Confessions of a Hollywood Agent Read online

  “It wasn’t Marty, it was the booze you drank. I’m getting dressed.

  They wear fancy clothes here, and I’m going to show off some of mine.

  Did you hear that, Papie? You’re going to have to put on a black tie.”

  “Oh, cat piss. Marshall, will I have to get in that monkey suit?

  You’re going have to help me with that friggin bow tie,” said Thorton.

  Over at Marty Fallon’s suite at the Riviera, Marty paced the room as Clint watched.

  “I’m already into this joint for twenty G’s. Don’t you tell me these tables aren’t crooked. These guys are stealing the food from my table.

  I know when I’m being cheated.”

  “Marty, since Batista put Meyer Lansky in charge of gaming, they’ve cleaned up their act.”

  “Bullshit! I know these guys. I worked for them before. They’re going to make sure that Marty Fallon leaves the money they’re paying me … here. I’ll have to borrow from you to get out of this toilet.” Marty buried his head in his hands.

  “Oh, why did I let Georgia talk me into coming here? My little baby out in that jungle, with that drunk Erroll Flynn. Not one word from her.

  She could be dead! You hear gunfire out there? And we’re in Havana.

  Can you imagine what it must be like in the jungle with those animals?

  She’s nuts. And so am I to be waiting for her to show. I’d leave tonight if it wasn’t for Georgia. You couldn’t get me to stay if they paid me a million dollars. I want out of this miserable country.”

  Sounds of gunfire, sirens, racket and commotion arose from the street. Clint, followed by Marty, went to the glass doors that opened onto a balcony. Military jeeps, wagons and troops moved in the streets below. Sirens wailed, and a roadblock had been put up on the Malecon.

  “What the hell is going on down there?” asked Marty. It looks as if we’ve been invaded. What else could it be?”

  Clint went back into the room and turned on the television. A picture of Juan Manuel Fangio appeared on the tube. The announcer reeled off in Spanish.

  “What the hell is he saying?” asked Marty.

  “It’s something about the rebels kidnapping Fangio. He says more bombings and a general strike called. Castro wants to stop the race.”

  “They’ll kidnap me next. I’m a celebrity. Get me body guards, now!”

  “You’re an American. They wouldn’t dare!” said Clint.

  “Bullshit! They don’t care who you are. I hear this Castro is Communist. I hate co50182201mmies. Get on the phone. Call security before it’s too late. I could be next … You know … I could be the next on the list … to be kidnapped.” said Marty.

  Jimmy and Tana arrived in Havana early that night. After they left the airport they had a rough time getting through the streets of Havana to the hotel. Roadblocks everywhere. Soldiers stopped them and asked for identification numerous times. Neither spoke Spanish. Finally they arrived at the Nacional in a cab. As they came through the lobby, they saw Roman Lebe, Thorton’s new driver, walking toward the elevator surrounded by Cuban military. They ran to him.

  “Are you in trouble, Roman?” asked Jimmy, concerned.

  “Hell no. Haven’t you heard? The rebels kidnapped Fangio. These guys are my bodyguards. All the drivers have them now.” Roman stepped into the elevator with his entourage.

  Tana and Jimmy looked at each other. “Let’s get out of this lobby,” said Tana. I hate all these guns around. Thorton will have to give me hazard pay for coming here,” said Tana as she and Jimmy moved to the front desk.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Castro praised Georgia for helping the wounded and the example she gave to his troops. He consoled her on the death of his comrade, Luis Verano. He said he’d never forget Luis and what he meant to both of them. He let it be known he wanted Erroll out of the camp and called him a drunk and a Fascist. Castro warned him if he made the film, it would never be seen in Cuba.

  Erroll thrived on the attention he received in Spain and being with Castro at his moment of triumph would add to his legacy. He was smart about star maintenance. He knew how to stay in the newspapers. Good or bad.

  The helicopter flew from Castro’s headquarters with Georgia aboard. She felt guilty about leaving Erroll and Jake behind, but they convinced her to get out while she had the chance.

  When Georgia arrived at Guantanamo a short time later, she was able to hitch a ride to Havana on a U.S. C47 cargo plane. When the plane got into the air for the trip across Cuba, it hit. Her pent-up emotions poured out in tears. She sat on an uncomfortable metal seat and peered out at the rain clouds covering the green mountain scenery. The roar of the powerful engines drowned out her sobs. When she arrived in Havana she felt the need of a modern bathroom, feminine clothes and Marty.

  She hired a cab at the airport, but she had no money. She had given what she had to the patients at the hospital. She convinced the cab driver she would pay when she arrived at the Havana Riviera. She still wore her rebel uniform, which made it difficult because the Havanans thought she was one.

  At her arrival at the hotel, she told the doorman she was Marty Fallon’s girlfriend, but he didn’t believe her. She could tell he was paranoid about rebels. He called security and three uniformed men came out of the lobby and grabbed her. The guards cuffed her hands behind her and tried to haul her away. She yelled and kicked. In the tussle her long blonde hair fell out from under her fatigue cap.

  “Take your hands off me. I’m Marty Fallon’s girl,” she screamed.

  At the exact moment, Dorothy Winters and Nathan Wise drove to the front entrance in a Cadillac limousine and saw the disturbance. “Wait a minute, don’t get out yet,” said Nathan. “I wanna see what’s goin on here.” They remained in the back of the car.

  Dorothy glanced out the window and saw the blonde hair on a handcuffed girl. “Oh, my God. It’s Georgia Evans. For God’s sake, Nathan, do something!” she said frantically.

  “Are you sure?” asked Nathan.

  “Yes. I know it’s her … hurry … get out of the car. Help her!” Dorothy opened the door. Nathan got out and Dorothy followed. Dorothy ran to Georgia and put her arms around her.

  “Stop! This girl is my friend. She’s an American. Her name is Georgia Evans.” Georgia was shocked. The confused guards released Georgia while Dorothy consoled her.

  “You poor darling! What happened?”

  “Dorothy!” she screamed, not believing it was her.

  Dorothy helped Georgia into the lobby. “I’m in shock seeing you like this. Clint is staying here. I’ll get him down.” Dorothy saw a phone by the front desk and went to picked it up and asked for Clint’s room. “Clint, it’s Dorothy. I’m in the lobby. Get your ass down here.

  Georgia is here.”

  “She is? I’ll be right down.”

  Nathan paid Georgia’s cab driver and came inside to the front desk to check in. Clint came into the lobby. Nathan acknowledged Clint as he signed the register.

  “Georgia. Am I glad to see you,” he said, giving her a hug.

  “Clint, it was a terrible experience. I can’t talk yet. Next time I’ll listen to you. I promise,” said Georgia.

  “Clint, why didn’t you tell me what was going on Havana? I would have never come,” said Dorothy.

  “I thought you knew,” said Clint. Dorothy glanced toward Nathan.

  If looks could kill Nathan would have been a dead man.

  Marty’s attitude and humor changed with Georgia’s reunion. She told him about her ill-fated adventure, leaving out Luis.

  “Marty, I think I’m pregnant. I haven’t seen a doctor, but I have all the symptoms.”

  “Talk to Clint. He’ll find you someone here in Havana to take care of it.”

  “I don’t believe you said that.” Georgia started to cry. “Marty, I’m not having an abortion. I don’t believe in them. You know I was brought up in a religious family,” she said sobbing.

  “What do you want me to
do?”

  “Marry me.”

  “I’m still married.”

  “Get a divorce. You always said you would.”

  “What can I do, honey? They take time.”

  “Get a Mexican divorce. Your lawyer can arrange it.”

  “They’re not legal.”

  “They’re legal enough for me. We can get married here in Havana.”

  “That might not be legal either.”

  “I don’t care. I just want to get married. We can make it legal later.

  Call your lawyer. Ask him.”

  “Why do you want to do this now? Can it wait until after a proper divorce? We could have a nice wedding. Your father could marry us.”

  “The thought of bringing a bastard into the world terrifies me. It’s against everything I believe in. I can’t face my parents. Please, Marty don’t make me have an abortion.”

  “Okay, we’ll get married. I can’t stand tears. Get Clint, tell him to make the arrangements.”

  “Thank you, Marty, darling,” she said as she ran to him and hugged and kissed him.

  Dorothy and Clint would be the maid of honor and best man. The wedding was to take place that night after the last show.

  The race was still scheduled for the next day, but no one had heard from Fangio, who was still in the hands of his kidnapers.

  The atmosphere in Havana was hectic. The city felt the drama. It was live and let live, no one knowing if Havana would be the same city in the morning. More people were in the casinos betting. The showrooms did standing room only as everyone drank more and played harder.

  Georgia went shopping for a wedding dress. There were shops in the lobby, but the dresses were too gaudy for her taste. She phoned Dorothy to explain her predicament.

  “Darling, why don’t you come to my room and see. Most of my dresses are low cut, but I am sure we can find you something proper for your wedding,” said Dorothy. “I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Georgia said.

  When Dorothy opened the door for Georgia she saw some strange men were in a meeting. Dorothy introduced her to Nathan and Meyer Lansky. They went directly into the bedroom so as not to disturb the gentlemen with their discussions.

  Dorothy had laid a number of dresses on her bed for Georgia’s inspection.

  “Dorothy, they’re lovely. You have so many gorgeous dresses.” She picked up a white chiffon dress with a long scarf and peered at herself in the mirror holding the dress in front of her.

  “This one will work. What do you think? I could wear the scarf as a veil.”

  “Darling, it’s perfect. We’re the same size. You’ll be a beautiful bride in that dress. It’s yours.”

  “Dorothy, you’re so sweet. You came to my rescue twice, hon. How can I possibly repay you?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something. Why are you getting married here? You surely could wait until you got back to the States.”

  “I think I’m pregnant … Marty hasn’t gotten a divorce … so there are complications. But at least I’ll be able to say to my child that we were married when it was born, even if it isn’t legal right now.”

  “I understand. Who’s going to perform the ceremony?”

  “Clint arranged for a Cuban judge. I have to go. Got so many things to do.” She picked up Dorothy’s dress. “Clint’s put a big table together at ringside. He also invited his racing friends from the National,” said Georgia as Dorothy escorted her to the front door. She waved to the men in the room as she left.

  Clint had the arrangements made for the wedding, but he couldn’t figure out why Georgia wanted to get married in Havana. Maybe she thought that Marty would change his mind.

  Clint had invited Meyer Lansky and George Raft. He thought that Nathan would feel more comfortable knowing some of his cronies would be there. Dorothy let it slip that there were some big meetings going on between Nathan and Meyer. It was evident to Clint that time was running out for Meyer and all the boys in Havana. The old era was coming to an end. Castro would be taking over the country. Clint heard that the American imperialist pigs would be gone as soon as he came into power. Meyer must have millions in this place, he thought. There would be no chance of getting it out, even if it was gambling money.

  The elaborate, shimmering, sunburst curtain went up on the midnight show at the Havana Riviera. Seated at the front table were Georgia, with her guests: Thorton and Marge North, Dorothy and Nathan, Marshall, Jimmy, Tana Williams, Meyer Lansky, Roman Lebe, George Raft and a girl friend, the Cuban judge and his wife, and Clint Nation. Everyone was in a festive mood. Only Nathan looked glum, but that was to be his nature. Georgia was radiant on her wedding night.

  The Cuban chorus line came on stage. The smiling girls in their scanty costumes pranced around on stage to the beat of the Latin music. Topless nude girls dropped down from the ceilings around the full showroom. Everyone waited for Marty’s entrance. The announcer said. “Senores y Senòritas … The Havana Riviera proudly brings you direct from the United States of America one of its greatest stars: Mr.

  Marty Fallon.”

  Marty entered center stage down a long stairway in a costume of baggy pants and shirt, clown shoes, red clown hair and a large hat worn on the side of his head. His front teeth were blacked out. A couple of tall chorus girls passed him, and he did a double take at their bare buns. A big laugh came from the audience. The show continued with Marty doing the hilarious burlesque bits that he was famous for. It lasted for one hour.

  Dorothy sat next to Thorton, who was drunk. She flirted with him.

  “Pappy, I hear you’re Jewish,” she said.

  “Honey, me Jewish? I got a foreskin that stretches from here to that palm tree,” he said pointing with his hand.

  Marty came down stage to the center table and made an announcement to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen. I want to introduce you to my new wife-to-be, Georgia.” Everyone clapped and Georgia got up from the table and took a bow. The curtain came down. A few minutes later Marty came to the table. Meyer, Nathan, and George Raft congratulated him and left. Dorothy stayed on for the marriage ceremony.

  The stagehands moved a large horseshoe-like arch covered with an array of colorful and exotic flowers on the stage and put it in place for the ceremony.

  Georgia took the scarf from around her shoulders and placed it on her head. Dorothy helped her with it. The wedding party went up onto the stage. Marty dressed in a suit. He and Georgia went under the arch.

  Dorothy stood behind with Clint.

  The Cuban judge took his place to perform the ceremony. It was spoken in Spanish. After he finished he put up his hand and pointed to his ring finger. Clint stuck his hand in his pocket. For a moment he couldn’t find the ring. He finally found it and handed the ring to Marty, who placed it on Georgia’s finger and kissed her. Clint had bought the ring that afternoon in the gift shop. It wasn’t real, but it looked it.

  Thorton made a speech. “To my friend, Marty, who has just married the best looking piece of poontang.” He lifted his glass. “Now I want to take everybody to see Superman.”

  There was a sheepish laugh that followed from everyone. Marty and Georgia excused themselves and left.

  “Who is Superman?” Georgia asked as they left the showroom for the elevator.

  “I’ll tell you some other time,” he said as they got into the elevator.

  Thorton was as good as his word. They arrived in two cabs.

  Dorothy went along. What better time to see something of this nature than with the crowd she was with tonight? It was all a lark anyway, she thought. She had heard about the show and secretly wanted to see it.

  She wouldn’t tell Nathan.

  Their cabs pulled into a little side street somewhere in downtown Havana and stopped in front of an unobtrusive building. Marshall paid for everyone’s admission. They walked into a cavern-like room that was semi-dark. They had to adjust their eyes to get used to the dim red lights. Thorton stumbled over somebody as they made their way
down to the front. The air was thick with smoke and had an unusual sweet smell mixed with it.

  They settled into their seats. On stage stood three Roman columns; three shapely nude young women with long hair were chained to them.

  Spotlights switched on to illuminate the girls as they moaned and wrenched in their bondage.

  Clint peered around the room. As far as he could make out, most of the audience was American. He sat next to Dorothy, who was absorbed in the scene onstage.

  The sound of kettledrums rolled as Superman made his entrance.

  He was tall, slender, of mixed blood. His face was hard, expressionless.

  He wore a full-length red cape and carried a black whip that he cracked in the air as he walked to center stage.

  The chained girls moaned and groaned trying to get free. The sounds of the whip cracked. “Ahiii,” they yelled.

  The kettledrum rolled as Superman dropped his cape. A low “haaaaaa” came from the girls and the audience. Superman stood center stage in front of the audience, his huge member erect, then turned to provide a side view.

  Clint leaned over to Dorothy. “He must have had a blood transfusion to get that thing like that.” He looked around in back of them to see the audience’s reaction. “Dorothy, there’s a man behind you … He’s exposing himself … ” Dorothy jumped up from her seat, grasping at her hair.

  “My, hair. He’ll do something awful to my hair?” she screamed and got up and moved down the aisle.

  Two muscular young black men dressed in G-strings walked out on stage carrying a white Roman cot and set it down center stage.

  Superman danced around flopping his member in the air and rubbing it up against the chained girls.

  The two black men unchained one of the girls and brought her downstage for the audience’s inspection. She turned and moaned and acted as if she wanted to escape. Superman lay down on the couch with his phallus in the air. The two men brought the girl to the cot and placed her on Superman’s member. She screamed, yelling in Spanish as she was forced down on it. This action was for the two other chained girls, who were also crying and weeping.