Redshift Part 44

"I found your house quick enough, didn't I?" She raced around and down the mountain until she reached Mulholland Drive; then she turned onto the wide, straight road and accelerated until the car began to shake. The pages of magazines in the backseat snapped in the wind, but miraculously the soiled dresses and blouses and slacks did not become airborne; it was as if they had all been carefully weighted down with heavier objects.

"Need to get your front-end fixed," Jimmy said.

Marilyn laughed and slowed down to eighty. There were few cars on the drive. She untied her kerchief, and her blond hair, stiff from too many bleachings, was swept back by the wind.

"So what's your news?" Jimmy asked. "I heard about your negotiations with Fox. Word is that you're going to get a hundred grand a picture."

"And I'm going to have director approval, too. John Huston, Billy Wilder, and Joshua Logan-they're already on the list. Fox isn't going to stick it to me again, I'll tell you that."

"We should be starting a company to make films. I'm going to be the best director you ever saw. Nick Ray thinks so, and he's the best director I know."

"You think the sun sets in his a.s.s," Marilyn said.

"Well, he hasn't done bad for me. Rebel without a Cause is going to be a big hit."

"I hope so. I pray it'll be a smash."

"I should have insisted on doing my next picture with Nick," Jimmy said. "Man, I hate George Stevens. That b.a.s.t.a.r.d's got a G.o.d complex or something. He wouldn't even let me go to a race while I was working on his overblown abortion of a motion picture, and he wouldn't let me act either. All the good bits of Giant are on the floor. What an a.s.shole. He couldn't wipe Nick's a.s.s."

"So we're back to Nick's a.s.s, huh?"

"Tell me if it's true about the money?"

She raised her head, exaggeratedly sniffing the air, and said, "My partner, Mr.

Milton Green, thank you, is negotiating everything. We'll see what happens."

"It is true . . . you b.i.t.c.h." Jimmy laughed and moved closer to her; she put her arm around him. "My corporation will be paid, but I might take just a teeny bit for myself."

They laughed hysterically.

"And your corporation should buy you all the pink Cadillacs you can drive."

"I'll have a different one every time I go out.""Are you going out much?"

"Constantly, and I have to drive back and forth from New York to the Greens in Connecticut. Do you think I would condescend to drive the same car every time I go to Connecticut? That would be like wearing the same dress to every party. No, sir-ree, I'll buy myself a fleet of new Cadillacs."

Jimmy ran his finger over her sweater and played with her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Marilyn didn't seem to notice, although her nipples became erect.

"I love these," Jimmy said.

"You could fool me. Your squeezing them like you're trying to make mud pies." Jimmy stopped touching her and stared ahead. His long brown hair, which was greasy and needed a wash, was tousled, and his eyes narrowed as they always did when he was concentrating. He pushed his thick-lensed gla.s.ses against the bridge of his nose; it was a nervous habit.

"Go ahead, you can make mud pies," Marilyn said.

"I never did that to Pier."

"You never squeezed her t.i.ts?"

"She didn't like it, maybe because they're tiny."

"So what did you do?"

"We just f.u.c.ked."

"That's it?"

"Cuddled."

"You want to cuddle me?" Marilyn asked.

"Yeah, maybe, I don't know."

"I'll stop right here, we can do it right here. If we got caught, tell me that wouldn't make good copy."

"I want to talk for a little while," Jimmy said, sounding childlike. "And I want to drive."

"What do I get if I let you drive?"

"A cuddle and a ting-a-ling."

"A what?"

"You got to let me drive to find out."

"Okay . . . you drive." With that Marilyn slid onto Jimmy's lap and let go of the steering wheel. Jimmy grabbed it and pulled himself into the driver's seat.

"Jesus H. Christ!"

Marilyn giggled and let her hand rest on his crotch as he drove. She scolded him when he didn't get an erection. "I can't do two things at once," he said.

"What if I do this?" and she slid across the leather seat so she could put her head on his lap.

She bit him gently through the stiff denim of his jeans until he became hard. "Well, that seems to work," she said. She unzipped his fly, carefully worked his p.e.n.i.s out of his shorts, and teased him with her tongue.

"You really do have a death wish, don't you," Jimmy said.

"If you say so. Do you want me to stop?"

"You probably should.""Just think of it as a cuddle. My treat. I'm as good as any of those G.o.dd.a.m.n directors or producers you always used to complain about, aren't I?"

Jimmy laughed at that.

"Well? . . ." Marilyn asked.

"Yes," Jimmy said.

"And do you want me to stop now?"

"No." He gave in to warm wet bliss.

"Well, then you'd better say please or I'll stop."

"You're a b.i.t.c.h, Marilyn, do you know that?"

"Say please. I'm going to count to three. One . . . two . . ."

"Okay, please."

"Nope, too late," she said. She sat up and smiled at him.

"Too late is it?" Jimmy said, stepping hard on the accelerator. "I guess it's time to teach you a lesson."

Marilyn giggled. "Better put that thing back in your pants first." Jimmy grinned at her, adjusted himself, zipped up his fly, and said, "This ain't finished yet."

"Well, I would hope not. I expect to get some satisfaction for my persistence, and just remember you said please."

Jimmy turned off the headlights. "It's going to be you saying please very soon now."

"Turn the lights on, Jimmy, what are you trying to prove?"

"See those taillights up ahead? Must be a big Buick or maybe a Caddy like this one.

Well, this is going to be like one Caddy kissing another. We'll just give his b.u.mper a little kiss, a sweet little kiss, maybe something like your kissing my d.i.c.k."

"What are you talking about?" Marilyn asked. "You really are as crazy as everybody says."

But rather than fear, there was an edge of excitement in her voice. "Now turn the lights back on and let up on the gas. I'm telling you right now, if you mess up this car, I'll take a tire iron to that new porch of yours."

Jimmy laughed. "It's a Porsche, and you'd have to find it first." After a beat, he said, "Okay, now let's see what this pig can do." He put the Caddy into overdrive, and the red taillights ahead seemed to be rushing toward them. "The dumb b.a.s.t.a.r.d doesn't even know we're driving right up his a.s.s."

"G.o.ddammit, Jimmy, slow down," Marilyn shouted, reaching for the steering wheel. Jimmy knocked her hand away; his knuckles were white on the steering wheel. The speedometer read ninety. "You can scream, but don't touch."

Marilyn rolled up her window, as if that would protect her. "No, roll it down," Jimmy said. "You got to be right there to hear it," The wind roared in his ears, a wonderful whistling whine, and Marilyn screamed as he drove Marilyn's Cadillac into the ghostly white Lincoln Continental ahead. But it was indeed just a kiss, as b.u.mper clanged against b.u.mper-one bell-like note and a glimpse of a terrified woman wearing a chic red hat-and then Jimmy was pulling ahead of the Lincoln as the horn of an oncoming car blared and headlights rushed toward them. Jimmy veered back into the right-hand lane just in time.

Marilyn screamed.

"Did you hear it?" Jimmy asked "Ting-a-f.u.c.king-ling.""Stop the car," Marilyn said.

"It didn't do no damage. It was just a kiss, sweet as a bell."

"Pull the car over right now, and put the lights on before somebody back-ends us or something."

"There's n.o.body else on the road."

"Jimmy!"

"n.o.body else in the world." But he pulled over to the curb and turned off the engine. "Earth Angel" played softly on the radio, cicadas roared in the bushes, and the distant yet pervasive thrum of the road and city was felt rather than heard. The sky was black and smeary gray; here and there a star was visible through the clouds or smog.

"Did you hear the ting-a-ling?" Jimmy said. His voice was low, childlike.

"Yes."

"I told you it would be a kick. You want to check the b.u.mper?"

"No." Then after a beat she said, "I'm still shaking."

"Yeah, so am I."

"You could have killed us."

"Yeah, that's the idea, isn't it?"

"You could have killed that poor woman in the other car. She doesn't deserve that."

"How do you know what she deserves? Or who she might have just screwed over? What happens happens. You can't change it."

"So you couldn't help but drive into her car, right?"

"Yeah, in a way, I guess," Jimmy said. "Just like you couldn't help calling me up in the middle of the night and coming over to my house."

"Jimmy, hold me. ..."

Which he did, and they made love awkwardly and pa.s.sionately and quickly on the front seat while the radio played "Maybellene" and "Ain't That a Shame." Marilyn began to cry when they were finished. "That bad, huh?" Jimmy asked. Marilyn smiled.

"Yeah, Jimmy, you were terrible."

After a pause, Jimmy asked, "What's the matter then?"

"I don't know . . . oh, f.u.c.k it, yes, I do. It's Joe. He drives a Cadillac ... a blue one."

"So? . . ."

"So . . . being here, doing this . . . made me think about him a little."

"Did you see him since you've been here?" Jimmy knew Marilyn's husband Joe DiMaggio and didn't like him. The most famous baseball player that ever lived was so overcome with jealousy that he followed Marilyn around like a store detective; and Jimmy thought that he looked like a skinny, upchuck store detective with his big, narrow nose, greasy hair, and ill-fitting though expensive suits.

"No, I was going to call him, but I called you instead."

"He's a p.r.i.c.k, Marilyn. How many times has he kicked the s.h.i.t out of you?"

"It wasn't so bad, Jimmy. Maybe a slap, that'd be it. Not what you think. He'd just get crazy, and then he'd be beside himself with guilt, and he'd be crying and begging me to forgive him, and buying me everyG.o.ddamthing he could think of. I could've opened up a flower shop everytime we had a fight."

"That's not what you used to tell me."

"Well, I was upset. I needed somebody to talk to ... someone I could talk to."

"So you were bulls.h.i.tting me all the while, right?"