Bruce Wagner - Still Holding

“That’s four, dickwad.”

“Now what’d Rusty say when I axe him what that screenplay was about? What’d he say, Cass?” She thought about it as she went on the nod. “ What’d he say? Yeah, that’s right — now she finally cain’t say nothin — now she won’t —cause she knows what he said. The man said it was a murder mystery. Right? OK? And where did he say it took place? At the track! Or some kinda horsey farm. ‘Member, Cass?”

“That’s right,” said the wife, eyes sealed. The cigarette was about to burn the tip of her finger. “That’s right.” He knew that she knew where he was going. “I’ll give you that.”

“Yeah well, you gonna give me more than that, Mamasita. While my guitar gently fuckin weeps. I wouldn’t be surprised if Russell Crowe Junior laid the whole motherfuckin crime out in that scriptuh his. OK?”

“OK,” said Cassandra. When you’re right, you’re right. “OK, Columbo?”

“I ain’t shittin, Sherlock. And I mean everything that fucking happened, all right? OK? All right? QuestraWorld gonna own that shit — the whole fuckin deal. All right?”

“I see what you’re saying,” she said.

“I knew that you would. Took me to think of it, though, didn’t it?”

“You just might get that raise, babylove.”

“Better believe I’m gonna get that raise, Mommy!” he said, then whooped. “You gonna suckle my grody anus too. Taste like tutti-frutti. Gon’ give in to all my hostage demands! Fifty thousand in change, for a night at Hustler’s! In beautiful downtown Gardena!”

“We ain’t closed no deal with Rusty yet. ”

“ When we close. That’s fair. That’s fair — I’m a fair man. Though I do think you should give me ten up front, for a finder’s fee. For puttin the fuckin pieces together. But I’m fair and I got a mind like a motherfucking iron trap and don’t you or anybody forget it! That’s why I got all my millions. Trick is, to get the screenplay off him before it becomes evidentiary.”

“Fore somebody else buys it.”

“That’s right. That’s right. Now you got it. I don’t think he gonna be in a hurry to tell the police about it. But when HBO find out, HBO gonna want it.”

“Naw,” said Cassandra, shaking her head. Her lids were heavy, like a groggy seer’s. “We wan’ somebody else. HBO is for the TV show. Don’t want to dip in that well too many times. We want this for a DreamWorks.”

“That’s why you’re QuestraWorld CEO,” said Grady respectfully.

“Could be for a Soderbergh,” said Cassandra.

“Maybe. Hell, George Clooney love to get his hands on this!”

“Too old to play Rusty.”

“Then he could just direct or exec produce. They gonna be linin up for this motherfucker! So get your checkbook ready, girl! Get your yayas out!” He clapped his hands, rubbing them together as if to make a fire. “Whoo-eee! We got ourselves a major project acquisition. ” He did a war dance, then turned to Becca. “You gonna help, ain’t you? Help persuade him? Make you an E.P. for that. Wanna exec? We can swing that, cain’t we, Mama Cass? Cain’t we swing exec prod for our girl here?”

“Associate,” said Cassandra.

“She gonna be an invaluable part of the package — she was the girlfriend and she’s hot and she’s a look-alike! Look-alikes ‘bout to be hot as mother fuckers! And shit —bitch works for Viv Wembley! I didn’t even think of that shit! It all ties in!” He coughed a dewy fogbank of smoke. “Our little girl works for the wicked witch former fiancée! The bi-atch who dumped Lightfoot — in sickness and in health my left nut. Bi-atch left his twappy rear end standing at the altar!”

“Waitin around for that slut with a buncha bald old Buddhists with hard-ons,” said Cassandra, stirring from a nod.

“It’s a Shakespearean fucking tragedy, man! I love it! I love it!”

“Associate producer,” said Cassandra, from the viraginous depths.

“That’s what I said.”

“You said exec. ”

“Well associate’s what I meant.”

Negotiations

LISANNE CALLED TO SAY that she was from the sangha and had a gift for the house. Burke said that, since the arrest, things had been kind of crazy and he wasn’t having anyone over until next week. She didn’t want to intrude and suggested they meet somewhere nearby. Burke was half-intrigued and wanted to check her out. Maybe she was fuckable.

The voice on the phone had been familiar but he couldn’t quite place it. When he saw her, he laughed: the chubby one with the angel’s face who loved cleaning toities. That was all right. He liked ’em with a little extra padding.

She had that blissed-out look, scarier in a nascent fattie — bit of a red flag but so what? He’d seen crazier. Anyhow, what could she do, suffocate him with her tits? She was a Buddhist, and they didn’t act out. He got right to it and asked about the gift. She said she was good friends with the studio executive Tiff Loewenstein (Burke, of course, knew who he was, even though the connection to his son didn’t at first compute; maybe Loewenstein was a sanghanista ) and how Tiff had entrusted her to bring an ancient Buddha statue to Kit’s trailer during his last shoot. As a present. Out of curiosity, she asked Burke if he’d had a chance to see that Buddha and he said no, everything in the Benedict house of any value had been inventoried, packed, and stored by the insurance folks. That’s when Lisanne told him she had an “energetic replacement.” She called it by its unwieldy name and Burke couldn’t help but laugh out loud. He was starting to think she was a certified wack job, but what the fuck, she cleaned a mean toilet. He was in an expansive mood. Lisanne remained unperturbed. She said she’d been given the Supreme Bliss-Wheel Integration Buddha as a gift herself — not from Tiff — and that it was now her desire to pass it on as a sacred offering to the Lightfoot household. When she told him it was extraordinarily expensive, that got his attention. The piece, she said, celebrated Paramasukha-Chakrasamvara, a tantric deity that Kit seemed destined to possess. Lisanne recounted how she saw his son at UCLA on the night the monks ululated over that very god in the midst of their solemn public ritual. “Tantric” got his attention too, and he asked Lisanne if she knew anything about tantric sex. Burke said he read somewhere that Sting was into it and that it was all about holding back orgasm. Lisanne said she didn’t know much about that but was sure that all things tantric could only be taught by an authentic guru. Burke said he had a special guru when it came to sexual matters and she asked who and he said Master Bates. He said his friends called him Stormin’ Norman and he ran the Master Bates Motel. She smiled but didn’t get it — any of it. His blood was up and he got horny for her. Burke asked if she knew anything about kundalini. Lisanne said that it was “serpent energy” and began talking about chakras from the little she’d learned in books. Burke started calling it cunt alini — what the hell, she’d either leave the table or not, she was a wack fattie and he wanted to ball her, he didn’t give a shit what her reaction was — and said Master Bates told him that after cunt alini it was always important to smoke a cigarette and eat Rice-A-Roni. He couldn’t get a rise out of her and that made him hornier. He asked when she wanted to bring over the Super Tampon Piss-Wheel Segregation Buddha and without batting an eye Lisanne said the best time would be when no one from the sangha was there because she didn’t want others to think she was currying favor. He thought: Well well well. Maybe this fat cuntalini’s a dirty bastard. Maybe ol’ loosey-goosey’s in what we call a righteous orangutan heat. Lisanne said the Buddhist community was a bit incestuous and even enlightened people gossiped and misinterpreted. Incestuous — you got that right, fatso. Daddy’s going to do some major rectal probe enlightening. Show you nirvana six ways from Sunday. She said the Supreme Bliss-Wheel Integration Buddha would do wonders for the house and was even partially responsible for the arrest of the person who did his son — and all beings — such a terrible wrong. Get on that Piss-Wheel of Fortune. Integrate that Buddha-bootie. Super-ream that lard-ass bumper butt. She said the Buddha would help Kit to heal his crown chakra. Burke said his crown needed healing too. Said he had a purple crown with a big ol’ hole that needed healing, big-time. Master Bates called the geyser-hole Old Unfaithful.