Authors: Jackie Collins
‘Well, if you’re sure there’s room.’
‘I’m sure. We’ll have a great time. We’ll leave Friday straight after shooting.’
He nodded. Why shouldn’t he go? He was one of the crowd; they had accepted him. Besides which, he wanted to see Philippa again, to prove to her that he wasn’t as old as she seemed to think.
When they finished work that night he had George drive him to the latest psychedelic shop, where he browsed among the ponchos, army jackets and T-shirts, emblazoned with ‘Don’t go to pot – take it’. He finally chose a white canvas Indian-style shirt and a fringed suede jacket, similar to one Floss was always wearing.
Outside in the Mercedes, George wondered how long
this
phase would last.
Charlie decided against going to Laurel and Floss’s house that night. He had George drive him straight back to his hotel. There were several scripts he wanted to read. He just felt like relaxing and being on his own.
There were a lot of messages from people who wanted him to contact them. Natalie Allen had left her name several times over the past week, and Marshall K. Marshall requested that he telephone him at home as soon as possible. They were the only two calls Charlie felt obliged to make.
He phoned Natalie first, feeling guilty because he hadn’t spoken to either of them since his night out with Clay.
‘Well, well, stranger,’ she said, ‘what
have
you been doing with yourself ? I’ve been trying to ring you for days.’
‘I’m sorry, love,’ he replied warmly. ‘Been so busy on the film, just haven’t had a minute.’
‘You certainly had a minute for Clay the other night. He came staggering home at four a.m., smelling like a brewery. What
were
the two of you up to?’
He changed the subject. ‘Why don’t you visit the set one day, have a spot of lunch? I’ll send George to fetch you.’
‘I’d love to but I’m absolutely exhausted, I just can’t be bothered to leave the house. Why don’t
you
fix up a night,
now
while I’ve got you on the phone, to come over to dinner. How about tomorrow?’
The next night was Thursday and he wanted to prepare himself for the weekend trip. ‘Can’t make that.’
‘Friday then, or better still come for the day Saturday and stay for dinner.’
‘No, I can’t, love, I’m off for the weekend.’
‘Oh! Off where?’
‘I’m going to that – er – big rock festival thing.’
Natalie laughed. ‘You’re doing what?’
Defensively Charlie said, ‘The rock festival out in the open. Should be great.’
‘Who on earth got you to go to that? It will be full of freaks. I saw the television show on the last one and it was unbelievable. All those filthy-looking kids, you’ll hate it, Charlie.
How did she know what he would hate and what he would not hate? The trouble with Natalie was that she didn’t move with the times.
‘Is Clay around?’ he asked.
Still laughing, she said, ‘Just a minute, I’ll get him.’ Then he heard muffled conversation and more laughter as she explained to Clay where he was going.
‘Off to the flower people, I hear,’ Clay said, joining in the fun. ‘Find me a little thirteen-year-old darling.’
‘Yes, and don’t you wish you were going with me?’
‘I do. Natalie wants to know about dinner Monday.’
‘Fine.’
‘Have a good time, see you then.’
Next Charlie phoned Marshall K. Marshall.
‘I’d like to have a meeting with you,’ Marshall said. ‘Bad news, I’m afraid.’
‘Bad news? What?’
‘I’d sooner meet with you, Charlie, have a proper discussion.’
‘What is it, for Chrissakes? If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s suspense.’
‘Look, if you’re going to be free for lunch tomorrow I’ll come to the studio.’
‘What about now? Can’t you come over now?’
‘No, I can’t,’ Marshall snapped, ‘I’ve put in a heavy day and I’m in bed.’
‘Can I come over to see you? I mean if it’s
that
important.’
‘It’s not a matter of life and death, it’s just a business discussion I think we should have, and the sooner the better.’
Like all actors Charlic couldn’t wait. When it came to his career he was supersensitive. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll be with you in half an hour.’
‘All right, you’re the client.’
Marshall hung up and studied the sleeping Carey, lying beside him. She had the most beautiful skin he had ever seen, a rich warm milk chocolate. He shook her awake. They had fallen into bed at five o’clock and it was now nearly eight.
She awoke smiling. ‘You’re never satisfied, are you? You’re worse than a nineteen-year-old high-school boy. If I marry you, you’re going to wear me out in no time flat, and—’
He brushed his chubby cigar-stained hands across her hard taut breasts. ‘Relax, I’ve got Charlie Brick coming over, so shift your sexy ass and go home and decide what day next week it’s going to be, and I
mean
next
week.
No more stalling.’
She smiled. ‘The thing I love about you is you still talk to me like I’m the little secretary you hired way back.’
It was his turn to smile. ‘What’s so different about you now?’
‘I’m making it with the boss – sorry – ex-boss.’ She dressed in the copy of a pink Cardin suit she had worn to the office that day. ‘I’m meeting Sunday at the airport in the morning, so I’ll call you when I’m back in the office.’
Downstairs the maid was just admitting Charlie Brick as Carey was about to leave.
Marshall came downstairs in a plain maroon dressing gown. Carey blew him an affectionate kiss and left. ‘
That
is one hell of a girl,’ he remarked.
‘She’s very attractive,’ Charlie agreed. He had heard rumours that Marshall was planning to marry her.
They went into the living room and Charlie accepted a brandy. ‘Well, come on,’ he said, hardly able to contain his annoyance, ‘what’s all this bad news then?’
‘I didn’t want to talk on the phone,’ Marshall said. ‘You never know who may be listening in, and in this town news travels fast enough without giving it a boot up the ass. The fact is, Charlie, your next picture has been cancelled.’
‘What?’
‘Yes, I know, it’s screwy as hell.
Roundabout
is going to make a lot of money and I hear that
Fred
couldn’t be going better, but you know what the industry’s like now, everyone’s running scared. Money is very, very tight. They can’t get the deal together, and frankly I never was impressed with that script.’
‘But it doesn’t make sense. My films make money, I haven’t had a flop yet. I’m still one of the top-ten box-office stars. It’s ridiculous.’
‘Sure it’s ridiculous, and they’re going to realize it. Listen, it’s not going to affect you too badly. Your working schedule in Europe is crammed anyway, I should think you would be glad of some time off.’
‘I don’t like not working,’ Charlie said stiffly. ‘I don’t enjoy sitting around on my backside while newer, younger, actors push themselves forward. Find me something else to do – an independent, a low-budget art film. I wouldn’t mind a change of pace. I’ll drop my price if it’s something I really like. Take a piece of the action.’
‘OK, Charlie.’
‘I might even be prepared to finance something myself.’
Marshall shook his head in disbelief. ‘You actors – you’re all the same, you’ll even pay to see yourselves on the screen!’
‘What’s with the kid?’ Carey asked, her mouth open in astonishment.
Sunday, looking incredibly beautiful in a yellow dress, her hair wild around her suntanned face, smiled. ‘Jean-Pierre, meet Carey. Carey, this is Jean-Pierre Hussan.’
The small boy stared up at Carey solemnly and extended his hand.
‘Wow,’ Carey sighed, ‘if the father looks anything like the son, I can understand your hang-up.’
‘The father is just as beautiful.’ Sunday laughed. ‘Oh, Carey, I’m so happy!’
‘You look like you are, in fact you look great. I want to hear all about it, but first let’s get to the car before some wandering photographer spots you and pounces. By the way, why did you tell me no press at the airport?’
Sunday nodded at the boy. ‘Claude insisted. Anyway, they would only be asking me stupid questions about Steve Magnum.’
‘We have to go straight for fittings. You were needed two weeks ago.’
‘I’m sorry, but everything’s been so marvellous, I couldn’t come before.’
‘I understand.’
After the fittings they drove to the Château Marmont where Sunday collected the rest of her luggage. There was a lot of mail that she had told them to hold for her.
‘I don’t know why you didn’t have it all forwarded on to you in Acapulco,’ Carey said. ‘It’s ridiculous, there might be something important.’
Sunday shook her head. ‘The only letter that could even be remotely important will be from my aunt in England, and she only writes twice a year. In fact I can’t imagine who all these letters are from.’
‘You’d be surprised who you get letters from when you’re famous. Probably other agents trying to steal you away!’
Sunday laughed. ‘I’ll open them at the house. I’m so excited about it. Jean-Pierre’s going to love it with the ocean right there, aren’t you, sweetheart?’
She gave the little boy a hug and he smiled, something he had only just started to do.
Carey said, ‘I checked the house out yesterday, it’s all in order. I got in some groceries. I really can’t understand why you want to be stuck down in Malibu.’
‘I’m not stuck down in Malibu. I’m going to be in a great little house overlooking the sea, away from all the smog and phoney social bit. I think Claude will love it.’
‘Is Claude going to be moving in with you?’
‘I hope so. Carey, I
know
you’ll like him, I can’t wait for the two of you to meet. I want to have a little barbecue dinner when he arrives, just maybe you and Marshall, Branch, if he’s back, and perhaps Max Thorpe.’
‘Sounds like a fun group. Why not ask Dindi and Steve to make it
really
fun?’
‘Are they going together?’
‘Rumour and Joyce Haber has it. I hear that he’s so tanked up that it’s an effort for him to get it up any more!’
‘You’re really disgusting!’ But she was laughing, and once more Carey marvelled at the change in her. Good, bad or indifferent, Claude Hussan had certainly brought out a new Sunday.
They stopped off at Carey’s apartment to fetch Limbo. Then they drove straight down to the house.
‘It’s so great,’ Sunday exclaimed. ‘Much better than I remember. Why don’t you borrow a suit and we’ll have a swim? Come on, Jean-Pierre, get changed.’
She opened his suitcase and threw him a small pair of bathing shorts. Limbo was running around, going mad with excitement.
‘I can’t stay,’ Carey said wistfully, ‘I’d like to, but I’ve been out of the office all day and there’s things to be done. Now, tomorrow your press conference is at two p.m. I’ll have a car pick you up at one. I do think it would be a good idea not to bring the child. The maid comes in tomorrow at ten; have her look after him. There are several interesting offers I’d like to discuss with you, so I thought maybe dinner tomorrow night at Marshall’s house.’
‘I want to hear all about that. Is there going to be a wedding?’
‘Listen, kid, I must rush, I’ll call you later. There’s a list of local services in the kitchen in case you need anything, and I’m always available on the phone.’
‘We won’t need anything. We’re going to have a swim, something to eat, and an early night.’
The ocean was warm, throwing up big waves that knocked Jean-Pierre flat and sent Limbo scurrying in mad circles on the shore. Sunday set the little boy firmly on her shoulders and waded in.
Later, after the child was in bed she unpacked a few things, fed Limbo and wandered around, exploring the house. Carey telephoned and they had a short chat. Claude didn’t, although he had promised.
She wondered how he would like the house. It would be peaceful for him, a place where he could really relax. He was so involved in his work, always planning and flunking about it, having discussions and meetings.
That was a good thing, she decided. A man should be dedicated to his work. She didn’t care if she ever worked again. If things worked out with Claude, perhaps she wouldn’t: it would be enough just to be with him, look after him and have his children, lots and lots of them, all looking like Jean-Pierre.
She sighed. It was a dream. He was still married, and even if he were single, she knew he wasn’t the marrying kind. Well, she didn’t mind that. They could just live together, and still have children. She wouldn’t tie him down.
What was her career all about anyway? Nobody cared about her as an actress, a person. All they cared about was the maximum exposure of breasts, legs, and anything else that was going. Even if she became a star, that was still all they would care about.
She sat down and started opening her mail.
Carey was right. Two letters from agents, offering her their services; circulars about cars, televisions and household equipment; a short letter from Aunt enclosing an English press clipping and complaining about Sunday’s lack of clothes in the photograph.
There were three bulky envelopes, all addressed in the same scrawly hand. She inspected the postmarks and opened the oldest one first. A plastic bag fell out. ‘
Sunday – when will you
—’
‘Oh God!’ she groaned. It was full of obscenities about what the writer wanted to do to her, imagined doing, and said they would soon be doing.
She read it briefly in fascinated horror.
‘
I promise not to keep you waiting too long, we will be together soon, so keep your lovely
—’
She tore it up.
The other two were the same, the ravings of a sick mind.
It was very depressing, and because the man seemed so certain they would be together, a little frightening. She was glad the writer didn’t know where she was now; at least he only knew the hotel where she had been.
She telephoned the Château in a panic, and told them not to give out her address.
It was nothing to worry about. Carey said that all actresses got these kind of letters.