Show Business is Murder

III

Arthur put the phone down and turned off his desk lamp. He could still see by the light from other buildings coming through his window, but there was nothing much he wanted to look at. Not the headlines, certainly-he’d already thrown the papers away, crushed them down at the bottom of the garbage along with the cigarette butts and used tissues.

Sandy had been the first to notice the story, and she’d hit him with it when he’d come home two days ago. “Have you heard what happened to Bill Fitch?” And: “Did you ever hear of this actress, this Lisa Brennan?” No, he’d said. Never heard of her.

He’d shut the door to his home office on the second floor and gone to one of the industry sites on the Internet to learn more. The coverage appeared under “Breaking News” first, then later under “Today’s News,” then under “Updates,” and finally under “Obituaries.”

Lisa left him out of it when she told her story, or at least the papers left him out of it when they reported it. He didn’t have any illusions that this was because either Lisa or the writers wanted to protect him. His name wouldn’t sell any more papers, and as for Lisa, how much had he really had to do with what had happened? He’d made an introduction. It’s what people did, that’s how the business worked. He was just doing her a good turn.

At least that had been the idea. She’d have been better off cast in Goin’ West, stripped naked for a shower scene like Angela Meyer, nobody ever seeing her face. Oh, she had fame now, everyone knew who she was, and given the story she was telling, he supposed she probably wouldn’t go to jail. But there was no chance anyone would ever hire her again. When they made the movie-of-the-week of her story, they’d cast someone else to play her. Maybe Michelle Glassberg.

Arthur carried his cigarette to the window, dragged deeply on it and watched the pinpoint of red reflected in the glass. The note he’d left pinned under his tape dispenser fluttered when he opened the window. It’s not you, honey. I can’t stand this stinking business.

He’d finished the casting for Goin’ West. Corey Dunn was doing the picture, and on the phone just now Kreuger had been ecstatic to hear it. “You’re the best, Arthur,” he’d said. “What would I do without you?”

Arthur tossed the butt and watched it trail away into the night.

“Oh, you’d get by,” he’d said. “You’d get by.”