'Phobias?' Shane was getting a headache.
'That's right. Rajindi is helping me with them. We've discovered that by confronting them, and dealing with them openly, I'm much less stressed.'
'It's part of a holistic herbal healing program we're administering at the Life Realization Center of my Church.' Singh smiled.
'Gimme an example of what's gonna be on the list,' Shane asked, fearing the worst.
'Well, obviously sinistrophobia, so we can't have any left-handed people on the cast or crew.'
'Uh. Mr. Fallon, I'm not trying to be argumentative, but won't we be inviting a class action discrimination suit?' Shane said.
'I don't give a shit if you wanna hire fifty left-handed people and give them the L. A. Times crossword puzzle to do every day, that's up to you. I just won't have any lefties on my shooting set.'
'We believe left-handed people are disciples of darkness,' Rajindi Singh explained calmly. 'While not satanic per se, they do attract the dark neural dragons, and quite frankly, it just isn't worth the risk.'
Shane had to remind himself that none of this mattered, because they weren't going to make the damned movie anyway. But these people were insufferable. How did movies-scratch that-films ever get made in this town?
'Obviously, I have the germ thing, too, misophobia, and its first cousin, parasitaphobia.' Michael was looking over at Singh as if to gain strength as he spoke of these fears. 'I also have enosiophobia, the fear of committing an unpardonable sin. I want my soul to go to heaven.'
'Very reasonable. Who can blame you for that?' Nicky brown-nosed, folding like a deck chair.
But Shane was frowning and Rajindi Singh was quick to spot it. 'Dealing with our fears and weaknesses out in the open helps us adjust to them, helps us build our neural fortresses. Then, of course, we have our 'Three H Program that buttresses and fortifies all of that.'
'You have a farm program?' Nicky asked.
'You're thinking Four H,' Rajindi said. 'Three H stands for Holistic Herbal Healing.' Then, reading their frowns, he rushed on. 'We are very set on neural healing through the practice of self-realization and dietary purity.'
'Then you guys probably won't be ordering the Canadian bacon,' Shane quipped.
Rajindi gave them a thin, condescending little smile. 'We are quite impervious to attempts at humor at our expense,' he said tightly. 'Have you been thinking of a director? Michael has director approval, but we are prepared to work inside a limited A-list.' Singh was not behaving like creative furniture. He was already taking over.
'I was thinking of Milos DeAngelo,' Nicky blurted, referring to the sallow old director Shane had met in Nicky's office two days ago.
'Never heard of him,' Fallon said.
'Extensive background… did some extremely creative animal films a few years back.'
Animal films? Shane thought. The Mr. Ed episodes? 'We like Paul Lubick,' Mike Fallon offered.
'Uh, Paul Lubick. yes, yes… what an interesting idea. Very, very talented.' Nicky was now in full retreat.
'Wonderful. Then we'd like you to sign him to an immediate holding deal,' Fallon continued. 'I happen to know he's between pictures right now and Paul and I are simpatico. We speak the same language. I have chronomentrophobia, and believe me, having a director who understands that helps me a lot on the set because we don't have a buncha A. D.'s running around yelling about the damn schedule. We work at our own pace. It's graceful, and it frees my creative spirit.' Michael Fallon had a look of rapture as he spoke.
'Paul Lubick? You happen to know who his agent is?' Nicky had unholstered his gold LeBlanc and was clicking the lead down. He was poised to write the information on a piece of paper he had just pulled out of his pocket.
'He's with Talent Associates,' Rajindi Singh contributed.
'Excuse me,' the gray-haired, white-coated waiter said, holding a bottle of champagne. 'This is a gift from the gentleman at that table.' He pointed to Dennis Valentine, who gave them a little wave of his hand, flashing a couple hundred thousand worth of diamonds and sapphires on manicured fingers.
'Champagne?' Shane said, taking the bottle of Taittinger and looking at it.
'What kinda asshole sends a bottle of champagne over at ten in the morning?' Fallon asked, looking at Valentine, who was smiling like a jack-o'-lantern and waving like a starstruck tourist. Then, because Mike Fallon was still looking at him, Valentine interpreted that as an invitation, stood, and ambled over to their table.
'Nicholas, perhaps you might introduce me to Mr. Fallon,' the mobster said, smiling his perfect smile. Shane had to admit that, on balance, Valentine wasn't giving away too many hottie points to the handsome movie star.
'Michael Fallon, this is Dennis Valentine,' Nicky croaked. Then, simultaneously, they both pulled back and held their hands up, palms out.
'I never shake hands,' Valentine said.
'Me neither,' Fallon agreed.
They stood there for a second, with their palms extended, like two guys waving off a dinner check.
'I thought you might like a bottle of Taittinger,' Dennis said.
'It's ten in the morning, bud.' Fallon was slipping into his film gangster persona.
'It chills nicely, perhaps you could have it later.'
'I don't drink anything unless Rajindi has blessed it, and frankly, champagne is all sugar.'
'To the contrary,' Dennis said, smiling, eager to give a nutrition lesson. 'Taittinger is the champagne of champagnes. It's fermented in oak casks and kept in perfect, hermetically sealed containers at predetermined temperatures. During fermentation, the champagne is constantly refreshed and at bottling has over one hundred and one vitamins and minerals, as well as an array of life-extending, body-enhancing nutrients. Health food in a bottle, I call it.' His smile widened. 'I'm vegetarian, so I read a lot about nutrition.'
'You're a fuckin' nut,' Fallon snarled. 'We're having a business meeting here!'
'Sorry to intrude,' Valentine said, bowing at the waist. 'Before leaving, Mr. Fallon, let me just say that I have long been an admirer of your tremendous talent and magnetic film presence. I thought your performance as the taxi driver prophet in Yellow Angel was magic. Why you didn't get nominated an…'
'Get the fuck away from me,' Fallon growled, not knowing he was pissing on a made guy who had killed men for much less.
But Dennis Valentine was acting like a fop prince. All that was missing was the little heel click. He backed away from the table grinning and bowing, until finally resuming his seat near the window.
'Who's that dipshit?' Fallon scowled.
'A new producer in town, quite an up-and-comer,' Nicky said.
'Then why they got him sitting in fucking Siberia over there, eating with all the losers?'
Nicky shot Shane a look that said 'See,' but Fallon was already staring at his watch.
'Okay, look. In ten minutes it's time for my next meal and neural blessing. We're on a tight clock, so we better get going.' Shane thought it was a strange remark for a man with chronomentrophobia.
Nicky took out his business cards and passed them out.
'Your offices are at Hollywood General?' Fallon said suspiciously as he read it. 'That's the rental lot for jerks who can't get studio deals.'
'All of our money goes on the screen.' Nicky was coming alive again. 'We don't waste moolah on fancy overhead.'
Fallon and Singh both slowly rose, then walked away from the table without even saying good-bye. Shane and Nicky were left sitting, watching them go.
'Chronomentrophobia?' Shane snorted.
'Fear of clocks,' Nicky answered.
'He actually gets away with shit like that?' Shane was appalled.
'Yeah. Pretty shrewd in a totally fucked-up way. A guy with chrono-whatever doesn't ever have to deal with the film's production schedule.'
Shane could see Valentine starting to get up from behind his loser's table. 'Valentine's coming. Let's get outta here.' 'That's what we want, isn't it?' Nicky asked.
'I wanna troll the bait for a little longer before we hook him up.'
Shane pulled the little grifter out of the booth, and they rushed to the front entrance of the Beverly Hills Hotel. He grabbed the valet ticket out of Nicky's hand and gave it to the parking attendant. The rented Bentley was
