Memorial

XXVII.Chester

CHESS enjoyed not returning Maurie’s calls.

Laxmi came by a few times, with raw foods and various herbal concoctions. Shit like Gaba, Traumeel, and L-Tryptophan. They smoked dope together, and in the back of his mind he always thought something sexy might go down. (He let her rub the Traumeel on his shoulders but nothing “happened.”) He told her not to tell Maurie she was visiting and Laxmi seemed cool with the request. Not because they were doing anything illicit — it just wasn’t anybody’s business. Though maybe he shouldn’t have voiced that; he doubted if she’d already blabbed but wondered all the same. (Maybe his remark would give her an incentive.) Chess didn’t even really know if she and the Jew were still “together.” Since Laxmi hadn’t said anything to the contrary, they probably were. He could just see them patching things up — if the guy laid another half-grand on her, she’d chill right out.

That isn’t fair. Laxmi wasn’t like that. She’s a good girl. Must be the pain talking.

It wasn’t until after she left that Chess realized he hadn’t been turned on by the minimassage, and that spooked him. Could be the fistfuls of vikes he was taking…or maybe it was nerve damage. The nerves that feed my dick. It was so fucked up.

Some functionary from Friday Night Frights called to ask about getting the tape back. He couldn’t believe they’d be that cheap — maybe it was a legal thing. But the guy was asking about a 2nd tape, the one “sent by mistake.” The dumbfuck asked him to leave it by the door for a messenger to pick up. Chess didn’t even get the chance to say what the fuck are you talking about.

He searched the big envelope the compilation DVD and his “audition” tape had arrived in, and there it was, overlooked. Chess remembered clocking the 2nd tape subliminally, then being so thrown by the veterinary clinic clip that he forgot it was there.

He popped it in the VCR.

There was Maurie, in-studio, talking to camera in the role of Perp — laying out the patsy game.

I’ve known Chester a long time. We’re buds. I’m a director and I usually have him do all my location scouting. I think lately his life is on the dull side — I don’t think he’d mind a little spicing up.

“On the dull side.” The motherfucker. “Buds.” What did that mean? Like some word out of Fast Times at Ridgemont High. “I’m a director.” Right, you’re Ridley fuckin Scott. “I usually have him do all my location scouting.”

Mah nigger!

THEY met at a patisserie on Doheny called In Conversation. Mr DeConcini was early and stood to greet him at a tiny outside table, sympathetically watching his client move slowly toward him, clearly in distress. They shook hands and Chess winced from the strength of the grip. He got a stabbing pain. The attorney apologized.

Remar was bald, black, buff, and gay, one of those aggressive queers in delicate, rimless glasses that you don’t want to tangle with. Chess was right — the lawyer confirmed he’d been tipped by someone on the show. They chitchatted before the plaintiff gave the waiter his order: orange juice, latte, chocolate croissant. He knew the breakfast was a freebie.

Remar asked for an egg-white omelet, and red Tabasco.

“You know, this is really a growth industry in terms of recent litigation. Some of these shows are just outrageous! It’s not just the injuries — which many people don’t even report, because they wind up, for God knows what reason, still consenting to be on the broadcast. That’s America — we love to be on television! The fame game. Born and bred for it. I think it’s one thing if you’re a 19 year old kid and all your friends watch this garbage and somehow it’s cool to be made a jackass. When you’re 19 you’ve got a whole different mind- and body-set, you’re out there on weekends indulging in dubious activities anyway — I know I was! — skateboarding, gettin concussions, whatever. So you’re used to being knocked around. But it’s something else entirely if you’re an adult person, fully grown, awakening each day with the reasonable expectation one’s privacy is not going to be violated in an egregious, frivolous manner, for the sport of others. How old are you, Chester?”

“41. I’ll be 42 in 3 months.”

“You’re 41—you’ve put away childish things. Now, I don’t know what in the world your so-called friend had in mind to think that you would somehow enjoy a hazing. Which is what this was. A dangerous, unregulated hazing. It’s actually worse: at least fraternity kids know what to expect, to a degree. This is more equivalent to an act of terrorism! I am not exaggerating, my friend. This sort of thing is a cultural fad that is going to have major legal consequences for the networks and their parent companies. It already has. We will not tolerate bloodsport, Mr Herlihy. We are not living in Roman times—yet, anyway! All of these cases are landmark, because they will help reverse a horrible trend, a low cultural watermark. Collectively, we are beginning to deplete their pocketbooks, and that is the only way to get their attention. So I see this as an opportunity, Mr Herlihy. An opportunity to make you more than whole.”

Chess liked what he was hearing. “Aren’t there limits on this sort of thing? ‘Ceilings’? Isn’t that what they call — I mean, if it’s tied to income…if you need me to put together tax returns for the last 5 years, it’s not going to be pretty. I don’t know if I’ve even filed.”

“Those ‘caps’ only refer to noneconomic damages involving medical malpractice. This is not that, my friend. This is close to criminal negligence. We ain’t got no cap. In my experience, claims like these can generate jury verdicts in the high 6’s — that’s without punitive damages! No guarantees, of course.”

“What about Maurie? I mean, would he be part of the suit?”

“Might be.”

He removed his lenses and methodically cleaned them with a fine-knit cloth. Chester thought it was a move he probably made while in court, for the benefit of a jury.

“Depends on how you feel. We could do him for fraud. Intentional misrepresentation. Intentional infliction of emotional distress. Go after his savings — pension, whatever. You need to think about that. But I’ll be pursuing Friday Night Frights: the entity that provides the venue, the superstructure so to speak, that makes it possible for folks to wake up in the morning with the bright idea that evoking public spectacle by putting their friends through emotional and physical hell is somehow a wonderful gift to the world. FNF and their parent company are at the top of our food chain. Oh, believe me, they’ll make us an offer we can’t refuse. They do not want to go to court — though we may very well want to take them there! The tabloids settle every day, and the amounts are impressive. Most of the time you don’t hear about it because of provisions for confidentiality that are built in to the settlements. They’re kept under seal, and for good reason. People would be amazed at the kind of numbers we’re talking about. We are absolutely playing in that ballpark, Mr Herlihy, because we are beyond libel. We’re in a whole different universe! We’re talking personal injury, negligence, and intentional infliction of emotional distress. Hell, if they ever broadcast that — and I wouldn’t put anything past these folks — add ‘false light invasion of privacy’ to the brew — then shake n bake!”

They took a breather as the food arrived.

Remar spoke of other things. He’d just paid $3,000 for the right to drive through a gated community off Mulholland, “which reduced my commute by 40 minutes.” He said how wonderful Barry Manilow’s show in Vegas was (“I’m a sucker for Barry, always have been”); how he and his partner were thinking of buying a house in San Miguel de Allende; his pro bono work with a Venice literary foundation where established authors mentored kids from the inner city.

He stabbed a forkful of bloodily spice-soaked eggs and looked up.

“Chess — I want to ask you something that may seem a little off-the-wall. Were you a bedwetter?”

“No.”

“OK, great. Because you peed your pants, didn’t you?” Plaintiff nodded. “Do you remember when that happened? Exactly? Because it’s going to be important to establish this involuntary response — perfectly normal under the circumstances — but we will need to establish that it happened at the exact moment you felt your life was over. Note I am not saying the moment you felt your life was threatened, I’m saying, over. There’s a difference. That is going to be part of my strategy, and I think it’s going to serve us very well. So if you don’t recall right now that’s fine. And by the way, I would have done more than just pee! I’ve seen the tape. I’d have definitely made myself ‘a sandwich.’ So just think about the moment you thought that happened, Chester, see if it comes back, and if you can’t recall, think about when you imagine that it happened. And I’ll do the rest.” He put the now cooling eggs in his mouth, savoring the taste. “And another thing: I don’t want you speaking with anyone from that show.”

“They actually called again.”

“Uh-huh.”

“They wanted to pick up the tapes they sent over.”

“You didn’t give them back any material?”

“No.”

“Good. Great. You played that perfectly. I can see that we’re going to excel. As a team. All right, Mr Herlihy, I’d like to have those—today. Will you be home?” Chess nodded. “I’ll send an intern from the office.”

“What about my friend? Maurie?”

“Maurie Levin.”

He uttered the name as if a dossier had already been compiled, and it made Chess slightly uneasy. He didn’t want to be a rat. For all his raving, he really only wanted restitution, not revenge.

“He’s been calling but I don’t feel like talking.”

“Nor should you. I wouldn’t recommend it, Mr Herlihy, but if you happen to have a conversation — keep it light — do not say you’ve spoken with an attorney. You’re going to doctors every day for your pain, that’s all anyone has to know.”

“What about his girlfriend? I mean, she was kind of in on it. But I don’t want her involved.”

Remar smiled as he slurped his latte.

“She’s been over a few times — just to visit. She feels bad about what happened.”

“That’s OK. But the same thing applies — keep it light. In case she’s doing a Mata Hari number!”

Chess didn’t exactly get the reference, but strenuously shook his head.

“She’s not.”

“I’m sure she’s very nice, Chester, but you never know. People get weird. He may have a bigger influence on her than you think. No talk of an attorney or pending actions—simply put, it’s none of their business. And it is business.” He patted his mouth with a pink napkin. “So: am I officially hired?”

“Yeah! Absolutely.”

“Terrific. I’ll send some papers for you to sign when the intern picks up the tape. Very standard.” He smiled. “And make sure it’s my intern, and not someone from FNF!”

They shook hands, but this time Remar used a gentler touch.