Clifford Irving's Legal Novels - 04 - BOY ON TRIAL - A Legal Thriller by Clifford Irving Page B

be hard, I thought, to live with a kid like me. But it was hard for a kid like me to live with parents.
    “All right, yes, if you put it that way, you can pay.”
    It was a small victory, but it meant a lot to me. It meant I had rights, even if exercising them cost me thousands of dollars.
    The agency shot the commercial in a sound studio on West Nineteenth Street in Manhattan. The law required that a tutor from the school system be present so that I wouldn’t be considered truant, and she did some geography and history with me. There was also someone there from the ASPCA, but he had nothing to object to because the hot lights didn’t bother Iphigenia at all, and I explained to him that she ate these candies all the time, they were rewards to her.
    For a while, however, the people in what they called the “creative team” were worried that she wouldn’t like Fruities as much as Wal-Mart’s sourballs and wouldn’t show the same enthusiasm for wrenching them from behind my teeth.
    “What she loves best,” I said, “is the thrill of the hunt. Any brand will do. What do I say to her?”
    “Just go through your act. If you feel like laughing or smiling, that’s fine. Act natural. But we’d prefer that you don’t speak.”
    “You mean I don’t have to say that Fruities are better than Life-Savers?”
    No, they said. Button up.
    They shot the scene with quite a few flavors and from quite a few angles. Iphigenia went after the Fruities with plenty of enthusiasm. But after about an hour and a half I called a halt. “That’s enough, please.”
    The director said, “What do you mean?”
    “I don’t want her to get sick.”
    “We still haven’t done lemon and coconut.”
    “Then we’ll have to do them another day.”
    “Billy, the deal is for all eight flavors.”
    “I didn’t say no to eight flavors. I just don’t want her to eat all eight flavors in one session and then throw up.”
    The man from the ASPCA cleared his throat. You could see he was ready to earn his pay.
    I wanted to make the creative team feel better. I said, “She likes this candy. It’s got a lot of sugar in it. I didn’t realize she’d like it so much. Tomorrow, or later, why don’t I ask her why she likes them? Then I could pinch her, so that no one sees, and she’ll squeak at me, and I could say, ‘Oh, I see! You like Fruities because they taste so delicious.’”
    They explained that that kind of message would all show in writing on the screen, or be narrated by a professional announcer.
    “Isn’t it better if they hear it from me?”
    The director had left.
    Someone else said, “Eddie, call the limo for the kid.”
    The finished product, with Iphigenia grabbing and gobbling cherry and lime, was shown in Atlanta and San Diego to a few of what were called focus groups. Max Russo phoned me one day after school. “Billy, the children in the audiences laughed out loud. Some of the adults applauded. This commercial could win an award. We’re going to kick off next week with a spot on Friends . You’ll be in thirty million American homes.”
    “Really?”
    “You don’t sound very excited.”
    I was thinking about privacy. I valued my privacy. I wasn’t too happy that thirty million American families would know my face. I’ll just stay home, I thought. Become a recluse.
    And in those days, anyway, what was really on my mind was my plan for Amy. I said I’d help her and I intended to do it. Do or die.

Chapter 13

    On good-weather school days Amy and I had lunch on the baseball field on Newtown Lane, or in the Brothers Four pizza parlor if it was cold or raining. I told Amy about my rock climbing and that one day I was going to climb Everest. “People’s lungs bleed at 24,000 feet, they get terrible headaches, and frostbite can make them lose fingers and toes. So if you want to come, you’d better wait for me in a tent at base camp.”
    “How cold is base camp?”
    “It’s at 17,200 feet.”
    “Have a nice