Page 131 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case

Soaked to the Bone

“I take it that this screenplay actually existed.” Ms. Gramercy was
recording this as fast as we were talking. Impressive: we are not slow
talkers.
Nick looked at me, perhaps to determine if I had already portrayed
the document as fictitious, a stab in the back to discredit him. I rolled
my eyes, signifying the foolishness and ignorance of an outsider’s
question. “Certainly it does,” he said, with a hint of the old Nick’s
superiority. “You don’t think Troglo Films would shell out half a
million for a pig in a poke, do you? The studio brass saw it, liked it
and, on the strength of it, green-lighted the project. That opened the
spigot on a big keg of cash for G.F., of course.”
“Then why the unpleasantness over the check?”
“I’m not sure,” said Nick, suddenly unwilling to speak
authoritatively. “Probably someone in legal had an objection. I mean,
a real person had to sign over the rights. Fish presented himself as
acting in that person’s behalf, bulling his way past any irregularities in
procedure. My guess is that one of the higher levels of vice president
had second thoughts after payment went out the door, fearing what
the accountants call ‘material exposure’ if the ownership of
intellectual property were not properly established.”
“That brings us back to your visit yesterday. When did you
arrive?”
Nick frowned, consulting an internal clock I imagined melting and
sliding over the edge of a table like a Salvador Dali painting. “Let’s
see. I had lunch at Ballyhoo’s at a little past noon—they won’t hold
my usual table more than fifteen minutes, the ingrates—so I had to
have rolled out of there about one-thirty, getting me here a little
before two.”
“Who was on the premises?”
“Fish, naturally. The housekeeper, the gardener—who else? I can’t
think of anyone. A lot of people come and go, and they don’t always
see each other.”
“All right. Where did you meet with Mr. Fish?”
“We started in the living room, by the liquor cabinet. We had a
drink together and exchanged a bit of industry gossip; you know,
kind of sparring and feeling each other out before the gloves came
off. That was normal for Fish: if you didn’t come on strong, he
would walk all over you.”

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