Get Shorty: A Novel

was as sound as the day they signed their participation agreement.

“Harry, are you making a speech?” Ronnie had his face raised to the ceiling. “I can hear you, but where the fuck are you, man?”

“What I been wondering,” Catlett said in a quiet voice, looking at Chili, “is where he’s been.”

Ronnie said, “Yeah, where’ve you been? You called us once, Harry, in three months.”

Harry came around from behind them to stand at one side of the desk, his back to the window, saying he’d been off scouting locations and interviewing actors in New York and his secretary had left without his knowledge to work for an agent, for Christ sake, Harry saying that was the kind of help you had to rely on these days, walked out, didn’t even tell him.

Chili listened, not believing he was hearing all this.

Ronnie said, “Let’s get the man a girl. Harry, you want one with big hooters or one that can type?”

Chili’s gaze moved from Ronnie the fool to Bo Catlett the dude, the man composed, elbows on the chair arms, his fingertips touching to form a tan-skinned church, a ruby ring for a stained-glass window.

“The main thing I want to tell you,” Harry said, “the start date for Freaks is being pushed back a little, a few months. We should be in production before the end of the year. . . . Unless because of unforeseen complications we decide it would be better to shoot next spring.”

Chili watched Ronnie’s leg, hanging over the chair arm, bounce to a stop.

“What’re you telling us, Harry?”

“We have to put the start date off, that’s all.”

“Yeah, but why? Next spring, that’s a whole year away.”

“We’ll need the prep time.”

Ronnie said, “Hey, Harry? Bullshit. We have an agreement with you, man.”

Chili raised his hand toward Harry.

“Wait a minute, okay? What we’re talking about here—Harry, you’re gonna make the movie, right. Freaks?”

Harry said, “Yeah,” sounding surprised.

“Tell him.”

“I just did.”

“Tell him again.”

“We’re gonna make the picture,” Harry said. He paused and said, “I’ve got another project to do first, that’s all. One I promised this guy years ago.”

Chili wondered if there was a way to shut Harry up without punching him in the mouth.

He saw Catlett watching him over the tips of his fingers while Ronnie fooled with his sunglasses, Harry telling them he’d be starting the other project any time now, a quickie, and as soon as it wrapped Freaks would go before the cameras.

There was a silence until Ronnie got up straighter in his chair and said, “I think what happened, you put our bucks in some deal that blew up in your face and now you’re trying to buy time. I want to see your books, Harry. Show me where it is, a two with five zeroes after it in black and white, man. I want to see your books and your bank statements.”

Chili said to the rich kid, “Hey, Ronnie? Look at me.”

It caught him by surprise. Ronnie looked over. So did Bo Catlett.

Chili said, “You have a piece of a movie, Ronnie. That’s all. You don’t have a piece of Harry. You don’t tell him what you want to see that has to do with his business, that’s private. You understand what I’m saying? Harry told you we’re doing another movie first, before we come along and do Freaks. And that’s the way it’s gonna be.”

“Excuse me,” Ronnie said, “but who the fuck are you?”

“I’m the one telling you how it is,” Chili said. “That’s not too hard, is it, figure that out?”

He watched Ronnie turn to Catlett, who hadn’t moved or changed his expression much. Ronnie said, “Cat? . . .”

Chili watched Catlett now. He still couldn’t understand how Harry missed seeing the guy was colored. He was light-skinned and his hair was fairly straight, combed over to one side, but that didn’t mean anything. The color itself didn’t mean anything either, Chili thinking the guy wasn’t any darker than he was. Colored, but could you call him black? The guy was taking his time, giving the situation some thought.

When he spoke it was to Harry, Catlett asking, “What’s this movie you’re doing first?”

A simple enough question.

Chili said, “Harry, let me answer that.”

He saw Catlett looking at him again.

“But first, I want to know who I’m talking to. Am I talking to you, or am I talking to him?” Meaning Ronnie.

He saw Catlett’s expression change, not much, but something in the eyes, with that dreamy kind of half smile, that told Chili the man understood. The man saying now, “You can talk to me.”

“That’s what I thought,” Chili said. “So let me put it this way. Outside of Freaks, it’s not any of your fuckin business what we do.”

Now it was between them, Chili giving the guy time but that’s all, no way out for him except straight ahead or back off and the guy knew it too, looking at it and not moving a muscle, making up his mind . . .

Christ, when Harry stepped in, Harry reaching over the desk to pick up the script, Harry telling them, “This is the project, Mr. Lovejoy. I’m not trying to pull anything on you guys. This is it, right here.” Harry blowing the setup and there wasn’t a thing Chili could do about it.

He eased back in the chair and saw Catlett watching him with that dreamy half-smile again.

Ronnie was saying, “Mr. Loveboy ?” reaching for the script. “What is it, Harry, a porno flick?”

Harry saying, “Lovejoy,” backing away, holding the script to his chest.

“Okay, but what’s it about?”

“It’s fluff, it’s one I got involved in as a favor to a writer friend of mine. The guy’s terminally ill and I owe it to him. Believe me, it’s nothing you’d be interested in.”

Ronnie said, “You think we go see the shit you turn out? Cat says he’s seen better film on teeth.” He looked at Catlett and said, “Right? I bet it’s porno. Harry’s lying to us.”

Chili watched Catlett, the guy taking it all in, Harry telling them now the script was unread-able—holding it with both hands against his body—it needed all kinds of work. Catlett pushed out of the chair, in no hurry, and Chili had to look up to see his face, with that bebop tuft under his lip.

“I got an idea,” Bo Catlett said to Harry. “Take our twenty points out of Freaks and put ’em in this other one, Mr. Loverboy. What’s the difference.”

“I can’t do it,” Harry said.

“You positive about that?”

“It’s a different kind of deal.”

“Okay.” Catlett paused. “Then be good enough to hand us our money back.”

“Why?” Harry said. “We have a deal, a signed agreement to do a picture I guarantee you is gonna get made.”

“Take some time, think about our going into this other one,” Catlett said. “Will you do that?”

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” Harry said. “I will.”

“That’s all we need to know, Harry. Till next time.”

Chili watched Catlett look over before he turned—not long enough to be in each other’s face, just a look—and walked out, Ronnie following after him.

Now they were in Harry’s Mercedes, Chili not saying much for the time being: getting his thoughts together, deciding what kind of attitude he should have if he was going to stay in this deal: take it seriously or just go along and see what happens. So when Harry said, “That’s where Lew Wasserman lives,” Chili didn’t ask who Lew Wasserman was. When Harry said, “There’s where Frank Sinatra lives,” Chili did look up, caught a glimpse of the house, but saw mostly Frank Sinatra’s bushes, nice ones.

“You want to look at a star’s home you can’t even tell it’s there,” Harry said, “I’ll take you past Bob Hope’s