Hollywood Husbands by Jackie Collins Page B

and when his mother married Temple Soloman six months later, it was as if God had smiled on them for doing it. Temple was an easy-going mild-mannered man. He was the senior partner in a clothing manufacturing business, and while he wasn’t exactly rolling in it, he had enough money to buy Howard a second-hand car and send him to college.
    Howard felt like a Russian who finally saw America and all it had to offer. He was alive and free. And so was his mother. The early years were just a bad dream.
    As a teenager Howard was plump and plagued with acne, until he discovered girls. Once that happened his weight soon dropped, and the acne vanished overnight. Temple sat him down one day and gave him a lecture. ‘Always use a johnny,’ he said, snapping a Durex in front of his stepson’s face. ‘And give the girl a good time too.’ Big wink. ‘Only don’t get anyone pregnant.’
    Howard thought about Temple’s remarks. What did he mean by ‘give the girl a good time’? Wasn’t she having a good time just by being in his company?
    The next time he had a young lady in the back of his shined-up old Buick he asked her casually as he humped away, ‘Hey – you havin’ a good time?’
    ‘You’re heavy,’ she whined. ‘Why is your back so hairy – it’s… ugh! My mother will kill me if she ever finds out I’m doing this.’
    So much for conversation. He almost lost his erection. God forbid!
    It took Howard’s first wife, the fierce black activist whom he married when he was nineteen, to teach him the joys of getting a woman off too. ‘Just go for the button an’ liiiiift-off, babee !’ she instructed while clasping him around the back of the neck with ebony legs he thought might strangle him.
    Hitting the button on his third attempt, he realized there was a difference. Instead of the female being a reluctant participant in the act of sex, she turned into a stark raving maniac! Why hadn’t Temple mentioned buttons to him! Look at all the time he had wasted!
    One day Howard read a book about Howard Hughes. He liked it so much he reread it three times. Temple had told him – early on in their relationship – that he was the heir to the manufacturing business of which Temple was the senior partner. ‘When you graduate,’ his stepfather had said, ‘I’ll teach you everything I know. You’re like my own son, and when the time comes I’ll hand the business over to you.’
    Howard was grateful, but not at all sure he wanted to stay in Colorado and make ladies’ dresses. He had bigger plans. He wanted to be like Howard Hughes. He saw Hollywood in his future. ‘What’s it like?’ he asked his friend Jack Python, as they struggled through a business administration course together. ‘You’re from L.A. Is Hollywood really something?’
    Jack shrugged. ‘I live in the Valley. I don’t go over the hill much.’
    ‘What hill?’
    ‘The Valley is separated from Hollywood and Beverly Hills by several large canyons. You drive over Benedict Canyon or Coldwater or Laurel.’
    ‘And? What’s it like when you get there?’ Howard asked impatiently.
    ‘Streets. Palm trees. Tourists. It’s no big deal.’
    ‘Well, I’m going there. Summer vacation I’m getting a job and renting an apartment. Why don’t we take a place together?’
    Jack shook his head. A year later he changed his mind, and when they graduated, they moved into a two-bedroom apartment just off Hollywood Boulevard. No luxury abode, but it was functional and convenient.
    By that time Howard had already spent the previous summer in Los Angeles, and returning he felt like a veteran. He knew where to get the cheapest hamburger, the fastest dry cleaning, the best place to hang out for the price of one cup of coffee – and where to find the prettiest girls. He had already been married (though it was annulled), worked at one of the studios in the mail room, and had his first case of the clap (unfortunately not his last). Temple Soloman had been