Angels
Page 67
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled – but only once they were good and swallowed.
Conchita and I exchanged a look. Who were we to deny her?
Another wave of disbelief hit. ‘But they were so enthusiastic,’ I voiced. ‘It sounded like a done deal.’
‘That’s the way they all carry on.’
‘Did they say why they passed?’
‘They said it’s not what they’re looking for right now,’ Emily gasped. ‘But I don’t know what the truth is. Probably they just hated it.’
‘Sssssh,’ Conchita urged, pulling Emily to her bosom and stroking her hair.
‘But–’ I started up again, a thousand indignant questions forming, but Conchita nitched them with a firm shake of the head.
The three of us sat in silence while the hopeless day ticked by. I was at a complete loss. Everything had been geared around this coming through, and though I’d had my worries, I’d never really considered that it wouldn’t. What was Emily going to do now? Come home to Ireland with me? But I didn’t want to go home. Especially not now. Now that Troy – It was then that I realized he still hadn’t called me. Unless he’d called while I’d been out getting the muffins, and it so wasn’t the right time to ask…
‘Maybe you go to bed?’ Conchita suggested and Emily nodded obediently.
‘Four xanax, she sleep until Websday,’ Conchita told me.
I was on the verge of asking for a couple of pills for myself when the phone rang. My immediate thought was of Troy, but when I answered, a woman’s voice said, ‘Hold for David Crowe calling for Emily O’Keeffe.’
‘She’s busy right now.’ Having a nervous breakdown. ‘I’m her assistant. Can I help?’
But the woman was gone and after a few clicks the next voice I heard was David. ‘Hey, Emily!’ he chuckled.
‘It’s Maggie. Emily’s a little upset.’
‘Sure. But I got good news. Larry Savage over at Empire took a look. He wants to meet with her.’
‘Well, that’s great! When?’
‘Right now.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ I said regretfully. ‘She can’t go right now. She’s just taken four xanax.’
A pause. Not a cordial one.
‘Now you listen to me,’ he said, all traces of affability gone. ‘She needs to get it together now and get over to Empire. We can’t push this meeting back. She’s got to get in today before Larry finds out that Hothouse passed, xanax or no fucking xanax. Coffee, cocaine, I don’t care how, but she’d better get it together. And if she can’t do it, you do it. I’ve put my ass on the line here.’
All the moisture had retreated from my mouth. It was as dry as carpet. What had happened to David Crowe, charm monster? I was frightened of him, genuinely frightened. He sounded so dangerous, so vengeful.
And I had got the gist of what was happening. Some machiavellian machinations meant David had managed to con Larry Savage into thinking that Mort Russell was still interested. There was a tiny window of opportunity before Larry discovered that Mort had passed. If Larry found out, then David was in the shit. And Emily’s last chance was gone. So the pitch had to be today.
I glanced into Emily’s bedroom. She was lying down, her eyes closed, Conchita stroking her forehead. There was no point asking her what we should do. And I hadn’t a notion. I thought of Lara – she could help, even though she was up to her eyes organizing the launch for some movie called Doves. Or how about Troy?
‘Could you give us a couple of hours?’ I glanced at my watch, it was ten-twenty. ‘Say until midday?’ That should be enough time for either Troy or Lara to get here, and then they could take over, they’d know what to do.
‘No. I can’t give you five fucking minutes,’ he snapped. ‘The clock is ticking and news gets round this town way fast. It’s this morning, or never. By lunch-time it’ll be all over.’
Desperately, I tried to focus, to think intelligently. Oh, Jesus Christ! ‘ Oh, OK… what can you tell me about Larry Savage?’
‘Larry, Larry, Larry… what’s to say?’ There was a clicking sound like David was banging his pen off his teeth. ‘Weeell, he’s rumoured to have sex with animals. But, hey, it’s only a rumour!’
I pushed down my frustration and asked, ‘Any career information?’
‘A coupla years back he made Fred. Remember it? Old English Sheepdog who saves the circus from closure?’
I remembered it.
‘Seen it?’
‘No. I was more than five years of age at the time.’
‘Cute,’ David said unpleasantly. ‘Well, lie. Tell him you loved it.’
‘OK. Now, can you tell me how to get to Empire?’
Irritably, David gave sketchy directions, and just in case there was any chance that I might calm down, he ended the conversation by saying, ‘This is Emily’s last chance. Make sure she doesn’t fuck it up.’
‘Right.’ With a pounding heart, I hung up the phone and hurried in to Emily. Who, floating away on a pink xanax cloud, was having none of it. ‘Al go ch’morr,” she said sleepily.
‘Tomorrow’s too late.’ Hysteria skimmed my voice as I explained the situation.
Luckily, Conchita displayed an astute grasp of the workings of Hollywood. ‘The man find out the other man have passed, he not berry happy!’ She hoiked a startled Emily from the bed.
‘Emily, you’ll have to make yourself sick,’ I said urgently.
‘Huh?’
‘Stick your fingers down your throat and make yourself throw up. To get rid of the tablets.’
Dazed though she was, she looked disgusted.
‘I’m sorry. But desperate circumstances call for desperate measures.’
Conchita and I marched her to the bathroom, where despite issuing some impressively inhuman gawking noises from her gullet, she couldn’t recall the xanax.
‘I’j nevr make ablimic,’ she said, slumping against the bowl, her forehead beaded in sweat from her efforts.
‘One more time,’ I encouraged. ‘Just try once more.’
‘K.’
But though she strained until her face was bright red and running with tears, there was still no joy. What was I to do with her?
Conchita and I exchanged a look. Who were we to deny her?
Another wave of disbelief hit. ‘But they were so enthusiastic,’ I voiced. ‘It sounded like a done deal.’
‘That’s the way they all carry on.’
‘Did they say why they passed?’
‘They said it’s not what they’re looking for right now,’ Emily gasped. ‘But I don’t know what the truth is. Probably they just hated it.’
‘Sssssh,’ Conchita urged, pulling Emily to her bosom and stroking her hair.
‘But–’ I started up again, a thousand indignant questions forming, but Conchita nitched them with a firm shake of the head.
The three of us sat in silence while the hopeless day ticked by. I was at a complete loss. Everything had been geared around this coming through, and though I’d had my worries, I’d never really considered that it wouldn’t. What was Emily going to do now? Come home to Ireland with me? But I didn’t want to go home. Especially not now. Now that Troy – It was then that I realized he still hadn’t called me. Unless he’d called while I’d been out getting the muffins, and it so wasn’t the right time to ask…
‘Maybe you go to bed?’ Conchita suggested and Emily nodded obediently.
‘Four xanax, she sleep until Websday,’ Conchita told me.
I was on the verge of asking for a couple of pills for myself when the phone rang. My immediate thought was of Troy, but when I answered, a woman’s voice said, ‘Hold for David Crowe calling for Emily O’Keeffe.’
‘She’s busy right now.’ Having a nervous breakdown. ‘I’m her assistant. Can I help?’
But the woman was gone and after a few clicks the next voice I heard was David. ‘Hey, Emily!’ he chuckled.
‘It’s Maggie. Emily’s a little upset.’
‘Sure. But I got good news. Larry Savage over at Empire took a look. He wants to meet with her.’
‘Well, that’s great! When?’
‘Right now.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ I said regretfully. ‘She can’t go right now. She’s just taken four xanax.’
A pause. Not a cordial one.
‘Now you listen to me,’ he said, all traces of affability gone. ‘She needs to get it together now and get over to Empire. We can’t push this meeting back. She’s got to get in today before Larry finds out that Hothouse passed, xanax or no fucking xanax. Coffee, cocaine, I don’t care how, but she’d better get it together. And if she can’t do it, you do it. I’ve put my ass on the line here.’
All the moisture had retreated from my mouth. It was as dry as carpet. What had happened to David Crowe, charm monster? I was frightened of him, genuinely frightened. He sounded so dangerous, so vengeful.
And I had got the gist of what was happening. Some machiavellian machinations meant David had managed to con Larry Savage into thinking that Mort Russell was still interested. There was a tiny window of opportunity before Larry discovered that Mort had passed. If Larry found out, then David was in the shit. And Emily’s last chance was gone. So the pitch had to be today.
I glanced into Emily’s bedroom. She was lying down, her eyes closed, Conchita stroking her forehead. There was no point asking her what we should do. And I hadn’t a notion. I thought of Lara – she could help, even though she was up to her eyes organizing the launch for some movie called Doves. Or how about Troy?
‘Could you give us a couple of hours?’ I glanced at my watch, it was ten-twenty. ‘Say until midday?’ That should be enough time for either Troy or Lara to get here, and then they could take over, they’d know what to do.
‘No. I can’t give you five fucking minutes,’ he snapped. ‘The clock is ticking and news gets round this town way fast. It’s this morning, or never. By lunch-time it’ll be all over.’
Desperately, I tried to focus, to think intelligently. Oh, Jesus Christ! ‘ Oh, OK… what can you tell me about Larry Savage?’
‘Larry, Larry, Larry… what’s to say?’ There was a clicking sound like David was banging his pen off his teeth. ‘Weeell, he’s rumoured to have sex with animals. But, hey, it’s only a rumour!’
I pushed down my frustration and asked, ‘Any career information?’
‘A coupla years back he made Fred. Remember it? Old English Sheepdog who saves the circus from closure?’
I remembered it.
‘Seen it?’
‘No. I was more than five years of age at the time.’
‘Cute,’ David said unpleasantly. ‘Well, lie. Tell him you loved it.’
‘OK. Now, can you tell me how to get to Empire?’
Irritably, David gave sketchy directions, and just in case there was any chance that I might calm down, he ended the conversation by saying, ‘This is Emily’s last chance. Make sure she doesn’t fuck it up.’
‘Right.’ With a pounding heart, I hung up the phone and hurried in to Emily. Who, floating away on a pink xanax cloud, was having none of it. ‘Al go ch’morr,” she said sleepily.
‘Tomorrow’s too late.’ Hysteria skimmed my voice as I explained the situation.
Luckily, Conchita displayed an astute grasp of the workings of Hollywood. ‘The man find out the other man have passed, he not berry happy!’ She hoiked a startled Emily from the bed.
‘Emily, you’ll have to make yourself sick,’ I said urgently.
‘Huh?’
‘Stick your fingers down your throat and make yourself throw up. To get rid of the tablets.’
Dazed though she was, she looked disgusted.
‘I’m sorry. But desperate circumstances call for desperate measures.’
Conchita and I marched her to the bathroom, where despite issuing some impressively inhuman gawking noises from her gullet, she couldn’t recall the xanax.
‘I’j nevr make ablimic,’ she said, slumping against the bowl, her forehead beaded in sweat from her efforts.
‘One more time,’ I encouraged. ‘Just try once more.’
‘K.’
But though she strained until her face was bright red and running with tears, there was still no joy. What was I to do with her?
