Chili said to the rich kid, “Hey, Ronnie? Look at me.”
It caught him by surprise. Ronnie looked over. So did Bo Catlett.
Chili said, “You have a piece of a movie, Ronnie. That’s all. You don’t have a piece of Harry. You don’t tell him what you want to see that has to do with his business, that’s private. You understand what I’m saying? Harry told you we’re doing another movie first, before we come along and do Freaks. And that’s the way it’s gonna be.”
“Excuse me,” Ronnie said, “but who the fuck are you?”
“I’m the one telling you how it is,” Chili said. “That’s not too hard, is it, figure that out?”
He watched Ronnie turn to Catlett, who hadn’t moved or changed his expression much. Ronnie said, “Cat? . . .”
Chili watched Catlett now. He still couldn’t understand how Harry missed seeing the guy was colored. He was light-skinned and his hair was fairly straight, combed over to one side, but that didn’t mean anything. The color itself didn’t mean anything either, Chili thinking the guy wasn’t any darker than he was. Colored, but could you call him black? The guy was taking his time, giving the situation some thought.
When he spoke it was to Harry, Catlett asking, “What’s this movie you’re doing first?”
A simple enough question.
Chili said, “Harry, let me answer that.”
He saw Catlett looking at him again.
“But first, I want to know who I’m talking to. Am I talking to you, or am I talking to him?” Meaning Ronnie.
He saw Catlett’s expression change, not much, but something in the eyes, with that dreamy kind of half smile, that told Chili the man understood. The man saying now, “You can talk to me.”
“That’s what I thought,” Chili said. “So let me put it this way. Outside of Freaks, it’s not any of your fuckin business what we do.”
Now it was between them, Chili giving the guy time but that’s all, no way out for him except straight ahead or back off and the guy knew it too, looking at it and not moving a muscle, making up his mind . . .
Christ, when Harry stepped in, Harry reaching over the desk to pick up the script, Harry telling them, “This is the project, Mr. Lovejoy. I’m not trying to pull anything on you guys. This is it, right here.” Harry blowing the setup and there wasn’t a thing Chili could do about it.
He eased back in the chair and saw Catlett watching him with that dreamy half-smile again.
Ronnie was saying, “Mr. Loveboy ?” reaching for the script. “What is it, Harry, a porno flick?”
Harry saying, “Lovejoy,” backing away, holding the script to his chest.
“Okay, but what’s it about?”
“It’s fluff, it’s one I got involved in as a favor to a writer friend of mine. The guy’s terminally ill and I owe it to him. Believe me, it’s nothing you’d be interested in.”
Ronnie said, “You think we go see the shit you turn out? Cat says he’s seen better film on teeth.” He looked at Catlett and said, “Right? I bet it’s porno. Harry’s lying to us.”
Chili watched Catlett, the guy taking it all in, Harry telling them now the script was unread-able—holding it with both hands against his body—it needed all kinds of work. Catlett pushed out of the chair, in no hurry, and Chili had to look up to see his face, with that bebop tuft under his lip.
“I got an idea,” Bo Catlett said to Harry. “Take our twenty points out of Freaks and put ’em in this other one, Mr. Loverboy. What’s the difference.”
“I can’t do it,” Harry said.
“You positive about that?”
“It’s a different kind of deal.”
“Okay.” Catlett paused. “Then be good enough to hand us our money back.”
“Why?” Harry said. “We have a deal, a signed agreement to do a picture I guarantee you is gonna get made.”
“Take some time, think about our going into this other one,” Catlett said. “Will you do that?”
“Okay, I’ll think about it,” Harry said. “I will.”
“That’s all we need to know, Harry. Till next time.”
Chili watched Catlett look over before he turned—not long enough to be in each other’s face, just a look—and walked out, Ronnie following after him.
Now they were in Harry’s Mercedes, Chili not saying much for the time being: getting his thoughts together, deciding what kind of attitude he should have if he was going to stay in this deaclass="underline" take it seriously or just go along and see what happens. So when Harry said, “That’s where Lew Wasserman lives,” Chili didn’t ask who Lew Wasserman was. When Harry said, “There’s where Frank Sinatra lives,” Chili did look up, caught a glimpse of the house, but saw mostly Frank Sinatra’s bushes, nice ones.
“You want to look at a star’s home you can’t even tell it’s there,” Harry said, “I’ll take you past Bob Hope’s place, over in Toluca Lake. You want to get a look at actual homes you can see, I’ll show you where two of the Three Stooges used to live, also Joan Crawford, George Hamilton . . . Who else? The house Elvis Presley lived in when he was out here. It’s in Bel Air. You know he made over thirty pictures and the only one I saw was Stay Away, Joe? A wonderful book they completely fucked up.”
Chili kept thinking about right after the limo guys left saying to Harry, “What’s wrong with you? What’d you tell ’em all your business for? Whyn’t you do like I told you?”
Harry said, “What?” Acting surprised and then offended. “I had to tell ’em something.”
“What’d we talk about, Harry, before? The way to handle it, you weren’t gonna tell ’em shit. Isn’t that right?”
“It didn’t work out that way.”
“No, ’cause you wouldn’t shut up. You want these guys off your back, I tell you okay, here’s how we do it. Next thing I know you’re saying yeah, maybe they can have a piece of Mr. Lovejoy. I could-n’t believe my fuckin ears.”
“I said I’d think about it. What does that mean? In this business, nothing. I was buying time. All I have to do is hold ’em off till I make a deal at a studio.”
“That’s the difference between me and you,” Chili said. “I don’t leave things hanging. If I wanted Karen to talk to Michael I’d say, ‘Karen, how about talking to Michael for me?’ I told the limo guys it wasn’t any of their fuckin business, period. They don’t like it, that’s too bad. What’s the guy gonna do, Catlett, take a swing at me? He might’ve wanted to, but he had to consider first, who is this guy? He don’t know me. All he knows is I’m looking at him like if he wants to try me I’ll fuckin take him apart. Does he wanta go for it, get his suit messed up? I mean even if he’s good he can see it would be work.”
“He could’ve had a gun,” Harry said.
“It wasn’t a gun kind of situation. You don’t pack, Harry, less you’re gonna use it. You say Ronnie plays with his in the office. That told me something right there. Then, soon as I saw the colored guy, I knew he was the one in charge. I asked him—you heard me—he goes yeah, without coming right out and saying it. Ronnie’s sitting there, he don’t even know what I’m talking about.”
“What colored guy?”
“Who do you think? Catlett. I don’t know how you could’ve missed that. He lets the rich kid think he’s the boss, but Catlett’s pulling his strings. You don’t see that?”
Harry said, “You think he’s a black guy?” Sounding surprised again.
“I know he is. Harry, I’ve lived in Brooklyn, I’ve lived in Miami, I’ve seen all different shades and mixtures of people and listened to ’em talk and Catlett’s a black guy with light-colored skin, that’s all. Take my word.”