That afternoon, the little agent telephoned Jill and asked her to come to his office. She arrived an hour late, gave him a cheek to kiss, sat down on the edge of the couch and said, “I haven’t much time. I’m meeting Toby.”
“This won’t take long.”
Clifton studied her. It was a different Jill. She bore almost no resemblance to the girl he had first met a few months ago. There was a confidence about her now, an assurance that she had not had earlier. Well, he had dealt with girls like her before.
“Jill, I’m going to lay it on the line,” Clifton said. “You’re bad for Toby. I want you to get out of Hollywood.” He took a white envelope out of a drawer. “Here’s five thousand dollars’ cash. That’s enough to take you anywhere you want to go.”
She stared at him a moment, a surprised expression on her face, then leaned back on the couch and began to laugh.
“I’m not joking,” Clifton Lawrence said. “Do you think Toby would marry you if he found out you’ve laid everybody in town?”
She regarded Clifton for a long moment. She wanted to tell him that he was responsible for everything that had happened to her. He and all the other people in power who had refused to give her a chance. They had made her pay with her body, her pride, her soul. But she knew there was no way she could ever make him understand. He was trying to bluff her. He would not dare tell Toby about her; it would be Lawrence’s word against hers.
Jill rose to her feet and walked out of the office.
One hour later, Clifton received a call from Toby.
Clifton had never heard Toby sound so excited. “I don’t know what you said to Jill, pal, but I have to hand it to you—she can’t wait. We’re on our way to Las Vegas to get married!”
The Lear jet was thirty-five miles from the Los Angeles International Airport, flying at 250 knots. David Kenyon made contact with the LAX approach control and gave them his position.
David was exhilarated. He was on his way to Jill.
Cissy had recovered from most of her injuries suffered in the automobile accident, but her face had been badly lacerated. David had sent her to the best plastic surgeon in the world, a doctor in Brazil. She had been gone for six weeks, during which time she had been sending him glowing reports about the doctor.
Twenty-four hours ago, David had received a telephone call from Cissy, saying she was not returning. She had fallen in love.
David could not believe his good fortune.
“That’s—that’s wonderful,” he managed to stammer. “I hope you and the doctor will be happy.”
“Oh, it’s not the doctor,” Cissy replied. “It’s someone who owns a little plantation here. He looks exactly like you, David. The only difference is that he loves me.”
The crackling of the radio interrupted his thoughts. “Lear Three Alpha Papa, this is Los Angeles Approach Control. You’re clear for approach to Runway Twenty-five Left. There will be a United seven-oh-seven behind you. When you land, please taxi to the ramp on your right.”
“Roger.” David began to make his descent, and his heart started to pound. He was on his way to find Jill, to tell her he still loved her, to ask her to marry him.
He was walking through the terminal when he passed the newsstand and saw the headline: “TOBY TEMPLE WEDS ACTRESS.” He read the story twice and then turned and went into the airport bar.
He stayed drunk for three days and then flew back to Texas.
28
It was a storybook honeymoon. Toby and Jill flew in a private jet to Las Hadas, where they were the guests of the Patinos at their fairyland resort carved out of the Mexican jungle and beach. The newlyweds were given a private villa surrounded by cacti, hibiscus and brilliantly colored bougainvillea, where exotic birds serenaded them all night. They spent ten days exploring and yachting and being partied. They ate delicious dinners at the Legazpi prepared by gourmet chefs and swam in the fresh-water pools. Jill shopped at the exquisite boutiques at the Plaza.
From Mexico they flew to Biarritz where they stayed at L’Hotel du Palais, the spectacular palace that Napoleon III built for his Empress Eugenie. The honey-mooners gambled at the casinos and went to the bullfights and fished and made love all night.
From the Côte Basque they drove east to Gstaad, thirty-five hundred feet above sea level in the Bernese Oberland. They took sightseeing flights among the peaks, skimming Mont Blanc and the Matterhorn. They skied the dazzling white slopes and rode dog sleds and attended fondue parties and danced. Toby had never been so happy. He had found the woman to make his life complete. He was no longer lonely.
Toby could have continued the honeymoon forever, but Jill was eager to get home. She was not interested in any of these places, nor in any of these people. She felt like a newly crowned queen who was being kept from her country. Jill Castle was burning to return to Hollywood.
Mrs. Toby Temple had scores to settle.
BOOK THREE
29
There is a smell to failure. It is a stench that clings like a miasma. Just as dogs can detect the odor of fear in a human being, so people can sense when a man is on his way down.
Particularly in Hollywood.
Everyone in the Business knew that Clifton Lawrence was finished, even before he knew it. They could smell it in the air around him.
Clifton had not heard from Toby or Jill in the week since they had returned from their honeymoon. He had sent an expensive gift and had left three telephone messages, which had been ignored. Jill. Somehow she had managed to turn Toby’s mind against him. Clifton knew that he had to effect a truce. He and Toby meant too much to each other to let anyone come between them.