The Man Who Died Laughing (22 page)

Hoag:
He told me Gabe was the one who drew that line, that Gabe demanded a musical.

Wright:
That was only to save face. Gabe had never expressed any interest in doing a musical. Not until he got wind that Artie wanted to do a picture without him. I talked Gabe into at least reading the script for
Gray Flannel Suit.
He did, and he said it was a stupid picture—which it was—but only because Artie made it plain he didn’t want him involved in it.

Hoag:
Did Sonny back down and write in a part for him?

Wright:
Absolutely not.

Hoag:
I see. That’s a little different than the version I heard.

Wright:
Sonny Day wasn’t perfect. You ought to know that by now.

Hoag:
So what happened?

Wright:
The studio took Artie’s side, of course. He was the indispensable one. They gave Gabe forty-eight hours to think it over. I tried to get the two of them to talk to each other. They resisted. I said, after all you’ve meant to each other, you can at least have lunch. They met at Dave Chasen’s. They were through as partners before the entrée came.

Hoag:
You’re saying they fought over this movie?

Wright:
It’s like I told you before—those two fought because they were seriously sick of each other.

Hoag:
Connie threw Sonny a big birthday party the night before. Gabe was there.

Wright:
A lovely affair. I remember it well. That was the night Gabe showed me what kind of actor he was. He gave Artie a lovely speech. He cried. He was very moving. Genuinely. Just like the other day at the funeral. The way he broke down. You think he felt any loss from Artie’s death? No, sir. He loathed the man.

Hoag:
Gabe told me he loved him.

Wright:
He’s never loved anybody in his whole life. Only himself. No surprise, him going into politics. Watch him move right up. A cabinet post. Then a candidacy.

Hoag:
President Knight?

Wright:
Sound crazy to you?

Hoag:
Actually, no. It doesn’t. Are you aware of any kind of personal conflict between Gabe and Sonny? Something that cut deeper than their professional differences?

Wright:
Such as what?

Hoag:
Such as an involvement between Gabe and Connie.

Wright:
I don’t talk about stuff like that.

Hoag:
Stuff like what?

Wright:
Smut. Gossip. I’m an attorney, a businessman. What people do between the sheets is none of my business. Or of the readers of Artie’s book.

Hoag:
I see.

Wright:
Don’t see. Don’t see anything. Connie Morgan is one of the finest, loveliest women I’ve ever known. She’s also a client. You lift one finger to harm her or her reputation and you’ll have me for an enemy, and you won’t like it.

Hoag:
I wouldn’t do anything that wasn’t in the best interests of the family. Wanda seems to feel—

Wright:
Leave Wanda out of it, too. She’s had enough problems, the poor kid.

Hoag:
Did Sonny mention anything to you about getting a threatening letter?

Wright:
When?

Hoag:
A few weeks ago.

Wright:
No.

Hoag:
Any idea of why someone would have sent him one?

Wright:
No. No idea.

Hoag:
Are you aware that he and I hit a kind of impasse shortly before his death?

Wright:
I know what he told me.

Hoag:
Which was?

Wright:
That you stopped trusting him. That the two of you fought and you went home to New York, mad. He told me he missed you and kept wanting to call you.

Hoag:
When did he tell you this?

Wright:
That night. His last night.

Hoag:
By phone.

Wright:
No. I was there.

Hoag:
You were at Sonny’s house the night of the murder?

Wright:
Yes. I’m here at the office very late. It wasn’t unusual for me to stop by his place for a nightcap on my way home. See how he was doing.

Hoag:
You don’t say. I don’t recall your dropping by since I’ve been here.

Wright:
That’s because I didn’t want to bother you two. I know how important chemistry is between creative people.

Hoag:
I see.

Wright:
Artie, he wasn’t doing so well that night. He was real upset about what happened between you and him.

Hoag:
Did you have any other reason for stopping by?

Wright:
I don’t know what you mean.

Hoag:
When I told you we intended to discuss your early career with Bugsy Siegel in the book, you seemed bothered. I wondered if perhaps you discussed it with him that night.

Wright: (silence)
It came up.

Hoag:
Did you ask him to leave it out?

Wright:
Let’s say I pointed out that he wouldn’t exactly be giving me a shot in the arm by mentioning Benny and the old days. Especially the business about the missing money. …

Hoag:
So that did happen?

Wright:
Whether it did or didn’t is immaterial.

Hoag:
What’s material?

Wright:
My personal health and well-being. Not all of those old-timers are dead and gone. A couple I can think of are still damned powerful. And they never, ever, forgive.

Hoag:
You mean after all of these years you’re still afraid you’ll be found floating facedown in your pool?

Wright:
Don’t mock me. You don’t know them.

Hoag:
What did Sonny say when you told him this?

Wright:
He said it was very important to him that the book be honest. I understood that, but I told him I didn’t think he had to drag
me
into his goddamned therapy. I thought he was being selfish and inconsiderate and I told him so.

Hoag:
What did he say?

Wright:
He said, “It matters to me. And if it matters to me …”

Hoag:
“It
matters?
And what did you say?

Wright:
I never bullshitted Artie. I told him he was leaving me with no choice but to send a letter to his publisher’s attorney, threatening legal action if there was any mention in the book about my past or my previous associations.

Hoag:
How did he react to that?

Wright:
He had a drink. And then … he had another drink. Started getting ugly. Then started sobbing. The usual routine. I tried to put him to bed, but he yelled at me to get lost. So I went home.

Hoag:
What time was that?

Wright:
A little before one, I think.

Hoag:
Just before he called me.

Wright:
I wouldn’t know about that.

Hoag:
Who else was there at the house?

Wright:
Vic. He went to bed while I was there.

Hoag:
Wanda?

Wright:
She was out.

Hoag:
Do the police know you were there that night?

Wright:
Do I look stupid? I tell them I was there, it’ll be all over tomorrow’s papers. I’ve worked very hard to build my reputation. That’s all I need, to be linked to Artie’s murder.

Hoag:
Surely there’s nothing incriminating about an old friend stopping by for a drink.

Wright:
I’ve seen dozens of careers made and destroyed on nothing more than rumors. I told that Lamp nothing about it. None of his business. Artie was alive when I left. I’m telling you because we’re on the same side—Artie’s side. Sure, I know what you’re thinking about me at this very minute—rough background, prison record, buddy of Benny Siegel. He’d have no problem pulling a trigger. Wrong. I run the largest talent agency in the world. I’m a respected business leader. I don’t pull triggers. That’s the truth.

Hoag:
Thank you for being so honest with me.

Wright:
I never lie to a client. That’s the secret to my success. So listen, Hoag, now that Sonny’s gone and you’re carrying on, I hope you’ll see things my way.

Hoag:
What way is that?

Wright:
That it isn’t necessary to drag my yesterdays into this book. Who needs lawsuits, right? You know, you’re a bright, creative person. Good looking. Make a nice impression.

Hoag:
I’m a helluva guy.

Wright:
You’d make a helluva producer.

Hoag:
I’m a writer.

Wright:
Producing
is
writing—without a typewriter. You’ll love it. And I think you can be a big, big success at it. I’d like to take your career over. Handle you personally.

Hoag:
This is a real honor.

Wright:
Why not? I got packages all over both coasts. No reason not to cut you in on them. For Artie’s sake. All I have to do is pick up the phone. Or not …

Hoag:
Or not?

Wright:
Artie ever tell you the saying they used to have about me in the old neighborhood?

Hoag:
No, he didn’t,

Wright:
Then I’ll tell you, and it’s something to keep in mind if you ever want to earn another dollar in this or any other town: “Don’t mess with the Heshman.” Think it over, huh?

(end tape)

“Y
OU KNOW, I COULD
actually make out better by not going ahead with this book.”

“How so?” she asked, her big toe lazily caressing my calf under the sheet.

“Harmon. Gabe. They’ve both made it plain they’d take care of me financially—if I were to back off.”

“You won’t. You’ll finish it, and you’ll finish it in the right way.”

“You were so against it before. Why are you so for it now?”

“Because I know what it means to you. I know you.”

I smiled. “Just about.”

It was past midnight and we were in Sonny’s bed, where it started, where we always returned. For lighting there was the small fire I’d built in the fireplace. For refreshment there was the bottle of Dom Perignon, which was in a bucket on the floor next to Lulu, who was busy staring down the tub of beluga that sat on the bed. Caviar is an unusual taste for a dog, but not for a dog who likes mackerel. I spooned some onto a square of toast and gave it to her. She almost took a finger with it. Then I refilled the glasses and Wanda took hers and she said “skoal” and it was the wrong thing to say.

It belonged to another midnight snack. Another bed. The one at Blakes’ Hotel in London, when Merilee and I were on our honeymoon. Together. Perfect. Forever. I got out of bed and went out onto the terrace. But the wave of melancholy found me out there and crashed over me just the same. It had all seemed so right that night in London. It
had
been right. It still was.

“What’s wrong?” Wanda called to me from inside.

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

I came back inside and put another log on the fire. It was pine and very dry. It burned quickly.

“My memory,” I said.

“What about it?”

“It’s a damned good one.”

She reached for a cigarette and lit it. “I guess I know what’s bothering you. You’re thinking about how sorry you are. Sorry you got started with me.”

“No. Never.”

“Then why are you shutting me out? What is it?”

“It’s Merilee.” I drained my glass. “It always will be Merilee.”

“Oh.”

“You’ve made me feel alive again, Wanda. For that I’m grateful. Very grateful. But I’m not over her. It’s not over. You’ve made me realize that.”

“I thought she was married to Zack—”

“She is. For now.”

She shook her head. “Nice try, Hoagy. I’ll make it easy for you. I’ll take it from here. You’ve gotten your rocks off sixty-two different ways and now you’re starting to ask yourself questions. Questions like: ‘Am I the one who’s going to straighten her out?’ ‘Am I the one who’s finally going to make her happy?’ ‘Am I going to have to dump her, like all the others did?’ That’s
really
it, isn’t it, Hoagy? See, I’ve been through this before. Believe me, I’ve been through it.”

“Nice work. You managed to trash both of us without even working up a sweat.”

“Fuck you.”

“It’s not as if this kind of thing happens to me every week. Or ever.”

“It’s not like I tell guys about Gabe and Mommy every week,” she told me back. “Or ever.”

I let her have that one.

She put out her cigarette and lit another. “I thought we were doing okay, Hoagy.”

“We were. But it can’t go on.”

“You’re going back to New York?”

“As soon as I can.”

“Last time I was in New York,” she said, “I saw a fender-bender between two cabs on Sixth Avenue. The drivers got in an argument right there in the middle of the street and started shoving each other. Instead of trying to break it up, all the people on the sidewalks were yelling, ‘Hit him! Hit him!’ I could never live in a place like that, where there’s so much hate.”

“You mentioned once that this place isn’t real. That is. Hate is real.”

“Connecticut is nice. I was happy there.”

“That’s right. You lived there on the farm with Connie. Did you know he was never out there? Not once. He never even saw the place.”

“No, I didn’t. That’s amazing. What else … what did he tell you about me?”

“Really want to know?”

“Uh-huh.”

“That he cherished you. And that when you started to withdraw, to …”

“To get weird.”

“… he thought God was punishing him.”

“Perfect.” She sighed and slumped against the pillows.

I poured the last of the champagne into her glass and had some of the beluga. Lulu still hadn’t taken her eyes off it.

“This is where I belong,” Wanda said. “L.A. I belong here.”

“Ah.”

She suddenly jumped out of bed and stood glaring down at me, her hands on her hips, her long, naked flanks tensed. “What’s that mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Didn’t sound like
nothing.
Sounded like ‘Okay, Wanda. Whatever you say, Wanda. You’re the basket case, Wanda.’”