way to steal them. They hate me. And then we’ve got the director.”
“Who’s he?”
“Roddy Quine, this terrible old British homo who hardly knows what end of the camera to look through. He hates me ever since I told Variety that he was the worst director in film history.”
“If he’s so bad, why’d they hire him?” I asked.
“He was the best Englishman they could get for the money they were paying,” he said. “Hold on, maybe there’s somebody here who doesn’t hate me.”
“A small but significant minority,” I said.
“Tami Fluff. She used to hate me because I got her axed from my last picture. But she might not hate me anymore because she’s costarring in this one with me and I didn’t do anything to stop it.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Tami Fluff? Tami Fluff?”
“That’s her name. You never heard of her?”
“No, praise God,” I said. “Where are all these people anyway? Are they all here?”
“I think so. They’re in their rooms freshening up. That means they’re sticking stuff in their noses probably. Hollywood has given new meaning to the phrase ‘powder room.’ Oh, there’s somebody else here.”
“Yeah?”
“My shrink,” he said. “That’s where I stayed last night when I left you. She’s in her room working on her book. Travels with Tony . Don’t tell her that I know about it, though. She thinks it’s a secret.”
He got up to make himself yet another drink, and I said, “That’s pretty shabby. I didn’t think that shrinks shrank and told.”
“Aaaah, who cares? She figures it’ll make her shrink to the stars. That’s why she hangs out with me. She wants to be famous and be on the Phil Donahue Show so her mother in Westchester County will like her.”
“You take being used pretty evenly,” I said.
“I use her too,” he said. “Better living through chemistry. Trace, I take pills to get up and I take pills to go to bed. I take pills to keep my heart moving. She’s a doctor. She travels around with me and writes my prescriptions. It saves me from having to break into drugstores in strange towns.”
He did the ritual with the ice and gin again, then sat back down and said, “You’ll meet them all for dinner anyway. The old guy at the gate said seven o’clock we eat. So. Am I your first Hollywood star?”
“Yes.”
“How do you like me so far?”
“I like you fine as long as you don’t go climbing the roof anymore,” I said. “Stick to arm-wrestling.”
“That’s good enough. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get along.”
“Maybe,” I said. But I doubted it. I had the feeling that Tony McCue was going to turn out to be nothing but trouble. For one thing, he was just too open with a total stranger. It’s been my experience that people who seem to be willing to tell you anything on first meeting are usually people who are trying to dictate the terms of the conversation. Sure. They’ll tell you anything, just so long as it’s about subjects of their choosing. Don’t ask them about things they don’t bring up first.
I didn’t know. Maybe McCue would turn out to be the exception. I hoped so. It was going to be hard enough to nursemaid this lunatic without him playing mind games on me.
7
As often happens in the lives of troubled men with artistic souls, we stayed in the bar and never quite did get to our rooms to change for dinner.
At a few minutes to seven, Dahlia Codwell entered the room, wearing a summery white dress, walked to the bar where McCue and I were sitting, and without even acknowledging our presence, made a pitcher of martinis and carried it off to one of the dining tables.
A minute or so later, Clyde Snapp came in wheeling a serving cart. From it, he took a lot of chafing dishes filled with food and set them up on one of the long banquet tables near the bar. He left without a word to anyone.
McCue was jabbering about the impossibilities of making movies in Mexico—“their day consists of showing up late,
“Who’s he?”
“Roddy Quine, this terrible old British homo who hardly knows what end of the camera to look through. He hates me ever since I told Variety that he was the worst director in film history.”
“If he’s so bad, why’d they hire him?” I asked.
“He was the best Englishman they could get for the money they were paying,” he said. “Hold on, maybe there’s somebody here who doesn’t hate me.”
“A small but significant minority,” I said.
“Tami Fluff. She used to hate me because I got her axed from my last picture. But she might not hate me anymore because she’s costarring in this one with me and I didn’t do anything to stop it.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Tami Fluff? Tami Fluff?”
“That’s her name. You never heard of her?”
“No, praise God,” I said. “Where are all these people anyway? Are they all here?”
“I think so. They’re in their rooms freshening up. That means they’re sticking stuff in their noses probably. Hollywood has given new meaning to the phrase ‘powder room.’ Oh, there’s somebody else here.”
“Yeah?”
“My shrink,” he said. “That’s where I stayed last night when I left you. She’s in her room working on her book. Travels with Tony . Don’t tell her that I know about it, though. She thinks it’s a secret.”
He got up to make himself yet another drink, and I said, “That’s pretty shabby. I didn’t think that shrinks shrank and told.”
“Aaaah, who cares? She figures it’ll make her shrink to the stars. That’s why she hangs out with me. She wants to be famous and be on the Phil Donahue Show so her mother in Westchester County will like her.”
“You take being used pretty evenly,” I said.
“I use her too,” he said. “Better living through chemistry. Trace, I take pills to get up and I take pills to go to bed. I take pills to keep my heart moving. She’s a doctor. She travels around with me and writes my prescriptions. It saves me from having to break into drugstores in strange towns.”
He did the ritual with the ice and gin again, then sat back down and said, “You’ll meet them all for dinner anyway. The old guy at the gate said seven o’clock we eat. So. Am I your first Hollywood star?”
“Yes.”
“How do you like me so far?”
“I like you fine as long as you don’t go climbing the roof anymore,” I said. “Stick to arm-wrestling.”
“That’s good enough. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get along.”
“Maybe,” I said. But I doubted it. I had the feeling that Tony McCue was going to turn out to be nothing but trouble. For one thing, he was just too open with a total stranger. It’s been my experience that people who seem to be willing to tell you anything on first meeting are usually people who are trying to dictate the terms of the conversation. Sure. They’ll tell you anything, just so long as it’s about subjects of their choosing. Don’t ask them about things they don’t bring up first.
I didn’t know. Maybe McCue would turn out to be the exception. I hoped so. It was going to be hard enough to nursemaid this lunatic without him playing mind games on me.
7
As often happens in the lives of troubled men with artistic souls, we stayed in the bar and never quite did get to our rooms to change for dinner.
At a few minutes to seven, Dahlia Codwell entered the room, wearing a summery white dress, walked to the bar where McCue and I were sitting, and without even acknowledging our presence, made a pitcher of martinis and carried it off to one of the dining tables.
A minute or so later, Clyde Snapp came in wheeling a serving cart. From it, he took a lot of chafing dishes filled with food and set them up on one of the long banquet tables near the bar. He left without a word to anyone.
McCue was jabbering about the impossibilities of making movies in Mexico—“their day consists of showing up late,
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