by Dave Daren
He threw the script onto Blake’s desk. Blake looked surprised and fumbled for words.
“I-It’s an early draft,” he said. “We can make changes.”
“That’s not even my concept,” Phoenix said as he slammed his closed fist on Blake’s desk. “My concept was a satirical documentary that was smart and clever and looks at government corruption and the drug war. And by the way, nobody talks to their friends about their fucking GPA. Only squares give a shit about that.”
“Well,” Blake said. “We can work with the scriptwriters to create--”
“No, you can’t.” Phoenix pounded the script with index finger. “Because this sucks ass! This isn’t even my movie. Why do you even need me?”
“Well, Phoenix,” Blake said. “We want you to be the face of a movement--”
“No,” Phoenix said. “I don’t want to be the face of this movement. This isn’t my movement. You have your own concept, script and all. Write your own damn movie, and leave me out of whatever kind of disaster you get yourselves into, yo.”
Phoenix threw open his arms in a defiant gesture, “Peace out, yo,” he sarcastically spat before he left the room in disgust.
Blake looked at me perplexed. I shrugged and rose to my feet. Blake followed suit and stood.
“Well, I’m sorry about my client,” I said as we shook hands. “You know these creative types.”
“I do know that,” Blake laughed. “I didn’t expect it from Sedona.”
I shrugged. “These days, they get a little success, and it goes straight to their heads.”
Blake laughed and then I moved in for the kill.
“So, about that $20,000, do you have that check now?” I said in an afterthought tone, while I adjusted my waistline.
He looked confused. “What?”
“You know, in the contract,” I said. “It says we get $20,000 for negotiating.”
“No,” he said. “That’s a sign-on bonus. And it’s clear that--”
He motioned toward the door where Phoenix was now leaning against the doorframe waiting for me. That’s the thing about a dramatic exit. If you have to come back to find someone else in your party, it ruins the effect.
“Yeah,” I said while eyeing Phoenix, “My client won’t be taking the deal.”
Phoenix nodded in agreement.
“So the sign-on bonus doesn’t apply here,” Blake said.
I opened my tablet and showed Blake the contract. “It says here in section 2 here, that you get exclusive negotiation rights for six months in exchange for $20,000. Section 1 says that if once the deal is closed we get two percent of the film’s operating budget.”
“Right,” Blake said. “You get the $20,000 once you sign on, and then the royalty payments are paid in disbursements on a separate schedule.”
I shook my head. “No. That’s not the way it’s worded here. Section 1 and section 2 are separate clauses. So according to this contract, we are entitled to $20,000, as long as we agree not to negotiate with any other studios for six months. And we do, right?”
I glanced over at Phoenix.
“Y-Yeah,” he stammered.
He immediately crowded around my tablet where Blake and I were standing. He glanced at me and I just shot him a quick smile and held eyes with Blake.
Blake grabbed the tablet and reread it. He sighed and handed it back to me. He picked up the phone on his desk.
“If it’s a problem, we can always let a judge sort it--” I began.
“Can you give me just a minute?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said. “We’ll wait in the lobby.”
“Thanks,” he said.
We sat back down in the lobby’s Ikea chairs and waited.
“I can’t believe you found that,” Phoenix said. “How did you even think of that?”
“Well...” I began. “I’m one of those squares who cared about his GPA.”
“Clearly,” he said.
“It gets more complicated because you are the co-creator,” I said. “They’re going to want a signed agreement from Jeremiah as well.”
“Right,” he said. “Should I call him?”
I nodded, and he disappeared into the hallway on the phone. While we waited, I noticed the woman from earlier watching me. I raised an eyebrow at her. She smiled and came out of her office.
“You’re Henry Irving,” she said.
“I am,” I said.
“Elizabeth Evans,” she said. “I am songwriter from Nashville. Or I used to be. You don’t remember me, do you?”
“You were my first real case,” I suddenly placed her. “Just My Type.”
Just My Type was a country pop song that launched the career of multi-platinum recording artist and Grammy Award Winner Olivia Figuramo, known to the world as the one and only Libby Fig. The only problem was, Olivia never wrote it. It was written by Olivia’s once bandmate, Elizabeth Evans, and they had played it in shows for years.
Olivia and Elizabeth had a falling out, over a guy, I believe, and Elizabeth quit the band. Olivia made a few tweaks to the song, and through some shady justifications, called the song her own and recorded it.
She might have gotten away with it, if the song hadn’t gotten the attention of Capitol Records and made her a star. Once Just My Type hit the airwaves on its way to becoming the staple of popular culture that it is today, I helped Elizabeth sue and start collecting past, present and future royalties.
Elizabeth laughed. “Yep, that’s me, the Just My Type girl.”
I nodded. “Yeah. And you must have cashed in big. I think they still play that song on the radio. Did I set you up for life?”
She laughed and looked a little embarrassed. “Pretty much, yeah.”
I laughed back. “Really?”
She nodded. “I work here because I’m passionate about film, but I… well, I have a pretty nice house, and a Mercedes, so you know…”
I laughed. “Well, good for you.”
“Well, it was all thanks to you,” she said.
“You wrote the song,” I said. “I just made sure justice was served.”
“Hey, would you, uh, would you like to go out for a drink?” she asked me.
“I’m sorry, Elizabeth, I would, but I’m seeing someone,” I said.
She nodded. “Well, of course you are. She’s a lucky woman.”
“Good to see you, though,” I answered.
“Yeah,” she smiled. “Good to see you again too, Henry.”
She went back to her office and as if on cue, Vicki called me.
“Hey, snookums,” I teased.
“What are you talking about Henry?” her voice was far from her usual joking self.
“I was just messing with you. What’s going on?”
“All hell has broken loose,” she said.
“Ahhh,” I groaned. “I knew I shouldn’t have left, with the O’Brien thing still in the air.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “That’s all fine. Everything at the office is perfectly fine.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, what’s the problem then?”
“My parents,” she said. “They just called me.”
I had never met Vicki’s parents. She had grown up in Sacramento and moved to LA after high school. After which, her parents had gone back to South Korea. Other than that, they were a mystery to me.
“What did they say?” I asked.
“They’re coming out,” she said. “Next week. My dad is lecturing at UC Davis, and they want to drive out and visit us for a few days.”
“Well, that’s fine,” I said. “What’s wrong with that?”
She groaned uncomfortably. “They’re not like your family.”
“That’s a bad thing, why?” I retorted.
“No,” she said. “I mean, they really aren’t like your family.”
“I don’t get it,” I said.
“I love Sedona and our life here,” she said. “Don’t get me wrong. But, the way they will see it…”
; “What do you mean?” I asked. I really wasn’t following her.
“They don’t approve of me living in Sedona,” she said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“They want me to be a big city lawyer, and work my way up into the legal system,” she said. “They think I’m selling myself short.”
“If anything, Vic, you’re more successful now,” I said.
“That’s what I told them,” she said. “But that’s not the way they look at things. Nothing is ever good enough. An ‘A’ is not an A plus, and vice president of the student council is not the president.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” I said. “I would love to meet them and show them what they’re doing. By the time I’m done with them, they’ll want to move out here themselves.”
“Henry,” she groaned. “It’s really not like that. It’s seriously not going to be that easy. My dad is a retired neurosurgeon, and my mother owned a chain of nail salons. By the time she was in her forties, she had over a hundred people working for her.”
“Vic,” I said. “It’s going to be fine. You’ll see. You’re an adult now. That changes a lot of things. Look, I gotta go. Phoenix is off the phone. I’ll call you later.”
We said our goodbyes and ended the call. I turned to Phoenix who was grinning ear to ear.
“Jeremiah is beyond stoked,” he stated. “He said he will sign anything and everything. Just tell him what to do.”
I laughed. “I’m sure he will.”
“So,” I said. “What are you going to do with your half?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Take it to South America with you,” I said. “Use it to make a kick ass film.”
Phoenix nodded. “That’s a good idea.”
Blake reappeared.
“Well,” he said. “I spoke with our legal team, and it looks like you’re right. If you guys want to come back to my office, we’ll set up the paperwork.”
We followed Blake back into an office and he wandered in and out frazzled with various associates. Cutting a twenty thousand dollar check takes a lot of time, a lot of people, and a lot of patience. I was just glad it seemed like they were going to do it now, instead of mailing it in a couple of months.
While we waited, I browsed through my e-mails and tried to catch up on work I was missing in Sedona. Cindy Greenwood, Alister’s executive assistant, sent over an itemized list of assets. I downloaded the file and skimmed it. Blake popped back in and had Phoenix fill out a form and then disappeared again. Earnie Green had sent me a message confirming the time and location of the will reading on Monday.
It was a perfect juxtaposition. Here I was suspended between my old life in L.A., and my new life in Sedona. Throughout the past six months, I had always had one foot back in L.A. In all honesty, it was Vicki that wanted to move, and I followed to be with her, and it because it made sense. But, my heart hadn’t caught up yet.
I realized sitting here, that Los Angeles was not where I wanted to be. This life was a life of empty glitz and hollow lies. I was building something in Sedona. What I was building was real and had meaning. I had a thriving practice, people and warmth all around, and a beautiful woman by my side. Why would I want to leave all of that?
Blake reappeared. “So, if you will head over to the accounting office down the hall, we’ll get a check to you right away.”
“Great,” I said.
About an hour later, Phoenix and I settled back into the rental, and headed back to the airport, now twenty-thousand richer, minus Jeremiah's half.
“Well,” Phoenix said staring at the check. “That was a fruitful trip.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s get home.”
“I thought you missed L.A.,” Phoenix said.
I nodded. “Not as much as I thought I did.”
“Kind of the hero’s journey, I guess,” he said. “You have to come back home at some point.”
“It’s really not that deep,” I said. “I’m not Odysseus.”
“No,” he said. “We all have to leave home to find it. That’s what it means.”
“You’re too deep for your own good,” I said.
“I know,” he said. “It even makes me crazy.”
“South America will be good for you,” I laughed. “You won’t have so much time to sit around and think.”
Phoenix smirked. “You want to stop off at the beach before the airport? I got some primo bud from my dad’s stash.”
I laughed hysterically. “I’ll bet you did. I’ll bet you did.”
We took a detour back toward the ocean. We did have a little extra time before our return flight.
Chapter 6
The day of Alister O’Brien’s will reading came quickly. It was a sunny Monday morning in late March, and I had guzzled enough coffee to caffeinate a horse in anticipation of the oh-so-glorious moment. It’s not that I was nervous about the reading or anything. I just wasn’t looking forward to sorting through the tedious details of the will, and the assortment of miscreants that claimed a stake in it.
But here it was.
However, anyone who had talked to the motley crew of O’Briens would certainly not agree that it was timely. Over the past week I was threatened a few times by Shannon, who wanted to sic her own lawyer on me for holding her inheritance hostage.
I am not certain what the basis of her case was. I am also not certain she even had a lawyer. What would she need a lawyer for? To sue her manicurist for one nail being shorter than another? Actually, in that case, it might be quite lucrative being Shannon O’Brien’s lawyer. It would certainly be busy.
Nonetheless, the blessed event had indeed arrived. I could feel my veins actually buzzing with the caffeine. As I sat at my office desk, Cindy Greenwood, Alister’s executive assistant, called me for the fortieth time that morning.
“Did you get the amended list of assets I sent over?” she said impatiently.
“Yes, Cindy,” I told her as AJ rolled her eyes when another printout came through our fax machine. “We got it.”
“Great,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if it was in proper form.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I replied. “We will see you in a bit.”
“Fantastic,” she said. “Please don’t hesitate to call if you need anything else. I would be more than happy to assist you.”
I was sure she would. I had never actually asked her for anything. Once we knew what we were dealing with, I would ask Earnie for appropriate documentation. If he felt it necessary, he would get it from Cindy. I had to admit, though, I did find her itemized spreadsheets helpful.
Alister’s assets were plenty. There was the mansion, of course. It had been valued at eleven million dollars ten years ago when they had toyed with the idea of selling. I don’t know why anyone would buy an eleven million dollar mansion in Sedona. As it turns out, neither did anyone else, so it sat on the market for several years, until they eventually pulled it off.
There were a few boats, including a yacht docked off the coast of Catalina Island. He owned a loft in New York, which currently was leased to Shannon. Daphne occupied a house in Paris, and then, there was the villa in Italy and a handful of cars and small water crafts based in Europe.
There was a Lear jet hangared variously in Flagstaff, New York, and some French town I had never heard of. I guess the kids all had to share one jet. Bummer. Times were hard for the O’Briens. I didn’t see any assets specifically linked to Gareth. I wondered if he paid his own way in life, although I seriously doubted it.
In Sedona, aside from the mansion, Alister had seven vehicles in his name, a couple of sports cars, and a few utilitarian vehicles, like a golf cart and a few pickups. Then there were some luxury SUVs that I presumed were for the girlfriends.
Cindy had sent over bank printouts that I had yet to examine, but the gist of it showed he had about ten million in cash, give or take a couple mil. Her latest printout caused a stir.
“Did you know he had a zoo?”
AJ asked as she studied the page.
“A zoo?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “This says there was a Vera O’Brien Memorial Zoo.”
I grabbed the printout, and sure enough the zoo was on an itemized list of non-valued assets.
“This guy keeps getting weirder and weirder,” I mumbled, as I handed the printout back to AJ. “Upload all that and e-mail it to me.”
I sat down and did a search for Vera O’Brien Memorial Zoo. I knew that Vera was his wife’s name, and aside from a one time mention of her death in Africa, I knew nothing about her. The online search proved fruitless, it appeared she had passed before the digital revolution and left little in the way of any online footprint.
“It looks,” Vicki studied her screen as she talked, “like he filed permits with the city under that name. He’s got a permit for… oh my god.”
“What?” I asked.
“Check this out,” Vicki said. “He’s got a permit for the zebra, of course, and some other exotic animals, like giraffes. But, he’s also got permits for two Bengal tigers.”
“What?” AJ and I asked in unison.
“No joke,” Vicki said.
“Wow,” I said. “Does it say where these tigers are held?”
“Yes,” she said. “The mansion.”
“They live at the house?” I asked.
“Yep,” she said. “We didn’t see them when we were there.”
“I guess he’s not going to have them running free when he’s got a houseful of guests,” I said.
“Ohh,” AJ said. “Check this out. Here’s a photo of him with his tigers. It’s on Mila’s profile.”
I pulled up his Mila’s social media profile, and sure enough, there was the photo. Alister, with the girlfriends dressed in negligees, lounged in a circular bed, with two Bengal tigers.
“Ugh,” AJ gagged and shuddered. “This guy is like a bad Hugh Hefner knockoff.”
I sighed and looked at the time. I needed to leave right about now. “Alright, people,” I said. “I’m headed out there. We’ll deal with whatever shit storm arises after the reading.”
“Good luck,” Vicki said. “Don’t get eaten by tigers.”
“It’s not the tigers I’m worried about,” I muttered as I walked out the door to my car.
