My Lucky Star (46 page)

“So,” he concluded, leering in triumph, “I guess we’re about done here. But before we split up I’m gonna give you folks one
last chance to come clean. Stevie, old pal, level with me — is that your voice on that tape?”

His lawyers strongly advised Stephen to answer no further questions. Ignoring them, he shot Grimes a contemptuous look and
said, “Absolutely not.” Grimes went down the line, asking us if we’d admit those were our voices, and we all denied it, clinging
to our tattered forgery defense. All, that is, except Claire, the last in order of appearance and the last to be asked.

“How about you, Miss Simmons?” he asked, his tone pro forma, expecting another frosty denial.

“You really want to know?” asked Claire.

Grimes, thrown, regarded her quizzically.

“Since you ask, yeah, I kinda would.”

“Well, then,” said Claire, “I’ll tell you. On one condition.”

“You’re giving
me
conditions?” asked Grimes with a snide laugh.

“Yes, I am. You can take them or leave them but I won’t answer your question unless they’re met.”

The lawyers leaped frantically to their feet.

“I must advise Miss Simmons that —!”

“Shut up! She’s not your client. What do you want, Claire? Because if it’s immunity, I’ll tell you right now—”

“No, nothing like that. All I ask is that there be no officers present except you and your brother. No lawyers either. Send
them away, then we’ll talk.”

The lawyers, of course, argued vociferously against this. But Rusty, though clearly loath to take orders from a pushy lady
screenwriter, did seem intrigued.

“Any particular reason?” he asked.

“If you agree my reasons will be clear soon enough. And of course nothing will prevent you or anyone here from sharing my
comments with your colleagues or attorneys later.”

Rusty seemed literally to chew on this, twisting his lips like a stumped sommelier.

“What the hell,” he said finally. “I’m willing to humor her. If the rest of you don’t mind.”

Moira said she had no objection, then stared pointedly at Stephen, clearly advising him to agree. Stephen, thoroughly confused,
looked to Claire.

“You know it’s for the best,” she said earnestly. Stephen, who knew nothing of the sort, turned his questioning gaze to me.
I nodded vigorously, my imploring eyes conveying that, if there was to be any hope for us at all, it was time to let Claire
be Claire. He hesitated briefly, then asked his counsel to leave.

“That way, please,” said Claire, indicating the conference room from which Rex had entered. There was much balking and stern
admonitions, but eventually the disgruntled lawyers and lawmen filed out, heads cocked defiantly with the frayed dignity of
the banished.

When they’d gone Grimes made a mock courtly gesture and said, “I believe the floor is yours, Miss Simmons.”

“Thank you,” said Claire, rising. “To begin with the obvious, you have absolutely no case.”

“I’m not interested in your legal analysis.”

“Well, you’re going to get it. You have no case whatsoever against Moira, Monty, or Lily. You have, alas, an excellent case
against these two,” she added, indicating me and Officer Selwyn. “They did something extraordinarily foolish and illegal.
But they did it for a good cause and when we’re done I don’t think you’ll care to press charges.” This gave the Grimes boys
their heartiest laugh so far.

“Oh, you don’t?” hooted Hank.

“No,” she replied serenely, “I don’t. But we’ll get back to that. Let’s start with Moira. You have two witnesses against her
—a drug-abusing hustler and Rex. You have his tape too, of course, but you fail to see how worthless it is.”

“Worthless, is it? If you’re still peddling that forgery line —”

“What I mean,” said Claire, “is that all you have is the audio and no one’s word save Rex’s for what’s actually going on.
As his slurred diction makes amply clear, the man’s blind drunk start to finish. How can a jury possibly credit his subsequent
claims of what he
thinks
he remembers seeing?”

“Good point!” said Stephen.

Rusty replied that though Rex’s recall might not be 100 percent accurate, Stephen’s pillow talk left few doubts as to what
he and Oscar were up to. He also noted that we were trying to have it both ways, arguing on the one hand that Rex had forged
the tape and on the other that he’d drunkenly imagined what he’d seen. Which was it?

Claire, unruffled, said she preferred to focus for now on the charge that Moira was running a brothel.

“Is there any point on the tape where the subject of money or payment is broached, even obliquely?”

“No,” conceded Grimes, “but the tape starts with Stephen getting it on with a Les Étoiles masseur.”

“Does it? We only have Rex’s word for that. I didn’t hear anything but a lot of moaning and grunting—noises perfectly consistent
with a man getting a deep-tissue massage.”

“You’re forgetting we have Rex’s confession that he himself purchased sex at the spa.”

“Ah,” said Monty, “but he didn’t.”

“Okay,” snapped Rusty, getting testy. “Technically he says
you
picked up the tab as a birthday gift.”

“Balderdash!” said Monty, who then turned to Claire. “May I?”

“Please.”

“I paid for Rex to have a massage. Nothing less and certainly nothing more. It so happened the masseur, an aspiring actor,
recognized Rex from his show and, hoping to further his career, offered his favors. Rex told me all about it, boasting in
the most nauseating manner about his ageless sex appeal. Finally, to shut him up, I told him that the spa was a discreet brothel,
that I’d arranged and paid for the sex as a surprise gift, and that when the masseur had laid eyes on Rex he’d doubled his
fee. A bit mean of me perhaps, but you’d have done the same if you’d just spent an hour watching Rex fluff his curls and admire
his shapely ankles.”

Monty then faced Moira, his manner abashed and contrite. “I should have realized a gossip like Rex would repeat my cruel fib
to others. I never dreamed though that it would gain such wide currency. Forgive me, Miss Finch, for giving birth to the scurrilous
rumors that have plagued your fine establishment.”

“Apology accepted,” said Moira magnanimously.

“So,” continued Claire, “I’d guess your other star witness, the junkie, got wind of the rumors and, when he landed in hot
water, decided to exploit them to save his skin. Still think you have enough to charge Moira?”

“Damn right I do!” snarled Rusty, but his assurance seemed more forced now and his cocksure grin had vanished. “If you don’t
mind, Miss Simmons, this whole damn sideshow began with my asking you a simple yes-or-no question. Is that your voice on the
tape or not?”

“Oh, yes, of course it’s me,” said Claire lightly. “It’s all of us.”

“You
traitor!
” howled Diana, rising in fury. “How DARE you suggest such a thing!”

Stephen too sprang to his feet, stunned by his savior’s apparent betrayal.

“This is
bullshit!
” he shouted. “I want my lawyers back in here!”

“No! Just hear her out!” I beseeched him, tugging pathetically at his sleeve. To be honest, I was miffed at Claire myself
for doing such a bang-up job of exonerating Moira while merely complimenting Rusty on the excellence of his case against Gilbert
and me. But surely she was going
someplace
with this bold admission.

Claire approached Stephen, placed her hands on his shoulders, and gazed intently into his eyes. Her voice was firm yet soothing,
as though she’d had years of experience as a star whisperer.

“I know this is hard for you, Stephen, but he’s forced our hand.
Trust me
. This is the only way we can put this whole affair behind us once and for all. Now sit down please and let me finish.”

Stephen obeyed but his hollow eyes suggested that he did so less out of any real faith in Claire than from a bitter conviction
that all was lost and there was no sense struggling while they fastened the electrodes. Claire then turned to Grimes, her
gaze crisp yet courageous like Emma Thompson playing Portia.

“It’s clear to me that from the beginning this whole case has not been about pandering or extortion, neither of which crime
occurred. It’s been about your hatred of Stephen and determination to ruin his life and career.”

“Like hell!”

“It never occurred to you that by pursuing your vendetta you might bring great harm and embarrassment to others as well, people
who’d done nothing to warrant your scorn or to suffer from your obsession. We’ve done everything in our power to protect these
people. But we can do so no longer.

“Yes, your so-called evidence captures Stephen in the throes of passion with another man. But the man was not a prostitute,
nor was he unknown to Stephen. What you have on that tape is a simple massage interrupted by a surprise romantic tryst, abetted
by Moira, who, like hoteliers the world over, was discreetly catering to the romantic needs of a VIP guest. Excuse me please.”

She exited to the outer office, where we heard her ask Dottie to fetch Grimes a cup of coffee. “Don’t bring it in though.
He’ll come out for it.”

We heard the door to the hallway open and close. Then Claire returned. She gave Stephen a strange smile, at once wry and compassionate,
then, looking back to the outer office, beckoned for someone to enter.

Into the room walked Oscar.

Or, at least, Oscar from the neck up. The expressionless gold mask completely covered his head but beneath it he was clad
in a navy turtleneck and jeans. But as soon as the door closed behind him he swiftly peeled off the turtleneck, revealing
his magnificent gilded torso.

It was an electric moment and one that triggered a wide range of responses, from Stephen and Gina’s saucer-eyed horror to
the Grimes boys’ irate confusion. Diana teetered on the brink of a picturesque swoon while Lily clapped her hands like a little
girl who’s seen a magic trick. Monty and Gilbert just stared transfixed at the golden pectorals, their faces ablaze with curiosity
as though wondering, “Do the pants come off too? Will he
dance?
”

“What kind of cheap fucking stunt is this?” bellowed Rusty, red-faced and truculent.

“This ‘stunt,’ ” replied Claire, “is the person we’ve been trying to protect — Stephen’s former lover. I think it’s time he
introduced himself.”

She nodded to Oscar, who whipped off the mask, revealing the freckled, defiantly smiling face of Billy Grimes.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” remarked Dad.

Stephen stared a moment, vaguely recognizing him but unable at first to place him. Then it hit him and a smile exploded on
his face, for he’d instantly grasped the simplicity and genius of Claire’s plan to save him.

“Stephen!” cried Billy.

“Darling!” throbbed Stephen, who’d never been good with names.

“Billy!” I exclaimed for Stephen’s benefit. Gilbert and I exchanged a euphoric glance, for we too saw in a flash how masterfully
Claire had checkmated the enemy.

At last all the morning’s mysteries were rendered clear. Claire had gone to Moira to get the costume and she’d needed the
disk to show Billy. She’d known the steamy footage would stir him profoundly. She’d known too that it would illustrate the
peril his hero now faced, a peril from which Billy alone could save him. How noble of Billy, how selfless to fall on the grenade
of his father’s wrath in order to rescue his unworthy idol!

“Who the fuck is this?” asked Gina with understandable pique.

“It’s my goddamn son, that’s who!” hollered Rusty, who now resembled an enraged tomato.

Stephen, bashfully facing Gina, said, “This is Billy. He and I had...we were—”

“Boyfriends,” said Billy with a dash more pride than was quite seemly when informing the missus.

“What kind of bullshit is this?!” demanded Hank.

“It’s the truth,” said Claire. “What we’ve been trying to keep quiet for both Stephen and Billy’s sake while you’ve been trying
to splash it all over the front page.”

On hearing the words “Billy,” “Stephen,” and “front page” so alarmingly juxtaposed Rusty recoiled and sat as though suddenly
dizzy. Spinning his chair, he cast an anxious eye out the window at the street below where the ever-growing press mob was
clamoring for news and filling the airwaves with greasy conjecture. He shut his eyes tightly like a toddler about to throw
a tantrum.

“NO!
NO WAY!
I’M NOT FUCKING BUYING THIS!”

“It’s the truth!” proclaimed Billy, throwing a gilded arm around Stephen. Again, an understandable impulse, but bad form in
front of the wife.

“Show him the picture,” said Claire and Billy produced a laminated photo and presented it proudly to his father. I caught
a glimpse and saw that it was the photo I’d taken at the Finch/Donato launch party. There they were, the picture of young
love, with Billy grinning up a storm as Stephen planted a big smooch on his cheek. It was a good thing Billy had laminated
his keepsake, as Dad’s first impulse after wincing in disgust was to tear it up. He clawed helplessly at the plastic and Billy
snatched it away.

“That’s my property!”

“Take it! And put your damn shirt back on!”

Rusty wheeled menacingly on Stephen, who regarded his nemesis with manly defiance but seemed nonetheless eager to keep the
desk between them.

“You sick fuck, Donato! You did this just to get back at me!”

Stephen, who’d never had more riding on a performance, threw himself into his role with passionate intensity.

“You think everything’s about you, don’t you, Rusty? Well it’s not! This was about Billy and me finding each other!”

“You tell him, Stephen!”

“I could have cleared this all up weeks ago but I didn’t ’cause I was determined to protect Billy from you, you smug, self-righteous
bigot!”

You may recall that when Billy first poured Stephen and me drinks at Vici I remarked on his uncanny ability to teleport himself
across the bar in his eagerness to serve his idol. This gift clearly ran in the family because Rusty now popped across the
room like a bad edit and decked Stephen with a right hook that sent him careening onto the coffee table, landing painfully
on a small replica of a Sopwith Camel.