“Oh, I know, darling,” her mother said. “Just keep in mind that that’s exactly what all of those women say who end up with those huge alimony payments.”
I can’t win, Wendy thought. “Shane’s a man, Mother,” she scoffed.
“Yes, he is,” her mother sighed. “And I’m sure he’s figured out that it’s much more convenient to be with you than it is to be alone.”
This reminded her of the apartment where Shane had been staying during his absence, which she’d never seen, but to which she’d sent one of her assistants to help Shane gather his things. It was a sublet he’d wrangled from a bartender (Wendy didn’t ask if the bartender was male or female)—a tiny, one-bedroom walk-up with a mattress on the floor and cockroaches in the bathroom—in turn reminding her of the purloined $200,000 Shane had charged to American Express for his restaurant. They hadn’t really talked about it, other than Shane admitting that the whole restaurant thing was a mistake and he was going to drop it. This seemed to be a signal that she should drop it as well. Still, it did bother her a little. It was like one of those sharp mysterious itches that wake you just as you’re about to fall asleep.
“Hey,” Selden Rose said one afternoon, coming into her office. Ever since that lunch, Selden had developed a habit of popping into her office unexpectedly, breezing past the two assistants in the outer office and Josh in the middle. Each time he strolled in, hands thrust casually in his pockets, she was always on the phone, and she found that she couldn’t help performing a little for his benefit. That afternoon was no exception, even though Shane had returned. With the headset clamped below her chin, she rolled her eyes at Selden and then stared down at her desk with a little frown, then rested her elbow on her chair, leaning her head on her hand; then crossed her legs and raised her eyebrows, catching his eye and pressing her lips into a disbelieving smile.
And then she swiveled to the side and spoke firmly into her microphone. “Look, Ira, Sam Whittlestein is an asshole and we’re not going to do business that way. I’m not going to be held up. It’s a deal breaker, and if he doesn’t want to play ball, we’re going to move on.”
She pulled the headset off and stood up, coming around to the front of her desk and leaning against the edge. “Damn agents.”
“Bottom-feeders,” Selden agreed.
“Ira would rather blow a deal than not get his way.”
“Like most guys.”
“I hope not you, Selden,” she said with a sexy, authoritative laugh, as she leaned one arm back to press the button for the intercom.
“Morse Bleeber?” Josh asked.
“Tell him to hold.” She then focused all her attention on Selden. “How’s the premiere coming?”
“The question is, Who’s coming?” Selden said, putting the emphasis on the word “coming” as if suggesting an innuendo. He hiked his trousers up and sat down on an overstuffed armchair with his legs open.
Wendy’s eyes strayed to his crotch, where the fabric of his trousers had formed a tent. But that didn’t mean anything. It was probably just the fabric.
“Meaning?” she asked.
“Tony Cranley says he’s busy.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’s busy all right. Or plans to be anyway,” Wendy said, crossing her arms. “With a hooker.”
“You never know. She might be an aspiring actress.”
“Do you want me to call him?” she asked.
“If you think it might help.”
“It will. I know just what to say to him. Tony’s a sweetheart, but he’s dumb.”
Their eyes met, and they quickly looked away, knowing that this exchange could have easily taken place over the phone or by e-mail. She ought to tell him about Shane, she thought.
“You should come,” he said, casually stretching one arm.
She nodded, pretending to be interested in straightening the pile of screenplays on her desk. His invitation had caught her off guard. It was either a subtle hint at a date, or a canny strategic move, or possibly a little of both. Three months ago, Selden Rose wouldn’t have dared suggest she show up at one of his premieres—her attendance would be the equivalent of a public announcement that she fully supported his project and believed in it. In any case, it would certainly make people talk, especially as she’d made it a point to not attend his premieres in the past.
“I could do that,” she said, noncommittally. “As long as I’m back from Romania.”
“Trouble?” he said casually.
She looked at him sharply. Had he heard about the disastrous dailies? “Just the usual.” She shrugged. “I’ll probably only be gone for three or four days.”
“Good. I’ll see you at the premiere,” he said, standing up to take his leave. “I always say
no one can turn down a personal invitation.”