So 5 Minutes Ago (24 page)

I give him a look. “You mean like the Hardy Boys?”

“Actually, I was thinking more the Powerpuff Girls. Or something like the Pentagon. ‘Operation Free DWP.’ Or ‘Operation Screw G to the Wall.’ ”

“How about ‘Operation Do the Right Thing’?” I suggest.

Steven shakes his head. “I won’t be a party to anything named after a Spike Lee movie.”

“What have you got against Spike?” Rachel says in the tone of voice that sounds like she’s only half kidding. Or that she’s had a long day, two martinis, and basically no food.

“Kids, don’t make me send you to your rooms,” I say, trying to calm the waters. Steven and Rachel may be my best friends, but like a lot of Hollywood relationships, they are my friends, not each other’s.

“First of all, I was kidding,” Steven says evenly. “But since you asked, I think he’s an overrated director who plays the race card when it’s to his advantage. The rest of the time he’s just like any filmmaker. Out to make a buck. Including directing commercials for Nike, which is one of the most exploitative companies around.”

“Sorry, for a second my Jewish liberal pieties got the best of me,” Rachel says, reaching for her bag. She pulls out her wallet and tosses down a twenty. “Okay, I’m out of here. We’ve got a marketing meeting in the morning. About our Christmas movies, which I can tell you will suck no matter how many meetings we have, but we’re still going through the motions. But I’ll find out about Jerry and G and call you.”

Rachel slides out, gives me a fast hug, and threads her way through the crowd. “God, she’s
so
great,” Steven says after she’s out of earshot.

I know that tone a mile away. “Oh, stop it,” I say, thrusting my credit card at the waiter as he sails by. “Do you know how hard it is to find an intelligent woman in this town you can stand, let alone trust?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Steven says, reaching for his jacket. “But if she makes you happy, then I’m happy.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“Except I actually mean it.”

“At least someone does,” I say. “Okay, let’s review the plan. You’re going to check the agency records for managers’ names. See if Jerry’s turns up again.”

“Yeah, but that’s easy. You have the harder job. Calling Peg and the Phoenix, shaking them down for more info on G and Jerry. Are you sure you’re up for that? I mean, after what you went through today?”

“No, but someone has to,” I say, when I suddenly have a thought. “But first I’m going to call Troy. There’s something I need to ask him.”

The next morning, I get to the office early to hit the phones. But Suzanne is already ahead of me. When I log on, I have an e-mail from her asking for a recap of my meeting with the Phoenix. I was expecting this, but before I debrief her, I want to try and reach Peg and the Phoenix again if I can. Get a few more ducks in a row. I’m in the middle of answering her e-mail, subtly stalling for time and not so subtly ratting out her assistant for not giving me a heads-up about the bogus
InStyle
piece, when my phone rings. Steven’s out getting coffee, so I impulsively pick up.

“Hello, Alex. Nice to see you’re in so early.”

Fuck.
G.

“Well, it is that time of year,” I say as blandly as I can, still typing the e-mail.

“I also see you visited one of our clients yesterday.”

I stop typing. “Well, it’s been that kind of a week,” I say carefully. There’s a few ways G could know about my visit to the Phoenix. None of them good.

“Well, I’d like to hear about it. Can you stop by my office for a second?”

“Uhm, sure,” I say, vamping frantically. “I was just in the middle of rolling a few calls.”

“Say, in five minutes?”

I close my eyes. “Sure. I’ll be right there.”

G is standing in the middle of his office leafing through
Variety
when I am ushered in.

“So,” he says, not looking up. “Tell me about your visit to our client yesterday. Our very big client with the very big TV deal and the new manager.”

There’s a couple of ways I can play this. Depending on exactly what G knows. Or thinks he knows. But since I have no idea what he knows, or how he knows it, I opt for the bluff.

“Oh, it was nothing. Routine,” I say, shrugging. “Just going over some publicity coming up.”

“Routine?” he says, looking up.

“There’s an
InStyle
piece that I needed to talk to her about and I also wanted to touch base with her about the show. Get a feeling for how much she was willing to do.”

“Really?” he says, eyeing me.

Come on, asshole, show your cards. “Really,” I say, meeting his gaze.

He drops the magazine to the coffee table. “You know, Alex, I thought I made myself fairly clear about the future of this agency and specifically your place in it. Or what could be your place in it. I’m sorry that you don’t seem to understand that.”

Maybe it’s the residual effect of my confrontation with the Phoenix. Or maybe I’m feeling emboldened after meeting with Steven and Rachel last night. Or maybe I’m just sick of nothing being what it should be in this town. That nothing is ever taken at face value. That movies are products, stars are commodities, and what we do is a job. Not a calling.

“Well, then I guess I’m confused,” I say. “Because I assumed doing everything one could to retain the agency’s clients would only be considered supportive of this agency. And of you.”

G looks at me like I’ve struck him. “How very enterprising of you, Alex. In fact, you surprise me. You really do.” He smiles a tight smile and turns toward his desk. “But I suggest you think again about what we talked about the other night. I suggest you rethink your decision. Your decision about exactly how and where to channel your energies. Do I make myself clear?”

I’m tempted to tell him that ship has sailed. That he’s closing the barn door after the horse has escaped. And any other clichés I can think of to describe how pointless his threats are now. That if I was ever inclined to side with him, do his bidding, that I’m certainly not now. “Perfectly,” I say, flashing my own tight smile. “Perfectly.”

“So that was close,” I hiss, as I glide by Steven’s desk and head into my office.

“Right behind you,” he says, leaping up with my latte.

“I think I was just marked for death.” I reach for the coffee, pry off the lid, and take a hit.

“Where were you? Suzanne’s office?”

“G’s.”

“G’s?”

“I think he heard about my visit to the Phoenix from Jerry Gold this morning,” I say, taking another sip of coffee. “Wanted to know what I was doing out there. I played it dumb.”

“Thatta girl.”

“But then, I don’t know. I just got mad.”

“How mad?”

“Well, I didn’t quit or anything. I just said if it wasn’t in the agency’s best interest to try and retain our clients, then I was in the wrong business.”

“You
are
in the wrong business.”

“I know,” I say, flopping into my chair. “I just don’t know what business I should be in. But until I figure that out, I might as well do something useful around here. I mean, if G’s going to fire me along with Suzanne and the rest of us, then let’s give him a reason to fire me.”

“Thatta girl.”

“Will you stop that?” I pull on my headset. “And get back out there. We have a lot to do today.”

By the end of the day, we’re two for two. Rachel’s called with the news that Jerry and G were tight during their time at Sony. More than tight. Used to play golf and hit the Strip together. And Steven’s found Jerry’s name listed in the agency records as the new manager of two more of Suzanne’s clients. Clearly the plan to infect and kill off Suzanne’s client list is spreading with SARS-like speed. In addition to Carla and the Phoenix, Jerry now handles Lily Tattinger and Cybill Shepherd. Lily could be a problem, given that she’s a big new client—twenty-two, blond, bubbly, and the star of the WB’s new hit series
Makin’ It
—but nobody cares if Cybill walks. Actually, everyone would be happier if she did.

But my calls to Peg and the Phoenix have turned up nothing. At least so far. When I tried to reach the Phoenix, I got as far as Tracy. “Okay, can you give her a message? Tell her I have more information about what we spoke about yesterday.”

“Oh, like that’ll get a call back,” Steven says, handing me my fourth latte of the day.

“Well, I’ll just keep calling. I don’t know what else to do,” I say, prying off the lid and taking a sip. “Unless you can find out her cell phone number. You know, from the gay mafia, of which you’re not a member.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Remind me what good you think it will do talking to her again?”

“Like it would be the first time a star changed their mind for no good reason,” I say, shrugging. “Besides, we know more than what I knew yesterday, and I want her to know as well. That it looks like something really is going on with Jerry and G.”

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do. So what did Peg say when you reached her?”

“Basically reamed me a new one.”

“God, you are a glutton for punishment. Tell me what she said. Exactly. It’s so much more fun that way.”

“Maybe for you. Peg likes me and she still scares the hell out of me.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Okay, but only if you promise to get the Phoenix’s cell number,” I say, sighing and launching into my pathetic imitation of Peg. “ ‘Davidson, I don’t know jack about Jerry Gold. Or Doug Graydon, for that matter. But if you or anyone there thinks I place my clients at DWP out of personal loyalty, think again. I put my clients where they can afford it and DWP just happens to be one of the cheapest agencies around.’ ”

“God, I love her,” Steven says.

“No, you don’t. She just confirms your worst fears about women. Frankly, she confirms
my
worst fears about women.”

“Well, at least we can cross her off our list of sources.”

“Yeah,” I say, sinking into my chair. “Which leaves us not much farther along than we were yesterday. Jerry and G are in cahoots to sabotage Suzanne and we haven’t a clue how to stop them.”

“What did you tell Suzanne, by the way, when she asked you about your meeting with the Phoenix?”

“I told her it was inconclusive. Which isn’t, technically, a lie.”

“Good thinking.”

“I figure she’ll know soon enough how it shakes out. We’ll all know. It’s just a question of what we do in the meantime.”

“We could still call the
L.A. Times.
That friend of Rachel’s.”

“And say what? Jerry Gold fired DWP from handling Carla? They already did that story.”

“Well, it was a thought. I was watching
Three Days of the Condor
again last night and that’s how Redford screws his old boss.”

“Honey, it’s a movie,” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t get your expectations up.”

“So what’re we going to do? Nothing?”

“No,” I say, nodding at my phone. “I have one last hope.”

As I pull into the Chateau garage, I try to remember when I first met Troy here. Seems like a lifetime ago, but it must have been, what, September? The start of the fall season when he got that guest-starring gig on Val’s show. That had actually worked out pretty well—a one-off that turned into a recurring role. Now there’s even talk of a Golden Globe nomination.

Still, Troy isn’t any more punctual now than he was then. When I hit the lobby, he’s nowhere to be seen. Actually, given that it’s a Thursday night in the middle of the holiday movie season, the room is packed and it takes me a minute to figure out that Troy is not one of the chic young things holding court here. I scan the room again and spot an empty love seat by the door to the courtyard. I sink into it and pull out the trades. I’ve already read them, but I can’t just sit here staring into space. God forbid you not look frantically busy in Hollywood. Frantically in demand.

I’m actually deep into the real estate ads, just pondering, ordering a drink to help me come down from my four lattes of the day, when I feel a cold, damp muzzle hit my thigh.

“Hey, darlin’.”

I look up. Little Troy Madden and his trusty dog, Miss Sue.

“Hey, you,” I say, reaching for Miss Sue’s ears and rubbing them the way she likes. “Hey,” I say, as Troy sinks down next to me and I catch his familiar smell of leather and cigarette smoke. “Thanks for meeting me.”

Troy gives me one of his good-ole-boy grins. “Well, you know what they say.”

“I probably do, but tell me anyway.”

“If you can’t help out those on your payroll, who can you help?”

“Don’t tell me. Another one of Daddy Madden’s pearls of wisdom?”

“Hey, don’t knock Daddy Madden,” Troy says, his smile widening. “Daddy Madden knows a thing or two. Besides, he likes you.”

“Your dad likes me? Your dad doesn’t even know me.”

“He knows your work. I tell ’em. All those stories about me being on TV and in the magazines. It’s ‘cause of you.”

For a second, I’m tempted to let fly with my usual smart-aleck response. To back Troy into his corner and keep my distance. Maybe it’s the end of a long day, or maybe I know I need his help. Or maybe it’s just easier not to think of one more cynical remark to prove how tough and clever I am. Whatever the reason, I let it go. “Well, thanks,” I say, looking down at Miss Sue and rubbing her ears again. “Thanks.”

“So,” he says, smacking his thighs. “What do you say we get ourselves a drink and you tell me what you need?”

We flag down a waiter and order a beer for me, a Diet Coke “in the can” for him, and a burger, what the hell, between us. A few minutes later, a corner table opens up and we take it.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve been here since that time I first met you,” Troy says, emptying his Coke into a glass.

“Really,” I say, slicing the burger and handing him his half. “I thought you came here all the time.”

“Nah, this place is too much of a scene for me. You know, I meant what I said in court,” he says, gazing around the room. “At least part of it.”

“What part?” I say, my mouth full of burger.

“That Hollywood can wipe the smile off your face.”