5 The Boy Who Never Grew Up

by David Handler

  Matthew sat slumped in a chair beside Shelley’s desk, dazed, his fingers absently worrying the short, bristly hairs in his crew cut. He had bounced right back from losing Homewood. Not from losing Johnny. Not this. But he hadn’t wanted to call off the meeting. He had simply said, “Let’s get it over with.” And so we were.

  Sarge watched him with concern. I watched her watching him. She seemed unusually hyper and jumpy to me. I moseyed over to the coffee pot and asked her if she was okay.

  “Fine,” she said brusquely.

  “You don’t seem fine.”

  She glared at me. “I was up too fucking late. Didn’t get my morning road work in either. Now just get outta my face, will ya?” With that she brushed past me.

  “Best to stay away from that gal today,” suggested Shadow. “Or she’ll bite your head clean off.”

  “So I noticed.”

  And hers was a warmer reception than I got from Bunny. Bunny wouldn’t talk to me at all. She wouldn’t even give Lulu any herring.

  Only Mrs. Shelley was happy to see me. So happy she commanded me to bend down so she could plant a kiss on my forehead.

  “And what was that for?” I asked.

  “Starting my son on the road to normalcy,” she informed me proudly. “We moved the VCR into his bathroom, put Dennis on when it was poopy time, and—”

  “That actually worked?”

  “Like a dream. He looks forward to making poopy now. The only problem is we can’t get him out of there.”

  “I’ll have to work on that one.”

  She smiled at me. “You’d really make an excellent father, Hoagy.”

  “No, I really wouldn’t.”

  Joey Bam Bam arrived wearing a polo shirt, tailored slacks, and tasseled loafers. A pastel-colored cotton sweater was tied loosely around his throat. “Thanks for including me in this,” he gushed, pumping Mr. Shelley’s hand, then mine. “I’m ultra-ultra flattered.”

  “Johnny was part of the Bedford Falls family,” Shelley explained, munching on a Danish. “As his representative, you have a stake in what happens here today.”

  Actually, he didn’t. But I’d asked Shelley to invite him. I wanted him there.

  “Just got off the phone with that buggy old lady of his,” Bam Bam said, rocking back and forth on his heels. “She wants him buried in Canada with the rest of her family. Body’s gonna be flown up there when the police are done with it. Poor little fucker—even dead he can’t get away from her.”

  The Schloms arrived next with Kinsley Usher. Both Norb and the former senator wore polo shirts, tailored slacks, and tasseled loafers. Pastel-colored cotton sweaters were tied loosely around their throats. I guess it was the official Sunday morning responsible adults Hollywood wardrobe. I wore my camel’s hair blazer with a white carnation in the lapel, a cream-colored cashmere cardigan, and gray flannels. Toy wore a white cotton jumpsuit unzipped to her navel. She refused to look at me. She asked Bunny if she could help her lay things out. Bunny merely curled her lip at her.

  Usher approached Matthew slowly, a solicitous expression on his tanned face. “We certainly do appreciate your sharing this time with us, Matthew,” he intoned solemnly, his hands clasped before him like a supplicant. “We all share in your grief. All of us. It’s a terrible business.”

  “Terrible, kid,” growled Schlom in agreement, laying a meaty paw on Matthew’s shoulder. “Johnny, he had nothing but pain and confusion in his life. Now he’s free of all that. Maybe he’s better off. Who knows, huh?”

  Mr. Shelley watched Schlom’s fatherly performance carefully, not liking it. He went for another Danish. Mrs. Shelley watched him, not liking that.

  Schlom came over to me next, a satisfied grin on his ugly face. “Hey, Hoag,” he sneered, faking a kidney punch at me. The crazy kidder. I wish I could say I didn’t flinch. “How ya feeling this morning?”

  I felt like shit. My knee wouldn’t bend. My kidneys ached. “Never better, Norb.”

  “I guess you didn’t look in the toilet bowl then.”

  “I generally try to set my sights a bit higher.”

  Cassandra Dee arrived with Trace Washburn in tow. Trace looked extremely shaky and hungover. Contrite, too, when he saw that the Schloms were present.

  “What’s that scumbag doing here?” Schlom muttered sourly.

  “The senator suggested we all sit down together,” I reminded him.

  Schlom made a face and reached for a napkin and tore off a piece. He chewed on it, glowering. “Who else you invite?”

  “Just one other person.”

  Cassandra got Trace coffee. He slurped it gratefully, then sidled uneasily over to Matthew. Wanting to say hello to him. Wanting Matthew to speak to him. Matthew hadn’t, not since Trace had started sleeping with his wife. And he didn’t now. Just sat there tugging at his scalp, oblivious to him.

  Cassandra looked even more pale than usual. There were dark blue circles under her goggle eyes.

  “Big night with Big Steve?” I asked her.

  “Whatta we all doing here?” she asked me back, nasally.

  “It was the senator’s idea.”

  “Big waste of time, honey.”

  “Don’t be so sure, Cassandra.”

  “Ya got something in mind?”

  “Always. That’s the secret to my success.”

  “You know what I think about that?” she said challengingly, hands on her hips. “I think I faxed two more chapters to my editor last night while Trace was passed out on my bed.” She grinned at me. “Better hurry up, honey, or youse’ll be left behind at the gate.”

  “I keep telling you, Cassandra—this is not a race.”

  “Oh, yeah? Better tell your editor that. I hear he’s talkin’ about dumpin’ ya for somebody faster.” She shook her head at me. “I got nuttin’ but admiration for ya, Hoagy, y’know? So’s I’m giving ya the straight shit—get it in gear.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Pennyroyal kept us waiting another half hour. Actresses are always at least a half hour late. On purpose. They do it so everybody will wonder where they are. They do it so they can make a grand entrance. They do it so everybody will make a fuss over them. They do it because they are actresses.

  She was done up like the world’s cutest little housepainter that morning in a pair of white bib overalls. She did not arrive alone. She brought little Georgie with her. Everyone got quiet, staring as she bent down and gently picked him up out of his stroller.

  Everyone except for Sarge, who suddenly got busy rattling the coffee pot. I was wrong about her. She wasn’t acting jumpy at all. She was being territorial and pissy about Pennyroyal coming around. I’m a little slower than I think sometimes.

  Matthew came to life at the sight of his son. Sat up straight in his chair, face aglow, hands eager to hold him. Pennyroyal carried him shyly over to him.

  “Hello, Matthew,” she said hoarsely, struggling a bit with Georgie. “Whew, he’s getting big.”

  “Hullo.” He swallowed, his eyes on the baby.

  “I like what you’ve done with your hair,” she said.

  He ducked his head, blushing. “Thanks.”

  “I’m so sorry about Johnny. I feel so bad.”

  Matthew nodded, tears welling up in his eyes. “Can I …?”

  “Yes, Matthew?”

  “Can I hold him a minute?”

  “Of course you can.”

  She handed him over. Matthew hugged him tightly, hungrily kissed his fingers, his arms, his face. Tears began to stream down his own face. Pennyroyal began to cry herself as she watched the two of them. So did the Seldens. Actually, there were very few dry eyes in the house, if you must know.

  She left Georgie with him and got herself some coffee.

  “That was nice of you,” I said to her.

  “What was, Hoagy?” she asked, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

  “Bringing Georgie along.”

  “Matthew’s his father,” she said, glancing over
at the two of them. “A boy should grow up knowing who his father is, don’t you think?”

  “I do. That way he knows from the outset who to hate.”

  She frowned at me over the edge of her cup. “You say the strangest things sometimes. I’m not sure if it’s your way of being funny or what. I’m not even sure if you believe half of them.”

  “Let me know if you figure that one out. I’d like to know.”

  “So would I,” she said softly, gazing up at me. “I’d like to know everything about you.”

  I had no comeback for that one. I went and got myself a large plate of herring. I don’t even like herring. Lulu stared at me. I told her to mind her own business.

  We took our seats around the conference table. I sat with Cassandra on one side of me and Mrs. Shelley on the other. Pennyroyal was directly across from me, Georgie gurgling contentedly in her lap. He seemed very relaxed and happy there wrapped in his blue blanket. No one else at the table seemed to be. Not Bam Bam. Not Trace. Not Toy. Not Norb. Not Matthew. Mr. Shelley and Usher were at the heads of the table. One empty seat remained. Sarge, Shadow, and Bunny sat on the sofa, arms crossed, stone-faced.

  The senator began. “It is my belief,” he stated firmly and unequivocally, “that we are all reasonable people here. And that reasonable people act reasonably.” He paused, waiting for someone to refute that. Not me—I was planning to needlepoint it on a throw pillow. “We believe that we are taking an entirely reasonable position, given the California statutes governing the distribution of community property, given the absence of a prenuptial agreement, given the presence of a child that the mother intends to raise as a single parent, and given the tremendous career sacrifices she has already made at her husband’s insistence. What we have asked for, and are asking for, is one half of Mr. Wax’s assets, including Bedford Falls. And that is reasonable.” Usher sat back and sipped his coffee. “Mr. Selden?”

  “Reasonable is a good choice of words,” began Shelley Selden, adopting a booming, authoritative voice I’d not heard him use before. They teach it to them at law school. “That’s precisely how we feel we’re being toward your client.” He glanced at Pennyroyal, who flushed slightly, her eyes on the table before her. “We’re talking here about a young woman who had no acting experience of any kind before she was plucked out of obscurity by my client five years ago. She was a student. He made her a star. Her employability has skyrocketed as a direct result of her association with my client. She had no career before she met him. Now she has one.” He reached for another Danish. Mrs. Shelley pushed the plate away from him so he couldn’t get at it. “Let’s talk about what we’ve offered her as a settlement. A cash sum of ten million dollars—and we’re prepared this morning to raise that sum to fifteen million. The house in Pacific Palisades, which has been appraised at seven point five million, as well as twenty-five thousand per month for expenses and child support. Now, we feel this is a more than reasonable return for her two years of marriage to my client. We feel it is extremely generous, and that to ask for anything more smacks of greed.”

  “I resent that choice of word, sir,” objected Usher.

  Before he could object any further, the door to Shelley’s office opened and Lieutenant Emil Lamp came rushing in, out of breath. “Sorry I’m late. Minister ran way long this morning.”

  “Pull up a chair, Lieutenant,” I said. “I think you know everyone here, except for Kinsley Usher.”

  Lamp shook the politician’s hand respectfully, then sat in the one remaining empty chair.

  Pennyroyal smiled at him sweetly. “Nice to see you again, Lieutenant.”

  “Thank you, miss,” he said, blushing furiously.

  “As I was saying,” Usher continued, “all my client wants is what she is entitled to—community property, which includes one half of this studio.”

  “Impossible,” snapped Shelley. “She’s already made clear what she’ll do with her half, and we are not going to let that happen. We are not going to jeopardize the future of this studio. Frankly, I don’t hear you coming in with anything new, Senator. You’re saying the same words Abel Zorch did. You’re just saying them quieter.”

  Usher’s face tightened. He turned to Schlom.

  Norb cleared his throat. “You’re treating me like the Big Bad Wolf or something. So you get me as a partner. I’m a businessman, you’re a businessman. What’s the big deal?”

  “The Murakami deal is the big deal,” Shelley said flatly. “As you well know.”

  Schlom shrugged his heavy shoulders. “New capital. New markets. It’s the future.”

  “Not for us it isn’t,” Shelley fired back. “We’re independent, and we intend to stay that way. I’m sorry, gentlemen. As long as Pennyroyal sticks to this position we’re headed for court. I see no other way to resolve this.”

  “If I may jump in here—” I said.

  “You I don’t wanna hear from,” grumbled Schlom.

  “Let Meat talk,” Matthew spoke up. “I want him to.”

  Shelley nodded at me to go ahead.

  “I believe we should all try a little harder to understand Pennyroyal’s side,” I said. “After all, she’s made a number of sacrifices. Not just lately, but throughout her career.”

  Matthew frowned at me, perplexed.

  Shelley exchanged an equally perplexed look with his wife. “Wait a second—whose side are you—?”

  “Shaddup,” barked Schlom. “This I wanna hear.”

  Pennyroyal gazed at me adoringly from across the table, bathing me in her warm glow.

  I sipped my coffee. “To reach this point in her career, Penny has had to do things no one else in this office would even consider doing. But she’s done them. No matter how unpleasant they were. No matter how unpopular they were. Attention must be paid. Maybe not one half of Bedford Falls, but certainly attention.”

  And I had everyone’s attention. Everyone except Georgie, who was too busy drooling on Pennyroyal’s overalls. Even Lulu under my chair was all ears, so to speak.

  “This was never a complicated case at all,” I began. “It was simple. Painfully so. I was saying to Lieutenant Lamp just last night that when in doubt about who in Hollywood is fucking over who, all you have to do is follow the dollar. Four people have been murdered. Negatives have been stolen out of this office. Homewood has been torched. All for money. That’s what it’s been about all along. Nothing more. Nothing less. So let’s take a cold, clear look at it, shall we? Let’s ask ourselves who stands to gain the most from all of this. Norbert Schlom and his lovely wife, Toy?” They both gave me frosty glares. “No way. Sure, Norb stands to clean up when the Murakami deal comes through. But he’s already a multimillionaire. As is Toy, thanks to community property. No, they’ve got theirs. So have Shelley and Shelley Selden. And Matthew. And Bunny. They’ve all got theirs. These are rich people. Even if they lose Bedford Falls to Norb and Murakami, their pockets will still be full of money. Which eliminates all of them. And which brings us to the people who aren’t so rich.” I looked around the room at them. “Trace Washburn? He stands to lose no matter whether Bedford Falls stays independent or not.” Trace shrugged with bleary-eyed resignation. “Sarge Harris?” She stiffened, flaring her nostrils at me. “She’ll have a job either way. As long as Matthew works, she’ll work. She has no great financial stake in the outcome of this. Nor does Shadow Williams. Nor does Joey Bam Bam. True, he’s lost Johnny Forget. But he’ll always get another client. Someone hotter probably.”

  “That’s ultra-ultra true,” Bam Bam piped up. “In fact, as of nine o’clock this morning I’ve signed—”

  “Shaddup,” growled Schlom.

  “Yessir,” responded Bam Bam crisply.

  “Cassandra Dee?” I continued. “She wins either way. No matter what happens to Bedford Falls, her book makes money, and she moves on to bigger projects. All of which brings us to the one person who does stand to gain the most and always has—Pennyroyal Brim—the self-proclaimed victim of this ugly wa
r, the sweet young thing who five years ago was a starry-eyed cheerleader with pompoms and who today is on the brink of owning a half interest in a major independent studio, a half interest she intends to sell to Panorama City Communications for a reported one hundred and fifty million dollars, plus a production unit to call her very own. Not too shabby. I’d certainly call it worth the trouble.”

  “Now wait just a minute here, Mr. Hoag,” Usher interjected. “I don’t see exactly what you’re getting at but—”

  “You could have made out fine without much of a fuss,” I said to Penny. “We’ve all heard what Shelley just offered you. Plus you’re a successful young actress. You’d continue to work. Perhaps meet and marry another heavyweight. But that’s not enough for you. That’s chicken feed. You so much as told me so at Spago my first night in town. You told me you were tired of being patted on the head like all of the other pretty little girls. You told me you wanted clout. So you’ve clawed, chewed, sucked, fucked, schemed, manipulated, and murdered your way all the way to the top. Just about, anyway. You almost made it, Penny. But not quite. You came up just a little bit short.”

  Pennyroyal gazed across the table at me, her face a blank. We might have been discussing the European Community.

  “Gaaawd!” gasped Cassandra. “Say something, Penny, will ya!?”

  “Is it true, Penny?” Matthew whispered at her in shock and dismay. “Is it?”

  “Of course it is,” snapped Bunny, a mean glint of triumph in her eyes. “She did it all. I knew it.”

  “I suggest you say no more, Mr. Hoag,” Usher said sternly. “As Miss Brim’s legal advisor I must inform you that given the nature of the accusation you appear to be leveling, and the fact that you are leveling it in front of several influential members of the film community, not to mention a representative of the Los Angeles Police Department as well as—”

  “Speak English for Chrissakes, will ya?” Schlom hollered at him.