“I didn’t ask you for her fucking medical certificate,” Toby snapped. “Is she laying anybody?”
“No, sir. Nobody. I talked to my buddies around town. They all like Jill and they use her because she’s a fine actress.” He was talking faster now, anxious to convince the man at the other end of the phone. If Toby Temple ever learned that Jill had slept with Eddie—had chosen him over Toby Temple!—Eddie would never work in this town again. He had talked to his casting-director friends, and they were all in the same position he was. No one wanted to make an enemy of Toby Temple, so they had agreed on a conspiracy of silence. “She doesn’t play around with anybody.”
Toby’s voice softened, “I see. I guess she’s just some kind of crazy kid, huh?”
“I guess she is,” said Eddie, relieved.
“Hey! I hope I didn’t wake you up?”
“No, no, that’s all right, Mr. Temple.”
But Eddie lay awake a long time, contemplating what could happen to him if the truth ever came out.
For this was Toby Temple’s town.
Toby and Clifton Lawrence were having lunch at the Hillcrest Country Club. Hillcrest had been created because few of the top country clubs in Los Angeles admitted Jews. This policy was so rigidly observed that Groucho Marx’s ten-year-old child, Melinda, had been ordered out of the swimming pool of a club where a Gentile friend had taken her. When Groucho heard what had happened, he telephoned the manager of the club and said, “Listen—my daughter’s only half-Jewish. Would you let her go into the pool up to her waist?”
As a result of incidents like this, some affluent Jews who enjoyed golf, tennis, gin rummy and baiting anti-Semites got together and formed their own club, selling shares exclusively to Jewish members. Hillcrest was built in a beautiful park a few miles from the heart of Beverly Hills, and it quickly became famous for having the best buffet and the most stimulating conversation in town. The Gentiles clamored to be admitted. In a gesture toward tolerance, the board ruled that a few non-Jews would be allowed to join the club.
Toby always sat at the comedians’ table, where the Hollywood wits gathered to exchange jokes and top one another. But today Toby had other things on his mind. He took Clifton to a corner table. “I need your advice, Cliff,” Toby said.
The little agent glanced up at him in surprise. It had been a long time since Toby had asked for his advice. “Certainly, dear boy.”
“It’s this girl,” Toby began, and Clifton was instantly ahead of him. Half the town knew the story by now. It was the biggest joke in Hollywood. One of the columnists had even run it as a blind item. Toby had read it and commented, “I wonder who the schmuck is?” The great lover was hooked on a girl on the town who had turned him down. There was only one way to handle this situation.
“Jill Castle,” Toby was saying, “remember her? The kid who was on the show?”
“Ah, yes, a very attractive girl. What’s the problem?”
“I’ll be goddamned if I know,” Toby admitted. “It’s like she’s got something against me. Every time I ask her for a date, I get a turn-down. It makes me feel like some kind of shit-kicker from Iowa.”
Clifton took a chance. “Why don’t you stop asking her?”
“That’s the crazy part, pal. I can’t. Between you and me and my cock, I’ve never wanted a broad so much in my life. It’s getting so I can’t think about anything else.” He smiled self-consciously and said, “I told you it was crazy. You’ve been around the track a few times, Cliff. What do I do?”
For one reckless moment, Clifton was tempted to tell Toby the truth. But he couldn’t tell him that his dream girl was sleeping around town with every assistant casting director who could give her a day’s work. Not if he wanted to keep Toby as a client. “I have an idea,” Clifton suggested. “Is she serious about her acting?”
“Yes. She’s ambitious.”
“All right. Then, give her an invitation she has to accept.”