Confessions of a Hollywood Agent Read online

  REVIEW

  CONFESSIONS OF A HOLLYWOOD AGENT

  A novel by William Louis Gardner

  By Ellen Singer

  Only an industry insider could write a story filled with such nuance about the glam and grim of Hollywood in the 1950’s and 60’s. William Gardner takes you on a (manicured and bejeweled) hand-held tour of Beverly Hills and its crusty and upper-crust inhabitants.

  You’ll be privy to the name-dropping and bed-hopping among a large cast of loveable and loathsome characters, including a minister’s daughter who poses for Playboy but tithes ten percent of her earnings to the church and an internationally famous comedian who wastes his money on gambling and drugs.And enjoy the odd, but enduring alliance between the story’s leading man and lady: Clint Nation, a Montana cowboy, and Dorothy Winters, a small-time thief, who will re-invent themselves and traverse the Hollywood Hills together as agent and movie star, occasional lovers and loyal friends.There’s plenty of sinning in “Confessions”, but is there redemption? You’ll stay awake trying to find out. But don’t rush – or fast-forward – to the closing credits. They come much too soon.

  —Ellen Singer’s most recent book is “Quicksand”

  (HarperCollins, 2001)

  By Ihannah

  I love this book.. Exactly what I wanted to read when I picked it up. Hollywood, sex and fun. Very juicy..

  By Paula Stewart

  In his juicy, jaunty style, William Gardner has given us an intimate peek into the entertainment world as it really is. A driving, wickedly amusing expose of Actors, Agents and Power Brokers in an industry with no shame. A page turner of explicit sex, intrigue and mayhem. I loved it, having been there myself.

  By actress Stefanie Powers

  “Just finished reading the book…

  it was as good a read as any of the best-sellers!”

  Confessions of a Hollywood Agent

  A novel by

  William Louis Gardner

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2012 by William Louis Gardener

  All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Bald Eagle Publishing Co.

  P.O. Box 195

  Palm Desert, Ca 92261

  e-mail [email protected]

  ISBN: 0-9722312-0-X

  To Celeste

  Cast of Characters

  CLINT NATION: Young Hollywood agent

  GALE LAWRENCE: Hollywood extra. Changes name to Dorothy Winters

  DOROTHY WINTERS: Movie star

  GEORGIA EVANS: Hollywood starlet

  LUIS VERANO: Cuban movie director

  MARTY FALLON: Famous Hollywood comedian

  NATHAN WISE: Hollywood godfather

  MEYER LANSKY: Mafia kingpin

  GEOFFREY LANDSDOWN: Racecar driver

  THORTON NORTH: Racecar owner

  MARGE NORTH: Thorton’s wife

  TANA WILLIAMS: African/American film actress

  JIMMY: Thorton’s male nurse

  MARSHALL: Thorton’s business manager

  ERROLL FLYNN: Himself

  FIDEL CASTRO: Himself

  JFK: Himself

  PORFIRO RUBIROSA: Himself

  JOHANNES DIEDRICH: German industrialist

  PART I

  CHAPTER ONE

  Clint gawked at the glamorous young blond as she swung her long, hose-less legs out of the driver’s seat of a new 1957 Thunderbird.

  Noticing Clint staring at her, she opened her legs. He could see she wore no underwear. She stood, adjusting a blond mink stole around her bare shoulders. As she passed him on her way to the front door, the smell of her perfume knocked him out. She gave him a slight smile and a bump with her body, looking straight ahead. Clint felt her hand caress his crotch. Astonished, he stared at the woman and then at Everett, who was standing at his side, slicking back a shock of thin gray hair.

  “Didja see that? She grabbed my balls,” he yelled.

  Everett put his finger to his lips. “Keep your voice down, this is a chic party,” he whispered.

  They were met at the entrance of the pink Beverly Hills mansion by a midget wearing a medieval court jester costume who ushered them into a silk ornate room that resembled a reception room in an old European palace. There stood a throne, with a plump middle-aged blonde sitting on it. If that old gal’s my date, I hope I can get it up, Clint thought. “Who is she?” he whispered to Everett.

  “She bought a grand duchess title. She thinks she’s a queen.”

  The lady hadn’t seen them. She leaned forward on the arm of the high back chair, enthralled with a young Latin in Argentine gaucho attire, strumming a tango on his guitar. The man moved to her side finishing the last words of the ballad.

  “Manuel, how wonderful. Do come back and play again before you leave.” She extended her jeweled hand and slipped him a fifty dollar bill.

  “Gracias, your Highness,” he said as he kissed her hand and backed away, bowing.

  Everett stepped onto the throne platform as Billie Rodgers shifted and saw him. “Everett, you finally got here.” She turned her cheek for him to kiss. “Where’s the medal I presented you? You are my minister of culture. You should wear it to all my official gatherings.”

  “I’m sorry, your Highness. I wasn’t told the party was to be so formal,” he said in a clipped English accent.

  “My parties are always formal. And tonight especially. We’re unveiling my official portrait.” Billie glanced past Everett. “And, who is the handsome young man?” She looked Clint over.

  “May I present Mr. Clint Nation. Her Highness, Billie Rogers.” The jester pushed Clint onto the platform.

  Clint’s tall lanky body moved self-consciously forward in the rented tuxedo. His straight blonde hair fell in his eyes as he fidgeted with his too-small shirt collar. Billie extended her hand that Clint took and shook clumsily. “Pleased to meet ya, ma’am. Your worship … I mean ya … Highness,” said Clint, in a western drawl.

  “You may call me Billie, if I may call you Clint. Clint, I like that name … it sounds so western.”

  “I’m from Montana, ma’am, I mean, Miss Billie,” said Clint nervously.

  Billie pushed herself up from the throne. As she did her diamond tiara slid to the side of her head and dropped onto the throne platform near Clint’s feet. He rushed to pick it up. And handed it to her. She gave him a pleasing smile as she put the crown into place, mussing her thin blonde hair.

  “Thank you, young man,” she said, patting his hand. “What a pleasure to have such a strong man to help a lady when she needs some-one.

  ” She turns her head towards the jester. He handed her a gold-headed cane. She stepped off the platform adjusting a blue silk gown that was a size too small.

  “Come, I’ll introduce you to my guests.” Billie took Clint’s arm as they exited the throne room with Everett and the jester following behind. “You have a strong arm, Clint. Walking with you is a joy. As you see I need help. I fell off a horse a few years back and my hip never healed properly. I love to dance, but that’s over now. I’m so excited about my official portrait. You have no idea what I had to endure with the artist, Mr. Reinholt. He wanted me to pose in the morning light. I never get up before three. It’s inhuman of him to think I could. We had so many quarrels. I wanted to sit on a horse to look regal, like they do in Europe, but with my hip it
was impossible.”

  They approached an aging dowager covered with jewels, who stood with two effeminate-looking men. They gave Clint a look that made him nervous.

  “Cynthia, darling, when did you arrive? Meet Mr. Nation.”

  Cynthia extended her thin hand, enhanced with large jewels. “Oh, darling. He’s divine. You must bring him to Honolulu. “Do you surf, Mr. Nation?”

  “Yeah, sure, I surf,” lied Clint “Nice meetin’ ya, ma’am.”

  “See you at the unveiling,” said Billie as she and Clint walked off.

  “I wish I had her money. Millions!” said Billie.

  Clint glanced back at Cynthia for another look.

  Everett and the jester observed Clint’s actions from behind.

  The Jester in his high nasal voice said, “Her Highness seems to be happy with this young man.”

  “That’s why he’s here. replied Everett, assured.

  “I hope he sticks around. It’s been miserable since the last one left. She’s been on me constantly. I’ll get a rest again if she picks up with him.”

  Billie turned around. “Everett, Clint tells me he’s a Scorpio. I’ve always loved Scorpios. They’re so much fun. And sexy. Find me a chair.

  I want to sit. It’s time,” she said to the jester. “Have the servants bring in my official portrait, and tell the orchestra to be ready.”

  The Jester rushed to the orchestra leader and then left the room. The orchestra started a musical fanfare.

  “They’ll play my official waltz. I wrote it. I love my music when I hear it. I feel so royal,” she said as she made herself comfortable in the chair.

  Two male servants dressed in footman costumes rolled the portrait in on a dolly. It was covered with a purple cloth. Billie searched the ballroom.

  “Where is Mr. Reinholt? He must be here with me.”

  “I’m sorry, your Highness, he sends his regrets. He’s ill,” said the Jester.

  “Ill? The paint-slapping fairy! He goes to the top of my unwanted list. He’s barred from the house. I hope I haven’t paid him. Find out if I made payment,” she said scowling at the jester.

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Send the painting away. I’ll see it later.” She said to Clint. “I’m getting bored with this party. Come along to the honeymoon suite with me, Mr. Nation,” she said pushing herself up from her chair and extending one arm to Clint.

  The Jester ran after them. “Your Highness?”

  She turned and said. “Have a few of my select guests come up for some fun.” They started up the long grand staircase.

  “Anyone in particular, Madam?” called the jester.

  “You know who I like. And have the waiters bring champagne.”

  Billie turned to Clint. “Come along Mr. Nation. Do you play the horses?” she asked, as they moved slowly up the curved stairs.

  “I spend most of my days at the track, ma’am.”

  “You do? I adore the horses, but my information is so poor these days. You can help me pick some winners.”

  “I do real good, ma’am. I got a couple of sure winners for tomorra.”

  “Wonderful, you can go with me. Come along, angel. I’ve arranged for some marvelous entertainment.”

  At the top of the staircase, Billie led Clint down the hallway into a large pink satin bedroom that resembled a theater. On the far end of the room stood a circular bed covered in pink silk, a canopy positioned above. A cluster of cupids hung from the ceiling on strings.

  Heavy pink silk drapes covered the tall windows and numerous chaise lounges were scattered around the bed and other areas of the room. A small stage stood opposite the bed, a soft pink curtain concealing it. Billie, with Clint’s help, moved toward the canopied bed and sat on the end.

  “Come sit next to me, angel. Tell me about yourself.”

  Clint sat down cautiously, smoothing the bed cover as he did.

  “There ain’t much to tell, ma’am. I just got out of the army. I want to be an actor like Gary Cooper. He’s from Montana. Could ya know a agent who could git me a part?”

  “I do have a friend who’s an important agent. He just might be interested in a handsome young man like you. You’ll have a chance to show what you can do shortly. We’re going to do improvisations. Where did Everett find you? He brings the most handsome young men for me to meet, he’s so sweet.”

  “I lives in the same apartment house, ma’am. We all met at the swimming pool,” said Clint nervously.

  “You must look magnificent in a bathing suit! Don’t be so nervous, angel. I won’t bite you.”

  “Well, ma’am I ain’t never met no one like ya before.”

  “I hope that’s a compliment. My dear boy, do you realize you’re sitting in the presence of the future Queen of America? My whole life is dedicated to achieving it. The trouble today is there’s no hope for this country. All this tax business. I paid more tax last year than the President’s salary. It’s horrible. Look how wonderfully the Queen of France, Marie Antoinette, lived. A marvelous time.”

  “Didn’t she get her head cut off, ma’am?”

  “That’s not funny. That remark does not gain my favor, you’re here to gain my favor. Everyone is.” Clint glanced at his wristwatch.

  “I better get goin, ma’am, it’s kinda late,” he said starting to get up.

  Billie gripped his hand.

  “Don’t go, angel, I like you. Stay to see my surprises.” A waiter entered the room with a tray full of glasses of champagne.

  “Here comes the party. Sit down, angel.” Billie took two glasses of champagne and handed one to Clint, who sat back down on her bed.

  She lifted her glass. “How old are you, angel?”

  “Thirty, ma’am.” Clint was twenty-three. Billie lifted her glass to him and said. “To my new prince of the realm, or would you rather be a duke? I can give you any title you want in my monarchy. I’m the Queen!”

  “Being a prince is OK, ma’am,” said Clint, as he smiled at Billie drinking the champagne.

  A group of merry guests came into the room talking and laughing among themselves. They sat on the lounges as the waiter passed champagne to them. The jester approached Billie and whispered in her ear.“Should this be a costume night, Your Highness?”

  “Of course,” she replied, also whispering. “Get them into outfits, and hide the young man’s pants when he takes them off. I’m going to have some fun with him.”

  The jester smiled and got up on the stage. As he did the room quieted. He said, “Voyeurs and voyeurettes. Her Highness, the future Queen of America, has requested your presence at this soiree. For the benefit of the few who have not been here before, go to the room behind the stage. There you’ll find costumes for everyone. Pick out whatever you choose to be for this night of fantasy. There’s an assortment of delusions from the past as well as the present to choose from. Put on whatever appeals to you and let the games begin. Take your drinks and on to the costumes.” The jester came off the stage and grabbed Clint’s hand, pulling him off Billie’s bed. Clint didn’t want to go, but Billie waved him on, laughing.

  Clint followed the jester through a small door behind the stage. He felt shy and self-conscious. But, what the hell, I ain’t got nothing to lose, he thought.

  The smell of mothballs hit him as he saw rows and rows of costumes of every description. He walked over to a wolf’s head and put it on, looking into the mirror. He saw the blonde with the nineteen fifty-seven Thunderbird who grabbed his balls come up behind him. She carried a slave girl costume in one hand and a Roman centurion costume in the other.

  She checked Clint out in the mirror and said. “Take that ridiculous thing off, and put this on.” She handed Clint the Roman costume. “This is how I see you. A handsome Praetorian guard.” Clint was taken by her directness.

  “Take your pants off.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t just stand there looking dumb, sweetheart. Let’s see those legs.”

  Cli
nt laughed. “Gal, what’s your name? I’m Clint.”

  “I’m Gale, cowboy. You’re sort of cute. I think our hostess, that old bag, thinks so too. Are you reserved for the evening?”

  “Huh? Do it look that way?”

  “Mighty suspicious.”

  “Can I see ya later? Give me ya phone number.”

  Gale reached into her bra, pulled out a card, and handed it to him.

  “I don’t give my number to strangers, but you and I should get better acquainted. What do you do besides hustle?”

  “I ain’t no hustler,” he said acting indignant. Gale glanced into his scowling face and said, “Sure you’re not,” smiling.

  The room started to clear out. The other guests had gotten into costumes and had gone back into the bedroom.

  “We’d better get dressed. Where do I get into this?” he asked, holding up the costume.

  “Come, we can change together.” Clint gave her a look. “Don’t look so startled, cowboy. Haven’t you ever taken your clothes off with a girl before?” Gale pulled Clint into the small dressing room and closed the door. She moved into him unbuckling his belt. Clint gripped her and tried to kiss her.

  “Not now. You’ll ruin my makeup. God, you’re a hot thing. Get dressed, I got plans for you.”

  Clint could feel the heat. He pushed Gale against the wall, holding onto her large breasts. “No. Not so fast, cowboy.”

  “You started it, gal,” he said, panting.

  Gale broke out of the dressing room and entered another next to Clint, locking the door. Clint pushed down his erection to get into the Roman costume. He came out of the room and walked over and checked himself in the mirror as the jester came in.

  “Her Highness is asking for you. Have you finished dressing?” he asked.

  “Yep, I’m ready,” replied Clint as he exited.

  After Clint had gone, the jester glanced around and went into the dressing room and picked up Clint’s trousers. He put them into a clothes hamper by the door as he left.