“How are you doing?” Beatrice continued. She hadn’t even realized I hadn’t answered her previous comment. “OMG! What a day you must have had! You need to tell me everything.”
I was going to tell her some redacted version of the story and try to see if I could make any sense of what had happened that morning while doing it. I’ve always believed in the power of vent therapy.
But in the end, it would behertellingme. How did she have more details than I did? I was there when the body was found. Well, in the proximity of it at least.
“You know they think he was killed, right?” Beatrice continued with her nonstop talking. “They’ve expedited the results of the autopsy, but it wasn’t a shooting or a stabbing. He was run over by a car and they’re treating it as a murder.”
I was about to ask something but there was no need. Beatrice had already anticipated it.
“They don’t think it was simply a hit-and-run—he still had his cell phone and wallet with all the credit cards. But his watch was missing. It was a Patek Philippe worth north of eighty grand. I guess that was difficult to leave behind...”
Although Beatrice was talking about the gruesome death of a person—and not recapping all the clients she had been able to place in the latest season ofThe Gilded Age—I’d have sworn my agent was enjoying herself.
“I know, I know. How did they know it wasn’t an accidental robbery gone terribly wrong? If there’s something we know in Southern California, it’s that parking lots are a total hazard!” She never missed a beat. “Apparently, there was some sort of message from Henry.”
Again, no need for me to react with a follow-up comment. Beatrice knew I was enthralled even if her gifts as a storyteller left a bit to be desired. Storytelling 101: You can’t keep ignoring your audience and their needs for the whole length of your tale. Yes, that’s my not-so-veiled manner of telling directors to stop making three-hour-plus movies. People need to pee whether you acknowledge it or not. But I digress.
“When the police notified Henry’s attorney about the death,” Beatrice continued, “he told them about a voicemail the actor had left him presumably before being run over. The message advised the lawyer to contact the cops as he suspected his life was in danger.”
“The fucking prick!” I finally managed to say. “Annoying even when he’s dead. Telling everyone what to do.”
“I gather you weren’t much of a fan?” Beatrice asked, suddenly interested in what I had to say.
“I wasn’t,” I admitted.
“I hear you’re not alone. It doesn’t look like he had many friends left. Pretty much everyone in Hollywood detested him.” That was news to me. I’d been convinced he was a well-regarded actor. His career vouched for that. “The only ones who hadn’t deserted him yet—his agent and manager—were going to ditch him now that he’s been fired fromLA Misconducts. He’d long been without a publicist...”
“And I hear he was also without a lawyer,” I managed to contribute. I wondered if that was why Henry’s attorney hadn’t alerted the authorities immediately after getting his call. Henry was no longer his client, and he wasn’t picking up his calls. But there was something else Beatrice had said that called my attention. “He was fired?” I’d heard something around town but thought it was some unfounded rumor.
“Very much so.”
“What happened?”
“I’m dying to find out about it but haven’t been able to—yet,” Beatrice said. It made me wonder at her methods—or reasons—to possess so much information about Henry’s death. “But perhaps your boyfriend was right after all with that exposé article of his about Henry.”
The mention of David had blindsided me, but I was still able to react. “Not my boyfriend anymore,” I said.
“That’s right! You told me or someone else did...”
She wasn’t even remotely ashamed that she’d probably been openly gossiping about me and my relationship status behind my back.
“So, honey, we need to talk about the offer,” she said, getting in agent mode while we were served two plates of the OG Ramen with vegan eggs. And, in case you were wondering, I don’t know what the vegan egg is either.
“Tell me about the offer,” I said unenthusiastically.
“With Dashing gone fromLA Misconducts, they’re gonna be wrapping the show but want to bank on its popularity. So they’re developingNYC Misconducts, and the showrunner wants you back on the team.”
“Is Fred also running this sequel then?” I said, referring to my former boss atLA Misconducts, showrunner Fred Appleton.
“He is and he loved working with you,” Beatrice said. “There’s one caveat though. Fred feels that, in order to write about the NYPD, he needs toinhabitNew York. So the writers room is going to be based there.”
“Yeah, I’m not moving to New York,” I said. Even ifNYC Misconductssounded remotely attractive to me, which it didn’t, my whole family was in Los Angeles and my life had already been uprooted once. I was not going to do that again.
“I’m gonna give you a bit of time to think about it,” Beatrice replied.
“I’mnotmoving to New York,” I repeated, trying to sound even more assertive.
“I know you’re an LA girl, honey.” That was not even true. I was a Barcelona girl turned Angelena by her parents. I didn’t feel the need to turn into something else and become a New Yorker. “But the weather there is notthatbad,” my agent continued. “I’m sure Fred will let you work from home if there’s a big snowstorm. And New Yorkers really grow on you once you get to know them. I’m a New Yorker, aren’t I nice?”
