The Boys in the Mail Room: A Novel

by Iris Rainer Dart

  "Sorry, Beau," Garland said.

  Now the key was turned off. Beau watched Jim Garland give some instructions to the engineer.

  "Ready?" he asked her.

  "Yeah."

  Intro.

  "It was a fine time

  It was a time and a half

  It was a fine time

  And you were good for a laugh—

  But then I looked around—"

  "Hold it."

  The music stopped.

  "Jim," Beau said. "It's still not right. I need to hear more piano, and more of my voice and less of that fucking drum."

  "Okay," Garland answered. "I'll take the drum down. Ready?"

  "Yeah."

  Beau waved a little wave to Barry, who waved back. Thank you, God, for bringing me this wonderful man, she thought. Barry had simply stepped in and taken over her life. Not the way Benny had, by treating her like a child, but by being at her side when she met with the lawyers, telling her what to say, and then saying it for her when she forgot to say it at the network meetings. Even telling Larson and Kane that although he didn't plan to interfere with their agenting, he and Beau were in love and he felt an obligation to make sure everything was done right for her. And he loved seeing the look on Kane's face when he said it. Kane couldn't believe Barry was in love with a woman. Barry wasn't so sure he believed it himself. But he was. He told Beau he loved her ten times a day.

  "It was a fine time

  It was a time and a half

  It was a fine time

  And you were good for a laugh—

  But then I looked around . . ."

  She got through the whole thing. Nicely, she thought, considering she couldn't hear the guitar. Another take or two and she'd move into the next cut.

  "I don't hear the guitar at all," Beau said. She was getting antsy. She wished she weren't sitting in here. She wished one of them were sitting in here instead, and that she could sit in a chair in the booth and laugh and talk and have a party in between each take. Connie and her date were smoking a joint. Jim Garland had smoked at least one box of Marlboros. And that girl with the tits, Jerri, was passing out chewing gum. Beau was getting real turned off.

  "Stay relaxed, Beau," Barry said to her.

  "Yeah, sure."

  "More guitar," Jim Garland said. "And we're rolling."

  Intro.

  "It was a fine time

  It was a time and a half

  It was a fine time

  And you were good for a laugh—"

  She liked the way her voice sounded this time. It was working. She'd be home in time for the eleven o'clock news.

  "Beau," Jim Garland said. "Come on in and we'll play that one back."

  Beau sighed. It was a good take. She walked into the booth. It smelled like marijuana. Barry put his arm around her and kissed her cheek.

  The playback was rolling and something was funny about it. Beau didn't know what. If Benny had been there, he would have been able to put his finger on what was wrong instantly. Benny. That leech. No, she wouldn't think about him.

  "You're singing flat," Jim Garland said to her when the tape ended. Anger rushed through Beau's body.

  "What?"

  "You were flat, Beau," Garland said.

  The air in the room became tense.

  "Your ass I'm flat," she said. "The guitar is sharp," Beau was embarrassed and pissed and she looked around the room. At Connie. At Bob Frank. No one looked back at her. They were afraid.

  "She's right," Barry said. "The guitar is sharp."

  "No," Garland insisted. "The guitar is perfect. Beau is flat. Now, let's just do the song one more time. Raise the pitch and move on."

  "Garland," Beau said. "Go fuck yourself," and she stormed out of the studio. Connie and Dino went after her.

  Barry had been at all of the instrumental sessions. Yona and Marty played on them. He knew Garland was right. Beau was flat.

  "You're an asshole, Garland," Barry said.

  Bob Frank stood.

  "C'mon, Golden, let's not get into name-calling," he said. ''You know Jim is right."

  "He's not right," Barry said, "because what's right is to know how to talk to Beau. To any act. You don't spit in their faces and then expect to get good work in return. We won't work with you anymore, Garland," Barry said.

  "What do you mean 'we,'" Garland said, standing. He was about six inches taller than Barry. "Who do you think you are, Golden, you cocksucker? You're not the act. Benny Daniels came to me when we started this album—"

  "Benny Daniels is out of the picture," Barry bellowed. Stan Rose sat on a folding chair in the corner. Listening.

  Bob Frank was getting red in the face.

  "Golden, maybe we ought to come back tomorrow and Beau will feel—"

  "I won't let Beau set foot in any studio where Garland is, after what he just did to her," Barry said.

  "Golden—"

  Garland was seething. "Listen, you slimy little weasel. She'd have no recording career at all if it wasn't for me. And maybe you don't know this, but I gave your precious Harley Ellis his career, too. So you can take no-talent Beau Daniels' newest album and shove it up your little faggot ass where you shove everything else." Garland stormed out the door.

  "We're not renewing with you, Bob," Barry said to Bob Frank. "Her contract with Rainbow is up in two months and we're splitting." Barry left.

  Only the engineer, Bob Frank, Stan Rose and Jerri Marshall remained. The room was very quiet for a moment.

  "I guess this means we're not going out to celebrate," Stan Rose said.

  The other three laughed.

  Stan put his jacket on, said good night, and left studio B. Barry had invited Stan to this because he wanted him to see how great Beau was doing. And how happy she made him, and Stan had no plans, no concerts, no dates that night, so he had accepted.

  He stopped at the men's room at the end of the hallway. He'd go home and get a bite, read the trades. It was Tuesday so all his magazines would be waiting in the mailbox. He was about to emerge from the men's room when he heard the conversation.

  "You said you were going to tell her you had a late meeting and spend the evening with me," the woman said.

  "I'm tired, Jerri. And I'm pissed off." It was Bob Frank. He lowered his voice, but Stan could still hear him. "If Beau Daniels leaves Rainbow, it'll cost me millions. Golden was right. Garland behaved like an asshole."

  "Don't go home."

  "I have a headache and I don't want to stay out."

  "Okay, Bob." Jerri Marshall's voice was cold. "I understand."

  "Good. See you tomorrow."

  Stan waited another minute or two to be sure they were gone, then he went out to the parking lot. Jerri was getting into her Cadillac. Bob Frank was already gone.

  "Good night, Stan." She spotted him.

  "Night."

  Stan started his car and was about to back out of the space, but when he looked in the rearview mirror he saw that Jerri Marshall had pulled her Cadillac up behind his Cougar so he couldn't back out, and she was getting out of the car. She walked over to his window, which was rolled down, and she leaned into the car. God, she was a vision.

  "Want to go out for a beer?" she asked.

  She was Bob Frank's girl. He knew that now. But what did he care. The street light behind her played in her blond hair.

  "Sure," Stan said. "Where to?"

  "Follow me," she said, and bounced back to her car.

  Stan rolled up his window.

  "Gladly," he said out loud to himself. "Glad-lee!"

  Cyrano's was crowded and Stan saw a few people he knew. But Jerri knew many more. Stan remembered a cheerleader he'd called for a date once in high school, who he feared was out of his league because she was so popular. The girl accepted the date and all evening long he looked at her and thought, She's really here, how did this happen? She's really here! That was how he felt now about Jerri. They were talking about their childhoods.

&nbs
p; "Your father really sounds nice," she said. "I'm close with my parents, too. In fact, I live with them." Stan was surprised.

  "Well, I'm not really dating anyone now," she went on, "and I'm so busy at work, and coming home to them at night is kind of cozy. It makes me feel protected."

  "Weren't you living with someone at Rainbow for a while?" Stan asked. Bad question, he thought.

  "I was going out with Nick Jonas for a while, but I didn't really live with him."

  Stan knew that wasn't true. He also knew she was involved with Bob Frank, but he couldn't tell her that. He was fascinated with her. She held her wineglass with both hands while she talked and she had long red fingernails.

  "Do you like working at Rainbow?" he asked her.

  "Oh, yes. I was always interested in the music business so I just set out to work in it. I applied for a job at Rainbow, and only started as a secretary because I was a woman. I had no choice. Unfortunately, I was assigned to Nick Jonas."

  "Unfortunately?"

  "Well, he wouldn't leave me alone, and he was my boss, so I was afraid to be too rude to him, but finally I said, 'Look, Nick. I'm not an object. I'm here for the same reasons you are. To get ahead in the business. And I'm going to do it because of my ability.' "

  "What did he say?"

  "He was insulted, but he realized I was right and he recommended me for a job as director of artist relations. Then, of course, I really was much more in my element. Then, Bob Frank saw that I was working so well with the groups—not Beau, she doesn't even talk to me. She doesn't talk to anyone—so, anyway, Bob Frank made me vice-president in charge of artist relations at Rainbow."

  "Wasn't that Nick Jonas's job?" Stan asked.

  "Yeah," Jerri said. "But he left."

  "Why?" Stan asked her.

  She smiled a very broad smile.

  "Who knows?"

  Stan was drinking a bullshot. Easy on the vodka. He wasn't much of a drinker, but he felt pleasantly high now. This beautiful woman. An executive.

  "Know what I'd like to do?" she said.

  "What?"

  "I'd like to put the top down on my car and have you drive it and head for the Coast Highway, and keep going till we're both exhausted."

  Stan smiled. He was trying hard to remember what his schedule was the next morning. If he had any meetings, he'd be too tired if he went on this late-night jaunt with her. God, he was square. Fuck the meetings.

  "Sounds great," he said, summoning the waiter to bring the check.

  In the parking lot behind Cyrano's, Jerri handed Stan the car keys, then put her arms around his neck. "Who knows?" she said. "Maybe we'll end up in San Francisco."

  Stan wished they were going to his place.

  "Think you can cut it?" she said.

  "What?"

  "The drive. I have some coke if you want."

  Cocaine. She had cocaine. Jesus.

  "Uh, I'm fine," Stan said. "Let's go."

  In San Luis Obispo, at the Madonna Inn, Jerri and Stan did a little cocaine. "Just a little," she instructed him, and then turned out the bedroom lights.

  "Don't you have to call home and tell them you won't be there tonight?" he teased.

  "They'll notice," she said.

  Her naked body was spectacular. The best Stan had seen, and he was flying from the cocaine. And he was embarrassed that he'd been so unsophisticated about it. And he thought about Bob Frank and Nick Jonas. Then Jerri put his hard cock between her breasts and in her mouth and inside her wet pussy. And he came and a little while later he came again and he didn't think about Jerri and other men until the morning when he woke up to the sound of Jerri's voice. She was on the phone in the bathroom.

  "I won't be in today. None of your business where I am. Too bad. Go home and fuck your wife."

  Stan had been in a deep sleep and as he heard Jerri hang the phone up, he rolled back over and pretended to still be asleep.

  She came out of the bathroom and got back into bed, and after a minute he felt her nakedness close to him. She kissed his back, and he pretended to stir.

  "Good morning," she whispered softly.

  He turned and looked at her. God, she looked great. Even in the morning.

  "Good morning," he said. "Who am I? Where am I? What happened?" They both laughed.

  "You're Stan Rose, famous concert promoter," she said. "You're in San Luis Obispo. And I think what happened is that last night we fell in love."

  Stan was silent. He looked at Jerri's pretty face. A woman who could talk. Before sex, after sex. Who was a great fuck. Who looked like this. Good God. It was all there.

  "You're right," he said. "I think we did."

  thirty-seven

  Rue McMillan sat on the diving board looking down into his Olympic pool as he talked.

  "It's a toughie, Kane, old kid," he said. "I been with Larson for years. He got me the first jobs I ever had."

  "That was then, Rhubarb. This is now. You can go on forever thinking of Larson's career, or start thinking about your own, which is slipping seriously."

  Rue's jaw clenched at the thought.

  David watched the effect his words were having on the big tough-looking man he had befriended and pampered in the Larson style, under the guise of doing it for the benefit of the Larson office. Well, now it was time to cash in. David was leaving Larson. To become an agent on his own. He was taking Doug Hart, and maybe, if he could convince him, Rue McMillan.

  "I could package you and Hart and that Wild Ride script together and go to a studio tomorrow and make a deal."

  "So could Larson."

  "But he hasn't."

  "He thought that script was a piece of shit," Rue said.

  "He was wrong."

  "Then how come no one else ever made that picture all this time?"

  "Because no one's right for the part but you. And Hart could play the young outlaw."

  David was starting to dislike the turn the conversation was taking. He didn't want Rue to feel he was begging.

  "I'm going to go," he told Rue. "You give it some thought. I'll be stopping by Larson's and then I'll be at home for the rest of the week until I find my own office. No rush."

  "Does Larson know you're leaving him?" Rue asked.

  "Larson has been in Europe for three weeks making some television deal for Carol Denning. He came back this morning and he doesn't know anything. He probably, for example, doesn't even know that your contract with him is up in one week. Just takes it for granted that you'll re-sign. That's it, you know, Rue. He feels like he's got you in his back pocket."

  "Aw, bullshit," Rue said angrily. "He does not."

  For a second David panicked. Maybe that was too strong.

  "I mean—"

  "I'll leave him," Rue said. "I won't re-sign the contract. I'll go with you and Hart. But you get going on that Wild Ride project right away. Okay?"

  "Okay." David grinned. "You're making a wise decision, Rue. I'll hustle your career right back to where it should be." The two men shook hands and David tried to walk, not fly, which is what he felt like doing, down the front steps of Rue's house to his car.

  Now came the hard part. Telling Larson. What would he do? David knew Larson hated to lose a client. When Barry Golden had moved in on Beau Daniels' career, David had been livid. "Listen, Barry," Larson said as he sat in the meeting with Beau and Barry and David, "the most important thing is Beau's career, and that's what we're all here to look out for. If the addition of you to the roster of people who are behind her makes her happy, it makes me happy, too."

  But David knew that was bullshit. He had worked for Larson long enough to know that Larson despised anyone meddling with the careers of his clients. And Golden wasn't even taking Beau away from the Larson office. Just helping her out. David, on the other hand, was leaving with two of Larson's biggest clients.

  Larson was out when David got to the office.

  "Morning, Mister Kane."

  "Get my wife for me, will you? And tell me when
Larson gets here."

  David closed the door to his office. He should probably clear out his desk. He'd already taken home the scripts he'd read that he thought would be the most valuable to his clients. His clients. Oh, boy. The David Kane Agency. And that would just be until he could get some good solid deals made. Deals for Rue and Doug, yes. But more important, deals for himself. Deals that would enable him to become a producer. A producer. He couldn't wait to tell Allyn.

  The com line buzzed.

  "Yes."

  "Your wife's in a meeting, Mr. Kane."

  "Thanks." Shit. In a meeting. Allyn was so busy lately with her fucking job. Maybe he should interrupt her meeting. He wanted to tell her about Rue. He dialed the number at Hemisphere himself. Fuck her stupid little boring meetings. Rue McMillan, superstar, was David Kane's client. As of today. Allyn would want to know that. She'd be thrilled.

  "Hemisphere Studios."

  "Allyn Grant's office, please." He hated calling her Allyn Grant. Why did she have to continue to use her family name?

  "It's confusing, David," she'd told him. "Everyone at Hemisphere knows me as Allyn Grant. And I love my name. It doesn't mean I'm less of a wife."

  "Allyn Grant's office."

  "Yeah, this is David Kane. Can I talk to her?"

  "Oh, hi, Mr. Kane. I already told someone at your office. Allyn's in a meeting."

  "Tell her it's me."

  "She said only to interrupt for an emergency, Mr. Kane," the girl said apologetically.

  David slammed the phone down.

  The com line buzzed.

  "Yes?"

  "Mr. Larson just arrived, sir."

  "Thank you."

  Well, here we go, he thought. The big moment. Maybe he'd wait until later. No. Now. Before he thought about it too much. He got up, walked out of his office and into Larson's. Larson was on the phone, and he waved a little hello and made an I'll-be-right-off gesture. David watched Larson and listened to him talk. He remembered wanting to be able to be a big-time deal-maker, too. Like Larson. But ultimately, he realized that Larson was only an agent. A 10-percent-of-someone-else's-career agent, who only wanted to be an agent forever. Well, that wasn't enough for David. No.

  "Have a nice day," Larson was saying to someone on the phone. " 'Bye." He hung up, smiling.

  "Just closed the deal for Carol Denning to do a picture."