“Sure,” I said, and Kaufmann glanced at me, since we’d been down this road before. “But meaning no offense to Jim here, or to Art, it’s the stars people care about. Are you comfortable, Lou, with us exploiting Miss Goodwin’s Playboy fame?”
A shade nervous, Kaufmann said, “ ‘Exploiting’ has a nasty ring, Jack.”
But Licata didn’t agree: “No, that’s the game we’re in, guys. When you’re making a low-budget movie, tits and ass and violence, what else is it but exploitation? Not a bad word at all.”
“Good to know you feel that way,” I said.
He leaned forward, conspiratorially; his dark eyes were lazy-lidded but sharp-centered. “Jack, I am fine with you capitalizing on the fame Mr. Hefner lavished on our leading lady. She can be a little sensitive about it herself-no actress likes to be seen as a mere sex object. There’s a lot more to that little lady than mere sex appeal.”
“She’s got depth,” I said, remembering her head bobbing up and down in my lap.
Kaufmann turned toward me. “Now, Jack, it’s important you keep Mr. Licata out of any publicity. You do understand that? He has a financial interest in the production, but we don’t list him as a producer.”
“Silent partner,” Licata put in. He was lighting up a cigarillo.
Kaufmann continued: “And his interest in Miss Goodwin is strictly artistic.”
Is that what it was called?
Licata said, “A lot of people spread dirty rumors in the show business biz.”
I was trying to get past the redundancy of that when Kaufmann put in, “You need to squelch any of this vicious nonsense about Lou and Tiffany. It’s all a misreading- Lou simply thought that our hiring Tiffany would be beneficial for the film, artistically and commercially.”
“Good exploitation,” Licata said, exhaling cigar smoke.
“And you need to stonewall any questions on that front,” Kaufmann said. “And make sure no pictures of the two of them get out. Nothing is more important than protecting Lou’s privacy.” The producer looked exhausted, maybe from having to deliver that speech about the choice of Tiffany being artistic and commercial.
“I appreciate that, Jimbo,” Licata said. Was there something mocking in his tone? “Now, I need a private word with Jack here. Do you mind? I have a few publicity strategies I want to run past him, and I’m sure you have more pressing work to do.”
“Absolutely,” Kaufmann said, and gathered his paperwork, and I got out of the booth and let him out. He smiled and nodded at Licata, ever servile, and was gone.
Now I was alone in the booth with Licata. “Producers,” he said, and mock-shivered. “Make your skin crawl, don’t they? Phonies to a man.”
“I think Jim’s sincere about his friendship with Stockwell.”
“You know,” Licata admitted, “so do I…well, everybody needs a saving grace.” He gave me an earnest look. “Look, Jack. I want to apologize about something.”
“What could that be?”
He shook his head, his smile tight, chagrined. “Two of these biker goons we hired on-Skull and his pal Juke- gave you a hard time yesterday about spending time in Miss Goodwin’s trailer. They were out of line.”
“No problem, Lou.”
“I should have imported some of my own help, top fellas, but because of the biker nature of the production, Skull and Juke and their friends could do double duty. They could also be extras in certain scenes, and…well, it was a decision I probably wouldn’t make again. I kind of owed them a favor because Skull owns a bar in Indianapolis that is a sort of major distribution center for us.”
I’d figured drugs was how brain-dead bikers like that pair could make a living.
“They didn’t understand you’re a PR guy,” he was saying, “and, well, as for any…jealousy issue on my part, where you and Tiffany is concerned…I understand you’re batting for the other team, so that’s a moot point.”
So Licata thought I was gay, too. Skull and Juke must have told him. That might be bad-mob guys weren’t known for being super understanding about alternate lifestyles. But in view of the “jealousy issue,” maybe I better stay gay…
He sensed my anxiety and raised the hand with the wedding ring, as if in benediction. “Listen, Jack-I don’t make judgments. I would be out of business if people all over this great country didn’t make certain lifestyle choices that were not approved by the powers that be. My grandfather made our fortune in beer when that was illegal. Since then, gambling, narcotics, sex…it’s all entertainment, isn’t it? Loaning people money to help them realize their dreams, isn’t that the American way? And so is making money out of it.” He shrugged elaborately. “Legislation of morality has made my family rich, and never mind what my grandfather and father would have thought… your tastes, your interests, your peccadillos, don’t matter a damn to me.”
“That’s very open-minded of you, sir.”
“Skip the ‘sir’ shit. All I look for in my partners is honesty. We traffic in dishonesty, in a way, so it makes it difficult to find people you can really trust. It’s true in any business. That’s why a guy like Stockwell reaches out to an old friend like Kaufmann-trust. It’s key.”
“I agree.”
“Can I trust you, Jack?”
“Sure.”
“There’s nothing casual about this, Jack.”
“You can trust me, Lou.”
“You understand that I’m not just an investor in this project, I am the investor. The money man. The angel. It’s all out of my pocket book.”
“I get that.”
“So if I ask you to do something that contradicts instructions from the producer or even the director, will you follow my lead?”
I shifted in the booth. “That puts me in a tough position. Art and I have mutual friends, and that’s how I was able to hire on here. I owe the guy. He’s paying me personally.”
“I respect that. But this is an unusual situation. You see, they think I don’t want people knowing that Tiff and I are an item. I’m a married man with children. I’m a ‘mob’ guy, right? Notorious organized criminal and such shit. So of course they assume I want my name out of the press, and anything about Tiff and me squelched.”
“You…you just asked me to squelch such things yourself.”
“Yes. Because that’s what Kaufmann expects me to ask. But let’s get back to that word ‘exploitation.’ You’re a PR guy, Jack. You understand. So keep me and Tiff out of People and Us and off the wire services. But slip some photos of us on set to rags like the Enquirer and to the Rona Barretts of the world.”
“Why?”
“Because it interests people, Jack. It sells movie tickets and sells video tapes. Curiosity, prurient interest, sells.”
“What about your family?”
“Which one? Annette and the kids? Or the family business I run that I inherited from guys who ran with Jack Dragna and Ben Siegel?”
“Lou…Mr. Licata…you have me thoroughly confused.”
“My wife knows about Tiff. My wife lost interest in sex maybe two kids ago. She’s fine with me tending to my needs. She also understands I have an image to maintain, to build. I’m a Hollywood animal, Jack. I have to be a star. My guys have to see me sleeping with today’s version of Marilyn Monroe… capeesh?” The last word was delivered with considerable irony. “Rivals of mine need to see that. Flamboyant. A star, a fucking superstar. Like Gotti in New York. If you help me with my image, Jack, I will give you a bonus that…what’s Art paying you, anyway?”
“Fifty grand.”
“Generous,” Licata admitted. “How would you like another fifty?”
“Yes.”
“Then no matter how much shit you get from Stockwell and Kaufmann over it, leak photos of me and Tiff on the set of this flick to the right rags. You okay with that?”
“I’m okay with that.”
The very white smile flashed under the dark mustache. “By the way, these rumors that Eric and Tiff are having an affair behind my back? Don’t deny those with the sleazier media types, either. It’s bullshit, but any ink is
