sex.lies.murder.fame.

by Lolita Files

  Gersh stood in front of him now with his hand stuck out. Penn shook it. A pretty blonde came toward them, then abruptly turned away.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Gersh.”

  “You know, we really wanted your book.”

  Penn smiled and nodded, unsure of what to say.

  “It was off the table before anybody could even get their bearings,” Gersh said.

  “Yeah. It went kind of fast.”

  Gersh gestured for Penn to move forward. People passed, gawking at the fair-haired model.

  “What kind of deal they got you in over at CarterHobbs?”

  “It’s a one-book.”

  “A one-book? Really. I’m surprised at that.”

  “Yeah. My agent thought it was a good idea.”

  “I see.” He gestured again. Penn moved up. “So what’s next on your agenda? How’s the rap thing going? Seems like you and On Fiyah are everywhere.”

  “I know. It’s amazing.”

  “It’s like you just exploded onto the scene out of nowhere. Books, music, fashion ads. I’ve never seen a writer market himself the way you have.”

  Penn was now up at the counter. He flashed his card.

  “A Defib, please.”

  “Name?” the cashier asked, a slight curve to her lips.

  “Penn,” he said, poker-faced.

  “Told ya!” said someone a few feet away.

  “I’m afraid to try one of those,” Gersh said. “That’s a helluva lot of caffeine.”

  Penn laughed.

  “I need it,” he said. He moved to the side to wait for his java.

  “A regular coffee,” Gersh said to the cashier. “Venti.” He reached into his pocket. Penn stepped up and flashed the cashier his special card.

  “On me,” he said, smiling at the publishing exec.

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “It’s my pleasure, sir.”

  “Thanks.”

  Gersh stepped out of the line and waited with Penn.

  “So maybe we can sit down one day and talk about your next project.”

  “Penn! Defib!” the barista yelled.

  He stepped up and grabbed his coffee.

  “Have a great day,” he said, smiling at the barista.

  “I just did,” the frumpy girl purred.

  He turned to Gersh.

  “I’m sorry, I’m running really late. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Gersh. An honor, really.”

  “Let’s talk. See if we can put our heads together.”

  Penn was already halfway out the door.

  “I’ll tell my agent,” he said, and took off.

  Mercury was now deep into the rehab on Beryl’s apartment. It hadn’t taken much for Penn to convince Beryl to kick some business his friend’s way. She was more than willing to do anything to please her man. Mercury was Penn’s best friend. Besides, it wasn’t like he didn’t have any credentials. He had a degree in architecture with excellent hands-on experience. Of course she would hire him. She couldn’t wait to get started with her ideas for the place. She had planned to do the bathroom, bedroom, and living room at the same time. That would mean she’d have to spend most of her time at Penn’s, including overnights, which was exactly how she wanted it.

  “I can’t believe this shit, man,” Mercury said. “This bitch is crazy. As soon as we get a room all torn up so we can start on it, she changes her mind about what she wants us to do. We never get a chance to get it started. What kind of nonsense is that?”

  “You making money?” Penn asked.

  Mercury took his Yankees baseball cap off and wiped his brow.

  “Yeah, we’re making money. This job is never-ending. The more she changes the plans, the more days it adds, and the more it’s gonna cost her. We finally pulled up everything in the living room, bedroom, and the bathroom, but now she’s not sure about flooring and the walls. So we wait until she makes up her mind. We’re redoing the wiring now until she tells us how she wants to proceed.”

  “Tear it up as much as she wants. This gig could keep your pockets lined for a long, long time.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Merc.

  “She’s obsessive-compulsive.”

  “No shit. That’s a fucking understatement.”

  “No,” Penn said, putting his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “She’s obsessive-compulsive for real. It’s clinical. She takes medication for it.”

  “Well, the shit ain’t working,” Merc said.

  “It is for you.”

  “I’m going to have to call off the job for a little while,” Beryl said.

  They were in bed watching Dateline. She had a manuscript in her lap. Penn was munching a slice of pizza.

  “Call off what job?” he asked, halfway listening.

  “The rehab at my apartment.”

  He looked at her.

  “Call it off why?”

  “Because…” she said coyly. “I’m running out of money. My funds have dropped kind of low.”

  “That’s because you keep changing the plans,” he said.

  “I know, I know,” she whined, leaning into his shoulder. “I couldn’t make up my mind. I didn’t expect the architect to charge me so much. I didn’t think it’d be so complicated. Every time I ask him to adjust one tiny thing in the blueprints, he charges me. And the interior decorator. She doesn’t come cheap, and she hasn’t even really done anything yet.”

  “Interior decorators are expensive, Beryl.”

  “I know, I know. Don’t talk to me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I’m a child.”

  “I’m just saying, I figured you had this thought out.”

  “I did,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  Penn chomped on his pizza. This was fucked up. After he’d told Mercury everything would be cool.

  “So now what? Your place is all torn up. They haven’t rebuilt it because they don’t know what you want.”

  “I’m still going to do it,” she said. “I just figured I’d pay some of the loan down first and then try to get it increased. I’ve got a really good relationship with my bank. And maybe I can do some of it through my credit cards. I can get cash off them. I’ve got it all worked out. I can make it balance.”

  He stared at her.

  “How long are you talking about calling it off for?”

  “Just a couple of months. Maybe three. Not long.”

  What the fuck? he thought. Three months?

  “So what about your place? You’re just going to let it stay ripped up like that? Where are you going to stay?”

  She gave him a quizzical look.

  “You’re joking, right?” Beryl said.

  Penn blinked, rapid-fire. Great. She probably had this shit planned.

  “I can stay here, can’t I?” she asked. “We’re always together.”

  What choice did he have? He needed her. For now, anyway. Damn. It was one thing for her to be over because her place was being worked on. It was another for her to be officially living with him.

  “So what, are you going to move your stuff here? Is this where you’re going to take your calls?”

  “No, babe,” she said, smiling now, leaning into his arm. “I’ll still go home every day to get clothes and stuff. I need to at least act like I still live there. I definitely can’t take my calls here. People at work can’t know that I’m here, remember?”

  “Right. Well, I guess you’ll just stay here then until we can get your place together.”

  He said “we” on purpose. He knew it would score him some points in the wake of his seeming hesitant about her moving in for three months.

  Beryl flung herself upon him, kissing his cheeks, his nose, his mouth.

  “Thank you, babe! Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  “Cut it out,” he laughed. “You’re such a silly.”

  “I’m not a silly,” she giggled. “I’m a happy! A happy! Aren’t you happy!”


  “I’m thrilled.” He kissed her. Enough already.

  “This is going to be so good,” she said, settling back into the pillow, tucking herself under his arm. “It’ll be like we’re married, sorta. Like a test run, you know?”

  Married, he thought. Oh hell, no.

  “Look at that car,” he said, pointing to the TV. “That’s a Maybach, isn’t it?”

  “I guess,” she said. There was no car on the screen when she turned to look.

  Penn bit into his pizza, his mind on fire. He would be playing house with her for the next three months.

  “Oh, oh,” she exclaimed, “I almost forgot! Guess who wants you to give him a blurb?”

  “Who?” he asked, still reeling from the thought of round-the-clock Beryl.

  “Adam Carville! He loves all the hype that’s been built around Book, and even though he doesn’t know what it’s about, he’d love to have your endorsement for his next book. He says he went to school with you. That would be so good, you giving a quote to a National Book Award nominee.”

  Penn’s teeth were immobile, still planted in the pizza.

  “Everyone’s so excited about it. Kitty was really hyped when I told her.”

  “No way,” Penn said, freeing his teeth from the cheese.

  “Way!” She was pure giddiness, delighted to be delivering good news. “He wants you to give him a quote. Isn’t that cool!”

  “No,” he said. “No way would I give a quote to that guy.”

  Beryl’s face froze.

  “What? I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you? Adam Carville is, like, so hot right now.”

  “Because he’s a talentless fuck, that’s why.”

  His face was stern.

  Beryl searched his eyes, unsure of herself.

  “Are you joking?”

  “No, I’m not. I don’t want my name anywhere near that bastard’s books.”

  Beryl cast her eyes down at the manuscript in her lap, utterly confused.

  “I don’t…uh…I’m not sure…I mean, what should I do? I already called him and told him to send over a galley so I could get it to you. He was so excited. I was so excited. I called Spanky. She was excited, too.”

  “You should have checked with me first.”

  He threw back the covers and got out of bed.

  He could feel her watching his naked splendor as he walked away. He took his time, strolling slowly to the bathroom in silence, allowing her to drink in his magnificence, realize that she was lucky to be in the presence of it, and adjust the error of her impetuous ways.

  He took a long, long piss, compliments of three Heinekens. When he returned to bed, she was filled with apology.

  “I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t know.”

  “You should have checked with me first.”

  “I…I didn’t know it would be a problem.”

  “So tell him I said no blurb.”

  “No! I can’t do that! I’ll just lie and say we’ve gotten so many requests that I’m not sure you’ll have time to do much reading. I’ll tell him you’re under a crunch with things winding down to your pub date. Something. I don’t know.”

  “Don’t lie,” Penn said, looking at her. “Tell him the truth. Tell him I don’t want to give him a fucking quote. Tell him I hate his work. Tell him I think he’s a first-class hack.”

  The bed was shaking. He knew without looking that it was because of her right knee. That damn nervous knee.

  “I can’t tell him that, Penn,” she said, her voice low. “I would never say something like that to another author. I’ll just leave it alone. I won’t follow up on it.”

  “No,” he insisted. “I want him to know.”

  “But I don’t want you to get a bad reputation or anything. I would hate for people to think you’re this arrogant writer, because you’re not. What if there’s some kind of backlash against you?”

  “I’m not worried about it,” he said.

  “But I am—”

  “Then have Shecky do it if you’re afraid.” He was firm. Blunt. “I just thought you had my back on things.”

  He watched her squirming now, unsure of herself. She liked being the one to save the day for him, to show him that she was always willing to do his bidding.

  “Okay,” she said after a long moment. “Okay. I’ll call him tomorrow and tell him what you said.”

  “That he’s a hack?”

  “Yeah. That he’s a hack.”

  Penn smiled. He believed her. She was the little engine that could. He knew she would do it. Good girl. Good girl.

  “C’mere,” he said, pulling her close. He kissed her hair, then mussed it with his hand. “Do you know how much I love you?”

  “Really?” she asked, doe-eyed again.

  “Really. You’re always there for me, no matter what. You’re my little angel. My Beryl angel. My babe. My baby. My angel-baby-Beryl-babe.”

  She giggled, wrapping her arms around his waist.

  “I love you, Penn. I’ll do anything for you.”

  He pressed his face into her hair, burrowing deep into the roots. He belched.

  “Ew!” she squealed, pulling away. He pulled her back.

  “You said you wanted this to be like a test run for marriage. Well, this is it. Belches and all.”

  He tickled her. She kicked up her knees, the manuscript pages falling everywhere.

  He was going to have to distract himself with silliness like this. How else would he get through the next three months of living with her?

  “So how long of a delay is it?” Merc asked.

  “Just two or three months. She’s getting more money together. She’ll do it.”

  “So why don’t you front her some loot,” Merc joked. “She’s been dishing out cash to you left and right.”

  Penn laughed.

  “Nigga, please. That’s what a chick like her is for.”

  “I’ve got a surprise for you,” Beryl said, peeking inside the door of her office.

  Penn had been in there alone, flipping through the galleys of upcoming books.

  “What’s up?” he said.

  She flung the door open.

  Jessye Norman.

  Penn sprang from his chair.

  “Shit!”

  The great diva stepped back.

  “Beg pardon?”

  “I’m sorry,” he stammered, the ocean roaring in his ears. “I…I…”

  “He’s a big fan, Ms. Norman,” said Beryl. “I think he’s got every recording you’ve ever done. The DVD of you at the Met in Die Walküre is always on at his apartment. He blasts it. The neighbors go crazy, banging on the floors…”

  The great diva looked at Penn with alarm.

  “That’s not good.”

  Penn wanted to pimp-smack Beryl, smash her clean through the floor, but he was too out of his head to make rational moves.

  “I adored your mother,” Ms. Norman said. “She was an incredible singer and a dear, dear friend. I’m sure she would be very proud of your accomplishments.”

  Penn couldn’t get words out of his mouth.

  The great lady stepped forward and clasped his hands. She kissed him on both cheeks.

  “Such a beautiful child you were. You’ve grown into a beautiful man.”

  She was a vision. All he could do was stare.

  “Turn the volume down on that DVD,” she said. “We wouldn’t want the neighbors to hate my voice now, would we?”

  “You couldn’t say anything?” Shar asked.

  “Not a word. Except for ‘shit.’ I can’t believe I finally meet Jessye Norman and all I can say is ‘shit.’”

  He pressed his face into a pillow and groaned.

  “Get over it, baby,” she said. “People like her get that all the time. Just be happy you didn’t faint.”

  He groaned again. She pulled the pillow off his face.

  “So why don’t you meet me in L.A.?”

  “I can’t,” Penn said. “Fiyah and I are on TRL in two d
ays.”

  “Aw, baby.”

  “I signed a contract with Worldwide WifeBeater. We’re going to do a whole CD. Fiyah’s going to try to get it out by the time the book drops, so we can capitalize on the momentum on the song. MTV’s talking about building a reality show around me. One of those follow-my-life-for-a-few-months kind of things. Fiyah might produce it.”

  “Yay, Fiyah” Sharlyn said.

  She draped her legs over him as they languished in bed. She reached over for the warm glass of Dom on the nightstand and finished it off.

  “So since you’re gonna be on TRL in two days, that means I won’t see you for at least three weeks,” she said.

  “How will I live?” Penn said, smiling, cozying his nose into her neck. He stroked her breast. Sharlyn moaned.

  “Why…are you fucking with me?”

  “Because I can,” he said. He rolled on top of her.

  “What are you doing?” she said with a mischievous grin.

  “The hokey-pokey.”

  “But we just did the hokey-pokey.”

  She had her arms around him, moving her hips against his. He was hard again, for the third time. He never tired of her. They had started living dangerously. He wasn’t even using condoms anymore. Penn had been tested. Shar was on the pill. She’d never wanted babies. Not in all her years of marriage. But now, with this man, this beautiful, beautiful man…the possibilities…something inside of her was changing.

  “Open your legs,” he whispered.

  “They’re open.”

  “Wider.”

  She did.

  He put the tip in, just at the entrance, and hovered around there, exciting the nerves. He faked a few in-and-out moves, watching her arch her back toward him, believing he was about to go all the way in.

  “Do it,” she groaned. “Don’t play with me, baby.”

  He stayed at the shallow end, refusing to get wet.

  Shar moaned and writhed underneath him, her hands pawing at his back, taking care not to scratch.

  “Penn, do it!”

  “Say please.”