was extremely rich, very powerful, and naturally – married. Silver was starring on Broadway at the time. She was also divorcing her ex-stepfather and rekindling an affair with her co-star.

The Businessman walked into her life at a party and took over. He was a big man in every way: tall, portly, with heavy features and hooded eyes. Some whispered that his early connections included organized crime. Some whispered that he had the ear of the President. Some whispered that the late Marilyn Monroe was once a girlfriend.

His wife was a social lioness. Small and petite, forever clad in designer clothes, groomed to within an inch of her life, she ruled their three homes with an elegant iron fist.

‘We never fuck’ was one of the first things he revealed. Silver had heard
that
before, from every married man who ever cheated on his wife.

‘What
do
you do?’ she asked sweetly.

‘We socialize,’ he replied gruffly, and presented her with a hundred-thousand-dollar diamond necklace from Cartier.

The Businessman was a very demanding man when he found the time. His sexual appetite was voracious, and Silver, who was no slouch in the sexual stakes herself, found him hard to keep up with. He was rough and crude, but God he was exciting!

Silver fell in love with a married man twenty-one years her senior, and she fell hard. On the one hand he treated her like a whore. On the other he showered her with expensive gifts – the diamond necklace was just the beginning.

One day he arrived at the penthouse apartment they used as a meeting place, with two other women. A seductive-looking redhead, and a soigné black girl with the style of a fashion model. Instinctively Silver knew they were hookers. High-class ones, and very costly, but hookers all the same.

Angrily she cornered him in the kitchen after he had fixed them all drinks: ‘What’s going on?’

‘Nothing, if you don’t want it to,’ he replied blandly.

She knew it was what he wanted and her stomach churned. Silver Anderson had been around, but never
that
much.

They returned to the living room and polite chat. The two girls were good, they knew their stuff. ‘Isn’t it a little hot in here?’ one of them murmured, taking off her light silk jacket.

‘
Very
hot,’ the other agreed, stretching out her legs and removing her shoes and stockings.

Silver felt The Businessman tense beside her on the couch.

The black girl stood up and smiled seductively. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she asked, unwrapping her crossover dress. Underneath she wore a scarlet lace G-string and that was all. Her breasts were pointed and polished like the finest onyx.

The redhead stood too. ‘I love to take off my clothes,’ she said softly. ‘I need to feel nothing between me and nature.’ She stretched, allowing her full breasts to fall free of her blouse.

The penthouse apartment was hardly the great outdoors, but Silver got the drift.

Idly the two girls began to touch each other. Fingers caressing breasts and other, more secret places. Tongues warm and soft. The secret places exposed for all to see.

The Businessman’s breathing was laboured. Beneath his trousers Silver saw the proof of his excitement. Without moving from the couch, and without taking his eyes off the two call-girls, he urged Silver to lift her skirt.

She had tried to remain unaffected by what was going on – an impossible task. And to her shame she knew she would do anything he asked. So while the women writhed together on the floor, Silver Anderson lifted her skirt, removed her panties, spread her legs, and allowed The Businessman to mount her and take his ride of perverted passion.

When it was over she felt dirty and humiliated. She was Silver Anderson, not some cheap tramp to be taken and used in front of whores. She was furious with him, and angry at herself for succumbing so easily.

The next day he sent her a ruby as big as an egg and a note.
We’ll do it again soon
. Like hell they would. She refused to see him in spite of his bombardments of gifts and flowers.

Six weeks later she realized she was pregnant.

The first thing she did was consult her gynaecologist. ‘I don’t want this baby,’ she told him flatly.

He was a charming man with grey hair and a crinkly smile. ‘Why not, my dear? You’re in excellent health.’

‘I know that,’ she said irritably, searching for a suitable reason. ‘I’m not married.’ That would shut him up.

He laughed. Charmingly. ‘Silver, Silver,’ he sighed, placing the tips of his fingers together and rocking back and forth behind his desk. ‘You’re a very famous woman. What does it matter whether you’re married or not? You’ll have a beautiful baby with none of the inconveniences of a husband in the house.’ He chuckled at his own wisdom. ‘You’ll make single motherhood fashionable.’

She liked the idea. Silver Anderson, a pioneer for women! Also the thought of an abortion terrified her. Eventually she decided to go ahead and have the baby.

By the time she gave birth, The Businessman was gone from her life. She had threatened him with exposure to his wife if he didn’t leave her alone. He had no idea the baby was his.

The press went crazy in their quest to find out who the father was, but Silver remained silent. Three months after Heaven was born she moved to Rio with a Brazilian polo player. Heaven was left in New York with a nanny.

As Silver watched the child grow, she regretted giving birth. Every time she looked at Heaven, she was reminded of The Businessman and her unforgettable night of degradation.

Heaven had never asked who her father was. Jack did once, when he came to London to pick up the child. ‘He doesn’t exist,’ she’d said coldly.

Unfortunately he did.

* * *

Silver sighed and stretched. Opening her eyes she stared at the silk draped ceiling above her bed. If Heaven appeared tonight she was not going to be pleased.
Damn
Nora for asking the girl, and bringing back all the bad memories.

The Baccarat clock on the bedside table told her it was time to start getting ready for her party. She wished she could sleep for ten hours. When was the last time she’d done that? Work… Work… Work… Parties… Parties… Parties…

Ah, well… for great fame you paid a price…

It was worth it.

Almost.

Chapter Thirteen

Mannon Cable worked out in his private gym before getting ready for the party. He didn’t really want to go, he was not fond of parties. This was a favour for Nora Carvell. She had phoned a week before and asked him to attend. Nora was an old friend, and one of the few people in Hollywood he would do anything for. Well, not quite anything – however, if she wanted a favour, she was on. At the beginning of his career she was the one person who was always there for him. The crusty old publicist was in his corner from day one. He recalled walking into her office on the lot the day he signed for his first important movie. Fifteen years ago to be exact.