Simon's Mansion

by William Poe

  Charlotte set the bloody mary mix aside and drank her vodka straight from the little bottle. “This conversation is depressing. Let’s talking about rescuing Thad.”

  “Any more psychoanalysis and I’m going to be in tears.”

  “I noticed that the company owned by the Spanish trio you described purchased a full-page MIFED advertisement in the Hollywood Reporter.” Charlotte took a folded copy from her purse. “See here? These are titles you licensed to them. The titles have been translated into Spanish, but growing up in Miami, I learned to read Spanish a little.” She kept a finger on the page as she lifted it closer to Simon’s eyes. “Look at the small box here in the corner. They list El Amigo Rico along with ten other films with porn-like titles. There’s no description, so I’ll bet the clients who want them know that the small box on the page refers to the hardcore stuff.”

  “It makes me sick that men will be getting off watching Thad.”

  A passenger across the aisle held a cassette player in his lap with a set of headphones loosely covering his ears. Simon noticed that the play button wasn’t pushed and motioned to Charlotte.

  “Take off the headphones,” Charlotte called to the man with a laugh. “You’ll be able to hear better.”

  The embarrassed man hit the play button and made a display of more firmly positioning the headphones. Charlotte grinned and turned to Simon. “Nosy people.”

  Just then the plane went through turbulence, and the fasten seatbelt lights came on.

  “I’ve never liked flying,” Charlotte admitted. “And this is my longest flight. It’s lucky I had my passport. I’ve not needed it since flying to the Bahamas from Miami, and that was at least five years ago.”

  “Brought mine to LA because I figured Spain might be on the itinerary, but I had no idea how I’d manage a flight. I barely had enough to cover the gasoline.”

  “You were right about the shot in the video panning to the headboard, then pausing on the photograph; that was deliberate. It served no purpose but to send you a message. They may be trying to recoup their losses, but those monsters want you to know they have control of the man you love.” Charlotte drank another bottle of vodka, saying it was to steady her nerves.

  “It should have been obvious to me that they’d find out Thad was my lover. I should have told Thad about Emilio, David, and Irene when they showed up at Howard’s ranch—and explained about Felipe! The first time that Thad asked me about going to LA, I should have gone with him. I can be so self-centered sometimes! All I could think about was going back to college—and I didn’t see any way to do that unless I lived at the mansion. I knew Thad was unhappy.”

  “Hindsight being twenty-twenty and all that,” Charlotte pointed out, her words beginning to slur with her fourth bottle of vodka. “Let me go over the full plan with you before we land.”

  “Good idea. I need to convince myself it’s going to work.” Simon took a long sip of the drink he had been holding, now watered down from melted ice.

  “We have surprise on our side, Simon. I spoke to Wally when you were sleeping, by the way. We have to visit him when this is over. He’s more of a friend than you realize.”

  “I know about his past with drugs. I’m sure he understands what I was going through, but I threatened his livelihood. I can’t blame him for being so pissed off at me.”

  “While I was on the phone with Wally, he looked at his copy of the MIFED catalog and realized that one of the titles listed in the company’s ad belonged to him.”

  “They probably got a stolen master tape. The night staff at the labs sometimes sells tapes out the back door. Nicolò acquired many of his best titles that way, but at least he made sure the films were in the public domain, even if he didn’t point that out to his clients.”

  “Them having Sorority Lettuce Fights gave me an idea. Wally agreed to put his notarized signature on a statement confirming that he owns the copyright and that Chanteuse Film Distributors has exclusive international representation. Wally said when this is over, I can keep the rights; I know I can make money on it. What straight guy wouldn’t want to watch dorm girls drenched in salad dressing, rolling around in a gigantic bowl of lettuce? As soon as we get to the MIFED exposition center, we need to see if Thad is their office. I’m betting they have Felipe and Thad there to promote El Amigo Rico. Don’t porn stars usually hang out at the office to attract buyers?”

  Simon nodded. “Having the boys around is the safest way to do the promotion, especially for gay videos. They’re still illegal in a lot of countries—actually, straight porn is too. Even in Italy, a company can’t be open about what they have in their catalog. The authorities overlook little ads that don’t call too much attention to themselves, like the one they put in the Hollywood Reporter.”

  “Once we confirm that Thad is in the office, we’ll make our move. We’ll get the Italian authorities to confront them on a copyright violation, and we’ll follow right behind. That Emilio guy and the other two will freak out when they see the authorities heading toward their office.” Charlotte’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “And you know Thad will find a way to bolt when he sees us.”

  “The first year I was at MIFED with Nicolò, something similar happened—Vestron Video came with a letter of ownership for one of the films he had in the MIFED catalog. Nicolò bribed his way out of the situation, but the ordeal took an entire afternoon. We had to shut the office down and follow the police to their station in the exhibition hall.”

  “While the police are around, we’ll have a chance grab Thad and get the hell out of Milan.”

  “I’m nervous about seeing Thad.”

  “Stop worrying about that, Simon. For Pete’s sake.”

  “That’s not it, Charlotte. I’m afraid I’ll melt into a bundle of emotions at the very moment we need to act.”

  “I’ll kick your butt if it comes to that—and I’ll kick Thad’s if he dawdles.”

  “We’ll be landing soon,” Simon noted, looking out the window and recognizing the Italian Alps.

  “It won’t take long to rent a car and check into the hotel. I’ve arranged everything,” Charlotte said. “Tomorrow, we put the plan into action.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Simon knew his way around from past visits, easily navigating the rental car from the airport to the old quarter of Milan, directly to the hotel that Nicolò had chosen when the two of them had first traveled to Italy, and which Charlotte selected because Simon had mentioned it while bragging to hustlers at the Spotlight about his world travels: the Hotel Windsor. Charlotte checked in, conversing with the desk clerk, who spoke English—a requirement for staff, since the hotel catered to British buyers who came to Milan for fashion shows.

  Despite the urgency of the situation, Charlotte wanted to sightsee, perhaps go to a club, but in the end she admitted that they needed a good night’s rest before setting the plan into motion. The hotel’s proximity, however, allowed a brief excursion to the Piazza del Duomo, which at night took on particular allure for curio shoppers roaming the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II. Simon pointed out the pasta bar located inside, which specialized in gourmet spaghetti dishes, one with popcorn shrimp being Simon’s favorite. The pair quenched their hunger before exhaustion hit hard—the meal proved to be an enervating feast—and then collapsed on the single bed. They were sure no time had passed when Simon awoke to the street noise below their window and roused Charlotte, laughter overtaking weariness as Simon pointed out that they could now tell people they had slept together!

  The October air, crisp and biting, arrested their sluggishness as Simon and Charlotte started the day with a plate of assorted cheeses and ciabatta—advertised by the hotel restaurant as nouvelle cuisine. The two-cylinder rental car seemed to take an eternity to warm up as Simon studied the map of Milan provided by the concierge. In the past, he had taken taxis from the hotel to the exposition center, and now, even with the map to follow, he took several wrong turns before recognizing any landmarks that see
med familiar.

  Simon flashed Charlotte’s MIFED credentials to the guard manning the heavy pole that served as a barrier preventing people from entering the crowded exposition center, the film market overlapping with an event that showcased industrial machinery. The small car became sandwiched between tractor trailers loaded with earth-moving machinery, a mouse among dinosaurs. Simon maneuvered to a parking lot by a rear exit to MIFED’s main building. The same hall had been assigned to the event each year, allowing Simon to know where the exit could be found from inside. Simon led the way, trekking between cars, to the main entrance, where Charlotte signed a form, received a guest pass for Simon, and hung her exhibitor card from the lanyard provided in the welcome package. Simon kept a sharp eye for anyone who might recognize him, people to whom he owed money, or worse, a premature encounter with Emilio, David, or Irene. Charlotte located her booth among a carnival of kiosks, each decked with displays in various stages of completion, with half-unloaded boxes of advertising posters, video machines, and other wares needed to get buyers’ attention. Charlotte’s space was delineated by poles, white canvas flaps, and a small sign with blue lettering: Chanteuse Film Distributors. Charlotte admired the booth for a moment before taking out her camera and snapping pictures that would form the basis of future advertising, allowing her to legitimately claim a presence at MIFED.

  “So much potential at this market,” Simon noted, remembering his successful days in the not-so-distant past. “I see lots of buyers that never made a contract with me—not every bridge was burned.”

  “I’m with you—so much potential,” Charlotte pined. “Let’s forget about Thad and start distributing the brochures I had sent to the business center over there.”

  “Evil, evil woman,” Simon growled.

  “This was supposed to be my coming out a businesswoman. If the plan succeeds, we’ll both have to go into hiding, at least for a while.”

  “I can’t consider it possibly failing,” Simon responded. “Thad is being held captive, and we have to save him—we have to.”

  Setting a map of the exhibitor halls on a table at the coffee bar, Charlotte found the location of Hollywood Pictures, SA, marking the proximity of the building exit.

  “It’s down there.” Simon pointed toward a sign above an archway that read Exhibits D–H, a corridor with ceilings high enough to allow twenty-foot actors to gaze upon the crowd from movie posters, Greek gods watching the affairs of humankind, ready on a whim to assert their will.

  Simon grabbed Charlotte’s arm and froze—a few yards away stood a man akimbo in the archway! Simon ducked behind a line of customers waiting for their cappuccinos, but Charlotte stared, studying the details of the man’s manner and dress as he extended his hand toward a fellow in a tailored suit, a buyer who had arranged an early appointment.

  “That’s Emilio.”

  “Of course.” Charlotte grimaced. “My God, he’s uglier than he looks in the video.”

  “His suits are always shabby like that. It’s a thing with him, puts people off guard. He isn’t like David, who’s younger and somewhat handsome, always in a black suit and dark tie. Irene is the brains behind their evildoings; she’ll be dressed in the height of fashion.”

  Simon heard a familiar voice approaching from one of the corridors and motioned for Charlotte to stand with him behind a wall of movie ads. David and another man—the chauffeur in El Amigo Rico—flanked Thad and Felipe. They were so close that if any one of them turned around, the plan would be foiled. David and the chauffeur were engaged in some manner of argument, paying little attention to their surroundings, unlike Thad, who spotted Simon and Charlotte immediately.

  “That was a close one.” Simon could barely get out the words in his agitated state.

  “Poor Thad! I can’t stand this.” Charlotte’s face contorted into a mask of anger. “Did you see Thad’s expression? I thought he was going to call out to us.”

  “He’s smarter than that. Thad drew Felipe’s attention in the opposite direction as soon as he saw us.”

  “Thad knows we’re acting on a plan,” Charlotte surmised.

  The brief glance was all Simon needed to forget his worries that Thad was in Spain by choice. Charlotte was right that his first impulse had been to run into Simon’s arms.

  “Let’s have an espresso and wait until more of the offices open for business and the crowds arrive,” Charlotte suggested.

  Slowly sipping espressos, the pair nervously watched the corridors fill up with buyers, many accompanied by translators whom they’d hired at the central office, until they finally summoned the courage to act. The map had shown them the location of the posto di polizia, which was close to the registration desks. The chief of police spoke English.

  “Sir,” Simon began, “here’s a document proving that the catalog of a distributor at this year’s event includes a film that their company does not own. My colleague here, who is exhibiting as Chanteuse Film Distributors, has a contract for exclusive rights worldwide.”

  The chief closely examined the letter; notarized papers held significant legal weight in Europe, a discovery Simon had made when negotiating the original agreement with the distribution company owned by David, Emilio, and Irene. It had been an agreement for films that had passed into the public domain but nonetheless could be treated as licensed films because of the notarized documents he provided, allowing a defense if challenged by competitors. The trick was to be first on the market.

  After a few questions, which Simon responded to as if he were an attorney, the chief marched the group toward the office of Hollywood Pictures, SA. From his experience with Nicolò, Simon knew how threatening it was to have Italian authorities come to an office. Simon’s heart pounded as loudly as the poor soul’s in “The Tell-Tale Heart,” and he was sure someone would hear it, especially as they neared the office and he began to fear the randomness of fate. Nicolò had bribed the authorities when they confronted him; the fearsome trio in the office they now approached might have the chief of police on their payroll. Perhaps Simon and Charlotte were being delivered not to a confrontation on a copyright issue, but to whatever dispensation Emilio, David, and Irene commanded.

  Simon clasped Charlotte’s hand as they approached the entrance to Corridor D–H, Simon’s knees buckling as he struggled to regain his composure. Their success depended on quick reflexes, alertness the key to seizing the advantage once the chief brought out the notarized letter. Simon hoped a subtle hand gesture would be enough to alert Thad so they might slip away to the exit and dash off in the two-cylinder Citroën. So much could go wrong.

  Businesslike David, stern Irene, and jovial Emilio stood in their office greeting potential buyers, handing out one sheets, and depending on Thad and Felipe to draw attention to a table by the door with stacks of postcard-sized ads for the pornography. The police chief, accompanied by two deputies, blocked the doorway, with Simon and Charlotte a few paces behind them. Attentive to a plan being put into motion, Thad, followed by Felipe, casually moved past the officers as if they had just completed browsing advertisements that, if the officers had looked closely, would have revealed the identity of the two men leaving the office as the stars of an illicit video. The officers didn’t notice; they remained dedicated to the task at hand, focused on the owners of the company who had rented the office, the confrontation catching Simon’s nemeses off guard—they didn’t notice Simon and paid no attention as Thad and Felipe escaped.

  Simon took the lead, briskly walking toward the end of the corridor near the espresso kiosk, the machines spewing steam and grinding coffee beans, providing a noisy soundtrack to the group’s flight. The chauffeur, a ruffian in the guise of bodyguard, driver, and gofer, balanced a tray of six espresso cups as he determinedly retraced his route to the office, lost in his effort to keep the drinks from spilling, and though he approached within a few steps, he failed to spot Thad or Felipe. The group entered the main hall and headed toward the exit, their pace increasing to a brisk trot w
hen the illuminated red letters of USCITA came into view above doors that beckoned with the allure of pearly gates. When Simon pushed hard against the metal bar and threw wide the double doors—alarms sounding because it was an exit meant for emergency use only—the group filed into the parking lot. Simon pressed against the resistance of air compressors designed to keep the doors from slamming shut, maddening work as they refused to comply; he stayed until they latched into position and the alarms stopped blaring. Charlotte was leading the way toward the rented Citroën as Simon caught up. Fear glowed from their ashen faces; only Felipe held his composure, his feelings of gratitude overcoming trepidation.

  “No time to delay, jump in,” Simon insisted, pulling forward the bucket seat to allow Thad and Felipe to squeeze into the back. He caught Thad’s glance and softly touched his arm, that brief moment charging him with such affection he almost lost the sense of urgency—but they had to move, and move with haste. Thad folded his long legs against the front seat and motioned for Felipe to squeeze in next to him. With Charlotte beside him in the passenger seat, Simon drove as fast as the labored engine could manage, but not before glancing in the rearview mirror to see that the exit doors remained shut.

  The next obstacle was the front gate—what to expect? Hopefully, the police remained with Emilio, David, and Irene; they would never have indicated that the two men leaving the office were associated with their company. But what about the coffee-carrying bodyguard? He would have hesitated within sight of the office when he saw the police and would have noticed the absence of Thad and Felipe. Would he race off to find them, knowing that whatever the police wanted with his bosses, his job was to keep Thad and Felipe from escaping?

  Simon’s throat tightened as the gate attendant approached the driver’s side window. Think rationally! Simon told himself, to little avail, fully expecting the attendant to draw a weapon and order everyone from the car. But the attendant waved in a friendly manner and pulled a lever that caused the red-striped pole to rise—and the group’s spirits with it. Simon drove toward the main road, closely watching the speed limit until he made it through the city center and onto a highway heading south out of Milan. Charlotte and Simon had only thought about the rescue, giving no thought to what would come next.