by Ray Garton
Adam looked down at himself to make sure he wasn’t wearing anything too awful. “Well, kind of. Yeah.”
Horowitz wore a delicate black headset with a tiny microphone that curved down her cheek to her mouth. She hit a button on her phone base, waited. “Hermione, this is Rona. How soon can you be over here for a quick meeting? I have a client in need of an overhaul.” She lit a beige cigarette with one of the fireplace matches as she listened. “That will be perfect. See you then.” She hit another button on the phone, turned to Adam. “Hermione will be here in an hour to fit you for appropriate clothes. We will have you properly dressed by noon.”
“My suitor,” Adam muttered to himself with a private smile, remembering what Sunny had called him the first time they met. Louder, he said to her, “I won’t wear just anything, you know.”
“What you are wearing now proves otherwise. You will wear what I think is appropriate.”
Horowitz ushered him into a conference room adjoining her office. Over a dozen well-dressed men and women were seated around a long table, waiting for them. Notebooks and folders lay open before them beside steaming coffee mugs. A small buffet of fresh fruits, pastries, toast, jam, and coffee had been set up on a sideboard against more tinted floor-to-ceiling windows. Horowitz insisted Adam eat, at the very least, a banana, then introduced him to her staff. The names blurred and he did not even try to keep them straight in his head. Everyone seemed impatient with the introductions, anyway, as if they wanted to get on with it.
One man stood out. Instead of a suit like the others, he wore a green and yellow plaid shirt, jeans, and expensive-looking cowboy boots. A black cowboy hat lay upside-down in his lap. He sat in a back corner, separate from the others, slumped in a chair, left knee bent, right leg extended. Arms interlaced above a round belly. He looked like a middle-aged Wilford Brimley. His mustache was not as bushy, his hair a lighter shade of brown. But he was bald on top, wore wire-framed glasses, had the same crotchety downturning of the mouth, as if he were trying to decide how to respond to a rude remark.
“This is Max Vantana,” Horowitz said when she got to the man in the corner. “A man who, were it not for his good nature and fine moral character, could bring all of Hollywood, New York, and Washington, D.C. to their knees before lunch. He is my investigator. He is the best in the business and he works only for me. You will be talking to Max a lot. If you lie to him, he will find out. If you are hiding something, he will uncover it.”
Max’s nod was barely perceptible. His eyes said, I got your number, boy.
After the introductions, Horowitz handed out a few assignments and half the people at the table left. The other half listened and took notes as she led Adam through every move he had made in the past two weeks.
* * *
Hermione was a chilly British woman in her sixties who wore too much makeup. While she took Adam’s measurements in Horowitz’s office, Horowitz described the kind of clothes she wanted for Adam. Used phrases like “conservative but relaxed,” and “not quite hip, but not out of touch with what is.” Adam wondered with dread what freakish Halloween costumes might be conjured with such incantations.
By noon, as Horowitz had predicted, he was dressed in a dark blue Armani suit. He would not admit it to the stubby attorney, but he had never looked so good in his life. Not even at his senior prom. Which he had attended with Carter because neither of them had dates.
“By this evening,” Horowitz said, “your closet will be stocked. The clothes will be matched and numbered. Each time you make an appearance before the press, I or someone on my staff will tell you which set of clothes to wear by number. Otherwise, you may wear anything you like. As long as it is among the clothes in your closet. You will not wear anything but the clothes given you. Do you understand?”
He nodded.
“You have an appointment with a hair stylist in forty-five minutes.”
“Well, I’d like to see my girlfriend. I thought we could have lunch togeth—”
“Sit down, Adam.” She pointed to the hungry chair, then seated herself behind her desk.
Adam sat on one of the chair’s curved armrests.
“Please do not do that,” Horowitz said. “Sit in the chair.”
Adam slid into the deep chair with a sigh of resignation.
“You need to put yourself in my position for a moment, Adam. It is not only my job to get you out of the trouble you are in, but to protect you from any further trouble, as well. Therefore I have no choice in this.”
“In...what?”
“For the duration of this case, you will be unable to see your girlfriend.”
“What?” He tried to stand. “Who do you think you—what do you mean, I can’t—what the hell are you—“ He battled the chair’s jaws for freedom, quickly gave up. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he said angrily.
“Alyssa’s parents grow, use, and apparently sell marijuana,” Horowitz said. “Did you know that?”
“Well, I...how did you know that?”
“I told you Max was the best.”
“But she’s a witness,” Adam said. “I was with her when—”
“And she will be processed and dealt with like any other valuable witness. But until the trial is over, there will be no relationship. This is not negotiable. If you think I take any joy in it, Adam, you are quite wrong. I know I am only causing you more pain, and I am very sorry. You have every right to be angry. But it is necessary. Once you are able to look at it objectively, you will know I am right. What if the police were to bust her parents in the middle of all this? You would be involved by association, even though you would have nothing to do with it. The press would dine on that for weeks. Months. You might not survive it. This is your life we are talking about. It would be irresponsible of me to allow the relationship to continue.”
Adam’s mouth hung open. He could not decide what to say as his mind leaped forward to imagine weeks, months, a year, maybe more without Alyssa. It was incomprehensible. “I can’t believe you think you can—” Adam wriggled and jerked, fought his way out of the chair. Stood and stepped toward the desk. He shouted, “Jesus H. motherfucking Goddamned Christ! All I’ve heard from you is what you want and what you say. Well, I’ve got something to say.” His hand trembled as he pointed at the chair, arm rigid. “Get rid of that fucking chair! And if you don’t want to get rid of it, bring one in that a human being can sit in and get out of, for crying out loud! Because I am not sitting in that fucking chair or on that fucking sofa again! Ever!”
Horowitz sat up, spine straight. “Are you finished?”
Adam sighed again, a weary, restless sound. “Okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
She already had the headset on, hit a button on the telephone. “Yes, Sarah, you need to set up a tab for new client Julian, Adam. Profanity. One hundred dollars per word. Release the standard memo, make sure Max gets a copy.” Horowitz tapped a button on the phone and turned to Adam, stood. “If you do not like that chair, use the one in the corner. Just move it over here.”
It was a very simple, wooden, straightback chair with no armrests and pale yellow cushions in the seat and back. He carried it over and seated himself.
“From now on, every time you swear, you will be fined one hundred dollars. If you ever raise your voice like that again, to me or anyone on my staff, I will leave you to twist in the breeze at the end of your rope. I suspect you talk like that all the time, correct? Did you talk to your friend Carter that way? To your mother? The surprising thing is that they let you get away with it. Most people do not appreciate being spoken to in that manner, Adam. They must have loved you a great deal to put up with it. I, on the other hand, do not. Perhaps in Beverly Hills, that kind of behavior is a way of life. But you are not in Beverly Hills anymore. Your hotel may be, but you are not. You are going to be watched by the world. So, remember. One hundred dollars per word. Fines will be applied to your bill. Any more shouting, we go our separate ways.” She tossed him
a small spiral-bound notebook, then a pen. He caught them clumsily. “Make a list of the things you want brought to your hotel room from your house and Carter’s,” she said. “Then you can go back to the hotel for lunch. The stylist will be coming to your room.”
“Wait a second,” Adam said. “I...I can’t just...stop seeing Alyssa without explaining it to her. I need to talk to her before I—”
“I am not telling you to stop caring for her, Adam. But you may not contact her. I will send her a note explaining that you are focusing all your time and energy on your defense. I can send flowers, if you like. If you truly care about each other, this will not damage your relationship. You will probably come to appreciate one another more because of it. Get started on that list.”
She left the office.
Adam had once found himself on the Century City Chamber of Commerce Homepage while surfing the Internet aimlessly one afternoon. It claimed the Century City Chamber of Commerce was one of the most “relationship-driven chambers” in Los Angeles. Still stunned by Horowitz’s orders, Adam thought, I’m relationship-driven, too. I want mine back, dammit!
His list was a bit longer than it would have been were he not being held hostage. He intended to contact Alyssa in one way or another, and included a couple things on his list that would make that possible.
* * *
Lamont knocked on Adam’s hotel room door halfway through Wheel of Fortune that evening. He carried a suitcase, while a teenage boy behind him carried a satchel and a cardboard box. He could have been Lamont’s little brother.
“Adam, this is my personal assistant, Gerald,” Lamont said as he put the suitcase on the bed.
“Wait, you’re Rona Horowitz’s personal assistant?” Adam asked.
Lamont nodded. “Yes.”
“And you have a personal assistant?”
He shrugged his Anthony Perkins shoulders. “That’s just the kind of job it is, Adam.” The lower half of his face was again dark with growing stubble.
While Lamont opened the suitcase, Gerald put the satchel and box on the floor. Adam turned to him and they shook hands.
“Nice to meet you,” Adam said. He glanced back toward the door. “Do you have a personal assistant?”
“Nah,” Gerald said apologetically. “Just a beeper.”
“Is that everything on my list?” Adam asked.
“Of course not,” Lamont said. “Nobody said you’d get everything on the list.”
“Then what am I not getting?”
“No clothes. She says you knew that and shouldn’t have bothered putting any clothes on your list.” Lamont propped his hands on his hips and leaned close to Adam. Dropped his voice. “I should point out to you that when she tells me to tell you something like that, it means you’re being chastised. She likes to keep that sort of thing to a minimum.”
“Oh, she’s pissed, huh?” Adam said.
Lamont rolled his eyes. “You are going to be trouble, aren’t you? You’re determined to make all our lives miserable. Including your own, by the way. Which I don’t understand. Don’t you realize what an opportunity this is for you? This town is filled with people who would kill to be where you are.”
“Yeah, that’s what they think I did to be where I am, that’s the fucking problem.”
Lamont rolled his eyes again, sighed. Over his shoulder: “Wait for me in the hall, Gerald.”
Gerald left the room.
Lamont extended an index finger in the direction of Adam’s face, spoke quickly in a hoarse whisper. “Quit thinking of this in terms of ‘guilty’ or ‘not guilty,’ Adam. That’s out of your hands, anyway. Much like Christians put their problems into the hands of Jesus, you need to put yours in the hands of your personal savior, Rona Horowitz. As far as you’re concerned, Adam, she is God. Also like God, she doesn’t make mistakes. She won’t steer you wrong, she wouldn’t know how.” Lamont walked slowly around. Looked the room over, tried the television. “You’ve got nothing to worry about with Rona in charge of your life. Believe me, Adam, she will probably treat it with more care and respect than anyone ever has or ever will again. Most people aren’t lucky enough to experience that kind of life-affirming validation. That’s what she does, you know. She’s not just an attorney. She validates people during the most traumatic, soul-destroying times of their lives.”
“Does she have you under hypnosis?”
“Some people walk away from that experience in the best emotional shape they will ever know. So stop thinking about the stupid-ass inconveniences and start thinking about all the things you can do because of the position you’re in right now.”
“Such as?”
“You can reinvent yourself. Be whatever you’ve always wanted to be. This experience is whatever you put into it, Adam.”
“What if I decide I don’t want her to represent me?” Adam ask.
Lamont rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You may be a troublemaker, but you don’t strike me as an imbecile. Besides, Rona would make your life a living hell.”
“Like it’s not already,” Adam muttered. “Does she know you go around bragging about her like this? Like a disciple?”
“I shouldn’t be saying any of this. It’s not my place. But I get so fed up with you people that it’s hard to hold my tongue. You come in here so angry and resistant, as if you’re being forced at gunpoint to let maybe the best criminal defense attorney on the planet win your freedom for you when you know damned well that otherwise you’d be a dead man walking.”
“Okay, so what should I do? Just sit back and smile when she tells me I can’t see my girlfriend anymore?”
“Yes. You might not like it, but she doesn’t do anything without a reason, a good one. You can be very sure that if she doesn’t want you to see your girlfriend, then it’s for the best. Sometimes she doesn’t explain her reasons. She doesn’t have to.”
“She did this time,” Adam muttered.
“Probably because she wanted you to know she has no choice. Look, she’s in charge, you do what she says. You do that, and everything will be fine. Rona will win another high-profile case, you will come out of this a celebrity with the future of your choice ahead of you. But if you give her trouble...well, nothing good will come of it, Adam. Trust me on this.”
“Just let her run my fucking life, huh?”
“Exactly. Be thankful you still have one. And stop swearing, or you’ll be broke before the trial. This conversation alone has cost you three hundred dollars, and we’re not done yet.”
“Don’t tell her,” Adam said.
Lamont chuckled. “No way that’s gonna happen.”
“If you’re so afraid of her, then why take a chance pissing her off by telling me all this?”
“Four hundred dollars. And I only did that because you’re cute.”
Adam’s eyebrows rose.
“Don’t panic, don’t have a sexual identity crisis, or anything, jeez-Louise, I know you’re straight,” Lamont said. “You’re so straight, my teeth envy you. But still cute.” He turned to the suitcase, removed an unfamiliar laptop computer. “Rona wants you to start writing everything down. Your impressions, your reaction to the legal system, your hopes, your dreams, your passions, your pains, anything that comes to mind. Write it down on this.”
“That’s not my laptop. I asked for my laptop.”
“Your laptop has a cellular modem. Rona doesn’t want you on the internet.”
“Why does she want me to keep a journal?”
“She wants material for the ghostwriter to work with so the book can be written quickly.”
“Ghostwriter? Hey, if anybody writes a book about me, it’s going to be me!”
“You’re a writer?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’m sure Rona will want your input. But the final decisions are hers.”
“Yeah, we’ll see.”
“Do you write scripts?”
“Fiction.”
“Your publisher?”
�
��Well, my fiction hasn’t been published, but—”
“Then you’re not a writer.”
“Yes, I am. I’ve written three—”
“I don’t care what you’ve written. Anyone can do that. If it’s good enough to be published, then you’re a writer. Rona has some of her biggest outbursts over little things like that, so be careful. As I was saying, I didn’t bring your laptop because of the modem. Rona wants me to remind you that you are to communicate with no one until she says otherwise. If you want to reach someone, tell me, or Rona herself.”
“I can’t use my phone?”
“Haven’t you tried it yet? When you pick up in here, the phone rings next door, you’re connected to whomever is over there playing Solitaire or watching dirty movies.”
“You mean...I’m stuck here? I can’t go anywhere, talk to anyone, I can’t even dress myself?”
“But what a way to start your writing career, huh?”
“What do you mean?” Adam asked.
“Writing a courtroom drama about yourself! Publishers will assassinate each other over it. You’ll be like a young Dominick Dunne. Only hip, and without those little pervert glasses. And all the exciting events will actually have happened to you. You won’t be writing about it, you’ll be writing of it.” He glanced at his watch, turned and hurried toward the door. “I have to go.”
“Better shave first, Lamont,” Adam said.
He stopped, touched his face. Turned to Adam with panic in his eyes.
“There are razors in the bathroom,” Adam said. “Help yourself.”
From the bathroom, Lamont shouted over the hiss of running water. “I really appreciate that, Adam. I’m going straight to her office from here, you saved me a lecture and some points.”
“No problem,” Adam said.
“Okay, now remember,” Lamont said as he came out of the bathroom a few minutes later with a smooth, clean face. “If you want to get in touch with someone, let me know.”
“You or Rona, right?”
“Yeah, but I know her schedule, her moods, what sets her off and makes her happy. You don’t. It’s always safer to talk to me first, even if it’s just to run something by me.”
