Getting Garbo by Jerry Ludwig Read Free Book Online Page A

still living in the house on Kings Road above Sunset. I’m renting an Englishy cottage on Coldwater Canyon, just up from the Beverly Hills Hotel.
    We did have to appear together in Beverly Hills court one morning to lock in her temporary alimony. Nate and Giesler worked it so we could be whizzed in and out through a back door. But somehow the four of us wound up in the same freight elevator heading up. The two lawyers chatting amiably, Addie and I standing in silence. She’s lost some weight and looks pretty damn good, but it doesn’t seem appropriate for me to tell her that. Suddenly she turns to me and says in this choked voice, “How could you?”
    I know this is a ploy, but it works. Guilt flashes across my face. She’s timed it beautifully: the elevator doors fly open and the press photographers, who’ve been tipped by someone—Nate and Giesler later accuse each other—fire away with their flash cameras. In the afternoon editions, I look like a murderer caught in the act and Addie looks like a wounded angel.
    Fortunately, the judge doesn’t allow photographers inside his courtroom. We sit there in our separate corners as if we’re dress extras without any lines until the judge asks each of us the same question, “Do you understand and agree to what has been stipulated for the record here today?” We say our “I do’s.” Just like we once did for another judge. Guess it all ends the way it began.
    I’m worried about public opinion. After all, what if the audience that’s wallowing in all the innuendos being fed them by the press, decides they don’t like Roy the Bad Boy anymore? Nate Scanlon thinks I’m an idiot to worry. “Errol Flynn was tried and freed on rape charges and he came away a bigger star than before,” he lectures me. “Bob Mitchum gets nabbed puffing a reefer and does thirty days sweeping the floor at County Jail and the studio doubles his salary when he’s released. Don’t you get it? The audience loves guys like you—not in spite of, but because you’re bad boys.”
    But I still worry. I know there’s a line you mustn’t cross. I’m just not that sure where it is.
    â€¢ • •
    When I climb into my trailer, I find that Lomax, the Lady Killer, has been true to his promise, more or less. The place is no sloppier than when I left it. Kenny calls it The Fuckmobile, but recently he’s gotten much more use out of it than I have. Not that I’ve been true blue during my marriage. I mean, I’ve succumbed to delicious temptation now and then. But only on a one-shot basis. No ongoing ring-a-ding-dings. I made that a rule. I’ve turned down a helluva lot more snatch than you’d imagine. But what am I going to do when I’ve got an insecure leading lady who’s scared about the love scene we’re filming tomorrow morning? Or, in the New York days, when the price of getting into an audition was screwing the casting agent? Okay, okay. I don’t want to act like every extracurricular broad I ever banged was for my art. But give me credit for those that were.
    What I’m saying is that basically I’m monogamous. Because it’s the right thing to do. And because Addie seems to have a built-in pussy detector. She tags me more times than not. Recently I haven’t been doing anything on the side. Maybe I’m growing up. Just my luck, my one slip and she’s got a private eye with a spy camera on my case. Though how he tracked me, careful as I was, I still can’t figure out.
    I slouch on the couch in my trailer and dial Scanlon, Traxel, and Borison, Attorneys-at-Law. I say it’s me and the switchboard chick puts me straight through.
    â€œHow do you feel?” Nate asks.
    I say okay.
    â€œDo you feel divorced? Because that’s what you are.”
    He’s major-league pleased with himself. Not only has he concluded the deal, but he