Shakeup

16

Stone called Joan. “Take a letter, to one Guy Baxter:

“Et cetera, et cetera. Then forge my signature, which you’re good at, and fax it to” — he held out his hand, and Lara gave him the agent’s card — “Guy Baxter.” He gave her the number.

“Got it. Anybody I know?”

“No, but you will. She’s the star of Peter’s new film.”

“I’ll have the fax out of here in ten minutes.”

“Bye.” Stone hung up.

“That sounded good,” Lara said.

“He may not give up. If he calls, don’t argue with him. Just tell him he does not represent you, then hang up.”

“Right.” She started dressing. By the time she had finished, her phone was ringing. “Hello? Listen to me very carefully, Mr. Baxter. You do not now nor have you ever represented me in any fashion.” She hung up. “You were right,” she said to Stone.

Immediately, Stone’s phone started to ring. He looked at his phone. “It’s Baxter. My secretary must have used a letterhead with this number on it. “Hello.”

“Mr. Barrington?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Guy Baxter, Lara Parks’s agent.”

“I said in my letter all that I have to say to you.”

“Did she tell you she signed a contract with me?”

“She did not, because she has not done so.”

“I’ll send you a copy,” he said. “You’re at the Arrington, right?”

“Goodbye, Mr. Baxter.” He hung up and turned to Lara. “Did you sign anything when you were in Baxter’s office?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Good.”

“Oh, he asked me for my autograph; I gave him that.”

“What kind of paper?”

“A blank sheet.” Her face fell. “Oh, God.”

“This complicates things. He’s going to send me a contract — a very unfavorable one, I suspect — and it will have your signature on it.”

“No, it won’t,” she said.

“You didn’t sign your name?”

“I gave him my autograph,” she said. “Not my signature. They’re different.”

“How so?”

“My autograph is sort of swirling, and carefully written, to be legible. My signature, as on the checks I write, is smaller, faster, and pretty much illegible.”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” Stone said. They got into an Arrington Bentley and were approaching the gate when a guard flagged them down. He rapped on Stone’s window.

“Yes?” Stone asked, rolling it down.

“Delivery for you, Mr. Barrington,” he said.

“Thank you.” Stone ripped open the envelope and switched on the reading lamp. “It’s the contract,” he said, leafing through it. “He says he’s not only your agent, but your personal manager, and that you’re paying him fifteen percent for agenting and twenty-five percent for managing, which includes signing your checks and paying your bills.” He showed her the contract. “Is that your signature or your autograph?”

“It’s my autograph,” Lara replied. “I can show you other examples of it on my head shots that I send out with replies to fan mail.”

“You get fan mail?”

“I’m on TV. I don’t get a lot of mail, but enough to have the pictures printed with my autograph on them. The network sends them out; it saves me a lot of time.”

“What are you on, on TV?”

“A series called Trust Me, which is in the last of its four seasons. We shot the final two episodes last month, and they haven’t run yet.”

Stone called Joan. “Follow up to the fax,” he said.

“Thanks, Joan. Please get it out right away.”

“Will do.”

Stone hung up. “Lara, do you have an agent presently?”

“I did, but he retired a couple of weeks ago. I haven’t had time to look for a new one, and at the end of a series and before you get cast in something else is not the best time to look.”

They arrived at Peter’s house and were greeted by Peter, his wife, Ben, and Ben’s wife.

“Let me show you something,” Stone said, after they had sat down with a drink. He handed Baxter’s contract to Peter.

Peter scanned it. “This is awful,” he said. “I’m surprised any actor would sign such a thing.” He handed it to Ben.

“Lara didn’t sign it. She gave him her autograph — on a blank sheet of paper — and he hung the contract on it.”

“Terrible,” Ben agreed.

“I have a question for you both,” Stone said. “If you were an actress with an offer in hand for a film, who would you want as an agent?”

They looked at each other and, simultaneously, said, “Arlene Summers.”

“She’s a partner in a medium-sized agency called the Talent Stable.”

“I’d love to be with Arlene Summers,” Lara said.

“I’ll call her in the morning,” Peter said. “I think you two would get along.” He handed her the Baxter contract. “Show her this, and tell her how it came to be.”

“I’ll do that,” Lara said, tucking the contract into her handbag.

“I don’t see a lot of this sort of thing,” Ben said, “but I know it happens. Baxter is going to be looking for a payoff to let her out of this.”

“He won’t get it,” Stone said. “I’ve already told him we’re suing and reporting him to the bar association.”

“I’ll bet they already have a thick file on him,” Ben said. “I’ll look into that tomorrow.”

They were called to dinner, and the conversation changed.