If it was me pretending I was some sort of expert in the art of submission, I was taking my little F-type Jaguar home, picking up Darren, and going up and down Mulholland until I needed to hit a gas station. Then I would bring it right back to Griffith Park with an empty tank.
“Out of the park, huh?” I said. “I’m excited to hear it.”
“Were you considering doing more work like you did at the B.C. Mod show?”
Without Kevin?
Could I? I wasn’t visual. I had taste, I could put stuff together, but I didn’t have what Kevin had. “I’d like to, but it’s complicated. That was a one-off.”
He waved his hand. “It’s an attitude. The work will follow, if that’s what you want. We want to brand you something like a Laurie Anderson. An all-around package. A musician, yes, but also an artist.”
“We want to introduce you around to some of L.A.’s art patrons,” Eddie broke in. He seemed on board with the new strategy. I hoped he’d thought of it, because if he was just along for the ride, it would be half-assed. “There’s an event Thursday night at L.A. Mod. The Collector’s Board gala. Very big thing.”
“It’s short notice,” I said. I had work, but I could switch a shift. Work wouldn’t stop me. Jonathan had been clear he wasn’t going, but maybe that had changed. I didn’t know how I felt about seeing him under those circumstances.
Harry picked up the thread. “It’s very short notice, but this event is only once a year. Next year, it’ll be too late. We want your face there, photographed with Carnival Records.” He indicated Eddie. “An artistic partnership.”
I don’t know what expression I wore, but I wore it long enough for Eddie to break the silence.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Can I get back to you on Thursday night?”
“No problem,” Eddie said with the same tone he’d used the last time we met, as if maybe really meant yes. He held out his hand to one of the assistants, and she handed him a piece of paper. He passed it to me. “These are the terms we’re offering.”
I looked at the paper, but the words and numbers swam before my eyes. I bit my lips between my teeth to keep from smiling.
Chapter 30.
MONICA
I couldn’t drive. I kept hitting the gas pedal too hard and taking unbelievable risks because that f**king car moved like a Serengeti cat. I had a heart-lightening exuberance I hadn’t felt since, well....ever.
I needed a lawyer. The problem was artists didn’t hire entertainment lawyers. I couldn’t call someone out of the phone book or get a recommendation from a friend and hire an entertainment lawyer for a ridiculous hourly rate. Entertainment lawyers took on clients they believed in and either charged seven-fifty per billable hour or took a percentage of the contract’s value. They didn’t just look over a contract; they negotiated it, and negotiated hard. The big ones were picky. They weren’t wasting their time on a negotiation where their client had no leverage.
I pulled over, parking by a meter on LaBrea. I called Jonathan but got a recorded message in a soothing female voice telling me the subscriber wasn’t available. I’d never heard that one. I didn’t go to voice mail. Just nothing. Fuck it. I played with my phone until the web told me the number I was looking for.
“Hi,” I said when I got a pick up. “This is Monica Faulkner. I’m looking for Margaret Drazen.”
“Hold please.”
I waited. I was sure I’d be sitting at the side of the road in my white convertible for a good long time. Her firm was huge, her name was on the door, and I wasn’t even a client.
“This is Margaret,” Margie said.
I sat straighter, pausing because I didn’t expect her to pick up. “Hi, uhm, this is Monica. Jonathan’s...” I paused again because I didn’t know how to describe myself.
“Yes. Hello. Nice to hear from you. How are you?”
“I’m fine. I really hate to do this. I feel like I’m imposing on you.”
“You don’t need me to help you move or anything, do you?”
“No. I need a lawyer.”
“Fancy that,” Margie said. “I’m a lawyer, and I got a staff of them running around here.”
“I know, but I need an entertainment lawyer. I don’t want you to think I’m trying to use Jonathan to get ahead. I’m just in a bit of...well, a great position, actually. And I need help with some contract negotiations. So I’m sorry, but—”
“My dear,” Margie said, her voice warm and comforting, “don’t you realize? You’ve turned my brother around. You may live to regret this, but you’re one of the family now.”
She seemed so happy, I couldn’t tell her about the previous night.
Chapter 31.
JONATHAN
“That’s Steinbeck country,” I said, watching the waitresses work the floor.
“Yeah,” said the blonde in the blue dress. Her friends were ten feet away. “They made us read all that in school. I’m more of a Heinlein, Ellison girl myself. You?”
She was lovely. The perfect vision of womanhood in a simple, short blue dress and heels. Not slutty. Fair hair twisted up. Warm smile through pink lips. Fingertips at the wine glass she sipped from. She was smart, and we were both sober, which was also nice.
“Modernists, I guess. Pynchon, that kinda thing. Ever read Mason & Dixon? It’s hilarious.”
“None of that stuff in the Salinas library,” she smiled. “Sheriff Traulich would burn it himself.”
I normally wouldn’t talk to a woman at my own bar, and I’d promised myself I wouldn’t sleep around. But that morning, I’d run over a silver heart Harry Winston keychain as I pulled out. Since it felt insignificant, like an out-of-place stone, I opened the gate and continued. I almost hit the white Jaguar parked across the driveway on the street.
The return of my gift had hurt, even though it shouldn’t have. I should have expected it. Of course Monica wouldn’t accept it after what happened. She was still honorable. I’d managed to leave that intact. I looked in the glove compartment for the navel ring and didn’t find it. I was sure it would turn up on my desk.
But it didn’t, and that confused me. I’d gone up to the bar to verbally pistol-whip Freddie about hiring a sixteen-year-old to carry drinks, and to think about not thinking about Monica. The first got done, the second was interrupted by the blonde in the blue dress.