by Mario Puzo
“Even when I first found out, I thought about it constantly. I had to make some hard decisions. I knew I would be helpless to rescue her until I made a lot of money. So I put her in the clinic and visited her at least one weekend a month and some weekdays. Finally, I got rich, I was famous and nothing that mattered before mattered any longer. All I wanted was to be with Bethany. Even if this hadn’t happened, I was going to quit after Messalina anyway.”
“Why?” Cross asked. “What were you going to do?”
“There’s a special clinic in France with this great doctor,” Athena explained. “And I was going to go there after the picture. Then Boz showed up and I knew he would kill me and Bethany would be all alone. That’s why I sort of put a contract out on him. She has nobody but me. And well, I’ll bear that sin.” Athena paused now and smiled at Cross. “It’s worse than the soaps, isn’t it?” she said with a small smile.
Cross looked out over the ocean. It was a very bright oily blue in the sunlight. He remembered the little girl and her blank, masklike face that would never open up to this world.
“What was that box she was lying in?” he asked.
Athena laughed. “That’s what gives me hope,” she said. “Sad, isn’t it? It’s a hug box. A lot of autistic children use it when they get depressed. It’s just like a hug from a person but they don’t have to connect or relate to another human being.” Athena took a deep breath and said, “Cross, someday I’m going to take the place of that box. That’s the whole purpose of my life now. My life has no meaning except for that. Isn’t that funny? The Studio tells me that I get thousands of letters from people who love me. In public people want to touch me. Men keep telling me they love me. Everybody but Bethany, and she’s the only one I want.”
Cross said, “I’ll help you in any way I can.”
“Then call me next week,” Athena said. “Let’s be together as much as we can until Messalina is finished.”
“I’ll call,” Cross said. “I can’t prove my innocence, but I love you more than anything in my life.”
“And are you truly innocent?” Athena asked.
“Yes,” Cross said. Now that she had been proven innocent, he could not bear for her to know.
Cross thought about Bethany, her blank face so artistically beautiful with its sharp planes, its mirror eyes; the rare human being totally free of sin.
As for Athena, she had been judging Cross. Of all the people she knew, he was the only one who had ever seen her daughter since the child had been diagnosed as autistic. It had been a test.
One of the greatest shocks of her life came when she found out that though she was so beautiful, though she was so talented (and, she thought with self-mockery, so kind, so gentle, so generous), her closest friends, men who loved her, relatives who adored her, sometimes seemed to relish her misfortunes.
It was when Boz had given her a black eye, and though everyone called Boz a “no-good bastard,” she caught in all of them a fleeting look of satisfaction. At first she thought she had imagined it, was too sensitive. But when Boz had given her the second black eye, she caught those looks again. And she had been terribly hurt. For this time she had understood completely.
Of course they all loved her, she did not doubt that. But it seemed no one could resist a little touch of malice. Greatness in any form arouses envy.
One of the reasons she loved Claudia was because Claudia had never betrayed her with that look.
It was why she kept Bethany so secret from her day-to-day life. She hated the idea that people she loved would have that fleeting look of satisfaction, that she had been punished for her own beauty.
So though she knew the power of her beauty and used that power, she despised it. She longed for the day when lines would cut deep into her perfect face, each showing a path she had taken, a journey survived, when her body would fill out, soften and enlarge her to provide comfort for those she’d hold and care for, and her eyes would grow more liquid with mercy from all the suffering she’d witnessed and all the tears she’d never shed. She’d grow smile lines around her mouth from laughing at herself, and at life itself. How free she would be when she no longer feared the consequences of her physical beauty and instead delighted in its loss as it was replaced by a more enduring serenity.
And so she had kept careful watch on Cross De Lena when he met Bethany, saw his slight recoil at first but then afterward nothing. She knew he was helplessly in love with her and she saw he did not have that certain look of satisfaction when he knew of her misfortune with Bethany.
CHAPTER 12
CLAUDIA WAS DETERMINED to cash in on her sexual marker with Eli Marrion; she would shame him into giving Ernest Vail the points he wanted on his novel. It was a long shot, but she was willing to compromise her principles. Bobby Bantz was implacable on gross points, but Eli Marrion was unpredictable and had a soft spot for her. Besides, it was an honorable custom in the movie business that sexual congress, no matter how brief, demanded a certain material courtesy.
Vail’s threat of suicide had been the trigger for this meeting. If carried out, the rights to his novel would revert to his former wife and her children, and Molly Flanders would drive a hard bargain. Nobody believed in the threat, not even Claudia, but Bobby Bantz and Eli Marrion, operating from their knowledge of what they would do for money, always had to worry.
When Claudia, Ernest, and Molly arrived at LoddStone, they found only Bobby Bantz in the executive suite. He looked uncomfortable, though he tried to disguise it with effusive greetings, especially to Vail. “Our National Treasure,” he said and hugged Ernest with respectful affection.
Molly was immediately alert, wary. “Where’s Eli?” she said. “He’s the only one who can make the final decision on this.”
Bantz’s voice was reassuring. “Eli’s in the hospital, Cedar Sinai, nothing serious, just a checkup. That’s confidential. The LoddStone stock goes up and down on his health.”
Claudia said dryly, “He’s over eighty, everything is serious.”
“No, no,” Bantz said. “We do business every day in the hospital. He’s even sharper. So present your case to me and I’ll tell him your story when I visit.”
“No,” Molly said curtly.
But Ernest Vail said, “Let’s talk to Bobby.”
They presented their case. Bantz was amused but did not laugh outright. He said, “I’ve heard everything in this town but this is a beauty. I ran it by my lawyers and they say that Vail’s demise does not affect our rights. It’s a complicated legal point.”
“Run it by your PR people,” Claudia said. “If Ernest does it and the whole story comes out LoddStone will look like shit. Eli won’t like that. He has more moral sense.”
“Than me?” Bobby Bantz said politely. But he was furious. Why didn’t people understand that Marrion approved everything he did. He turned to Ernest and said, “How would you knock yourself off? Gun, knife, out the window?”
Vail grinned at him. “Hara-kiri on your desk, Bobby.” They all laughed.
“We’re getting nowhere,” Molly said. “Why can’t we all go to the hospital and see Eli?”
Vail said, “I’m not going to a sick man’s hospital bed and argue about money.”
They all looked at him sympathetically. Of course in conventional terms it seemed insensitive. But men in sickbeds planned murders, revolution, frauds, studio betrayals. A hospital bed was not a true sanctuary. And they knew that Vail’s protest was basically a romantic convention.
Molly said coldly, “Keep your mouth shut, Ernest, if you want to remain my client. Eli has screwed a hundred people from his hospital bed. Bobby, let’s make a sensible deal. LoddStone has a gold mine in the sequels. You can afford to give Ernest a couple of gross points, for insurance.”
Bantz was horrified, a hot stab went through his bowels. “Gross points?” he shouted incredulously. “Never.”
“OK,” Molly said. “How about a structured five percent of the net? No advertising charges, no
interest deductions or gross points to the stars.”
Bantz said contemptuously, “That’s almost gross. And we all know that Ernest won’t kill himself. That’s too stupid and he is too intelligent.” What he really wanted to say was that the guy didn’t have the balls.
“Why gamble?” Molly said. “I’ve gone over the figures. You plan at least three sequels. That’s at least a half billion in rentals including foreign but not the videos and TV. And God knows how much money you fucking thieves make in video. So why not give Ernest points, a measly twenty million. You would give that to any half-assed star.”
Bantz thought it over. Then he turned on the charm. “Ernest,” he said, “as a novelist you are a National Treasure. No one respects you more than me. And Eli has read every one of your books. He absolutely adores you. So we want to come to an accommodation.”
Claudia was embarrassed at how Ernest obviously swallowed this bullshit, though to his credit, he shuddered a bit at the “National Treasure.”
“Be specific,” he said. Now Claudia was proud of him.
Bantz spoke to Molly. “How about a five-year contract at ten grand a week to write original scripts and do some rewrites and of course on the originals we only get first look. And for every rewrite he gets an additional fifty grand a week. In five years he could make as much as ten million.”
“Double the money,” Molly said. “Then we can talk.”
At this point Vail seemed to lose his almost angelic patience. “None of you are taking me seriously,” he said. “I can do simple arithmetic. Bobby, your deal is only worth two and a half. You’ll never buy an original script from me and I’ll never do one. You’ll never give me rewrites. And what if you make six sequels? Then you make a billion.” Vail began to laugh with genuine enjoyment. “Two and a half million dollars doesn’t help me.”
“What the fuck are you laughing about?” Bobby said.
Vail was almost hysterical. “I never dreamed in my life of even one million and now it doesn’t help me.”
Claudia knew Vail’s sense of humor. She said, “Why doesn’t it help you?”
“Because I’ll still be alive,” Vail said. “My family needs the points. They trusted me and I betrayed them.”
They would have been touched, even Bantz, except that Vail sounded so false, so self-satisfied.
Molly Flanders said, “Let’s go talk to Eli.”
Vail lost his temper completely and stormed out of the door shouting, “I can’t deal with you people. I won’t beg a man on a hospital bed.”
When he was gone, Bobby Bantz said, “And you two want to stick up for that guy?”
“Why not?” Molly said. “I represented a guy who stabbed his mother and his own three kids. Ernest is no worse than him.”
“And what’s your excuse?” Bantz asked Claudia.
“We writers have to stick together,” she said wryly. They all laughed.
“I guess that’s about it,” Bobby said. “I did the best I could, right?”
Claudia said, “Bobby, why can’t you give him a point or two, it’s only fair.”
“Because over the years he’s screwed a thousand writers and stars and directors. It’s a matter of principle,” Molly said.
“That’s right,” Bantz said. “And when they have the muscle they screw us. That’s business.”
Molly said to Bantz with fake concern, “Eli is okay? Nothing serious?”
“He’s fine,” Bantz said. “Don’t sell your stock.”
Molly pounced. “Then he can see us.”
Claudia said, “I want to see him anyway. I really care about Eli. He gave me my first break.”
Bantz shrugged them off. Molly said, “You will really kick yourself if Ernest knocks himself off. Those sequels are worth more than I said. I softened him up for you.”
Bantz said scornfully, “That schmuck won’t kill himself. He doesn’t have the balls.”
“From ‘National Treasure’ to ‘schmuck,’ ” Claudia said musingly.
Molly said, “The guy is definitely a little crazy. He’ll croak out of sheer carelessness.”
“Does he do drugs?” Bantz asked, a little worried.
“No,” Claudia said, “but Ernest is full of surprises. He’s a true eccentric who doesn’t even know he’s eccentric.”
Bantz pondered this for a moment. There was some merit in their argument. And besides he never believed in making unnecessary enemies. He didn’t want Molly Flanders to carry a grudge against him. The woman was a terror.
“Let me call Eli,” he said. “If he gives the okay, I’ll take you to the hospital.” He was sure that Marrion would refuse.
But to his surprise, Marrion said, “By all means, they can all come to see me.”
They drove to the hospital in Bantz’s limo, which was a big stretch job but by no means luxurious. It was fitted with a fax, a computer, and a cellular phone. A bodyguard supplied by Pacific Ocean Security sat next to the driver. Another security car with two men followed behind.
The brown-tinted windows of the limo presented the city in the beige monochrome of old-time cowboy movies. As they progressed inward, the buildings became taller, as if they were penetrating a deep stone forest. Claudia was always amazed how in the short space of ten minutes she could go from a mildly bucolic small-town green to a metropolis of concrete and glass.
In Cedars Sinai, the hospital corridors seemed as vast as the halls of an airport, but the ceiling compressed like a bizarre camera shot in a German impressionist movie. They were met by a hospital coordinator, a handsome woman dressed in a severe but high-couture suit who reminded Claudia of the “Hosts” in Vegas hotels.
She led them to a special elevator that took them nonstop to the top penthouse suites.
These suites had huge carved black oak doors that reached from floor to ceiling, with shiny brass knobs. The doors opened like gates, to a suite of a hospital bedroom, a larger, open-walled room with dining table and chairs, a sofa and lounge chairs, and a secretarial niche that held a computer and fax. There was also a small kitchen space and guest bathroom in addition to the bathroom for the patient. The ceiling was very high and the absence of walls between the kitchen niche, the living room area, and the business nook gave the whole room the look of a movie set.
Lying on a crisp, white hospital bed, propped up by huge pillows, was Eli Marrion. He was reading an orange-covered script. On the table beside him were business folders with budgets of movies in production. A pretty young secretary seated on the other side of the bed was taking notes. Marrion always liked pretty women around him.
Bobby Bantz kissed Marrion on the cheek and said, “Eli, you look great, just great.” Molly and Claudia also kissed him on the cheek. Claudia had insisted on bringing flowers, and put them on the bed. Such familiarities were excused because the great Eli Marrion was ill.
Claudia was noting all the details as if researching a script. Medical dramas were almost financially foolproof.
In fact, Eli Marrion was not looking “great just great.” His lips were ridged with blue lines that seemed drawn with ink, he gasped for air when he spoke. Two green prongs grew from his nostrils, the prongs attached to a thin plastic tube that ran to a bubbling bottle of water that was plugged into the wall, all connected to some oxygen tank hidden there.
Marrion noted her gaze. “Oxygen,” he said.
“Only temporary,” Bobby Bantz said hurriedly. “Makes it easier for him to breathe.”
Molly Flanders ignored them. “Eli,” she said, “I’ve explained the situation to Bobby and he needs your OK.”
Marrion seemed to be in good humor. “Molly,” he said, “you were always the toughest lawyer in this town. Are you going to harass me on my deathbed?”
Claudia was distressed. “Eli, Bobby told us you were okay. And we really wanted to see you.” She was so obviously ashamed that Marrion raised his hand with acceptance and benediction.
“I understand all the arguments,” Marrion said.
He made a motion of dismissal to the secretary and she left the room. The private duty nurse, a handsome, tough-looking woman, was reading a book at the dining room table. Marrion gestured to her to leave. She looked at him and shook her head. She resumed reading.
Marrion laughed, a low wheezing laugh. He said to the others, “That is Priscilla, the best nurse in California. She’s an intensive care nurse, that’s why she’s so tough. My doctor recruited her especially for this case. She’s the boss.”
Priscilla acknowledged them with a nod of her head and resumed reading.
Molly said, “I’ll be willing to limit his points to a maximum of twenty million. It will be insurance. Why take the risk? And why be so unfair?”
Bantz said angrily, “It’s not unfair. He signed a contract.”
“Fuck you, Bobby,” Molly said.
Marrion ignored them. “Claudia, what do you think?”
Claudia was thinking many things. Obviously Marrion was sicker than anyone was admitting. And it was terribly cruel to put pressure on this old man who had to make such an effort to even speak. She was tempted to say that she was leaving, then she remembered that Eli would never have let them come except for some purpose of his own.
“Ernest is a man who does surprising things,” Claudia said. “He is determined to provide for his family. But Eli, he’s a writer and you always loved writers. Think of it as a contribution to art. Hell, you gave twenty million to the Metropolitan Museum. Why not do it for Ernest?”
