Read Online Living With Miss G by Mearene Jordan - Free Book Online

Perignon did not disturb
her, and when Howard came across to give her a glass, she waved him away,
saying that she had had enough.
Miss G was always convulsed with laughter when she recalled the episode.
“God Almighty, Rene, can you imagine what a dumb little broad I was? Here’s
Howard, he’s given this little moron the time of her life—luxury, jewels,
champagne, dancing, a night on the town—and now he expects his little chick to
fly into his arms. And what’s she doing—reading the comics! What does
Howard do? He blows his top. He brings his hand down and smashes the paper
out of my hands. What do I do? I’m shocked and outraged. I bolt into the
bedroom, lock the door, and shove a heavy chair under the door handle. I’m not
talking to that brute again, ever! Now I’m stuck in this bedroom. Fortunately,
the place is so full of bottles of chilled champagne that there’s half a bottle still
left on the dressing table. I drink that, leap into bed, pull the covers over my
head and sleep.
“I’m awakened at dawn. Dawn! Can you imagine? And there’s a voice at
the door saying, ‘It’s Bappie; open up!’ Where the hell has she come from? How
did she get here? Howard has rung her in L.A., laid on a car to take her to the
airport, laid on a special plane, and another car at San Francisco airport to speed
her to the hotel. She must intervene on his behalf. He’s sorry. He’s full of
apologies. He has all this jewelry he was going to give me as tokens of his true
love. Bappie’s even carrying a piece of the bloody stuff, some diamond and
emerald encrusted necklace. There was a lot more like this back in Howard’s
bedroom. Bappie can’t believe that I’m not interested. I think she would have
given her left and right arms for the stuff. I send her back telling her to tell him
he can stick it all where the monkey stuffs his nuts, and as he’d brought Bappie
up on a private plane, he could bloody well make another one available to take
me back to L.A. now!”
I often wondered about Howard Hughes. How could a man of such
intelligence and courage and inventiveness, a man so worldly, put up with Miss
G? The answer was simple – he was besotted with her. Maybe the fact that
unlike all the other women in his life who after due courting and pursuit had
surrendered, this little Tar Heel from North Carolina refused all his enticements,
all his offers.
He had said, “Ava, you have the perfect body and the perfect beauty. You
are flawless, and therefore you must have perfect things to complete that
flawlessness.” One offer was a huge new yacht. He had already owned one
huge, sleek, shining vessel named the Southern Cross , where he had courted and
captured Katharine Hepburn. He would purchase another, and he and Miss G
would sail the world together. She could choose her own films, her own leading
men and directors and scriptwriters. He would heap upon her furs, jewels, and
wonderful places to live. Not even Robin Hood or the Sultan of Brunei could
have offered more.
Miss G was not appreciative. She was inclined to add, “Rene, I don’t think
he cared if I had perfect brains or a scrap of intelligence, or the ability to argue
with him. Who wants to be flawless? A plaster saint? Hell, you miss all the fun.”
There were other things about Howard Hughes that Miss G found hard to
tolerate, including his proprietary claims. Once Hughes had paid the price, he
was inclined to think he had dominant rights. After Mickey Rooney and Miss G
got divorced after just over a year of fulminating marriage, there was a short
cooling period, and then they renewed their friendship. They were both sexy
youngsters full of springtime urges, and on several occasions an invitation to
dinner culminated in a night in bed. Miss G found this great fun and who did it
offend? They had been married, hadn’t they?
It sure offended Howard Hughes, however. He had spies who reported to
him. They related their suspicions. After all, Miss G was, well