which we have Miss Thistle Downing in our sights, and I mean that literally. She’s going to be here, she’s going to be babysat every second of the day and night, and she’s going to work her ass off, twenty-four hours straight, if necessary. And when we see the last of her, right about
here
”—She tapped the top of the second vertical line—“we’ll be finished with every scene she does in all three movies.”
“Why stack it like that?” I asked.
“Because,” Rodd Hull said, “Miss Downing is a piece of work the likes of which you have never had to experience, if life has been kind of you. Remember that cute little kid? Well, forget about her. What’s going to walk in here tomorrow morning is the kind of thing that makes Catholic priests think about exorcism. Which is not to say,” he added hurriedly, with a nervousglance at Trey, “that she isn’t beautiful. Made up just right, shot carefully, lighted perfectly, with lots of soft-focus in the close-ups—the
facial
close-ups, anyway—people will recognize her.”
“What about that sore on her lip?” Trey demanded.
“The good news is that Doc says it’s not herpes. The bad news is that it’s going away at its own rate, which is slower than we’d like. So for the first couple of days, she’s Claudette Colbert.”
Trey said, “Who?”
“Movie star from the thirties and forties. She was pathologically convinced that the left side of her face was her good side. People called her right profile ‘the dark side of the moon.’ ”
“It’s not that bad,” Tatiana said. “Poor little chickie, she’s taking in like exactly zero vitamins. I’m not surprised she’s got a couple of sores here and there.”
“A little sunlight wouldn’t hurt, either,” said Rodd Hull. “She probably hasn’t seen her shadow in years.”
“Well, just stop piling on,” Tatiana said. “She’s not, like, dead, you know. You think she won’t pick up on this attitude? Anyway, there’s more talent scattered on the floor after she gets her hair cut than you’ve demonstrated in your entire career.”
“Well, of course, she’s our little
star
,” Rodd Hull said, his eyebrows practically at his hairline. “We’ll strew petals at her feet.”
I was well into developing a strong dislike for Rodd Hull.
“Good idea,” Trey said. “Tatiana. Tonight send a couple of gnomes to three or four flower shops. Tell them to buy the oldest flowers in the place, the stuff that’s going to get tossed. They should try to get a deal. I want those flowers stripped of petals, and I want those petals in buckets—no, in big gift boxes—at 8:30 tomorrow morning. Eduardo,” she said. “Make a note for me to find out about the profitability of flower shops, maybe a change of pace for dope dealers. We can build a chain. What should we call it, Mr. Bender?”
“Todd, I mean Rodd, here, already named it,” I said. “Petals at Her Feet.”
“It’s about what you’d figure,” Tatiana said. She was folding a restaurant napkin into a tight, tiny square. “Take an eighteen-year-old girl, give her no education because she worked six days a week from the time she was seven until she was fifteen. Make her as sensitive as a fern, and throw in an absolute beast of a mother who’s trying to rip her off and a brother who hates her because she’s famous. Then give her an almost unlimited amount of money and no one to say no to her. Dig up a crowd of parasites, some of whom are her relatives, to sue her for big chunks of the money. Add unimaginable amounts of cocaine, methedrine, ice, and, for all I know, heroin, and a bunch of bloodsucking motherfuckers who pretend to be her friends so she’ll keep buying dope for them. Let her trust them and believe they care about her, so they’ll be able to break her heart when the money runs out. Close the doors on all that and leave it to cook for five years. Then let her stagger out into the sunlight, broke, friendless, strung out,
here
”—She tapped the top of the second vertical line—“we’ll be finished with every scene she does in all three movies.”
“Why stack it like that?” I asked.
“Because,” Rodd Hull said, “Miss Downing is a piece of work the likes of which you have never had to experience, if life has been kind of you. Remember that cute little kid? Well, forget about her. What’s going to walk in here tomorrow morning is the kind of thing that makes Catholic priests think about exorcism. Which is not to say,” he added hurriedly, with a nervousglance at Trey, “that she isn’t beautiful. Made up just right, shot carefully, lighted perfectly, with lots of soft-focus in the close-ups—the
facial
close-ups, anyway—people will recognize her.”
“What about that sore on her lip?” Trey demanded.
“The good news is that Doc says it’s not herpes. The bad news is that it’s going away at its own rate, which is slower than we’d like. So for the first couple of days, she’s Claudette Colbert.”
Trey said, “Who?”
“Movie star from the thirties and forties. She was pathologically convinced that the left side of her face was her good side. People called her right profile ‘the dark side of the moon.’ ”
“It’s not that bad,” Tatiana said. “Poor little chickie, she’s taking in like exactly zero vitamins. I’m not surprised she’s got a couple of sores here and there.”
“A little sunlight wouldn’t hurt, either,” said Rodd Hull. “She probably hasn’t seen her shadow in years.”
“Well, just stop piling on,” Tatiana said. “She’s not, like, dead, you know. You think she won’t pick up on this attitude? Anyway, there’s more talent scattered on the floor after she gets her hair cut than you’ve demonstrated in your entire career.”
“Well, of course, she’s our little
star
,” Rodd Hull said, his eyebrows practically at his hairline. “We’ll strew petals at her feet.”
I was well into developing a strong dislike for Rodd Hull.
“Good idea,” Trey said. “Tatiana. Tonight send a couple of gnomes to three or four flower shops. Tell them to buy the oldest flowers in the place, the stuff that’s going to get tossed. They should try to get a deal. I want those flowers stripped of petals, and I want those petals in buckets—no, in big gift boxes—at 8:30 tomorrow morning. Eduardo,” she said. “Make a note for me to find out about the profitability of flower shops, maybe a change of pace for dope dealers. We can build a chain. What should we call it, Mr. Bender?”
“Todd, I mean Rodd, here, already named it,” I said. “Petals at Her Feet.”
“It’s about what you’d figure,” Tatiana said. She was folding a restaurant napkin into a tight, tiny square. “Take an eighteen-year-old girl, give her no education because she worked six days a week from the time she was seven until she was fifteen. Make her as sensitive as a fern, and throw in an absolute beast of a mother who’s trying to rip her off and a brother who hates her because she’s famous. Then give her an almost unlimited amount of money and no one to say no to her. Dig up a crowd of parasites, some of whom are her relatives, to sue her for big chunks of the money. Add unimaginable amounts of cocaine, methedrine, ice, and, for all I know, heroin, and a bunch of bloodsucking motherfuckers who pretend to be her friends so she’ll keep buying dope for them. Let her trust them and believe they care about her, so they’ll be able to break her heart when the money runs out. Close the doors on all that and leave it to cook for five years. Then let her stagger out into the sunlight, broke, friendless, strung out,
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