Robby had trouble sleeping that first night in the Beverly Hills Hotel, and he thought it was unfair. Once Lisa had publicly stated he hadn't raped her, he knew the charges against him would have to be dropped. Once she had publicly agreed they were involved romantically, he was certain the story would end up on page one. His drug problems and his supposed pedophilia were being talked about everywhere. He had a job where he was kicking ass. In a little while, he'd check into rehab for a month or so, then come out and apologize to everyone for his bad behavior. They'd forgive him and the studios would come calling. His bad rep would buy them all the free press they could want, and he had the acting chops to back it up. It couldn't have worked out better, so he should be sleeping more soundly than he had in years.
But how was he to know that his plan would lead to his wife throwing him out? He couldn't possibly have foreseen the need for a pretend engagement to Lisa -- he had never even heard of Lisa Docks when he had first set his scheme into motion. How could he have known his plan would somehow cause him to be stalked? Even if Trudy did let him come back, he doubted he could go. Given who the stalker was, Robby's mere presence at home could put Trudy and Andy in grave danger themselves.
So he spent the night tossing and turning. What little sleep he did get was tormented by nightmares of the stalker abducting his wife and child. By six-thirty, he resigned himself to his complete lack of sleep. He got up, showered, then phoned his wife at seven a.m. He realized that she and Andy had to leave town for their own safety, so he was going to send them back to Iowa to visit her parents.
The phone rang just a few times before Trudy answered.
"Hi, honey, it's me," Robby began. "Look, I know we've got a lot of stuff to sort out but --"
"Robby, why are you calling me?" she interrupted. "I sent you off last night because you've gotta do what you've gotta do -- but I told you I want no part of it."
"I'm being stalked," he now interrupted. "If it's who I think it is, it's a very dangerous person. So I think you and Andy ought to go visit your parents in Iowa for awhile because I'm afraid the stalker may go after you guys to get to me."
"Tell me the truth, Robby," she began. "Have you been taking cocaine for real?"
"No!" he answered. "I'm trying to keep you and Andy safe."
"Because this kind of paranoia is exactly what they say cocaine does to--"
"I am not doing cocaine," he said emphatically.
"Artie says you are," she said, then filled the silence. "He came by last night."
"I see," was all Robby could think to say.
Trudy considered leaving it there because it was none of his business, but she couldn't do that. She still loved him more than anything, and she didn't want to hurt him.
"Don't worry," she told him. "Nothing happened. He came on to me, and I made him leave -- although I did have a good cry on his shoulder first -- over you. But prior to that he told me you've been drinking and coking it up for a long time, and it's only gotten out of hand recently."
"You're going to believe Artie over me?"
"I don't know who or what to believe anymore, Robby," she said. "I want to believe you -- I only asked you to leave last night BECAUSE I believed you. But now you're talking about stalkers and danger? Maybe that's part of your act, I don't know. Maybe it's the next step to keep yourself in the limelight. Maybe you just want me out of town so I don't steal any of your press. But honestly, stalkers and danger? It sure seems a lot like cocaine-induced paranoia. And a drug problem would certainly explain Gloria and Lisa and God-knows-what-other-women-may-crawl-out-of-the-woodwork. So who should I believe, Robby? You, or the entire rest of the world?"
"I swear on our child's life that this stalker is real," he pleaded. "We can talk about everything else another time. But for now, please, take our son and go visit your parents for a few weeks."
"Robby, if I go back to Iowa it's because I hate it here," she answered. "But it won't be for a few weeks, it'll be for good. It'll be the day I file papers."
"Trudy, I'm begging you --"
"Baby, I don't pretend to know what's going on with you. I honestly can't tell if the drugs and these girls are a twisted performance or a middle-aged phase. But whichever it is, please, don't call me till it's over. Unless you're willing to confess some real problem where you need my help, please leave me out of it. I just can't handle it."
And he heard her begin to cry as she hung up on him.
The Polo Lounge was the main restaurant in the Beverly Hills Hotel and a major hotspot for high-powered lunch and breakfast meetings. Robby had eaten there many times before, just never alone. As top actors, directors, agents and producers passed by, he felt like the biggest pariah in Hollywood. Yes, it was what he wanted to happen -- he just never expected to be in the same room with the people when it did.
For the most part, only those who knew Robby best stopped by to say a forced hello as they pretended that they hadn't seen or read the news in the past several days.
Then three fifty-something-year-old men with long hair and wrinkled, British faces pulled up chairs and joined Robby at his table. They were members of one of the biggest heavy metal bands to come out of London in the mid-seventies. Even if you're not into that kind of music, there's a good chance you have at least one of their CD's. I'll say that the band was called "Hellfire," and that its three members who sat down with Robby were named Bruce, Nigel and Clive. They were laughing and in a good mood and just a little tired because while the rest of Hollywood was starting their day, these rockers were ending theirs.
Robby had never been a big heavy metal fan, but these guys came from the one of the few bands of the genre that he had always enjoyed. They claimed to be huge "School, Sweet School" fans, and Robby was more than fifty per cent sure they were putting him on. Still, they chatted him up as if they had known him for years, highly impressed with his new infamy. They gave him front row seats and backstage passes to their concert that coming Friday, as well as a small baggie of cocaine "to get his day started right."
Robby was amused that only after a rape charge, a pending DUI, a possible drug conviction, and a public display of affection to a minor was he finally accepted into the cool world of rock'n'roll chic. As his new pals moved off, Robby could sense the Hollywood elite looking at him with a fresh sense of awe.
"We go way back," he explained modestly as he put the cocaine in his jacket pocket for all to see.
He returned to his bowl of granola and his morning paper, leaving the baggie of cocaine on the table. He used his fingers to add sugar on top of his cereal, hoping that those who were intermittently watching him would assume the white powder to be more blow.
Hushed whispers of Robby's problem spread through the fancy dining hall as Robby did his best not to smile, when a party of seven or eight people entered loudly. Robby could only wonder if it was the heavy metal guys returning with their entourage. But much to his surprise, the leader of the group was Larry O'Dell.
Larry, as you may recall, had been Robby's obnoxious, drug-addicted co-star on "School, Sweet School." Via the unjust quirks of fate, he had somehow landed a major role in the great Anthony dePaulo's new epic. It was a role Robby had wanted and felt he deserved. The news that the part went to Larry, an inferior actor and an inferior human being, was one of the key factors that had sent Robby onto his present course.
But it wasn't just seeing Larry that made Robby want to publicly vomit. It wasn't even the fact that he was surrounded by studio vice-presidents and top-notch leading ladies, all sucking up to him like he was Sir Laurence Olivier himself. No, what killed Robby was that dePaulo was among them, personally leading the barrage of sycophancy like Patton going into battle.
Robby had always known that the business was filled with leeches and liars -- confused, timid men and women whose only chance of achieving success was to latch onto someone who had been deemed successful by others. But he had also believed that true artists like dePaulo could see reality for what it was and act accordingly.
It wasn't that Robby was jealous of Larry, nor did he really believe that Larry was the worst actor in the world. He just knew that there were a hundred guys with bigger names who were better, and probably a thousand with smaller names. dePaulo of all people should know that.
"The Rocket-man!" Larry shouted across the room as he saw his old friend. "I'll be with you guys in a second."
"We'll be here," dePaulo told him.
"How you doin', buddy?" Larry said in his most genial voice.
"Good to see you, Larry," Robby said as he stood up and put out his hand.
"Cum-ere!" shouted the large man as he gave his old boss a giant bear hug. "I hear you're having some trouble. Don't sweat it. Been there, done that. If I can break free, so can you. I just gotta ask you one thing."
"Shoot," Robby answered.
"There are so many beautiful seventeen-year-olds in this town," Larry whispered. "Why the hell you go after zit-face?"
"Larry, you gotta settle a bet here," dePaulo shouted across the room.
"Gotta go, man," Larry said quickly. "The master calls. Good to see you."
With that he was gone.
"Good to see you, too!" Robby shouted. "You big fucking son-of-a-bitch!"
"I love you, too, man!" Larry shouted back cordially, having taken Robby's genuine insult as mere good-natured ribbing.
Robby returned once again to his granola and paper. The picture of him smiling as he carried his bags out of his house clearly implied that it was he who had left his wife and not the other way around. Short excerpts of Trudy's declaration were quoted in a way to enhance such a spin -- especially when juxtaposed with the hospital pictures of him with his arm around Lisa.
One could only look at these photos and say "what a prick." Even I, fully in the know, found them quite creepy.
The article itself pulled no punches as it retold the tale that the pictures implied on their own. Robby was the new poster boy for the spoiled and over privileged. It seemed as if he were suddenly being blamed for the bad boy antics of every actor, singer or athlete over the past ten years. And Robby couldn't help but love every word of it.
Every moment since Artie's Fourth of July bash three days ago was summarized -- Robby's drunken speech and his falling into the pool; how he shocked the Hollywood elite by ditching his wife in his own car and driving off with his agent's seductive secretary; how he then stole Gloria's pickup and let it fly over a cliff; and of course, les pieces de resistance, the rape charge and its dismissal due to his public proposal to his seventeen-year-old victim.
The fact that she had actually proposed to him was irrelevant. It wasn't the first time a newspaper had gotten something about him wrong, but it was far and away his favorite.
Robby looked up from the paper at the faces of the Hollywood elite who turned away in embarrassment the second he caught their eyes. He smiled to himself. He tried not to gloat because he always looked down on those who did, but he couldn't help himself. Within just a few months, every one of them would be begging him for his services. He would be the one everyone wants, the one they suck up to, and he could return to his normal self and win back his wife. It was only a matter of time, and Robby was finally starting to feel good about himself.
Then someone sat down next to him.
"Hi," said his new breakfast partner. "Bet you never expected to see me here."
Robby simply wasn't ready to deal with such a meeting, but once again the girl had caught him off guard. But with all eyes upon him, as well as several paparazzi who were getting ready to flash their bulbs, Robby knew he had no choice but to act as if it was all his own doing.
"No, I didn't," he said. "But I was hoping you'd show anyway. What would you like to order, Lisa?"
The seventeen-year-old smiled because she was so readily accepted, and she had so much to tell her new fiance.
*** Up Next: "Ciggy" ***
The main characters in this e-novel are fictional and are not intended to portray or resemble any actual individuals, whether living or dead (except for Jeff Abugov who is a real screenwriter, director and producer.) Although certain real people and companies are mentioned in this e-novel, all of the events are fictional and are not intended to portray or resemble any actual events.
Copyright © 2015 Tinseltrash, Inc.