Get Shorty Part 12

Karen, still in the neat black suit, was at the kitchen table pouring a c.o.ke. Chili watched her from the doorway-where she had stood last night in the Lakers T-shirt.

"Can I ask you a question?" She looked up at him and he said, "Why'd you change your mind?"

"About the part? I can't say I was dying to do it."

Karen looked down to pour some more c.o.ke in the gla.s.s, careful that it didn't foam over. Chili got ready to say well, maybe he'd be seeing her sometime, when she looked up at him again.

"I probably would've taken it though. But during the meeting I got into what we were talking about this morning, my feeling guilty? You know ..."

Chili said, "Why you let the daughter walk all over you."

"Yeah, I questioned that, and the answer I got, it's what the audience expects, it's what they want to see. I said, but if I'm not stupid, if I realize in the end I'm being used, why don't I realize it right away? Warren goes, 'But if you did, Karen, we wouldn't have a movie, would we?' In this tone. You know, like I'm an idiot. It really p.i.s.sed me off. I said well, if that's the way you want to do it, I'll see you."

"They try to talk you into it?"

"Elaine did, in a way. I got the feeling the studio forced the script on her and she has to go with it. She said, well, the story isn't exactly a great idea-she knows-but it's involving, reflective, has resonance, a certain texture-those are all story department words. I said, 'Yeah, and lines no one would say except in a movie.' Warren goes, 'But that's what it is, Karen, a movie.' Elaine stared at him without saying a word, like she was thinking, Where did I get this guy? You have to understand, there are movie lines and there are movie lines that work. Bette Davis comes out of a cabin, walks up to a guy on the porch, gives him a flirty look and says, 'I'd kiss you but I just washed my hair.' I love it, because it tells you who she is and you have to like her. But some of the stupid lines I've had to deliver ..."

Chili said, "You want to get back into it, don't you?"

"I know I'm better than what I used to do. In Harry's movies I was always the bimbo. I walked around in a tank top and those f.u.c.k-me pumps with stiletto heels till it was time to scream. Harry kills me, he says don't ever take this business seriously, and he's the most serious guy I know. He puts studio people down-the main reason, because he'd love to run a major studio." Karen nodded saying, "If he ever did, he might not be bad. The cheapskate, I know he'd save them money." She started to smile, just a little, saying, "Another one of my favorite Bette Davis lines: 'He tried to make love to me and I shot him.' "

Chili smiled with her. He said, "I was thinking, you know what you could do? Make a deal with Harry. You'll call Michael if he'll give you a part in the movie, a good one."

Karen said, "You're kidding," but kept staring at him until finally she said, "In the first place Michael will never do the picture-"

"Harry told me he loves it, he flipped."

"Michael is known for his flipping. He flips over a script, and then when the time comes to make a deal, he flips out. But what I started to say, Michael would never make the picture with Harry, he doesn't have the track record. It would not only have to be a big-name producer, Michael would also demand script, director and cast approval, and he'd get it."

Chili watched her finish pouring the c.o.ke.

"You haven't answered my question."

"Which one?"

"You want to get back into it, don't you?"

"I'm thinking about it," Karen said. "I'll let you know."

13.

Chili wondered if Leo was attracted to sweaty women in sundresses. Across the counter from him in Hi-Tone Cleaners on Ventura, Studio City, Annette looked kind of damp, clammy. She was on the heavy side, needed to fix her blond hair, but wasn't too bad looking. It was seven p.m. The help had left and Annette was closing up when Chili walked in, timing it to be the last customer. He gave his name, Palmer.

Annette stood looking through an alphabetical file on a turntable. "You don't have your receipt?"

"No, I don't," Chili said. He didn't have a pair of pants here, either, but that's what he told Annette he'd brought in. "They're light gray."

She said, "Are you sure? I don't see no Palmer in the file." She saidfahl with the same kind of accent Fay had. Chili wondered what Leo gained trading for this one. Outside of about twenty-five pounds and those big round jugs in her brown-print sundress. He told her he'd brought the pants in yesterday and needed them since he was leaving tomorrow for Miami. Annette said, "Taking a vacation?" Chili told her no, it was where he lived. She said, "Oh?" showing a certain amount of interest. with the same kind of accent Fay had. Chili wondered what Leo gained trading for this one. Outside of about twenty-five pounds and those big round jugs in her brown-print sundress. He told her he'd brought the pants in yesterday and needed them since he was leaving tomorrow for Miami. Annette said, "Taking a vacation?" Chili told her no, it was where he lived. She said, "Oh?" showing a certain amount of interest.

Chili had on his dark-blue muted pinstripe, a blue shirt with a tab collar and rust-colored tie. He appeared reasonable about his pants, not too concerned; he told her if she couldn't find them it was no big deal, and smiled, easy to get along with.

"Well, if you're sure," Annette said, nice about it because he was, "I can check, see if there's a pair of pants without a ticket on them." She stepped over to the conveyor loaded with clothes hanging in clear plastic covers, reached up and pressed a b.u.t.ton. The conveyor started moving, bringing the clothes past her before it circled and returned them to the back part of the shop. Annette said, "I think you're gonna have to help me out here."

Chili walked around behind the counter to stand next to her. He looked at clothes going past for a minute before saying, "I've seen you someplace. ... You weren't by any chance in Vegas last week."

Annette had her hand raised to the b.u.t.ton, so she could stop the conveyor if they saw his pants. She looked past her bare shoulder at him and he could tell she was smiling, even though he couldn't see her mouth. She said, "No, but I was in Reno. How about that?"

"Getting a divorce?" Kidding with her.

"I took care of that 'fore I come out here. Got rid of excess baggage. No, this fella I was with took me.

"I hope your luck was better than mine. I dropped a bundle and it wasn't my laundry," Chili said, getting into it, showing Annette what a nice simple guy he was.

She told him she only played the slots and did okay. "But would you believe the fella I was with lost over a hundred thousand dollars and it didn't even bother him?"

"Jesus," Chili said, looking from the cleaning going by to Annette. "Guy must be loaded, drop that much and not worry about it."

"His philosophy is you win some, lose some."

"I guess that's as good a way to look at it as any."

"He's from Miami, Florida, too, originally."

"Yeah, what's his name?"

"I doubt you'd know him."

"He move out here?"

"I'm trying to get him to. He spends the whole day out to Santa'nita, loves the racetrack."

"You don't lose it as fast betting the horses."

"Oh, he wins, don't worry about that. You know the state lottery in Florida?"

"Yeah? He won that?"

"He won, I mean, big. But soon as his wife found out ... His wife-listen to this. She's divorcing him at the time, but then when she finds out about the money she wants half as part of the settlement. He said the h.e.l.l with that noise and took off."

"I don't blame him," Chili said.

"Changed his name, too. The wife never even played the lottery herself. But soon as he won, oh, now she wants in on it. Larry said he'd burn the money before he'd give her any."

"I imagine he's doing what he never dreamed of in his life," Chili said. "Right up there on top." He turned his head to look at Annette's bare shoulder and blond hair, dark strands of it combed up from her neck and held with a plastic comb. He said, "Your friend knows how to pick winners," waited for Annette to look at him and gave her a nice smile. "Why don't you shut this place down and we'll go have a drink."

"What about your pants?"

"I got other pants. Come on, let's do it."

"Gee, I'd like to," Annette said, "but I have to get cleaned up and meet my fella. He gets back from Santa'nita we meet at his ho-tel, have a drink in the Polo Lounge and go on out for dinner."

"Sounds good."

"You been there, haven't you?"

"Where's that?"

"The Polo Lounge, in the Beverly Hills Hotel? It's late now-the best time's around six, you see all kinds of celebrities in there."

"Is that right?"

"I've seen movie stars right at the next table."

"You have? Like who?"

Annette said, "Let's see," and thought about it staring at the clothes going by. She pressed the b.u.t.ton to stop the conveyor. "I can never think of their names, after. There was one, he played in a western use to be on TV. What was his name? ... They give you, with your drinks they give you corn chips with that guacamole dip? No charge. You see men, they have a phone brought to their table and you actually hear them talking about movies they're gonna make and what stars'll be in them. It's exciting to hear it, movie stars being mentioned like they're just, you know, regular people."

"I'll have to stop by there," Chili said, "maybe next time I come out. The Beverly Hills Hotel, that's where your friend stays, huh?"

"He has a suite costs him four hundred a night. Living room, bedroom, a balcony you can sit out on ..."

"Sounds good. Listen, I was thinking," Chili said, "your friend's wife, she could have somebody looking for him, hire somebody." He watched Annette giving it some thought. "In case anybody comes by asking about him ..."

"I'll just say I never heard of him."

"Yeah, except if the person happens to know you're an old friend maybe."

"I see what you mean," Annette said, giving it some more thought. "Just say he hasn't been here then."

Chili moved back around the counter telling her not to worry about his pants, he said those things happened. He was anxious to get going, stop and have a bite to eat before taking that canyon road, full of hairpin turns, back over the mountain to Beverly Hills. For a moment he wondered what the mountain was called and thought of asking Annette, but changed his mind and was almost to the door when she said, "I remember who it was now, the movie star? Doug McClure."

Chili paused to say, "Oh," nodding.

"He was so close," Annette said, "I could've touched him."

He wondered if maybe the lights outside the Sunset Marquis had been left over from Christmas: little pinpoint lights in the trees along the front, on both sides of the canopy that came out from the entrance. It was a slick place, only three stories hidden away in a lot of foliage down the hill from Sunset Boulevard-outdoor dining and the pool right in the middle, in a courtyard. Harry had recommended it and made the reservations, saying it used to be popular with rock groups and guys whose wives had kicked them out of the house for one reason or another. What Chili had in 325 was a two-hundred-buck suite with windows facing apartment balconies about fifty feet away; but that was okay, he wouldn't be looking out much. There was a phone in the bedroom, another one on the counter separating the living room from the kitchenette. Chili got the number of the Beverly Hills Hotel. When he asked for Larry Paris, the operator said just a moment, she'd connect him, Chili wondering how the little drycleaner had ever come this far as dumb as he was, going to the track every day and living in a four-hundred-dollar suite Chili would bet couldn't be any nicer than this one. It had an oriental look to it, maroon lamps shaped like paG.o.das. He let it ring till the operator came back on to say Mr. Paris's room was not answering. Chili had no intention of speaking to him anyway. He hung up and phoned Tommy Carlo at home, six p.m. in Miami.

"How about Nicole?"

"You mean Nicki," Tommy said. "I got hold of the guy use to be her manager through the booking service. You remember him? Marty, little guy with hair down to his a.s.s?"

"Yeah, sorta."

"He's the A and R guy for a record company in Los Angeles, scouts new talent. He says Nicki's getting ready for a gig at Raji's on Hollywood Boulevard. She's been rehearsing there, putting a new band together and that's prob'ly where you'll find her. Raji's on Hollywood Boulevard. I think Marty said east of Vine, you got it?"

Chili was making notes on the Sunset Marquis pad by the phone. "Yeah. What about Bones? When's he coming?"

"I don't know any more'n I told you already."

"You find out anything, call me, okay?"

Chili gave him the number and said, "I'll see you."

"When?" Tommy said.

It stopped him.

Chili said, "I don't know, I may be going into the movie business, see what it's like."

Now it sounded like Tommy was stopped. "What're you talking about? You wanta be a movie star?"

"I'm no actor. I'm talking about producing."

"How you gonna do that? You don't know s.h.i.t about making movies."

"I don't think the producer has to do much," Chili said. "The way it is here, this town, it goes out in all directions with all kinds of s.h.i.t happening. You know what I mean? Like there's no special look to the place. Brooklyn, you got streets of houses are all exactly the same. Or Brooklyn in general, you know, has a b.u.mmed-out look, it's old, it's dirty. ... Miami has a look you think of stucco, right? Or high-rises on the beach. Here, wherever you look it's something different. There homes'll knock your eyes out, but there's a lot of cheap s.h.i.t, too. You know what I mean? Like Times Square. I think the movie business is the same way. There aren't any rules-you know, anybody saying this's how you have to do it. What're movies about? They're all different, except the ones that're just like other movies that made money. You know what I'm saying? The movie business, you can do any f.u.c.kin thing you want 'cause there's n.o.body in charge."

Tommy said, "Hey, Chil, you know what I think?"

"What?"

"You're fulla s.h.i.t."

He sat down on the sofa to relax for a while in his new surroundings with the oriental look, turned on the TV and punched remote control b.u.t.tons to see what they had out here. ... As many Spanish programs as Miami ... The Lakers playing Golden State ...Shane. He hadn't seen He hadn't seenShane in years. Chili got low in the sofa, his feet on the gla.s.s coffee table, and watched from the part where Shane beats the s.h.i.t out of Ben Johnson for calling him sody pop to where he shoots Jack Wilson, practically blows him through the wall. It was almost real the way the guns went off in that movie, loud, but still not as loud as you heard it in a room, shooting a guy in the head just a little too high, and now the guy was coming out here. in years. Chili got low in the sofa, his feet on the gla.s.s coffee table, and watched from the part where Shane beats the s.h.i.t out of Ben Johnson for calling him sody pop to where he shoots Jack Wilson, practically blows him through the wall. It was almost real the way the guns went off in that movie, loud, but still not as loud as you heard it in a room, shooting a guy in the head just a little too high, and now the guy was coming out here.

Chili left his rented Toyota in the hotel garage, hiked up Alta Loma the half block to Sunset and had to stop and catch his breath from the climb, out of shape, before walking along Sunset till he was opposite white storefronts across the street. It was dark, a stream of headlights going by. He stood waiting for a break in the traffic, his gaze on the white building, and began to wonder why a light was on in Harry's office. He was pretty sure it was Harry's, the wide window with the venetian blinds. Maybe the cleaning woman was in there.

Chili jogged across the wide street, let himself in and climbed the stairs to ZigZag Productions, dark except for a light at the end of the hall. It was Harry's office, but not a cleaning woman who looked up from the desk as Chili entered.

It was the colored limo guy, Bo Catlett, wearing gla.s.ses and with a movie script open in front of him.

Catlett said, "This ain't bad, you know it? ThisMr. Lovejoy. The t.i.tle's for s.h.i.t, but the story, man, it takes hold of you." The t.i.tle's for s.h.i.t, but the story, man, it takes hold of you."