The Hollywood Trilogy (44 page)

“A little,” Jody said. He was close enough for her to smell his breath, but she couldn't, although he seemed almost woozy.

“How about coming up to my room later? We could have a couple of beers.”

“No, thank you,” Jody said, and Alonzo had looked relieved. Now, he sat across the pool from Jody, stretched out next to Phil, who was talking animatedly to a woman Jody had never seen before, young and quite beautiful in a white one-piece bathing suit, the kind people used to wear in the Forties. Phil had a copy of
Daily Variety
open across his stomach which he didn't seem to be into, so Jody walked over to him, said hello to everybody and asked Phil if he would mind if she read the paper.

“Oh, take it, take it,” he said. “Nothing but gossip anyway.” He looked from woman to woman and said, “Do you two know each other? Jody, love, I forgot your last name, this is Jan Kosky; both of you are aspiring actresses, I'm sure you have much in common.” And while the two women were smiling at each other, Phil picked up his
Variety
and started reading again. Jan Kosky laughed and said, “I think I'll get into the water. It's so
hot!
” She was blonde, ten years younger than Jody, but there was something tough and nice about her. Jody went into the pool too, and they swam for a while and then got out on the opposite side from Phil and Alonzo. By now there were a couple of other regulars out by the pool, and the faded battered telephone in its little white wooden birdhouse by the gate was buzzing every five or ten minutes. Jan and Jody were stretched out on their towels on the hot concrete, but every time the telephone would buzz Jan would start and sit up, blinking under her sunglasses.

“I keep thinkin it's for me,” she said with a grin. “Honest to Christ, you'd think I was Sally Kellerman or somebody.”

“I would certainly like to smoke a jay right about now,” Jody said. The hell with finesse.

“Oh, hey listen,” Jan Kosky said, getting up on one elbow and looking
down at Jody very seriously. “I've got about ten cents' worth of street weed up in my room if you want to split it with me.” She smiled hopefully. “Or do you maybe have some yourself?”

“Fresh out,” Jody said. “But I don't want to take your last . . .”

“Aw hell,” Jan said. “I need somebody to smoke with anyway. I been in this hotel for three weeks and this is only the third time I've even been out by the pool. God, it's expensive, isn't it? Fourteen dollars a day and I have to pull my bed down out of the fucking wall. Come on, let's take another dip and go up to my room.”

Jan lived on the second floor, in a room with a tiny kitchenette. “One rusty knife, fork and spoon,” she said with a laugh. “Three plates, in case I have some company, a couple glasses.
Furnished
. What a laugh!”

The ten cents' worth of street dope turned out to be at least half an ounce of AAA Colombian Red, and while Jan rolled up a couple of tight little joints she explained to Jody that this man had given it to her, she didn't even know him that well, he worked as a casting director at one of the studios and she had met him in an elevator at 9200 Sunset, where she was trying to get herself an agent. He (the casting man) had been very nice to her, took her to dinner and then back to his apartment to smoke some of this really fantastic dope, and then he didn't even try to make a pass at her, but spent a couple of hours telling her how to get established in Hollywood. “Actually, he's a fantastic connection. I mean, he gets hired to do the actual casting of these movies. The director says something like, ‘We need this blonde to play a hockey player,' or something, and then this guy Stan has all these lists and pictures of actresses, and he picks out a few and the director talks to them.” She lit one of the joints, took a couple of deep puffs and handed it to Jody. After holding her breath for a while, Jan smiled impishly and said, “Gee, he was such a perfect guy about everything, I mean picking me up and dinner and all with no grabbing, I just leaned over and unzipped his pants and gave him some head.” She giggled, and Jody would have laughed except that she was holding her breath. “I made him feel pretty good,” Jan said. “It never hurts, you know.”

“As long as he didn't grab at you,” Jody said, and now she laughed. It was going to be great having Jan in the hotel.

“How come you're staying here?” Jody asked her. “Can you afford it?”

“My Dad sends me money from Detroit,” she said. “The old guilt, you know? He's gonna give me a year to make it.”

Jody was good and ripped. “Shall we go back down to the pool?” she asked. “Shall we flash our bodies?”

“Won't do much good,” Jan said. “I think most of the guys in this place are queers anyway. At least the ones I've hit on. Either that or they're awful shy.”

The women went back to the pool and swam lazily high until lunchtime. Jody found out that Jan's real name was Ingred Jankovski, “But they already have an Ingred, you know; Ingrid Bergman, only spelled with an ‘i' instead of an ‘e.'” She had been in Detroit little theater, had done some local commercials and modeling, and had come to Los Angeles only a month ago. “Oh well, I was married there for a couple years,” she said with a shrug. “My old man, my husband I mean, he works for a glass company. When we split up he made an ass of himself wanting custody of the kid. Well, I let him have it. You should of seen the look on his face!”

“What are you girls laughing about?” Phil said from across the pool. He was sitting in the shade, with white ointment on his nose. “You sound positively evil!”

TWENTY-SIX

HARRY HAD left some money for Jody, and so that evening after a nap she telephoned down to Jan Kosky and invited her to dinner. “Come on up for a drink,” she said, knowing how impressed Jan would be by the size and luxury of Harry's apartment. You had to live there a few days to see past the glamour to the cheap dishware, nappy carpets and somewhat lumpy hotel furniture. But it was worlds better than Jan's little room, and when she arrived Jan said, “Holy Christ, you live in a palace! Who did you say your old man is?”

“He's a producer,” Jody said, and told Jan all about the movie Harry was working on while they had vodka over ice with a twist, one of Jody's favorite drinks.

“Are you going to get a part—oh, I shouldn't ask,” Jan said.

“I'm up for one, but the director makes the final decision,” Jody said, suddenly protective of Harry.

“I know,” Jan said. “Stan Bird the casting man told me some really funny
stories about casting. The old casting couch is really a reality, you know? Some of the chicks don't even wait to give their name, they just drop their knickers and wave their legs around in the air. I've never been up for a part, but I know better'n to do that.”

Full of vodka and Jan's marijuana they drove in Jan's little red Fiat down to Tana's and had a gigantic Italian dinner. Two men across the narrow aisle started a conversation with them, obviously businessmen, and Jody saw with amusement that Jan became quite refined and delicate.

When one of the men told her she was very beautiful, Jan simply dropped her eyes and let a very small smile touch the corners of her mouth. Jody was quite demure too, although she did not know why she bothered. These men were not interesting, and even if they had been, Jody was not making any scenes with any men. Harry had been gone only one night.

After dinner they had dishes of spumoni, and the men across the way asked if they could donate a bottle of champagne and perhaps join them. Well that was a generous thing to do, and they weren't going to get anywhere anyway. The men came and sat by them, the one next to Jody the real talker of the two, florid and handsome, with dark curly hair and fine dark eyes. But he also had a roll of fat that bulged over his collar and soft moist pudgy hands, and he talked too loud. It hadn't been so bad when he had been over at the other table, but now he continued to shout into Jody's ear as they drank their champagne, and so when he suggested, at high volume, that they all go on to Dino's on the Strip, Jody said, “I can't.”

“Aw, come on,” the man said. “Be a sport. You don't want to be a party pooper, do you?”

“No,” Jody said. “And we do appreciate the champagne. But my husband's union meeting will be over soon, and he's going to meet us.”

“Your husband,” the man said. “I didn't know you were married. Hell, you aren't married, you aren't wearing a wedding band. See?” He waved his own wedding band in front of Jody. “Besides, what the heck. You can meet him later. Union meeting? What does your husband do for a living, if I might ask? I thought you girls were in show business . . .”

“I am,” Jody said. “But my husband's a Teamster organizer. We really have to go.”

Jan said from across the table, “Yes, her husband beat her half to death last time she was late.”

The two men found their way out of Tana's, and Jody and Jan finished the champagne.

“I hate to go home,” Jan said. “This is the first good time I've had in California. Honest.”

But it was late and virtuously they went home, smoked some more dope and said goodnight. The next day was not so good. Jody spent the morning by the pool, but got a little too much sun and developed a headache which aspirin could not cure. It was a hot muggy day and there was no breeze. Even the apartment was hot and stuffy. Only the bedroom had a window air conditioner, and it didn't work very well, making a clanging racket all the time it was on and breathing out only the mildest of cool breezes. Jody lay naked on the bed and sweated and hurt and wished she had something to knock her out. Jan was not around. She had said something the night before about some kind of appointment, but Jody could not remember what it was about. Jody did not want to do it, but all there was in the apartment was liquor. She hated to drink alone. She thought it would be better to eat first, but there was almost nothing in the refrigerator. She did not want to walk in this heat down to the Hughes Market, and so she telephoned for some Chinese food to be delivered and got right into the icy vodka. She was drunk when the food arrived and it reminded her of Harry, who had not telephoned, and so she sat watching television, drinking and eating Chinese food, sad and lonely.

Jan called and woke her up at seven in the evening. Jody asked her to hold the line. She sat up from the couch and rubbed her eyes. She was still naked. It occurred to her that she must have answered the door for the Chinese delivery man naked. She must have. She could not remember having put on any clothes. But on the other hand, the delivery man hadn't said anything to her.

“Hello,” she said. “I was asleep, but thanks for waking me up. What time is it?”

“Dinner time. You want to go out, or am I making a pest of myself?”

“Come on up,” Jody said. While she was on the way, Harry called. He was in Atlanta, hot, angry, tired and drunk. It had been a bitching two days. They had been out in the countryside and some of the natives had been openly hostile. “We could shoot the whole fucking picture ten minutes out of Atlanta,” he said. “This is one swinging town.” Nevertheless, the survey would continue southward, and Harry was not looking forward to
the rednecks. “How about you, baby?” he finally asked. He sounded as if he wanted to go. Jody could hear music and people talking behind him.

“I'm fine,” she said. “Don't worry about me. I found a friend.” She described Jan, told Harry she loved him, and they hung up. Jan arrived a couple of minutes later and they went to dinner and a movie on the Boulevard, getting home around twelve. Jody said goodnight and went to bed without asking Jan for any of her dope, and of course she could not sleep.

She lay restlessly listening to the air conditioner, a sheet loosely pulled over most of her body, when the telephone rang. It was Alonzo.

“I've been calling for hours,” he said in a calm intimate voice. “I thought you might like to come down for a drink or something.”

“I was asleep in bed,” Jody said.

“I could come up there,” he said. “You could throw on a robe or something.”

“No, really,” she said. “I'll see you tomorrow or something.”

There was a pause, then Alonzo said, “Aren't you a little lonely?”

“Listen,” Jody said, “do you happen to have anything to help me get to sleep? Any reds or anything?”

“I have some fiorinal,” he said. “It's supposed to be some kind of hangover cure, but it's got phenobarbital in it. Do you want me to bring some up for you?”

“I could come down,” she said. “I'm just having a little trouble getting to sleep.”

“No, I'll bring them up,” he said.

She opened the door wearing her bathrobe. Alonzo stood grinning slyly out in the hallway, dressed in Levi's and a black tee shirt, no shoes. He had a little plastic vial of two-tone green capsules in his extended palm. “Can't I come in for a second?” he asked her.

She took the vial and said, “No baby, please. I really have to get to sleep . . .” She smiled tiredly.

“Okay,” he said. “Rain check, right?”

She smiled again and shut the door. On the label it said to take two of the pills, so she took four, and after a while she drifted off.