Sinners (3 page)

‘I saw your latest film last week, Mr Brick, sir. It was funny, very funny indeed. It’s a pleasure to have you here tonight.’

‘Thank you, Luigi.’

They moved out into the cold London night; it was spitting with rain. The doorman sprang to attention. ‘Evening, Mr Brick, sir, your car’s just coming.’

A long black Bentley rolled into sight. They climbed in.

‘Thank you, sir, thank you very much,’ the doorman said as he was handed a large tip.

The car slid silently off.

‘Where to?’ the chauffeur asked,’

‘Drop me back at the hotel, George, and then take Miss Marymont home.’

‘Yes, sir.’ George allowed himself a fleeting smile. Another choked bird to deliver home!

They drove to the hotel in silence. The girl too nonplussed by his sudden change of mood to know what to say.

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come up?’ she asked upon arrival.

‘That’s very sweet of you, love, but you know, it’s the old five a.m. up bit. I’ll call you some time next week.’ He got quickly out of the car. ‘Bye.’

He stood and watched the car thread its way slowly back among the traffic. Foolish little girl, he thought. Was that really the only reason they went out with him? Did they honestly believe that he could be used to get them into the movies?

How many times had he heard it now? How many different ways? The direct approach:
‘Do you think you could get me a screen test?
The oblique hint:
‘I’ve always wanted to act.
’ The actress’s approach:
‘My agent says I’m perfect for the girl’s part in your next film.
’

Lorna had warned him, laughed at him. ‘Oh yes, sure,’ she had said, ‘you’ll have tons of little girls just lining up to jump into bed with you. But ask yourself, my darling, is it
you
they want? Or is it Charlie Brick?’

The divorce had been final just one month now. Twelve years of marriage shattered. Lorna with another man. The children shuttled back and forth between them. And a terrible loneliness that couldn’t be filled, however many people he was with.

He walked into the hotel. The desk clerk immediately sent a bellboy rushing over to him. ‘There is a call coming through from Hollywood for you, Mr Brick, sir.’

‘I’ll take it in my suite,’ he said.

The liftman was pleased to see him. ‘My little girl was thrilled to bits with the photo, Mr Brick. She’s seen your last film four times now.’

Charlie smiled, always pleased to hear praise.

The phone was ringing as he entered his suite. It was his agent, Marshall K. Marshall, calling from Hollywood to check certain details about his arrival the following week. He was due to start work on his next film.

They had a short chat about things, and Marshall concluded by saying, ‘Charlie, we’ll be looking forward to seeing you on the twenty-eighth. Everyone will be at the reception.’ There was a slight pause, then: ‘Do you want me to line up any broads for you?’ He named a couple of well-known bit players. ‘No? All right then, I’m sure you can manage on your own.’

They said their goodbyes and Charlie hung up.

He paced around the room restlessly. There seemed to be a conspiracy on everyone’s part to annoy him with sly little digs. He could hardly imagine Robert Redford or Michael Caine being asked if they needed to be fixed up with a date. Why him? Oh yes, he knew he wasn’t exactly a matinee idol, but he had his own teeth and hair, and a pleasant enough face, rather distinguished-looking really. And since he had lost all that weight for his last picture he was in rather good shape. After all, he was still quite young, and he never had any trouble getting girls to go to bed with him. As a matter of fact it was a job to get rid of them later. A quick look at the watch. ‘My God! Is that really the time? I had no idea!’ – and eventually they would take the hint and go.

The penthouse suite was cold and impersonal in spite of the wealth of possessions strewn around. Cameras, books, scripts, an elaborate stereo set and stacks of records.

He wouldn’t be sorry to leave it: a hotel room never gave one any feeling of permanence.

The phone rang again. He picked it up.

‘I dropped the lady home,’ said his chauffeur. ‘She didn’t seem too pleased. Do you need anything else tonight?’

‘No.’ He yawned. ‘Think I’ll get into bed. Make it about eight in the morning. Night, George.’ He hung up. Almost immediately the phone rang again.

The voice on the other end was female and heavily accented. It said reproachfully, ‘Darling, you didn’t call, what happened?’

Kristen Sweetzer, a large-bosomed would-be actress he had met at a party the night before and had a scene with. He had been quite smashed, and only vaguely remembered her.

‘Oh, hello, love,’ he said. ‘Sorry, did I say I’d call today?’

‘Yes, darling, but I’ll forgive you just this once.’ There was a short pause, and then, ‘Well, darling, when am I going to see you again?’

He suddenly remembered that he couldn’t stand her. She reminded him of a bossy gym mistress, always talking in her unattractive guttural accent. ‘We’ll go back to my place,’ she had stated the night before. Not would you like to? Or shall we? And he had gone.

‘Listen, love,’ he said, ‘let’s go out to dinner later in the week. I’m a bit tied up these next few days, but I’ll call you soon, all right?’

She sighed. ‘I was looking forward to seeing you more quickly.’

He stood his ground. ‘Thursday or Friday; I’ll speak to you then.’

‘Very well, but I think you’re a naughty man!’

He shuddered at her choice of adjective. ‘Yes, love, you’re probably right.’ He put the receiver down quickly, before she could continue the conversation.

Women never failed to disappoint him. For as long as he could remember they had always managed to let him down. Even his ex-wife Lorna, after all the years they had been together, had finally proved herself to be like all the rest.

The bitter memories of the last few months came rushing back. The accusations on both sides, the days of long silences followed by interminable rows. And worst of all, the utter hate and lack of interest Lorna seemed to project towards him.

He bought her presents, jewellery, furs, a new car. She accepted them all in a cold unthrilled way, the way she accepted him in bed. She had never been of a very passionate nature, but in the last months, before the end, forget it. His very touch seemed to make her shrivel away from him. One memorable night he had been lying on top of her, trying to do what he had to as quickly as possible, when she had started to cry, long stifled sobs. He had withdrawn quickly, and felt there could be no greater distance between them than this.

When he thought of Lorna he imagined that perhaps she was all the things a woman should be. But had he really behaved so badly that she couldn’t find it in herself to forgive him?

In the end it had been she who had ended it, not he.

He stopped thinking about the past, and put his mind to the future.

Charlie Brick, a name well-known to millions. He had made a lot of films. A lot of money. Not bad after starting his career touring the variety halls as a comedian for fifteen pounds a week. If he didn’t want to, he need not work for the rest of his life. It was a comforting thought.

His mother lived in a handsome house in Richmond with two servants, a car and chauffeur. His two children had money in trust for them. He had insisted. Lorna had not wanted a penny from him, but he had seen that the children were well looked after. On the material side, things couldn’t be better.

The new picture should be interesting. The director was an old friend of his. His co-star, Michelle Lomas, was also an old friend, although in a different way. Michelle was a big star, a big voluptuous woman. Discovered in the south of France wearing a bikini at the age of nineteen, now, ten years later, she had an international reputation, both as an actress and a woman. Charlie had first met her five years previously, when his career as a film actor was jogging along nicely and hers beginning to smoulder.

For the first time in a film, instead of being just a comedy actor, he had been given the romantic interest as well. Women everywhere took to him immediately in his new role as lover. If he was good enough to make love to Michelle Lomas, then he was good enough for them.

The letters started to pour in, and his career started to zoom.

It was the beginning of the end as far as Lorna and he were concerned.

The start of his affair with Michelle had changed his life a great deal. In the beginning he just couldn’t believe that a famous sex symbol, probably the most famous European sex symbol of that time, could possibly fancy him. But fancy him she had. Most of the arrangements had been manoeuvred by her. She had a husband who conveniently stayed in Paris and appeared only occasionally.

‘You are a wonderful man,’ she used to purr at him. ‘A wonderful lover, the best.’

No one had ever said anything like that to him before. He had always felt inadequate, or, at the very most, average in bed. But Michelle had changed all that: she made him feel like a king.

Of course his marriage suffered. He would return home from the studio later and later. At weekends, he would always say he had to work. In the end he hardly ever saw Lorna; they just happened to live in the same house.

Occasionally they saw each other long enough for a brief exchange of insults.

Lorna: ‘I know you’re screwing that big French cow.’

Charlie: I don’t understand you, how can you say that?’

Lorna: ‘You’re like a dog after a bitch in heat. What a fool you’re making of yourself.’

And so it went on, fight after fight, insult after insult, until one day things really came to a head. Charlie was planning to follow Michelle back to France. She had been gone two weeks following the completion of their film, and they spoke on the phone every day.

‘My husband will be away in the south for ten days,’ she told him at last. ‘He will be leaving tomorrow, you can come then.’

It was unfortunate that this should have coincided with his daughter’s birthday, and Lorna had arranged a party. He told her he had to leave immediately for discussions about a film.

She stared at him very long and very hard. ‘If you go to her,’ she said very slowly, ‘then hold yourself responsible for the consequences.’

When he returned things were different. There were no more fights, because Lorna was very rarely there to argue with. She seemed to manage to be just going out whenever he came in. She stayed away from home at night, not even bothering to say where she was.

He didn’t question her. He was too involved with planning to see Michelle an often as possible.

His career continued to progress in the best possible way. He found himself in the enviable position of being able to pick and choose what films he would do. His notices were always the best: ‘
CHARLIE BRICK SHINES AGAIN
’; ‘
BRICK SAVES THE FILM
’; ‘
THE COMIC GENIUS OF CHARLIE BRICK
’.

Lorna and he decided to move from their country home to a penthouse in Knightsbridge. The affair with Michelle had more or less finished, due to the fact that they were both working in different countries, and meetings became impossible to arrange.

Of course he realized he had been a fool. It had all been his fault. But the actual thing of making it with Michelle Lomas had been too much for him to miss. He felt, in a funny sort of way, that maybe he and Lorna would be closer because of it.

She didn’t feel the same. She was cold and unfriendly in spite of his attentiveness.

He decided to buy the penthouse in the hope that new surroundings would bring them together again.

Lorna did not become enthusiastic about it. She insisted they hire an interior decorator, and left the whole thing to him.

Two weeks after they moved in, Charlie had to go to Spain. When he returned, Lorna had moved out. She had left the children, and a short note saying:
This is all your fault, don’t ever blame me
.

She had vanished, and it took Charlie two weeks to find her. A private detective discovered her in a hotel room in Bayswater, in bed with an out-of-work stuntman. The detective took photos, and that was that. One divorce coming up.

At first Charlie couldn’t believe that Lorna would leave him for a ‘nothing’, a ‘nobody’. Why, the man wasn’t even good-looking.

But Lorna didn’t seem to care about anything. ‘Go ahead and divorce me,’ was all she said, ‘it will be a pleasure.’

He was left with the children, a nanny, his chauffeur, and a huge penthouse.

He could hardly believe it. He had finished with Michelle. He wanted Lorna. She was his wife. Couldn’t she understand that? He was prepared to forgive her for the stuntman. Surely she should forgive him? For the children alone she should be prepared to try again.

But she didn’t want to know.

She moved in with her boyfriend, and shortly afterwards her lawyer demanded the children. The law being what it was, she got them, but Charlie had ample access.

He sold the penthouse and moved into a hotel suite. He spent long evenings alone, sometimes just staring blankly at a wall, sometimes getting stoned on pot.

There were many girls. One night he would be with a stripper, the next with a married woman whose husband just happened to be out of town.

And they all let him down. One by one they tried to use him in some way or other.

With all of them he told his story: how unhappy he was; how his wife had left him for another man; how life and success only meant something if shared.

The women he saw more than once all half-expected him to propose. He hinted at it all the time. He made them each feel as if she were the only woman he wanted. But he treated them badly, stood them up, never called when he said he would, contacted them only when he felt like it, sometimes at two in the morning. He felt, in a way, he was getting his own back on Lorna. A different woman every night. But none of them meant anything.

It was a big change from the days when he had gone after Lorna.
He
had been the chaser then, and she had certainly given him a hard time.