Sinners (11 page)

‘Can we take Limbo?’

‘Sure, yeah, sure. You mean you’ll come?’ His big boyish face beamed. ‘That’s great. I guess I’d better go and wash up, and I’ll fetch you in half an hour. Is that all right with you?’

‘That’s fine.’

She took Limbo in the kitchen and gave him a dish of meat and some water, then watched as he wolfed the lot down. Then she changed into a pair of white slacks and a sweater, brushed her hair and cleaned her face. Branch seemed nice; there could be no harm in having a quiet dinner with him.

In the bedroom she noticed the revolting letter she had received that morning, still lying in fragments in the waste-paper basket. She shuddered. It was so vile, so obscene. Carey had laughed when she told her about it. ‘You’ll be inundated with pieces of garbage like that. Don’t even bother to read them; it gives some poor sick guy somewhere his jollies. Forget it, they never do anything else but write.’

Didn’t they? In spite of the fact that they seemed convinced that they
would
do the things described?

Of course they didn’t. Only it gave Sunday a bad feeling to know that somewhere, someone knew where she was and had such thoughts about her.

Charlie tried to get hold of George but couldn’t locate him. George, taking advantage of his night of freedom, was sitting in a strip club admiring the scenery.

Charlie was very stoned, and completely carried away with the idea of running off to Las Vegas with Dindi.

She was sceptical. Could this nut really be serious about getting married? But if it came off, what a break!

Charlie thought:
Screw you, Lorna. Screw you, Michelle. Screw you, Natalie. I’m going to show the lot of you
. They would all see how much he cared when they read their papers tomorrow.

He told Dindi they wouldn’t bother picking up any of her things, she would have everything new in Las Vegas. Then, throwing a few clothes in an overnight bag, they headed for the Maserati and took off.

It was an easy ride, freeway all the way, and Charlie really put his foot down, revelling in the sound of the powerful engine. He played his new stereo tape equipment and they shared another joint.

Dindi hoped to hell they wouldn’t get stopped for speeding or anything. If they got booked for smoking pot it would ruin a beautiful scene.

She contemplated giving him a little going over while he was driving, but at the speed they were travelling it was probably unwise. Anyway, she didn’t want to appear too forward – yet. Maybe it was her supposed innocence that he went for. She lay back in her seat and listened to the music.

It was around four a.m. when Vegas loomed ahead. It was a mass of blazing neon signs as they drove through the downtown section. In spite of the hour the streets and gambling halls were crowded. It was a waste of time to go to bed in Vegas – unless of course that was the business you were in. Charlie had never been there before, but he had had the desk clerk at the Beverly Hills phone through to the Forum hotel to alert them of his arrival. It was the latest hotel to be built on the main strip.

Dindi had fallen asleep. Charlie woke her. ‘Which way to the Strip?’ he asked.

She had already told him she had been there before, although not in what circumstances. She had been dating a small-time hood at the time who had dumped her there without a cent, after three glorious days together. She had hung around and worked as a cocktail waitress and made it with a few fantastic swimming coaches, and had then got a ride back to L.A. with an up-and-coming actor – the only trouble was he was up and coming practically the whole trip! That was before Rome.

‘Just keep on this street and take a right at the top.’ She thought a minute, then added, ‘Hey, there’s a fabulous new hotel – the Forum. I’d love to go there, it’s supposed to be wild, TV in the john and fruit machines in the elevators.’ She had decided it was better to go somewhere she might not be known. It wouldn’t be cool to have half the croupiers greeting her by name.

‘That’s just where we’re going.’

The Forum was approached through a driveway of marble Roman soldiers – very impressive. Several bleached-blond boys in short togas surrounded the Maserati as it arrived at the entrance. They opened the doors, took the one bag, and escorted Charlie and Dindi inside.

Charlie asked for the manager, who appeared almost immediately – a dead ringer for a young George Raft. He appraised Dindi with a flick of his eyes, greeted Charlie profusely, and organized the biggest suite in the hotel. He was no slouch at recognizing celebrities, and was used to dealing with all their peculiar requests. However, it did shake him a bit when Charlie said they wanted to get married right then and there. ‘Give me an hour,’ he said.

Charlie nodded. It seemed quite reasonable in his present state of mind that a marriage could be arranged at four a.m. in Las Vegas.

Dindi was starting to feel shaky. The sonofabitch was actually serious.

Charlie indicated the arcade of shops around the lobby. ‘Miss Sydne would like to buy a dress, and I’d like to get in the jewellers.’

‘Certainly.’ By this time the manager was unflappable. Charlie had slipped him a large tip, and as far as he was concerned he could have what he liked. ‘I’ll send a selection of dresses to your suite: size ten, Miss Sydne?’

She nodded. The manager was just the type of good-looking, smooth bastard she could fall for.

‘OK, Mr Brick, as soon as I’ve located the jeweller I’ll put him in touch with you. Meanwhile, leave everything to me. Will there be any guests?’

Charlie shook his head.

‘Do you have any objection to publicity?’

‘None at all.’ The whole point as far as Charlie was concerned was to have large photos of himself and gorgeous blond Dindi spread all over the newspapers for everyone to see.

*    *    *

The preacher was a southern cracker. Hurriedly dressed in a shiny blue suit, he peered at the couple before him and drawled out his version of the wedding ceremony.

Dindi noticed that his fly was undone and tried to stifle a giggle. She was wearing a pink frilled dress, and her blonde hair fell loosely around her shoulders. She looked like a lovely innocent doll. On her finger she wore a huge cluster diamond ring, a present from Charlie.

He had also noticed the preacher’s undone fly, and couldn’t keep his eyes from straying there. The funny old chap had probably been fast asleep. What an accent! He listened intently. This would be a great voice to use in some future film.

The manager had arranged the wedding in the penthouse, with the hotel photographer, press man and two representatives of the local newspaper, with their photographer, present. The manager and his girlfriend were the two witnesses.

*    *    *

The preacher pronounced them man and wife, belched unobtrusively, and shook Charlie’s hand. Then there was champagne, photographs, and congratulations all round.

The preacher sidled up to Charlie – ‘Here’s my card if you need me again.’

Charming – Charlie thought – only just married and he’s asking me if I need him again!

It was seven a.m. by the time they got back to their suite. Charlie was beginning to feel the strain. His eyes hurt behind his glasses, and the beautiful high he had achieved was beginning to wear off. For the first time he thought about the sanity of what he had just done. He had married a girl he didn’t even know. It was the most ridiculous insane thing. She was very pretty, but he didn’t even
know
her.

It was all Lorna’s fault. He had done it to spite her. What would Serafina say?

Dindi was dazed, but for different reasons. So suddenly and unexpectedly she was someone. She had married a movie star!

She took off her dress and caught Charlie staring at her with a puzzled expression.

She giggled. ‘Hey, lover, now we can do it legal!’

Sunday was as amazed as the rest of Hollywood when Dindi and Charlie Brick appeared on the front of all the newspapers – married in Las Vegas. She couldn’t understand why Dindi hadn’t mentioned it to her, as she wasn’t exactly the sort of girl to keep a secret.

Carey was laughing. ‘I tell you, honey, Marsh is fit to be tied, but beside himself ! Seems he fixed her up for Charlie to get himself laid, and the schmuck ups and marries her. Can you imagine? That chick had really been around – but I mean
really
.’

‘Maybe it was love at first sight,’ Sunday replied, always a believer in romance.

‘Maybe, my ass. She must have cast one hell of a mean spell on him.’

‘She’s very pretty, and she certainly has lots of personality. Why couldn’t it be love at first sight?’

‘Oh, Sunday, baby. Sometimes you are so naive. It’s times like this I realize you’re only twenty, and not the cool forty-five-year-old you usually come across as. By the way, they pushed you and Steve right off the front pages, but there’s still good coverage inside.’

‘Anyway, I think it’s wonderful for Dindi, I really do. I’m going to send her a telegram.’

‘Save your money. I don’t give it two weeks. When Charlie comes to his senses and finds out what a hooker she is – then – like – the party’s over.’

‘Carey, you’re much to cynical.’

Carey hooted with laughter.

‘By the way, I just turned down a part for you in
Roundabout
. The timing was wrong. Marshall suddenly accepted the fact that you exist and flipped. He saw a clip from the Milan movie.’

The two girls were talking over an ice cream. Sunday spooned peppermint into her mouth and said, ‘I wonder how Branch will do with his test.’

She had told Carey about her date with him the previous evening and how pleasant it had been.

‘Listen, kid, I know you think I’m always putting people down, but I checked up on Mr Branch Strong, and he is purely fag time. It’s not a good scene for you to go out with him.’

‘According to you, everyone is either a hooker or gay. I don’t intend to go to bed with him. He’s just very simple and straightforward, and I like him purely as a friend.’

‘Simple is the right word. All right, as long as you’re not planning a grand love affair, although while we are on the subject, about your sex life—’

‘Look, I appreciate everything you’re doing and have done for me, but my sex life is my own business, and if I don’t care to have one, that’s also my own business.’

Carey smoothed her hands over her sleek cap of black hair. Sometimes Sunday could be very cold.

They finished their ice creams in silence, then Carey said, ‘I’ll drop you off for your fittings.’ She noticed that everyone in the place turned to stare at Sunday as they left. When this girl was really exposed to the public, when her films came out, she wouldn’t be able to travel around alone. She was destined to be a Monroe-Sinatra type of celebrity, the kind they wanted to mob and touch. Marshall’s reaction to seeing her on film had been an indication. He never got excited about anything.

Carey thought of Marshall fondly for a few moments. She missed being with him, missed his sudden bouts of temper, and his gammy footsteps as he stamped about his office. He was a real character. Although she had worked with him for seven years, she knew practically nothing about his personal life, nor apparently did anyone else. There was a wife, long ago divorced and now living in Pasadena. The only reason she knew about her was because of the alimony cheques that were sent every month.

‘You want to go to a movie tonight?’ Carey asked, when she dropped Sunday at the costumiers.

‘Thanks, but I think I’ll study my script.’

‘Talk to you tomorrow then.’

*    *    *

The fittings were perfect: a white leather micro dress with matching bikini; a startling fall of white jersey folds to the floor, plunging to expose most of her bosom; a white linen suit with huge cowboy hat.

Steve Magnum had decided her wardrobe should be all white to complement her golden skin and tawny mass of hair,

‘You’ll adore Acapulco,’ Hanna said. Hanna, a gaunt English lady wearing a mannish suit and unappealing flat brogue shoes, was doing the fittings.

‘I’m sure I will.’ Sunday shivered slightly as Hanna’s stubby fingers delved across her bosom, adjusting a button.

‘There,’ Hanna stood back and surveyed her work. ‘You look quite ravishing.’

‘I love the clothes,’ Sunday said. ‘Who should I talk to about buying them for myself after the film?’

Hanna looked at her strangely. ‘I would think you’d have no difficulty with Steve Magnum. He’s very generous, especially to close friends.’ She allowed herself a fleeting private smile, which Sunday understood only too well.

‘Thanks. But I don’t think I shall be asking Mr Magnum for favours like that.’

‘Really?’ Hanna’s arch smile said: Who are you kidding?

So that’s what they all thought. Sunday was furious, and furthermore she resolved to keep her relationship with Steve Magnum absolutely and utterly professional.

Let them all see just how wrong they were.

Herbert pissed a perfect arc, which landed delicately in Cy Hamilton’s horseshoe-shaped swimming pool. He zipped up his fly with pleasure. One more Hollywood pool had the addition of his wine. What a blow he was striking for the poorer classes!

Herbert had been in the habit of relieving himself in the best pools in Hollywood during the two years he had been working for the Supreme Chauffeur Company. The opportunities were not to be ignored, and as long as there were no nosey servants hanging around, he usually managed it while waiting to pick up his parties. He was always kept waiting, and it gave him a thrill when his passengers finally climbed in the car, all dressed up, to think of them the next day swimming around in his piss.

He had driven the Hamiltons before and he loathed them. The drunken woman with her steely eyes and skinny body, purposely giving him a good flash of her intimate parts as she got in the car and the man, so obviously rich and powerful, sitting and listening to the woman nag and whine and bitch her way to wherever they were going.