Star, p.10
Star, page 10
“Okay.” Star nodded ruminatively. “Then could I please have my bags?”
“Your first flight, huh?” The gate agent smiled at Star.
“That’s right.” Star smiled back. “How’d you guess?”
“You get a feel for these things,” the agent said with a nonchalant shrug. “Your bag will be waiting for you by the exit. Just go along here and then take the escalator down. Follow the pictures of the suitcase,” she offered, pointing.
“Well, that’s better than Miami,” Star said with a sigh of relief. “They make you carry your bags for miles. Right by the exit, huh?”
“You got it.” The agent smiled, charmed by Star’s wide-eyed appreciation of LAX.
“Thanks,” Star said as she headed along the concourse. She got lost once looking at the shops rather than keeping an eye out for the pictures of the suitcase, but it was easily corrected and soon she was on the escalator heading down.
She saw him before she reached the ground. He was standing in a sort of official-looking outfit holding a sign that was getting him laughs and remarks from passersby in the status-mad capital of the world.
The sign said simply STAR.
Star couldn’t hear the remarks he was getting—she was about five steps up from the bottom of the escalator—but it caught her attention and made her wonder if there was some kind of problem. Maybe the lady at the gate had called ahead and this man had her luggage. Tentatively she walked toward him.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Are you looking for a Star?”
“Very funny lady,” the young man said, looking past her.
“ ’Cause I am,” Star said, not really understanding his joke.
“Great. Could I get your autograph?”
“Well, I’m not famous yet, but I guess—”
“Look, lady,” the young man said, frustrated that she was still harassing him. “I’ve got work to do. I’m waiting to pick someone up and her name happens to be Star and that’s why I have the sign, so if you could just let me do my job. Have a great visit to Los Angeles.”
“Well, my name is Star. Star Wood Leigh. And I was wondering if you maybe had my luggage, but maybe you’re my ride to the Castle?”
“Ay, Dios mio,” the driver said, tossing the sign aside. “I’m so sorry, Miss Leigh. I didn’t realize, but of course I should have. You will be perfect for the Castle. I’m an idiot. So many people were giving me trouble about this sign. But you, truly, are a star,” he concluded with a little bow.
“So, does that mean you don’t have my bags?” Star clarified, ducking her head in a halfhearted bow of her own.
“Allow me,” he said, extending his hand to her. “Your claim checks?”
Wordlessly, she handed him the ticket, folder and all.
“I will be right back, Miss Leigh,” he said, bowing again.
“Call me Star,” she said, smiling at his continued fawning.
“Yes, Miss Star,” he replied, walking backward toward the luggage carousels as he continued to face her. He had intended to say “I’m Carlito,” but as he began to speak, he tripped over a passing luggage cart and did a backflip over the trolley. “I’m Car-LITOOOOOOOOO…” was what he actually said.
“Lito,” Star exclaimed, rushing to his aid. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Carlito said, brushing himself off as he scrambled to his feet. “I am fine. Not to worry about me. I’ll be right back with your luggage, Miss Star.”
“Lito,” Star said, following him. “How will you know which bags are mine?”
“Well, I will check the claim ticket,” Carlito explained, too embarrassed about the whole incident to correct her misapprehension about his name.
“Wouldn’t it be easier if I came with you?” she asked as she pursued him across baggage claims. “I mean, I have seen my luggage before.”
Lito stopped still and Star caught up with him.
“Miss Star,” he said, hanging his head. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“They’ve lost my luggage?” she gasped.
“I don’t know, maybe,” Lito said noncommittally. “But, Miss Star, this is my first day.”
“Oh, Lito, that’s perfect.” Star beamed. She could not have been more relieved. At last someone with whom she did not have to be on her guard. “This is my first visit to L.A. Really, it’s my first day too. We can figure this out together.”
Eventually they found the carousel. “Kind of boring without the horses,” she said, amazed at what passed for a carousel in Los Angeles. In due course, her bags were disgorged and collected.
Lito, of course, insisted on carrying all of them, over Star’s strenuous objections, which slowed down their progress considerably. As they finally reached the car, the police were just about to tow the limo out of the loading zone where Lito had left it.
“What are you doing?” Lito cried, vaulting the last couple of steps.
“You can’t leave your vehicle unattended here.”
Having grown up in good-old-boy country, Star knew just how to play with the local boys in blue. They never knew what hit them.
“I am so sorry,” Star said, tugging shyly at the vee in the front of her T-shirt. “This is all my fault,” she went on, twisting the tee and biting her bottom lip. “This is my first time in Los Angeles. I’m here to have my picture made for the cover of Mann magazine, and they sent this nice gentleman over to pick me up. We’re actually on our way over to the Castle now. Only I couldn’t find the carousel ’cause there were no horses. And he had to come inside to rescue me.”
She could have quit after “Mann magazine.” In short order, the tow truck was dispatched and Lito got off with a warning.
“Thank you, Miss Star,” Lito said, trundling the various pieces of mismatched luggage to the rear of the car and heaving them inside. “I’ll just get this loaded and we’ll get you to your party.” He slammed the trunk and moved to hold the door for her. “Miss Star?” he called, looking around at the gritty underpass that was the pickup porte-cochere.
The whir of an electric motor caused him to turn just as Star leaned out of the window on the passenger’s side in the front seat.
“Oh, Miss Star, this is for you,” he said, gesturing to the rear coach. “There’s champagne and strawberries and TV and video games.”
“This is my first time in Los Angeles. You think I want to watch TV? Come up here and show me around. And bring the strawberries. Do we have time?”
“A little bit.” Lito grinned, closing the door and coming around to get in the front seat with her. “We can see the blimp field and PCH and the sights along Sunset.”
“The blimp field?” she exclaimed. “Blimps grow in fields?”
No one can tell anymore, but underneath the city of Los Angeles lies one of the most amazing pieces of real estate ever. A coastal desert plain, it is met at the shore by a mountain range that runs like a backdrop along the northern boundary of the Los Angeles basin. That means there’s a broad and almost perfectly flat plane fringed on two sides by the ocean and broad, sandy beaches, and overlooked by a mountain ridge that appears suddenly along the edge of what would otherwise be a completely uninterrupted expanse. It must have been breathtaking for the first Native Americans, and later the conquistadors and missionaries who made their way over the Hollywood Hills to drink in a completely unobstructed view of the 3,000 square miles below.
Even today, after the paving of the basin, the Hollywood Hills and the Santa Monica Mountains afford that same expansive one-eighty view of the city.
Running along the spine of Los Angeles’ private and self-contained mountain range is the legendary Mulholland Drive. The road is the zenith undulating along the high sustained ridge above the city spread out like a cloth below on both sides. The views are among the best in the city.
Perched along this crinkle formed by the collision of two tectonic plates, poised like the birds of prey that frequent the neighboring trees, the Mann Castle watches over the city below. Like a penthouse, the castle affords its guests pristine and unobstructed city views and the freedom and private isolation of Olympus.
The flatlands of the basin were a part of the landscape of Star’s life, like the familiar monotony of the endless south-Florida tidal plain. But as the limo began to climb into the overgrown hills that were the Santa Monica Mountains, Star felt giddy and more than a little afraid of the winding roads and sheer drop-offs that cleaved alongside them.
The gate to the property was formidable but unobstrusive on a roadside grown thick with gates. “Miss Star Wood Leigh,” Lito spoke into the intercom, reading her full name from his clipboard. The gates opened with a low hum.
“This is it,” Star said through a gritted smile, her fists clenched in excitement and apprehension. “I’ve arrived.”
The drive wound through a wooded area to open out onto a broad, rolling lawn and a view of the massive main house—a formal French château, not unlike the palace at Versailles. The yellow granite walls and blue slate roof, the perfect symmetry of the two flanking wings balanced on the central body of the house, even the formality of the sculpted shrubbery of the front garden wrapped in the oval drive, gave the place an air of propriety—ironic given its reputation.
An amazing array of cars spilled out of the motor court into the drive—Rolls, Bentley, Ferrari, Porsche, Mercedes, Corvette, Cadillac, Lincoln, and a seemingly endless line of limos.
Star gave a low whistle as she took it all in.
“This place is bigger than my high school,” she gasped.
As they drew near, the massive front door opened and a tall, handsome woman emerged. With an athletic body that her well-tailored business suit did more to enhance than conceal, she carried herself with an air of confidence and purpose that was at once reassuring and intimidating. She reminded Star of her old gymnastics coach. As they drew up to the curb, the woman walked to the back of the limo and opened the door to the rear compartment.
Lito leaped out and ran around to the passenger door.
“Where is she?” the statuesque woman demanded of Lito.
“Well, she didn’t want to ride in—”
Star cut him short, opening the passenger door and emerging backward onto the front steps of the Castle, hands filled with smaller carry bags.
“Star?” the woman said, puzzled and amused.
“Yes,” she said, turning and trying to focus on the woman. There was so much to see and it felt as if she were trying to see it all at once.
“Star,” the woman greeted her warmly as she approached, her hand extended. “I’m Jayne Hersfield. Welcome to Los Angeles.”
“Hi,” Star said shyly, taking Jayne’s hand.
“What are you doing sitting in the front seat?” Jayne asked as she enclosed Star’s hand in both of her own.
“I like to see where I’m going.” Star shrugged it off. “Besides, it’s lonely back there.”
Jayne smiled.
“This place is amazing,” Star exclaimed, throwing her arms wide and spinning to include as much of her surroundings as possible.
“Ah, yes, Mann Castle,” Jayne acknowledged their opulent surroundings.
“Oh, yeah, it’s a great house,” Star said, nodding vigorously. “And this city, I mean what little I’ve seen of it. Driving up the coast and then up Sunset Boulevard and into the mountains. Why do they need Disneyland?”
“Just for fun.” Jayne smiled at Star’s complete lack of artifice. “Kind of like this place. We have to get you a tour, we’ve got a few minutes before the fight.”
“That would be so awesome,” Star agreed enthusiastically.
“You can just leave the bags here,” Jayne said to Lito. “We’ll stow your things and we can get you a car to your hotel when the time comes.”
“I’ll be here for Miss Star when the party’s over,” Lito said with a polite nod.
“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Jayne assured him.
“I know,” Lito said. “But it will be my pleasure. I’ve promised a bit more tour and I’m off the clock in ten minutes. The car can sit in my driveway or Mr. Mann’s just as easily.”
“Thanks, Lito,” Star said, giving him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. “That’s so sweet.”
“Okay then,” Jayne said. “I guess you can just pull around behind the other limos. I’m not sure how long we’ll be going tonight, though. If you change your mind, you can leave the bags and we’ll take care of it.”
“I’ll be here,” Lito assured her with his patented little bow.
“Well, let’s go meet everyone,” Jayne said, inclining her head to him respectfully as she ushered Star inside.
The Mann Castle and its singular resident, Marsten Mann, were legend. Originally based in an opulent Knickerbocker mansion in New York City where the magazine was founded, Marsten had gone West as his fortunes became more closely aligned with Hollywood, moving into the forty-four-room 1920s French Empire castle, bringing his entourage and legend with him. With the New York Castle turned condo and long forgotten, the Mann Castle West had gained a place in the American imagination, a symbol of the sexual liberation and libertinism that Marsten and his publications had come to represent. The truth and the legend of the place had become blurred, creating a reputation where fact and fiction were hard, if not impossible, to separate.
For Star, the tour was even more amazing than the stories she’d heard from Adam and her brother, Hank; they were more intoxicated with the “secret” deeds that had reportedly taken place in the Castle than with the halls that held the secrets.
The place was incredible. A stream ran the length of the stately front lawn, connecting a series of elaborate fountains before running through the living room and out the back of the house to the Castle’s notorious lagoon, which was stocked with naked women.
“Marsten doesn’t allow swimsuits in the lagoon,” Jayne explained with a knowing grin. “He says it keeps lint out of the filters.”
“Very sensible.” Star nodded, following her across the patio to the cabanas on the far side.
“These dressing rooms were built by the first owners in the twenties and were used by many famous silent-movie stars as was the pool,” Jayne explained. And with that, one of the doors sprang open and a naked couple raced across the flagstones and disappeared under the waterfall.
Star wondered why they needed dressing rooms if everyone was skinny-dipping.
“It was Marsten who replaced the original pool with this lagoon,” Jayne explained, pausing near the French door that led back inside. “That rocky cliff and the waterfall beyond are man-made, catacombed with dozens of little private pools and nooks when you want to get away for a more intimate moment.”
Star paused to marvel at the flock of nude women in and around the pool. They were so beautiful. Why had she been chosen for the cover of such a storied magazine?
“Come on, Star,” Jayne said, taking her arm. “Lots more to see.”
“Lots more” turned out to be a bowling alley, a nightclub-size discotheque, and even a full-size movie theater. An arcade-quality game room was filled with all manner of diversions, from pool table to video games, and along its perimeter ran a series of small, windowless rooms, each completely and totally awash—walls, ceiling, floor, and furnishings—in a single color. There was a red room, a blue room, a green room, perfectly upholstered little bedrooms offering a place for games of a different sort.
It was perhaps these small rooms that seemed most in keeping with the reputation of the place.
Peeking into the red room, Star reached into a crystal candy dish and took a mint. Without paying much attention she began unwrapping it…and was startled to find that it was a condom. They were everywhere: in bowls, jars, and dishes all throughout the house. An ounce of prevention, she thought.
The more of the Castle Star saw, the more amazing it seemed. Tennis courts, swimming pools inside and out, a gym, a wine cellar hidden beyond a secret passageway left over from Prohibition, playrooms, a formal ballroom, a television studio, and Marsten’s two-story bedroom and office from which he ran the empire.
More remarkable still were the stars, sports figures, and celebrities who adorned the already lavish rooms and settings.
Many of the celebrated guests were lost on Star. She had spent her childhood and most of her adolescence either on the beach, the volleyball court, or in school. The movies were a sometimes treat, and the TV was usually tuned to some game or game show or other, though she did have her favorites. If Alex Trebek or Wayne Gretzky had walked in, she’d have known him right away, but George Plimpton and Ivana Trump might as well have been the caterers.
“Want something to drink?” Jayne asked as they made their way around the grounds. “Or maybe some food? Here I am showing you around when you may need some refreshment after your trip.”
“Yeah, that would be great,” Star said, knocking into a distinguished-looking gentleman who looked more than a little familiar. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it, young lady,” the man said, grinning at her mischievously. “At my age, I welcome any contact with young women that I can get.”
“Say, don’t I know you?” Star asked, cocking her head playfully.
“Star,” Jayne began the introduction. “This is—”
“Stoney Curtis,” Star said triumphantly. “From The Flintstones!”
“Why, yes, I am,” he said graciously, even more charmed. “And who might you be?”
“I’m Star,” she said, offering her hand. “Star Wood Leigh.”
“Star is here to do the cover for our back-to-school issue,” Jayne explained. “Oh…there’s someone who we’ve been looking for, if you’ll excuse us.”
“Why, certainly,” Tony said, turning back to his companions. “And I’ll be here all evening if you’d like to run into me again.” He smiled and kissed Star’s hand.
