Crashed (41 page)

“How come they don’t have to take
their
shoes off?” I asked the muscle guy.

“ ’Cause I like them,” Jake Whelan said, coming into the room. He was wearing cream-colored silk from head to foot, the slacks in a subtle herringbone that caught the light. He’d tanned his face to the color of a cigar. “The shoes. I like those shoes.” His voice was a rasp, like a striking match. “The girls are okay, too, of course.” He held out a hand and gave me a smile. “I’m Jake Whelan.”

When Whelan smiled, he showed you both rows of teeth, top and bottom, and with good reason. They were the most expensive teeth I’d ever seen in my life. I knew people who lived in houses that cost less than Jake Whelan’s teeth. If there were an aftermarket in teeth, there would be a line of burglars standing patiently in line, all the way around Jake Whelan’s head.

I gave him my hand and as little in the way of teeth as I could manage. His own were enough for both of us.

“So, so, so,” he said, folding himself into the yellow chair. “Mr. Klee, in the surprising flesh.” He’d crossed his leg and one foot bounced up and down in its white calfskin slipper, a telltale cocaine jitter. “You look pretty good for someone who died in 1940.”

“I keep active,” I said. “You know, travel, play shuffleboard, try to learn something new every day.”

“And what brings you to me?”

“Good things come in twos,” I said. “I thought you might have something new that would like company.”

He cocked his head to one side, the smile still in place. “Who have you been talking to?”

“Actually, nobody, and that’s good for you.”

“Then you haven’t got a name, and I’m afraid that means I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about a Paul Klee painting, one of the geometric ones, blue background, one point seven-five million to Wattles’s offshore bank.”

“Mm-hmm,” he said. The foot jumped around some more. “And what’s your relationship to that transaction, if it ever took place?”

“If it had,” I said, “I’d be the guy who went and got the painting for Wattles to sell to you.”

“Do me a favor,” he said. “Stand up and spread your arms. I want Wally here to perform a basic security maneuver.”

“Fine,” I said, getting up. “Wally should know I’ve got an automatic in a shoulder holster under my jacket.”

“He’ll relieve you of that, temporarily, although it’s not really firearms I’m thinking about.” He looked past me. “Wally?”

Wally patted me down, helped me out of my jacket, lifted the automatic, and generally made sure I wasn’t wired. “Seems okay,” he said.

“Please,” Whelan said. “Sit. And forgive the rudeness. I didn’t get old by being careless.”

I didn’t sit. “I’d like you to look at something,” I said. “I think it would be best if I stepped back a bit before I show it to you. I’m telling you this so old Wally doesn’t think I’m embarking on some obscure martial arts move.”

“Fine, fine. Back away.”

I picked up the picture, backed up five or six feet, and unveiled it by removing my Dodgers jacket from the frame.

Whelan was good. His expression didn’t change at all. The only telltale was the pulse that was suddenly visible at the side of his neck.

After a minute or so, he said, “Quite nice.”

“Actually,” I said, “it’s better than the one you just bought.”

“If I bought it,” Whelan said.

“Sure, if.”

“And you’re showing this to me because, I assume, you think I’d be interested in acquiring it.”

“I know you would,” I said. “Especially at the price I’m asking.”

“And what would that be?”

“A little less than a third of what you paid Wattles.”

“Three, four hundred?” Whelan said.

“Nice try.”

“Okay, five or six?” Whelan said.

“Right in there.”

“Bring it here.”

I carried it to him, and he took it as reverently as if it had the head of John the Baptist on it. He turned it this way and that, looking at the play of light on the painted surface. He held it level in front of him, parallel to the floor, and examined the brush strokes. He turned it over and checked the back of the canvas. Then he lowered it, very carefully, to his lap and looked at me.

“Why?” he said.

“Why so cheap? Well, for one thing, there’s no middle man. This is more money than I made off the last one.”

“You said for one thing. What’s the other thing?”

“It’s going to require a little effort on your part.”

“What kind of effort?”

“A couple of minutes’ thought and two phone calls.”

“Thought I can handle. Tell me about the phone calls.”

I turned to Wally. “I changed my mind. I would like a cup of coffee.”

Wally’s eyes went to Whelan, and Whelan gave him a tiny nod. Wally left.

“Let’s start with the thought,” I said. “I need you to come up with the name of a director or producer who owes you a favor and has a film working right now, a film with a good small part for a woman in her early twenties. I’m not talking about a lead, just a few days’ worth of work, some dialog, and a few minutes onscreen.”

Whelan shook his head. “I can tell you right now, whoever it is, she’ll take the part and forget about you. You’ll never see her again. She’ll be schtupping the cameraman. I can’t tell you how many chicks I’ve given parts to—”

“I don’t care,” I said. “There’s no romantic relationship.”

“Really. In Hollywood? That’s almost as big a surprise as the painting. What type is she?”

“Think Thistle Downing,” I said.

“Oh-
ho
,” he said. “I read about that myself, just this morning. Sort of sad, I guess, I mean, that was a cute little girl once. I gotta tell you, I give the lady who’s making the movie more credit for balls than sense. She’ll never get that kid on camera.”

“You’re right,” I said. “Thistle isn’t going to do that movie. She’s going to do the one you get for her.”

He shook his head. “Nobody will work with her.”

“They will if you ask them to. And if you guarantee to cover the expenses if she screws up.”

“Are you crazy? That could be a couple hundred K.”

“That’s pretty much what I figured,” I said. “And I’m donating it, so to speak, out of the cost of the painting. So you offer whoever it is that sum of money in advance, in case Thistle screws up. If she does, they’re covered. If she doesn’t, they’ve just picked up a nice chunk of change.”

Whelan was looking at me as though he expected me to sprout fins and gills. “So that’s two hundred,” he said. “And it doesn’t even go to you.” He shook his head. “What’s the rest of it?”

“A hundred is Thistle’s salary,” I said. “So the producer is
getting her both risk-free and
literally
free. A hundred and fifty is to buy her contract.”

“To buy …”

“Her contract.”

He shrugged. “Sure. Her contract. So, four-fifty in all.”

“And a hundred for me.”

“Just a hundred. Out of all that.”

“That’s right.”

“So it’s all about you, wrapped in pure motives, walking on water.”

“If you like.”

“You gotta be crazy. I don’t do business with crazy people.” He said it with a straight face, too.

I got up just as Wally came in carrying a ridiculously fragile-looking cup and saucer. “Sorry, Wally,” I said. “I’m going.”

“Siddown,” Whelan said. “Wally, give the gentleman his coffee.”

For ten minutes
, I watched Whelan work the phone, and it was like watching Derek Jeter play shortstop. In less than a minute he burned through three assistants to reach someone named David, and in under a minute he’d ascertained that the part of the receptionist—“You know, the one whose nails are so long she can’t do anything?”—was as yet uncast, and had made a pitch for Thistle that was nothing short of brilliant: the publicity value, the good-deed aspect of it, how everybody in town would be pulling for her, how it was practically a guaranteed supporting actress nomination if she was any good because everybody votes for a reformed fuckup—and get this, I’ll cover the expenses and even pay her salary. Why? Because I read that thing in the trades this morning and it broke my heart, that poor little kid. You’re a young guy, David, don’t tell me you didn’t watch her every week, well, don’t you think she oughta get another chance? Yeah, me, too. No, I don’t want any credit, I’m just behind the
scenes, you’re the one the Pope will sprinkle the water on. Nah, nah, she’s as straight as a string. I’m telling you, all that’s behind her, and I’ll tell you what, if you don’t think two weeks from now that I’ve done you a huge favor, you can come over here and kick me in the ass. Yeah, and I’ll wear my best pants, the silk crepe you keep asking where I got them. Okay, David, you’re a sweetheart, which days? And send the script to me and I’ll get it to her, you’re doing a great thing, bye for now.

“Okay?” he asked me.

“It’s a pleasure to watch you work.”

“You said two calls. Who’s next?” He seemed to be enjoying himself.

“This one needs a little preparation,” I said.

We talked for three or four minutes, and he said, “Piece of cake. You got a number?” I gave it to him, and he dialed.

“Ms. Annunziato, please. This is Jake Whelan. Yes, that Jake Whelan.” He looked at me. “Nobody answers the phone himself any more. Call your fucking plumber, you get an assistant.” He sat up as though someone had entered the room. “Ms. Annunziato,” he said. “Jake Whelan here. Yes, fine, and you? Glad to hear it. Listen, here’s why I’m calling. I read the trades this morning like everyone else in town, and I gotta tell you, it didn’t make anybody happy, I had calls all day from people you wouldn’t believe, the whole fucking A-list, it was like RSVPs for the
Vanity Fair
party, and they all sound exactly alike, what they’re saying. Yeah, yeah, I know you got a business, but a lot of people, they read that story and thought the same thing I did, which is,
this isn’t right
. So I’m telling you that a few of us got together and we’re not going to let Thistle make your movie.”

He held the phone away from his ear and made a yacking motion with his free hand. He looked over his shoulder at Wally and made a vague gesture that was perfectly clear to Wally, who went to a heavy wooden chest to the left of the fireplace, pulled out a couple of logs big enough to ride over Niagara Falls on,
and tossed them onto the blaze. Throughout all of it, I could hear Trey on the other end, going a mile a minute. After he was satisfied that the logs were going to catch, Whelan put the phone back to his ear and just started talking, without even waiting for her to pause. “Yeah, I hear what you’re saying and I know you got a point of view there, but here’s what’s going to happen. She’s going to make another movie, a real movie, not like a star or anything, but it’s gonna be something we can all feel good about, and we’ve decided to buy her contract from you. How does a hundred thousand sound?”

I started to object, but he held up a hand. “What do you mean, it’s low? Okay, okay. I can sweeten it to one-fifty, but that’s it. And I mean, she’s not going to make your movie no matter what, so you might as well take the money and be a good sport. And also, we’re gonna let you look like an angel here, instead of being on the wrong side in a media pissing match. I mean, just how good does this sound? You announce that you’re delighted to learn that the news about Thistle’s participation in your movie has brought her new offers, and as much as you looked forward to working with her, it’s a privilege to know you’ve played a part in helping her get a more suitable role, and you’re releasing her and you wish her all the best and blah blah blah. And we all just keep quiet about the money you’re getting. See, this way you’re like Lady Bountiful instead of being the bitch who’s trying to force America’s sweetheart into doing the dirty on film.”

He winked at me and rubbed his nostrils. “That’s what I thought. Sure, sure you can release it, we don’t want any credit, in fact, try to get it out tonight, it’ll hit bigger, and the trades are still open. You can use my PR guy if you don’t have one, you got a pencil? Here’s his number.” Whelan rattled off a number. “His name is Skip. Yeah, I know, but that’s what he calls himself.” He rubbed his nose again and his eyes flicked longingly in the direction of the door he’d come in through. “We set, then? All clear
on your end? Great, great. Love to meet you some time. I’ve thought for years that your family was one of the great American success stories, great movie idea there. Bye.”

He hung up, swiped his nose with the finger again, and said, “Be right back. You want your hundred Gs in cash, right?”

“Right.” And I defy you to come up with a better answer.

Whelan started toward Powder Central, then bent down and picked up the Klee. “Just in case you change your mind,” he said. He gave it one more look on his way out of the room, and over his shoulder he said, “It really
is
better than the other one.”

The thing about Laurel Canyon is that it isn’t really anywhere, but it’s sort of
close
to everywhere. It’s not the Valley, it’s not Beverly Hills, it’s not Hollywood or even West Hollywood, but they’re all just around the corner, at least in terms of LA distances. It’s a nice fifteen-minute purr in the Rolls or the Bentley, or an eleven-minute hop in the Porsche, to anywhere the canyon dwellers might be most likely to go.