Blood and Oranges, James Goldsborough [spicy books to read txt] 📗

“Jane Russell’s talent was all in her blouse,” said Joe.

“Living with him on Angelo Drive. Drugs and sex. Mother had no business going up. I went up and found it. Wish I hadn’t.”

“Living with whom?” said Joe.

“The guy at Didi’s party—you remember.”

“Remind me.”

“Zug.”

“Good God.”

“Means train in German,” said Cal.

“Archie Zug, human locomotive,” said Joe. “Some leave off the motive and just call him loco. Hollywood comer. Works with Trevor Bonfeld who left United Artists and is about to open his own studio, something called Wonderworld.”

“Wonderworld?”

“Supposed to be the next big thing—space aliens, high-tech animation, Disney for the twenty-first century. Who needs actors?”

“Angelo Drive is Benedict Canyon,” said Lizzie. “Not far from the old Polanski place.”

“There’d been a party,” said Maggie. “Maid was cleaning up, everything quiet, everyone still in bed. A few splashes from a pool somewhere. Stank of drugs and booze and other things. Maid just stared at me. I didn’t wake them.”

“They go their own way, don’t they?” said Cal.

“Well, didn’t we?” said Lizzie.

“Oh, come on, Liz,” said Cal, “not at all the same.”

“You do what you can,” said Maggie. “Didi hated everything we did so we took her to Bel Air where she got everything she wanted. Story should have a happy ending.”

“In Hollywood, happy endings are only on the screen,” said Joe.

“Not in the stuff you write,” said Lizzie.

“I do real life.”

Chapter 45

Didi’s eyes were glued shut. She felt across the bed to see if anyone was there. She remembered going to bed with Archie, but then someone else came. Was it Kurt? She thought it was Kurt, and whoever it was had fucked her all night. Archie wouldn’t like that but maybe she wouldn’t tell him. She rubbed her eyes and they came open and she looked to make sure, but no one was there. She wouldn’t mind if it was Kurt because he was to die for, but whoever it was kept waking her, and she lost count and might have stopped coming to him, but she didn’t really mind. She thought it was Kurt but it might have been Vern, her shrink, but he’d come with the braless blonde in the baggy green sweater. Each time she went right back to sleep and didn’t know if it was the sex or the pills. Her brain was dead. What were they taking last night, Nembutals or Seconals, reds or yellows or maybe both? She didn’t remember. She just kept popping them down with the screwdrivers.

She was trying to decide how she felt. You couldn’t really tell until you stood up, but sort of could tell by how much desire you had to get up. She wondered what time it was. She listened. Often she could tell by the sounds, but there aren’t many sounds up in the hills. You’d think there might be roosters or dogs, but people who live in the hills and stay up late don’t like morning noises. Sometimes she could tell by the angle the light entered the room, but not if there were clouds. Today there were no clouds. She guessed it was after eleven. She heard birds, but no house sounds. Splashing from the pool. Someone trying to drown a hangover.

She wondered if Kurt would come back. She didn’t think Vern had stayed, but you never knew in this house. She wouldn’t mind seeing Kurt again. It might help her decide to get up. If she laid there much longer she’d fall back asleep. She wouldn’t mind that either. She wondered what she would see when she looked in the mirror. She felt around her body for bruises. The nipples hurt. Nothing else until she felt bruises on her neck. That was not good. Easier to hide breasts than necks. Especially by the pool.

A mob of people had come up, some she’d never seen. You were only supposed to come if Archie invited you, but word got around about Angelo Drive and friends brought friends and then it was out of hand. The Sharon Tate lure. Archie supplied the booze, but people brought their own stuff and sharing and mixing started and people started to go down, sometimes on the floor or the lawn, and some of them even made it upstairs until they were thrown out by whoever’s room it was. She was sure it was Archie who she started out with, but afterward was a blur. Whoever it was never gave up. Or maybe it wasn’t the same guy. She didn’t think Archie would allow that, but Archie might have gone down the hill. Or to someone else’s room. He keeps saying no more parties, but he loves them too much, loves the action.

She liked Archie and knew he liked her. Archie saw her potential. Job is to figure out what keeps her from realizing it, he said. She’d stick it out. Archie was Hollywood’s future. Archie and Trevor Bonfeld. Archie sent her to Vern, the psychologist, who said there was some kind of block. Paying was no problem with the trust Granny had set up for her. The thought of Granny gave her a pang. She’d called Granny, and Iris said she was at UCLA Med Center for tests. She’d tried to find Angelo Drive a few days before, Iris said, come up with Ralph to tell her how everyone missed her, how Kenny Van S. kept stopping by and how Kenny was such a swell boy. Didi smiled. The same Kenny that Granny used to tell her to ditch. Ha!

The windows were brightening. Sounds from the kitchen. Had to be way past eleven. Begonia, the Basque maid, would have cleaned up by now, and people would be making their way to the kitchen. Kenny. Down deep she missed him and the good old days, maybe because they went so far back, back to dances at the country club. He was a good dancer and a nice boy and so fucking loyal. But such a nebbish. She liked that