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Chapter 11
To Nicole
I
Max finished his whiskey rocks and relaxed in the leather armchair. He heard shots fired downstairs, but paid no attention to it; all sounds have become nothing but background noise to him lately. He heard the engine of Gabriel’s pricy car rattle and then recede. A little later he heard banging on his door and Lester calling for him.
“Go away, Les, there’s nothing for you here.”
There was a long moment of silence, then Lester said he was sorry and Max said he was too. He heard Lester drive away shortly after that.
Max looked out through the window that was framed by black soot from when Max had set the drapes on fire the first time. What was left of those half-burnt drapes was now hanging sorrowfully from the cornice above the window. Outside the golf course looked the same as Max always remembered it – a vast greenness, decorated with trees and spotlights. But to him it looked like a lot of useless emptiness now.
He glanced at the mahogany desk that was still smoking. He’d laid papers around it that morning and set them on fire. The papers burnt out quickly as did the varnishing of the desk, but that was all. Now there was only gray smoke, rising up and disappearing under the ceiling, and the disgusting smell of burning.
Max poured himself some more whiskey and picked up the box of long reach fireplace matches from the floor. He tucked it into his boxers. Like with so many things in his life, he’d been looking at burning down the house all wrong. He stood up and unlocked the door. Holding the whiskey glass in one hand, Maxime went downstairs. No more games.
He went outside to the toolshed behind the garage, sipping on his whiskey. On his way he picked up the small pistol Gabriel had left behind and tucked it behind his back. In the shed he found a half-empty five-gallon gas canister that the gardener used to fuel the golf carts and whatnot.
He returned to the mansion and crossed the hall to the wine cellar door. It was mostly wood downstairs; naturally, it was the best place to start. Max left the canister at the top of the stairs and went down to pick a bottle of red. He’d though he would choose something pricy and sophisticated, but in the end he just grabbed the nearest bottle.
He poured some fuel down the stairs, making sure it reached the wooden wine racks, and then went around the first floor drawing a neat gasoline streak and splashing furniture. He went upstairs and continued there, making a stop in every room and finishing at the burnt desk in the main room. Now you’ll burn, he thought.
Holding the wine bottle he went downstairs and lit a fireplace match. As the scent of sulfur filled his lungs, Max threw the match to the floor. The fire ran in several directions along the fuel lines, devouring all that was in its way. Max left it at that and went out to the terrace. There he broke the wine bottle’s neck against the banister and settled in a wicker chair to watch the fire. In a matter of minutes the whole mansion was ablaze. On the second floor the windows shattered and orange flames were waving at Max, producing blackish-gray smoke. Max gulped the wine from the broken bottle, cutting his lips at the corners.
“This is awesome. Shoulda done it years ago…”
Some time later the bottle was empty, and Max heard sirens nearing the blazing mansion. He wiped the blood from his mouth, brought out Gabriel’s pistol and cocked the hammer. The police sirens were now in the driveway, though he could barely hear them through the roaring fire.
“This was fun.”
He gave a last look to the house and the golf course, then placed the muzzle carefully in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
II
“So,” Henry said. “How do you feel about visiting the studio? Pauline should be done by now; I’m sure she nailed it; she’s a good girl, my Pauline. We’ll have us celebration, what do you say?”
I considered it, although there was nothing to consider - Cynthia Silk wouldn’t let me within a mile of Silk Pictures, not before I signed the damn papers… My cellphone rang. I recognized the number – it was Jeanine. “Excuse me, Hen.” I leaned back a bit. “Hey, you!”
“Hey yourself!” She replied with a smile.
“What gives?”
“I think you can guess what gives, Danny, can’t you?”
Of course I could. “What is it?”
“You have a meeting tonight, Daniel.” She said seriously.
“Do I? Whom with?”
“With Arthur Buksly. And you don’t have to be a jerk about it, but since you are going to, I’ll just go ahead and say this: Lester knows how to get Cynthia to sign that contract of yours. How about that?”
I sighed. “When?”
“Ten to eight tonight. The Platinum.”
“Thanks, Jeanine, I’ll be there.” I said reluctantly and clicked off. The thought of meeting Lester made me sick, but then I remembered my credit card balance, and the possibility of coming into a considerable amount of money made it seem to be worth the struggle.
“What is it?” Henry asked. “Business?”
“I guess you could call it that. It’s about the movie… Gotta sign a contract…” I didn’t feel like getting too deep into the matter. Luckily, nor did Henry.
“Payday, huh? Good stuff. Need a lift?”
“I live around the corner, Hen, but thanks. Very thoughtful of you.” I suddenly felt very warm inside.
“As you say. Shall we?”
I left some money on the table and we left. Outside a black sedan was waiting for Henry. He sure traveled with style now.
“So, what about meeting Pauline?” He said as we shook hands.
“Are you a matchmaker or something?” He only grinned. “Let’s take a rain check on that. If she stars in Pullman, I’ll meet her soon enough.”
“I suppose so. Hit me up sometime, okay?” He opened the rear door of the car.
“Count on it, Hen!”
He got in, and I shut the door; the sedan took off.
There were still a couple of hours before the rendezvous, so I walked to The Time to smoke and take a nap.
The hotel phone rang at 7pm to wake me up.
“Hello.” I said sleepily.
“Mr. Bruckheimer? There’s Mr. Buksly for you.” The receptionist said and passed the phone.
“Hello? Daniel?”
“Speaking.”
“Please, don’t make me wait, Mr. Bruckheimer.”
“Please, don’t make me hurry, Mr. Buksly.” I hung up. Freaking self-entitled pricks…
But I did have to get going, so I took a quick shower and put on some good clothes. I didn’t have any gaudy accessories this time, but I did my best without them.
Sure enough, Buksly was waiting for me in the back of a plush sedan; it could’ve been a Bentley. I got in beside him.
“Why are you here?” I asked him a stupid question.
“Why do you think?” He said with clear dislike. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I like it any more than you do!”
“You keep patronizing me, Arthur, but I don’t see what you got to back it up, so let’s just get it over with. Not to mention your time has been well-paid for and in advance.”
“Okay, enough!” He barked tiredly.
The rest of the fleeting ride to Lester’s restaurant we spent in silence. The driver let us out, and we marched inside. At the curb I saw a bright red classic car.
“Evening, gentlemen.” Jeanine greeted us, giving me a furtive smile.
“Evening.” We both replied, and she led us to Lester’s private booth.
He was already there, drinking tea and reading a book. A trickle of smoke was swirling from his cigarette. He seemed to be in a pensive mood, which we picked up immidiately.
“Evening, guys. Please, sit.” He closed the book.
We sat down, and a waitress brought us each a cup and poured some tea. She stayed to see if we had anything else to order.
“How’d you like that Macallan, Arthur?” Lester asked, and Buksly nodded approvingly. Lester told the waitress. “Three of those 55-year-olds.” The waitress left, and he continued. “I have three news, guys, two of them bad and one good. Let’s wait a bit.”
We waited for the waitress to get our drinks. Lester was the first one to empty his.
“There’s no easy way of saying it, so here goes news number one: Gabriel is dead. Car crash.”
We gasped! Arthur’s hand froze mid-air with the glass in it. I felt cold shoot through me and shivered. If I had any thoughts on the matter at the time, I couldn’t remember them. There was a long silence after that, during which we drank and had another round delivered.
Lester spoke. “Yep. A damn shame about the car, too…”
“You inconsiderate bastard!” Arthur muttered. He was sweating.
“Yeah, yeah…” Lester nodded. “Wanna hear news number two?”
I shrugged. I didn’t want to hear news number two.
But Lester said. “Maxime is dead, too. Blew his own head off upon burning down his mansion.” He whirled a finger in the air for the waitress to see.
There was more silence and more expensive whiskey. I saw Lester was drinking enthusiastically, but he was rather calm, as if the two deaths were no more than an occasion to drink. But then I dug up my own feelings and discovered that I wasn’t all that upset either! Sure, both Maxime and Gabriel were good pals, but… Beyond that I just couldn’t find another reason to grieve. It was a lot to take in, but I thought I’d survive. So I drank the drinks, and they tasted good.
“Any comments, gents?” Lester said casually now that the news was delivered.
Arthur looked at him with anger. “Why didn’t you just buy his damn house, Warner?”
Lester gave him a grave look. “Well… I’ve bought it, Arthur, calm down.”
“You what?” Arthur snapped.
Lester sighed. “Maxime would’ve never sold the property for thirty million, Arthur. His bank, on the other hand, was more forthcoming. That it?”
“You heartless little shit!” Arthur shook his head ruefully.
“Yeah, I get that a lot, Mr. Buksly. Now, I believe you’ve both guessed what the good news is?”
I hadn’t. My mind was occupied, trying to comprehend what I’d just heard. I tried to imagine Gabriel dead in a car crash and Maxime with a hole in his head, but even with my vivid imagination those images seemed misplaced and grotesque. Likely because those weren’t just images I’d created – they imitated reality. I sat without a sound.
Meanwhile, Lester continued. “The good news is, guys, that Cynthia Silk is now vulnerable as ever, which gives us or, rather, you a chance to settle the deal once and for all. Now before you, Arthur, get emotional again, I’ll say this: you can pretend to be devastated later, but now you need to keep your cool and cease the opportunity!”
I said nothing. What was there to say? Arthur had an idea.
“Opportunity? Two people are dead, Warner! How can you even… urgh!” He bellowed.
Lester lit another cigarette. “You know why we’re sitting here, Arthur?” He drew. “Because the planet hasn’t stopped spinning just yet. Two people die every second. Now check out that watch of yours. We’ve been sitting here for over forty minutes – that’s five thousand people gone right there. So drink your scotch and pull yourself together.” He looked at me. “What about you, Daniel? Feeling alright?”
I shrugged. I guess I was still making my peace with the news; the bad ones that is. “Yeah.”
“Very well. I’m heading home now. I’ll think about how to play this one and give you both a call in the morning. Good evening.”
He clamped the cig between his teeth, grabbed his book and left us to our whiskey.
III
Arthur left soon after Lester, and I stayed to drink some more; it was for free, so what the hell. Jeanine sat at the table just after nine, when, I guessed, her shift ended.
“So, what happened?” She asked, watching me gulp another glass.
“Gabe and Max are dead.” I didn’t know how else to put it. Jeanine said nothing for a long time. Then I added. “Car accident and suicide, respectively.”
“I see. How are you?” She touched my hand. Hers was warm and smooth.
“Me? Better than they are, that’s good enough for me…”
“Need a ride home? I’m done for the day.”
I finished yet another whiskey. “Why are people so good to me?”
She smirked and whispered. “Hell if I know, Danny. As for myself… Maybe I’m just a gold-digger, waiting for you to sign that contract to take advantage of you. What do you think?”
I smiled thinly. “I’d like that ride home. But I can’t promise no lovemaking tonight, sorry.”
“Let’s go!” She laughed.
We walked to her car, and I relaxed in the passenger seat. The car was nice.
“I guess you’re not a gold-digger after all, huh? Lester pays that well?” I asked.
“Can’t complain.” She replied. And then. “He likes you, you know.”
“Yeah, right.” I muttered as the car started.
“One would think you’d be more discerning, Danny…”
I had nothing to say to that. Nor did I want to think about Lester or his feelings towards me. Feelings. Feelings?
“No way!” I uttered.
“No waaay!” Jeanine mocked me. “Yes way, Danny, open your damn eyes.”
“That can’t be!”
She sighed. “Have it your way. I’m just saying…”
We were at the hotel shortly, and like before, Jeanine left the car at the parking garage across the road. Up in the room 704 we ordered a glass of wine for her and coffee for me. The coffee cleared my head some, but we didn’t talk much. My mind was wrapped around what Lester had told me, and there was no place for talking. We spent some time spooning under the blankets (me being the little spoon), and I fell asleep before midnight.
The next morning Jeanine woke me up with a kiss; she smelled nice. I could hear a phone vibrating nearby.
“It’s Lester for you.” She saw I was too sleepy and said. “I got it.” She answered the call. “Morning, Lester! Yes, he is. Yep. Sure, half hour is more than enough! See ya then.” She clicked off. “To the shower, Danny!”
So I took a shower and dressed, and then we went downstairs to catch a quick breakfast before Lester arrived. Jeanine checked out her watch when I was done.
“Your thirty minutes is up, he should be here.”
“Thanks, mom!” I said a bit irritated.
“Oh, please!” She smiled. “Just go already.”
I stood up and left Jeanine to finish her club sandwich.
Sure enough, outside Lester was waiting for me in an old bulky convertible sedan; the soft-top was up. I sat beside him, and we started along West 49th.
“Morning, Daniel. We’re gonna pick up Arthur and go straight to Cynthia’s…” He continued speaking, but I, vaguely remembering the last night’s thoughts of Lester’s feelings, replied him with an awkward silence. “Daniel, you here?”
“Huh? Yeah, yeah, I am.” I wasn’t, not quite.
We took a long ride to Arthur Buksly’s home, which turned out to be a modest little townhouse in Queens. I guessed Arthur saved most of his income… Lester dialed a number. “Arthur, we’re here.” And a couple minutes later the plump middle-aged man appeared out of the house. He wore a neat black suit with no tie.
He opened the rear door and climbed in. “What’s this rattletrap, Lester?” He referred to the car. “Don’t you have any consideration for other people?”
Lester looked at him though the rearview mirror. “Don’t you have any consideration for other people? You’re a guest here, Mr. Buksly, don’t forget. And driven in the backseat, as if you were some big cheese around here!” He smirked. “And look who’s driving you!”
There it was, that scene again – a kid bossing around a grown man. I shivered in disgust. Lester started off the curb.
“Did you get the contract?” Lester asked, and Arthur tried to hand him the papers, but Lester pushed them to me. “Did you sign it?” I guess Arthur nodded at that. “Good. There must be a pen in the glove compartment, Daniel.”
I found it and put my signature in all the required places beneath Buksly’s. I hesitated when it came to filling in the price. Lester must have seen me linger, because he looked at Arthur in the mirror.
“Can we get some help from the galley?”
“Come again?” Arthur said.
“How much do you pay for a script these days?”
Arthur paused. “Ten to five hundred thousand, normally. But Pullman is a classic American love story, perhaps it can cost up to six hundred.”
“Well. I think it’d also be wise to include non-pecuniary damage, huh?” Lester said. “Two-point-five million seems fair to you, Daniel?”
“Three then, to round the number.” I said absently (although deep inside I was exulting) and filled in the gaps in the contract.
“You kids are out of your mind…” Arthur muttered in the backseat.
Nobody replied him; Lester turned the radio up.
We stopped on 67th Street right behind Cynthia’s black Pullman. There was the driver behind its wheel. We stepped out of the car, and Lester walked up to him.
“Thanks for the help, Gerome.” He said and passed him some cash. I guessed the driver had tipped Lester off regarding Cynthia’s whereabouts that morning. “She’s still in?”
“She is.” Gerome said.
Lester turned to us. “Let’s go up then.”
We did. The door to Cynthia’s apartment wasn’t locked, and Lester went in first. Like the Hamptons mansion, this condo was grand. There was marble and expensive wood and oil paintings in arty-crafty frames; there were other peculiar decorations, too, which all looked to me like a lot of space-consuming junk. Cynthia Silk was nowhere to be found.
Lester was about to call for her, but Arthur raised his hand.
“Let me talk to her, Lester. Perhaps I’ll be more… diplomatic.”
Lester nodded. I had the contract in my hand.
Arthur looked around the place, and pretty soon it became obvious Cynthia was behind the locked bathroom door. Arthur knocked.
“Madam Silk?” That got a suppressed laugh from Lester. “Cynthia? We’d like to talk to you.”
“Open.”
Arthur hesitated, looking back at us. Lester gestured for him to move it. We stepped into the bathroom, me being the last one in.
“Close the door, please.” Cynthia asked, and I did.
She was taking a bath, foam covering her up to her chest. She had a champagne glass in one hand; the mostly empty bottle stood on the floor. Her hair was wet and brushed back. She wore no makeup, but still looked very good; her features were fine, and her eyes were bright, slightly unfocused due to the champagne.
“What is it, boys? I’m guessing it’s not my dead ex-husband and son, so… Is it the fucking contract?” She gave Lester an impressionless glance. “Well, you win, little shit, nice going.” Then, to me. “Give it here already, Daniel Bruckheimer.” She pronounced my name excitedly in her husky voice.
Lester whispered to me. “That was too easy!”
I handed her the papers, and Arthur brought a pen out of his jacket pocket.
“Arthur, will you do the honors?” Cynthia asked.
Buksly gave us an annoyed glance and got down to his knees, offering Cynthia his back. She put her signatures in all the right places, and Arthur took the papers.
“Three million, young man?” She snickered and shook her head. “Would you leave us for a moment, gentlemen?”
Lester looked at me, and I shrugged.
“Oh, please, what am I gonna do, rape him?”
I shrugged again, looking at Lester, and he left the bathroom with Arthur right behind him. They closed the door.
Cynthia stood up in the bathtub, foam flowing down her wet body, and gracefully stepped out onto the furry floor mat. She had a gorgeous body (I’d add for her age, but I won’t). She made a few steps towards me. Up close and without makeup she was beautiful. She looked a lot like her mother, Lauren Silk. Her eyes never left mine.
“What don’t you like?” She asked, meaning herself, of course. “Tell me.”
I remained silent and tried to maintain even breathing.
“You won’t even pity-fuck me, will you?”
I stepped back and had my back against the wall. Cynthia was a foot away now.
“You gotta give me something, Daniel!” She grabbed at my crotch and pressed her firm artificial breasts tight against my chest. I’d lie if I said it wasn’t arousing. So I put a hand around her waist, pressing her even tighter, and held her cheek and kissed her hard. She shivered with pleasure, her loose hand frozen in the air, and gave in. I squeezed her buttock gently. We went at it for quite some time, until a knock on the door broke the silence. Cindy pulled away slightly. Her eyes were wet. She hugged me.
“Thank you.”
And I hugged her back and I did feel sorry for her.
“I’d like to be alone now.” She said and turned away.
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see, and stepped out of the bathroom. Lester and Arthur were waiting for me in the hallway. Arthur handed me the contract, but I walked straight past him and out of the posh condo.
Downstairs I was the first one into the car; I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. When Lester sat behind the wheel I said. “49th and Broadway, please.”
“You got it.”
Arthur said nothing, just passed me the papers, which I stored in the glove compartment until Lester dropped me off at The Time.
IV
The rest of the night I spent in the hotel restaurant, Serafina, leisurely sipping red wine and leafing through the contract.
Three million dollars, it said. It was hard to believe. Hell, it was impossible to believe. I had no idea how much that was – three million. I’ve never had more than twenty grand in my life, and that had seemed a lot at the time. But three million? One thing I was sure of – it was enough for me not to worry about the near future.
I ordered my second bottle, drank half of it and took the rest to my room. Soon it was gone too, and I was fast asleep.
The next morning began with a phone call. It was the bank, calling to tell me the money was successfully transferred into my account. I had no idea why they had to call me, but they were polite, and that felt nice. The sum was exactly three million dollars, but even though it was pretty much the moment of my triumph, I felt nothing like celebrating. There was little emotion on my part, and it seemed even the bank clerk was happier than me. That wasn’t far from the truth.
In the end I simply said okay thanks and hung up. That was it. I was relatively rich and well accomplished as a scriptwriter. I hoped it would be the end of it. Again, like the last time – little did I know.
I didn’t really know what to do with the day, but, thankfully, nowadays there’s always somebody who knows those things for you - the hotel phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Good morning, Mr. Bruckheimer!” The receptionist cheered. “As you’ve asked us to remind you, you only have two prepaid days left at The Time.”
“Why, thank you so much, I’ll be right down.”
I dressed quickly and took the elevator to the second floor. The receptionist greeted me with a broad smile.
“I’d like to pay ahead for one year, please.” I said casually. It felt good.
“Um, I’ll have to clarify that, sir, give me a minute.”
She disappeared behind the staff door, and a minute later the head manager came out to meet me.
“Mr. Bruckheimer!” We shook hands. “Nice meeting you in person. Judie tells me you’d like to pay for a full year, huh? Well, that is an option.” He worked his computer for as long as ten minutes then wrote something on a sticky note and handed it to me. The number was just above eighty thousand dollars. I handed him my ID and the credit card.
“Please, take a sit, if you will.” He offered, and I did. I fiddled with the iPhone all the while, and saw there was the news about Gabriel and Max online. It made me sick all over again, so I switched the phone off. Finally, the head manager was done. “Welcome to The Time, Mr. Bruckheimer! We’re glad to have you here!”
He handed me my ID and the card back and I thanked him. The bank sent me a message about the withdrawal, and just like that – I had a home. The thought made me smile, and I felt relieved and maybe even a bit happy.
I had one other thing on my mind. I went outside and took a long walk all the way to 11th Avenue, where I turned left. Twenty minutes later I passed the construction sight with its blue fence and crossed 28th Street.
I pulled the glass door of the Porsche showroom. Inside it was a regular car dealership with gleaming tiled floors and expensive cars here and there. A young girl was quick to meet me.
“Morning, sir!”
“Morning. Is Nicole Rhodes around?” I asked.
“Nicole is here, yes.” She smiled. “Nikki?” She called.
A minute later she appeared, bright and stunning as the last time I’d seen her. She wore a strict black suit with a silk scarf around her neck.
“Hello, Danny! I’m surprised to see you here!”
“I am too, a little bit.”
“Anything I might interest you in?”
I looked around. The cars were all nice, but only one of them caught my eye – the 911 Convertible. I pointed at it. “Do you have this one in red?”
“As a matter of fact we do! Black leather interior, standard options. If you’d like, you can build your own car, choose whichever options you prefer. What do you say?”
I shrugged. “I’m not picky, to tell the truth, I’ll take what you’ve got.”
She took me to the register, where a man helped me arrange all the necessary papers. An hour later Nicole took me outside to meet my new ride. A technician stopped at the curb and reported that the car was all set; he gave me the keys.
“Wow.” That was all I could say.
“Agreed. Wanna take her for a spin?”
I got behind the wheel of my new Porsche, and Nicole landed beside me. I fired the engine – an indescribable feeling.
“Check this out!” Nicole said and pressed a button on the central console. The soft top folded slowly. I put on some music and we took off.
We spent a good hour aimlessly driving around the busy city. We were singing and laughing, having us some good time.
“Aren’t they gonna miss you?” I asked at some point.
“After what you’ve paid for the car? I doubt it!”
In the late afternoon we were nearing 49th Street. I thought it was safe to assume we’d end up at The Time. As we hauled to a stop in front of the glass doors, my cellphone rang. I looked at the screen and couldn’t believe what I was seeing – it was Stacy.
Room 704, I mouthed to Nicole, handing her the key, and answered the call.
“Stace?”
“Danny? Hi…”
“Hey! Good to hear your voice! What’s going on?”
“I… I saw the news today. How are you holding up?”
“I’m… Fine, I guess. I mean, it’s terrible and all, but…”
“I know.”
“How about you, Stace? What’s going on? You know, we could meet sometime, you’ll tell me all about it, huh?”
She paused for a long moment, but then said. “Yeah, okay, we could do that.”
“Great! I’ll call you back, Stace. Take care now!”
I clicked off and turned the car into the 24/7 parking garage. Then I walked to the hotel and up to my room. Nicole was waiting there for me, and when I stepped in, she offered me a glass of wine. She was wearing a silken corset. We clinked and drank. Then we kissed and drank some more.