L.A. Times

by Stuart Woods

  “Give me one more shot at him,” Vinnie said. “After all, he won’t pay you if he’s dead. I’ll have him on schedule by next collection day.”

  “All right, Vinnie, I’ll leave it in your hands.”

  “Right, Mr. B. I’ll take care of it right away.” He turned to go.

  “And Vinnie?”

  Vinnie stopped. “Yeah, Mr. B.?”

  “I’m holding you responsible.”

  Vinnie didn’t like the sound of that. He got out fast.

  Later in the day Vinnie sat in on a casting session in a basement room at NYU and watched actors read for the three principal male roles. Vanessa Parks was reading with them, and Vinnie didn’t like what he heard. He thought she had the makings of an actress, but she was too young for the part, too inexperienced for the role. A week of rehearsals started in a few days. Time was short.

  He got up and went to a pay phone.

  “Yeah?” Tommy Pro said.

  “Tommy, it’s Vinnie. I need some personnel,” Vinnie said.

  “What kind?”

  “Somebody with some medical training and a knowledge of drugs. A little muscle wouldn’t hurt.”

  “I think I know what’s in your mind, Vinnie,” Tommy said. Vinnie could hear him grinning. “When?”

  “Over the weekend.” Vinnie could hear pages turning.

  “Roxanne,” Tommy said. “She’s an R.N. Them that knows her well calls her Roxy Graziano.”

  “Perfect,” Vinnie said.

  At 3:00 A.M. Vinnie turned into an upper-middle-class street in Queens and cruised slowly down the block, checking each window in each house. Not a light was on. He spotted the Cadillac, parked in a driveway; the house number was right. Vinnie drove to the end of the block, made a U-turn, and came slowly back, his headlights off. He parked and got out.

  The device was a quart bottle of gasoline and a detonator with a two-minute fuse. Looking carefully up and down the street, he approached the Cadillac, set the device on the ground under the gas tank, and activated it. He walked quickly back to his car and drove away, not hurrying.

  At the end of the block, he turned the corner, then stopped. He could still see the Cadillac. There was a “whomp” sound as the detonator lit the gasoline, then, after a short delay, a big fireball of an explosion. Vinnie smiled to himself and drove back toward Manhattan. The sonofabitch would pay on time now.

  The following afternoon Vinnie dressed in his blue pinstriped suit and met Roxanne in a delicatessen on West Eighth Street. “It’s a short walk,” he said.

  “Suits me.”

  Roxanne was a good six feet tall and weighed about a hundred and sixty, Vinnie guessed. She listened to him as they walked, nodding occasionally.

  “I can handle that,” she said.

  “Did you bring the stuff?”

  She patted her large handbag.

  They came to a handsome brownstone on West 10th Street, on the elegant block between Fifth and Sixth Avenues. Michael rang the bell and waited.

  She looked like hell when she came to the door. She was dressed in clean jeans and a work shirt, but her hair was dirty, and she looked older than her thirty-four years. “Yes?” she said.

  “Miss Geraldi,” Vinnie said, “my name is Michael Vincent. I’m a film producer. There’s a script I hope you’ll read—a wonderful part—and I wanted to deliver it myself.” He handed her a brown envelope.

  “Oh,” she said, surprised and pleased. “Thank you. I’ll read it over the weekend.”

  “This is one of my production assistants, Roxanne,” he said, gesturing toward the large woman. “I wonder if we could come in for just a moment? I’d like to tell you about the project.”

  “Well, the place is a mess,” she said. “But…”

  “Thank you,” Vinnie said, brushing past her. She had been right; the place was a mess. Vinnie moved a pizza box from a sofa and sat down.

  Carol Geraldi sat opposite him, and Roxanne stood quietly in the doorway.

  Vinnie told Geraldi about the film, about her part. “There are only four scenes,” he said, “but it’s the only female part of any consequence, and the quality of the writing, I think you’ll agree when you read it, is extraordinary. I don’t want to oversell it, but I think there’s an opportunity for an Academy Award nomination in this part.”

  “Well,” Geraldi said, taking the script from the envelope. “Downtown Nights. It’s an interesting title.”

  “Why don’t you read the scenes now?” Vinnie suggested. “The pages are flagged.”

  She glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have time right now; I’m expecting someone.”

  “Take the time,” Vinnie said. “You certainly won’t be sorry.”

  “Mr.…Vincent, is it?” she said, an edge in her voice. “I really am expecting someone, and I’m in no mood to read this at the moment.”

  “I’m afraid the man you’re expecting isn’t coming, Miss Geraldi.”

  She looked alarmed. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The man with the drugs is not coming.”

  She was trembling now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who are you, anyway?”

  “I’m a film producer, as I told you a moment ago. I assure you, this is a genuine offer.”

  “Offer? You haven’t made an offer. You’ll have to call my agent,” she said, rising.

  “I’m afraid you don’t have an agent anymore, Miss Geraldi. You haven’t had one for some time.”

  She sat down again. “What is this, exactly?”

  “I won’t waste your time,” he said. “I’ll be direct with you.”

  “I’d appreciate that.” She was twitching now.

  “I have bought your debt from your pusher. Eight thousand dollars—that’s a lot of drugs, Miss Geraldi. You’re up to two grams of cocaine a week now, plus whatever else you can get your hands on.”

  “I’m going into rehab next week,” she said.

  “Not just yet,” Vinnie replied. “You have a part to do first.”

  “Look, I don’t know if this film is real or not, but I’m in no shape to deliver any kind of performance right now. And I really am expecting someone.”

  “He was about to cut you off anyway. Look at me as a rescuing angel.”

  “You’re going to supply me with drugs?” she asked incredulously.

  “That’s right, Miss Geraldi, and Roxanne here is going to administer them. Roxanne is going to see that you feel just fine right through a week’s rehearsals and ten days of shooting. I’m arranging to shoot your scenes almost back to back, so that we won’t take any more of your time than absolutely necessary. And as soon as you’ve finished shooting, we’ll get you into rehab, I promise.”

  Geraldi looked at Roxanne. “Can you give me something now?” she asked.

  “Of course she can,” Vinnie said, rising. “I’m just about finished. But I want to be sure you understand me clearly. Roxanne is moving in with you from this moment. She’s going to maintain you through the weekend, the rehearsals, and the shoot, and I don’t want you to give her the slightest difficulty. Is that clear?”

  Geraldi nodded dumbly.

  “You must understand that I’m giving you a great opportunity, and I expect your full cooperation. If you don’t cooperate with me, the director, and Roxanne at all times, I’m going to drop you right back into the frying pan; I’m going to sell your debt to a man who’s not nearly as nice as I am and who deals in a different kind of movie than I do—then you’ll have to work your debt off, and it will take a long, long time. Do you understand me, Carol?”

  “I understand,” Geraldi said weakly. She turned to Roxanne. “Now, please?” she whimpered.

  “Help her, Roxanne,” Vinnie said. “Carol, your first reading will be at one o’clock on Monday afternoon. Be sure you know your lines.” He smiled. “Roxanne will read with you.”

  CHAPTER

  7

  Vinnie sat in the rehearsal hall at Central Plaza on Se
cond Avenue and watched Chuck Parish rehearse his cast. They spent the morning running through the four scenes between Vanessa Parks and the three male leads. Chuck moved quickly, only occasionally stopping to make a suggestion. Vinnie was impressed with the way he handled the actors, never criticizing, always encouraging.

  At noon, lunch was delivered from a delicatessen, and Vinnie took the opportunity to call Chuck aside. When they were alone in the stairwell Vinnie spoke quietly. “Chuck, at the risk of insulting you, I’m going to tell you something you already know.”

  “What’s that?” Chuck asked warily.

  “Vanessa is wrong for the part. Wrong for the movie, in fact.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Chuck demanded defensively. “I’ve cast her, and that’s it.”

  “Come here,” Vinnie said, leading him over to the door to the rehearsal hall. They looked in at the group of actors eating lunch. “Look at that group and tell me this: who’s out of place?”

  Chuck looked at his cast—most of them Italian, all of them ethnic-looking in some way.

  “Look at them,” Vinnie repeated. “We’ve got Italians, Jews, Puerto Ricans, a couple of blacks. It’s a gritty group.” He paused. “And then there’s Vanessa.”

  Chuck said nothing, but continued to stare at the group.

  “She’s a promising actress, I’ll give you that, but she’s too WASPy, she’s too delicate, she’s too young, she’s too green. We need an older, more experienced actress, someone who can bring some personal weight to the part.”

  “If I tell her that she’ll walk right out on me,” Chuck said.

  “If she loves you she won’t,” Vinnie said smoothly. “She’ll understand you’re doing it for the production.”

  “I just can’t do it,” Chuck said. “Will you tell her?”

  “If she hears it from me she’ll never forgive you.”

  Chuck turned away from the door. “But we’re too far along now. How can we recast the part in the time we’ve got? You’re always bitching at me about schedule.”

  “I understand that Carol Geraldi is available,” Vinnie said.

  Chuck looked at him. “You think we could get her?”

  “I do.”

  “Can we afford her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where has she been the past couple of years? I haven’t seen her in anything since she won the Oscar for Widow’s Walk.”

  “She took some time off.”

  Chuck walked back to the door and looked at Vanessa. “She’s so goddamned beautiful,” he said. “I always wanted somebody as beautiful as that.”

  “Your career is at stake here, Chuck. She can’t carry the part, and nobody will blame her; they’ll blame you for casting her.”

  Chuck leaned against the wall and wiped his brow with his sleeve. “I guess I just have to be ruthless, huh?”

  “It won’t be the last time, Chuck; it’s a tough business. I think maybe Vanessa understands that better than you. When she’s had time to think about it, she’ll see that you’re doing it as much for her career as yours. Everybody who’d see the film would know she was out of her depth.”

  “You’re right,” Chuck said. “I can’t let her do that to herself.”

  Vinnie put a hand on Chuck’s shoulder. “You’re a good man. Best to tell her now.”

  Chuck nodded. “Just give me a minute, okay?”

  “Sure,” Vinnie said. “I’ll have Carol Geraldi here at one o’clock.”

  Chuck nodded and looked at his feet.

  Vinnie walked downstairs and out onto the street, breathing more easily. He looked up to see Carol Geraldi and Roxanne getting out of a taxi. He walked over to them. “You look terrific,” he said to Geraldi, taking her hand.

  “I had a good weekend,” she said.

  “Good, good. Now, you’re a few minutes early, so you and Roxanne go across the street and get a cup of coffee. At one, go up to Studio A and introduce yourself to the director, Chuck Parish.”

  “Won’t you be there?” she asked nervously.

  “I have to do something else for a couple of hours, but Chuck is expecting you, and he’s very excited about working with an actress of your caliber.”

  She smiled. “That’s nice.”

  “Now go get your coffee.” He watched the two women cross the street, then went and stood inside the door to the building, waiting. Five minutes later he heard a door slam, then the ring of high heels on the steel stairs, then Vanessa Parks nearly fell into his arms. She was weeping and nearly hysterical.

  “Vanessa, honey, take it easy,” he said, holding her at arm’s length and looking at her closely.

  “The bastard!” she said. “The bastard fired me!”

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Of course I’m not all right! My boyfriend just fired me off his picture! Don’t you understand?”

  “Come on,” Vinnie said, putting an arm around her. “Let’s get out of here.” Outside, he hailed a cab and bundled her into it. He gave the driver the address of the Chelsea apartment, then turned to Vanessa, who was trembling with fury, tears streaming down her face. “Take it easy now. We’ll talk this whole thing out and see what we can do about it.” He pulled her head to his shoulder and let her do her sobbing there.

  In the Chelsea apartment he mixed her a strong Scotch. She wolfed down half of it. “The bastard,” she kept saying.

  Vinnie pulled her onto the sofa and stroked her hair. “Listen, it’s just a job,” he said. “You’re going to have better parts than that, I promise you.”

  “You think so?” she asked, wiping her nose with a tissue.

  “Vanessa, look at me,” he said, cupping her face in his hands.

  She looked up at him, doe-eyed, snuffling.

  “You have something very special, something the camera can see, something an audience can identify with.”

  “I do?” she whimpered.

  “More than being very beautiful, you have a rare talent that, properly developed, is going to propel you to a high place in the film business.”

  “Do you really think so?” she asked. She had stopped crying.

  “Absolutely. Chuck is going to do okay, I’m going to do okay, but you are going to be a very great star. I promise you that.”

  “Oh, Michael,” she said, placing a hand on his cheek. “You always believed in me from the start, didn’t you? I knew you did, I could tell. Chuck just wanted to fuck me.”

  “Listen, Chuck thinks you’re great, but let me tell you, as good as you would have been in that part, the part wouldn’t have been good for you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the character isn’t anywhere near as young and beautiful as you are. I’m going to find you parts, create parts for you that will send you to the top of this business.”

  “You’d do that for me?” she asked.

  “I’ll do it for you, I’ll do it for myself. I want to see you on top, and I want to be the one who puts you there.”

  She kissed him.

  He kissed her back, but he held himself away. Her mouth was incredible and he wanted more of it, but he wanted her to be the aggressor.

  She did not disappoint him. She pushed him back on the sofa, got his zipper undone, and in a moment she had him in her mouth.

  If he thought her mouth had been incredible on his lips, then where it was now was right next to heaven, he thought. He looked at the top of her head, ran his hand through her thick hair, played his fingers at the corner of her mouth, felt himself swelling, swelling, then exploding. She kept sucking until he pulled her head away, got an arm around her waist and swept her into the bedroom, both of them shedding clothes along the way.

  Vinnie made it back to the rehearsal hall before the reading broke for the day. “How did it go?” he asked Chuck.

  “Geraldi is absolutely wonderful,” Chuck replied. “She walked in here, and in five minutes, she was the part, and everybody in the cast knew it. She was inspired
casting, Michael.”

  “I’m glad you’re happy.”

  “I’m delirious. Did you see Vanessa when she left?”

  “No, I had to go uptown and fix a hassle with the lighting. It’s okay now.”

  “I dread seeing her when I get home,” Chuck said. “I feel just terrible about this.”

  “You’ll get over it, and so will she,” Vinnie replied. “She’ll probably throw herself into your arms the moment you walk in.”

  An hour later, the phone rang in the Chelsea apartment.

  “Hello,” Vinnie said.

  “Michael,” Chuck Parish sobbed, “she’s gone!”

  “Take it easy now,” Vinnie replied soothingly.

  “All her stuff is gone; she’s vanished. None of her friends knows where she is.”

  “It’s how it had to be, Chuck,” Vinnie said. “Let her go. Get your head back into the film. Don’t think about anything else.”

  Chuck heaved a deep sigh. “You’re right,” he said. “The film is the important thing. I don’t know why I let the cunt upset me so much.”

  “Get a good night’s sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Sure, Michael. Thanks.” He hung up.

  Vinnie hung up and looked toward the kitchen, where Vanessa, dressed only in a shirt, was making pasta.

  “You like a lot of garlic?” she asked, smiling at him.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Vinnie sat straight up in bed. Something had awakened him, some noise, but it was gone. Vanessa was stretched out beside him, sleeping quietly. He looked at the bedside clock: just after 3:00 A.M. The noise came again, and this time he knew what it was: his beeper, sending muffled signals from his trousers pocket.

  He got out of bed, switched off the beeper, and went to the living room phone. He didn’t like this; Benedetto had never once called him in the middle of the night. The fat man’s collection day was tomorrow—that must be what it was about. He dialed the number.

  “Yeah?” the voice of Cheech, the bodyguard, said.

  “It’s me. What the fuck?”

  “Now,” Cheech said.