Hollywood Husbands (39 page)

There seemed no point in continuing the argument. She didn’t have to. Mark Rand was
definitely
history.

Chapter Fifty-Five

Wes scooted from the house before anyone was up. He had told Silver the night before that he might go out early, and she had said, ‘Whatever you do, don’t wake me. I need plenty of sleep to recover from
this
debacle.’

He was forced to admit that it had turned out to be
some
party – what with Mannon Cable and Chuck Nielson getting it on like they were the star players in a bar-room brawl. And Poppy Soloman having hysterics. And when the main event was over, Whitney Valentine and Melanie-Shanna Cable had indulged in a most unladylike screaming match. Wes couldn’t help noticing that when Whitney Valentine got angry her tits swelled like a couple of melons, and her nipples headed straight for the entire male population’s eyeballs.

So this was Hollywood high society. Not quite as boring as he had thought.

Naturally, he had gotten involved. Well, he had to, didn’t he? Nobody else was doing anything about the battle of the movie stars, and Mannon Cable was beating the bejesus out of his new friend, Chuck Nielson, who was too stoned to defend himself. There was blood pouring from his nose, and he was reeling all over the place, while Mannon seemed intent on beating him to a pulp.

‘For God’s sake, somebody
do
something,’ Whitney had pleaded. That’s when Wes moved into action, with the help of a waiter or two. They pulled Mannon off with difficulty as Chuck sprawled groaning on the ground.

By this time Poppy had emerged from the ladies’ room to view the demise of her wonderful party, and was yelling furiously at a bemused Howard Soloman. But the real surprise was Melanie-Shanna Cable, who hadn’t said a word all night. She followed Poppy from the ladies’ room, walked straight over to Whitney Valentine and shouted, ‘Leave my husband alone, you sex-crazed bitch! He’s not yours anymore. Just remember that, or you’ll be sorry!’

Whereupon Whitney had responded with a pithy ‘Fuck you, cunt! Don’t you
dare
speak to me like that.’

And they almost came to blows, only Mannon grabbed Melanie-Shanna and practically carried her off without a backward glance.

‘Makes
Dynasty
look positively tame,’ crowed Carmel Gooseberger, loving every minute.

The party – as the saying goes – turned out to be a blast.

Silver was strangely quiet on the drive home, which surprised Wes. Usually she liked discussing every moment of the excitement.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

‘I’m exhausted,’ she responded.

I’m exhausted
was her favourite expression – she used it constantly. It hadn’t taken him long to learn that she was only exhausted when it suited her.

No longer confined to the Mercedes, he took Silver’s Rolls on his morning trip. He had decided to visit his former home, pack up his possessions, and officially move out. By this time it had to be safe. He was Mr Silver Anderson now. He was untouchable.

* * *

As soon as Wes left the house, Silver awoke. She had hardly slept all night, and felt dreadful. Reaching for the phone, unmindful of the early hour, she contacted Nora.

‘Guess what?’ she stated dramatically.

‘He ran off with all your money,’ yawned Nora.

‘Don’t be facetious.’

‘How was the party?’ Nora was miffed she hadn’t been invited, but wise in the ways of Beverly Hills hostesses, she knew that
some
hostesses refused to accommodate the star’s entourage. And as Silver’s P.R., that’s what she was regarded as. If Silver had
really
wanted her there she would have been included, but obviously that was not the case. Since Wes Money’s entrance into her life, Nora’s presence was no longer required at every event.

‘I’m sure you’ll read all about it,’ Silver said dryly.

‘Does that mean you can’t be bothered to tell me?’

‘It means, my dear, that
my
party ended up being a fist fight between Mannon and Chuck. And a verbal battle between Whitney and Mannon’s present wife – who’s
not
the mild-mannered creature she appears to be.’

‘No kidding?’

‘The
real
shock of the evening was my dinner companion.’

‘Who was it, the Ayatollah?’

Silver laughed ruefully. ‘Just as bad. Zachary Klinger.’

Nora knew when she was needed. ‘I’ll be right over,’ she said.

* * *

Parking Silver’s Rolls in a side street, Wes reflected that it might have been a mistake driving it into the seedier reaches of Venice. What if it got damaged?

No big deal. Silver would just buy another one. He had to learn to think rich. All his life he’d counted dimes, now he could relax and stop worrying. He was married to a wealthy woman! Hey – shout it out!

He walked briskly along the boardwalk towards his old house. It was a bright Californian day, early, but already hot, and a few serious skate-boarders were in action – girls in tight shorts and minuscule tank tops, and a few guys wearing even less. They were in pursuit of the perfect tan, and what better way to get it?

Wes could think of a better way. Lying out beside Silver’s luxurious swimming pool with Vladimir serving him piña coladas, and a portable colour television at his elbow.

It seemed funny, approaching his old house. Actually, it gave him a shudder or two. He had no desire to resume his former lifestyle; the present one suited him just fine.

He groped for his front door key, fitted it in the lock, and was surprised to find it didn’t work.

Sonofabitch! Somebody had changed the lock… Why was he surprised? Reba Winogratsky wanted her rent. She wasn’t going to allow him to walk in and cart off his stuff without paying. Good old Reba!

He knocked on Unity’s door. Once he picked up the thousand bucks she was holding for him he would have to pay a good chunk of it straight over to Reba. Well, that was the breaks. It wasn’t like he needed it desperately.

Nobody answered, so he knocked again.

A drag queen flung the door wide. A six-foot drag queen with crew-cut hair, and the remnants of last night’s makeup smeared across his face. He wore a flowered bedspread and dusty pink toe-nail polish on inordinately large feet. ‘What the hell do you—’ The voice changed. He liked what he saw. ‘Hel-
lo
. Are you visiting or staying?’

‘Looking for Unity.’

‘Sounds
divine
. Is it a new religious cult?’

‘What?’

‘Do I have to join?’

‘Unity. She lives here.’

The drag queen batted sturdy false eyelashes that had lasted through the night. ‘You remind me of my first lover,’ he said coyly. ‘
Très
butch.’

Wes sighed. Fags loved him. He brought out their animal instincts – or so he’d been told on more than one occasion. Patiently he said, ‘I’m looking for a girl called Unity. She lives here, or used to. Where is she?’

‘Oh.
Her.
I think she did a moonlight disappearing act and stuck the landlady for the rent. This place looked like a
prison
when I moved in. Brown peeling paint and—’

‘Do you know where she went?’

The drag queen shrugged. ‘Search me.’ A ribald laugh. ‘Please!’

‘Have you got a phone I can use?’

‘Ring my bell any time! Only how do I know you’re not going to rob and rape me?’

Wes levelled him with a steely stare. ‘You’ll just have to live in hope.’

* * *

Over coffee, Silver and Nora discussed the ramifications of Zachary K. Klinger being in town.

‘He makes me sick!’ Silver exclaimed. ‘Sitting next to him was a terrible ordeal – I don’t know how I did it.’

‘Does Wes know about you and Zachary?’ Nora asked.

‘Certainly not. Nobody knows. Only you.’

Nora, the perennial cigarette stuck to her lower lip, nodded. ‘If I were you I’d leave it that way.’

Silver got up and paced the room. She was clad in a pale lilac tracksuit, with her hair pulled back and no makeup. Nora was constantly amazed at how good she looked unadorned. If she wasn’t so vain, and cared to tackle a non-glamorous role, she would probably surprise a lot of people.

‘The good news is that Zachary knows nothing about Heaven,’ Silver said, as if to reassure herself.

Nora decided to step onto dangerous territory. ‘Why is that such good news? Surely the child asks you who her father is?’

‘She never asks. And if she does, I’ll tell her it’s none of her business,’ Silver snapped unreasonably.

Nora sniffed her disapproval. They’d had this discussion before, and Silver always firmly maintained that it was her privilege to keep the knowledge of who Heaven’s father was to herself.

‘I fail to see what you gain by
not
telling her Zachary Klinger is her father. The man’s a billionaire with no children. You’re denying her the right to inherit an enormous fortune.’

‘He humiliated me,’ Silver said stubbornly. ‘I will
never
give him the satisfaction of knowing that
my
humiliation resulted in
his
becoming a father.’

Sometimes Nora wished she had not been made privy to Silver’s big secret. She was the only person to know the truth, and it was a burden – for she understood only too well that it was completely unethical
not
to inform Heaven. With a heavy sigh she reached for the coffee pot.

Outside the room, Vladimir strained to hear every word. Ever since the threat of dismissal when Silver discovered him in her bath, he had decided to take out a little insurance. His six-figure policy was a thick notebook filled with gossip about his famous employer. He noted her moods, phone conversations, purchases, clothes, and he had a whole section on her new husband – the ex-bartender. Now he had the most interesting and explosive material of all. Zachary K. Klinger was Heaven’s father! This information must be worth a small fortune! And Vladimir knew exactly how to get it.

Chapter Fifty-Six

Breakfast at the Beverly Hills Hotel at eight o’clock in the morning was not exactly the ideal way for Howard Soloman to start his day. But breakfast it was, at Zachary K. Klinger’s command.

Howard awoke late, threw himself in the shower, cut himself shaving, dressed too quickly, and with a fast snort of cocaine to see him on his way hurried from the house.

Fortunately, Poppy still slept. She had kept him up half the night talking, and he couldn’t take a repeat performance. Personally he had enjoyed every minute of Mannon beating the shit out of that slime-bucket Chuck Nielson. Poppy had been destroyed. ‘It
ruined
my party,’ she moaned all night long.

‘It
made
your goddamn party,’ Howard had assured her. ‘People’ll be talkin’ about it for weeks.’

The parking valet at The Beverly Hills Hotel took his car, and he rushed inside aware that he was ten minutes late, and if he knew old Zach like he thought he did the old bastard was bound to be a stickler for punctuality.

Zachary sat in the Loggia, the garden part of the Polo Lounge, and acceptable to be seen in only for breakfast and Sunday lunch. The big man’s salute to California was no tie. He wore a grey suit and white shirt. Howard had thrown on a white sports jacket over a loose-knit sweater and dark pants – all the better to conceal the lifts in his shoes.

‘You’re late,’ Zachary greeted him.

‘Traffic,’ Howard replied airily.

‘Isn’t your house close by?’

What is this, a, fucking inquisition?
‘How’d you sleep, Zach… er… Zachary?’

‘As well as can be expected.’

A waitress appeared with coffee and began to pour him a cup.

‘Ah,’ Howard said, making a face. ‘Nothin’ like the old caffeine to get you off to a racin’ start. Right, Zachary?’

‘It’s bad for your heart.’

‘It is?’

‘My doctor only allows me to drink decaffeinated products.’

‘Really?’ Howard took a sip and burnt his tongue. Maybe the goddamn caffeine was responsible for the wild heart palpitations he had been getting on and off for the past few months. He was certainly due for a complete physical. ‘Do you get a check-up once a year?’ he asked curiously.

‘Every three months,’ Zachary replied.

Howard noticed the older man was drinking a glass of water with a slice of lemon, and on the plate in front of him was a plain bran muffin. ‘I gotta re-think my eating habits,’ he announced as the waitress handed him a menu. Without bothering to look he ordered scrambled eggs with smoked salmon, and hash browns on the side.

His eyes hurt. Maybe he needed glasses. Had to go see the optician too. He hoped he remembered to tell all these things to his secretary. She was a lovely girl with a milky complexion and dangerous lips. Once Poppy saw her she would be fired like all the rest. Poppy liked his secretaries to resemble Hulk Hogan on a bad day.

‘How long are you staying in L.A.?’ he asked, hoping the answer would be five minutes.

Zachary extracted a very long Cuban cigar from a thin leather case, and lovingly caressed it. ‘It depends on
you
,’ he said.

Howard made a gesture of compliance. ‘I’m all yours. Although it would have been better to take this meeting in my office, where I’ve got all the facts and figures.’

‘I already have that information.’

Howard didn’t want to get into
that
one. He knew that Zachary had spies everywhere. What did he care? As long as the studio was making money, everyone should be happy.

‘Then you’ve heard about my plans for
Romance
, with Carlos Brent starring and Orville Gooseberger producing? It’s gonna be a big one, Zach, uh, Zachary. It’s gonna make us millions.’

‘I read the script.’

Howard was surprised. Even
he
hadn’t read the script. He liked to concentrate on story outlines, and this one was sensational, better than the original. ‘Great, huh?’

‘Expensive.’

‘It takes money to make money.’