Confessions of a Hollywood Agent Read online

  Jean grabbed Mel’s hand under the table and eased it up to her crotch and held it there.

  Mel said to Clint, “What do you do?”

  “I’m trying to get into the movie business, and it ain’t easy.”

  “Doing what?” asked Mel.

  “I want to be a actor.”

  “Well, you got style, and you seem to know the right people,” Mel said, smiling at the girls. “If you want a job, I need a new trainee in my office. You’ll have to start in the mail-room,” said Mel matter-of-factly.

  “Everyone does; that’s how you find out what’s going on in the business. It pays a hundred a week and the hours are long. But in time, if you show promise, I50182201’ll make you assistant agent with an increase in salary.”

  Gale gave Clint a fast look and gave him a kick under the table anticipating he’d say yes. When she saw him hesitate she said, “Mel, you’re a darling.” She stared at Clint. “What a great opportunity for you, Clint. It’s an honor that Mel wants you in his office. You’ll say yes, won’t you?”

  “I’ve always wanted to be an actor,” replied Clint.

  Gale gave Clint a “don’t be stupid” look.

  “When do you want him to start, Mel?” asked Gale.

  “Be in my office at seven-thirty Monday morning.”

  “Okay, that’s settled. Where’s the champagne? We have to celebrate Jean’s birthday and Clint’s new job,” said Gale, looking for the waiter.

  The waiter poured their glasses full.

  Clint was dubious about being an agent, but deep down he knew he didn’t have the temperament or even the talent to pull it off as an actor.

  “A toast to Mel, who’s the most, and to us girls who should be his clients.” Everyone laughed. “Who knows, Mel, one of us could be a big star,” said Gale, holding up her glass as they joined in the toast.

  “I’ll drink to that,” said Jean as she turned to Mel and tossed in a kiss.

  “To Mel.” said Jean.

  Clint liked the agency business in a way that surprised him. He put in his time going through the mail, delivering scripts, going for coffee for the other agents and clients, driving clients around to casting calls.

  Before long the clients got to know him and trust him. A few confided about their lives and careers.

  “I’m taking some of the loot to New York,” Gale told Clint on the phone.

  “Like what?”

  “A few fur coats and some jewelry. New York’s a better place to get rid of it. The market is better. It’s harder to trace and I can get a better price for the stuff.”

  “What about your fence in Las Vegas?”

  “I don’t trust him. Couple of the working girls I know who are wearing my furs said they thought he’d been busted, and is now turning everyone in to get a lighter sentence.”

  “I’m not doing any more burglaries. I never wanted to get involved.

  Besides, what have I got out of it? A few hundred. It’s not worth it to me to go to jail for a lousy hundred bucks. I like this new job. It’s my career now. I’m not going to jeopardize myself anymore.”

  “Sweetheart, remember how you got it. I sucked that ugly little man’s cock to get you that job. Remember?”

  “Yes, and I told you more than once how much I appreciated what you did for me. But I have the strangest feeling that you want to be caught, and take me down with you.”

  After a moment of silence, “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said and hung up.

  The phone rang in Clint’s apartment. He woke and checked the time. One o’clock in the morning.

  “Hello.”

  “Thank God, I got you. The most awful thing has happen. They arrested Gale in New York,” said Candy hysterically

  “I knew it would happen. I’m not a bit surprised. Who told you?”

  “Her mother called me. She told me to get rid of anything I might have,” said Candy. “You don’t suppose that she’ll rat on us?”

  “Nah, that’s not her. She’s got a lot of psychological problems from her youth. She’s been looking for a way to punish herself, and she found it.”

  “Aren’t you smart, or did she tell you that?”

  “We talked about it.”

  “You did?”

  “What about your boyfriend, Norm? Does he know?”

  “He’s skipped town and left me with a ton of bills.”

  “Let me know if you hear anything. Bye.”

  The Hollywood police department brought Gale back to Los Angeles. She confessed to the charges of burglary, and they gave her two years at Terminal Island, in Long Beach, with parole. Neither Clint nor any of Gale’s associates in crime were brought into the case. Clint relaxed, putting his past with Gale out of his mind. He hoped he would never see Candy, Norm, or anyone else who would remind him of that part of his past.

  Meanwhile, Clint was moving up rapidly in the agency. He left his Franklin apartment and took an option on a small Spanish house with big windows overlooking a wooded canyon. The house was, in Realtors’ jargon, on the outskirts of the Beverly Hills Post Office. This meant he didn’t really live in Beverly Hills but had the address.

  Just as in Beverly Hills neighborhoods, there was name value in Clint’s area. Tyrone Power’s widow lived on the same street; Hedy Lamarr had a house just up from him and, on the hill directly across the canyon, lived Doris Duke, the tobacco heiress, who owned Rudolf Valentino’s old house “Falcon Lair”. Sunday afternoons he could hear jazz music filtering down the hillside from a jam session taking place at Duke’s.

  Clint had made himself over. No more cowboys. The voice coach Gale had found for him had completely changed his speech patterns.

  He’d lost the western twang, the ‘ain’t got no’ had disappeared.

  He’d fall back on western speech when he felt he needed it to charm someone.

  Mel liked his agents to wear dark suits, which gave Clint the look of a clean-cut young executive. He started giving parties at his new home.

  He could fill the place within an hour with young beautiful starlets to amuse the producers he wanted to impress. Everyone came to his parties because the word was out that Clint knew who and how to entertain. His boss, Mel, and the other Hollywood bigwigs always showed up. They knew he’d produce new beauties to play with. They even liked his food and booze. Clint had learned how to do it right.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Georgia Evans couldn’t imagine how her life was to change when she walked out on the stage Sunday morning to compete for the Miss Muscle Beach contest in Santa Monica.

  Georgia was a blonde version of Elizabeth Taylor, but with a pouting mouth. She had competed for the title before, winning it first at seventeen and again at eighteen. And once more she had the crowd going for her. Time and experience had given her the confidence it took to win. She was miles ahead of the other girls on the stage when she walked in front of the judges to pose. A handsome blonde body builder, wearing a leopard bathing suit, lifted her above his head with one arm as she extended her lean, perfectly-proportioned body into the air. Georgia worked the appreciative crowd with her poses and stances.

  “Go for it, Georgia, you’re the best,” they yelled as they applauded her beauty and athletic ability.

  Clint Nation appeared on stage as the Master of Ceremonies and also as one of the judges. Clint found himself impressed with Georgia, and he and the other judges voted her the winner.

  He went to the microphone and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s unanimous. The winner is Georgia Evans.”

  The crowd cheered. Georgia ran to Clint as he handed her the shiny silver trophy.

  “Georgia, on the behalf of the city of Santa Monica and the Muscle Beach talent association you have been voted Miss Muscle Beach of nineteen hundred and fifty-eight.”

  Clint handed the silver trophy to Georgia and she walked around the stage showing it to the audience who whistled and applauded her.

  A slight, intense young Latin male s
itting in the front row of the outdoor arena had a camera, and clicked pictures of Georgia as she toured the stage. His hands trembled as he tried to hold the camera steady, focusing the lens on her. When Georgia left the stage, he left too and followed her to the back. Clint Nation had stopped Georgia and had her in conversation. The Latin man walked behind them to be within hearing distance.

  “Georgia, have you ever thought about working as an actress?”

  “It did cross my mind. I’ve done some acting in high school, but I never though about it that seriously.”

  “There’s a movie starting production next week. I can get you a part.”

  “I live with my parents. I’d have to talk it over with them. It would sure help if you met with them. Would you?”

  “When?”

  “Now, if you have time.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “It’s south of here, Westchester.”

  “I’ll follow you. Where’s your car?” Georgia pointed to the parking lot. The Latin man stepped up.

  “Hello, my name is Luis Verano. I’m from Cuba. I’m here to cast a film I’m making in Cuba. I have a part for you,” he said to Georgia in a heavy Spanish accent.

  “This girl is my client. You’ll have to talk to me. Here’s my card. I’ll be in my office in the morning,” said Clint, as he handed Luis his card and ushered Georgia off to the parking lot, Luis looking after them.

  “Why are you making me leave? I wanted to talk to that man.”

  “Those kind of guys are a dime a dozen around beauty contests.

  If he calls, I’ll find out if he’s legit. You saw how you need an agent.

  From now on I handle those kind of inquiries.”

  “You certainly move fast, don’t you, Clint?”

  “It’s a fast town and a fast business and there are a lot phonies you learn to duck,” said Clint.

  Georgia got into a blue MG TD and drove off, with Clint following in his red 140 Jaguar roadster.

  Clint stayed behind Georgia on the drive to Westchester, a new tract-home community south of Los Angeles. Georgia pulled in front of a residence and parked. To Clint all the houses were the same. It was one of those tract homes built almost overnight over southern Los Angeles county. Clint followed Georgia inside into the living room.

  Silver trophies filled the room. They stood everywhere, all for beauty contests. On the wall hung a haunting oil painting of Georgia. A tear dropped on her cheek.

  A middle-aged man and woman who Clint figured to be Georgia’s parents sat in the living room. They rose as Georgia and Clint entered.

  “Mommy and Dad, this is Clint Nation. He’s a Hollywood agent and wants to put me in the movies. Clint, this is Reverend Evans and my mother.” Clint put out his hand and the Reverend took it.

  “Sit down, sir,” he said. “What is this about putting my daughter in the movies. The movies are full of sin. No God-fearing folks we know go to the movies. That is, not since Bing Crosby made “Going My Way” and that was to me to be Catholic propaganda.”

  What have I gotten into? Clint thought. “I understand, Reverend. Myself, I’m a Baptist. My pappy brought me up by the book, and our preacher would come ever’ week to our house to have some of my mama’s cooking. So I know about religion.” Clint could tell they saw him differently. “Hollywood can be Sodom and Gomorra, but that don’t mean you have to live that way. Your lovely daughter has great potential. She could be a movie star with an agent who knows about Jesus to guide her. You shouldn’t have to worry about her doing an injustice to her Maker.” Clint saw how the Reverend looked at his wife, whose expression had softened.

  “Elmer, I feel we can trust this man. He’s God-fearing. After all, we let Georgia do the beauty contests, and it hasn’t changed her. What harm can come from it? We’ve raised her to trust in the Lord,” said Mrs. Evans.

  “Let me give it some thought, sir. We’ll pray to the Lord tonight for his guidance,” said Reverend Evans.

  Clint got up to leave. “Thank you for letting me come into your home. I await your decision,” he said and turned to leave.

  Georgia followed him. “You’re a great salesman, Clint. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  They smiled together as Clint got into his car and drove off.

  Clint thought, Pappy always said I could sell snow to the Eskimos.

  Georgia called Clint the next day. “My parents and I had a long conversation about my future, and we prayed to the Lord. It wasn’t easy, but they said I could sign your contract. Tell me, are you really a Baptist?”

  “Yes.”

  “You won’t be mad at me, but I thought you made that up.”

  “I didn’t sound convincing?”

  “Oh, you did a good job in convincing my parents, but it’s me who’s not convinced.”

  “You and I will talk about it sometime. I have great plans for you.

  Tell me, how do you do what you do when your parents are so wrapped up in religion? It seems to me that beauty contests somehow don’t go with that lifestyle.”

  “It’s difficult. They know that I’ve always been different. I had problems when I started, but I stood up to them and they gave in. I’ll let you in on a secret. To convince them, I told them I would give twenty percent of what I make to the church. I think that made it happen.”

  Clint laughed. “I’m sure. I never heard of a religion that didn’t need money. Be in my office tomorrow at two. I’ll have the contracts ready to sign. And be ready to go out on an interview. I’m sending you to a photographer to have some photos taken. He’s good. Shoots big stars. Here’s his number, Crestview 27555. His name is Nick Ferre.”

  “I’ll call him now. I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Georgia as she put down the phone.

  The girl’s got a lot going for her, Clint thought. I hope she can act, but with her looks who’s gonna care?

  Georgia called Nick after she and Clint hung up. He told her to come by his studio on Robertson Boulevard that day at five and to bring some outfits she would like to wear for the shoot. She arrived at the scheduled time. In a window on the street stood a large color portrait of Ava Gardner. A sign said to ring the bell. Georgia rang, and a voice came over an intercom and asked who was there. She gave her name and the door opened to a staircase leading to the second floor.

  Georgia walked up into a large studio. Giant windows opened to the north framing the Hollywood foothills. She smelled the scent of incense burning in the room. She felt nervous. She had never been with a photographer of distinction or fame.

  A small Italian man of about forty-five greeted her. He wore a long brown silk oriental robe. He smiled at her with a mouth too full of big fake-looking white teeth. He took her hands and then stood back and looked her over.

  “My darling, how beautiful you are,” he said in a raspy cigarette voice as he breathed laboriously. She tried to relax with him, but it was difficult. He took a cigarette from his pack of Camels and lit it. His fingers were stained yellow from smoking. She hated the smell of smoke but tried not to let him know.

  “Have you ever had your portrait taken before?” he asked.

  “An artist painted me, but the only portrait was for my high school year book,” she answered.

  “You’re almost a virgin then, aren’t you?” he said and smiled. “Come over and sit down on the divan so I can see you through the lens.”

  He grabbed Georgia’s hand and walked her in front of a view camera. “Sit down, my pet.” Georgia felt self-conscious but tried to disguise it by smiling at him.

  “You’re an angel in the lens, my darling. Now let’s see what you brought with you for wardrobe. Georgia got up from the divan and took her tote bag and pulled out a blue sheath dress with spaghetti straps and showed it to him.

  “I like that. We’ll use it. What else do you have in there?” he asked.

  Georgia showed him a red sweater and a pair of white short shorts, and a blonde mink stole she had borrowed from her aunt.

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bsp; “Here, put this on,” he said handing her a leopard two-piece bathing suit. Georgia looked at it.

  “The dressing room is over there,” he said pointing to a door. As she walked from the studio for the dressing room, she noticed wetness under her arms and on the dress she wore. This man bothered her. She put on the bathing suit and came out into the studio.

  “It looks marvelous on you. You could star in a jungle epic. Come!

  Get in front of the camera.” Georgia sat on the divan.

  “Now do some poses for me,” he said.

  Georgia started to pose. She stretched out the divan. She flirted with the camera. She smiled at it. She mocked it. Nick kept clicking away.

  “Wonderful, lovely, I like that. Lift your head up. Some more. I like that. Hold it!” he said. Georgia started to enjoy herself. She felt good.

  She was having fun and felt the camera loved her. Nick breathed harder now.

  A clatter of air came from his lungs as he worked.

  “You’re a natural, my pet. Playboy asked me to submit some photos to them for an issue. You could make three thousand dollars if they used them. With me as the photographer, it’s money in the bank.

  Would you be interested?”

  “Isn’t Playboy a nude magazine? My father is a minister. I couldn’t do that to him. He wouldn’t understand.”

  “I only do class photos. Let me tell you how I’ll shoot you. I’ll build a long box like a coffin and line it with mirrors.” He animated the story with his hands. “Holes will be made at the top for the lights and a hole in the center for my camera. You will be nude in the box. I will shoot you as if you were a jewel in a mirrored sitting. It will give the illusion of three dimensions,” he gasped. “It’ll be sensational, and so will you.

  It could do wonders for your career. How about it?”

  “The three thousand dollars sounds interesting,” said Georgia.

  “Well then. Let’s do it.”

  “I don’t know if I should. I’ll embarrass my family.”

  “Clint told me you’ve been doing beauty contests for years.”

  “Yes, they’re with a bathing suit. I’ve never taken my clothes off for anyone.”