Mitla Pass - Leon Uris [148]
“That’s right. Maybe we’ll be up in the stars looking down. I have to square it before the trip starts.”
Shlomo shook his head that he understood.
“It happened a few years ago,” Gideon continued.
“You’re still married, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but I handled it very badly. When I learned what Val had done, I went ape shit.”
Sherman Oaks, 1954
GIDEON HAD COME home from the studio early, aching all over, running a fever, and it was growing worse. He groaned and crawled his way into bed. After getting him settled in, Val left for the afternoon to pick up Roxy and Penny and deliver them to Girl Scouts and a piano lesson, respectively.
Within the hour, there was a frantic call from Gideon’s secretary, Belle Prentice.
“They’re having a hemorrhage over here, Gideon,” Belle said. “They rehearsed the garden scene today and it didn’t play. They’re shooting it tomorrow and there’s no cover set. The colonel wants to go back to your original idea.”
“Belle, you’ve got to be kidding. I’m sicker than a dog. I’m going to start upchucking any minute.”
“They want to send me over with the studio doctor.”
“Isn’t there some kind of state labor law against this sort of thing?”
“Honey, be a big Marine. It’s only three or four pages.”
“All right. Look, I’ll sketch it out and phone it in to you, so they can set up the lights and sound. I’ll have the dialogue in, sometime tonight. You going to be home?”
“I’ll stand by here at the studio.”
“Later.” Gideon moaned and rolled out of bed and dug the screenplay out of his attaché case. His legs were wobbly. God damn it, no foolscap pad! His office was in an outside building, so he began to fish around in Val’s desk, which occupied an alcove in the room.
“Ragpickers’ ball!” he mumbled as he waded through the nests of papers and God knows what in the desk drawers. Come on, Val, he thought, give me a break. Where’s a note pad?
What’s this! Gideon pulled out a key with a large black tag reading “King’s Court Motel—Santa Monica Blvd & La Cienega St. Room 357.”
He blinked in disbelief. He had used that motel on several occasions. Oh my God, he thought, his heart racing, Val has found the key! No, wait a minute. Gideon always asked for a certain corner room on the second floor. He’d never been on the third floor. What the hell was this all about?
Johnny Brookes had told him about the motel when he needed a hot sheet joint for a matinee. In fact, Johnny even registered him in on one occasion and brought the key over to him.
Johnny Brookes! Hold the phone!
Johnny and Cindy Brookes were part of “their” crowd, close buddies. John was an ex-Marine and was now a minor but promising director. He and Val and the Brookeses had been together a few dozen times, anyhow. Lots of nice, clean, grab-ass late barbecues and skinny dips at the Zadok pool and an equal number of trips to Johnny and Cindy’s place on the beach.
The Brookeses didn’t have any children. Cindy preferred poodles. John was a good sort, but he had become very unhappy and the marriage was floundering. He and Gideon bowled on the same team, played tennis as doubles partners by day and occasionally bummed around together in the evenings, particularly after a late working day. John didn’t monkey around too much, but he needed a quickie more often as the marriage soured and he had a yard-long list of available ladies.
Gideon began thinking back. Six months ago, Johnny was doing a film at Goldwyn and Gideon ran over for lunch from Pacific Studios. That’s when the King’s Court Motel first came up.
VAL AND JOHNNY IN THAT CRUMMY MOTEL! Val naked in front of him! Johnny going down on her. Sixty-nining in front of those lousy headboard mirrors! Had he fed her pot or some of his goof balls? Did she wear the black lace garter belts? What about the filthy music and the oil baths and the water beds!
Gideon reeled into the bathroom and threw up. He tore back into the bedroom and took the pistol down from its high shelf and staggered about like a water buffalo who had taken an arrow in the chest.
God damn! There’s honor among thieves. A man doesn’t go