Chapter 1
In order to understand all the loving couples, you have to understand the San Fernando Valley, a suburb over the hill from Hollywood and Beverly Hills.
From the Hollywood Hills and Mulholland Drive when you look down on the San Fernando Valley you would think it was no different than any other suburb. You would be wrong to think that.
Most of the residents of the San Fernando Valley have their roots in the entertainment business. And those who work at Lockheed or Hughes or the General Motors Plant rub shoulders with the others and some of that glamour and excitement rubs off on them.
Homes range from $20,000 tract cottages to $250,000 palaces and cars range from four wheels and a motor to Isotas and Ghias. But the people have the stamp of sameness.
As it does in Los Angeles where an address in Beverly Hills is considered posh and a home across Doheny Drive ten feet away not so posh, it is the same in the Valley where homes in the hills south of Ventura Boulevard look down with disdain on homes north of the boulevard.
When the residents want action they drive over the various canyon roads to Hollywood and go to previews, premiers, the theatre, or to Chavez Ravine, Hollywood Race Track or the Music Center.
Or there is another alternative. They go to a party in the Valley. There are many of them every night and with them the humdrum of the routine is quickly broken. A party suggests a challenge-who needs Hollywood with its immorality, its fun and its lack of convention?
You can have the same thing at a party-or at least give it a try.
So that's what this is all about, a party in San Fernando Valley among what we call Valleyites. At this party there were just eight people, six of them bored people, one an ambitious person and one resigned to sinking into the abyss of immorality.
You might say this is a true adventure because the author lived through many such parties, with similar people and similar experiences. If belief that this party was a true story will help you enjoy it more, you have my word it happened with just minor variations.
Mitch pushed into his newly-washed convertible, shoving aside bags of pretzels and potato chips he had bought for the evening. He took a pair of dark glasses out of the dashboard compartment and squeezed them down on his nose. They didn't fit right.
He grimly made note that even his nose was gaining weight and he thought about going back on a diet again for the fifth time.
He drove up Broadway and onto the Hollywood Freeway, nimbly falling into the speeding traffic without a wait. "Damn it," he thought, "that's why you have to buy a good car. Not just for looks but for safety." He'd have to remember to tell Liz that. She was always criticizing him for spending so much.
He grinned thinking of Liz. He wondered how many other men could think their wife was the best damn piece of tail in Los Angeles after all these years. Then a dark thought passed his mind but he shrugged it off.
It was Friday night. Party night. He didn't want to think of any problems.
Traffic zoomed along. He turned on the news. Wars. The kind of wars that were undeclared and nobody won or lost. He likened them to baseball games that had no ending. Men were slaughtered but it was uninteresting to him.
He pressed a button and got KHJ, the rock music station. Liz had been fooling around with the buttons again. Why in hell couldn't she leave his goddamn buttons alone. He'd have to remember to tell her.
He jockeyed the car so he could speed into the Ventura Freeway. It was hot and even though it was late in the day and he drove a convertible he couldn't wait to get home and into the pool.
He liked to swim nude. Especially when Liz swam nude with him. But he doubted if he could get her into the pool this night. Party nights at their house she was too busy playing hostess.
"Keep the maid around," he'd tell Liz, but she thought their kind of parties were too rough for Marie. He didn't think so. Marie had a cute ass, even if it was a black one. He'd like to pack into that on a rainy night sometime.
Liz would have some crazy excuse why she couldn't swim with him. Well, a guy couldn't have everything. He had more than most and he was satisfied. For the things that weren't right, well, they weren't Liz's fault.
The Venutra Freeway was a mess. Traffic crawled along. The car in front of him never moved ahead enough to the car that was directly in front of it. Mitch cursed him but he didn't blow his horn. He hated horn-blowers. They were invariably unwashed fat men.
The last 20 minutes before he got to the Woodland Hills off-ramp bugged him more than ever. He amused himself by cursing the driver in front of him via a long string of cuss words to the tune of a rock tune on the radio.
When he finally got off the freeway he drove the car angrily. He was hot, impatient and bugged.
It was even hotter in the Valley but he liked it out here. There were green lawns, and long, ranch-style houses in the $50,000-and-up category-a dash of class to the neighborhood.
He checked his watch. Forty-five minutes for a drive he could make in twenty when there was no traffic. "Shit!" he said very loud and he felt better for saying it.
It pleased him as he passed neighboring homes to see Cadillacs, Continentals and neat foreign cars in driveways. Mitch knew he wasn't a snob, but he felt more comfortable among people who didn't have to be envious of him.
He rolled to what he believed was the nicest house on the block, his own. Every time he saw it, he appreciated it. It was just right for him-expensive, but homey. It had been a good investment.
He had to stop half way up the drive to pick up a three-wheel bicycle. It wasn't his own kids.' He was away at military school. It belonged to a neighbor. It didn't bother him. He liked his neighbors to have fun on his grounds.
Mitch climbed back into the car and drove it into the carport. "Jeez," he thought, "early thirties, I bend to pick up a bike and I'm breathing hard. I've got to swim more or exercise more. Or something."
He always said that to himself but he never altered his normal routine.
He got out of his car, arms full of crackling cellophane bags and tried to pat the station wagon he had parked next to. He examined a fender. Another scratch. When in hell would Liz learn to drive! He decided he wouldn't say anything. Christ, not a scratch on his and hers was newer.
He shifted his packages and activated the lawn sprinklers. That was another thing. If he didn't do it no one would until the gardener came, and he only came twice a week. The lawn needed more water than that.
But he decided he wouldn't bring that up either. It was Friday night, party night, and he wanted Liz in a good mood.
With packages back in his arms, he had to step nimbly like a broken field runner to avoid the sprays of water. He ran all the way to the entrance.
That was when he noticed Liz standing there in chartreuse lounging pajamas, frosted glass in hand, a smile of welcome on her pretty face.
He always got a thrill of pleasure when he saw Liz. God, he was glad he had married her and nobody else. There had been a lot of broads. A couple of times when he got boxed into a corner he almost got hooked but a kind fate didn't let him make that mistake.
The drink was for him like always. She just handed it to him and he drank it down fast, the gin searing his upset stomach. Then he gave her a husbandly kiss.
He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her tight but he thought that would look too emotional for a hot, late summer afternoon.
Instead he said casually, "Love you," like he always did. He handed her the glass. That's the only way he got a charge anymore out of liquor, drink it down fast. This one hit him hard. He felt lighter and for a moment he tried to collect his worries but he couldn't do it.
"One of those days?" Liz asked.
Mitch nodded. "Typical Friday. Always something at the last minute." He looked sombre. He liked Liz feeling sorry for him. He tried to think of what had happened at the last minute and he couldn't remember. Well, something bad must have happened. It always did.
She kissed him tenderly.
"Christ," he thought, "I'm a lucky bastard." Then he realized how hot it was. The air was heavy and the exertion of running from the carport had made him perspire.
He struggled with the knot in his tie and got it open. "I'm going to take a dip," he said.
Liz nodded approval. "Then I'll bring your dinner out."
He knew what kind of a dinner. Friday night, the maid was off and Liz had enough trouble preparing for the guests.
"TV dinner? Well done?"
"That's right. It's Friday."
Mitch grimaced. Well, he thought, he was getting too damn heavy anyway and he shouldn't be eating big meals. He added to his thoughts, "I'll have a couple of sandwiches after the party gets going."
As he thought, he peeled off his clothes while walking through the house and through the sliding glass doors that led to the pool.
As he dropped each garment, Liz picked them up. It was a ritual. When she dropped her clothes, he picked them up. They each got a kick out of it.
When he reached the eight-foot deep side of the pool he was naked. And Liz was standing there with an armful of clothes. She put them in a chair and walked to the edge of the pool as he dived in.
Swimming made him feel sexy. He wished she'd forget the damn party and jump in the pool with him. He echoed that thought out loud but Liz just stood there smiling, shaking her head.
"Stubborn bitch," he thought. "Just like all women, they develop a plan and never deviate." With men it was different. He'd often plan and then make changes according to the way the wind blew. That made more sense.
Mitch cut the water fast from end to end. It felt good. He could still slice through the water at high speed. He surfaced.
Liz was calling to him. His ears were full of water and he couldn't hear her so he moved right under her.
"What?" he asked.
She was laughing. "You took off everything except your watch."
He looked at his watch below the water with chagrin on his face.
"Son-of-a-bitch," he said. "What a way to find out if it's really waterproof." He unstrapped it and held it up to her.
When she ruffled his wet hair, he made a grab for her to pull her into the pool.
"Uh-uh," she said, "it's after seven and our guests will be arriving soon."
"Screw them," he said. "What's more important, me or our disreputable friends?"
"Furthermore you just paid $15 for this hair-do."
That reached him. No matter how successful Mitch became, no matter how much he earned, he never wasted money. Not that he was cheap, he mused, but it was too hard to earn to toss it away.
When he swam away from Liz obviously convinced, she laughed, "You're hopeless," she said. "I swear if it cost money to breathe, I'll bet you'd hold your breath." But she said it kindly, not critically.
Mitch well remembered their first year of marriage when money was tight. He never wanted to go through that again. He remembered them driving to Palm Springs for a vacation in an old Opel that broke down twice on the way.
And when they got to bed Liz had forgotten her diaphragm. It was before she started taking the pill. She cried in his arms and they both were naked and he couldn't stand it anymore and he raped her-that's what he did. She was struggling and screaming that they couldn't afford a child but he was a raving maniac he loved her so. And then when he managed to force his way inside and he was pounding crazily into her she was moaning out loud, "Please don't come into me." Everybody in the cheap motel must have heard them.
But he didn't care by this time. He was out of control. He did come into her and all the while he did she punched at him with her puny little fists until he was spent. And then she cried some more. My God how he loved her. And that's when the youngster was conceived. In passion.
They were broke but somehow they got through it. He swam back and forth counting as he went. He'd just do 20 laps tonight because it was late. Usually he did thirty.
"Liz, Liz," he repeated her name over and over. The things she went through and she never lost faith in him. That's what amazed him. When he was sure he'd always be a miserable failure, she was sure he'd make it.
What made her so strong? Hell, she was a Vassar graduate. Her parents were major stockholders in a famous soft drink company. She always had it plush when she was a girl. But with him she handled every kind of hardship without a complaint.
"Christ, what a wonderful woman," he thought.