The Lonely Lady (21 page)

“I will,” I said. “When are you coming back?”

“I should wrap up here in about a month.”

“Please hurry, Guy. I miss having you around.”

When Guy hung up I called my agent. The payment spread was exactly as Guy had explained it to me. Apparently I still had a lot to learn.

I sat down again at the kitchen table and took out my checkbook. Even with the thirty-two hundred I had gotten from the insurance company for my car I only had about a four-thousand dollar balance. Furnishing the apartment had taken much more than I had figured.

I did some quick arithmetic. The apartment cost me about eleven hundred a month, including gas, electricity, telephone and a maid two days a week. Food, clothing and cabs came to another four hundred at least. With five months to go before we opened on Broadway, I’d be shaving it pretty close. And if the play didn’t make it to Broadway, I’d be broke.

There was no getting away from it. I couldn’t sit around and wait for the play to come through. I needed an acting job to get me through the summer. And I needed it right away.

Chapter 7

I was on time for my appointment at George Fox’s office at ten o’clock the next morning and was ushered in almost immediately. George was senior vice president of Artists Alliance, Inc., and Walter was his personal client.

He was a short dapper man with gray hair and an easy smile. He came around the desk and kissed me on the cheek. “Congratulations,” he said. “Fannon’s really high on your play.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking the seat in front of his desk. “I am disappointed about the payments though. I had hoped that it would all be paid in advance.”

“They never do that,” he said quickly. “Believe me, I personally went over your contract. You’ve got a very good deal for a first play. And more important, you have the hottest producer in town.”

“I know that. But I have money problems. I have to find some work if I want to make it until the play opens.”

“I can lend you some money,” he said quickly.

“There’s no need for that. I can get by. What I need is some work.”

“Have you anything in mind?”

“Not really. I thought maybe I could pick up some work in summer stock.”

He looked doubtful. “I shouldn’t think so. All the shows are already packaged. They begin casting in January.”

“Some writing jobs then,” I said. I knew they were shooting next fall’s TV programs.

“Pretty late for that too,” he said. “They’re usually wrapped up by January too.”

“Maybe there’s an acting job in one of the pilots. After all, I have had stage experience. I saw in last week’s
Variety
that they’re short of new faces for TV.”

“They always say that but whenever possible they go with the tried and true. They like to play is safe. Besides all the action is out on the Coast and they would never pay your fare out even if they wanted you. In addition to everything else, they’re cheap.”

“If there was a chance of my getting a few things, I’d pay my own way out.”

“I don’t know. I’m really not up on the situation.” He thought for a moment. “Let me put you together with a young man in our office who is into these things. I’m sure he’ll find something for you.” He picked up the telephone. “Ask Harry Gregg to come up here.”

A few minutes later Harry Gregg arrived. He was tall and thin with tousled hair and wore the black suit, white shirt, black tie and reserved expression that were standard issue in the agency.

“Harry, let me introduce you to one of the agency’s most important new talents as well as a close personal friend of mine, JeriLee Thornton… er, Randall. JeriLee, Gregg, one of the agent’s brightest and most up and coming young men.”

Harry smiled and we shook hands.

“I want you to do everything you can for her,” George continued. “I’m making you personally responsible. We’ve already made a deal with Fannon to produce a play that she has written but I want you to explore other areas in which we might be of service.”

Before I knew it, I was out of George’s office and sitting in Harry’s tiny cubbyhole. “Would you like some coffee?” he asked, pushing a pile of papers to one side of his desk.

I nodded.

“Two coffees,” he said into the phone. “How do you take it?”

“Black. No sugar.”

A minute later his secretary came into the office with two plastic cups of coffee. It was very different from George’s office. There the coffee was served from an elaborate silver set in genuine Wedgwood cups.

“Did George make the deal with Fannon for you?” Harry asked.

“No. I worked on it myself but mostly it was Guy Jackson. Without him it never would have happened.”

“I thought so.”

“What do you mean?”

“George is not a negotiator. He picks up packages.” He took a swallow of coffee. “Is Guy directing?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good. I like him,” he said. “Are you friendly with your ex?” He saw the expression on my face. “I don’t mean to pry into your personal affairs, but it’s important that I know how we stand.”

“Why?”

“Walter is one of the agency’s most important clients. If he’s down on you, the agency will bury you, no matter what bullshit they hand you.”

Suddenly I liked this young man. At least he was honest. “We’re friendly,” I said.

“Does George know that?”

“I don’t know.”

“It would be helpful if he did. It would make my job easier. Right now, he probably doesn’t know how things are between you.”

“Is that why I’m down here?”

“Don’t quote me. But… yes.”

“I see.” I got to my feet. “Is there any point in us talking then?”

“Sit down, sit down,” he said quickly. “There’s no point in going off half cocked. You’ve already got the play with us, you might as well go the rest of the way. We could get lucky.”

I returned to the seat and took a sip of coffee. I had always hated the taste of coffee in plastic cups.

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

“Work,” I said. “Anything. Acting, writing.”

“Why?”

“I have to support myself.”

He was silent for a moment. I didn’t know whether he believed me or not. “Okay,” he said in a businesslike voice. “We have to start somewhere. Do you have a portfolio?”

“Sort of.” I took a brown envelope out of my script case. “Not very good though. They were all taken when I was in the play four or five years ago.”

He skimmed through the photographs. “We’re going to need new pictures. You looked like a kid then.”

“That was the part.”

“I’ll need a complete layout. Face, character, cheesecake. Do you have a photographer?”

“No. But I know quite a few.”

“Do you think one of them would do it for you?”

“I don’t know. I could ask.”

“If not, I know a very good one that would do exactly what we need for two hundred. And if you let him do a magazine layout on you, it could wind up costing you nothing and even making you a few dollars.”

“What kind of a layout?”

“You know.
Playboy
. You get fifteen hundred dollars.”

“I’d have to think about that,” I said. “Wouldn’t something like that screw up my career?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Attitudes are changing. The studios aren’t as uptight as they used to be.”

“Will he do the portfolio for the two hundred even if I don’t go for the magazine deal?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s use him. I can afford that.”

“Okay. I’ll set it up. Now, do you have a copy of the play that I can read?”

I took out a copy of the script and gave it to him.

“Is there a part in this for you?” he asked.

“The lead, but Fannon wants Anne Bancroft.”

“I’ll read it,” he said. “It will give me an idea of how you write.”

“I told George that I could go out to the Coast if you can line up a few guest spots on some of the pilot shows.”

At that moment the telephone rang. Listening, he said, “Put him on,” then, “Hello, Tony.”

He was silent for about two minutes. Finally he spoke. “How old is this girl as you see her?”

The voice crackled on the other end. “We may be in luck, Tony,” he said. “I’ve just picked up a new client. Remember JeriLee Randall? Walter Thornton’s ex-wife. She did a year on Broadway in his play and she’s just the right age. Twenty-three, that’s right. And she looks sensational. We got just one problem. I don’t know whether she’ll do a part like that. She’s a very classy dame.”

He listened for a few more minutes, then interrupted. “Send me the script, Tony. I’ll talk to her and see what I can do.

“No, Tony,” he said into the phone. “I told you she’s a very classy dame. She doesn’t do cocktail interviews. That’s not her style.” He paused for a moment, then looked over at me. “What’s she look like?” he echoed. “She’s sensational. Stacked like you would not believe, but very classy. Sort of a combination Ava Gardner and Grace Kelly. She’s the kind who when she comes into your office you want to bend down and kiss her pussy out of sheer reverence. So send me the script and I’ll get on it right away.”

He put down the telephone. “I’m sorry I had to talk like that,” he apologized. “But that’s the only language that son of a bitch understands. He thinks he can fuck every actress who comes into his office.”

“Who is he?”

“Tony Styles. He’s got a part open in a picture that starts shooting in New York next week and the girl he was counting on for the part got a job on the Coast.”

I had heard about him. I thought I might have met him once at a party in Hollywood with Walter. A vulgar little man with a dirty mouth. But he and his brother made pictures that made money. The Styles Brothers. “What kind of a part is it?”

“Two weeks’ work. A high class New York call girl who runs through the picture getting in and out of her clothes. He said she had some good lines but I’ll know more when I see the script. He’s desperate though and he might go as high as twenty-five hundred for the two weeks.”

“Can I read it after you get through?” I asked.

“Of course.” He looked at his watch. “My God, it’s lunchtime. Do you have a date?”

“I’m free.”

“Good. I’ll buy you some lunch and we can talk some more.”

And lunch was different too. We had sandwiches in his office.

Chapter 8

They were twins but you wouldn’t believe it looking at them. Tony Styles was five four, pudgy and vulgar, while his brother John was six one, slim, esthetic-looking and quiet. Tony’s own description was perhaps the best. “John’s the artist in the family. He’s got everything. Good taste, good manners and class. Me, I’m the hustler. But we go good together. I shoot all the shit. John shoots the picture.”

I sat on the couch in his office with Harry next to me. Across the room Tony was seated behind the desk while John leaned against the wall. Beyond the standard greeting, John hadn’t said a word, but his eyes were watchful.

“Did you like the script?” Tony asked.

“She loved it,” Harry said quickly.

John spoke for the first time. “Really?”

I didn’t like the tone in his voice. It was as if he doubted that anyone with good taste could like it. Unfortunately, he was right. I met his eyes. “Not really,” I said.

Harry was silent at my side.

“What did you really think of it?” John asked.

I consoled myself with the thought that I wouldn’t have gotten the job anyway. “It’s a piece of shit. Commercial shit probably. But shit anyway.”

Tony looked at his brother with a triumphant smile. “See? I told you she’d like it.”

I laughed. He had to be completely crazy. I could see John’s eyes smiling with me.

Tony turned back to me. “Do you think you could do the part?”

I nodded, knowing that any girl with a good body would do just as well.

“We could add some dialogue. You know, give you some business. Make it interesting.”

“That would be nice.”

“Would you mind standing?”

I got to my feet.

“Would you take off your shoes, please?”

They weren’t high heels but I slipped out of them. He turned to his brother. “Not too tall, you think?”

John shook his head.

“Those tits real?” Tony asked. “You’re not wearing falsies?”

“I’m not wearing a brassiere, period,” I said.

Tony met my gaze without smiling. “I had to ask, you know.”

“I know,” I said. My basic costume for the picture consisted of a brassiere and panties.

“Do you have a bikini with you?”

I nodded.

“You can change in there,” he said, pointing to a small door at the far side of the office.

It was a little private john. I changed quickly and went back into the office. I walked in front of the desk. He was watching me. I turned around slowly and stopped.

“Okay,” he said. “One other thing. We shoot a few scenes separately for the foreign version. They ain’t got the same hang-ups we Americans have. Would you object to a little nudity?”

I looked at him silently.

“Nothing vulgar,” he added quickly. “Discreet. Good taste. But sexy. You know. Like Bardot and Lollobrigida. Quality.”

Harry was suddenly on his feet. “That’s out,” he said. He turned to me. “Get dressed, JeriLee. We’re leaving.”

I started back to the john. Through the closed door I could hear Tony protesting. By the time I came back into the room it had all calmed down. “It’s okay,” Harry said. “You don’t have to do the nude scenes.”

“I changed my mind,” I said. “I don’t want to do the picture at all.”

Harry stared at me, his mouth open.

I looked down at Tony. “Nice meeting you both. Good luck with the picture.” I picked up my bag and walked out.

Harry caught up to me at the elevator. “I don’t get it,” he said, bewildered. “I had you locked in for thirty-five hundred and you walk out.”

“I’m not a piece of meat,” I said. “Let him go to the nearest butcher shop if that’s what he’s looking for.”

The doors opened and he followed me into the elevator. “Okay. Now what do we do?”

“You tell me,” I said. “You’re the agent.”

“I’ll try to think of something.”

By the time I got home there was a message on the answering service. Call John Styles. I hesitated for a moment, then dialed the number.