Sinners by Jackie Collins Page B

seventeen years.’
    ‘No, the kid’s right.’ Steve Magnum had appeared, accompanied by his latest steady, Angela Carter. He sat down next to Sunday. ‘Forget it. Long contracts are a thing of the past. Radiant’s about the only studio left who sign people, and they don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground. Don’t let them talk you into anything, kid.’
    ‘I won’t,’ she replied, trying to stop herself from staring at him. His face was so familiar. Back in Rio, when she was still at school, he had been her favourite film star.
    Steve Magnum had aged well. At fifty he wore his years with style. He barely made five foot eleven and he was very thin – his unkinder critics described him as scrawny – but his face still had the same bony, hungry quality that had made him a huge star some twenty-five years before. Steve Magnum was a legend in his own time. Women were mad about him. Even his four ex-wives never tired of saying they would always have him back. He had been single eight years now, and the newspapers and columns were always speculating about who would be the next Mrs Magnum. There were many candidates, but most people in the know bet there wouldn’t be another Mrs Magnum at all. Some said he might even go back to his first wife, by whom he had three children.
    ‘Hey now,’ he looked Sunday over with his famous pale blue eyes, ‘you’ve handled yourself pretty well so far. Came into town and caused quite a stir. Even told old Abe and Jack where to get off.’
    Jack laughed, but Abe scowled and tried to ignore his wife who was nudging him to say something.
    ‘Carey St Martin is looking after me. She’s terrific. I’m sure I have her to thank for all the offers I’m getting. If it wasn’t for her I’d probably have been out of here on the next plane to Rome.’
    Angela laughed prettily. ‘How sweet. All because of some itsy-bitsy nude scene. Darling, they’re all the rage now. If you want to get on in this business, you have to learn to take your clothes off.’ She snaked an arm around Steve and gazed at him adoringly.
    ‘Yeah, honey,’ Steve said, ‘and you certainly know how to do that. On and off the screen.’
    During the meal Steve kept on talking to Sunday. She was well aware of Angela on his other side, listening to every word and trying to join in.
    Angela had been his steady girlfriend for three months and she had high hopes of continuing the role, perhaps even making it permanent. She was infuriated by Steve’s interest in Sunday. What idiot had sat him next to her, and what the hell was all that slop she was coming out with about principles and good scripts?
    She could hardly believe her ears when she heard Steve say to Sunday, ‘You know you’d be great as the rich sexy broad in my new movie. Want to test?’
    Angela had hoped that Steve was going to let her do that part. It wasn’t a star role, but it was good. She had hinted that she would like to do it, but Steve had brushed her off. And now he was practically offering the part to this unknown bitch! And the unknown bitch was replying, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t test. There are quite a few Italian films I am in that you could run. I don’t believe in testing.’
    Steve looked at Jack, and they both burst out laughing.
    ‘Sonofabitch!’ Steve said. ‘You were right. This broad is different.’

 

Chapter Ten
    Marshall K. Marshall left his custom-built white Rolls Royce with the doorman at the Beverly Hills Hotel, and limped into the lobby.
    Actors – lousy actors. They were becoming so damn demanding. They seemed to want to have a say in everything. He remembered the days when all they did was sign their contracts and get on with it.
    Marshall had arrived at the hotel to be present at a meeting between Cy Hamilton, Jnr – producer of Roundabout – and Charlie Brick, star of said picture. The meeting was due to the fact that they could stall Charlie no longer. He certainly wasn’t a fool, and it was becoming