Simon's Mansion

by William Poe

  “Knock it off, Scott. I realize I haven’t stayed in touch, but neither have you, neither of you, you or Sandra. And to think we were best friends, the three Ss.”

  “Aw, c’mon, Simon. When would Sandra call? She passes out when she gets home, and if Maury found a call to Arkansas on his phone bill, he’d blow up.”

  “Maury’s a jerk.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Scott sighed, followed by a long pause in the conversation and then a cough.

  “You’re hitting a joint, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, cough, and why the fuck not?”

  “No reason, I just didn’t expect you to answer, considering that it’s a workday; I thought the message machine would pick up. I didn’t want to risk a call to the office and getting you or Sandra in trouble. Maury lost the Sun Myung Moon account because of me, and I know his resentment runs deep.”

  “Wouldn’t’a reached me if you had called.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Yeah, ol’ Maury, he threw me out of the office.”

  “You mean you got fired?”

  “Uh, well, yeah, Maury threw me out. Building security pushed me onto the sidewalk. Guess that is how I got fired.”

  Scott’s inability to focus, even when sober, raised the question of how he’d ever managed to pass the bar exam.

  “I’m sorry you and Maury fell out.”

  “Fell right onto the concrete,” Scott laughed. “Landed on my feet, though.”

  “Tell me.”

  “The Gay Filmmakers Association. Now I have more work than ever.”

  “That’s why I’m calling, Scott. I need information.”

  “That’s me, Miss Information.”

  “Does Chatsworth Price Productions belong to the group you represent?”

  “Howard Price? Why’d you bring up that guy?”

  “Why not?”

  “Howard’s the reason Maury threw me out.”

  “You mean it wasn’t because you showed up drunk?”

  “Well, yeah, I was drunk…but that’s not the reason. A friend of Maury’s put him in touch with Howard, said he needed representation on a freedom of speech, uh, pornography case. I don’t know…something to do with a state law somewhere in the South.”

  “I didn’t think Maury handled porn cases anymore, not since his partner retired.”

  “Money, Simon. Come on. You think Maury would turn down a large retainer? Man, oh man, Maury flipped when Howard recognized me. After Howard left the office, Maury made me tell him everything. Was he ever pissed that I’d been moonlighting.”

  “I’m surprised you hid it from him as long as you did. You’re not exactly tight lipped, Scott.”

  “Not what blondie here said last night. Hey, what are we talking about exactly?”

  “Scott, stay focused, something serious is going on. I need to reach Howard Price. Thad’s in trouble, and Howard is part of it.”

  “What do you mean, trouble? Thad told me he was making good money.”

  “When did you talk to Thad?”

  “It’s been weeks, maybe, I don’t know. What’s going on?”

  “Thad hasn’t contacted me in months. I thought for a while that he might have found someone else and didn’t want to talk to me.”

  “Thad would never do that, not with everything you and he have been through.”

  “And that includes you and Jerry giving Thad cocaine, but hey, water under the bridge.”

  “I get it. I’m a pig, and Jerry is long gone. Tell me what happened.”

  “A video arrived in the mail from Spain. It’s made by the Spanish company that sent the money Charlotte stole. Thad’s picture is on the box cover, and he’s featured in the video. It’s horrible, Scott.”

  “Holy crap! Thad went to work for them?”

  “In a way, I wish it were that straightforward. Howard went into partnership with the company, not knowing about my association. The owners showed up at Howard’s ranch from Barcelona. They brought a porn star named Felipe with them, and Felipe struck up a friendship with Thad. Felipe knew me from Barcelona. He told me about the illegal money laundering and warned me not to go into business with them. The Spaniards must have figured out Thad’s connection to me and forced him into making the video—payback for the stolen money.”

  “You sure Thad didn’t volunteer?”

  “I’m sure. For one thing, the camera lingers on a photo of Thad and me at Zuma Beach—Thad’s favorite picture of us. Thad would never have allowed them to use it that way, not if he had a say in it.”

  “You’re thinking he’s like a sex slave?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’m feeling sick.”

  “If you hear anything about the video—it’s called El Amigo Rico—let me know.”

  “Before or after I watch it?”

  “Don’t joke, Scott. This is serious.”

  “Not joking. I want to see for myself. This isn’t easy to accept.”

  “If you see it, pay attention to the scene with Thad and Felipe in bed with the much older man—it is staged in the same room, with everyone in the same positions, as a real event with Emilio, Felipe, and me. When I saw the scene, I knew they took Thad to Spain.”

  “I never mentioned it before, but I heard bad things about those Spanish guys after you told me what happened with the money. I thought you’d figure something out, manage to pay them back somehow. You always seemed to come up with a plan when things went wrong.”

  “Cocaine took control of my life, Scott. By the time Charlotte stole the money, I was too far gone to think straight. If I’d been even a little sane, I might have found her before she spent the money, or I could have found a way to deliver the films I was supposed to procure with the money, but I was lost. You don’t know how bad it got toward the end, Scott. I’d already run away from Hollywood when Charlotte took the money. The terrible thing is I knew Thad was in a dangerous situation at Howard’s when he told me about the Spanish clients showing up.”

  “You should have said something,” Scott scolded. “There’re no secrets in the porn business. Hell, there aren’t secrets in Hollywood; everyone figures out what’s up eventually—look at what happened with Maury and me. And now this!”

  “I’ve no idea what they’ll do to Thad, especially if he tries to get away from them.”

  “Now that Howard and Maury are pals, I’ll bet Sandra knows how to reach him. Howard didn’t come to the last conference I put together for the producers; Maury probably told him to cut ties if he wanted the firm to represent him.”

  “I’m glad Sandra still has her job.”

  “Maury will always have a crush on Sandra. She’s there until she wants to leave.”

  “What’s Sandra’s home number? I’d have to dig around to find it.”

  Simon heard Scott pop the latches on a briefcase and rummage through papers. “Why don’t you just call Maury’s office?” Scott said, giving up the search. “Sandra should be the one who answers. Maury doesn’t have a receptionist—again. He scares away everyone with that temper of his.”

  “Be sure to call if you hear anything, Scott. Don’t misplace my number.”

  “I promise. I’ll write it down off the phone’s caller ID.”

  Simon braced himself for the call to Maury’s office. So much history had passed between the three Ss, the musketeer party animals that had ushered him from a life of faith to a life of choices. Simon didn’t blame Scott or Sandra for introducing him to sexual promiscuity and illicit drugs, but that introduction had set him on the path toward the ultimate fork in the road: take responsibility for his actions or surrender to gods, chemical or supernatural. Harris had ushered him into his new life, an existence without mystical guides or cosmic purpose—a simple Simon, free to set his own course in life.

  Stepping out the back door and leaning against the porch railing, he watched the sun’s rays dip below the horizon and bats begin to stream from the eaves of the barn, a
black liquid pouring from the rafters to form a smudge on the twilight sky. The camp soon dispersed into a mist that hung over the swamp to gorge on hatchling mosquitos, with straggler bats swooping low through the cypress limbs to feed on psychedelic garden spiders.

  Simon returned to the deafening silence of the mansion, steeling himself as he sat by the phone in the parlor, then slowly dialing, setting down the receiver, then dialing again. Sandra failed to answer as Scott suggested she would. Instead, an unknown receptionist came on the line, carefully articulating the name of the firm as if reading from a business card. Simon hesitated but ended up giving his real name and asking if Sandra was available.

  The receptionist introduced herself as Sandy Purchase. “I know a lot about you,” she said.

  “Good things, I hope,” he said, but he knew that any new receptionist would have heard the worst.

  “I’m not sure good is the word.”

  “Have you lived in Hollywood a long time?” Simon asked. The name Sandy had a familiar ring to it.

  “Not really,” Sandy responded, half covering the receiver with her hand, causing a muffled sound that made her difficult to understand. “I knew who you were before I moved to Hollywood.”

  “Lyle’s Sandy?”

  “I have to be careful that no one hears me,” Sandy whispered. “Maury thinks I’m Sandra’s cousin, and he thinks I have experience as a receptionist. I’ve never answered phones in my life!”

  “Where’s Lyle?”

  “Hasn’t Sandra told you?”

  “I’ve been away.”

  “Lyle and Sandra shacked up months ago.” Sandy reported her news in menacing tones. “Lyle’s a bum. We were in Orange County. He took my money and split, so I reported him to the cops, and now there’s a warrant out for him. Lyle told me all about Maury’s firm and about Sandra, Scott, and you partying on some church account—sorry I didn’t get a chance to meet that Scott guy, but he got kicked out before I started here. Anyway, I followed Sandra home one night, figuring she’d know where to find Lyle, but there he was, living at her fucking house! Sandra can have the bum for all I care—I just wanted my money. I called the office the next day and told Sandra to help me out or I’d call the cops on Lyle.”

  “Sandra arranged the receptionist job for you?”

  “She did, and it’s nice. Sandra’s a bum too, but at least she got me this job, and she’s forking over cash from her paychecks until the money Lyle took is paid back.”

  “Fascinating story, but is Sandra there now? I need to talk to her.”

  “She’s entertaining one of Maury’s clients. She does that a lot, especially with this new guy—Maury said he’s a cash cow. I guess that’s like a golden goose or something.”

  “Must be,” Simon agreed. “Can you give me Sandra’s home number? I’ve misplaced it.”

  “What’s it worth to you?” Sandy asked, but when Simon moaned, she continued, “Just joking. Hey, I’m not that bad.”

  Silence.

  “Here it is.” Sandy read the number from a Rolodex—Simon could hear the squeaky wheel, familiar from the days he’d hung out in the office and watched Sandra scroll for a client’s number when Maury asked, rapidly twisting the knob on a Ferris wheel of business cards. “When you talk to her, tell Sandra not to leave me alone at the office so much. Sooner or later, Maury’s going to give me something to type, even if I do keep a Band-Aid on two fingers as an excuse—I told Maury I reached into a drawer and got cut on a razor blade that Sandra used to slice letters from cardboard for an office party. Sandra gave me that story, told me to mention workers compensation if Maury challenged me—don’t even know what that is, but it sure shut him up.”

  Relieved to be free of Sandy’s unpleasantness, Simon took the first opportunity to end the call and telephone Sandra.

  On to call number three of the day. Sandra answered with the sultry voice Simon recalled from the days when he’d first hired Maury’s firm to represent the church against ordinances designed to prevent soliciting money from the public, when his offices were still in New Orleans. Sandra’s sympathetic conversation had comforted Simon when he’d hired the firm for representation against a Texas sheriff who’d dragged him out of his van and thrown him to the ground, drawing blood as he pressed Simon’s head into gravel, angered that Simon had brought Moonie fundraisers to the small town.

  “Sandra, it’s Simon.”

  A short silence gave way to a breathy “Simon, my everlasting love. How are you?”

  Simon recognized the cocaine-inspired greeting—the drug increasing Sandra’s sense of drama.

  “I just called Maury’s office and spoke to Lyle’s girlfriend.”

  “Oh. Uh. What did she tell you?”

  “Enough. I can’t believe you got Maury to hire her.”

  “Hold the line for a minute.” Sandra set down the receiver on the nightstand phone and walked soundlessly across the bedroom rug until her heels began to click against the hardwood floor when the rug ended. “I needed some privacy.”

  “Privacy from Lyle?”

  “I guess Sandy told you that. Wee-ell, you knew we were always attracted to each other.”

  “It’s okay, Sandra. I’m not in love with Lyle, but I still care about him. I’d rather he’s with you than on the street selling his body—or with that Sandy person. I wasn’t even sure she actually existed.”

  “Lyle never went back to the street after meeting you.”

  “I’m okay with what’s going on between you two, don’t worry.”

  “Sandy’s not so bad,” Sandra assured. “She came to Hollywood and made threats, but Lyle had taken money from her after all, he admitted it to me, and I told him we’d figure something out. Maury needed a receptionist after the third one left in a month. Sandy’s tough. Maury won’t scare her away as easily as the others, even if she can’t type.”

  “As long as she’s not taking advantage of you.”

  “She thinks she is, but not really. Trying to manage the typing and having to answer the phone was driving me nuts. At least she can take calls and write down messages.”

  “Are you and Lyle serious about each other?”

  Sandra laughed. “Serious is such a grand word.”

  “Lyle was never serious about me. Maybe he felt some affection, but nothing deeper.”

  “I can’t really say what Lyle feels about you or me,” Sandra admitted. “He doesn’t talk about his emotions. We’re having fun. We’ll see where it goes.”

  “If I ever go straight, Sandra…”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, my love. It’s great hearing from you, but it’s been such a long time. What’s up?”

  “You remember seeing Thad when you visited Scott’s a while back?”

  “Yes, I do. He was such a sweetheart toward me.”

  “Did you hear about his recent job?”

  “Scott couldn’t keep quiet about it. Listening to Scott imitate Thad’s repertoire of sound effects was the funniest thing I’d heard in a long time. Thad was totally embarrassed, but Scott had us rolling on the floor.”

  “Thad got bored living here in Sibley, especially when I decided to go back to college.”

  “Is Thad still out here?”

  “I’m trying to find him.”

  “You mean he split up with you? Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s worse than that, Sandra. I’ve such a story to tell, I don’t know where to begin.” Simon described the video and how it had arrived at the mansion in a parcel with no note included. “The people from the Spanish company that produced El Amigo Rico are criminals, laundering money with films like I was providing them. I believe they’ve kidnapped Thad and are exploiting him to make porn because of the money I owe them, the money that Charlotte stole.”

  “Oh my God, Simon. You must be worried sick.”

  “You’ve no idea. The owners of the Spanish company went into partnership with the guy that employed Thad. Did Thad or Scott mention his na
me?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “It’s Maury’s new client, Howard Price.”

  Silence.

  “Sandra?”

  “You’re joking, right? Howard is in the other room.”

  “Howard Price is at your house, right now?”

  “We went for drinks at lunch after a meeting he had with Maury, and then we decided to come to my place for, well, dessert, if you know what I mean—Howard’s very generous.”

  “This is freaking me out, Sandra.”

  “Your name hasn’t come up, or Thad’s. Lyle’s in there with Howard right now. He knows Howard’s gay, so he’s being a prick tease. I don’t think Lyle even knows Thad’s name or anything about him. This is just too strange.”

  “Scott told me what happened when Howard showed up at the office. Scott said that Maury took Howard as a client because of trouble in a southern state?”

  “Alabama. Police arrested a store owner for selling pornography. Most of the confiscated films were produced by Howard’s company.”

  “Anything international about the case?”

  “Howard’s company is the only one mentioned in the indictment.”

  “At least it’s not about El Amigo Rico. The box cover is in Spanish, and there isn’t any mention of Chatsworth Price Productions.”

  “Howard and Lyle are laughing about something. I better get in there. And, well, I, uh, want to get back to that incredible dessert Howard is serving. Oh my God, I’ve not snorted coke like that in ages.”

  “If you hear about anything related to Spain or the video with Thad, let me know. Howard may not realize that the Spaniards have Thad. On the other hand, he may have sold Thad to them. I just don’t know, and my imagination is running wild.”

  “Keep calm, honey. This is a job for sleuth Sandra. Let me put on something more revealing and go back into the other room. Howard might be gay, but I saw him looking down my front.”

  “You’re a wonderful friend, Sandra.”

  “Aren’t I, though? I’ll call you later. I’ll bet I get at least a tidbit of information.”

  “Love you, Sandra.”