Tricks Of The Trade

by Ben Tyler

  “I’ve been turning in chapters for the past six months to my agent, who’s been shopping it around. We made a deal last week with Rocket Books.”

  “What’s it about?” Owen asked.

  “About me. About Shari. About Jim. About Rod. About egomaniacal producers like Don Simpson. About Mare Dickerson. About my ex-lovers. About my childhood. It’s a roman à clef. A real potboiler!”

  “What’s the title?” Owen asked.

  “I’m thinking of calling it Tricks of the Trade. But the first thing I plan to do when it’s finished is something that Rusty and I have both dreamed about. I’m kidnapping him, and we’re going off to live in Scotland!”

  Rusty was beaming. Although it had always been a plan to go back to his favorite place on the planet, he didn’t foresee a time for a trip anywhere in the near future.

  “Wonderful!” Owen said, genuinely happy. “When are you leaving? How long will you be gone.”

  “We’re leaving as soon as both of us can get things together. And we’re not coming back—except to visit now and then. I’ve already got a relocation company checking into cottages and farms for us to rent or buy.”

  Bart turned to Rusty. “I’m sorry I haven’t given you a chance to discuss the details…and we don’t have to go, really. But we’ve talked about living abroad so often, I called up an estate agent, and she has some interesting properties. Listen. We don’t even have to live there. We’ll just take an extended vacation and see how we like it. They’re working everything out. But of course I’m not going if you’re not, so…”

  The news couldn’t have pleased Rusty more. He put his flute of champagne down on the carpet and placed his hands on Bart’s face. He pulled his lover toward his lips, and they embraced in a deep, passionate, long, loving kiss.

  “I love you, Bart,” Rusty said with tears in his eyes.

  “And I love you, Rusty, more than I ever imagined it was possible to love another human being. I just want us to be together in Scotland or Van Nuys or Paris or Tampa.”

  “In Bellflower, Botswana, Baghdad, Loch Mere—or the moon,” Rusty countered. “No matter where we are, as long as I’m with you, I’m alive and in love with you.”

  “It’s true what they say,” Owen said. “Money isn’t everything. I’d trade the zillions of bucks that keep pouring in, armored truckload after armored truckload, for just a fraction of what you two have.”

  “What about Judge Carter,” Bart said with a mischievous grin.

  “What about him?” Owen smiled but remained on guard.

  “Were you too nervous today to see the way he looked at you?”

  “He looked angry.”

  “Only in the beginning. It was his macho façade,” Bart said. “From where I sat, and the guys will back me up on this…Hey, guys!” he called. “Come over here a sec!”

  Jim, Rod, Mitch, and Gus ambled over to the window overlooking the city. “Tell Owen how the judge responded today when he got a look at the hot guy sitting in his courtroom,” Bart said.

  “You mean Scary Shari?” Mitch deadpanned.

  “You little twit. No. When he first saw Owen…and throughout the proceedings.”

  “It was obvious to me that there was something sexual going through his brain,” Rod said. “And I read men like the menu at IHOP.”

  “Maybe he just thought Carmen Miranda on a necktie was too outrageous for his courtroom,” Owen said.

  Fitterman practically gushed, “Hell, I’m straight, but I have eyes. I can see how handsome he is.”

  “Gee,” Mitch teased, “most straight men don’t admit they recognize it when another guy is attractive,” as if to imply Fitterman was concealing an ambivalent sexuality.

  The inference went over Fitterman’s head. “And I know for a fact he’s available. Not married. Not dating.”

  “Really?” Owen said, becoming more intrigued.

  “One of my legal aides is best friends with the court reporter. She was interested in the judge for herself until…Well, let’s just say she found out that justice may be blind but Judge Carter’s scale tips the other way.”

  Owen beamed at the suggestion that Judge Carter may have found him attractive. “I could tell by his posture. Under his robe was probably the body of a guy who played quarterback for Harvard. Not that I’d know if he went to Harvard, but he was certainly smart and completely understood the letter of the law.”

  “Isn’t that adorable?” Mitch mocked. He pinched Owen’s chest, aiming for where he thought his nipple might be. “We point out the obvious to you and suddenly you’re smitten.”

  “Am not!” Owen laughed. “Just curious.”

  “That he thought you were a stud?” Mitch finished the question. “Duh!”

  Mitch rolled his eyes and poured another flute of champagne for himself and refilled Owen’s glass as well. “Here, this will muddle your mind further.” Then to the group he appealed, “How come there are guys like him who have the looks of Campbell Scott, the brains of…of…of…well anybody who’s smart, has more money than God, but they don’t think they’re worth dating?”

  “I know I’m worth dating,” Owen countered. “But I don’t go around thinking everyone wants me. Especially someone as hunky as the judge. But now that you mention it.” Owen had a distant look in his eyes. “I do remember sitting at the table and feeling kind of lightheaded when the bailiff called, ‘All rise.’ I mean, am I wrong, but wasn’t he just so-o-o-o good-looking?”

  “YES!” The entire room exploded in unison.

  “I’ll place odds that after next week’s court date, he’ll call you,” Bart predicted. “Or you’ll just have to call him.”

  “Like I would even dare presume he found me attractive!”

  “Don’t presume anything,” Bart said. “But if we have to get a summons and haul his studdly ass into a restaurant to meet you, we will.”

  The other men ad-libbed, “Absolutely! Right on! You’ve got to give him a try. You’re a catch. He’s a catch.”

  “Well, this has been some day,” Owen finally said. He was basking in both his triumph in the courtroom and the general verdict of his friends that Love Finds Andy Hardy. Well, if not Mickey and Judy, maybe Doris and Rock. Or Richard Gere and Julia Roberts.

  “Speaking of love,” Rusty interrupted, “Bart and I are going to mosey on down the hill. We’ve got some celebrating to do ourselves.”

  Bart smiled. He looked first at Fitterman, then to the other men. “This has been one heck of a great day. I can’t thank you all enough for everything that each of you did for me and for Owen. You guys are my family. My friends.”

  At that moment, Rod turned away and went to the bar, clearly ignoring Bart’s departure speech. His cold shoulder was so obvious that the other men all looked at each other and shrugged as if to say, “Somebody needs a nap.”

  “Give me a sec,” Bart said to Rusty. He walked to the bar, where Rod was knocking back another champagne. “What’s up, man?” he asked, genuinely surprised by Rod’s rebuff.

  “Nothing. Why do you assume something’s up?” Rod poured another glass of champagne.

  “Well, for one thing, you’ve been in great spirits all evening, and now you’re behaving as if you’re avoiding me.”

  “If I were avoiding you, I’d hardly be standing here talking to you, would I?”

  “Okay. As long as things are cool.”

  “Cool?” Rod mocked Bart’s concern. “Yeah, it’s cool that you’re going home with Mr. Perfect. I think maybe I’ll get back with Jimbo here. He really wasn’t all that hideous.”

  “Not when he’s unconscious,” Bart quipped.

  “Hey, nothing’s perfect,” Rod said, slurring his words. “Except…I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll be awhile, so don’t wait around.”

  With that, Rod left the room.

  Bart, stunned by Rod’s comments, turned and went back to the group. “Jim, it’s been a great pleasure. We’ll see you soon, I hope? Mr. Fitterman, what c
an I say?”

  “You’ll be saying a lot when you get my bill.” Fitterman laughed. The others joined in despite knowing he was only half-joking.

  Bart continued. “Mitch, we’ll keep in touch. And Owen, I guess we’ll see you next Thursday, if not before.”

  Owen opened his arms and embraced Bart. “See you at the wedding?” he joked. “Can a judge marry himself? I’ll have to look into that.” Owen laughed. “Heck, I haven’t so much as had a date with the guy and I’m planning our honeymoon. What a fool!”

  “Only fools fall in love,” Rusty countered. Then he took Bart by the hand to lead him up the two steps of the sunken living room and into the foyer toward the door.

  After Rusty’s Jaguar cleared the gates and they moved out onto Woodrow Wilson Drive toward Mulholland, Bart spoke up. “Did you hear what Rod said before we left?”

  “We all did. The guy’s got some major issues. He’s still hung up on you.”

  “But how do you feel about it?”

  Rusty reached Mulholland, checked for traffic approaching, and quickly scooted his vehicle across the street. He stopped at the light at Laurel Canyon and made a right turn before answering the question. “I trust you to do whatever’s right.”

  “Mr. Passive/Aggressive,” Bart snorted.

  “I trust you completely, Bart. Really. Plus, I’m not giving up this trip to Scotland for anything!”

  Both men laughed, agreeing there was nothing for either of them to worry about and that any problem Rod had was his alone. There was nothing Bart or Rusty could do to change the way Rod thought.

  Bart leaned over and kissed Rusty on the cheek. “Hurry home, baby,” he said. “I need you naked next to me!”

  Rusty let the steep, winding road rush them down to Fryman Canyon, where he stepped on the accelerator to avoid a red light. Within minutes they were home, in the garage, kissing passionately to the sound of the dogs barking for their share of attention.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Thursday arrived, one of those perfect Southern California Chamber of Commerce spring mornings. The sky was as blue as it could ever be in smog-choked Los Angeles, and the air was still filled with the scent of night-blooming jasmine. Bart and Rusty met Owen and Gus Fitterman at the courthouse for Judge Carter’s final resolution of their respective cases.

  Passing through the metal detector at the courthouse entrance, the four walked to their assigned courtroom, which turned out to be the same one in which their lives had been irrevocably altered the week before. The atmosphere was just as formal as when the jury had been present. However, this time, the only people in the room were the court reporter, the bailiff, counsel for the defense and the plaintiffs, Bart, Rusty, Owen, and Judge Carter, who entered from his chambers and settled into the black leather chair behind the bench.

  Judge Carter began. “Because of the staggering malice as well as reckless and reprehensible indifference to Title VII of the Civil Rights Act perpetrated by Ms. Shari Draper, acting for Sterling Studios, who openly and admittedly engaged in discrimination against president of marketing Owen Lucas, I hereby order Sterling Studios to pay compensatory and punitive damages totaling $4.5 million to Mr. Lucas.

  “With regard to Bart Cain, who served as senior publicist at Sterling Studios, I decree the studio shall pay compensatory and punitive damages in the amount of $2 million. Also, if Mr. Cain or Mr. Lucas desire, they are to be reinstated in their respective positions, with compensation doubling the salary they have missed since their wrongful terminations.”

  With this command, he slammed down his gavel.

  Nonverbal sounds of disagreement and disgust issued from Richard Ward. Ward broke a pencil in half to display his anger.

  Bart was stunned by the settlement. Simultaneously, smiles and sighs of relief came from Bart and Owen, with Rusty calmly nodding his head, acknowledging that justice had indeed been served.

  “And one more item on my agenda,” Judge Carter announced. “I am issuing a formal statement warning the plaintiffs from attempting to practice any type of retaliation against either of these men. The following note has come to my attention. It was addressed to both Messrs. Lucas and Cain, which leads me to believe someone from Sterling is responsible. The note says, ‘I am warning you to hand over all materials said to be evidence in any case or complaint about Shari Draper. You are despicable sneaks and cheats. If you do not comply with this request, you will suffer dire consequences for your abominable, cowardly transgressions. With deepest contempt, Your Worst Nightmare.’

  “This type of behavior will not be tolerated by the law. As an aside, I trust you know that statistical surveys indicate that 50 percent of working women in the workplace and 10 percent of working men have been sexually harassed on the job. I will personally see to it that these two innocent men are also awarded a staggering sum of Sterling Studios’s money if this case is appealed and you lose. Am I completely clear, gentlemen?”

  Richard Ward grudgingly responded. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Then court is adjourned,” Judge Carter announced, and brought down his gavel one final time.

  Bart and Rusty and Owen rose. Fitterman came back over and shook each of their hands, offering his congratulations. Rusty and Owen exchanged words of appreciation for all that Fitterman had done for them. The other attorney and the judge left the room. For a long moment, the three simply looked at each another. They were relieved to be rid of Shari and to have the trial completely over.

  Finally, Owen said to Bart and Rusty, “Once you guys are settled in Scotland, I’m coming to stay with you for six months. Maybe I’ll buy myself a castle. Or maybe the entire country. But I’m definitely getting away from Hollywood for a while. Who needs it?”

  “Of course. You’re always welcome,” Bart said, and Rusty readily agreed. Just as they were about to leave the room, the court reporter came up to the trio. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said, pushing his eyeglass frames up the bridge of his nose. “Judge Carter asked if you wouldn’t mind meeting with him for just a moment in his chambers.”

  The men looked at each other, not completely surprised. “Sure,” Bart said. “Lead the way.”

  The court reporter escorted them back into the vast room, past the jury box and witness stand and the judge’s enormous bench. He knocked on the wooden door that was off to the side behind the bench. “Entréz-vous,” an affable voice responded.

  The court reporter opened the door for the men, who entered the private chamber feeling a little like Dorothy and her friends entering the Great Hall ruled by the Wizard of Oz.

  Inside the room, just as Mitch had predicted when he first saw Judge Carter, there was indeed a bench press, Stairmaster, and treadmill. The office was also decorated with floor-to-ceiling shelves of law books. And there, removing his robe to reveal a hairy, pec-pumped Adonis in faded blue jeans, stood Judge Carter, every inch the hard-bodied specimen the defendants and their cohorts had lustfully imagined.

  Judge Carter explained why he wasn’t wearing a shirt. “The robe gets too hot.” He pulled a tank top from his gym bag, lying next to the treadmill, and pulled it over his head.

  “Quite a case, wasn’t it, guys?” the judge declared, making conversation. “I just love it when I get to make all that noise with my gavel. It’s my favorite part of the whole job,” he said, metamorphosing into a regular guy, the persona of the tough authority figure completely dissolved. “That and prying out all sorts of mucky dish from witnesses on the stand. What you guys came up with about that Shari/Larry person was just too much. What a caution he/she is! How on earth did you stand to work for the bitch?”

  Bart uttered, “Well, Your Honor…”

  “Oh, don’t ‘Your Honor’ me when I’m off duty. I’m Jonathan, and I’m happy to finally meet you guys under more positive circumstances.” He held out his hand for Bart, Rusty, and Owen to shake, a formal greeting that was perfunctory until he shook Owen’s hand. The two men’s hands were locked together more than a mom
ent longer than necessary. When the motion stopped, they didn’t immediately disconnect from each other’s grasp. “Especially nice to meet you, Owen,” Jonathan said.

  “Same here,” Owen responded. “By the way, we’re going over to Morton’s for a celebratory dinner tonight. Care to come and join us.”

  “Really?” Judge Carter looked as if he were a child being invited to another child’s birthday party.

  “Absolutely,” Rusty chimed in.

  “I’m there!” the judge accepted. “What time’s the reservation?”

  “Sevenish,” Owen said. “Andre, the maître d’, will hold a table if you’re busy and want to make it later.”

  “Terrif. I’ll be there at sevenish.”

  “It’s a plan,” Owen nodded. “We’ll see you there.”

  Bart, Rusty, and Owen left the room, appearing to be very dignified. However, once outside the court building, they broke into smiles and nonverbal squeals of laughter. “Now do you believe that ‘Jonathan’ is interested in you?” Bart chided Owen.

  “And did you get a look at those arms and his chest.” Owen smiled. “He should never wear robes!”

  “Something tells me we’ll have to put a king-size bed in the guest room at the farm,” Rusty said. “Something big—to play in.”

  Owen pretended to protest. “Oh, stop! We don’t even know each other.” Owen smiled again. Owen sang an old Dusty Springfield gem “Wishing and Hoping” as they got into Rusty’s Jaguar.

  “You can have the nuptials in that castle you threatened to buy,” Bart said as they drove off toward Owen’s Beverly Hills house. Owen was already asking Rusty and Bart what he should wear to dinner.

  The banner headline in Daily Variety announced: “Draper Hangs at Galaxy.” The story that followed revealed that after being released from her contract at Sterling, Shari Draper had landed safely at Galaxy Studios. The press release from which the story was taken sounded a lot like something Bart Cain would have written.

  FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE