“First of all, Jerry Gold is a terrific manager,” the Phoenix says suddenly. “Secondly, if he has any agenda, I can only assume it’s in your favor, since Jerry and, who is it—Doug Graydon?—apparently go way back. I don’t see why Jerry would take me out of his friend’s agency. But even if that’s the case, I still approve any and all decisions, as I said. No matter what Jerry thinks, it’s my decision. Besides, Alex,” she adds, eyeing me closely, “it’s only publicity. It’s not like it really matters.”
It’s only later, when I’m in the car heading back down PCH, squinting in the oncoming headlights, trying to find a radio station playing Christmas carols, anything to calm me down, that I realize I still have the necklaces.
17 And the Nominees Are . . .
I’m so wiped from going ten rounds with the Phoenix, I can hardly dial Steven on my cell as I’m driving back into town.
“Yes, I’m still here rolling all the calls you should have been rolling if you’d gotten back in time to help,” he says.
“Forget the calls,” I say, not bothering to decipher Steven’s tone, if he’s really annoyed or just being hissy for the hell of it. “I have much bigger news.”
“Like the Phoenix was wearing a brown wig? Or her actual hair?”
“Very funny,” I say, reaching to turn down the stream of carols pouring from KCTK. “Seriously, guess who her manager is?”
Steven sighs. “And we should care because?”
“Because it’s Jerry Fucking Gold.”
“Paco?” he says, laughing. “No kidding. That guy gets around.”
“Yeah, but there’s more.”
“Wait, there’s more,” Steven says, mocking me. “If you call now, you’ll also get the steak knives—”
“Look, I know you’ve had a long day, but I can guarantee you, I’ve had a longer one.”
“Okay, what?” he says sulkily.
“The point is that Jerry and G apparently go way back.”
“So? Everyone in this town goes way back. Even if they can’t stand each other. We’ve talked about this. It’s how Hollywood works.”
“No, they really do go way back,” I say. “I don’t know how and we need to find that out, but the Phoenix told me they did. She also told me a bunch of other stuff which I’ll tell you about, but when I brought up the whole thing about Jerry pulling Carla out of DWP and how he was threatening to do the same with her, she said they go way back. Actually, she told me to fuck off and die, then she told me they go way back.”
“She used those exact words?”
“She said whatever Jerry was up to with DWP couldn’t be bad because, and I quote, ‘Jerry and what’s his name, Doug Graydon, go way back.’ She also said who cares because it’s just publicity, but that’s a whole other issue.”
“Words to live by after the day I’ve had.”
“Okay, am I missing something here? I nearly got my head handed to me a minute ago and you’re acting like I’m giving you the weather report. Why don’t you think this is the smoking gun that we’ve been looking for? That G and Jerry are somehow in cahoots?”
“To do what? Siphon clients away from the agency G just bought? That would be a first.”
I don’t say anything. Just wait to see if Steven gets it. He should or I’ve seriously misjudged him. I mean, any guy who’s smart enough to cheer up his boss with a rice pudding should be able to read this landscape.
“Oh, I get it,” he says slowly. “Those clever fuckers.”
“Meet me at Le Dome. No wait, Tom Bergin’s in—” I check my watch. It’s six-thirty and I’m just passing the old Getty. “Give me thirty minutes to get across town in this traffic. And call Rachel and tell her to meet us there as well. We’re going to need her.”
“Roger,” he says, snapping back to life. “By the way, what’s that you’re listening to, ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’? I love that carol.”
“You love that carol? You’re Jewish.”
“That’s right, I’m a gay Jew and I love Christmas carols. I don’t work on Broadway and I’m not in Hollywood’s gay mafia but I—”
“Wait. You’re not in the gay mafia? That’s why I hired you.”
“Honey, you’ve gotten a lot of mileage out of your little shiksa image, but don’t push your luck.”
“See, it’s so much more fun when we’re not fighting.”
“I still did all your work today.”
“I know and I love you for it,” I say. “See you in thirty.”
The beauty of Tom Bergin’s is it’s just so fucking dark. Besides, it’s always full of serious drinkers who, given Hollywood’s mineral-water pieties, need to hide out to nurse a pops or two while catching a Lakers game. Between the boozers and the lack of light, you can while away the hours in a back booth and no one is the wiser. Plus, it’s one of the only places, other than Barneys, that reminds me of being back in New York. For some reason, I just think so much more clearly when I can forget I’m actually in Los Angeles.
By the time I exit the 10 and slog my way up Fairfax, it’s already way past seven. I tear into the lot, toss my keys to the valet, and head for the door. The yeasty smell of hops and the roar of the crowd two deep at the bar watching the Kings game hits me like the blast of an oven. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, but I finally spot Steven in a booth around the side.
“Hey,” I say, sliding in across from him. “The traffic was its usual cooperative self. There was a truckload of bananas overturned at Robertson that closed a whole lane.”
He leans in my direction and sniffs. “I can tell.”
I ignore him. “Did you reach Rachel?” I say, reaching for his glass and taking a sip. Heineken, I think.
“Yeah, but she can’t get here until after seven-thirty,” he says, taking back his glass. “So I took the liberty of starting without you guys.”
“Did you tell her what it was about?”
“Not really. She asked me if it was gossip or serious, but I just said it had to do with G and his time at Sony and Jerry Gold, and you thought she could help.”
“Good,” I say, glancing around for the waiter. God knows, I need a drink.
Steven raises his hand. “So before you call this meeting to order, can I just ask what’s the plan here?”
“What’s the plan?” I say, turning back. “We’re here to make one. I mean, the Phoenix nearly threw me out when I asked her not to quit the agency.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Steven says, suddenly focused now. “You came right out and asked her to stay? What brought that on? You didn’t know what you were going to do when you left the office this afternoon.”
“I kind of stumbled into it. When she told me Jerry was her manager, I just put two and two together.”
“Objection.”
“Okay, don’t play Law & Order now,” I say, shaking my head.
“I’m not. I’m just trying to make sure that we really know what we think we know.”
“Okay,” I say, sighing. “What do we know?”
Steven nods. “Okay. We know that Jerry manages at least two of Suzanne’s biggest clients. And we know the Phoenix apparently doesn’t like being told what to do. What did she actually say to you when you asked her to stay?”
“I’ll get to that,” I say, waving him off. “We also know Jerry’s fired Suzanne from handling those two.”
“Only one. Carla.”
I sigh. “Well, after today, I’m betting the Phoenix is also history.”
“Okay, two, then.”
“Right, two,” I say. “So now we have to figure out Jerry’s connection to G. Which is why we need Rachel. I assume they met when G was head of marketing at Sony. I mean, that’s where G met Carla, when Sony released her first hit film.”
“So what are you having?”
I look up. A waiter, blond, in jeans, T-shirt, and with the kind of silky forelock that usually makes me go weak. Or it would if I wasn’t so hopped tonight. Or if I didn’t still che
rish memories about Charles’s silky forelock, which I will probably never see again. “I’ll have a Heineken. And a menu.”
“Oh God, do you want to eat here? Nobody eats here.” Steven says.
“No, but I’m starving and I refuse to eat one more night of Greenblatt’s take-out.”
“So a Heineken, a menu, and you want a refill?” the waiter says, nodding at Steven’s glass.
“No, I’m stepping up to high-octane,” he says. “Bring me a Corona and a shot.”
“What kind?”
“Cuervo Gold.”
“Got it,” the waiter says, skating off.
“Cuervo Gold?” I say.
“Don’t worry, I’m paying, not the agency.”
“No, it’s just that it’s a school night.”
“When did that ever stop us?”
“Oh God, that’s so sad if that’s true,” I say, trying to recall all the nights we’ve spent here watching Access Hollywood and complaining about work.
“It’s not,” Steven says with a wave. “I’ve just had a long day. So what’s step three?”
“Okay,” I say, looping my hair behind my ears and leaning forward. “So first we should double-check the agency records to see if Jerry’s suddenly handling any more of Suzanne’s clients. To see how far this could go. And then we find out how far back Jerry and G go. But what we really need—and this is what’s going to be hard even with Rachel’s help—is to figure out exactly what they’ve got cooked up. I mean it’s easy to surmise—”
“Objection.”
“What?” I say, exasperated. “I said surmise.”
“How are you ever going to prove it?”
“Prove what? You’re not letting me finish.”
“I know what you’re going to say. ‘Kickbacks,’ and I’m telling you, you’ll never be able to prove it. Unless one of them admits it.”
I flop back in the booth. “Kickbacks? That’s where you think this goes?”
“Well, where else?” he says, leaning forward and dropping his voice. “Think about it. What’s in it for Jerry Gold? Nothing, now. He moves his clients around. So what? There’s got to be a payoff down the road. A payoff from G.”
“Or maybe they’re just fucking Suzanne over because they can,” I say crankily, annoyed that somehow I’ve gone from being Sherlock Holmes to Watson. “I mean, it’s not like it would be the first time the boys didn’t want to play nicely with the girls. Besides, you’re assuming G has something to pay Jerry off with. Enough to make it worthwhile. Which means that he’s planning on selling the agency and I think there’s a few steps to make before that.”
“Like?”
“Like restocking the agency with good clients and finding a buyer, and in this economic climate I don’t know that anyone is going to pony up the millions for a Hollywood PR agency like they did back in the nineties.”
“Well, what else would it be?” Rachel glides into the booth. “God, could you guys be talking any louder? You might as well call up Peter Bart and ask him to check it out.”
“Hey,” I say, sliding over to make room. “So you think it’s kickbacks too?”
She shrugs. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since you called and what else can it be? I mean, Hollywood is all about guys scratching each other’s backs. G acquires DWP. He arranges for Jerry to bolt with the biggest clients. Suzanne gets the ax and G is left as the agency’s sole partner. Jerry brings the clients back. G puts the revived agency on the block. Pockets millions for himself and pays out whatever percentage he’s promised Jerry.”
“Right,” Steven says, leaning back victoriously. “And we’ll never be able to prove it.”
I shake my head. In a single afternoon, we’ve gone from “Hey, Jerry Gold also manages the Phoenix” to “Book ’em”? “I still think we’re getting ahead of ourselves. All we’re trying to do is give Suzanne, actually Suzanne’s lawyer, some leverage to keep her job. I don’t think sending G and Jerry to Parker Center is really our goal.”
“They’ll never wind up there,” Steven snorts. “There are no state laws governing publicists—just agents.”
“Actually, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner,” Rachel says. “Of course they knew each other at Sony. Jerry briefly worked in the marketing department when G was the head of it. He left to go work for Brad Grey briefly, before going out on his own.”
“We didn’t think of it,” I say, “because I only just found out Jerry was the link. None of us suspected any of this until the Phoenix told me Jerry was her manager. Now you guys are ready to string them up as white-collar criminals?”
“They’re all criminals as far as I’m concerned,” Rachel says, looking around for the waiter. “Although, I could always call up my Deep Throat friend at the L.A. Times and see what he thinks.”
“Wouldn’t you technically be the Deep Throat?” Steven says.
“Look, I think we need to keep our eye on the ball here,” I say. “Move forward with what’s doable. And so far that seems to be the coincidence of Jerry Gold handling Suzanne’s clients.”
“No, you’re right, Nancy Drew,” Steven says, raising his glass. “Let’s take a minute to remind ourselves that you’ve done the real spadework. Trekked out to Malibu and got the Phoenix to spill the beans.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Now there’s only one question. What are we going to do to stop them?”
An hour later, an hour in which I’ve delivered a blow-by-blow description of my WWF encounter with the Phoenix, all that’s left on our plates are a few fries and smears of ketchup. Actually Steven and I had steaks. Rachel’s had two martinis and half our fries.
“I have to remember you can actually eat here,” Steven says, wiping his plate with a last fry. “I mean, eat here and live to tell about it.”
Rachel eyes him over her glass. “Let’s talk again tomorrow.”
“You know the center of a steak is actually sterile,” Steven says, wagging the fry at her. “It’s not like a burger, where the surface and the interior of the meat is all ground together.”
“Okay, I’m not even a vegan and that’s disgusting,” she says, spearing her olive.
Steven purses his lips and makes kissing sounds.
“Okay, kids, we’ve all had a long day,” I say, waving for the check. “Are we all set? Do we all know our tasks?”
They both nod.
“By the way, what’s our name?” Steven says.
I give him a look. “You mean like the Hardy Boys?”
“Actually, I was thinking more the Powerpuff Girls. Or something like the Pentagon. ‘Operation Free DWP.’ Or ‘Operation Screw G to the Wall.’ ”
“How about ‘Operation Do the Right Thing’?” I suggest.
Steven shakes his head. “I won’t be a party to anything named after a Spike Lee movie.”
“What have you got against Spike?” Rachel says in the tone of voice that sounds like she’s only half kidding. Or that she’s had a long day, two martinis, and basically no food.
“Kids, don’t make me send you to your rooms,” I say, trying to calm the waters. Steven and Rachel may be my best friends, but like a lot of Hollywood relationships, they are my friends, not each other’s.
“First of all, I was kidding,” Steven says evenly. “But since you asked, I think he’s an overrated director who plays the race card when it’s to his advantage. The rest of the time he’s just like any filmmaker. Out to make a buck. Including directing commercials for Nike, which is one of the most exploitative companies around.”
“Sorry, for a second my Jewish liberal pieties got the best of me,” Rachel says, reaching for her bag. She pulls out her wallet and tosses down a twenty. “Okay, I’m out of here. We’ve got a marketing meeting in the morning. About our Christmas movies, which I can tell you will suck no matter how many meetings we have, but we’re still going through the motions. But I’ll find out about Jerry and G and call you.”
Rachel slides out, gives me a fa
st hug, and threads her way through the crowd. “God, she’s so great,” Steven says after she’s out of earshot.
I know that tone a mile away. “Oh, stop it,” I say, thrusting my credit card at the waiter as he sails by. “Do you know how hard it is to find an intelligent woman in this town you can stand, let alone trust?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Steven says, reaching for his jacket. “But if she makes you happy, then I’m happy.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“Except I actually mean it.”
“At least someone does,” I say. “Okay, let’s review the plan. You’re going to check the agency records for managers’ names. See if Jerry’s turns up again.”
“Yeah, but that’s easy. You have the harder job. Calling Peg and the Phoenix, shaking them down for more info on G and Jerry. Are you sure you’re up for that? I mean, after what you went through today?”
“No, but someone has to,” I say, when I suddenly have a thought. “But first I’m going to call Troy. There’s something I need to ask him.”
The next morning, I get to the office early to hit the phones. But Suzanne is already ahead of me. When I log on, I have an e-mail from her asking for a recap of my meeting with the Phoenix. I was expecting this, but before I debrief her, I want to try and reach Peg and the Phoenix again if I can. Get a few more ducks in a row. I’m in the middle of answering her e-mail, subtly stalling for time and not so subtly ratting out her assistant for not giving me a heads-up about the bogus InStyle piece, when my phone rings. Steven’s out getting coffee, so I impulsively pick up.
“Hello, Alex. Nice to see you’re in so early.”
Fuck. G.
“Well, it is that time of year,” I say as blandly as I can, still typing the e-mail.
“I also see you visited one of our clients yesterday.”
I stop typing. “Well, it’s been that kind of a week,” I say carefully. There’s a few ways G could know about my visit to the Phoenix. None of them good.
“Well, I’d like to hear about it. Can you stop by my office for a second?”
“Uhm, sure,” I say, vamping frantically. “I was just in the middle of rolling a few calls.”
So 5 Minutes Ago Page 24
