5 The Boy Who Never Grew Up

by David Handler

  “You’re missing my whole point, Meat.”

  “Sorry. I get a bit dense sometimes.”

  “What I’m saying is that nothing ever changes.”

  “How can it—if you don’t let it?”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that if you keep dwelling on every hurtful adolescent fender bender then yes, you’re right. You are your past. But that’s your own choice. And your own mistake. Because you’re not that person anymore, except in your own head. We’re living in the present. Whatever happened before doesn’t matter anymore. You have to put it behind you.”

  “I have,” he said broodingly.

  “Bullshit.”

  “I have,” he insisted. “Here, here, I’ll give you a perfect example—an invitation came to me at the studio a few weeks back. My high school graduating class is having its twentieth reunion. A big dinner dance at the Sheraton Panorama City. And it didn’t even faze me one bit. I just shrugged it off and tossed it in the trash. Because I’m not that person anymore, just like you said.”

  “You’re going,” I informed him.

  He instantly turned pale. “I’m what?”

  “You’re going to your reunion. This is one dance you’re not going to miss.”

  “Forget it. No way.”

  “You’re going,” I assured him. “And I’m going with you.”

  “I am not going,” he argued, his voice rising. “You can’t make me go. I hate those people. The day I graduated I swore I’d never see any of them ever again. I won’t go. You hear me? I won’t go!”

  “You have to go, Matthew. You have to get over this thing—whatever it is.”

  He went back to watching the cars out on the street again. “I won’t go.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll go without you. And I’ll find out what happened.”

  “I refuse to allow it!”

  “You can’t stop me, Matthew.”

  “Look, Meat, I have a great idea—let’s just forget this whole book, okay? I obviously didn’t know what I was getting into, and you obviously are a loose cannon. Really, I can’t remember the last time I met such a stubborn, domineering pain in the—”

  “Careful,” I said demurely. “You’re going to make me blush.”

  “Let’s just forget it, okay?”

  “Okay, Matthew. If that’s how you feel.”

  He sighed. “It’s not how I feel. I—I just … why is this so important?”

  “Because you’ve made it so important.”

  He thought this over, nose twitching, eyes blinking repeatedly behind his glasses. Before he could say anything more his beeper went off again. “Damn. That’s the third time. I’d better find out what she wants. You mind?”

  “Go right ahead.”

  There was a pay phone outside of the restrooms. He loped off toward it.

  The waitress brought our lunch while he was gone. I waited for him to come back before I dove in.

  He returned quickly, flopped down in the booth, and stared at his food. “Better hurry up and finish, Meat,” he said numbly. “We have to get back.”

  “What happened?”

  “The Enquirer got hold of Pennyroyal’s nude shots. They’re rushing them into print.”

  “I thought Shelley had the only set of negatives.”

  “He did. Somebody broke into his office and stole them out of his desk.” His eyes filled with tears. “Where does this end, Meat? Can you tell me that? Where does this end?”

  “I have to give the press a statement.” Shelley Selden sat slumped behind his desk, distraught. “I have to tell them something, anything.”

  We were all seated in his paneled office in the executive suite of the big white building. Matthew, Sarge, Bunny, Shadow. Shadow was still half asleep—he’d been on the gate all night and only just gone to bed when Shelley called him. Lulu lay at my feet making low, unhappy sounds and shooting murderous looks at Bunny. One salmon patty too many, evidently.

  There was a fireplace in Shelley Selden’s office, a leather sofa, armchairs, a long conference table of polished walnut. His desk was also walnut. A fine piece, except for where the bottom drawer had been smashed open. It was a sedate office, the office of a judge or college president. Matthew’s office next door looked more like a playroom, with all of the pinball machines and toys he had crammed in there. The executive suite was on the building’s second floor, directly across the hall from the screening room. An outer office for secretaries, a waiting area, and Sarge’s office made up the rest of the suite.

  Sarge sat cross-legged on the floor shooting worried looks at Matthew, who seemed to have withdrawn inside himself. He sat sprawled in an armchair playing with his Silly Putty, gazing off into space and saying not one word. His face was a blank.

  “What you gonna tell them?” she asked Shelley.

  “I don’t have the slightest idea,” he replied irritably. “Except that we had nothing to do with it, and we don’t know how it happened.”

  “They won’t be satisfied with that,” she pointed out.

  “Hey, I know that,” he acknowledged, helping himself to a handful of jelly beans from a big jar on his desk. “And who can blame them? Everybody’s going to think we leaked them ourselves to get back at her.”

  “Is the Enquirer saying how they got them?” I asked.

  “Nope,” he replied. “Just that they’re authentic and that they’ll be printing them tomorrow, suitably touched up. Playboy and Penthouse are already in a major bidding war over who gets the X-rated version.” He shook his head ruefully. “Zorch was on the phone screaming bloody murder at me. He’s threatening to sue us.”

  “Why don’t he sue them?” Sarge wondered. “Get some injunction to stop them from publishing the pictures?”

  “That never works,” argued Shelley. “All it does is give them more publicity, which is exactly what they want. Besides, Zorch is the very person who did this. Zorch had them stolen. Zorch leaked them. It’s Zorch!” he cried, pounding the desk with his fist. His bandaged wrist didn’t like that. He massaged it, wincing. “Zorch did this. I know he did.”

  “Why would he?” I asked. “His client is in the middle of a bitter custody battle. He wants her to look like the good little mother. Why smear her this way?”

  “He doesn’t care about Pennyroyal,” said Shelley. “All he cares about is heat. And he’s getting plenty.”

  I wondered. That wasn’t what Zorch had said to me at Spago. He’d said the Japanese wanted him to turn down the heat. Had he and Schlom just been blowing smoke at me?

  “Shameful,” said Bunny, her lips tightly pursed. “My grandson’s mother posing naked in the newspapers. This will never go away. Somebody will always remind Georgie of this. Always.”

  Matthew shifted restlessly in his chair at the mention of Georgie’s name.

  “I blame myself for this,” said Shelley bitterly. “I should have put the negatives in my safety deposit box at the bank the second Zorch got involved. That’s what I should have done. But I thought they were safe here. I mean, shit, my desk is always locked when I’m not here. So is my office. And we have damned good security, don’t we, Shadow?”

  “Yessir,” said Shadow, yawning. “That we do.”

  “We have a fence topped with razor wire around the entire lot,” Shelley said forcefully, as if he were waging an argument with someone. “We have floodlights, three guys patrolling on electric carts, a man on the front gate twenty-four hours a day. We’re talking Mission Impossible for somebody to get on this lot who doesn’t belong here. I don’t understand how it happened. I just don’t.”

  “You mentioned to me in New York that Zorch’s private detectives were getting onto the lot,” I reminded him.

  “They were,” Shadow acknowledged. “But we’ve tightened up since then. No visitor gets through the gate without we phone up the department they’re visiting to confirm it. They’re issued a pass, and they have to return it when they leave so’s we can a
ccount for everybody. No strays. No stragglers.” He turned to Shelley and said, “Be best to let the Culver City Police handle it from here.”

  “No police,” said Shelley sharply. “You let the police in, you’re letting the press in—where one goes the other follows. We’ll have reporters swarming all over the lot. No way. We keep this thing in the family. It’s our mess. We clean it up ourselves.”

  “Zorch was aware that the negatives existed?” I asked.

  “Of course,” Shelley said, reaching for more jelly beans. “Pennyroyal warned him all about them. That’s how come I’m so sure he’s responsible. He must have had one of his detectives do it. Or maybe some sleazy reporter.”

  I could think of one such reporter right off. Someone who no one could keep out if she wanted in. Someone who would do anything to climb atop the bestseller list.

  There was a tapping at the door. Shelley’s secretary poked her head in. “Excuse me, we’re holding an urgent call for you, Mr. Hoag.”

  “Take it right here, Hoagy,” offered Shelley, pushing his phone toward me. “Put it through, Brenda.”

  It rang a moment later. I picked it up.

  “Mr. Hoag? It’s Abel Zorch.” He sounded upset. Very upset. “Are you free to talk?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “We must talk.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s vital.”

  “I said okay.”

  “Can you make it up to my house this evening? Six-thirty?”

  I said that would be fine. He gave me his address. Then I hung up. Shelley was looking up at me expectantly.

  “Reporter,” I explained. “They’ll try anything.” I came around his desk to get a better look at the drawer. The wood was dented and splintered, the lock shattered. It looked like a pry bar had been used on it. “Any idea what time this happened?”

  “After I got you settled in your bungalow I worked a little longer in my office,” Sarge said. “Came in here about one-thirty to leave some budget projections on the desk. It looked fine then.”

  “How did you get in here?” I asked.

  She frowned. “What you mean?”

  “Wasn’t his door locked?”

  “I have keys to everything,” she informed me, a bit defensively.

  “Who else does?” I asked.

  “The Shadow does,” said Shadow. “Other guards, custodians …”

  “What time do they generally clean?”

  “Between seven and nine in the evening,” he said.

  “Did you spend the night here?” I asked Sarge.

  She nodded. “On my sofa. Locked up before I went to sleep. The hall door was locked. Shelley’s door was locked. Both of ’em. I’m sure of it.”

  “And you didn’t hear anything in the night?” I asked her.

  “I heard nothing.”

  “Pry bar didn’t wake you?”

  “I heard nothing,” she repeated, narrowing her eyes at me. “My office door was closed and my air conditioner was on. I’m also a heavy sleeper.”

  “What time did you get up?”

  “Six. I work out at our health club every morning before work.”

  “Which is where?”

  “Next door to the commissary.”

  “You didn’t notice anything unusual when you left?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Did you come in here?”

  She drew herself up. “Why you slicin’ and dicin’ me, man?” she woofed.

  “He’s not accusing you of anything, Sarge,” Shelley said soothingly.

  “Of course he’s not,” said Bunny. She glared at me. “Are you?”

  “I am not,” I assured her.

  Sarge relaxed. “No, I didn’t come in here,” she said with exaggerated patience.

  “Who discovered the break-in?” I asked.

  “I did,” Shelley replied. “I came up here right after you guys left, about a quarter to eight. I was the first one in. The doors were locked. I came in, found the desk all busted and the negatives gone.”

  “So it happened some time between one-thirty in the morning and a quarter to eight,” I mused aloud. To Shadow I said, “None of the doors were forced?”

  “No, sir,” he replied, looking down at his big feet. “Whoever did it had keys. Or else he picked the locks. Ain’t like they be dead bolts or nothing. Professional could be in and out like a mouse.”

  “A professional would have picked the desk lock, too,” I said. “Not smashed the drawer in.”

  “Maybe he tried to pick it and it wouldn’t cooperate,” countered Shadow. “Hard telling.”

  “This was no wild search,” I suggested. “Whoever did this knew exactly where you kept the negatives. Penny knew?”

  Shelley froze, eyes widened as if he’d just taken a pair of scissors in the back. “No way,” he said in a stunned half-whisper. “She didn’t know. I’m sure she didn’t. She couldn’t have. But then that would … that means somebody else tipped off Zorch …”

  “So it would seem,” I said.

  It got very quiet in Shelley’s office. The only sound was Lulu burping sourly under my chair. Alka-Seltzer. She needed an Alka-Seltzer.

  “Who else knew?” I asked.

  “You may include the Shadow out,” the security chief spoke up promptly. “The Shadow don’t know nothing about such executive business.”

  “That’s true, he didn’t,” Shelley acknowledged. He looked warily around the room at the others. “Just the family knew. No one else. Just us.” His eyes returned to me. “And you. You knew.”

  Lulu growled softly. I assured her I could handle it. To Shelley I said, “Care to elaborate on that?”

  “I did mention them to you in New York,” he pointed out. “I even told you where I kept them. You show up in town and, bam, your first night here they disappear. You have to admit—”

  “Let’s not be bashful about this,” I said. “If you think I had something to do with it come right out and say so.”

  “No, wait, Meat,” Matthew broke in, horrified. Everyone looked at him in surprise—these were the first words he’d spoken since we arrived. “Shelley wasn’t saying you did it. Tell him you weren’t saying that, Shelley. Please tell him.”

  Shelley didn’t say anything for a moment. Just sat there in his high backed chair, watching me with his close-set eyes. “I wasn’t accusing you,” he finally confessed, most sincerely. “I’m sorry if that’s how it sounded. I’m just kind of upset right now.”

  “I understand,” I said. And I meant it. Because I realized exactly what Shelley realized—somebody in this room was involved. Only who? And why? Was it to get back at Pennyroyal? Maybe so. But there was a heavy downside to such sweet revenge—escalation. The more the war between her and Matthew heated up, the less likely it was that they’d ever patch it up. Which made the future for Bedford Falls look even iffier. Then again, maybe that was the whole idea. Maybe someone in the family wanted to see the studio fall. But why? What possible reason could they have? I turned to Shadow and said, “Did anyone come onto the lot after midnight last night?”

  “Yessir,” he replied. “You did.”

  “Besides me.”

  “The Shadow seen nobody,” he replied.

  “Any messengers? Delivery boys?”

  “Nobody.”

  “Did you leave the gate at any time?”

  “Only to conduct some personal business,” he replied. “And I had someone else spell me. Nobody came through. It was a quiet night. Damned hot.”

  “Who else besides the family was here?”

  Shadow scratched his chin with a thick finger. “The security men. The Shadow can vouch for all of them … A comedy team writing late on that witch sitcom. They be around pretty often … Also a film producer who was brushing up on a little late-night business with his secretary, if you know what I’m talking about. Man’s won two damned Oscars. Don’t know why he can’t rent that poor girl a furnished room with a hot plate somewheres.”


  “And no one came through the gate until the workers arrived this morning?” I asked him.

  “That’s right,” Shadow affirmed. “Except for Shelley, that is.”

  “At seven-thirty,” I said, nodding. “We ran into him when we were leaving.”

  “No, this was before that,” said Shadow. “About six.”

  “You were here earlier?” I asked Shelley.

  “Well, yeah,” he replied sheepishly. “We swung by to pick up my car on the way home from the airport. I left it here while we were in New York. I followed Shelley and the kids up to the house and took a shower and then I came back.”

  “All you did was pick up your car? You didn’t come inside?”

  “Not me,” he said. “Shelley came upstairs. But just for a second.”

  “Upstairs where?”

  “Here, to use my john. She doesn’t like public lavatories. A thing she has.”

  “Ever since she was a little girl,” confirmed Bunny. “She’d hold it in for hours until she—”

  “Did she know where you kept the negatives?” I asked Shelley.

  “Wait one second, Hoagy,” he said angrily. “You’re not trying to say my wife had anything to do with this, are you?”

  “I am not,” I said. “Just exploring the possibilities.”

  Shadow cleared his throat. “If I may explore another one …”

  “Go ahead, Shadow,” said Shelley.

  “We do have good security, sir, like you said. But it ain’t like we’re some kind of strategic military installation. We’re mostly set up to protect against people making off with our stuff. The cameras and sound equipment, props, office machines. They need a car for that—that’s why we funnel all our traffic through the one gate. But if somebody genuinely wants to get on this or any other film lot undetected, he can do it. Under the fence. Through the fence. There are bound to be soft spots. Local kids, they sneak onto the lot all the time, fool around in Homewood, drink their beer. We chase ’em off, plug up the hole, they just find another one. There’s no stopping ’em.”

  “Shadow’s right,” Matthew agreed. “I used to get onto the Panorama lot all the time when I was in high school, and they had great security there.”

  I tugged at my ear. “If someone knew this lot well, Shadow, would they know where those soft spots are? A former employee, perhaps?”