Confessions of a Hollywood Agent Read online

  When he got back his composure he said. “Oh, God, that was wonderful. I felt something heavenly happened to me … You gave me an experience I never knew existed.”

  Dorothy felt pleased with her accomplishment. She liked that he had a problem and that she knew how to remedy it. Most girls, she thought, wouldn’t have the faintest idea of what to do in this predicament. She thanked Qu Ling again for what she had taught her. She felt Geoffrey getting aroused again. By the time morning arrived he’ll be cured, she thought, but he won’t be worth damn in his racecar. She turned over and started to kiss him again.

  At the El Mirador, the Mount Kenya room was packed with racing notables. Thorton and Marge North, rich car owners, whose race car, a 4.9 Ferrari, was entered in the race, arrived with Rally Jones, Thorton’s driver, and a pretty blonde girl who resembled Kim Novak; Jimmy, Thorton’s male nurse, and Tana, a beautiful black actress, who was also Thorton’s mistress. Marge never knew of Thorton’s dalliance with Tana; she was passed off as Jimmy’s girl.

  Following behind was Marshall Owens, Thorton’s business manager.

  Marge, in her fifties, could pass for Joan Crawford. She had Joan’s hairstyle and wore similar large diamonds and glamorous clothes.

  They had been drinking in their rooms, even Rally, which was unusual for him before a race.

  The waiter approached the table for an order.

  “Make mine another double,” said Thorton as he gulped down the remainder in his glass and handed it to the waiter.

  Georgia and Clint walked into the party. Georgia was every bit the starlet. Heads turned. Jennifer, the Kim Novak look-alike, jumped up from the table screaming her name. “Georgia, Georgia, over here,” she yelled and motioned her to come to their table.

  They approached Jennifer as she found a chair for Georgia.

  She pulled it up and the waiter brought another for Clint.

  Georgia and Jennifer knew each other from work in Hollywood.

  Jennifer worked as an extra. She emulated Kim Novak, the same style hair, make-up and clothes. Everyone who knew her thought she was a joke, except Jennifer, who took herself seriously.

  “I heard you were in town. I hoped I’d run into you.” Jennifer said to Georgia. “I met Rally here last year. Isn’t he cute? He’s going to race tomorrow,” she said looking at Rally and kissing him.

  “Do you know my agent, Clint Nation?” Georgia asked Jennifer.

  “Hi, Georgia is my best friend,” said Jennifer slurring her words.

  “I’ve never seen such good-looking poon tang,” said Thorton as he broke into the conversation.

  “Oh, shut up,” said Marge in her whiskey voice. She was disgusted with Thorton. “Try to behave yourself tonight,” she said, annoyed.

  Thorton grabbed Tana’s crotch under the table.

  After an expensive dinner at Romonoff’s on the Rocks, where Thorton’s new tie dropped into the soup and he threw the escargot at the waiter because he couldn’t get the snails out of their shells, they drove back to the “Howard Manor” for a nightcap. Almost everyone except Georgia was drunk.

  Georgia and Clint walked into the bar-lounge. The Guadalajara Boys were performing with their upbeat Latin rhythms. Clint and Georgia went on the dance floor. Georgia wore a sexy dress with her back completely exposed. Her skirt fitted tight across her butt. She threw her rear and hair to the beat of the music. As Clint watched her dance she reminded him of Abby Lane, Xavier Cugat’s wife, who danced the same.

  Rally, seated at the table, watched Georgia dance with great interest. Jennifer became jealous of the attention he gave her.

  “If you ask me, she’s got a fat ass,” said Jennifer.

  “No one asked you,” he said.

  “You’re being rude,” she answered, pinching him in the leg.

  “Hey! That hurt,” he said and took Jennifer’s hand away.

  She got up and pulled Rally from the table. “Come on, we’re gonna dance. I can dance circles around that bitch.” Jennifer staggered toward the dance floor pulling Rally behind her. She danced the bumps and the grinds, and was ridiculous. Rally was drunk enough to imitate her. Jennifer glanced at Georgia, letting her know she could dance too.

  Georgia knew better and kept her distance.

  Jennifer and Rally flew around the floor making fools of themselves.

  Rally took Jennifer’s hand and swung her into a tall Latin girl who fell to the floor. When the girl got up she picked a glass off a table and came at Jennifer throwing the drink in her face.

  Jennifer came back at her grabbing the girl’s hair and pulling her down on the floor. “You bitch! What did you do that for?” she yelled beating the girl with her fists.

  The Latin girl took a bite of Jennifer’s arm and Jennifer screamed.

  The girl’s boyfriend came to break up the fight. Rally hit him in the face, and the boyfriend took a swing at Rally’s jaw. Rally fell to the floor, out cold. Clint pulled Rally from the dance floor as the girls continued their brawl.

  “You Kim Novak phony!” yelled the Latin girl. “I’m goin’ get you, you bitch,” she spat out as she limped off with her boyfriend.

  Clint and Marshall came to help take a drunken Rally to his room.

  He was unconscious when they laid him on his bed. Jimmy came in.

  He examined a large swelling on Rally’s chin. Marshall stood over him, watching closely.

  “Will he be able to drive tomorrow?” asked Clint.

  “He has no choice. He won’t feel so good,” said Marshall.

  Jennifer staggered into the room and rushed to Rally. She pushed Marshall aside and grabbed Rally around his head and pulled him to her bosom and started to cry. “My sweetie, thank you for sticking up for me. I love you for it. Talk to me, please talk to me,” she said in a drunken slur.

  “Get away from him, you stupid broad. Can’t you see he’s out of it?” said Marshall as he pulled Jennifer off. Marshall took Jimmy aside.

  “Get her out of here. Give her a shot and put her in with Tana.”

  “Thorton is in with her,” said Jimmy.

  “You take her then.” Jimmy helped Jennifer out of the room.

  “What’s going to happen with Rally?” asked Clint.

  “He’ll be all right. I’ll give him a shot in the morning, and he’ll be like new.” Marshall threw a blanket over Rally and turned out the lights as they left the room.

  Clint went to Georgia’s room and knocked. She opened it.

  “Can I come in?”

  She was reluctant. “How’s Rally?”

  “He’ll be all right. I came to see him drive the 4.9 Ferrari. He’d better be.”

  “I’m mad at Jennifer. She always makes trouble, especially when she’s drinking.”

  “I think she’s funny. Some performance she gave.”

  “She might be funny to you, but her routine gets old.”

  “Can I sleep here tonight?”

  “I have a terrible headache. I’m going to take an aspirin and go to bed.” Georgia took Clint’s hand and moved him toward the door.

  “You owe me a few favors for what I’ve done for you,” he said as he stared at her.

  “I can’t believe you said that. I’ll say goodnight now,” she said, opening the door.

  “Not so fast. I haven’t had a kiss yet”.

  Georgia turned her cheek. Clint rushed her and kissed her putting his tongue down her throat.

  She used all her strength to push him away. “Clint, please, let’s not screw up a good relationship. I like you, but I’m not your girl. You’re drunk. Please, I need sleep if you want me to look good tomorrow.

  Good night.” Georgia pushed Clint through the door.

  Georgia closed the door and went into the bathroom and removed her clothes and put some cream on her face. I bet Clint will act like he won’t remember about tonight. I hope I don’t have to be around Jennifer tomorrow. She’s nuts. I’d rather be home. In fact I think I will leave in the morning. I’ve had
enough of this place, she thought as she got into bed and turned off the lights.

  The next morning at the track, the crews were busy with the racecars. This time of year the desert was perfect. The hot summer had left, and the evenings were cool. The air felt clear and crisp. The snowbirds had not yet arrived, so the community had a calmness about it. A desert sand storm blew in the night, covering the cars with a thin coat of fine dust. Some of the crew worked at polishing the exterior of the racecars, bringing back the gleam and luster of their paint.

  Gossip traveled around the pits about Rally, the trouble he caused at the “Howard Manor”. Rally had not arrived. His pit crew were concerned; the speed trials for starting position were taking place.

  Over breakfast, Geoffrey asked Dorothy to marry him. He wanted to fly to Las Vegas after the race and get married. Dorothy was rattled by this sudden change of events in her life and couldn’t think straight, which bothered her. Geoffrey had showed her how to use the stopwatch. She stood in front of the pits with the timepiece in her hand, clocking Geoffrey as he raced around the track qualifying for starting position.

  He finished the course and came into the pit. He motioned for one of the crew to bring his oxygen tank and mask as he stood up in the cockpit. The mechanic ran to him giving him the mask. He took some deep breaths as the gray color left his face.

  Dorothy was alarmed when she saw him. “Darling, are you all right?”

  “My asthma, I’m fine. Just a blast to bring me around. You’re going have to get used to my condition. How’s my time?”

  “You’re in front row pole position. Aren’t you thrilled, darling?” He got out the car and his crew came up to congratulate him. He gave Dorothy a big hug. Some newspaper photographers took their picture.

  “You brought me good luck. I’m going to win today.”

  Dorothy kissed him, and more pictures were taken.

  Cary Grant, the actor, and a friend of Geoffrey’s mother, came to Geoffrey’s pit to say hello and wish him luck. The press had a field day shooting photos of the three of them.

  The overall picture was colorful. Bright flags waved in the wind.

  Women wore multi-colored, scanty outfits. The sweet smell of Castrol oil traveled in the wind. Hay bales had been positioned at the corners of the course to protect the drivers from injury. Most of the spectators arrived driving sports cars. They were big fans of the sport and waited anxiously for the event to start.

  The cars lined up at the starting line. Carroll Shelby’s car, a Ferrari, stood in number one position; John von Nuemann was number two in a Ferrari; and Geoffrey Landsdown in number three in his own special car.

  The other cars and drivers followed in order of their qualifying time.

  The race starter called out “Gentlemen start your engines”.

  The sound of the cars engines thrilled the racing fans.

  The squealing of tires of a Jaguar could be heard as it stopped in front of Thorton’s pits. Rally, Jennifer, Jimmy and Tana got out of the car. Rally was in a daze.

  Marshall said to Jimmy. “He looks like a corpse. Did you give him anything?” he asked.

  “The “feel-good” injection. He vomited when I did.” said Jimmy.

  Marshall handed Rally his helmet.

  “Get out there. The race is going to start. You’re in last position.”

  “Shit, I’ll be in first at the first corner in this car. You’ll see.” Rally put on his helmet and climbed into the Ferrari and fired it up. The gas from the Webber carburetors flowed into the powerful twelve cylinders. The pit crew pushed him on to the starting grid. The drivers waited nervously at their positions. The pit crews left the starting grid.

  All eyes were on Lester, the race starter, dressed in a black and white striped shirt, holding the checkered flag. Lester dropped the flag.

  “They’re off!” The roar of the engines was deafening. The cars and drivers dived for the first turn. As the cars jammed together going into the turn, three cars rammed each other and crashed. Geoffrey’s car was pushed to the side of the track.

  Rally, in the powerful V12 Ferrari, came roaring down the track with full throttle into the first turn and hit a Maserati, driven by Masten Gregory pushing into some hay-bales. Rally’s car flew into the air and came down on the top of Geoffrey’s car with a horrific sound, exploding into a ball of fire.

  The crowd let out a scream as the fire shot into the air. Fire engines and ambulances tore down the track to the scene of the accident. The black flag went up as some of the spectators ran onto the racecourse toward the crash.

  Dorothy was horrified. She screamed and ran toward the accident calling out Geoffrey’s name. One of his mechanics ran after her and caught her to hold her back, but she broke away sobbing and ran toward Geoffrey.

  It was complete pandemonium. The fire trucks pumped liquid onto the fire. Rally jumped out of the cockpit of his car, his clothes smoldering from the crash as he watched the scene before him; his Ferrari on top of Geoffrey’s car burning and shooting smoke into the air.

  As Dorothy got nearer she could see Geoffrey’s arm extended from

  CHAPTER NINE

  Georgia knew she made the right decision to go home early.

  Clint wasn’t happy. He got rude with her because she wouldn’t stay to pose with the racecars. I hope I haven’t screwed up with him. He might not send me out on interviews. Oh well. I’ll make it up to him somehow but I’ll be damned if I will go to bed with him.

  You can’t screw everybody, but these guys in Hollywood think it goes with the job.

  She hadn’t told him yet, but she and Marty had been dating. She liked Marty, and found him intelligent and fun to be with. He was considerate and helped her with her acting. She believed he was in love with her; at least he acted that way. If I’m going to be an actress I should make the best of it, and Marty could help with my career. There had to be a twenty-year difference in tour ages, but Marty acts younger than me. In fact he’s like a big kid, she thought. He asked her to move in with him, but he’s still married, that I could never explain to my parents. They’d be convinced I had gone to hell.

  She turned on the car radio and tuned the dial to a station that played Latin music. The music filled the car with the mambo sounds of Perez Prado. She moved her body to the music as it played. The news came on and she heard the announcer say, “Viscount Geoffrey Landsdown, the son of American heiress Lorraine Gilbert and an Englishman, the Earl of Landsdown, was killed today at a sports car race at the Palm Springs airport. The young viscount had been racing his own car that he had built for competition.” Georgia turned off the radio. Dorothy must be devastated. To see Geoffrey killed before her eyes. Was I lucky I left, she thought.

  Georgia drove into her underground garage on Havenhurst off Sunset Boulevard. Marty called it “Hookers Row” because of all the kept women who lived along the street. She didn’t care. Her parents didn’t know. That was her only concern.

  She parked her car and carried her bag up to the courtyard of the building. The apartment house was Spanish in design, built in the twenties. It had two stories, with a wide open stairway decorated with antique tile going to the second floor. In the center courtyard stood a tall fountain where water cascaded into a large tile pool. Brazilian pepper trees grew within the enclosure. Their berries dropped staining the stone walks. Tall French windows opened out onto the serene setting.

  Georgia’s apartment was on the second floor. She felt secure there.

  As she approached her door, she heard her phone ringing. She opened the door and rushed to pick it up.

  “Georgia! It’s Erroll Flynn. I’ve been calling you all weekend”, he said.

  “Hello Erroll, I’ve been away.”

  “Listen gorgeous, I’m having Luis Jose Verano, the Cuban director, here tonight for dinner. There’s a part for you. I want you to come up and meet him.”

  “I’ve met him. My agent has also. I’ll be there in an hour. Bye.” As she hung up the phone
, she thought, Clint is not going to like this.

  Georgia drove to the top of Mulholland Drive above Hollywood.

  The vista of colored lights down below sparkled like jewels, sending off red, green, yellow and diamond-like beams flickering in the early evening sky.

  Erroll’s house stood perched on its own hill with a private driveway off Mulholland. He had lived there for years. He kept the house through all of his divorces, which you could credit either to luck or a good attorney. Georgia stopped in front of the gates and rang the bell.

  Georgia had been there before and knew the house. It was long and rambling and had views of both Los Angeles and the San Fernando Valley. She had heard the stories about Erroll. Especially about the twoway mirrors in the bedroom where he supposedly watched other people get it on. When she had last visited, Erroll had chased her around the house, drunk. He couldn’t have done anything if he had caught her, but they remained friendly.

  Erroll let her in. He had put on weight since she had seen him. His face was bloated and his eyes were like hound dogs. When he smiled at her, she could see the old magic, that famous grin that had made women swoon in the past.

  “Georgia, darling,” he said and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He escorted her into the living room where the other guests had gathered and introduced her. He stopped by the bar and made himself straight vodka on the rocks.

  A young straight-haired blonde came into the room. Errol brought Georgia to meet her.

  “This is Beverly. She’s my baby.”

  Georgia, thought, you can say that again. I hear she’s fifteen, but Beverly didn’t look fifteen, more like twenty-five.

  “Luis, this is the little actress you wanted to get acquainted with. I think she’s perfect for “Norma”. Give her the script.”

  Luis took her hand and brought it up to his lips and kissed it.