Hollywood Husbands by Jackie Collins

rent-collecting binge.
    ‘Can I offer you a cup of coffee?’ he asked politely. If the kid wasn’t with her he would have offered her more than that. Last time she turned up it had been with a Mexican maid who cleaned the kitchen floor while they argued over a rent increase.
    ‘Come up with some cash soon or you’re just gonna have to go,’ Reba decided.
    ‘I will.’
    ‘I hope you mean it, Wesley. You owe me two months, an’ next Saturday I’m sendin’ the collector.’
    ‘Who’s the collector?’ he asked, alarmed.
    ‘Better you should never find out,’ she replied, absent-mindedly scratching her crotch.
    I could cure that itch for you , he wanted to say, but curbed the impulse.
    She ran a finger across a table top, leaving a fresh and shiny trail through the dust. Then she peered into the cramped kitchen, which was stacked with filthy dishes and half-eaten food. ‘The way you keep this place is an open invitation to rats,’ she remarked, without too much concern.
    ‘Can we go?’ whined the fat kid.
    ‘Clean up your act, Wesley, an’ get me my money.’
    He followed her to the door. ‘Yes, ma’am .’
    She gave him an appraising stare. ‘Y’know, you’re not bad lookin’ if you took better care of yourself. You’ve got a kinda Nick Nolte quality.’
    Nick who ? ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’m working on it.’
    ‘Get a job,’ she scolded.
    He decided to impress her. ‘Tonight I’ll be at Silver Anderson’s house helping her out. She’s havin’ a party.’
    ‘ The Silver Anderson?’
    ‘No. Silver Anderson who works as a checker at Vons Market,’ he said sarcastically.
    ‘Huh?’
    ‘Of course the Silver Anderson.’
    ‘Really?’ She didn’t quite believe him, but she gave it a shot anyway. ‘Get Timmy here’ – she patted the fat boy on the head – ‘an autographed picture, an’ I’ll knock ten bucks off the money you owe.’
    ‘lf I can.’
    ‘Good.’ She took the boy’s hand and clicked her way across the wooden porch out onto the boardwalk.
    Hazy sunshine caught Wes’s attention as he watched her go. A pretty Chinese girl skate-boarded by. He thought he might grab a few rays and liven up his complexion. Somehow, in his busy schedule of screwing, boozing and partying he never found time for the sun.
    His nextdoor neighbour emerged from her house at the same time. She had moved in six weeks ago, shortly after the previous tenant overdosed on heroin and was carried off in a body bag. He’d never seen her before, but sometimes he’d had to hammer on the dividing wall in the middle of the night (when he was home) for her to turn down the godawful classical music she liked to play. It figured. She looked like a school teacher: brown hair in a bun, baggy clothes, and John Lennon glasses. She appeared to be surprisingly young, probably only early twenties.
    ‘Hello, neighbour.’ He waved a friendly greeting.
    She pretended not to notice, and set off along the boardwalk.
    Snob. She was no doubt pissed off he’d banged on the wall. He followed her because he had nothing better to do.
    She turned up a side street and climbed into an ancient Volkswagen. Bored, he headed in the other direction, across the sand, down to the sea. It was a mild day and the ocean was calm. He liked it better when the surf was up, and the waves came belting in. He loved it when it rained. And a storm was a special treat.
    He sat down on the sand, and the next thing he knew he must have nodded off for a couple of hours, because when he awoke, water was lapping his feet. Nearby, a lone dog sat on the sand staring at him.
    Wes was not partial to animals. An old girlfriend had once kept a monkey. It pissed and crapped everywhere, and for a grand finale jerked off whenever they made love. No more pets after that.
    He consulted his copy of a Cartier tank watch. Fifty bucks from a travelling Iranian. It lost five minutes a day and sometimes stopped altogether. He ascertained it was late afternoon and