The Last Deep Breath

6

Kendra’s agent was a short slick hustler named Monty Stobbs who had a classy office with glass walls. A fast-talker who danced forward and back, pecked Kendra and clapped Grey on the shoulder, working the room the way a boxer rope-a-doped in the ring. His suit and shoes were fine Italian but his toupee looked like horse tail.

She only wanted to grab a couple of residual checks she was owed but Monty made a big play, open arms held high, said he was happy to see her, he’d been thinking a lot about her lately, thought she would be perfect for a couple of roles. Kendra’s eyes turned black and hard as shale but she sat, crossed her legs, showed a little knee.

Seated beside her, Grey played man about town, chauffeur, bodyguard, boyfriend, troubleshooter. Monty offered coffee, spring water, virgin daiquiris, but didn’t wait for a response. He pulled five scripts out of his bottom drawer and stacked them on the corner of his desk for her to take home and read. She smiled pleasantly and ignored them.

“You’d be perfect for any one of these,” he said.

Grey took a look. Love Hotel 4: Nightly Delight, Love Hotel 5: Manager’s Heaven, Warrior Woman 3: Return to the Arena, Angela’s Eyes 5: Seeing You Again.

He’d caught a few episodes of the soft-core Love Hotel series on cable as part of the free adult entertainment package you got with the really low class motels. The ones waiting at the edge of dead towns, the dead towns waiting at the edge of forgotten highways.

Monty Stobbs got as far as, “Kenny, love, tell me what-” before his office phone rang. He answered, held up a finger in a wait-a-sec gesture, and huddled in the far corner taken up by a rubber tree plant. He told his secretary to put a big name actor through. He talked loudly and so rapid-fire that he sounded like the Portuguese stevedores loading cargo on the New York docks.

An argument over money. Monty broke from the corner and marched across the room and out into the huge corridor where harried mailboys shoved huge overloaded carts. He trotted past the glass wall and down to the waiting room where his secretary was eating a bagel.

Kendra turned to Grey, shot him the grin again, and said, “So what do you think?”

He thought it was odd that she didn’t correct Monty Stobbs for calling her Kenny, the way she did all the barflies in Reno. “Is it a compliment that he thinks you’re hot enough to star in all these soft-core skin flicks?”

“At my age, I suppose it should be. But those series are at the end of their strings. He figures the same for me.”

“And what do you figure?”

“It was my own fault that I lost what traction I had, but a drug habit isn’t a death sentence anymore. I’m clean now, I deserve better work than that. I can still have a modestly successful career. And maybe even a very successful one if I nab a couple of prime roles.”

He didn’t want to bring up the coke he’d found. So far as he could see she was telling the truth, she wasn’t using again. Maybe she clung to those last couple of ounces the way folks who quit smoking kept a last pack of cigarettes around.

“I’ve seen a couple of those Love Hotels,” he told her. “There’s a few names in them shedding their clothes, actresses who used to be high-powered, a couple of Oscar nominees. There can’t be any shame in it.”

“The things I’m ashamed of I’ll never talk about. I might be doing flicks like those in ten or twelve years, but it’s not my turn yet.”

“Okay.”

Grey got up and started opening the drawers on Monty’s desk, looking for the ‘A’ or maybe only ‘B’ material. He came across a couple of screenplays with lists of actresses’ names written in red pen on the covers and followed by question marks. The first two lists were made up of serious star power. He stuffed them back where they’d been and tried another drawer. He found a bottle of bourbon and a loaded .32 automatic. He pocketed the .32. The next couple of lists looked more in keeping with Kendra’s career stature. Grey figured they weren’t too much better-known than she was.

He recognized the names of two of the screenwriters, guys who’d been nominated for Academy awards but had lost out. One had been dead for three years. The other had done six months for harboring a fugitive. His brother had iced a meth lab cook who’d sold some bad crank to his kid. The writer had just gotten out about two months ago. The brother got a dime jolt and would probably be out in six.

Grey thought the only bad publicity was no publicity, and with some spin the writer’s story would help promote the hell out of the movie. He started paging through the script.

Remainder of the bagel clenched between his teeth, Monty stepped back in with the phone clamped to his ear, nodding to whatever the other guy was saying, but now turning his eyes in wonderment at Grey. He swallowed, said, “Let me call you back,” hung up, and cocked his head.

Grey leaned against the desk and said, “She’s not ready for the mature mom making a play for her stepson home on college flicks yet, Monty. I’d like her to read this one instead.”

You had to give it to him, Monty rolled. He swallowed his last bite and said, “Oh, I like him, Kenny. Very hands on. Not like those other schleps you brought in who were just interested in furthering their own careers. That last one…what was his name? Terry…?”

“Barry,” Kendra said.

“Well, he’s doing very well, has a recurring role on an HBO show.”

“I know. Him and his car.”

“So where’d you find this one?”

“Outside of Reno,” she said.

“He’s got a baby face but looks mean.”

“He’s not.”

“You certain of that?”

She shrugged. “So far.”

“What’s he want?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

Grey scanned a few more pages. He liked what he read. He had no idea if it was actually any good, but it seemed like nobody in this town knew what made a movie a hit, so he was pretty much on even ground.

They kept talking about him like he wasn’t there. “He the love of your life, Kenny? Or just your muscle?”

“Ask him.”

Grey said, “Neither.” He held out the script. “This is the one. Killing Time. Set her up for an audition.”

Monty Stobbs just looked at him like he couldn’t believe what he was watching, but he was smiling.

“Oh, and can you do me a favor? You can get your hands on a directory with contact info for porn actors, right? Do it. And Monty, don’t forget the residual checks.”