journalists. This time it only took him two strides.
A copy of
Siempre!
landed on the bar in front of me. Stark threw a few copies of the
Los Angeles Times
on top of it. Then he added some gossip rags to the pile. They were all talking about us.
“Beautiful, Pascal,” he exclaimed.
“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Story of my life.”
“Today someone’s coming in from Paris to interview John,” Stark said. “In Europe everyone’s talking about the new Sodom and Gomorrah on the Mexican Pacific. I like it.” He squeezed my hand hard before leaving to give more interviews. Plenty of interviews.
My naïveté hurt worse than my head. I applied more Tom Collins to the wound. Stark’s game wasn’t hard to follow: free publicity, invaluable if you’re an indie. How could I have been so stupid!
“He must really like you, but I don’t think you’re my type after all, honey,” Gorman said as he sat down. This time he was wearing a knit blouse with so many stripes it looked like a TV with bad reception.
“And what is your type, genius?”
“The kind who prefer staying out of trouble. I make like I’m working, and they pay me for it.”
“Lovely. Next time I’ll scout for gossip and you take the beating.”
“I don’t think they’ll crack you, honey. Your head is harder to bust open than a walnut,” he said, flashing me a game-show-host smile.
“With all you’ve heard, is there anything I’d be interested in hearing?”
“Perhaps. And with all you’ve drunk, is there anything I’d be interested in drinking?”
Gorman was taking advantage of the situation, but he was worth the trouble. He could fill you in on Ava Gardner’s shoe size. Or whether Richard Burton was as good a lover as Taylor bragged he was. Or even when Sue Lyon got her period.
“Tom Collins,” I told the bartender.
“For one of those, I just might let it slip that the production is experiencing financial difficulties.”
“But they’ve got a contract with Mr. Huston’s friend,” I replied. “They supply three squares a day and keep the drinks coming. So far, I can’t see anything to complain about.”
“Well, maybe next time Mr. Burton orders his bottle, they’ll be fresh out…”
He threw me a kiss and marched off, scripts in one hand and cocktail in the other.
“By the way,
macho
, Miss Lyon wants to see you. She’s in her dressing room,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
1½ OUNCES TEQUILA
¼ OUNCE LIME JUICE
1 TEASPOON HONEY
3–4 DASHES ANGOSTURA BITTERS
M ix together all the ingredients in an ice-filled shaker to the tone of “(There’s) Always Something There to Remind Me” by Sandie Shaw, and strain over a couple of ice cubes into a cocktail glass.
Lolita
is the controversial novel by Vladimir Nabokov centering on the relationship between an adolescent nymphet and the middle-aged protagonist, Humbert Humbert. Published in the 1950s,
Lolita
became a near-instant classic, and a film by director Stanley Kubrick soon followed in 1962.
This cocktail was said to be created by some sailors in a bar in the south of France. One can imagine the inspiration for the name probably owes more to the photo on the wall of Sue Lyon in a bikini than to the literary tastes of the regulars.
__________________
The bungalow that served as Sue Lyon’s dressing room faced the ocean. It teetered on a rocky outcropping, like a full tray balanced by a waiter at a wedding. The roof tiles were made of red ceramic, and it was crowned by a set of useless wrought-iron ornaments that were supposed to look Mexican.
I stopped just outside the door, on a terrace sweetened by bougainvillea and colorful flowers. Music seeped through the open window. It was a song I’d heard on the radio several times. It was vying for first place on the hit parade against a foursome of snot-nosed brats from Liverpool. The song ended, and after a few clicks and clacks from the record player, it started playing again. Sue Lyon
A copy of
Siempre!
landed on the bar in front of me. Stark threw a few copies of the
Los Angeles Times
on top of it. Then he added some gossip rags to the pile. They were all talking about us.
“Beautiful, Pascal,” he exclaimed.
“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Story of my life.”
“Today someone’s coming in from Paris to interview John,” Stark said. “In Europe everyone’s talking about the new Sodom and Gomorrah on the Mexican Pacific. I like it.” He squeezed my hand hard before leaving to give more interviews. Plenty of interviews.
My naïveté hurt worse than my head. I applied more Tom Collins to the wound. Stark’s game wasn’t hard to follow: free publicity, invaluable if you’re an indie. How could I have been so stupid!
“He must really like you, but I don’t think you’re my type after all, honey,” Gorman said as he sat down. This time he was wearing a knit blouse with so many stripes it looked like a TV with bad reception.
“And what is your type, genius?”
“The kind who prefer staying out of trouble. I make like I’m working, and they pay me for it.”
“Lovely. Next time I’ll scout for gossip and you take the beating.”
“I don’t think they’ll crack you, honey. Your head is harder to bust open than a walnut,” he said, flashing me a game-show-host smile.
“With all you’ve heard, is there anything I’d be interested in hearing?”
“Perhaps. And with all you’ve drunk, is there anything I’d be interested in drinking?”
Gorman was taking advantage of the situation, but he was worth the trouble. He could fill you in on Ava Gardner’s shoe size. Or whether Richard Burton was as good a lover as Taylor bragged he was. Or even when Sue Lyon got her period.
“Tom Collins,” I told the bartender.
“For one of those, I just might let it slip that the production is experiencing financial difficulties.”
“But they’ve got a contract with Mr. Huston’s friend,” I replied. “They supply three squares a day and keep the drinks coming. So far, I can’t see anything to complain about.”
“Well, maybe next time Mr. Burton orders his bottle, they’ll be fresh out…”
He threw me a kiss and marched off, scripts in one hand and cocktail in the other.
“By the way,
macho
, Miss Lyon wants to see you. She’s in her dressing room,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
1½ OUNCES TEQUILA
¼ OUNCE LIME JUICE
1 TEASPOON HONEY
3–4 DASHES ANGOSTURA BITTERS
M ix together all the ingredients in an ice-filled shaker to the tone of “(There’s) Always Something There to Remind Me” by Sandie Shaw, and strain over a couple of ice cubes into a cocktail glass.
Lolita
is the controversial novel by Vladimir Nabokov centering on the relationship between an adolescent nymphet and the middle-aged protagonist, Humbert Humbert. Published in the 1950s,
Lolita
became a near-instant classic, and a film by director Stanley Kubrick soon followed in 1962.
This cocktail was said to be created by some sailors in a bar in the south of France. One can imagine the inspiration for the name probably owes more to the photo on the wall of Sue Lyon in a bikini than to the literary tastes of the regulars.
__________________
The bungalow that served as Sue Lyon’s dressing room faced the ocean. It teetered on a rocky outcropping, like a full tray balanced by a waiter at a wedding. The roof tiles were made of red ceramic, and it was crowned by a set of useless wrought-iron ornaments that were supposed to look Mexican.
I stopped just outside the door, on a terrace sweetened by bougainvillea and colorful flowers. Music seeped through the open window. It was a song I’d heard on the radio several times. It was vying for first place on the hit parade against a foursome of snot-nosed brats from Liverpool. The song ended, and after a few clicks and clacks from the record player, it started playing again. Sue Lyon
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