Hollywood Husbands (56 page)

After visiting Whitney, he had taken a trip to the location, where Mannon and Clarissa were sequestered in her motor home. It took ten minutes of knocking loudly on the door before it was opened.

Wonderful!
Howard thought. Especially during the times they might be needed on the set immediately.

‘We call them twenty minutes early,’ Dirk had confided. ‘That way we get them there on time.’

Mannon emerged eventually, rumpled and smiling. ‘Howard! This is a surprise. What are you doing here?’

‘Trying to see that we get a film made,’ Howard said grimly. ‘Remember? That’s why we’re
all
here.’

Grinning, Mannon said, ‘Am I giving a performance or what?’

‘Yup,’ Howard agreed. ‘The dailies are something.’

‘Something? Is that all you have to say? Clarissa thinks if we keep up this energy, and the studio does its job when it comes to nomination time – well, she reckons we’re
both
on for the ride.’

‘Nobody would like that better than me. I’d also like to see Whitney happy.’

The sound of her name wiped the smile from Mannon’s face. ‘I hate to be the one to say this – but that lady is strictly amateur night. She shouldn’t be in this film. We need a real actress in the role.’

From ‘love of his life’ she had gone to ‘that lady’. Clarissa must have some heavy influence.

‘The thing is,’ Howard said patiently, ‘she is in the film. We have a contract. And it would be nice if she got a little support.’

‘Fire her,’ Mannon said callously. ‘I don’t care.’

Howard – who never gave much thought to anyone’s morals, including his own – was shocked. ‘This is
Whitney
we’re talkin’ about.’

‘I know.’

‘Well, goddammit, two months ago you would’ve kissed my ass to get her back. Now you want her thrown off the picture?’

‘Listen, Howard,’ Mannon lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. ‘Clarissa knows what she’s talking about, and she says Whitney is dragging the movie down. Dirk agrees. And the crew, everyone.’

‘So you’d like me to fire her?’ Howard asked tightly.

‘Right.’

‘Fuck you. Your contract gives you plenty of power, but you and Clarissa are not runnin’ the friggin’ studio – an’ until you are, I decide who gets the axe. And I still have some loyalty to old friends.’

Clarissa appeared at the door beside Mannon. ‘Howard,’ she greeted him curtly.

‘Clarissa,’ he replied, just as curt.

‘We only want what’s good for the film.’

He would never understand her success. What was it that took place between her and a camera?

‘I know that,’ he said. ‘And I want
you
to know
this.
Whitney stays. I’m flying in a special acting coach for her. She’ll improve. She’ll be okay.’

‘If you say so,’ Clarissa said stiffly.

It occurred to Howard that neither one of them was about to invite him inside. Actors! Actresses! Stars! Phoney, insecure assholes who woke up one morning and got lucky. What made them think they were all so special?

‘You’re both doing a sensational job,’ he said, with insincere friendliness. ‘Keep it up, an’ try to go easy on the kid.’

‘Hardly a kid,’ murmured Clarissa bitchily.

‘Yeah… well…’ He stared at his good friend Mannon, and went for the jugular. ‘Poppy’s seen Melanie a few times. She says she looks healthy enough for someone who’s about to drop a baby any second. Do you want me to relay a message?’

Mannon provided a quick flash of guilt. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I speak to her all the time.’

Howard did not approve of the way Mannon was treating his pregnant wife. Shrugging, he said, ‘Gotta go kick ass. See ya.’

What he actually had to do was arrange for an acting coach to be flown in at once. And then break the news to Whitney.

She took it better than he expected, glad of the support.

The only acting coach the studio had been able to arrange at such short notice was Joy Byron, an eccentric old Englishwoman who presided over Joy Byron’s Method Acting School in Hollywood. Her main claim to fame was that she had discovered Buddy Hudson – currently
the
hot new star. Joy was thrilled to be asked, and arrived on the next plane.

Now Howard had to take them both to dinner, plus Whitney’s secretary – who apparently accompanied her everywhere on location.
And
her publicist, Norman Gooseberger, who had also flown in that day.

Howard wasn’t worried about dinner. Getting through that would be a breeze. It was
after
he kept on thinking about. Finally, he and Whitney would be alone together. She, so beautiful and vibrant. He, so… what?

He was short.

Nearly bald.

He had a paunch.

And more pubic hair than she had probably ever seen in her entire life.

He snorted too much cocaine before leaving the hotel, and gulped a couple of Valium. What a combination! The coke to bring him up, and the Valium to calm him down.

Biting his nails, he allowed a limo to deliver him to his fate.

* * *

Howard’s snide comments about ‘loyalty’ and ‘old friends’ really pissed Mannon off. Whitney was an actress. She had a job to do, and if she couldn’t deliver, then she
should
be out. Clarissa had explained that to him. In fact, Clarissa had explained a lot of things to him – especially about acting, and that’s why he was giving such a great performance.

For over fifteen years he had played movie star. Now, with Clarissa’s help, maybe he’d get a little critical acceptance as a damn good actor. And why should he feel guilty about trying to bump Whitney from the film when she deserved it? Screw Howard and his smartass remarks.

The trouble with Howard was they had known each other too long, and instead of Howard treating him with the deference a star of his stature deserved, he talked to him as if they were equals.

‘You don’t have to be nice to him,’ Clarissa pointed out. ‘He’s nothing more than a coked-out buffoon. Zachary Klinger’s messenger.’

‘You think he’s on something?’

‘Don’t be naive. The whole town knows.’

Mannon digested this information in silence. Back in the sixties, when he had shared an apartment with Howard and Jack, they had all experimented with various drugs. Jack and he got into smoking grass for a while. Howard was the straight one. He tried everything once, and never came back for seconds. ‘Addles the brain,’ he had said. Now
this
little revelation.

‘Cocaine?’ Mannon asked.

‘Exactly.’

‘Jesus!’

He wondered if Jack knew, or even cared. Lately the three of them saw less and less of each other. Really they had nothing in common anymore.

He hated knowing Clarissa had been with Jack. For almost a year, too. It took all his control to stop himself from asking what his good friend was like in bed, and if he was better.

Clarissa would never say. She was secretive about past loves. He had to curb a strong desire to kill all of them. Clarissa was an unusual woman. He had never been with anyone remotely like her.

If someone had said to him before the start of the movie that he was going to fall in love with Clarissa Browning, he would have told them they were stark, raving crazy.

It had all happened so fast. He had knocked on the door of her hotel suite the first night they arrived on location, just to say hello and be friendly. Four hours later he was still there, discussing script changes, characterizations, and the film in general.

‘We fall in love in this movie,’ she had said. ‘We make love.’

‘We sure do!’ he had joked in his usual light-hearted way.

‘When we interact on screen it has to be real,’ Clarissa continued seriously. ‘We have to generate
excitement
and
passion
and
longing.
’

‘Just try me, baby!’

‘Do you know what I believe in, Mannon?’ she had asked him gravely.

‘What?’

‘That we should work our roles through
before
we get in front of the camera.’

‘Really?’

She’d stared at him intensely. ‘Let’s make love.’

He had no idea this was a line she used with all her co-stars, and he fell for it immediately, immensely flattered such a serious actress would want to go to bed with him.

Lying back, he had enjoyed every moment of her fiery passion. After that they were an inseparable team.

The newspapers got wind of it – blind column items appeared daily. He knew he had to tell Melanie-Shanna, but as usual he kept on putting it off. She was expecting their baby any day, and he was only too aware what an uncaring louse he would look if he walked out on her now. His timing was off. ‘Wait six months,’ his lawyers had told him.

Clarissa never mentioned his wife. She behaved as if he didn’t have one. He managed to phone Melanie-Shanna every few days. She sounded fine, and in spite of his passionate affair with Clarissa he was looking forward to becoming a father for the first time.

Mannon Cable wanted it all. And he saw no good reason why he couldn’t have it.

* * *

The dinner was a bore. Howard never had been good at playing Entourage. For that’s what the people around Whitney were. Norman, an adoring fan; her secretary, a willing slave; Joy Byron, a wacky, off-centre flatterer. Every one of them spent the entire evening buttering Whitney up, while Howard fidgeted uncomfortably.

‘Let’s get
outta
here,’ he muttered over coffee. ‘Say goodbye to the go-fers, an’ let’s split.’

Whitney yawned. ‘I’m
sooo
tired,’ she announced.

‘You need plenty of sleep when you’re working,’ Joy Byron said crisply. ‘Peace, calm, work, and rest.’

‘Yes, Whitney,’ Norman joined in quickly. ‘We’re being selfish, keeping you up. Why don’t I take you back to your hotel?’

‘
I’ll
take her,’ said the secretary possessively.

‘Perhaps you would like to go through a scene or two before sleeping?’ Joy suggested.

Howard managed to kick Whitney under the table. A kick that said, ‘Get rid of them,’ as sure as if he had spoken the words.

‘Um, I have some business to discuss with Mr Soloman. So why don’t you all take my car to the hotel, and I’ll be back later.’

Within five minutes they were alone in the restaurant.

‘Thanks,’ Howard said.

She looked at him serenely. ‘You’re welcome.’

His eyes dropped to her breasts, their magnificent outline clearly visible beneath the pale pink angora sweater she wore.

‘I’ve been waiting for this night for years,’ he said, his voice thick with desire.

‘Are we being fair to Poppy?’

Clutching her hand he came up with ‘Think of it as an act of mercy.’ Frantically waving for the check he said, ‘Let’s get out of here.’

Hand in hand they walked outside to his waiting limo. He was as excited as he’d ever been, and on the way to the hotel he thought about how it would be.

Good. That’s how it would be.

Sensational.

Fucking sensational.

Sensational fucking!

With a practised move he pressed the button, raising the dark glass separating them from the driver. And then he grabbed her, his hands reaching for her fabulous breasts beneath the soft angora.

‘Howard! Not here!’

Silencing her objections with his lips, he plunged his hand beneath her bra, and popped a tit.

Oh, Jesus! He thought he was going to come in his pants. This was better than high school!

Bending his head, he sucked on the rosy nipple bursting from the rim of white lace.

‘Not in the
car
,’ she protested.

Her struggles were in vain as he sprawled all over her.

‘
HOWARD! WE’RE HERE
!’

The limo pulled up outside the hotel. Quickly he leaped off her, as she hurriedly pulled her sweater down.

There was a nuclear explosion waiting to go off in his pants. He hoped he could make it upstairs.

The driver opened the door and they climbed out.

‘My suite or yours?’ he asked, bursting with expectation as they entered the hotel.

Before she could reply, Chuck Nielson came bounding eagerly out from behind a potted palm. He carried flowers in one hand, and a huge stuffed toy panda in the other.

‘Baby!’ he yelled. ‘I’m sorry. I love you. I’m a bum. What can I tell you?’

Howard’s hard-on deflated like a pricked balloon.

Chapter Eighty

Drawing into the parking lot behind the Bistro Garden, Jade wondered what she was doing. Surely she could have thought of
some
excuse to extract herself from Poppy Soloman’s lunch?

She
had
tried, phoning Poppy at ten in the morning. ‘I don’t think—’ she’d started to say.

‘I hope you’re not even considering telling me you can’t make lunch,’ Poppy interrupted. ‘You are the guest of honour. And I
have
gone to a great deal of trouble.’ A pause. ‘Of course, if you’re dying…’

‘No, I’m fine,’ she’d said, coward that she was. ‘I’ll be there.’

‘
Wonderful.
Your friend Beverly is coming. Melanie-Shanna Cable, Ida White, and Carmel Gooseberger. We’ll have a good time.’

‘Great.’

It wasn’t enough that Jack Python had turned out to be just another cheating liar. Now she had to get stuck at some ladies-only lunch she was dreading. Well, at least Beverly would be there.

The day was a Californian blisterer. A freak November blazing sky, and the temperature way up in the eighties.

Last night she had ended up drinking too much and staying out far too late with a group that included Corey, Antonio, and Penn Sullivan. A strange combination but they all seemed to get along surprisingly well. Norman Gooseberger had flown off to Arizona to visit Whitney. ‘I don’t see why I should sit around while he’s out of town,’ Corey had said defiantly.

‘No,’ she’d shrugged. ‘Nobody should sit around waiting for anybody.’

And then she had proceeded to get good and drunk.

Corey brought her home at three in the morning. He guided her to bed, and camped out on the couch. In the morning they shared coffee and a companionship that had been missing far too long.