Tricks Of The Trade

by Ben Tyler

  “Are we finished?” Bart asked.

  “Get your ass outta here. And don’t say a word about this to anyone. Ya hear?”

  “Who would I tell? I don’t have time for a social life. You keep me too damned busy.”

  “Then get busy. I want that Mare Dickerson release on my desk before I get in tomorrow.”

  There came the sound of Bart saying good night to Shari and closing the door to her office behind him. But the audio continued. Bart had stopped for a moment to say good night to Mitch in the outer office.

  “Don’t worry, you’re not the only guy she’s got running lines with about sexual harassment from Owen,” Mitch said. “Unfortunately, that bleach-blond dweeb, Josh from promotions, is all for going along with whatever Shari and Cy dictate. They’ve promised him a big promotion if he files a sexual-harassment claim.”

  “He can’t be that much of an idiot,” Bart’s voice was heard saying. “I guess the fact that he doesn’t know if he’s gay or straight, just because he fucked April on a dare at the last company retreat, counts for something.”

  “He’s very much like the whiskey-voiced April. She got her vice-president stripes by blowing Cy, didn’t she?”

  “Ewe! Doesn’t Cy have the face of a very old deep-sea turtle?” Bart said as an aside. “That beak of a nose and those wattles under his eyes. And how’d he lose so much hair at such a relatively young age?”

  “Sexy stuff!” Mitch said.

  “Anyway, Josh sees an opportunity to advance his career, and like so many others in this town, he’ll do whatever he thinks he’s got to do. What a sorry excuse for a human being. And his hair is turning orange from the peroxide,” Bart added before walking away and turning off his recording device.

  The bailiff turned off the tape player.

  The entire courtroom was stunned. Finally, Judge Carter cleared his throat. In a very civil tone, he instructed counsel for both the plaintiff and defendant to approach the bench. Immediately.

  The sounds of wooden chairs scraping wooden floors filled the room as the attorneys and the court stenographer filed up to and behind the judge’s bench. He turned off his microphone.

  Shari looked over at Bart with an expression of repugnance that in previous times would have made tears come to his eyes. Without words, he knew what she was thinking, that she’d find a way to get even with the little bastard. Judge Carter looked sternly at Richard Ward and his lackeys. “What, gentlemen, and I use the word loosely, are you trying to pull in this courtroom?”

  “What, Your Honor?” Ward asked, like an idiot who doesn’t know he’s wearing a Kick Me sign.

  “I’m referring to Exhibit A. Its pretty packaging. Its professional quality. No stumbles or stammers on the tape. It’s perfect. Exhibit B on the other hand is something from a Mamet play. What gives? I’m really interested.”

  “Your Honor,” Ward began, “given the sophisticated audio technology available at Sterling, it’s not surprising to me that our tape sounds better than the amateur’s.”

  “Considering the technology at Ms. Draper’s disposal, it’s also not difficult to erase glitches and to fake a conversation from bits and pieces of others,” the judge countered.

  “I assure you, Your Honor, I have no idea what you’re getting at,” Ward said.

  “Then you’re an idiot.”

  At the judge’s bench, Richard Ward announced that they had the authority and were prepared to settle the case immediately. Fitterman argued that the case was just getting started and that he had much more evidence to present. However, they would not meet Fitterman’s terms for dropping the case: If they simultaneously settled Bart Cain’s wrongful-termination lawsuit, he would consider the motion. That, they said, was an entirely different case, and they refused to consider any such move.

  “Your Honor,” Fitterman said, “I’m fully prepared to continue with this trial if these gentlemen are ready to proceed.

  “We are, Your Honor.”

  “Very well,” Carter said. He made a motion with his hands for the assembly to return to their seats.

  “Mr. Fitterman, you may cross-examine,” Carter said, resuming control of the courtroom.

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Fitterman said as he moved unsteadily toward Bart in the witness box. “Mr. Cain,” he began, “you were fired from Sterling Studios. Why?”

  “Objection, Your Honor!” Richard Ward bellowed. “No relevance.”

  “No relevance?” Fitterman bawled. “Indeed, Mr. Cain was fired for no relevance. But his termination is relevant to the case against Mr. Lucas.”

  “Objection, Your Honor!” Ward cried again. “Hearsay and speculative!”

  “What’s speculative about the fact that Mr. Cain was fired?” Fitterman countered.

  “All your objections are overruled, Mr. Ward,” Judge Carter said. “Continue, Mr. Fitterman.”

  “So tell us, Mr. Cain, why were you fired?”

  “Because I refused to go along with fraudulent claims that were being concocted by executive vice president Shari Draper and motion-picture chairman Cy Lupiano accusing president of marketing Owen Lucas of sexual harassment.”

  “Is that the reason that was given for your termination?”

  “No. I was told that my work performance was subpar.”

  “But you have many citations and commendations for your work,” Fitterman said, holding up a sheaf of papers with little gold seals affixed to them. There was also letterhead stationery from well-known actors.

  “I guess the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” Bart said.

  The jury sniggered.

  “Tell us, Mr. Cain, what is a typical day in the life of a publicist?”

  “To be honest, sir, I was only a publicist by title. I didn’t pitch stories to newspapers or magazines, and I didn’t interact with the press. I just wrote all day; all of the studio’s publicity materials. Press kits, cast and filmmaker bios, photo captions, press releases, speeches, responses to complaint letters, film synopses, special assignments, such as feature articles about the stars in our films. I wrote letters on behalf of various stars or producers to the Hollywood Foreign Press Association, or the HFPA, as it’s known. Basically everything written about our live-action films.”

  “Live-action?” Fitterman interrupted.

  “As opposed to animated films. Sterling has got a great writer who’s also a real publicist to handle animation.”

  “So you had nothing to do with that cute little rat in the White House?”

  “No, sir.”

  The gallery chuckled at the joke.

  “I handled, or used to handle, writing about Bruce Willis, Nightmare Dickerson…Sorry, I mean the movie star Mare Dickerson, Angelina Jolie, Jackie Chan, Nicolas Cage…and of course the directors, producers, cinematographers, editors, composers, costume designers, etc.”

  “Sounds like quite a job,” Fitterman said. “Did you enjoy your work?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you like the people you worked with.”

  “I like most people to one degree or another.”

  “Did you like your boss?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Bart looked past Fitterman to Shari, sitting at the plaintiff’s table, sipping a glass of water, waiting patiently for his response.

  “On the whole she is a cruel, devious, vicious human being who takes enormous pleasure in publicly castigating employees for the smallest infraction. And I’m on drugs—antianxiety drugs—because of her daily treatment of me.”

  “Can you be specific?”

  “Objection! Your Honor, Ms. Draper is not on trial here!” Richard Ward complained.

  “She’s the plaintiff, you knucklehead,” Judge Carter said. “She represents Sterling. You may answer the question, Mr. Cain.”

  “Okay. For instance, when Julia Bob’s film Plain Jane opened to the largest Memorial Day weekend box office in the studio’s history, I was greeted at the following Tuesd
ay-morning marketing meeting by her screaming that my press kit didn’t contain enough quotes from the star, although Ms. Draper had previously approved the material. My morale and the entire department’s morale was now incredibly low because of her attitude toward us.

  “Then there’s this one film director she particularly hates. She doesn’t think I know why she hates him, but I do. And it’s not just because he’s fat. She’s Miss Perfect, with the life cycle and the trainer and the protein diet and the Mr. Rudolph’s hairstyle. She had me research his background and pull newspaper clippings of him being arrested twenty years ago and serving time in an Alaska jail for making soft-porn films. She got hold of some of the videos he did and started a smear campaign. She first invited all of her senior staff to view the tapes. Then she had her friends at the Los Angeles Times, Daily Variety, the Hollywood Reporter, and Totally Hollywood and Roger Ebert see what this guy had been involved in. He was directing a family movie for the studio, and she had him kicked off the picture.”

  “But don’t you think she had a right to do that? To save innocent kids from his perversion?”

  “He served his time in jail two decades ago. He hadn’t been involved in porn since then. His debt was paid to society. But she brought it back into the news and wrecked his career.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “Because she has a secret that she doesn’t want anyone to know about.”

  Shari gave a vigorous nudge to Richard Ward, who immediately stood up. “Objection! Your Honor, where is this leading?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” Judge Carter said in his most condescending tone.

  At that point, Shari leaned over to Ward and whispered something, frantically gesturing with her hands. “Object or something, you pissers! You promised my personal life would never come up in this trial. You promised, you son of a bitch! Settle this thing!”

  Ward stood up and addressed Judge Carter. “Your Honor, may we have a sidebar?”

  “For crying out loud! I’ll give you a sidebar you’ll never forget if this keeps up, Counselor!”

  Fitterman looked at Owen. Owen looked at Bart. Bart looked to the back of the room, where Jim and Mitch and Rusty were sitting on the edge of their seats. They simultaneously smiled at one another.

  Judge Carter caught the exchange and hammered his gavel. “What’s so amusing, Mr. Cain? Would you care to share whatever you think is so funny?”

  “Nothing, Your Honor. I apologize to the court, Your Honor.”

  Judge Carter gave Bart a look of disdain.

  Again the attorneys and the court reporter proceeded to the judge’s bench. Judge Carter sat behind his desk and poured himself a glass of water from a stainless-steel pitcher. He took several long swallows before allowing Richard Ward to begin speaking.

  “Your Honor, I have just been notified by my client that she does not wish to continue with the case. I have the authority to plea-bargain on behalf of my client, Sterling.”

  “Why the change of heart, Mr. Ward?” Judge Carter asked.

  “I’m not sure, Your Honor, but my client is vehement that we resolve the case immediately.”

  “Mr. Ward,” Judge Carter said, “we are in the middle of a trial. Why the hell didn’t you all settle this case out of court in the first place? Now you’re wasting taxpayers’ money and the court’s time, which is my time! Go back out there and try this case!”

  “But Your Honor,” Ward whined.

  “Go, for Christ sake!”

  “Mr. Ward, please call your next witness,” Judge Carter intoned.

  “I call Ms. Shari Draper.”

  Shari rose regally from her seat and walked with purpose to the witness box. The bailiff asked her to raise her right hand and to swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

  “Hmmm,” Shari responded.

  “I know it’s a bore,” said Judge Carter in mock indulgence, “but would you please answer in the affirmative or negative, Ms. Draper?”

  “Yes!” Shari said.

  “That’s a good girl.”

  “Woman! I’m a woman, not a girl,” Shari protested.

  “Just recite your name and address for the record and don’t yell in my court,” Carter said. Shari complied with clarity and confidence.

  Mr. Ward’s opening questions revolved around her length of service as executive vice president of Sterling Studios and her association with Owen Lucas and the number of people who had come to her with allegations of the president of marketing’s alleged inappropriate sexual behavior.

  “Many people came to me to complain that they were being sexually harassed by Mr. Lucas,” Shari said. “I taped their conversations as evidence for our human resources department.”

  “What were the complaints about Mr. Lucas?”

  “You heard what was on my tape. He demanded sexual favors in exchange for his employees getting raises, promotions, and in the case of Mr. Cain, keeping his job.”

  “Mr. Lucas was your superior, the next in the chain of command, so to speak. Correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “Therefore, you were his subordinate, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Sterling has a strictly enforced zero-tolerance sexual-harassment policy, correct?”

  “Indeed. That’s why I took the matter up with the next-highest level.”

  “Mr. Cy Lupiano?”

  “Yes. He and I both determined it was in the best interest of the company to terminate Mr. Lucas.”

  “But that wasn’t your call, now, was it, Ms. Draper?” Ward asked.

  “No. It was at the discretion of Mr. Lupiano, the chairman of the motion-picture division.”

  “And of course this was done with the full cooperation of human resources?”

  “Objection,” Fitterman stated. “Counsel is leading the witness.”

  “Overruled,” Judge Owen called.

  Shari answered. “Of course. In fact, they had quite a file filled with complaints about Mr. Lucas. Mr. Lupiano didn’t require anybody’s authorization to do what he felt was in the best interest of his company. He is the final authority. Almost.” Mr. Ward held up a large manila file folder and asked her to read the name printed on a tab.

  “LUCAS, OWEN.”

  “May it please the court, we wish to enter this file and its contents into the record as Exhibit C. It contains numerous complaints from a variety of sources regarding Mr. Lucas’s sexual behavior in the workplace. I have nothing further for Ms. Draper.”

  “Mr. Fitterman, please proceed,” Judge Carter said.

  Shari remained calm and confident to the point of being almost defiant.

  Waddling to the witness stand, Gus Fitterman was all smiles as Shari sat stone-faced, completely disgusted by the man’s girth, age, disingenuous demeanor, and halitosis.

  “Why was Mr. Lucas terminated, Ms. Draper?”

  Mr. Ward stood up. “Objection, Your Honor. The witness has already testified as to cause!”

  “Sustained. Please ask another question.”

  “I’m sorry, Your Honor.” Fitterman smiled. “Ms. Draper, you testified that you made audiotapes of those who complained about sexual harassment. May we hear the other tapes as well?”

  “I never said I made other tapes.”

  Fitterman smiled apologetically. “Guess I’ve got to have my hearing checked,” he said, chuckling. “I was sure that you previously testified that you taped conversations with employees who made allegations about Mr. Lucas’s supposed indiscretions. My apology.”

  Shari smiled. Self-satisfied.

  Fitterman was about to ask another question when he interrupted himself. Scratching his forehead, he turned to the judge and said, “I’m sorry, Your Honor. Would you indulge this old man and ask the court reporter to read back Ms. Draper’s previous testimony. Just at the very beginning, after she was sworn in?”

  Judge Carter nodded his agreement, and the cute stenographer worked his way back
several feet of rolled paper that had gathered in a Lucite box attached to his stenographer’s machine. He found the correct place and read in an antomaton’s monotone voice: “Many people came to me to complain that they were being sexually harassed by Mr. Lucas. I taped their conversations as evidence for our human resources department.”

  “That’s the part. That’s good,” Fitterman said appreciatively. “Thank you. I honestly thought for a moment I might be having a senior moment or the imaginings of an old man who should have retired long ago. Whew!” Fitterman pretended to be relieved. “My hearing seems to be fine, after all. But your memory, Ms. Draper…You previously testified that you made audiotapes of employees who brought charges of harassment, and now you deny that testimony. Would you please explain?”

  “I recorded other conversations. I misunderstood you.”

  “Where are those tapes, Ms. Draper?”

  “Hell if I know. I think human resources lost ’em, or something.”

  “Or something. Yes. I see. Well, let’s move on,” Fitterman continued. “Why do you think your audiocassette tape and the audiocassette tape produced by Mr. Cain are so different?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know.”

  “Can you speculate, because I’m as confused about this as you appear to be,” Fitterman said in his best Matlock slack-jawed wonder.

  “Mr. Cain has based his career on lies, as his record proves,” Shari said.

  “Isn’t that a publicist’s job?” Fitterman smiled.

  “Objection!” Richard Ward shouted.

  “I apologize, Your Honor,” Fitterman said. “A small Hollywood joke.”

  “Very small,” Judge Carter snarled.

  Returning his attention to Shari, he said, “One of my big dilemmas is that the date on the audiotape you provided—and by the way, it’s very pretty and was beautifully packaged—is that it says February nineth. That was a Saturday, wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Trust me, it was a Saturday. Here’s a calendar,” Fitterman said, holding up a daily planner. “You don’t remember working on a Saturday?”

  “I work seven days a week. One day is the same as another.”