If some of the stars spent as much time in bed as the gossip columnists would have you believe, they would have ended up in a wheelchair at thirty, exhausted but with a happy grin on their faces. There were some who lived up to their reputations. The only one I really knew was Errol Flynn. Errol did try to get me into his infamous bed but her never succeeded.
It was the only party I ever attended at Errol’s home. There was the usual evening swim with a few of the guests nude. Errol had stocked the house with an assortment of young and luscious starlets and they were available for any of his male guests who felt a sudden urge. It was all typical of Errol Flynn; his clippings were not exaggerated.
I declined the swim and sat nursing a drink at the poolside, enjoying the occasional screech of feigned delight from one of the girls in the pool as a fellow grabbed and gave chase. Frankly, I was bored with it and decided to go home.
Errol showed me to the door. He was handsome, that devil. He looked in my eyes and slipped his arm around my waist. His hand slipped down and clamped tightly on my rear end.
“I think we should go and make use of a special bedroom I have, Ronni,” he said.
“I have a special bedroom I’m going to make use of, Errol,” I replied. “It’s my own and I’m going to sleep in it.”
He took his hand away, kissed me on the cheek and smiled.
“As you wish, Miss Lake.”