Ritz Harper Goes to Hollywood!

by Wendy Williams

  Chas was deflated. But again, Hardcore was a gentleman, this could be the start of something more meaningful than Chas was accustomed to.

  “That’s cool, too,” Chas said. “Jet lag is a mother. And I must be with that broke-down Queen of Radio tomorrow.”

  Hardcore leaned across the table and whispered, “I want you. I’m just confused and I want you in the right way. I want you to feel me when we’re fucking and when you’re on the plane going home. I wanna give you a reason to return. So, can we do that tomorrow?”

  Chas nodded.

  Hardcore summoned the server, peeled off three $100 bills, and slid them to Chas.

  “This should cover us,” he said, getting up from the table to reveal his rock-hard dick. “Take it as my down payment for tomorrow’s session.”

  Chas couldn’t wait to sleep with Ritz’s enemy.

  14

  FRIDAY, 8:45 P.M.

  HOLMBY HILLS, CALIFORNIA

  RUTGER BLAKE’S MANSION

  The Platinum Triangle, consisting of Bel Air, Beverly Hills, and Holmby Hills, was home to the priciest real estate in all of Los Angeles. Holmby, located on the cushy West Side, was the most exclusive neighborhood of the triangle. Rutger lived here among the rich and famous in the film industry.

  Ritz entered the room and owned it.

  Clad in a formfitting ensemble (rich, candy-apple red from head to toe), Ritz was a mesmerizing Monet, simultaneously regal and fierce.

  “Wow,” Rutger exclaimed.

  His spontaneous reaction took Ritz by surprise, and she rewarded his candor with a warm smile. “I’m Ritz Harper,” she said, beaming.

  “Yes, you are, indeed.”

  Chas cleared his throat; Rutger should be fawning over him.

  Rutger gawked at Ritz’s legs, then shoes, then her waist, her soulful eyes, her impeccable long, flowing tresses; everything about this woman summoned his attention and he couldn’t turn away.

  Chas cleared his throat again, this time breaking the spell.

  Rutger smiled at his favorite secret and hugged him head-on. “It’s been so long, so very long since I’ve seen you, bloke.”

  Ritz smiled. Chas prattled on about the flight and the awful food, and Rutger was a most gracious host.

  “Do you require a massage?” Rutger asked. “A bath? What would you like to eat? We can call in one of the best studio chefs, you’ll be pleased.”

  Damn, Ritz thought to herself. Rutger didn’t just dote on Chas, he spoiled him rotten. Chas responded to every generous gesture by batting his eyes and turning his chin upward. The more aloof he appeared, the more Rutger wanted to please him.

  Ritz was beyond jealous. “Rutger, you have a lovely home.”

  “Thank you, Ritz. I try my best to make this place comfortable for me and my family. I go through so much in this industry, and I know I tend to bring it home to Ellie and the kids, so I want this to be a paradise for them.”

  “Oh, you’re married?”

  “Yes, my better half took the girls to the Atlantis resort in Dubai. Gretchen and Gabney bypassed Disney World for Alantis’s Lost Chambers aquarium—it has a shark tank built into the wall.”

  “Really?” Ritz was impressed. “I love deep-sea creatures.”

  “Yes, my daughter Gabney wants to be a marine biologist so she’s in fish heaven. I wanted to send her to Dubai before things got hot, if you know what I mean.”

  Ritz didn’t know; but she pretended. “Your art collection is breathtaking.”

  Ritz stood there, long and shapely, with her hands on her hips. Chas had brought Rutger a new toy. And, boy, was she fascinating.

  “Rutger has all but one piece of the Renoir collection,” Chas boasted as he slipped his arm around Rutger’s waist.

  “That is true, and that bastard Jeremy Weinstein won’t sell me The Bathers until ten years after his death. He’s a prick.”

  “You have all the others, is it necessary to have that last painting?” Ritz asked.

  Rutger crossed the room and led Ritz to the adjoining hallway to show his favorite piece.

  “When I acquire The Bathers, the suite will be complete. And it will appreciate at lightning speed.” Rutger winked.

  “I appreciate it now,” Ritz commented, totally missing the point.

  Rutger smiled. He found her naïveté sexy. It exuded an innocence that was rarely found on his side of Hollywood—where everyone was so phony and always pretending to be more than he or she was.

  Chas entered the hallway and watched with rage as Ritz studied the painting while Rutger was studying her frame.

  “You know, Rutger,” Chas said, “there was a time when I wanted to be an artist.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Chas began to speak glowingly of his butterfly painting, something he’d created in grammar school. Ritz had heard this story many times before, so she ventured farther down the hall to view the other Renoirs.

  The two men behaved like teens in love. Rutger threw his arm around the petite man and nuzzled his earlobe.

  “That is fascinating,” Rutger exclaimed. “So what would you need to resurrect that vision? Perhaps I could sponsor your adult art debut.”

  After endless chatter, Rutger invited Ritz to join him and Chas in the den. “Have a drink?”

  Ritz declined. Chas attempted to pour his own, but Rutger wouldn’t allow it, saying, “You’re my special guest.”

  Chas pointed to a bottle. Rutger dutifully handed Chas an elegant glass of bubbly.

  “What do you know about Hollywood?” Rutger asked the two. “And don’t be shy.”

  “I hear it’s shady, hard to get in, but once you’re in, you’re in,” Chas announced.

  “What about you, Ritz? Are you familiar with the favor system?”

  “Well,” she stammered, “is it like the casting couch?”

  “Yes and no,” Rutger replied. “The favor system is not set in stone, there isn’t an agreed upon give-and-take like with the casting couch. The favor system is a gamble. The giver wants to know just how low you will go to acquire his favor.”

  “Oh,” Ritz said nervously. “We invented the favor system in radio.”

  Chas laughed at that. “But we are talking to the top dog, so that won’t be a concern for you.”

  Rutger winked at Ritz.

  She turned her head.

  “But, hypothetically speaking, would you participate in the favor system if you had to, Ritz?” Rutger asked.

  Ritz held her tongue.

  “I would, but only with you, bloke!” Chas joked.

  Rutger turned to Ritz. “What is your limit?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Okay, what is it exactly that you want to achieve on this visit?”

  “I want a talk show. I want an opportunity to put the Ritz Harper Excursion on television.”

  Rutger inched closer to her. “Let’s say that I’m the favor-giver who could bring that to fruition, but only if you were to sleep with me and my wife. Hypothetically speaking, of course. Would you?”

  The suggestion struck a nerve. She said nothing.

  “So tell me, Ritz, have you ever slept with a British bloke? My wife would make love to you for days. She finds the darker species so exciting. That’s just one of the few things we have in common.”

  “I don’t fuck for roles,” Ritz shot back. “I don’t fuck random white men, or their wives. That is one line that I do not cross. I fuck who I want to fuck just because I want to fuck them. And unless your wife is a big black man with a big black dick, I don’t want anything to do with her, or you. Period.”

  Ritz rolled her eyes and ventured back into the hallway to get away from Rutger, who wasn’t used to not getting exactly what he wanted.

  Chas was stunned. If she wasn’t willing to play the game, Rutger wasn’t going to play either. Besides, he always followed his instinct about on-air personalities; within ten minutes he knew if an actor would connect with the audience—or not. Thi
s was golden for Rutger. This was bad news for Chas.

  “Chas, I can’t help her,” Rutger blurted. “She isn’t genuine. Her personality is just bad, from the first hello. Bad, bad, bad.”

  Chas couldn’t argue with that and said, “But her listeners are devoted to her. She has a way with the people. Really, she’s just nervous. That’s all.”

  “Chas, nervous or not, her radio personality does not translate into an in-the-flesh warmth. Talk shows, of all media, rely on the strength of the host. She’s not ready, not now. I can’t help her.”

  “Rutger, why not? You’ve got more clout than anybody. You run this town!”

  “I run this town, but I have the viewers to answer to. I can’t put that on television—that woman has an ego of an A-list thespian—and a Q rating of a homeless person. No one knows her here. Throwing her on television just because I have the power to do so is the wrong thing to do in my position.”

  Chas paced the floor to alleviate that sinking feeling. If Ritz wasn’t on the radar out here, that meant he was a nobody as well.

  “What can we do to boost her Q rating?” Chas was desperate. “You know, if she makes it, so do I.”

  Rutger lowered his tone. “I can’t manipulate Q ratings, not even for you. It’s detailed research about how recognizable she is, and how well audiences respond to her. Ritz Harper has major strikes against her television debut. She’s a radio shock jock, so she’s heard but not seen; her ‘royal’ off-air persona is a turnoff; her ego and demeanor are offensive. And she’s a paid celebrity gossiper. That will never fly.”

  As much as it killed him to admit it, Chas knew that he and Rutger were on the same page. Chas had told Ritz to spend more time in the community with her fans, but if it wasn’t about money, she wanted nothing to do with it. He warned her to treat those in her camp better, but Ritz often mistook a worker’s fear of unemployment for loyalty, and she was a notorious bitch. And Chas had encouraged Ritz to dress better, of course, but now she outswaggered the queen of England, which didn’t vibe well with her minions.

  But Rutger was wrong about gossip being a hindrance to Ritz’s television debut, and Chas told him as much: “Gossip drives the entertainment industry, and Ritz is hot because she tells it like it is.”

  Rutger was dismissive. “Gossip is sausage for the famished. People enjoy consuming it, but they want nothing to do with the pig afterwards.”

  Chas had to laugh at that. That bitch Ritz was a selfish pig. He only wished she could have been in the room to hear the comparison. Chas lowered himself to the floor, on bended knee. This was his last-ditch effort to get the ball rolling for Ritz. He had to entice Rutger.

  “You know how adorable you are to me that way?” Rutger smiled as he extended his hand. “Get up. I would hate for Ritz to walk in on something that she’s not into. That would be interesting.”

  Chas obliged. “I promised Ritz that I could make this happen because I know you,” he told his old lover. “I am asking you to do all you can, so at least she knows that I tried.”

  With that, Chas planted a deep, wet kiss on Rutger’s mouth, simultaneously massaging his throbbing dick with both hands. That’s what Rutger loved about Chas, he never cared about keeping up appearances. Rutger pulled away from Chas, his blue eyes blazing with inspiration.

  “Unless…,” he said, just as Ritz reentered the room, “my neighbor Ian could help. Let me make a call.”

  “What? I have to meet someone else now?” Ritz said in disgust. “Chas, does he even know who I am?”

  Chas placed his finger to his mouth, motioning for Ritz to keep cool. Rutger whipped out his cell phone and crossed the room.

  “Yes, Ian, it’s Rutger…. I have a prospect, someone that could use your influence. She’s far too green for the board to consider. Could I bother you with a pour? She and her producer are here for another day or so.”

  Chas awaited the verdict, but Ritz hit the roof.

  “Who in the fuck is he calling green?” she fumed. “I am the number one host in all of fucking New York City. Chas, what the fuck?”

  This time, Chas cut Ritz a look so vicious that words were not needed. Ritz fell in line, at least momentarily.

  “Humph,” Chas said under his breath as he moved away from Ritz and closer to Rutger. Chas was still tripping about how Rutger knew Ritz so well after one brief meeting. And Chas was worried. Ritz was such a whiner; would she be “on” for meeting Ian on such short notice? She wasn’t good without preparation, and with this last-minute arrangement Chas wasn’t sure if Ritz would act right. Chas turned to Ritz to see if he could read her. Ritz, still pissed, managed a faint smile for Chas. He returned the love.

  “You’re a good man,” Rutger said into the phone. He slipped it back into his pocket and shared the good news.

  “I’ve arranged a small pour for you with Ian—”

  “What’s a pour?” Ritz butted in.

  “Ritz, I apologize,” Rutger said. “It’s industry-speak for a casual get-together where quality liquor is served. Ian stays right up the way from here. He is someone that could help you out.”

  “So is this the pitch meeting?” Ritz queried. “If so, who are we meeting with and how can he help?”

  “Ian Hale is a former studio executive who is now the chief of diversity initiatives for NAG, the New Actor’s Guild.”

  “Diversity?!” Ritz blurted. “So I’m filling a quota now? Whatever.”

  Rutger ignored her and focused on Chas.

  Chas was hopeful. “So Ian can open a few eyes for us?”

  “More than that. Ian is the entryway to the small screen for unknown minority performers.”

  “So there is a quota,” Ritz interjected. “That’s funny. I thought that black celebrities paid their dues and competed for roles alongside everybody else. I didn’t know there was a fast-track back door to stardom.”

  “Don’t get it wrong,” Rutger said sternly. “In 1999, a diversity study was issued, and none of the Big Four networks featured minority actresses in leading roles. It was a public relations disaster. Some contend that there were limited faces of color because the Screen Actor’s Guild required at least two paid performance roles for membership; and if you’re not a member of SAG, you can’t work. So Ian stepped up to the plate and created NAG, the New Actors Guild. A one-year affiliation with NAG guaranteed an entrance into SAG, and into the industry. It’s a program that we in Hollywood are very proud of.”

  “Rutger, does Ian know that I’m on WHOT?” Ritz asked. “Or that I’m syndicated in thirty states? I should be given a pass into SAG right away!”

  Rutger no longer concealed his contempt. “Woman, radio does not make you an actor!”

  “But I bring the drama in drive time! That’s improv—four hours a day!”

  “Bringing your radio drama does not make you a qualified talk-show host,” Rutger said. “Chas, please take this celebrity to Ian, and let’s see what he can do for her.”

  Ritz tapped her foot, but held her tongue.

  Rutger approached her, staring directly into her eyes. “It is in your best interest to go with Ian’s program. If you fuck up with him, you’ve fucked up with me.”

  “And then we’re both fucked!” Chas joked, but not really.

  Rutger smiled at his fuck buddy. “Never you, with a mouth like that. You should train Ritz on how to be quiet long enough for me to shove my cock in her mouth.”

  Ritz’s mouth fell open. But the cuss words got lodged in her larynx. Chas laughed nervously but didn’t like the insult one bit. He knew that within every joke was a half-truth. Did Rutger want to jump Ritz?

  “Ian’s home is four doors down on the left,” Rutger said. “The walk will do her some good. Chas, come back and see me after you’ve dropped her off. We’ll have dinner, and I’m certain we have much to discuss.”

  With that, Rutger walked out of the study.

  “He couldn’t get a fucking car for us?” Ritz complained as she and Chas clunked
down the long, winding street. “I mean, what the fuck is his problem? These shoes cost me nine thousand dollars!”

  “They’re made for walking, right?”

  “Oh, now you’re getting on me, too?” Ritz huffed. “What did I do to you?”

  Chas corrected himself. “Ritz, tone it down a bit. Be a diva after you get what you want. Just, just, don’t be so extra right now. We’re going to meet with the diversity chief, and I want you to just be cool.”

  “I was cool when that motherfucker said that he was going to shove his dick in my mouth. I was cool when he kept referring to me as a nobody. I’m not a fucking nobody. If I’m a nobody, then you’re a nobody, too!”

  “Yeah, I know,” Chas sulked.

  In the distance, a white Mercedes sped toward them and hugged the curb at an unusually high speed.

  “Oh, fuck!” Ritz screamed. She fell to the ground.

  Chas turned to find Ritz on the ground in the fetal position, clutching her chest.

  “Baby, what’s the matter? What happened, Ritz?!”

  Ritz was breathing hard, tears welling in her eyes. Chas fought to remove her hands from her chest. Was she bleeding? Ritz’s heart was beating so hard, so fast, that it appeared to be bulging from her crimson dress.

  “I’m okay,” Ritz whispered. “I just thought…that someone had come back for me.”

  Chas placed his arms around her. “Don’t panic. You’re okay. You’re okay. I’m right here. You know, we’re far away from danger. Jacob Reese is dead. You’re going to get your talk show, and you’re going to get a change of scenery.”

  “Will you be with me, Chas? I don’t have anybody.”

  “Yeah, you know that. We will have a change of scenery. Come on now, Ritz, get up.”

  Ritz didn’t move.

  “Come on, get up before you fuck up all that star shit you got on.”

  Ritz managed to laugh. Yeah, she didn’t want to mess up her new dress.

  “Do I look okay? Is my makeup fucked?”

  Chas pulled a silk hankie out of his pocket. He stood on his tippy-toes and patted her concealer.

  “You have the most beautiful eyes in the world, do you know that? You just trip people up with them.”