Get Shorty: A Novel

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Chili said, “Why you let the daughter walk all over you.”

“Yeah, I questioned that, and the answer I got, it’s what the audience expects, it’s what they want to see. I said, but if I’m not stupid, if I realize in the end I’m being used, why don’t I realize it right away? Warren goes, ‘But if you did, Karen, we wouldn’t have a movie, would we?’ In this tone. You know, like I’m an idiot. It really pissed me off. I said well, if that’s the way you want to do it, I’ll see you.”

“They try to talk you into it?”

“Elaine did, in a way. I got the feeling the studio forced the script on her and she has to go with it. She said, well, the story isn’t exactly a great idea—she knows—but it’s involving, reflective, has resonance, a certain texture—those are all story department words. I said, ‘Yeah, and lines no one would say except in a movie.’ Warren goes, ‘But that’s what it is, Karen, a movie.’ Elaine stared at him without saying a word, like she was thinking, Where did I get this guy? You have to understand, there are movie lines and there are movie lines that work. Bette Davis comes out of a cabin, walks up to a guy on the porch, gives him a flirty look and says, ‘I’d kiss you but I just washed my hair.’ I love it, because it tells you who she is and you have to like her. But some of the stupid lines I’ve had to deliver . . .”

Chili said, “You want to get back into it, don’t you?”

“I know I’m better than what I used to do. In Harry’s movies I was always the bimbo. I walked around in a tank top and those fuck-me pumps with stiletto heels till it was time to scream. Harry kills me, he says don’t ever take this business seriously, and he’s the most serious guy I know. He puts studio people down—the main reason, because he’d love to run a major studio.” Karen nodded saying, “If he ever did, he might not be bad. The cheapskate, I know he’d save them money.” She started to smile, just a little, saying, “Another one of my favorite Bette Davis lines: ‘He tried to make love to me and I shot him.’ ”

Chili smiled with her. He said, “I was thinking, you know what you could do? Make a deal with Harry. You’ll call Michael if he’ll give you a part in the movie, a good one.”

Karen said, “You’re kidding,” but kept staring at him until finally she said, “In the first place Michael will never do the picture—”

“Harry told me he loves it, he flipped.”

“Michael is known for his flipping. He flips over a script, and then when the time comes to make a deal, he flips out. But what I started to say, Michael would never make the picture with Harry, he doesn’t have the track record. It would not only have to be a big-name producer, Michael would also demand script, director and cast approval, and he’d get it.”

Chili watched her finish pouring the Coke.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“Which one?”

“You want to get back into it, don’t you?”

“I’m thinking about it,” Karen said. “I’ll let you know.”

13

Chili wondered if Leo was attracted to sweaty women in sundresses. Across the counter from him in Hi-Tone Cleaners on Ventura, Studio City, Annette looked kind of damp, clammy. She was on the heavy side, needed to fix her blond hair, but wasn’t too bad looking. It was seven P.M. The help had left and Annette was closing up when Chili walked in, timing it to be the last customer. He gave his name, Palmer.

Annette stood looking through an alphabetical file on a turntable. “You don’t have your receipt?”

“No, I don’t,” Chili said. He didn’t have a pair of pants here, either, but that’s what he told Annette he’d brought in. “They’re light gray.”

She said, “Are you sure? I don’t see no Palmer in the file.” She said fahl with the same kind of accent Fay had. Chili wondered what Leo gained trading for this one. Outside of about twenty-five pounds and those big round jugs in her brown-print sundress. He told her he’d brought the pants in yesterday and needed them since he was leaving tomorrow for Miami. Annette said, “Taking a vacation?” Chili told her no, it was where he lived. She said, “Oh?” showing a certain amount of interest.

Chili had on his dark-blue muted pinstripe, a blue shirt with a tab collar and rust-colored tie. He appeared reasonable about his pants, not too concerned; he told her if she couldn’t find them it was no big deal, and smiled, easy to get along with.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Annette said, nice about it because he was, “I can check, see if there’s a pair of pants without a ticket on them.” She stepped over to the conveyor loaded with clothes hanging in clear plastic covers, reached up and pressed a button. The conveyor started moving, bringing the clothes past her before it circled and returned them to the back part of the shop. Annette said, “I think you’re gonna have to help me out here.”

Chili walked around behind the counter to stand next to her. He looked at clothes going past for a minute before saying, “I’ve seen you someplace. . . . You weren’t by any chance in Vegas last week.”

Annette had her hand raised to the button, so she could stop the conveyor if they saw his pants. She looked past her bare shoulder at him and he could tell she was smiling, even though he couldn’t see her mouth. She said, “No, but I was in Reno. How about that?”

“Getting a divorce?” Kidding with her.

“I took care of that ‘fore I come out here. Got rid of excess baggage. No, this fella I was with took me.

“I hope your luck was better than mine. I dropped a bundle and it wasn’t my laundry,” Chili said, getting into it, showing Annette what a nice simple guy he was.

She told him she only played the slots and did okay. “But would you believe the fella I was with lost

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over a hundred thousand dollars and it didn’t even bother him?”

“Jesus,” Chili said, looking from the cleaning going by to Annette. “Guy must be loaded, drop that much and not worry about it.”

“His philosophy is you win some, lose some.”

“I guess that’s as good a way to look at it as any.”

“He’s from Miami, Florida, too, originally.”

“Yeah, what’s his name?”

“I doubt you’d know him.”

“He move out here?”

“I’m trying to get him to. He spends the whole day out to Santa’nita, loves the racetrack.”

“You don’t lose it as fast betting the horses.”

“Oh, he wins, don’t worry about that. You know the state lottery in Florida?”

“Yeah? He won that?”

“He won, I mean, big. But soon as his wife found out . . . His wife—listen to this. She’s divorcing him at the time, but then when she finds out about the money she wants half as part of the settlement. He said the hell with that noise and took off.”

“I don’t blame him,” Chili said.

“Changed his name, too. The wife never even played the lottery herself. But soon as he won, oh, now she wants in on it. Larry said he’d burn the money before he’d give her any.”

“I imagine he’s doing what he never dreamed of in his life,” Chili said. “Right up there on top.” He turned his head to look at Annette’s bare shoulder and blond hair, dark strands of it combed up from her neck and held with a plastic comb. He said, “Your friend knows how to pick winners,” waited for Annette to look at him and gave her a nice smile.

“Why don’t you shut this place down and we’ll go

have a drink.”

“What about your pants?”

“I got other pants. Come on, let’s do it.”

“Gee, I’d like to,” Annette said, “but I have to get cleaned up and meet my fella. He gets back from Santa’nita we meet at his ho-tel, have a drink in the Polo Lounge and go on out for dinner.”

“Sounds good.”

“You been there, haven’t you?”

“Where’s that?”

“The Polo Lounge, in the Beverly Hills Hotel? It’s late now—the best time’s around six, you see all kinds of celebrities in there.”

“Is that right?”

“I’ve seen movie stars right at the next table.”

“You have? Like who?”

Annette said, “Let’s see,” and thought about it staring at the clothes going by. She pressed the button to stop the conveyor. “I can never think of their names, after. There was one, he played in a western use to be on TV. What was his name? . . . They give you, with your drinks they give you corn chips with that guacamole dip? No charge. You see men, they have a phone brought to their table and you actually hear them talking about movies they’re gonna make and what stars’ll be in them. It’s exciting to hear it, movie stars being mentioned like they’re just, you know, regular people.”

“I’ll have to stop by there,” Chili said, “maybe next time I come out. The Beverly Hills Hotel, that’s where your friend stays, huh?”

“He has a suite costs him four hundred a night. Living room, bedroom, a balcony you can sit out on . . .”

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“Sounds good. Listen, I was thinking,” Chili said, “your friend’s wife, she could have somebody looking for him, hire somebody.” He watched Annette giving it some thought. “In case anybody comes by asking about him . . .”

“I’ll just say I never heard of him.”

“Yeah, except if the person happens to know you’re an old friend maybe.”

“I see what you mean,” Annette said, giving it some more thought. “Just say he hasn’t been here then.”

Chili moved back around the counter telling her not to worry about his pants, he said those things happened. He was anxious to get going, stop and have a bite to eat before taking that canyon road, full of hairpin turns, back over the mountain to Beverly Hills. For a moment he wondered what the mountain was called and thought of asking Annette, but changed his mind and was almost to the door when she said, “I remember who it was now, the movie star? Doug McClure.”

Chili paused to say, “Oh,” nodding.

“He was so close,” Annette said, “I could’ve touched him.”

He wondered if maybe the lights outside the Sunset Marquis had been left over from Christmas: little pinpoint lights in the trees along the front, on both sides of the canopy that came out from the entrance. It was a slick place, only three stories hidden away in a lot of foliage down the hill from Sunset Boulevard—outdoor dining and the pool right in the middle, in a courtyard. Harry had recommended it and made the reservations, saying it used to be popular with rock groups and guys whose wives had kicked them out of the house for one reason or another. What Chili had in 325 was a twohundred-buck suite with windows facing apartment balconies about fifty feet away; but that was okay, he wouldn’t be looking out much. There was a phone in the bedroom, another one on the counter separating the living room from the kitchenette. Chili got the number of the Beverly Hills Hotel. When he asked for Larry Paris, the operator said just a moment, she’d connect him, Chili wondering how the little drycleaner had ever come this far as dumb as he was, going to the track every day and living in a four-hundred-dollar suite Chili would bet couldn’t be any nicer than this one. It had an oriental look to it, maroon lamps shaped like pagodas. He let it ring till the operator came back on to say Mr. Paris’s room was not answering. Chili had no intention of speaking to him anyway. He hung up and phoned Tommy Carlo at home, six P.M. in Miami.

“How about Nicole?”

“You mean Nicki,” Tommy said. “I got hold of the guy use to be her manager through the booking service. You remember him? Marty, little guy with hair down to his ass?”

“Yeah, sorta.”

“He’s the A and R guy for a record company in Los Angeles, scouts new talent. He says Nicki’s getting ready for a gig at Raji’s on Hollywood Boulevard. She’s been rehearsing there, putting a new band together and that’s prob’ly where you’ll find her. Raji’s on Hollywood Boulevard. I think Marty said east of Vine, you got it?”

Chili was making notes on the Sunset Marquis pad by the phone. “Yeah. What about Bones? When’s he coming?”

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“I don’t know any more’n I told you already.”

“You find out anything, call me, okay?”

Chili gave him the number and said, “I’ll see you.”

“When?” Tommy said.

It stopped him.

Chili said, “I don’t know, I may be going into the movie business, see what it’s like.”

Now it sounded like Tommy was stopped. “What’re you talking about? You wanta be a movie star?”

“I’m no actor. I’m talking about producing.”

“How you gonna do that? You don’t know shit about making movies.”

“I don’t think the producer has to do much,” Chili said. “The way it is here, this town, it goes out in all directions with all kinds of shit happening. You know what I mean? Like there’s no special look to the place. Brooklyn, you got streets of houses are all exactly the same. Or Brooklyn in general, you know, has a bummed-out look, it’s old, it’s dirty. . . . Miami has a look you think of stucco, right? Or high-rises on the beach. Here, wherever you look it’s something different. There homes’ll knock your eyes out, but there’s a lot of cheap shit, too. You know what I mean? Like Times Square. I think the movie business is the same way. There aren’t any rules—you know, anybody saying this’s how you have to do it. What’re movies about? They’re all different, except the ones that’re just like other movies that made money. You know what I’m saying? The movie business, you can do any fuckin thing you want ’cause there’s nobody in charge.”

Tommy said, “Hey, Chil, you know what I think?”

“What?”

“You’re fulla shit.”

He sat down on the sofa to relax for a while in his new surroundings with the oriental look, turned on the TV and punched remote control buttons to see what they had out here. . . . As many Spanish programs as Miami . . . The Lakers playing Golden State . . . Shane. He hadn’t seen Shane in years. Chili got low in the sofa, his feet on the glass coffee table, and watched from the part where Shane beats the shit out of Ben Johnson for calling him sody pop to where he shoots Jack Wilson, practically blows him through the wall. It was almost real the way the guns went off in that movie, loud, but still not as loud as you heard it in a room, shooting a guy in the head just a little too high, and now the guy was coming out here.

Chili left his rented Toyota in the hotel garage, hiked up Alta Loma the half block to Sunset and had to stop and catch his breath from the climb, out of shape, before walking along Sunset till he was opposite white storefronts across the street. It was dark, a stream of headlights going by. He stood waiting for a break in the traffic, his gaze on the white building, and began to wonder why a light was on in Harry’s office. He was pretty sure it was Harry’s, the wide window with the venetian blinds. Maybe the cleaning woman was in there.

Chili jogged across the wide street, let himself in and climbed the stairs to ZigZag Productions, dark except for a light at the end of the hall. It was Harry’s office, but not a cleaning woman who looked up from the desk as Chili entered.

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It was the colored limo guy, Bo Catlett, wearing glasses and with a movie script open in front of him.

Catlett said, “This ain’t bad, you know it? This Mr. Lovejoy. The title’s for shit, but the story, man, it takes hold of you.”

14

Chili walked toward the desk thinking he’d better nail the guy right away, not say a word, hit him with the phone, wrap the cord around his neck and drag him out. Except the guy had not busted the door, jimmied the lock, he wasn’t robbing the place, he was sitting there with his glasses on reading a script. The guy telling him now, “I started reading, I couldn’t put it down. I’m at the part—let’s see, about fifteen pages to go— Lovejoy’s coming out of court with his sister, can’t believe what’s happened to him.” Chili reached the red leather chairs facing the desk, the guy saying, “I want to know how it ends, but don’t tell me.” Saying, “Yeah, I can see why Harry’s dying to do it.”

The guy talking about the script, but saying to Chili at the same time, Let’s see how cool you are.

Chili sat down in one of the red leather chairs. He unbuttoned the jacket of his pinstripe suit to get comfortable and said, “I don’t like the title either.”

For a moment he saw that dreamy look in the man’s eyes, almost a smile.

“You understand I knew Harry was lying,” Catlett said. “I’m talking about his saying this was

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n’t any good, but holding on to it, man, like you have to break his fingers to get it from him.” Catlett paused. “I’m explaining to you what I’m doing here. Case you think I come to rob the place, rip off any this dusty old shit the man has.”

Chili said, “No, I’d never make you as a burglar, not with that suit you have on. It tells me what you do—when you’re not taking people for rides in your limo.”

“It’s funny, I was thinking along the same line,” Catlett said. “Guys in your business you don’t see dressed up much anymore, but you have a nice suit of clothes on.”

“You mean the movie business,” Chili said.

There was that little slow gleam in Catlett’s eyes again, showing understanding, maybe appreciation.

“Movie people don’t dress up either, ’cept the agents. You see an agent duded up it means he’s taking a serious meeting someplace, at a studio or a network. Or he wants you to think it’s what he’s doing. Or the older crowd, at Chasen’s, in the front room, they dress up. But I’m talking about your main business, working for the Italians.”

“Yeah? How you know that?”

“Man, listen to you. You street, same as me, only we from different sides of it,” Catlett said. “See, the first thing I wonder about I see you, I ask myself, What’s this man Chili Palmer doing here? Is he’n investor? Harry called you his associate, but what does that mean? I never heard your name spoken in the business or read it in Variety or The Reporter or anyplace. I kept thinking till it came to me. It’s wiseguy money financing Lovejoy and Frank DePhillips, the man, put you here to look out for Harry, see he doesn’t mess up or keep people like

myself from bothering him.”

“You’re part right,” Chili said.

“Part or mostly?”

“You know DePhillips?”

“Enough about him.”

“Then you oughta know if I worked for a guy like DePhillips,” Chili said, “we wouldn’t be talking. I would’ve thrown you out that window by now. I don’t work for him and I don’t work for Harry, either. It’s what he said, I’m his associate.”

Catlett slipped his glasses off. “You must bring something heavy to the deal.”

“That’s right, me,” Chili said, and watched the man’s smile come all the way, showing goldwork on his teeth.

Catlett said, “But no special talent, huh? Walk in off the street and become a film producer. You the financial or the creative side?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Can I ask you—how ’bout your lead? Who you see for Lovejoy?”

“We’re getting Michael Weir.”

“Hey, shit, come on. How you gonna do that?”

“I put a gun right here,” Chili said, touching the side of his head, “and I tell him, ‘Sign the paper, Mikey, or you’re fuckin dead.’ Like that.”

“I wonder,” Catlett said, “would that work. Man, it would simplify dealing with movie stars. They get temper’mental on you, lay the piece alongside their head. ‘Get back to work, motherfucker.’ Yeah, Michael Weir, he’d be good. You got anybody else?”

“We’re working on it.”

“You know who I see for Al Roxy? Harvey Keitel. The man could do it with his eyes closed. But

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you know who else? Morgan Freeman. You know who I mean?”

Chili said, “Yeah, Morgan Freeman. But he’s a colored guy.”

“Where’s it say in the script he’s white? Color is what the part needs, man, somebody to do it has some style. The way it is now Ronnie could do it, play himself, a cracked-out asshole. You also what you need is a good woman part, get some love in it. The only women you have now, you have Lovejoy’s sister, on his ass all the time, and you have that whore friend of Roxy’s, but she’s only in two scenes.”

Chili was trying to think of the name of the girl in the one page of the script he’d read. Not Irene . . .

“You know what I’m saying? A good juicy woman part.”

Chili gave him a nod, still trying to think of the girl’s name.

“You have Lovejoy smelling his flowers, right. So what you need is a woman different than he is to come along and help him out. Like, say, Theresa Russell, man. Or the one, what’s her name? Greta something . . .”

“Greta Scacchi,” Chili said.

“That’s the one. That’s how you pronounce it, huh, Skacky? I never knew that. I heard Scotchy, I never heard Skacky.”

“You’re hearing it now,” Chili said.

“Sexy woman. You can go either way, Greta or Theresa Russell,” Catlett said. “Take Roxy’s friend the whore and make her more important. You understand? Like he beats up on her, so she goes to Lovejoy, tells him something important will help him out, just about the time he’s thinking of giving up.”

Chili remembered the girl’s name in the script. “There’s Ilona.”

“What about her?”

“Get something going there.”

“With Ilona? You know how old Ilona is?”

Chili got out a cigarette and lit it. He felt the guy watching him. “Yeah, she’s young.”

“She’s sixteen,” Catlett said, “same age as Lovejoy’s kid, Bernard, she calls Bernie.”

“I was thinking you could make her older.”

The guy kept staring at him.

“You do that, you lose her telling things to Lovejoy about his own son he don’t know about, when he thought he was so close to the boy.” Catlett paused a moment and said, “Have you read this?”

“Part of it, yeah.”

“Part of it?” Catlett said, sitting back in Harry’s creaky chair. “You know what it’s about?”

“I know Lovejoy’s following this other guy . . .”

There was a silence, not long, Chili and Catlett looking at each other until Catlett said, “Al Roxy, the one he’s following around, killed his kid.”

“Killed him—how?”

“Ran over him with his car. On his way home drunk, hits the kid crossing the street and keeps going. It’s right in front of Lovejoy’s flower shop. He sees it happen and almost goes to pieces right there, his boy laying dead. Before this we know Lovejoy’s wife left him and all he has is this boy. The boy and his flower business, that’s his whole life.”

Chili didn’t say anything.

He hadn’t read the script, so the guy was telling him about it and it seemed okay. Why not? Saying now there was a witness who got the license number . . .

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“So the cops pick up Roxy, he says he didn’t know he hit anybody. It’s the next day, so there’s no way to tell he was drinking, but they have evidence, find some blood on his car matches up . . . Anyway, Roxy’s lawyer does a job on the court and all the man gets is his license suspended, can’t drive a car for six months. Lovejoy, he’s at the court hearing, can’t believe it. That’s all? The motherfucker kills my kid and that’s all he gets? That’s what he’s thinking, but see, the man is too . . . well, he’s too timid to come out and say anything. After it’s over Roxy says to Lovejoy, ‘Tough break. But the kid shouldn’t have run out in the street.’ Or, ‘The kid should have watched where he was going.’ Something like that.”

“What’s Roxy do?” Chili said. “I mean, what kind of work?”

“He runs a body shop. You know, bump and paint. Does good too. This is in Detroit it takes place, Harry’s hometown, though he don’t have a fondness for the city like I do. I lived there nine years.”

A question popped into Chili’s mind.

“You ever do time?”

The guy started to smile, then let it go.

“I been bound over, but no jail time, no.”

“So what happens?”

“Lovejoy gets it into his head Roxy, sooner or later, is gonna drive his car, this Cadillac. So what Lovejoy does, he takes his florist delivery van and changes it over. Paints out the name, has peep-holes cut in the sides and gets in there with a video camera. He’s gonna stay on Roxy every time the man shows himself. The minute he ever drives off in a car, Lovejoy is gonna have it on tape and show it to the cops.”

“Ilona helps him out?”

“She drives him after school and they talk about Bernard, the kid. See, but now he’s letting his business go to hell and his sister gets on him. Her and her husband, this big asshole that’s always giving Lovejoy a hard time. It’s good the way it starts out, but then it gets slow in the middle. You see Roxy, what he’s doing. Likes to drink, likes to gamble, but you don’t see him do anything so bad you get the idea the man’s dangerous. You know what I’m saying? Like if Lovejoy gets too close and Roxy sees what he’s doing, Lovejoy could get taken out. What I was thinking was if Lovejoy finds out the man’s got some kind of crooked deal going.”

“Using his place as a chop shop,” Chili said. “Buys hot cars, cuts ’em up and sells the parts.”

“Yeah, that’s the kind of thing. Then get the woman in it, she’s the one tells Lovejoy what the setup is.”

“He catch the guy driving or not?”

“Yeah, he catches him, videos the man driving down the road. Catches him the last day he’s gonna do this.”

“The guy doesn’t see him?”

“Never suspects a thing. So Lovejoy puts it on him, shows his tape to the cops. They pick up Roxy, there’s a court hearing and what you suppose he gets? His license taken away again, this time for a year. Lovejoy is right back where he started only worse. He gets sued by Roxy for annoying him, invading his privacy, different other legal shit and the court decides in favor of Roxy. Lovejoy has to pay him a hundred thousand in damages. Coming out of court his sister is calling him a fool, saying now you

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have to sell your business and you got nothing. That’s where I ended off.” Catlett picked up the script. “With, yeah, fifteen pages to go.”

Chili said, “You don’t know how it ends? Take a look.”

“I don’t cheat, look at the end when I read something. But it’s good, huh? What would you do,” Catlett said, “you were Lovejoy?”

“I know guys,” Chili said, “would cut Roxy in half with a chain saw.”

“Yeah, but what would you do?”

“I’d have to think about it.”

“I’d shoot the man in the head,” Catlett said. “Set him up and do it.”

“You like to think you would,” Chili said. “Take a look, find out.” Chili reached over, picked up one of the red-covered scripts from the desk and opened it. “What page you on?”

Catlett was looking at his script. “Ninety-two. They come out of the courthouse, his sister’s on his ass. Then the brother-in-law, Stanley, gets on him.”

Chili found the page, began to read:

EXT. COURTHOUSE – DAY

ANGLE ON Lovejoy’s van pulling up in front. Ilona gets out, her expression distraught as she looks up and sees:

REVERSE – ILONA’SPOV

Lovejoy and Helen coming out of the courthouse followed closely by Stanley. Helen is already speaking as they pause at the top of the stairs.

ANGLE ON LOVEJOY, HELEN AND STANLEY

Lovejoy sees Ilona, a wistful smile touches his face.

HELEN You’re so smart, aren’t you? Now you have nothing, and you brought it all on yourself.

STANLEY If you’re thinking of coming to us for help, forget it.

Lovejoy turns to Stanley with a level gaze.

LOVEJOY I wouldn’t dream of it, Stanley. Besides, you both have your own problems.

STANLEY (scowling) What’re you talking about?

LOVEJOY

Being married to each other. (starts down the stairs)

Have a nice day.

ANGLE ON ILONA, WATCHING

As Lovejoy approaches and we hear Stanley CALL after him.

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STANLEY (O.S.) No more Sunday dinner at our house, Roger!

Lovejoy gives Ilona a wry grin.

LOVEJOY At least some good has come of this.

They get in the van and drive off.

Chili looked at Catlett turning pages, skimming through the script. “I think when Stanley opens his mouth Lovejoy oughta pop him and walk away, not say a fuckin word.”

“That’s ’cause you don’t know the man,” Catlett said, turning another page. “Next, you see him alone in his flower shop watering some plants, thinking what he should do. The man likes working here and now he’s gonna lose it. Next, you see him in the van again, going by Roxy’s place.”

Chili turned pages to catch up, came to a scene, Roxy—it looked like Roxy was having a party.

“Inside the office there,” Catlett said, “Roxy’s celebrating his putting it to Lovejoy, having drinks with his friends . . . Now you see Lovejoy in the van parked across the street, waiting, but we don’t know what for. Looking like he’s doing some more thinking . . . Back to Roxy, he’s getting drunk, say he wants everybody to come out to his place on the lake . . . Now Lovejoy is listening to symphony music on the radio, still in the van . . . Roxy, inside the office, is now getting ugly, has a fight with the woman wants to take him home.”

Chili turned some more pages. “What’s I-N-T?” “Interior,” Catlett said. “Inside. Roxy goes out . . .” “What’s P-O-V?” “Point of view. Lovejoy’s P-O-V, like he’s seeing

it when Roxy comes out and gets in his Cadillac. Drives off—now we looking at the Cadillac through Lovejoy’s windshield, following him.”

Both Chili and Catlett turned a page. “He’s got the video camera with him,” Chili said.

“He’s gonna get Roxy driving again.” “That’s what he’s doing,” Catlett said. “Roxy spots him.” “I could see that coming.” “He makes a sudden U-turn.” For several moments they both read in silence. “I knew it,” Catlett said. “He’s on Lovejoy’s ass

now.” Chili kept quiet, reading the scene:

EXT. CITY STREETS – NIGHT

ANGLES ON the Cadillac chasing the van through traffic, squealing around corners, narrowly missing cars at intersections, the Cadillac, sideswiping a parked car.

INTERCUT

Roxy at the wheel of the Cadillac, recklessly determined.

Lovejoy in the van, glancing at mirror apprehensively.

GET SHORTY 145

EXT. INTERSECTION – NIGHT

Quiet, little traffic, then none. Until suddenly the van comes around the corner and ducks into an alley. We SEE the rear lights go off. Now the Cadillac takes the corner and flies past the alley. After SEVERAL BEATS the van backs out, proceeds at a normal pace.

EXT. LOVEJOY’S FLOWER SHOP – NIGHT

The van arrives and parks at the curb across the street. Lovejoy gets out slowly, exhausted. As he starts across the street:

HEADLIGHTS POP ON

down the block. We hear an engine ROAR. And now a car, the Cadillac, is hurtling toward Lovejoy in the middle of the street, frozen in the highbeam of the headlights, in the exact spot where his son was killed.

Catlett said, “Hmmmm,” sitting back, finished. Chili said, “Wait,” still reading, “don’t say noth

ing.” He was on the second to last page of the script.

INTERCUT

Roxy hunched over the steering wheel, wild- eyed. Roxy’s POV – to see Lovejoy through windshield.

CLOSE ON Lovejoy standing in the street.

REVERSE – Lovejoy’s POV–car hurtling toward him.

Roxy’s POV as Lovejoy suddenly bolts for the flower shop. EXT. FLOWER SHOP – NIGHT AN ANGLE – on the Cadillac swerving after

Lovejoy, who dives out of the way just in time. INT. CADILLAC – CLOSE ON ROXY His look of horror as he sees: THROUGH THE WINDSHIELD The plate glass front of the flower shop sudden

ly in front of him. INT. FLOWER SHOP (SLOW-MOTION SEQ.) – NIGHT The Cadillac crashes through the plate glass,

plows across the store interior to smash into the refrigerated showcase and come to a dead stop. INT. FLOWER SHOP – ANOTHER ANGLE – NIGHT

Lovejoy enters, cautiously approaches the Cadillac, looks in to see:

ROXY IN CADILLAC His bloody countenance among flowers, plants, the man obviously dead.

GET SHORTY 147

Chili turned to the last page. Now the cops are there, lot of activity. Medics come out with Roxy in a body bag. Lovejoy watches, depressed, looks up. There’s Ilona. Ilona takes him aside and “with wisdom beyond her years” tells him it’s over and a few other things about flowers, saying, “Besides, making things grow is your life.” Besides—they used that word all the time in movies, but you hardly ever heard it in real life.

Catlett said, “Well?”

Chili looked up, closing the script.

Catlett said, “Didn’t shoot him, like he should have.”

“He didn’t do anything,” Chili said. “The guy gets killed, yeah, but what’s Lovejoy do?”

Catlett came up in the chair to lean on the desk.

“He makes it happen.”

“What, he planned it? He dives out of the way to save his ass, that’s all.”

“What you don’t understand,” Catlett said, “is what the movie is saying. You live clean, the shit gets taken care of somehow or other. That’s what the movie’s about.”

“You believe that?”

“In movies, yeah. Movies haven’t got nothing to do with real life.”

Chili was about to argue with him, but changed his mind and said, “I don’t like the ending.”

Catlett eased back again. “You want to change it?”

Chili didn’t answer, looking at the ZigZag script cover, opening it then and looking at the title page.

MR. LOVEJOY An Original Screenplay by MURRAY SAFFRIN

The title was the first thing that ought to be changed. And the guy’s name. Murray Saffrin was better than Lovejoy.

“You don’t care for the ending,” Catlett said, “and I don’t like the middle part. I’m thinking what we could do is fix it. You hear what I’m saying? Get some heat in it. Make the people’s hands sweat watching it. You and me, we could do it. It’s our kind of shit we talking about here. Like the action Roxy’s into you mentioned, doing stolen cars.”

“Fix up the girl’s part,” Chili said. An idea came to him and he said, “We might even be able to get Karen Flores.”

Catlett looked up at him. “Karen Flores . . .”

“She’s been out of movies a few years, but she’s good.”

Catlett said, “Karen Flores, I know that name . . .”

“Change the ending,” Chili said, “so Lovejoy’s the one makes it happen, he isn’t just standing there.”

“We could do all that,” Catlett said, “you and me, sit down and write the script over where it needs it.”

Chili opened the script again, flipped through a few pages looking at the format. “You know how to write one of these?”

“You asking me,” Catlett said, “do I know how to write down words on a piece of paper? That’s what you do, man, you put down one word after the other as it comes in your head. It isn’t like having to learn