John Connolly - The Lovers

“My image?”

He realized that he had taken a wrong turn, and backpedaled furiously.

“It’s just a phrase. It means nothing. What I meant to say was, this is your story. If it’s to be told properly, it has to be told in your voice.”

“No,” I said. “That’s where you’re wrong. It doesn’t have to be told at all. Don’t come to my home, or to my place of work, again. I’m sure you know that I have a child. Her mother won’t talk to you. That I can tell you for sure. If you approach them, if you even pass them on the street and catch their eye, I’ll kill you and bury you in a shallow hole. You need to let this slide.”

Wallace’s face hardened, and I saw the man’s own inner strength reveal itself. Instantly, I felt tired. Wallace wasn’t going to fade into the night.

“Well, let me tell you something, Mr. Parker.” He mentioned the name of a famous actor, a man around whom rumors of a sexual nature had long circled without finding purchase. “Two years ago, I agreed to write an unauthorized biography of him. It’s not my area, all that Hollywood bullshit, but the publisher had heard of my talents, and the money was good, given the subject. He’s one of the most powerful men in Hollywood. His people threatened me with financial ruin, the loss of my reputation, even the loss of limbs, but that book is due to be published in six months’ time, and I can stand behind every word of it. He wouldn’t cooperate, but it didn’t matter. The book is still going to appear, and I’ve found people who’ve sworn that his whole life is a lie. You made a mistake punching me in the gut. It was the action of a frightened man. For that alone, I’m going to claw and dig in every dirty corner of your life. I’m going to find out things about you that you didn’t even know existed. And then I’m going to put them in my book, and you can buy a copy and read about them, and maybe then you’ll learn something about yourself, but I can tell you for sure that you’ll learn something about Mickey Wallace.

“And if you ever lay a hand on me again, I’ll see you in court, you fuck.”

With that, Wallace turned around and trudged back to his car.

And I thought: Aw, hell.

Aimee Price dropped by later that evening, after I had left another message for her at her office detailing most of what had happened since Wallace had appeared at the Bear. She declined coffee and asked if I had any wine uncorked. I didn’t, but I was happy to open a bottle for her. It was the least that I could do.

“Okay,” she said, once she had sipped the wine carefully and decided that it wasn’t about to send her into convulsions, “this isn’t my area, so I’ve had to ask around, but here is where we stand, in legal terms, on the book. Potentially, as the Jin &rs subject of an unauthorized biography of your life, you could bring a lawsuit for a number of legal reasons-libel, misappropriation of the right of publicity, breach of confidence-but the most likely avenue in your case would be invasion of privacy. You’re not a public figure in the way an actor or a politician might be, so you have a certain right to privacy. We’re talking about the right not to have private facts publicized that might prove embarrassing if they’re not related to matters of public concern; the right not to have false or misleading statements or suggestions made about you; and protection against intrusion, which means literal physical intrusion on your privacy by entering onto your property.”

“Which Wallace did,” I said.

“Yes, but he could argue that the first time he came by was to remonstrate with you, and to leave his card, and the second time, according to what you’ve told me, was at your invitation.”

I shrugged. She was right.

“So how did that second visit go?” she asked.

“Could have gone better,” I said.

“In what way?”

“Not punching him in the stomach would have been a start.”

“Oh, Charlie.” She seemed genuinely disappointed, and I felt even more ashamed of my actions earlier that day. In an effort to make up for my failings, I recounted my conversation with Wallace in as much detail as I could remember, leaving out any mention of the woman and child that he claimed to have glimpsed.

“You’re telling me that your friend Jackie threatened Wallace too?” she said.

“I didn’t ask him to. He probably thought that he was doing me a favor.”

“At least he exhibited more restraint than you did. Wallace could have you charged with assault, but my guess is that he probably won’t. Clearly he wants to write this book, and that may over-ride any other concerns as long as you didn’t do him any lasting damage.”

“He walked away under his own steam,” I said.

“Well, if he knows anything about you at all, he can probably consider himself lucky.”

I took the hit. I wasn’t in any position to argue.

“So where does that leave us?”

“You can’t stop him writing the book,” she said simply. “As he said himself, a lot of the relevant material is a matter of public record. What we can do is request, or otherwise obtain, a copy of the manuscript, and go through it with a fine-tooth comb looking for instances of libel, or egregious invasion of privacy. We could then apply to the courts for an injunction preventing publication, but I have to warn you that the courts are generally reluctant to permit injunctions of this kind in deference to the First Amendment. The best we could hope for would be monetary damages. The publisher has probably had a warranty and indemnity clause inserted into Wallace’s contract, assuming the contract has been formally agreed upon. Also, if the whole thing has been handled right, there will be a media-perils insurance policy in place to cover the work. In other words, not only will we not be able to stop this horse from bo Jd tf tlting, but we probably won’t even be able to do more than close the door halfway once it’s gone.”

I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes.

“You sure you don’t want some of this wine?” said Aimee.

“I’m sure. If I start, I may not stop.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll talk to some more people and see if there are any other avenues open to us, but I don’t hold out much hope. And, Charlie?”

I opened my eyes.

“Don’t threaten him again. Just keep your distance. If he approaches you, walk away. Don’t get drawn into confrontations. That goes for your friends too, regardless of their good intentions.”

Which brought us to another problem.

“Yeah, well, that could be an issue,” I said.

“How?”

“Angel and Louis.”

I had told Aimee enough about them for her to be under no illusions.

“If Wallace starts digging, then their names may come up,” I said. “I don’t think they have any good intentions.”

“They don’t sound like the kind of men who leave too many traces.”

“It doesn’t matter. They won’t like it, Louis especially.”

“Then warn them.”

I thought about it. “No,” I said. “Let’s see what happens.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Not really, but Louis believes in preventive measures. If I tell him that Wallace may start asking questions about him, he could decide that it might be better if Wallace didn’t ask any questions at all.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” said Aimee. She finished her wine in a single gulp, and appeared to be debating whether or not to have more in the hope that it might destroy any memory of what I’d just said. “Jesus, how did you end up with friends like that?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied, “but I don’t think that Jesus had anything to do with it.”