Daniel Price - Slick

“Shit. If that’s how they treat me, I don’t even want to think about how they gonna treat Hunta.”

“They’ve been setting him up as the bad guy all week. With or without you—”

“It’s with me,” she argued. “If I’m the better story, then he’s in a lot more trouble with me.”

“Yeah, but you’re forgetting the twist. This is a rescue operation. You’re saving him. You know it. I know it. He knows it.”

“My roommates don’t know it.”

“Honey, you’re going out of your way to upset yourself.”

“They know I’m lying,” she said. “They saw me right after the Christmas party. I was fine. I was—”

“Harmony—”

“I kept saying it was the easiest money I ever made…”

There she went. Whether she was covering her mouth or the receiver, I didn’t know. But I could read the tears in her silence.

“Harmony? Harmony, listen to me. Are you there?”

She sniffed. “I’m here.”

“You just went through one of the most intense experiences a human being can go through. Your mind is moving a million miles an hour right now, and it’s taking you to dark places. Just slow it all down, okay? Step back into the light.”

“What are people gonna think about me?”

“Only good things,” I assured her. “This is my story now. And I’m not going to stop until the world sees you the way I do.”

“As a victim,” she groused.

“That’s not the way I see you and you know it.”

After a few more sighs and sniffs, Harmony settled down. I desperately wanted to put her at ease and get started on my task list. All I’d managed to do so far was throw on a robe and make myself a Venti-size cup of coffee.

“You got any family, Scott?”

“Not anymore. Both my parents are dead.”

“Did they know what you do? I mean, for work?”

I smiled wanly. “They knew I was a publicist, if that’s what you mean.”

“But how did they feel about you doing, you know, this kind of stuff?”

I’d never done this kind of stuff before, but that wasn’t the thing to tell her.

“They knew I loved my job. They knew I was good at it. They were just happy with that, I guess.” I switched beats. “Although they had a good friend. A rabbi. He gave me a hard time. I remember once he pulled me aside and said, ‘Scott, what you do is not a good living. It may be a job. It may be a well-paying job. But you’re playing tricks on people, and that’s not a good living.’”

“Damn. What’d you say to him?”

“I simply looked him right in the eye and said, ‘Silly rabbi! Tricks are for kids!’”

Harmony screamed with laughter. “You didn’t really say that!”

“No. But I would have.”

“If?”

“If any of that actually happened.”

She screamed again. “You set me up?”

“And you walked right in,” I crowed. “I’m still the tricksta. Still the slicksta.”

“You’re terrible!”

“Anything to get a smile out of you.”

“You’re too much.”

I checked the clock. “Listen, sweetheart, you’re done for the day. I want you to rest and enjoy your new digs, okay? Take a nice long bath. Order a huge meal. Spoil yourself. You’re a celebrity now. Besides, you need to recharge your phone. I don’t want to lose you to a low battery.”

She took a deep breath, then let out a stretching moan. “Maybe I’ll take a nap. If I can.”

“Good. Recharge your own battery.”

“Thank you, Scott.”

“For what?”

“For making me feel better, like always.”

I looked out the window, beaming. “Harmony, I’d move heaven and earth for you. You know that.”

“I know,” she said softly. “You the only one I trust.”

That lit me up in dangerous ways. As my feelings and senses were heightened, so were my urges. I wanted to devour a huge rack of lamb, even though it was only breakfast-time. I wanted to sprint down the street, even though I was barefoot. Now I wanted to hug Harmony, hard. I wanted to envelop her, to wrap myself around her so tight that I wouldn’t be able to tell her heartbeat from mine. Although the feeling was hot, my reasons were shamefully cold. This was a woman who, just by leaving the apartment, had managed to upstage the twenty-million dollar opening to a hundred-million-dollar theme park. This was a woman who, in just forty minutes, had scored at least thirty million dollars’ worth of comparative ad exposure. Oh, Harmony. I liked you from the moment I met you, but now — God help me — you turn me on.

________________

Once the nation’s newest celebrity disappeared inside the Miramar, the networks reluctantly returned to scheduled programming. The cable news channels, however, continued to squeeze every last drop out of Gail Steiner’s peach. They paraded an endless list of experts, authors, lawyers, pollsters, professors, prognosticators, the whole Goya beanery.

And yet as cerebral as these people were meant to seem, their conclusions were jam-packed with masturbatory drama. This new development has HUGE implications! For Hunta. For the entertainment industry. For the victims of Melrose, their families, their families’ lawyers. For all of us! God, yes! This affects all of us!

Surprisingly, very few of the strokes were devoted to Harmony herself. To the media, she was still just a stamp-sized pinup, a thumbnail tease. You could practically hear the news editors howling as they launched their flying monkeys out the window. Go, my pretties! Find me everything you can on this girl! Go! Go!

Fortunately, one of the minions had been given a head start. Hell, I’d slipped Andy Cronin the key to Harmony’s whole life story. By now, of course, he knew exactly where it fit in. By now, he was typing as fast as he could.

________________

Scott. It’s Maxina. We need to convene. Come to my hotel at 10am. Eighth floor. L’Escoffier Room.

I had just finished showering when she left the message. I knew there’d be some kind of emergency status meeting, but this seemed eerily formal. Why the change of venue? Why the fancy meeting room? Who else was coming?

At a quarter to ten, I arrived at the Beverly Hilton. Maxina had been staying there for the past week, courtesy of the Recording Industry Association of America. She wasn’t taking a dime from Mean World’s coffers. They couldn’t afford her. But Maxina wasn’t in this for the money. Like the RIAA, she remained focused on the larger battle. Why else would she leave her beautiful home in Atlanta? Her husband and sons. Her orthopedic chairs. To save one measly rapper? No way. In her mind, in her heart, she was fighting to save music.

Simba, on the other hand, had no love for the business. Many were starting to wonder if she had any love left for her husband. But when Maxina summoned her to the Hilton, she arrived just as promptly as I did. She was standing in the elevator bank when I caught her dark and lovely scorn.

“Is it me,” she asked facetiously, “or have you gotten even taller?”

She was dressed in a loose black blouse and tight gray jeans. Her long hair was clipped back. She hid herself under a hat and dark glasses, but nobody seemed to recognize her. A hefty bodyguard flanked her left side, just in case someone did.

“Simba. Hey. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Oh, and why not?”

“You want the real answer or the polite one?”

An elevator opened. The bodyguard escorted us in, then pushed back a plump tourist who tried to embark with us.

Simba removed her glasses. “Let me guess. You heard I was being a real pain in the ass.”

“Something like that.”

“That’s all right,” she replied as the doors slid closed. “I heard you were fucking Harmony.”