"You just got to time the trial for the release of the movie," Robby gleefully told his lawyer. "And let's get a publicist on this. This thing's going to be huge!"
Robby and Norman were back in the same tiny, closet-sized conference room where they had first met less than a week before. Given Norman's ultimate defense, as well as his threats to charge the police and the D.A.'s office with abuse of power, it wasn't too difficult for the skilled attorney to keep his client isolated.
Robby considered his new double homicide charge as yet another stroke of fantastic luck. He knew the murder charges were initially dropped because the idea of him killing those two brutes with his bare hands was preposterous, and the D.A. believed she could convict him of rape at that time.
Robby had a keen understanding of Deputy District Attorney Theresa Chavez -- the original inspiration for his portrayal of Dr. Kincaid. He could imagine how embarrassed she had been when the rape charge went south, and people like Theresa don't take to embarrassment lightly. She HAD to nail him, or at least pretend to try, so no one else would fuck with her. So she whipped up some phony-baloney murder charge to look tough. It was exactly what Dr. Kincaid would have done.
Robby had no doubt that he would be found innocent at trial, just as he had felt about the rape charge a few days earlier. But in the court of public opinion where one remains guilty forever based on the accusation alone, raping a juvenile is eternally despicable -- while killing a couple of racist skinheads in self-defense is downright heroic. By the time "Gun Butt" would be released, people would flock.
"We just need a big re-write," Robby went on. "Ciggy knows that too. Jeff Abugov. He's the guy. Get him. Damn good writer and it would mean a lot to me. Gloria can track him down."
F.Y.I., I had zero interest in re-writing "Gun Butt" because it was a very bad indie script -- meaning a lot of work for little money. But I must admit that when I got the offer I was very flattered. There were a zillion other talented writers Robby could have suggested, and he didn't just pick my name out of friendship or loyalty -- I think.
"What's your problem?" Robby finally asked his glum lawyer. "Your first movie's gonna be a hit! An indie hit, maybe, but a hit nonetheless. Don't you ever smile?"
"No," answered Norman. "I guess I don't."
So you know, Norman does smile a lot. The reason he wasn't smiling at this moment was that he had seen the file that Theresa had put together.
Norman couldn't believe the case the D.A. had made against his client. DNA evidence showed samples of Robby's skin all over the victims' dead bodies, as well as Robby's blood in the contours of their many scratches. Videotape sequences from Robby's box-office-flop action movie showed him fighting with karate master skill, and an E! Channel "Behind the Scenes" program seemed to imply that he had done all his own stunts.
But far worse than any of that was that the only three witnesses to the murders were each prepared to swear under oath that Robby had indeed beaten the skinheads to death in a coked-up, drunken rage.
Norman was quite certain he could argue away the DNA nonsense with the simple truth -- Robby's blood and skin were on the skinheads because THEY were beating HIM! He was also pretty sure he could get the judge to throw out the videos because they were argumentative publicity bullshit. If not, he only had to call Robby's stunt double and the film's publicist to the stand to explain how movies are actually made and sold.
But the witnesses were something else. It was obvious that Theresa had cut them deals on their individual crimes -- he had seen slimy D.A.s do the same since he began his career as a defense lawyer -- but proving it was another matter. If he couldn't somehow break all three witnesses, all his other arguments would seem like mere lawyer tricks.
Robby could actually end up doing hard time.
Now that he saw how manipulatively cutthroat Theresa could actually be, Norman couldn't live with the fact that he was the one who had put the thought of charging Robby with murder into her head -- especially because it was just to get funding for a stupid little movie. He promised himself that he would do everything in his power to get this white boy freed, no matter what it took.
The only question now was whether or not he should tell Robby the dire situation that he was in. He could hear Ciggy saying no. The show must go on, the experienced filmmaker would say, and a happier, more relaxed Robby would keep them all within budget.
But Robby had the right to know. Even though it would utterly terrify him, he would WANT to know.
But there was nothing Robby could do to help in his own defense, since the charges were trumped up and the only witnesses had been blackmailed to lie. Norman had learned the hard way that those are the most difficult cases to win. So why make the boy miserable unnecessarily?
It was a tough call, so Norman did what he had learned to do on all tough calls throughout his brilliant legal career. He would make the decision later.
So he shifted the conversation to the bail hearing. Theresa had filed the double-homicide charge with "no bail" -- big surprise -- based on the serious nature of the crimes, meaning that Robby would have to stay in jail for many months until the trial. Norman told Robby that this was preposterous, since Robby had already proven himself to be no flight risk.
Norman had already filed the appropriate paperwork contesting the bail, as was Robby's right, but the annoying part was that Theresa was busy with the first of what would be many press conferences. The bail hearing wouldn't take place for another hour, night court at seven-thirty, which in reality meant it might not actually happen till nine.
Robby immediately pointed out that this was far more than "annoying." He was supposed to meet Lisa for dinner at eight. He had given her his cell phone number if she needed to call, but he had no way to contact her.
There was no telling what the unstable teen would do if she arrived at the restaurant and Robby wasn't there -- especially when all the Hollywood elite would point and whisper about her. She would no doubt think she had been stood up and come to truly hate Robby for putting her in such an embarrassing situation. But would she go so far as to reverse her story and reissue the charges against Robby for attempted rape? Robby was simply not willing to take the risk.
He asked to borrow Norman's cell phone (his had been taken from him upon his arrival at the jailhouse) and immediately phoned Royalties.
"Royalties, oui, allo," said the heavily accented voice on the other end.
Robby didn't recognize the man's voice, so he asked for his owner-friend. When the voice answered that "le Monsieur" was not expected that evening until nine, Robby asked for the maitre d', who had always been a polite and friendly sort.
"Marcel works here no longer," corrected the man. "He got ze part in a James Bond movie which I do not personally care for. I am Claude, I am the maitre d', and I am very busy, so you call back for le Monsieur another time, oui?"
"Claude, my name is Robby Rockman and I have a reservation at eight and--"
"Rock-man, Rock-man, ah, ici," said Claude as he searched for Robby's name. "I do not know you, Monsieur Rock-man. So, you wish to cancel, non?"
"Non," Robby answered again. "I may be a little late, but my, uh, lady-friend will be meeting me and I was hoping you could give her a message for me."
"I think it will be better if you cancel so --"
"Well, I'm not going to do that Claude," Robby said emphatically. "I am a personal friend of le Monsieur and I know he'd appreciate you doing this favor for me."
"Of course," answered Claude with all the sincerity of one asked to scrub the stuck grit out of the inside of a garbage can. "What is ze message that is so important?"
"Is there a waiter or waitress who might know me that I can speak to?" Robby asked, defeatedly, knowing full well Claude's offer was an empty one.
"They are all wor-KING, Monsieur Rock-man," Claude replied. "So, speak your message quickly and I will make it my life's quest to see it delivered."
"Okay," Robby sighed resignedly. "Her name is Lisa -- she'll be asking for a table under my name. Tell her I've been arrested again and my bail hearing isn't scheduled until seven-thirty. I don't know what time it's really going to start, so I don't know when I'll get there. She can order whatever she wants, on me, or she can go home and--"
"I shall make certain that your Lucy receives zis message," Claude interrupted. "Merci. Good-bye."
The line went dead, and Robby knew another solution must be found.
Normally, the first person he would call for help was Trudy, but he just couldn't bring himself to ask his wife to tell his fiancee he'd be late for their date. He was pretty sure that any of their friends would side with his wife because, if he hadn't known better, he would, too. He was far too pissed off at Artie to ever ask him anything again. Norman had to stay with him until the bail hearing and, although he respected Ciggy as a producer, he knew that Ciggy would never leave the set. The man had never shown him any real friendship.
So he called me, but I wasn't home. I got a fantastic message on my machine which I erased because he asked me to, but I promised you I'd leave myself out of this if it didn't pertain, so let's just move on.
Robby racked his brains for someone else who might help him out of this jam, but he could only think of one person.
Gloria sat at her desk in her little office, talking on the phone with Cheyenne Ellis about all the wonderful things the Mammoth Agency could do for her. The seduction had started on the set that day, and continued into a nice, long Starbucks chat after Robby had been arrested and Cheyenne was released from the set for the day. Gloria had told the young actress to call her anytime if she had questions. This was Cheyenne's third retarded call in just a few hours, and Gloria felt like a real agent at last.
The fact that her office had been a supply closet only three days ago didn't dissuade her pride. She viewed the fact that the senior agents were dumping on her their most routine shitwork as a symbol of their trust in her abilities. The fact that she had no assistant herself and had to answer her own calls only made her ever more determined to make her mark.
When the call came in from Robby, Gloria felt more like an agent than ever -- it being her very first "call-waiting face-off." It was an easy one, however, for as soon as she told Cheyenne that it was Robby calling from jail, the young actress-prostitute resigned from the race.
"Send him my best," Cheyenne said sincerely as she jumped off the line.
"Robby, what's going on?" Gloria asked her potential client. "What happened?"
Truthfully, she only asked so that she could hear it in his own words. She had already seen Theresa Chavez on the six o'clock news, so she felt that she pretty much knew the whole story by reading between the lines.
Gloria had never believed that Robby was capable of violent rape, but the whole scandal made sense to her the moment the actor publicly announced his long-standing relationship with Lisa. It only stung the new agent a little that Robby seemed to be choosing the teen-ager over her -- she more than anyone understood the allure of youth to the mid-life crisis male. But what really perplexed her was Robby's taste. As far as Gloria was concerned, if you're going to fuck a minor, she ought to be pretty.
Similarly, she couldn't conceive of Robby just flipping out and killing the skinheads for kicks as the D.A. was maintaining. It was obvious that the skinheads had messed with Robby first -- Gloria had seen him the next day and was well aware of how beaten he had been. So, in self-defense, Robby fought back and ultimately killed them. It was worthy of everyone's respect, and quite the turn-on for her. In fact, the image of Robby killing the two punks with his bare hands made her wet at her desk.
The only thing that struck her as odd was that Ms. Chavez spoke significantly more about the dropped rape charge on the TV news than she had about the current double homicide.
So when Robby confidently told her what had really happened -- how the skinheads had tried to beat him to a bloody pulp and that a seven-foot transvestite had beaten them to death in his defense -- Gloria simply assumed that Robby was regurgitating the spin that his top-notch lawyer had instructed him to regurgitate. Why did she assume this?
Again, because the image of Robby killing the two punks with his bare hands made her wet.
The fact that Robby didn't seem the least bit concerned about the outcome of the trial she chalked up to good acting, or too much coke. But when he told her he needed a favor, and his confidence waned into a melange of hems and haws, she grew concerned for the first time.
"Robby, what is it?" she asked.
"This is very awkward for me," he stammered. "It's about Lisa, and given what happened last night--"
"Robby, listen," she said, stopping him cold. "I don't begin to understand what's going on between you and Lisa, and maybe one day you'll explain it to me. But you're in trouble now. The fact that there's some inexplicable animal heat between us isn't going to PREVENT me from helping you, it's only going to make me want to help you all the more. But more importantly, I'm your agent. And your friend."
Robby had never accepted her as his agent, but he was touched by the sentiment, and the words "animal heat" practically made him erect. He couldn't help but remember the way her warm, sultry body had pressed against his the past night, and it took all that he had to snap himself back to the matters at hand.
"Thanks," he said as it became apparent that it was his turn to speak. "Here's the thing. I was supposed to have dinner with Lisa tonight at Royalties at eight, and it looks like the bail hearing won't get started for a while. I might not make it. I can't reach her, and if she thinks I stood her up, she'll freak."
"So you want me to go meet her at the restaurant and explain what happened," Gloria said. "Consider it done. Not only will I explain it to her, but I'll buy her dinner and sit with her and make her happy as a clam just in case."
"You're a god," Robby breathed a sigh of relief.
"That's goddess to you, pal," Gloria joked back as she hung up.
Gloria was ecstatic. She had always known it would be easy to get rid of the teen-ager, but she had never expected it to be this easy.
With his wife already out of the picture, Robby would be all hers by morning.
*** Up Next: "How Lisa Gets Out" ***
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.