It's a common myth that, when arrested, we have the right to a phone call. We don't. Police are bound by many restrictions regarding their interrogations, and anything said outside the presence of our lawyer may be deemed inadmissible at trial. But the whole phone call right is something the entertainment industry simply made up.
It takes a lot to shock a policeman. They're not surprised when people steal, they are used to husbands beating wives and they expect drug addicts to take drugs. But the one thing that repulses them is sex crimes against children. In this case, as far as they were concerned, it could've been one of their own daughters that Robby had tried to rape.
Robby had it all, money, fame, power. They knew he'd use these resources to hire a team of high-powered lawyers to get him off. So they saw nothing wrong with throwing the rapist in a cage and letting him rot for the maximum allowable rotting time.
Yet by the next morning on virtually every television in the land, Lisa stood on the canyon shoulder and pointed at Robby as she shouted, "Him! That man tried to rape me!" Robby's news director pal was the star of his world.
But the story broke too late to make the morning papers, and Trudy never watched TV news. She assumed Robby spent the night with the bimbo assistant. As furious as she was at them, she blamed herself most. She had already forgiven Robby for his one fling, and she could only hope he would forgive her for her two months with Artie.
She told their nine-year-old son that Daddy had left for an early shoot. Little Andy was happy Daddy had a job again. Trudy packed his lunch and sent him off to day camp with one of the neighborhood moms, relieved that it wasn't her turn to do carpool.
She tried to track down her husband and beg him to come home. She didn't have the bimbo's home number, so all she could really do was leave a message on Artie's voice mail. She left three of them over the course of two hours.
Gloria awoke that same morning and blended herself a kiwi smoothie while she thumbed through the trades. There was no mention of Artie's party or Robby's antics, and she was glad. That kind of scandal couldn't help anyone, least of all the sagging career of Mr. Bell. Despite his walking out on her, she wasn't ready to give up on him.
So after a quick shower and blow-dry, Gloria threw on her Gucci knockoff, grabbed her bag of scripts and headed out the door. When she saw that her keys weren't in the ceramic elephant, it took her about a second to put the pieces together.
"Bastard," she sighed to herself.
She called a cab and knew she'd be late for work. There was no point phoning in because Artie never answered his own phone. By the time she got to her cubicle forty-five minutes tardy, Artie was already at his desk, on the phone, and she resigned herself to the thrashing she was going to get from him. She put on her headset, checked Artie's voice mail, then walked into his office with pen and pad.
Artie was negotiating Larry's deal for the dePaulo film, and it wasn't going well. Larry needed the part more than dePaulo needed the actor, and the studio guy on the other end knew it. By the time Artie got off the call, Gloria knew she was in for it.
But as if everything was perfectly normal, she plunged into the list of phone calls. "Jerry Bruckheimer called, Les Moonves returned, Larry-"
"What the hell was that bullshit last night?" was how Artie greeted her.
"Um..." she stammered.
"It was grandstanding, and it was stupid," he went on. "A man's drowning with a hundred stars all around, each desperate for the chance to show their real life heroism in front of a hundred reporters, but you've got to take that away from them? You idiot!"
"I'm sorry," she answered. She had received the exact same scolding on the phone the night before, and she knew that any sane argument would only make things worse for her. At least he wasn't making a big deal out of her being late.
"If Gibson, Costner or either of the Toms saved Robby, I could get them an extra five mil on their next film," Artie continued. "Julia or Sandra, an extra two mil. A lousy secretary like you, nothing! You cost this agency a fortune, you dumb shit!"
She knew better than to mention that none of the actors Artie had mentioned were at the party, and that the stars who were had done nothing to help Robby -- best to simply let the boss scream on. Artie's voice resonated through the ninth floor, and Gloria could feel everyone staring at her through the open doorway, pitying her while acting oblivious.
"How many times do I have to tell you? Agents stay in the background! We push clients into the limelight because they make money from being famous. We make money from THEM being famous. When their fame goes away, the public never heard of us so we can keep doing it with the next guy. How many times have I told you that?"
"I really should listen more."
"All right," he finally said. "Who called?"
That was the end of it. Gloria sensed it might come up again, but it wouldn't affect her promotion or Artie would've said so. All she had to do was stand there and publicly take it so that one day she could be on top and humiliate an underling of her own.
"Jerry Bruckheimer, Les Moonves returned, Larry O'Dell," she read from her phone sheet. "Bruce Springsteen, you don't have to call back he just wanted to say thanks, Spielberg, Noah Wyle, and Trudy Rockman three times. She sounded hysterical."
"It's kind of a no-brainer, isn't it?" said Artie with a dose of lingering attitude.
"Spielberg?" she asked for confirmation.
"Duh," he replied.
Gloria returned to her cubicle, put on her headset and got Spielberg's assistant on the line. Steven was available but Artie had to get on first. No one said it -- it's just how it works. As big as Artie was, he hadn't directed some of the top grossing movies of all time.
"Artie! Spielberg's on for you!" she shouted through Artie's closed door for the whole floor to hear because that's how Artie liked her to do it. She then returned to her blinking phone and punched in the next line.
"Artie Eichman's office," she said by rote.
"Gloria, it's me, Robby," said the voice in her ear. "I've got to talk to Artie."
"Where's my car, you bastard?" she said in a friendly, joking manner.
"I'll explain later. I've got to talk to him now!"
She could hear the desperation in his voice and asked him to hold, then walked into Artie's office and said, "Robby Rockman on two. He sounds bad."
"Are you insane?" Artie snapped at her as he cupped the phone. "It's Spielberg!"
So Gloria returned to her station, put back on her headset, and punched line two.
"I'm sorry, Robby, Artie's in a closed door meeting. Where can he reach you?"
"He can't reach me! I'm in jail."
"Jail? What for?" she asked. She was used to actors being desperate, but that was usually just because they didn't get the part they wanted.
"Never mind what for," he pleaded. "Just get him on the line!"
So Gloria put Robby on hold again, took off her headset once more, then sheepishly crept back into Artie's office.
"Robby's in jail," she whispered. "He needs your help."
Artie merely glared at her like she was the retarded Rain Man, then spit out two very distinct syllables. "Spiel... Berg."
So she went back to her station, put on the headset again, and told Robby, "I'm sorry. His door's locked and he's not picking up for anybody."
"Oh my God," he said, with a slight tremble in his voice. "I called Trudy. She's not home. Don't know where she is. I called my lawyer. You know what happens when you don't use a lawyer for eight years? They sell their practice and move to Hawaii!"
"How can I help?" she asked.
"Get your damn boss on the phone is how you can help!" he wailed. "I can't get out of here until bail is set, and I don't get an arraignment until I have a lawyer! Artie knows lawyers! And do you have any idea what they do to well-dressed TV stars in jail?"
"I'll come get you," she said, having no idea how she'd explain her absence.
"Thank you," he said, pointedly. "But you're a secretary. I need an attorney."
"I am an attorney," she said defensively. "I graduated Stanford. I passed the bar. I'm allowed to stand before a California judge and argue a case."
"You are?" he asked.
"Yes, I am," she said, then added, "And if I get you out, when I become an agent I get to represent you. Deal?"
"Oh jeez," Robby sighed, surprised that he could still be surprised by Hollywood sleaze. "Gloria, this isn't about work. This is real life!"
"What's the difference?" she asked.
"Fine," he sighed. "If you get me out of here, you got me. But are you sure you know what you're doing?"
"It's not that difficult," she said. "All you need is a license."
Then she hung up and immediately phoned her old law professor. She remembered the basics of a bail arraignment, but was smart enough to know there would be intricacies of which she wouldn't be aware. Still, her lack of experience didn't scare her. She'd have some of the top legal minds in the country advising her.
When the first wasn't in, she left her cell number and tried another, then another. She was confident they'd call back. She had been one of the top students in her graduating class, and it wasn't just because she had slept with two of the professors.
She threw off her headset and turned to the rival assistant one cubicle over. "You have to cover for me! My Dad just had a heart attack! I've got to get to the hospital!"
"Only if you give me the real poop on Rockman when you get back," he replied.
"What are you talking about?" she asked.
"You can't keep something like this a secret, Gloria," he said as she got her things together. "It's all over the news. The whole floor's talking about it."
"What are they saying?" she asked as if she knew more than she did.
"That Rockman raped a kid," he answered. "You didn't know?"
Gloria had learned early on that show business runs on two principles. Information is power, and perception is reality.
"Of course I knew," she answered. "I'm the first one he called."
She walked down the hall and into the elevator as she wondered if Artie knew. Even if he hadn't watched the news, it was hard to believe he'd miss the gossip. On the other hand, people might be reluctant to make their little jokes in front of Robby's own agent. Either way, Artie would still ream her for leaving her station without warning.
But none of that mattered now. All that was important was that she would have her first client, and he was a star. A faded star with serious scandal issues, but a star nonetheless.
Meanwhile, Trudy was furious that Artie hadn't returned her calls. She had heard Robby's complaints about Artie's inattentiveness, but she had never experienced it first hand. She couldn't take it anymore, so she got into her red Cherokee and made the long drive from the Valley to Beverly Hills. The late morning traffic made her angrier with every stoplight. By the time she ran into Gloria coming out of the Mammoth building elevator, Trudy was out for blood.
"What have you done with my husband, you tramp?!"
"Oh God," Gloria sighed. She had already taken one public reaming today, expected another upon her return, and was simply emotionally unequipped for this one.
"I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't call me that," Gloria said softly.
"I'm sorry," Trudy replied loudly. "Would you prefer slut? How about whore?"
It's one thing to take crap from your boss, but there was no way Gloria was going to take it from a civilian.
"He's in jail," she replied. "And I'm the one he called for help. Not you. Me."
"What's he in jail for?" Trudy asked, her anger momentarily deflated.
"If he wanted you to know, he would've told you himself. I've got to get a cab."
"A cab'll take too long," Trudy said, down-shifting into responsible mode. "Tell me where he is and I'll go get him."
Gloria knew the deal she made with Robby. Show up and she gets to represent him. There was no way this shrieking shrew was going to rob her of that opportunity.
"I said I'd get him, and I'm going to get him."
"Fine, I'll drive you," Trudy sighed. "Where is he?"
"I won't tell you," Gloria countered, knowing that if the shoe were on the other foot, she'd grab the info and ditch the adversary. "Get in the car and I'll navigate."
"Fine," said Trudy who stormed out of the building as Gloria followed. "If you're going to blackmail me into saving my own husband, let's go, whore."
The Cherokee was illegally parked in the red zone. Trudy beeped it open with her alarm key and started to get in.
"One more thing," Gloria added. "He was great. Too bad you can't keep him."
The ladies slammed their doors shut with all the anger they could muster, then started on the long drive to Van Nuys, ready for blood.
*** Up Next: "Robby Rots In Jail" ***
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.