By late afternoon, the renowned civil rights attorney Norman Jackson was playing chauffeur to Robby, Trudy and Gloria. He dropped Trudy off midway down the city-side of Coldwater Canyon where her Cherokee had been left in the shoulder. Trudy wasn't crazy about leaving her husband in the same car alone with the whore-secretary, but Robby reassured her that nothing had happened between them and that nothing would.
Besides, at this point, Gloria was far more interested in Norman than Robby. She incessantly probed the lawyer about his partnership with Ciggy, development projects they might have, the deal he had made with Robby and so on. For Norman, a beautiful young white girl fawning on his every word was one of the reasons he got into film in the first place. The only thing that stopped him from asking her to dinner was his knowledge that his insanely jealous wife had hired a private detective to keep tabs on him.
So when he dropped Gloria off at the Mammoth building, he had no way of knowing that she would shortly be leaving her home number for him all over town.
Gloria entered Artie's office clutching her wounded arm, hoping it would buy her a little sympathy before he reamed her for her disappearance earlier that day.
"I know what you did, Gloria, and I appreciate it," Artie began.
"You do?" she asked.
"You took initiative. You went to help out my client when I couldn't," he said. "In effect, you were bailing out my ass, and I'm touched by the loyalty. Thank you."
"That's great," she said. "I mean, no problem."
"Well, yes, there is a problem," he continued. "Unfortunately, the other partners don't see your running off in the middle of the day as initiative, but as negligence."
"Is this going to delay my promotion?" she asked.
"Worse than that, I'm afraid," he answered. "It's going to cost you your job. They want you out by the end of the week."
Gloria took a deep breath and tried not to cry. This hurt a lot more than her arm, and was much worse. She was sure she could get another assistant job somewhere, but it meant starting over from scratch. Meeting new clients, forging new allies, making new rivals. It could take years before she could crawl back to the position she had had just this morning. And at the age of twenty-seven, she felt her time was running out.
She let herself fall back on the couch as she wondered what she could possibly do. Artie brought her a plastic bottle of Evian from his mini-fridge and sat down next to her.
"It's not over yet," he said sympathetically. "I went to bat for you. I said what a great asset you'd be to the company, and came up with something that, well, it's a long shot, but I sold them on it. If you make it work, you'll be a full agent by morning."
"I'm in!" she said, excitedly. "What is it?"
Artie gave her a big, proud smile, then jumped right in. "For the past month -- " he began. "I don't think you know about it -- I've been trying to get Rockman a part in a Ciggy Ostroff indie. Late last night, I closed the deal."
Gloria couldn't believe the bald-faced lie. Even if she hadn't already gotten the truth directly from Robby and Norman, she made all of Artie's calls. There's nothing in his life she didn't know about. He had to assume she would know he was full of shit. Or was he just so pathological that it didn't matter to him anymore?
Of course, this was not a good time to call him names.
"That's great!" she answered. "Robby must be so thrilled."
"He was practically crying when I told him," Artie boasted. "Now, they're saying Ciggy won't pay more than scale. But if anyone can get more out of him, it's you. So all you gotta do is get Robby triple-scale, and they'll finally let me make you an agent."
"But if I don't--"
"I'll write you a very nice recommendation. Now, go get 'em, girlfriend."
"This is way too baggy," Robby complained to the rookie wardrobe girl.
The truth was that the Calvin Klein suit was a perfect fit, and Robby knew it looked great on him. It was the ninth outfit he had tried on and rejected since he arrived at the wardrobe trailer - the last reason being that the perfect-fitting Canali was too tight.
"Dr. Kincaid wears his clothes tight," he continued on about the Calvin Klein. "I told you that before. Or are you just ignoring me? Well, I'm not some dumb actor, and I won't be ignored. Norman! She's ignoring me again!"
Robby knew he had to achieve two things on the set of "Gun Butt." The first was to show up late, seemingly drunk and coked to the gills, and be a general asshole to everyone. Ciggy, Norman, cast and crew would tell all their friends amusing anecdotes about horrible Robby, which would be the perfect set-up for his ultimate apology.
But as the young designer - who had done nothing but placate Robby for the past several hours - held back her tears, Robby knew this would be harder than he expected.
Nonetheless, the next thing she brought him didn't even get off the hanger.
"What did you study in college?" he asked her.
"Political science?" she answered nervously, not sure where this was headed.
"Good," he replied with what appeared to be great sensitivity. "So when this show business thing washes out for you, at least you have another trade to go to."
He felt awful for what he was doing and wanted to hug her and tell her she was doing an excellent job. But he knew he couldn't. So he decided to make an anonymous donation of a thousand dollars to help the homeless. It was the only remedy he could think of, and he would end up making many such donations over the course of the filming.
The second thing he had to do over the next three weeks was be brilliant on screen.
Norman approached hurriedly and annoyed.
"I have nothing left for him," the wardrobe girl apologized to Norman. "I can go shopping tonight, but Ciggy doesn't want me to go over budget."
"What's wrong with what he's got on?" Norma asked sincerely. "He looks great."
"Now you're ganging up on me!" Robby said. "Fine. Just bring any raggedy crap to the set and I'll squeeze into it! I don't have to breathe! I'm a professional!"
Then he grabbed his cell phone and stormed out.
"I'm sorry," the young designer sheepishly told her boss
"It's not your fault," Norman reassured her. "This is all him. It's the coke."
Robby could overhear them, and he was glad that Norman let the girl off the hook. He then phoned Gloria to get my home phone number and then he called me.
"I told you I'd call you," he giggled at me.
He asked me to meet him at Art's Deli in Studio City at eight the following morning. I agreed readily. With Robby all over the news, I was thrilled to know that I would be getting the inside story. Of course, I had no way of knowing that our breakfast was scheduled for the exact same time that Robby was supposed to arrive on set.
Gloria had no idea how she would convince the Nocig folks to increase Robby's salary because she didn't have an argumentative leg to stand on. Robby had already agreed to the terms, so she didn't even have the leverage of denying his services.
But she knew she had to try. Everything was on the line, and she had to pull it off. Norman had told her "Gun Butt" was on a six-two schedule -- meaning they shoot six consecutive days followed by two days off -- so Gloria phoned the Nocig Production office number -- punching in the numbers with her left hand because her right arm was still in a sling. She asked to speak to Norman because she figured she'd have a better chance with her own lawyer than a perfect stranger. The receptionist told her that Norman wasn't in and asked her to leave a message.
"It's Gloria Abrams at Mammoth," she said. "I'm calling to negotiate the Robby Rockman deal." She left her work and home numbers, then added. "No time is too late."
She was asked to hold, then Ciggy himself came on the line. When she told him what she wanted, Ciggy just laughed.
"Nice try," he said, calmly. "But your boy already agreed. Based on that, we stopped looking. Too late to cast the role tonight. We'd have to shut down for a day or two to find someone else. But our lead has some New York thing the day after we wrap, so shutting down isn't an option. We'd have to scrap the whole production. In other words, if Robby doesn't show up tomorrow, we sue your agency for all production costs plus lost profits. It's a scale deal, missy, so don't fuck with me. Have a nice day."
And he hung up.
So she called Norman's law firm, still not knowing how she'd ever convince him -- especially after her little chat with Ciggy -- but she knew she had to try. She figured she'd have a better chance with him than Ciggy. Norman wasn't in, so she left all her numbers for him -- work, cell, home. After that, she tried the set, then she tried the courthouse. By the time she headed out of the office, she had left over fifteen messages for Norman scattered throughout the city.
It had been an all around crappy day for her. Even walking into the Porsche dealership didn't cheer her up as much as she had hoped. It had been part of her agreement with Robby, which Norman had brokered, that she would drop the charges against Robby for stealing her truck if he would cover her car rental expenses until the insurance company came up with the cash for her to buy a new one. Of course, no one had put any cap on what kind of car. She took a six-month lease on a 911 Cabriolet and planned to tell everyone that she'd rather have a pick-up. Damn that insurance company for forcing her to take this snazzy sports car!
She drove home with the top down and the CD blaring and tried to forget that she'd most likely be fired by morning.
By nightfall, the outside of the Rockman home was a media circus. News vans were parked in a semi-circle in front of the house like a civil war barricade. Cameramen and reporters mingled with their print counterparts, waiting for someone to come or go.
Robby and Trudy lay on their couch in each other's arms, watching TV. The blinds were drawn and the phones unplugged. Barring an occasional ring of the doorbell, which they ignored, it was easy to block out the media and forget they were even there.
Trudy had arranged for their son to sleep over at his friend's house to spare him the circus outside, making sure that the parents wouldn't allow any TV. The image of Lisa accusing Robby of rape on Mulholland Drive was being played at least once per commercial break. It was how the news was promoted that day.
So, trapped in their Studio City four-bedroom, it was the perfect time for the Rockmans to work out everything they needed to work out. Instead, they only cuddled.
They had both screwed up, and they each blamed themselves. The immediate forgiveness Robby gave Trudy made her feel more loved than ever. The trust she gave him when he denied his wrongdoings reconfirmed his belief that he was the luckiest man alive.
Still, Trudy couldn't quite embrace Robby's twisted plot. She knew there was no way he could have raped anyone, and she didn't mind standing by him on that. She believed him when he told her that nothing had happened between him and Gloria. But it was his insistence on letting the world believe that something DID happen that was far beyond her comfort level.
"What am I supposed to tell people? My parents, friends, they all watch the news. What am I supposed to say? 'The rape is a lie! My husband would never do such a thing! But banging the secretary, well, heck, you know.'"
"You defend me," he answered. "No matter what. You just play dumb and insist that they're all empty rumors."
"So I go around telling the truth and I'm the one who's dumb?"
"Strange how that works, isn't it?"
"And what are you going to do about Gloria?" she asked. "If nothing happened between the two of you, like you said, she's going to deny it, too. Then your little secret's out, and your whole plan is ruined."
"Of course she'll deny it," he answered. "That's the beauty of this. I'm going to deny it, too. It's an affair. It's the denial that makes it true and keeps it on the gossip mill."
"I don't know if I can do this, Robby," she said.
"Look, when the time is right, I'm going to apologize to everyone for everything. But I'll start with you for the affair, and you'll forgive me. Then I'll apologize to Gloria for leading her on, and she'll forgive me. I'll even apologize to Artie for punching him in the nose and--"
"You didn't punch Artie in the nose," she said.
"Not yet," he answered. "But I bet the little weasel will forgive me when I do. And once I'm forgiven by all the ones I've hurt the worst, the rest of the community will be hard pressed not to follow their lead."
"But what do you need the Gloria part of this for?" she argued. "If your goal was to get people to hate you, you more than achieved that with the rape charge!"
"That's a little too much hate," he said. "No one would ever forgive that. And when the D.A. drops the charges and says I didn't do it, no one will even know because the story will be buried on page twenty. I have to come up with something even worse to make it big news. I dunno. 'Rockman cleared of rape, kills agent. News at eleven.'"
"You are not going to kill Artie!"
"Of course not," he laughed. "I'm just saying that would put the acquittal on the front page."
"And put you in jail for life," she said.
"For killing an agent?" he asked. "They'd probably name a street after me."
"You think this is funny?" she asked. "There's nothing you can do bigger than what you're already accused of, Robby -- nothing that you'd really do, anyway. And even if you did come up with something more horrible than raping a child, what makes you think that would be any more forgivable?"
"I don't know yet," he said, his humor somewhat deflated. "I haven't figured it out yet. Please, just bear with me for awhile."
"It's over, Robby," she said sadly, with all the love and sympathy she possessed. "Your career -- it's been over for awhile. But it's been a heckuva nice run. Let's just take our winnings and go back home. Once the charges are dropped, let's just cash out and move back to Iowa. With what we've saved, we could live like royalty if we just got out of this over-priced, smog-sewer of a city."
He had no rational argument to make. His plan to revitalize his career was a stretch, he knew. A complete longshot. The desperate act of a desperate actor. He really didn't know if there was anything to make his acquittal front page news. "Gun Butt" certainly wasn't worth sticking around for -- worst script he had ever read -- and it was highly doubtful that the final product would do any business at all.
He had gotten to play Mr. Bell for eight years and had made a positive impact on pop culture as a result. It was more than most people get to do. It should be enough.
But it wasn't.
"Please," he asked Trudy once again, this being the only argument he had left. "Please."
Trudy sighed, put her head on his shoulder once again and turned back to the TV. She didn't ask another question nor say another word. As much as she hated what he was doing, she loved him more and she wasn't going to let him down.
For now.
*** Up Next: "The Inspiration Of Johnny Carson" ***
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.
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