Confessions of a Hollywood Agent Read online

  “Times are changing. It’s getting to be accepted. Believe me. If the right photo was taken of the right girl, that girl would be a star overnight. Look at the past, at some of the great nudes in history.

  Goya painted the Duchess of Alba nude. It made her immortal. The nude calendar picture of Marilyn Monroe. Look what that did for her.

  You’re in the same category. Believe me. I know. It’s my business,” said Nick.

  “And I could approve of the photos?” asked Georgia.

  “You’d have complete approval.”

  “Okay, I’ll let you, but under another name. Will you agree to that?”

  “Of course. Now let me see your body. Take off the bathing suit.”

  “Now?”

  “Why not? You’re here. I can measure you for the box.”

  Georgia was skeptical. She got up from the divan and removed her bra. She stepped out of the bottom part of the bathing suit and was naked. She felt strange and wanted to get back in her clothes. Nick observed her nakedness. “I like it, but there’s too much hair around your crotch,” he said as he stared down.

  Georgia blushed, but said nothing. She started to feel dirty and uneasy. She reached for a cloth drape that covered the divan. “Can I get back into my clothes? It’s cold in here,” she said.

  “I want to take a picture of your pussy so I can show you what I mean when it’s developed. Stay there for a minute.” Nick picked up his Nikon and clicked away. Georgia started to get up from the divan. “Wait a minute.

  I want to measure you.” He ran to a desk a pulled out a tape measure.

  “Hold this,” he said. He pulled the tape down across her body getting a feel as his hand moved to her toes. Georgia gave him a look. “I’ll make the box six feet,” he said rolling up the tape. “You can get into the blue dress you brought. I’ll take your portrait now,” he said.

  Clint sent Georgia out on interviews. She drove her blue MG around Hollywood with the top down. The wind blew her long blonde hair and the sun kissed her golden skin. She knew she looked good and got attention everywhere she went.

  She landed her first part in a horror film at Del Mar Studios on Bronson Avenue. She played a vampire. They dressed her up in a long black dress that plunged in the front. She wore a black wig and her make-up was almost stark white. Her lips were painted scarlet and when she smiled her two eyeteeth resembled fangs. She thought she looked hideous. The director knew that it was her first part so he tried to make her comfortable by telling her she was beautiful and that he would gladly change places with the actor in the scene so he could bite her neck. That made her laugh and it gave her confidence as she continued with the scene.

  Clint’s big client, Marty Fallon, an actor-entertainer, had been in the movies most of his life. His parents had appeared on the vaudeville stage and he carried on the name. Marty could make you laugh or make you cry in seconds by moving his mobile face. Marty had been married a few times, and his present wife had just moved out of his house. He couldn’t figure out why. He attached a great importance to marriage, but it never was to work for him. Marty was a born romantic. So he kept romancing some pretty girl or looking for one to romance. He had a problem. He didn’t want to grow up. In his heart he remained a kid. That gave him tons of charm, but also lots of heartaches and trouble. Marty had offices at Del Mar Studios where he ran his movie company.

  When Clint arrived at the studio he went directly to Marty’s office.

  Marty sat at his desk with some charts, going over the Racing Form figuring today’s winners at Hollywood Park track. He glanced up from the Form as Clint entered.

  “Hi, kid, do you wanna go to the track today?” He always asked Clint when he saw him and Clint answered, as always, “Love to, but I can’t today.”

  Since Clint became an agent he had given up the track. He said he didn’t have time for the horses, but they had burnt him out.

  “MGM liked the idea of yours of remaking “The Kid.” said Clint.

  Marty jumped up from his desk. “They’re goin for it. I knew they would,” he yelled.

  “Wait a minute, not so fast. They haven’t said that yet. They got to find a “kid” to play your son, and kid actors with star potential are scarce.”

  “I’ll play both parts,” said Marty. He pulled his hat down over his eyes and put his finger in his mouth. “Gee, dad you gotta knock him out in the first round for me,” said Marty in a little boy’s voice, looking innocently at Clint.

  Clint was amused. “They’ll get back to me in a week.”

  “That’s great. You’re sure you won’t go to the track?” asked Marty as he sat down at his desk, looking pleased.

  “No, but come to Stage Two with me. I’ve got one of my new actresses working on a picture. She’s a looker and I want you to meet her.”

  Marty smiled a smile that lit up his famous face. “No kidding.

  Let’s go.” He and Clint left his office and crossed the street to the front of a large building. A sign on the door said STAGE 2 as a red light flashed. They waited outside a few minutes until the light stopped. Then they opened the door and entered. The set was a dungeon with the backdrop painted to look like large fitted stones.

  Sconces with burning candles created flickering shadows on the walls. Cobwebs hung all over the set. A large black coffin sat in the middle of the stage in front of the camera. The crew ran around repositioning the lights for the next setup.

  When Marty came on the set, work stopped. Some of the crew recognized him and said hello. Marty had known and worked with a few of the crew for years. He cracked a couple of bad jokes, then followed Clint to a dressing room door that read “GEORGIA EVANS.” Clint rapped.

  “Georgia, can you come out? I have someone who wants to meet you.” The door opened and Georgia stood stooped over, because the door was small and the trailer sat on blocks forcing her to step down to exit. Georgia was shocked to see who stood in front of her. Her bosom stuck in Marty’s face. Marty took one of his famous takes.

  Clint laughed.

  “Oh, Mr. Fallon, what a pleasure to meet you. I’ve been a fan of yours most of my life,” she gushed.

  “Well, thank you, but you make me feel old, darling, with the `all my life’ bit. I’ve been at it a long time, but you have to remember I started young.”

  Georgia felt embarrassed at what she had said. He must be sensitive about his age, she thought, and she started to blush. She hoped it didn’t show through her make-up.

  “Do you like horse racing?” asked Marty.

  “I’ve never been,” she said.

  “I’ll take you. It’s a great place to relax. Would you like to go one day?”

  “I’d love to, Mr. Fallon,” she said.

  “Marty to you. Clint can give me your number. I got to go; are you coming, Clint?”

  “No, I want to talk to Georgia about an interview I’m sending her out on next week. I’ll call you at home tonight.”

  Marty walked off the set waving goodbye to the crew.

  “How does he know me?” she asked.

  “Oh, ah, he saw you coming into the studio in your car. He figured I might know you. Should I give him your phone number?”

  “He’s married, isn’t he?”

  “He is, but separated.”

  “Oh,” she said changing the subject. “What about the interview you just mentioned?”

  “I just got the script. There’s a good part for you. I’m getting more details on the money and when it starts,” said Clint.

  “Did that Cuban man, Luis, call you about the film in Cuba?”

  “He did. And I told him you weren’t interested.”

  “Why did you tell him that?”

  “I used my better judgment. The location is too dangerous. They’re shooting in the jungles of Cuba with a band of revolutionaries led by a guerrilla leader called Fidel Castro. Luis has Erroll Flynn set for the film, but it’s hardly a place for you to go to get killed.”

  “Th
ank you, Clint, for protecting me.”

  “It’s part of the service.”

  They heard a rap at her dressing room door.

  “Georgia, we’re ready for you on the set.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Clint’s office in Beverly Hills had a spacious feeling, high ceilings, walnut paneling that matched his desk. His window faced on Rodeo Drive. Mel had promoted him to full agent, and he’d gained a list of successful working actors and actress. He also had taken over two of Mel’s big stars that were part of old Hollywood. Mel felt he wanted to cut back on his work schedule. It was late in the afternoon and his secretary had left for the day when the phone rang.

  “Hello, Clint. Do you answer your own phones? I thought you’d be out of the mail room by now.”

  “Who’s this?”

  “Has my voice changed so much? It’s Gale, sweetheart. You remember fast Gale.”

  Cautious and worried, Clint asked, “Where are you?”

  “I’m having a drink at the Luau. Can you join me? I want to discuss something with you.”

  “Give me ten minutes. Bye.” He hung up. She’s out. I knew this day would come.

  Clint walked over to the Luau on Rodeo Drive a block from his office. Steve Crane, the owner, was at the door when he walked in.

  Steve would always show up at Clint’s parties with a beautiful girl. He was once married to Lana Turner.

  “Getting much?”

  “You know, Steve, agents get laid a lot. I’ve got no complaints.”

  “There’s a young lady waiting over at the corner table.”

  Clint glanced in the direction of the bar adjusting his eyes to the darkness. The room was decorated in a tropical atmosphere of the South Sea Islands. Fake tall palm trees looked almost real. Bamboo chairs were placed around polished monkey pod tables. Soft burning candles glowed in the hurricane lamps on tables. The drinks were made of rum.

  You never knew you if you were getting drunk until it was too late. The patrons at the Luau did and said things they wished they hadn’t because of the influence of those powerful, wonderful-tasting experiences that arrived with flowering floating gardenias and miniature parasols. Clint spotted Gale and joined her at a table near a dark pool with a waterfall.

  He sat down and they stared at each other. A Filipino waiter came to take their order.

  “Bring me a Gold Cup and an order of ribs. How’s your drink?” he asked.

  “I’ll have another.”

  “It could be yesterday. You look the same,” said Clint.

  “I put on a little weight, but I’ll get if off. You can’t do much about prison food. Lots of potatoes. You’re handsome as ever. I hear you’re getting on well. I’m happy for you.”

  “You did the introductions. You knew better than me I was made for the agency business. I never did thank you for keeping me out of the trouble you were in.”

  “Those were my demons. A lady shrink I saw in prison helped me.

  One of my problems was I kept hiding the fact from myself that I’m a bastard. It gave me an inferiority complex. That gave me a drive to be somebody. My neuroses are still there, but I recognize them for what they are. You’d be relieved to know I got over chasing after cops. Hooray!”

  Clint laughed. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m hoping you’ll advance me some money so I can change my appearance. I want to get back into the business. I found this wonderful doctor. I saw him yesterday. He’s going to take this hump out of my nose. It’s a new operation he learned in Germany. He does the surgery inside the nose, so there’s no scars. I’ll knock off a few pounds. Change my name and hair color and you can invent me as new actress you’ve discovered. What’s the matter? You look skeptical.

  You’re not interested?”

  “I didn’t say that. What about Mel? He’ll remember you. He told me you were the best blowjob he ever had. He calls you

  “The Greatest”.

  “Oh, sweetheart, that’s funny. I’ll have that engraved on my tombstone.”

  “I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor. How much do you need?”

  “Five hundred would help.”

  “I’ll give you a check. Is this going to be the start of something?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Will I be paying for not going to jail?”

  “Clint, you can be a real asshole. You don’t know a thing about loyalty.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Let me give your proposition some thought. It could work. I know you can act. You’re a good actress.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart.” Tears appeared in Gale’s eyes. She opened her handbag and found a handkerchief and blew her nose. “I’m sorry. It’s that I haven’t received many compliments lately. I’m just happy that’s all.” She pulled herself together and stared Clint straight in the eye. “Now, you’re sitting with a women who’s had no sex with a man in over a year. Why are we sitting here?”

  Clint called in sick the next morning. He and Gale stayed in bed most of the day catching up on sex and each other’s lives.

  “I wasn’t completely unproductive shut-in. I spent my time in the prison library working as a librarian. I got interested in writing. I wrote this story about this woman who was to die in the gas chamber for killing her husband who abused her. It’s a sensitive and dramatic story from a tortured woman’s perspective. Would you read it? I think it would make a great movie. I can do the lead. I wrote it for myself.”

  “You’re an unknown. The part sounds like it has be a dramatic actress that has name value.”

  “Gregory Peck, James Stewart or that new actor Paul Newman could play the lead, the lawyer. You won’t need a actress with a name. Just a good actress. Any one of those stars could carry the picture.”

  “Get it to me.”

  “You wouldn’t believe what I learned from the girls in prison. I got a real education in sex.”

  “Oh yeah? You’re already good in that department.”

  “Sweetheart, you can always learn more about sex. Remember the Arabian Nights? Didn’t they do something like a hundred and one positions? I know I’ve tried many of them, but if you want to get kinky, I’ve got some new tricks for you. There was this pretty Chinese girl.

  We got to be good friends. She’s an actress also.”

  “What was she in for?”

  “Attempted murder. She tried to kill her boyfriend.”

  “Oh.”

  “Anyway, she worked in a whorehouse in Hong Kong when she was twelve years old. She told me how she had learned the ancient sexual practices in China. Now I can take care of any problem that might come up in love making, no matter what it could be. She said that’s how the Duchess of Windsor got the Duke.”

  “You don’t say. Do you want to practice on me?”

  “Why, sweetheart, how could you have guessed? I’ll need some props, though. What do you have around the house that I can tie you up with? And I also need a feather.”

  “You’re getting me hot again.”

  “That’s the idea, sweetheart. I’m going to get you so hot that you’ll think you’re going to explode, but I won’t let you. You’ll beg me.

  You’ll plead with me. You’ll promise me anything. And if I think you have suffered enough, I’ll let you come.”

  “What else?”

  “I’m not going to let you in on all my tricks at once. If, you’re a good boy and nice to me, I’ll let you have one at a time. I don’t want to spoil you, sweetheart.” Clint jumped out of bed.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To find some rope. And if I can’t find a feather, we’ll open up one of the pillows on the bed,” he replied as he ran naked from the bedroom.

  Gale laughed as she heard him stumble down the hall.

  Gale had been hiding in her small apartment for a month, recuperating from plastic surgery and dieting. She was down to a size eight. Dr. Gordon had straightened and shortened her nose by ta
king out a small bone on the bridge; he had also given her a slight cleft in her chin. She was ecstatic with the results. The surgery had refined her face, giving her a younger look and a leading lady image. She made an appointment with Jerry James, the famous Beverly Hills hairdresser to change the color and give her a new style. Jerry was a wizard.

  When Gale came out of his salon after her makeover, she walked over to Clint’s office. She stepped up to the young girl at reception and said, “I would like to see Clint Nation. Tell him it’s an old friend.”

  “Can I have your name?”

  “I’d rather not give it. I want to surprise him.”

  “I’ll see if he’s in.” The girl got up from her desk and left the room.

  Gale sat down and picked up a magazine and paged through it. The receptionist came back with Clint behind her. He walked over to where Gale sat, and peered at her closely. She smiled up at him.

  “I’m sorry. I meet so many people. I can’t place you,” said Clint.

  Gale got up and stood next to him and whispered in his ear.

  “My God! It can’t be,” he said in amazement.

  “How do you like the new look, sweetheart?”

  “It’s the red hair that threw me.” He stared at her again.

  “There’s something else. Come to my office.” He turned to the receptionist. “No calls.”

  Gale sat in a comfortable armchair in front of Clint who stared back at her. The outside light shone in on her face.

  “Have you thought of a new name to go with the image?”

  “Yes. Dorothy Winters. Do you like it?”

  “It’s dull, but it doesn’t turn me off. I’ll have to get used it. I have some good news for you. I took your story, “The Battered Spouse” to a producer friend of mine, Axle Flood, at Columbia. He likes the story and wants to develop it into a screenplay. He told me your theme has the same kind of feeling that won Susan Hayward the Oscar in “I Want to Live” and it did great box-office.”

  “Clint. I’m in shock. Will I get any money?”

  “No. Don’t look so shocked. How does fifteen thousand sound?” he said smiling.

  “Wonderful, but I want to play the lead.”