Sex and Violence in Hollywood

by Ray Garton

  Adam’s jaw hung open as he stared at Horowitz.

  “Adam?” Alyssa said. “Are you there?”

  “I just sat down to eat!” Lamont said.

  Horowitz stood and removed the headset. Talked as she walked around the desk. Moved here and there. Adam wondered if he really was having a stroke, because he could not speak, and Horowitz sounded like the teacher’s honking voice in the Peanuts cartoons.

  Alyssa sounded worried as she said, “Is something wrong? What’s the matter? Adam?”

  “I-I have to—“ He had trouble with the “g.” “Go. The verd-verdict—”

  “Oh, God, is it in?” Her voice was a breath.

  “Yes.”

  Two sobs blurted up from her chest. “It’s gonna be fine, I know it, I can feel it. I love you, Adam.”

  “I’ll, uh...talk to you later.” Adam’s voice was drying up, becoming coarse. “One way or the other, I guess.” He turned off the phone, dropped it in his pocket.

  Adam walked between Horowitz and Lamont to the elevator but did not feel his legs. Horowitz’s words blatted from a muted trumpet and made no sense. A few numbers got through. Percentages, statistics. And a few words now and then, just barely. Something about “overwhelming support in the polls.” Horowitz and Lamont looked blurry in his peripheral vision.

  In the elevator, Horowitz stepped in front of him, squeezed his elbows and jarred him. “Adam? Adam!”

  Annoyed, Adam asked, “What?”

  “Do you remember everything about the delivery of the verdict?” she asked. “Stand straight? Do not let the—”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “All right, then. Are you ready?”

  He shook his head slowly. “No. I’m not.”

  “Good,” she said with satisfaction. “I would not want you to get overconfident.”

  It took great effort to understand a word she said. The malady continued all the way to the courtroom. Once inside, the babble in the room sounded like a pond full of ducks. Jack was there, patted Adam on the shoulder and said something to him as they passed. Nicholson’s words were senseless quacks. Adam wondered if he should tell Horowitz to call an ambulance.

  They stood when Judge Lester entered, sat when she sat. Then a lot of talking, blapping and honking back and forth. They stood again. Something tugged on Adam’s arm and he looked down to see that Horowitz had taken his hand. He watched her squeeze it, but could not feel it.

  Adam turned to stone again. Stone, all the way through. To the center.

  The foreman of the jury handed the bailiff a rectangular sheet of white paper. The bailiff handed it to Judge Lester. She looked it over, honked a few words. Gave it to the bailiff, who handed it to the court clerk. The blurry, gelatinous courtroom fell silent and everyone listened as the clerk erupted into a series of honks and blats. Something cut through it all like the glowing blade of a light sabre. Two words.

  “Not guilty.”

  Adam passed out.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  On the day the verdict was read, the entire country experienced a remarkable drop in productivity. People called in sick, left work early, or went to work and did nothing but watch or listen to the trial coverage all day. Every television network covered it, and there were countless webcasts on the internet, which bulged with congestion. Even Comedy Central provided live coverage of the verdict, with legal commentary by Harry Hamlin, who played an attorney on L.A. Law back in the eighties. Ally McBeal attorney Peter MacNicol, and Dr. Ruth Westheimer.

  For weeks. Entertainment Tonight and Liz Smith had been making a lot of noise about the bags of mail Adam received. They claimed a good percentage of the mail was made up of marriage proposals from total strangers. Talk shows and chatrooms echoed the question: How long would Nick and Nora last if he was found not guilty, with all those women falling at his feet? Just three days before the verdict was read, Horowitz had let Adam answer the question himself outside her office building. With her words, of course.

  “I have not read a single proposal of marriage,” Adam said into the microphones.

  “Do you read your mail?” a reporter asked.

  “Some of it. I can’t read all of it. But I’ve read quite a bit, and if there are as many marriage proposals in my mail as some people have been saying, I think I would’ve seen one by now. Besides, it wouldn’t matter if there were any, because I’m not interested. Alyssa and I are too happy.” He had smiled.

  In the car afterward, Adam had asked, “Was that necessary? I didn’t even want to acknowledge that stupid story.”

  “You and your girlfriend are a very popular couple,” Horowitz said. “People like you and want you to be happy. They must not think your eyes might wander. Bad numbers that way lie.”

  Adam regained consciousness to the sounds of applause and cheering and the rapid-fire cracking of Judge Lester giving another savage beating to the bench. She adjourned the court, and Adam and Horowitz were escorted out of the hectic, excited courtroom by three of Horowitz’s large, somber security men in charcoal suits. Through the building quickly, outside into the cool, rainy afternoon, and to the front steps and courtyard outside. A restless swarm of reporters, most with umbrellas, shouted questions as Adam and Horowitz approached the transparent plexiglas lectern mounted with several microphones.

  Horowitz held up a hand and said, “We are not here to answer questions, not right now. Adam would like to make a brief statement.” She backed away from the microphones and Adam stepped forward.

  He cleared his throat and with real emotion in his voice said, “First of all, I’d like to thank God for what just happened in there. And for the American justice system that made it possible.” Back in November, when Horowitz had first told him to start memorizing the not-guilty verdict statement to the press, he had complained about the opening line. Adam did not believe in God. Horowitz had said, “On that day, you will.” That had not happened. Adam still did not believe in God. But he believed in Rona Horowitz.

  His throat thickening, he continued. “I’d like to thank Rona Horowitz, who has not only been an amazing attorney, but a great source of support. And...and, um...”

  Adam looked out over the reporters crowded together. Their faces watched him from beneath overlapping umbrellas, anticipating his next sentence, his next word. Rain tap-danced noisily on all the umbrellas. A siren sounded nearby, a joyous whoop accompanying the ovation.

  There was more, but for a moment, Adam’s mind went blank. Then: “I would like to thank you for all the support you’ve given me.”

  “Why would I thank the reporters for their support?” Adam had asked Horowitz back in November. “The reporters are weasels and egotistical airheads.”

  “You are not thanking the reporters for anything,” Horowitz had said. “When you talk to a reporter, Adam, you are talking to the world. That is why most reporters are so unpleasant. No one ever talks to them, only to their cameras. It is rather sad, really. You thank the world, I will thank the reporters.”

  Feeling light-headed, Adam took a deep breath and went on. “The letters and cards and gifts have given me a lot of encouragement over the months, and I’m grateful. But now, I would like to quietly put my life back together. I have a...a lot to adjust to. Thank you.”

  Adam and Horowitz traded places again at the microphones as questions erupted from the crowd of reporters.

  “No, no, I am sorry, but we are answering no questions right now,” Horowitz said, managing to sound firm and apologetic at the same time. “I will be making a statement at my office building in about an hour, and I will be glad to answer your questions then. For now, I just want to say that I hope you will all respect Adam’s wishes. The trial is over and he has a life to rebuild. Please give him the space and privacy he needs to do so. You have all been wonderful, thank you very much.”

  The questions did not stop as the three large men escorted them to the car. Nothing short of a direct hit by a Chinese missile with a nuclear warhead would m
ake them stop asking questions. They did not know when to stop. They did not know how to stop. They asked even though none of them expected an answer. Their goal was not to gather the most facts, but to ask the most questions.

  In the car, Adam asked, “Was that your thank-you to the press?”

  “I wish,” she said with a huff of breath. “My thank-you to the press is the big fat holiday party I throw for them every December.” She looked through the tinted glass at the people standing on the sidewalk, waving and cheering as they drove away. “Wolfgang whips something up for me. Always enough booze to float the Titanic. Last year’s entertainment was Tony Bennett. This year, we have Billy Joel.”

  “Sounds great,” Adam said. “Can I come?”

  “Are you a journalist who has made an effort to treat my clients with a fair measure of respect and dignity in your chosen medium?” Horowitz asked.

  Adam rolled his eyes. “No.”

  “Then you may not come. The Christmas party is for them.”

  “But I’m your client,” he said.

  Horowitz laughed. “Not as of this afternoon.” She turned to him and gave him the gift of a dazzling smile. It stayed in place longer than any other smile Adam had seen on her face. “You are a free man, Adam. No longer accused, and no longer locked in the dungeon of clientude.”

  Adam knew she meant well. The smile was genuine. She was proud of what she had done for him and happy for his freedom. But something about her words twisted Adam’s heart.

  “We will stop by my office and you may collect your things,” Horowitz said.

  “Collect my things? Sounds like we’re getting a divorce.”

  She laughed. “You have some clothes and a few books at the office. Some videotapes. You may pick those up, then Leo will take you to your apartment.”

  Adam frowned at her. “You’re really kicking me out, aren’t you?”

  Horowitz’s smile melted away and she looked at him with mild concern. “There is no point in leaving your things in my office, Adam. You will no longer be coming to my office. Your time is your own now.”

  Still frowning, he turned away from her. Looked out the window.

  “You might be interested to know,” she said, “that the vast majority of my clients are unable to get away from my office and me fast enough. Typically, they are so eager to get on with their lives, they do not have a spare moment to spend with me. Are you an anomaly?”

  “A lot of them still won’t get near her,” Lamont said.

  “I take that as a compliment,” she said. “Is something wrong, Adam?”

  Adam said nothing. Looked at the waving people on the street. Watched the wobbly shadow of the helicopter that followed them overhead.

  Rona Horowitz and her employees were all that stood between Adam and those stupidly grinning, waving strangers. They were his only protection from the helicopter, and from all the cameras and microphones. From the tabloid reporters who would go through his garbage and possibly break into his apartment to learn his secrets. And the “legitimate” reporters, who might hire someone to do their dirty work, or just report whatever the tabloids came up with. Anything to keep alive a story the world did not want to stop watching or reading. How long before he would be able to step outside his apartment building without being photographed or videotaped? How long would the mail continue coming in, and who would handle it for him?

  Adam turned his thoughts to Alyssa. Told himself he should be on his way to her place by now. He did not want to think about the future. He had the present on his mind. Things to do, people to fool. A disguise to don, miles to travel. But without Horowitz, his future would be an ominous alien landscape.

  “What am I going to do?” Adam said.

  Horowitz nodded. “I understand your concern, Adam. I have something for you.”

  A life? Adam wondered.

  Back in Horowitz’s office, Adam sat in his chair while Horowitz’s staff poured champagne and toasted their shared victory. After fifteen minutes of uncharacteristic revelry, Horowitz went to her desk, took something from a drawer and approached Adam. She sat at the end of the sofa nearest him. Handed him a square, white, paperboard envelope.

  Adam looked inside and found a DVD-ROM. “A computer game?” he said.

  “You will be in need of some services,” Horowitz said. “For a while, anyway. On that disk, you will find all the companies and services you might need. Personal security agencies, private detective agencies, car services, financial services, delivery services, catering, and a few other things that will make your life a little easier. There’s no avoiding it, I am afraid. Those are all companies I use myself and I endorse them with great enthusiasm, so you know they are trustworthy. And for being my client, you get a fifteen percent discount across the board.”

  “A commercial,” Adam said. He let out a slow sigh. “Thank you. So much.”

  Horowitz tucked her hands between her knees and leaned forward. “I think I should explain something to you, Adam. This afternoon, in a court of law, you were found not guilty by a jury of your peers. Not guilty. That means you won. Were you perhaps awaiting the arrival of an envelope with Ed McMahon’s picture on it?”

  “I know, I know,” he said, nodding. “We won. Thank you. I meant that thank you when I was out there jerking off for the reporters. Without you, I’d be in prison right now.”

  “At least.”

  “I’m very grateful for that. But I’m sorry if I can’t show it because I...I can’t seem to feel anything. Or maybe I feel things, but they’re very distant. I mean, I’ve got plans, and I’m really excited about them, but...my excitement is a couple floors up dancing around in some other office. Does that make sense?”

  “That is not uncommon,” she said. “You must continue seeing Dr. Remini and Dr. Locket. Dr. Remini will probably put you in group therapy for a while, to keep you from withdrawing. Right now, you are extremely vulnerable to depression. Do what they tell you. Even if you do not want to. That is especially important for the next six to eight months.”

  Adam nodded in agreement. He would need all the help he could get.

  “What are your plans?”

  He flinched. Had he mentioned having plans? He had. But it was not a problem. Horowitz knew nothing about his real plans. He smiled and said. “Oh, I plan to have some fun with Alyssa. Enjoy not having to be anywhere at a specific time. Sleep in. You know.”

  Horowitz nodded. “I know it was a long and exhausting trial, and your life will never be the same as it was before all this happened. But the public likes you, and that makes a big difference. It could have been worse. Can you imagine what it would be like to be Linda Tripp?”

  Adam said, “Can you imagine what it would be like to do Linda Tripp?”

  Horowitz sighed as she stood, smiled a little. “I am so disappointed to see I have failed to scrub the last of the vulgarity out of you.”

  Adam stood and towered over her. “Will I see you again?”

  “Of course you will see me, Adam. I am everywhere. You will see me on television. We will meet at charity benefits and parties. You will ask me to dance at the premiere party for Mr. Nicholson’s next movie. And maybe the man himself will cut in, and he and I will have a few laughs over Judge Lester’s star-struck eccentricities. And I expect you to invite me to your first book party, so you will certainly see me there.”

  She sounded as if she had everything planned and arranged. Adam would not be too surprised if it all happened exactly as she had described it, in the very same order.

  “You have a lot to write about, Adam. That might be the key to putting it behind you.”

  He knew she was right. The page had been his dumping ground for everything for as long as he could remember.

  They shared a brief hug as Lamont came into the office chewing on a hotwing and holding a glass of champagne. Grease and dollops of barbecue sauce glistened in his mustache and beard.

  Lamont said, “Everything is in the car, and it’s—”


  Horowitz averted her eyes. “Lamont, you have food in your beard,” she said with disgust. “Remove it or leave the building immediately.”

  Lamont tossed the hotwing into a garbage can, removed a paper napkin from his pocket and wiped furiously at his beard. He took a breath before trying again. “Everything is in the car, and it’s waiting downstairs.”

  Adam shook Lamont’s hand. “Thank you for everything, Lamont. You’ve been great. I don’t know if I could’ve done it without you.”

  “I don’t know if anyone around here could do it without me.” He shot Horowitz a look. “Without me, someone would’ve killed her by now.”

  Horowitz smiled. Tilted her head to the right, lifted her hand beckoningly. As Lamont stepped toward her she said, “Lamont, my faithful and trusty assistant...the French Riviera is calling you. Heed that call. Now. Maybe you can get an earlier flight?”

  “I already did. If I don’t leave here right now, I won’t have time to shower before I catch the plane.” He turned to Adam and lifted his glass. “To your not-guiltiness! And you’re welcome.” He smiled, drank.

  “I am unavailable for the next two months, Adam,” Horowitz said. “After that, feel free to call me if there is anything I can do for you.”

  And that was it. Adam left the offices of Horowitz and Associates and never returned.

  FIFTY-SIX

  Reporters surrounded Adam’s apartment building. Leo drove past the crowd, through the gate of the private parking garage. Carried the garment bag and satchel up from the underground garage to Adam’s apartment, in spite of Adam’s protests.

  When Adam reached into his pocket for his wallet, Leo smiled and shook his head. “You know better than that, Adam. It’s been a pleasure working with you, and I’m sure glad things turned out this way. I always knew they would.”

  “I’m really sorry about throwing up in the limo,” Adam said. “And in the Lincoln.”

  Leo laughed, boxed Adam’s shoulder. “That was no trouble at all. My brother’s got a nervous stomach like that. My advice’d be to stay away from anything with little seeds in it. They’ll play hell with your belly.”