Robby and Trudy arrived at Artie Eichman's Hollywood Hills estate exactly one hour late, which was fifteen minutes later than they had planned. It was mid-afternoon and the party was already in full swing. Tuxedo-clad waiters brought champagne and frou-frou hors d'oeuvres to the thousand guests sprawled throughout the grounds. There were four separate bars set up around the Olympic-sized swimming pool with three bartenders at each one. There were seven food stations, three serving the traditional Fourth of July barbecue, the other four representing Greece, Italy, Japan and Thailand. A prominent all-girl hip-hop band blasted away on an elevated wood stage a few yards shy of the stables. To those in the know, it was the same old overdone bash Artie threw every year.
Trudy was wearing her prettiest, crushed silk Prada, which was brand new, and therefore a no-brainer for her. Perfect for the occasion and no one had seen it before, except Artie but she knew he wouldn't say anything.
It had been Robby who had sweated over what to wear. The fancy shirt and pants with the leather biker jacket, or the jeans and t-shirt with the ritzy Armani? Robby knew the Hollywood rules of men's apparel. Something nice and expensive to show your respect, combined with something old and faded to show you really don't give a damn. He decided on the jeans and Armani, sweated over the footwear for a while, then threw on the cleanest pair of Nikes in his closet.
It turned out he was dead-on because it really didn't matter what he wore. The breadth of male fashion crossed the board. Spielberg was in shorts and Jurassic Park baseball cap as he chatted with Rupert Murdoch in a Savile Row tailor-made. David Kelley wore jeans and a tank top as he talked to Artie in his standard Hugo Boss.
It all made Robby a little sad because everything about Artie's place was so magnificent, so grand in all its Hollywood splendor and gaudiness, and he knew none of it would have existed without him. Yet somehow Artie ended up with everything and Robby ended up at his mercy.
Robby scanned the grounds for dePaulo, but he didn't see him. Just as well, he thought. If Artie had already gotten him the part, anything less than a formal introduction would make things awkward all around. All Robby knew was that the dePaulo part was perfect for him, would put him back on top, and Artie would never have invited him to the party without it.
It was during this moment of optimism that a four- hundred-pound brute of a man jumped Robby from behind, forced him into a headlock and proceeded to give him a noogie.
"Robby the Rock Man! How ya' been?" shouted the brute.
I'll call the brute Larry O'Dell to spare his real family embarrassment. Larry had been Robby's costar on "School, Sweet School." A struggling stand-up who had worked local strip clubs and mud wrestling joints, Larry rose to superstardom on "School, Sweet School" as the despicable, let's call him, Mr. Song. He was what the industry refers to as "the breakout star." If Robby was the heart of the show, Larry was the sweat, and Robby was smart enough to know that the two played off each other with magic.
But as Larry's popularity rose, so did his eating, his womanizing, and finally his drinking and drug abuse. By the time he got his best supporting actor Emmy, he was nothing but a humungous, paranoid creep who tormented writers and bullied the crew for the sheer fun of it.
Personally, my guess is that he was a humungous creep before the addictions, but that's just speculation on my part.
One story has it that at a Monday morning "table" in the fourth year, as the cast, crew and writers gathered together to hear the actors read through that week's episode, Larry announced he had an idea to help the script. He then stepped up onto his chair and onto the table, dropped his pants in front of all, and defecated on it.
Three of the show's best writers who had either written or re-written the script stormed out of the soundstage, into their offices, called their agents and tried to quit the show. It was only Robby who kept them from leaving. It was always Robby who held the show together, both onscreen and off, because Robby was a gentleman.
Another story had Larry sticking a nine-inch butcher knife into the show-runner's right hand. When he finally quit, Larry shoved a sawed off shotgun into the mouth of his replacement.
Any sane business would have fired this lunatic middle-aged child within days, but Larry made the powers-that-be loads of money, and that was all that mattered.
One day, in the show's sixth year, after a creative dispute between Robby and Larry, Robby arrived at his trailer to discover it had been filled with horse manure. No one could ever prove who did it, but come on. Robby never uttered a complaint nor said a word.
But as bad as Robby's film career went after the sitcom's end, Larry's went worse. It quickly became clear to all that Larry was a one trick pony. He could only play versions of the despicable Mr. Song because that's who he really was. Larry's tinseltrash antics took his first and only feature film millions of dollars over budget and were a nightmare for all involved.
He then went on Leno and Letterman and publicly warned that the film sucked, and then blamed the director. I won't tell you who the director was because that would give everyone away, but virtually everything else she did was fantastic.
So when Larry shoved Robby in a headlock and noogied his temple at Artie's Fourth of July bash, Robby didn't have to see him to know who it was. He easily wriggled out of it and pushed Larry away, knowing strength was the only way to deal with this bully. Robby knew he could take Larry if he needed to, and so did Larry.
"Yo, ho, chill, bro," Larry innocently proclaimed. "I'm just playing here."
Robby pulled himself together and resolved to be friendly. There was too much riding on this night, and the last thing he needed was a scene.
"No problem," he said. "Me, too. How you been, Larry?"
"Great," he said. "I spent the last six months in rehab and I'm clean."
"You're clean?" Trudy asked, shocked and maybe a tad suspicious.
"As a whistle," Larry responded proudly. "I'm going to AA twice a week, and I feel great."
"Well, good for you," said Robby, meaning every word of it. "I'm really, really happy for you."
And he really, really was. Robby, who only saw the best in everyone, truly believed that underneath all of Larry's nonsense, there was a good, decent person.
"Thanks," Larry went on. "So, I have to take you to lunch. See, AA says I've got to apologize for all the rotten things I did, and you got more coming than I could fit into one phone call."
"Don't worry about it," said Robby, happy for his ex-partner. "I give you one sweeping forgiveness for the whole kit 'n' caboodle."
"No way, man, they said some people would say that," he countered. "But I've got to go through each and every one. These apologies aren't for you, they're for me, and the least you could do is let me complete the program after all I've been through. Just gimme a goddamn hour for chrissakes."
Trudy couldn't help smile at the fact that Larry was still the same self-centered cretin he always was, clean or not.
"Sure, no problem," Robby answered. "If you want lunch, I'm there. I'm just trying to save you time. I know all the things you'll apologize for, and I forgive you."
"But you don't know it all, you goddamn know-it-all," Larry blurted, now angry. "You don't know it was me who stuffed your trailer with shit."
"Actually, I did, and I forgive you," Robby said, whimsically making the sign of the cross over Larry's chest. "Thou art absolved."
"You didn't know I tried to push you off the show."
"Yes, I did, but no one in their right mind would've agreed to that, so I don't even have to forgive you for that one. But I do anyway."
"Dammit. You didn't know I hit on your wife!"
"No, I didn't, but I forgive you," Robby answered matter-of-factly. As far as Robby was concerned, the notion that Trudy would ever have an affair with Larry was as preposterous as he himself having one.
"You see!" shouted a proud Larry. "Who knows how many more surprises I got up my sleeve!"
"You know," began Trudy, "The point of these apologies isn't to hurt the people you've wronged."
"Good point," he said, and then turned back to Robby. "I swear, she never took me up on it. Although, you know, Mike's wife, she took me up on it and we had a wild night."
"Please tell me you didn't apologize to Mike for that?" pleaded Robby.
"Why wouldn't I?" Larry answered innocently. "I hear they're separated now. And it sucks because they were such a great couple. I'll call you for lunch."
And with that he moved off.
Robby turned to Trudy, "Why didn't you ever tell me he hit on you?"
"I was never sure if he actually hit on me, or just grabbed my breast to break his fall," she answered, honestly.
Robby laughed. "Come on, let's go say hi to Artie."
Artie was ending his conversation with David Kelley and Michelle Pfeiffer when Robby and Trudy approached. Artie saw Trudy first and almost choked on his sushi.
"What are you doing here?" he unconsciously blurted.
Trudy quickly darted her eyes towards Robby, hoping no one around had seen it.
"Robby! My favorite client!" Artie shouted in an about-face so fast it would have snapped most men's necks. "Great to see you, buddy."
"You remember my wife," Robby said politely.
"Sure," he said putting out his hand. "Judy, right?"
"Trudy. Judy was your first wife," Robby jokingly corrected, perfectly hiding how insulted he was that his own agent couldn't remember his wife's name.
The thing I always admired about Artie was his ability to cover up any transgression by promoting himself as a giant asshole on a different topic.
"Trudy, of course," Artie pretended, "So nice to see you again, Trudy."
Then Tony dePaulo walked onto the grounds, and virtually everyone stopped what they were doing. Tony was with two incredibly buxom, tall, young, black women, one on each arm. Tony was an incredibly short man, so his jet-black hair and piercing brown eyes were at the exact same height as the black women's cleavage. Many found this distasteful, others were impressed, but it did make an impact and that's exactly what Tony wanted.
Robby, Artie and Trudy watched as Tony greeted many of the industry giants with a warm and friendly two-handed handshake, but he saved his big slobbering hug for Larry O'Dell. Robby simply didn't get it at first.
"I didn't know Larry knew Tony dePaulo," Robby asked Artie.
"Oh my God," exclaimed Trudy who quickly put it all together.
"Didn't I tell you?" Artie announced proudly. "I got Larry the lead in Tony's new movie. Great part, it's gonna put him right back on top."
"Larry? He cast Larry?" exclaimed a very angry Robby in a tone no louder than usual. "Larry can't act. And-and-and- you told me no one would ever work with him again."
"He's clean now," Artie explained. "And he's been running around town apologizing to everyone, and everyone wants to forgive him. Hollywood is a very forgiving community."
"If that's all it takes, I'll apologize."
"Robby, you're a sweetheart," Artie said patting him on the cheek. "You have nothing to apologize for, bubby."
And that was the moment that Robby knew what he had to do. That was when our story, the story no one will ever believe, began. For that was when Robby Rockman, the nicest guy in the world, came up with his diabolical plan.
But you've got to give him credit for one thing: he started it big!
*** Up Next: "The Fireworks!" ***
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.