Random Revenge

by William Michaels

  He’d broken into her apartment for nothing.

  Melanie must have had a good laugh, making him think that bitch hostess Tiffany at the restaurant wanted to hook up with him. Tiffany had made him look like a fool when he’d asked her out, as heartlessly cold as Melanie.

  “Can I help you?”

  The camera store clerk was young, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a green polo shirt with the name of the store on the chest. Not that she had much of one. Her pale skin looked like she was spending time in the darkrooms that no one used anymore, drawing attention to the bright red bumps of her acne. She peered at Lenny through out-of-style pastel-rimmed glasses. Lenny shook his head to clear the image, she was a nerd right down to her beige khakis, a walking advertisement that the airlines could use to get people to fly to California.

  “I know you sell used equipment,” he said. “I have this nice telephoto I’ll let you have for a good price.”

  The clerk examined the lens, turning the focusing ring, holding it to the light. “It’s in good shape. But this is an old model, everyone wants a faster lens. The only people using these are beginners without that much money.”

  She said it casually, not a put down, but that’s how it felt to Lenny. “It’s a good lens,” he argued. “I’ve taken photos with it that I sold for thousands.” Which was bullshit, but how would she know?

  “I’m sorry. There’s just not that much demand for mid zoom lens. We can offer you seventy five dollars.”

  “Seventy five bucks? Are you crazy? I spent over five hundred for it, and that’s with a professional discount!”

  The nerd was shaking her head. “It has the old style image stabilization. I’m afraid it just isn’t that valuable.”

  Lenny grabbed the lens back, their hands briefly touching, reminding him how long it had been since he’d touched a woman. She wasn’t his type, too plain. She probably hadn’t had a date in years. Still . . .

  “Maybe we could talk about it, you know, over a drink?” he ventured.

  The blonde pressed her hands over her chest, perhaps protecting herself from Lenny’s outburst. “Are you asking me out?”

  Lenny shrugged, trying to look like he didn’t care one way or another, but unattractive as she was, a woman was a woman. “Whatever.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to date customers.”

  “We don’t have to call it a date,” said Lenny, fingering the camera. “We could call it a business discussion.”

  “But I’m not attracted to you,” she blurted.

  Just his luck, a woman who probably hadn’t hooked up in ages, or maybe not at all, was blowing him off. He was trying to think of a suitable put down for her when the shop door bell dinged.

  The clerk’s eyes rushed away from Lenny. “Mr. Tazik! My favorite customer!”

  Lenny recognized that name. Tim Tazik. The photographer who had made Melanie Upton famous. The photographer who had done what Lenny had planned, who was as complicit in stealing Lenny’s idea as Melanie was.

  “Hi, Jenny. How’s my favorite camera expert?”

  “Just fine, Mr. Tazik.”

  “I keep telling you, call me Taz, everyone else does.”

  Lenny hated him at first glance, and would have even if Tazik—wait, Taz—hadn’t stolen his idea. Taz gave off a casual, confident air, the little gray in his hair more sophisticated than old. Tazik’s eyes swept past Lenny like he wasn’t there.

  “Let me guess,” Jenny said. “You’re in the market for a camera. The new Canon.”

  “As a matter of fact I am.”

  “Really? I was just kidding.”

  “You’re probably psychic.” Tazik unleashed a ten thousand dollar set of veneers on her.

  Lenny wasn’t going to give up Jenny’s attention without a fight. “I have it on order,” said Lenny. “I’m a pro, I’ve got a guy in New York who gets me deals.”

  Jenny wrinkled her nose. “I thought you were selling?”

  Lenny waved his hand. “Just old stuff, need to make room.” To Tazik he said, “I’m Lenny Gruse, you may have heard of me.”

  “Can’t say I have, what kind of work do you do?”

  “Mostly celebrities, I just moved to Marburg from LA.”

  “Pretty slim pickings here for that.”

  Lenny played it cool. “I won’t be around long, I’ve got something big in the works. In the meantime, I’ve got contacts, there’s always stuff happening worth shooting. How about you?”

  “Like you said, there’s always something to shoot. Why’d you leave LA?”

  Lenny glanced over at Jenny and lowered his voice. “Personal reasons, if you know what I mean.”

  Tazik grinned. “I get it. Some lady. I hope she’s rich, because it’ll be hard to make the same kind of money here as you did on the West Coast.”

  “It hasn’t been easy,” Lenny admitted. “There’s a lot of backstabbing in this town.”

  “Really? How so?”

  “People steal your ideas.”

  Tazik frowned. “What’s there to steal? I mean, no offence, but there aren’t that many unique ideas for pictures, unless you are doing fine art, and that market is so fickle.”

  “There’s always a hook. I’ve had some that have made me a bundle. Being in the right place at the right time, getting a certain look. But here I made the mistake of telling someone one of my ideas, and then—bam—another photographer did exactly what I had been planning.”

  “Could be a coincidence,” Tazik said. “Ideas are just floating out there for anyone to tap into. It’s not who has the idea, but who takes it to the bank.”

  Lenny couldn’t believe it, Tazik was practically admitting he’d stolen his idea. “You speaking from experience?”

  “As a matter of fact. Let me show you.” Tazik pulled out his cell phone. “I have a little side interest, celebrity tattoos. You might say, that’s an old idea, it’s been done. But not the way I envisioned it, not the same old here’s why so and so got a tattoo and what it means. Instead, I’ve put a book together that combines pictures of body parts of different people to create one completely inked person. I pitched it to a publisher, they loved it, the book is being released next month. The buzz is so good I’ve started work on the next edition. Look.”

  Lenny watched Tazik flip through the photos, interested in spite of himself. It was a good idea, maybe he could find a way to use it. “I see you shoot mostly women,” he said.

  “It’s all women. I might do a guy book, but, hey, women are prettier, right?” Tazik winked at Jenny.

  “Good excuse to get to know them, too,” said Lenny, already thinking it would be a great way to snare women, better than his current approaches. He’d also heard that women with tattoos were easy. “You can get a little action on the side.”

  “Let’s keep it clean,” said Tazik.

  Lenny glanced at a blushing Jenny, who was the last person he’d expect to have a tattoo, especially like the samples Tazik was showing off. That one, for example, way up on a women’s slim thigh . . . something about it familiar, a distinctly African vibe.

  Lenny reeled as the picture flicked by. It couldn’t be. “Hey, those are good, can I take a longer look while you do your camera shopping?”

  Tazik shrugged and set the phone on the counter. “Sure. Come back in a few weeks, Jenny is going to carry the book, right?”

  “Can’t wait to see it,” said Jenny.

  Lenny ignored them, skimming back to the photo of the tribal tattoo. He knew that tattoo, a sinewy black whirlwind flowing upward. He’d seen it on the video of Melanie, the one he’d found on the internet, the one where she’d been showing off her legs. Tazik had mentioned coincidences, this couldn’t be a coincidence.

  “You do most of your shooting around here?” Lenny asked.

  “What? Yes, mostly, why?”

  “No reason.”

  That clinched it. Who else but Melanie would have a tattoo like this in Marburg? How had Tazik mana
ged to get Melanie to let him take this shot?

  The press conference, that was it. Lenny had to fight the urge to smash the phone. Tazik had not only stolen his idea, but Melanie had paid Tazik off just the way Lenny was hoping he’d be paid off. Lenny bet Melanie had let Tazik look at much more than just her thigh.

  Lenny squeezed the phone, wishing it was Tazik’s neck. He’d get back at Melanie, he’d get back at both of them. The tattoo stared at him like a snake, slithering into his brain. He studied the photo, every inch, if there was some way to turn it against Melanie . . .

  The image was date stamped, recent, just a few months ago. Something about the date stuck in Lenny’s head. Shit, that was the night he went into Melanie’s apartment, the night he had . . . no wait, it couldn’t be, not if she was with Tazik that night. Lenny fiddled with the phone, trying to see if he could pull up the actual time stamp of the photo, maybe it was taken earlier in the evening . . .

  “Something wrong?” Tazik asked.

  “What? No. No, nothing’s wrong.” Lenny reluctantly swiped past the picture of Melanie and handed the phone back to Tazik. “Just not used to your phone. Nice work, and I should know.”

  Lenny stumbled out of the store, stunned, feeling the eyes on him, not caring, he needed air, he needed to think.

  Melanie held the phone away from her ear. Her agent, Doug Vettig, was screaming, ruining her nice champagne buzz.

  “Christ, Melanie, what were you thinking?”

  “About what, Doug? You finding it hard to keep up?”

  “Keep up? Like seeing you make a fool of yourself on that ridiculous show The Other Woman?”

  “You wouldn’t have thought it was ridiculous if you had booked it, you’re just jealous. I had to do all the work. I can’t believe you are going to get a cut from my appearance fee.”

  “They’re going to pay you?”

  Melanie flicked the phone onto speaker, lowered the volume, and poured herself more champagne; Vettig could scream all he wanted now. “Thousands. Come to think of it, maybe as much as you’ve ever earned me.”

  “I get you real work, not gossip shows.”

  “Real work? Please. Work for lemmings. Anyone can get that, I deserve more. You know I can act.”

  “So can a million other women. And acting isn’t spreading innuendos about Jason—”

  “Just stating the facts.”

  “—and Ashley Hanna, of all people. Are you just nuts? Everyone loves that girl. And Jason’s thing with her, it’s so Hollywood adorable, they eat that shit up.”

  “You mean Jason’s thing with me.”

  “Melanie, wake up. You’re the wicked witch in all this. You make a third wheel sound like fun.”

  “Doug, what do you care? You’ll settle down when the calls come in and the big cha-ching starts ringing in your ears.”

  “You don’t get it, do you? You think all the people Ashley Hanna knows, the people who crafted her princess image, are going to take this lying down? They’re going to drag you though the mud. No one will touch you.”

  Melanie tried to remember how to flick through her contacts without losing the call, not that it mattered, Vettig was dead to her anyway. Where was the number for that agent she’d been introduced to at the party? There, Marvin Stanlish.

  “You still there, Melanie?”

  “Yeah, yeah, Doug, I hear you. You’re making a big thing out of nothing. The publicity always wins in the end.”

  “Not for you. You think people are going to love you if they think you’re taking Jason away from Ashley?”

  “You sound like a teenage girl. Jason and Ashley! Does that make your heart go pitter patter?”

  “You need to stop playing games. This kind of bullshit will roll off them like teflon, but it’ll ruin you.”

  “Any kind of publicity is good publicity, isn’t it? I need to do whatever I can to get my name out there. I’ve got to put myself above the crowd.”

  “That’s my job. You need to do what I tell you and pay your dues.”

  Melanie dripped the last of the champagne into her glass. “I told you, I’m not one for dues.”

  “Do you know how hard it was for me to sell you before this latest fiasco? Every time I mention you to a casting director they say you’re a diva, trying to grab the limelight. You’re nothing more than a glorified extra. You have to work your way up. If you want to put this behind you, you’re going to have to lay low for at least a year so people can forget about the old Melanie. And then you need to come out as the new Melanie, the sweet, friendly, quiet Melanie. Like Ashley Hanna.”

  “A year? Are you fucking crazy?”

  “No, I’m dead serious. You’re a liability, no one’s gonna touch you. I couldn’t get you a porn film now.”

  Melanie didn’t know why she was arguing, they had a contract, they were stuck with each other. Unless . . . “If I’m such a bother, we could always decide to part ways.”

  “Finally we agree on something. I don’t want to ruin my reputation with whatever new crazy ideas you try.”

  Melanie brightened, some good may have come out of this call after all. Doug just didn’t get it. “No problem. Have your secretary, if you have one, that is, send me the paperwork. I’ll be out of your life. But don’t come crying when I get the big contract.”

  “I won’t be holding my breath. Although I get my cut on anything you earn before you sign. And that means whatever you got from The Other Woman.”

  “You’re right, don’t hold your breath. Or hold it until you drop dead, I don’t care.” Melanie clicked off. She spun her contact list past Stanlish, she’d get to him next. But first she had to call Larry Barrett. If Doug Vettig was no longer her agent, maybe they’d cut her appearance fee check directly to her.

  Let Vettig choke on that.

  CHAPTER 18

  Melanie hadn’t expected the phone to start ringing the day after the airing of The Other Woman, but when a week went by with nothing, she began to worry. Had Vettig been right after all? Had she been blacklisted?

  The show promo had been exactly as Melanie had envisioned, and though her critical eye noticed a few things, her appearance had been more than good enough. Shit, even a producer or casting director who thought she was making it all up would have been impressed with her acting chops. Either way, something should be happening.

  She checked the ratings of the episode of The Other Woman she had appeared on; their highest ever. So that wasn’t it.

  A registered letter arrived from Vettig, a one page form canceling her contract. Maybe Vettig was getting the calls, and wasn’t telling her out of spite? He’d mailed the letter too early, and now couldn’t change his mind. She hadn’t signed yet, and so he still had a responsibility to her, right?

  Melanie could see Vettig being too proud to admit he was wrong. Well, she practically had a new agent; she’d spoken with Marvin Standish, who said he’d take her on once she’d officially split from Vettig.

  Ten in the morning, she smoked a quick joint to get in the right frame of mind, smooth away any hint of desperation in her voice. Better prepared, she dialed Standish.

  “Marvin? Melanie Upton. I got the paperwork, it’s done.” She hesitated a breath, putting a little ooze in her voice. “I’m yours.”

  “Good, good.”

  “Listen, Vettig may be holding back on me, you know, anything recent.”

  “I’ll take care of him. I saw the show, you were amazing.”

  Melanie suspected Standish was being too complimentary; he wanted her just as much as she wanted him. But what the hell, she deserved a little appreciation. “Finally, someone who gets it. Vettig told me I was gonna have to lay low for a year after that show.”

  “He just doesn’t know how to work it. He’s probably gotten lazy out in La La Land.”

  “I’m looking forward to seeing you work some magic,” said Melanie, meaning it. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Just for the records, I need a copy of Vettig�
��s letter. And we need to do some paperwork of our own.”

  “That’s easy enough. What else?”

  “We need new publicity photos. The stuff you have is okay, but you need an edgier look, more street. We want people thinking you’re the real deal, a genuine chick from the other side of the tracks who even the most wholesome man can’t resist, not some actress who’s been made up to be rough and tumble. You get me?”

  Melanie did. Without coming right out and saying it, Standish was telling her she could keep working the Jason angle, that she could play up the idea of the woman so hot she was enough to pry Jason away from the straight Ashley Hanna. That Standish didn’t mention it directly only meant he was covering his ass in case it went south. She didn’t blame him, she would have done the same thing.

  “When do we start?” she asked.

  “Let’s not waste any time. This afternoon around three okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Text me your address, I’ll send a car.”

  Melanie had a better idea. “Have it pick me up at the Hilton here in Marburg. And Marvin?” She took the last hit on the joint. “Make it a big white limo, okay? Let’s get some attention.”

  Standish laughed. “I like you already.”

  Lenny had been back and forth between the restaurant, the club, and the Hilton so many times over the last few days he was getting dizzy. Melanie had to show up somewhere. He'd considered taking the chance of going to her apartment but he was afraid he'd be noticed. The hotel still seemed like the best bet.

  Lenny had reluctantly concluded he had no future with Melanie—until he’d seen her on The Other Woman. She’d woven a bullshit story implying she’d been practically assaulted by Jason Ayers—not a bad strategy, he had to admit—although it was a little risky. But Melanie also had the gall to claim it happened the night of the Tony Awards, the night Lenny had broken into her apartment and the same night she had been with Tim Tazik. How the hell would she have had time to see Jason?

  Lenny couldn’t for a minute believe that Melanie suspected it was Jason who had crawled into her bed. Lenny didn’t think Jason had the guts, he looked like such a wimp. No, Melanie was just using Lenny again, him being in her bedroom giving her the idea for the whole Jason can’t keep his hands off me story. Maybe Tazik had a part in the planning as well. One big publicity idea, everyone getting their piece except for Lenny. Even Jason would do okay, his name now bigger than it had ever been.