“Deal,” I said. A moment later the gate slowly opened.
The winding, unkempt drive, the clutch of cars parked off to the side, the guy in a red jacket standing at the front entrance.
“Beat the hell out of it, I don’t care,” I said as I handed over the keys. “It’s rented.”
I expected the bare living room to be crowded with the rich and the beautiful, but it was mostly empty, a couple sitting on the floor off in the corner making out, a man standing by the window with a drink in his hand, looking dazed and confused. There was a tray of canapés on the coffee-table crate and Bryce on the couch, legs curled beneath her, paging through a magazine.
“Where’s the party?” I said.
Bryce looked up and smiled. Somehow her smile immediately brightened my day. I had the strange sensation that I was being smiled at by Chantal, the real Chantal.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” she said.
“Neither did I.”
“Did you bring my mother?”
“She decided to stay and talk with Monica.”
Bryce seemed a little disappointed. “I guess that’s nice.”
“It looks like Monica’s sleeping over.”
“Like a pajama party,” said Bryce.
“Just like,” I said. “What did your mother tell you about the name Chantal?”
“Nothing. She told me today that some people would come by and call her Chantal and that she’d explain everything to me later.”
“And you had no problem with that?”
“My mom’s an actress, she’s always playing a part.”
“And she acts for Uncle Theodore?”
“When she’s not too busy at the office.”
“I see. Where is everybody?”
“In the screening room. Downstairs, just across from the billiards room. Theodore’s showing his newest film.”
“Why aren’t you there?”
“I’m not allowed. Theodore’s very strict.”
I took a step forward, stooped down to speak with her at eye level. “How is he strict?”
“He takes care of me, he looks out for me. I don’t know. He’s very nice to me and all, but he’s just strict. He likes to have me around but he doesn’t let me do anything. No boyfriends, makes me watch my language. He’s like an ornery grandfather or something, you know? I don’t know. He’s old-school about a lot of things.”
“Okay,” I said, standing. “Good.”
“When are you and Monica leaving?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Don’t be late for the plane.”
“Don’t worry. That way?”
She nodded in the direction of the stairs. I popped a canapé in my mouth and climbed down the stairs, following the sound to the screening room. An uncomfortably primal sound.
It was a large room, larger than the living room, with all kinds of easy chairs and couches facing a huge screen. A video projector was attached to the ceiling, and the sound was being blasted out of a set of speakers hung fore and aft on the walls. The chairs and couches were mostly filled, the air was thick with smoke, the picture was bright, the dialogue was loud and sparklingly clear.
Although how clear it needed to be to make out the “Ooh, baby, yeah, that’s the way I like it, do it again and again and again” is a little beyond me.
I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. Sometimes, even though my experiences as a lawyer have hardened me to the hard facts of the world, I still find myself inexplicably clinging to a hope that all is not as foul as I imagine it to be. And inevitably that’s when I tumble into the cesspool.
Yes, the movie on that giant screen, Theodore’s newest film production, was baldly pornographic. Not pornographic the way some in this country would call a square sponge with buckteeth and tight briefs pornographic, I mean out-and-out, too-hard-core-for-late-night-hotel-television pornographic. I mean pornographic enough to shock me into almost swallowing my tongue and lead me into a coughing spasm that had many in the room turning around to stare at the disturbance.
And one of the stares came from Theodore Purcell himself, with his ubiquitous thick cigar. He was sitting on a couch next to a tall lovely with elegant posture and a strong jaw. She had one arm over his shoulder, one hand on his knee, and she was whispering in his ear even as he stared at me.
Purcell said something to the woman, she turned to look at me. Then Purcell struggled to his feet. Without saying a word, he passed by me and stalked into the billiards room.
When I followed him inside, he closed the door behind us. The room was bright, quiet except for the moans slipping in from the screening. The tip of the cigar glowed. The cue ball made a lonely comment on the long brown table. From the window I could see the murky pool, glowing strangely in the night. I almost expected to see a body floating facedown, but then I remembered that only shows up in act 3.
“Ahh, surprised to see you here, kid,” said Theodore Purcell.
“I thought I’d check out your new movie,” I said. “I didn’t know you were making such fine family entertainment these days. How long have you been making porn?”
“Not so long. It’s like guerrilla filming, in, out, and lots of dough. A few flops in this town and you’re on your back, but I’m building up my stake again, getting ready to return to the fray. I got a script that can’t miss. Best script I’ve read in years. Not a porn script, legit.”
“The thing you showed me yesterday?”
“Not that crap, that was just a test. What I got is the real deal. It’s genius, brilliant. Another Tony in Love, but better than Tony in Love. It’ll put me right back on top. You want a look?”
“No thanks.”
“I might need a line producer on the project.”
“What about Reggie?”
“He’s in over his head. I need a different kind of smarts, street smarts. Earn yourself a credit, get a start in the business. Hell, everyone wants to be in the business. You interested?”
“Not a whit.”
“Think about it. The offer’s open. But I’m surprised to see you here.” Purcell rolled the white ball hard against the far bumper and, when it shot back, he stopped it deftly. “I thought you’d still be with Chantal.”
“She’s not Chantal. She’s a hoax, and not a very good one at that.”
“She’s the real deal, kid.”
“As real as anything in this town, I suppose, but she’s not Chantal.”
“What does your friend Monica think?”
“She wants to believe, she’s trying hard, but that doesn’t make Lena any less a fraud.”
“And how are you so certain?”
“Oh, it’s a little bit of everything,” I said. “She knew nothing about Chantal’s family life, her friends or uncles. When Monica mentioned Chantal’s cousin Ronnie, the cousin who was like a sister to Chantal, she didn’t know who that was. She tried to fake it, but Ronnie’s not a he, she’s a cute little blond girl who might have been the most important person in Chantal’s life.”
“She’s repressed most of her early memories.”
“Give it a rest, Teddy. She didn’t know anything that you couldn’t have known to tell her. And then you had her blame the wrong guy. Richard is not the beast type, it’s not in him. He’s a coward, always was. He was more sinned upon than sinner when it came to his sister, you ask me. But the biggest tip-off was that Lena said none of your friends knew that you had taken her. But we know that’s a lie. Charlie knew what happened to Chantal, didn’t he?”
“He tell you that?”
“Nope.”
He rolled the cue ball against the far bumper again, caught it with a quick, violent snatch. “Then you’re guessing.”
“Sure I am. That’s what lawyers do, but I’m right.”
“If you have all the answers, kid, then what do you need from me? What are you doing here?”
“I originally came to bring Bryce home,” I said.
His blue eyes startled, his jaw slackened, his head tilted to the side. He was the very image of a man trying to figure out the impenetrable mystery of another man’s thoughts. He stuck his cigar in his mouth, sucked in a mouthful of smoke, and then he got it, all my worst suspicions, in one quick revelation he got it. And in that instant I could sense not the nervousness of guilt but the relaxation of someone who knows that his adversary doesn’t yet know enough to hurt him.