Innocent Little Crimes Read Free Page B

mind.
    “Right, Jonny,” she said, walking away.
    “A bunch of ungrateful jerks,” he said under
his breath. The lights went off one by one, leaving him standing in
the dark. The sound stage grew quiet. Jonathan realized his fists
were still clenched. How much more of this could he take?
    Someone approached; he squinted in the dim
light and recognized his agent.
    “Billy.” Jonathan gulped. “What brings you
here? No problems with the deal . . .?”
    The thin, wiry man took him by the arm. “We
need to talk, Jonny-boy.” He whisked him over to a small set in the
corner of the stage.
    Jonathan studied the older man as he sat in a
chair and patted his neck with a large handkerchief, clearly
stalling for time.
    “How come the visit? Don’t the phones work in
West L.A. anymore?”
    Jonathan knew he was notorious for firing
agents. He’d been through just about everyone in Hollywood by now.
He started with the big guys—William Morris, ICM, and on down the
list. Then he decided the big agencies didn’t give clients enough
of their time, so he went to the small, boutique guys. His
complaint was always the same. They had their pets and the rest
fell into the black hole. Bill Evans was a one-man operation. He’d
been around forever. He had few clients and he gave them his all,
but he was small-time.
    “It’s like this, Jonny. Let me cut to the
chase. There’s this guy. He’s Goldstein’s nephew or something. He’s
been bugging his uncle for a chance to direct.”
    Jonathan’s stomach churned. “Tell me this is
a big joke. You’re pulling my leg? They’re trying to get my price
down, is that the scam?” He managed a laugh.
    “No joke, Jonny. They’re pulling you out.” He
threw up his hands in defense. “Now, I’m doing everything I can . .
.”
    “Dammit, you know how much this feature means to me. This is
a classy flick, Oscar material. It was made for me. I’ve waited
years for this kind of deal to come my way. I’ve earned it. No
stupid relative of some damn producer is going to take it away from
me!” Jonathan’s face flushed hot; blood pounded his
temples.
    “Jonny, Jonny baby, calm down. Now, I’m
meeting with Goldstein tomorrow.”
    He pounded on the table beside him. “No way,
Evans. I’ve had it with you and these deals that seem to slip
through your fingers.” His agent recoiled, sinking lower in the
chair. “There’s no way I’m going to let you keep screwing up my
life. You’re fired. Get your ugly face out of here, old man.”
    “Call me tomorrow, Jonny. When you calm down.
We’ll talk.” His agent edged his way out of the sound stage, the
heavy door slamming behind him.
    Jonathan sank back into the chair, holding
his head in his hands. This could not be happening. He heard a car
horn sound outside. He got up and paced. The car honked again.
    Jonathan walked outside. A woman climbed out
of a Mercedes coupe.
    “Here’s tomorrow’s shooting schedule, Jon.
Can you give me a lift home?”
    Jonathan looked at the young blonde, one of
his many ambitious assistants, leaning seductively against the car
in a tight miniskirt. Trying to appear casual. He snorted. All
these Hollywood hopefuls, worming their way through the studios for
a chance under the lights.
    Jonathan got behind the wheel and drove out
of the lot. Few cars were leaving the studio this late in the
evening. Tiffany thumbed through the papers on her lap. “Okay,” she
said, snapping chewing gum over her tongue, “here’s one from the
DGA.”
    Jonathan looked over at the envelope. “Dues.
What else?”
    “A couple office memos, one from Derringer,
about casting the beach scene . . .”
    “What’s that?” He pointed to the gold and
white envelope that rested in her lap. Tiffany shrugged and ripped
it open, then pulled out a card.
    “You’re invited to a party, no, a college
reunion. Get this—Lila Carmichael.”
    Jonathan grabbed the invitation out of her
hand and read it while waiting at the light at