The Boy Who Never Grew Up Read Free

His eyes were set unusually close together, so close they almost seemed to be on the same side of his nose, like a cartoon character’s. He wore a chunky, geometrically patterned sweater and wide-wale corduroy slacks. He seemed, at first glance, like a bit of a cream puff to be someone who ran a studio. Oafish almost. I doubted this was the case. Oafs do run studios, but they are never cream puffs.
    “What do your friends call you?” he asked, as he shook my hand.
    “Any number of vile things. Make it Hoagy.”
    “As in Carmichael?”
    “As in the cheese steak.”
    “I’m a major fan of your work, Hoagy. Merilee’s, too. How’s she liking Fiji?”
    Mrs. Shelley elbowed him sharply in the ribs and glared at him.
    “Oops,” he said, reddening. “Sorry. I forgot that you two—”
    “No need to be sorry,” I assured him. “Merilee’s fine, I’m fine, we’re both fine.” This was me putting on my happy face. It’s not one of the things I’m best at.
    “Glad to hear it,” he said, and he seemed to be. “Oh, hey, sorry about all that security downstairs. We need it when we travel.”
    “Because of the press?”
    “The nuts,” Mrs. Shelley replied.
    “Which ones?” I asked.
    “Kidnappers,” he replied grimly. “Sarah and Benjamin are major targets. Shelley, too. All these stories in the papers about how many hundreds of millions of dollars we’re worth. The numbers aren’t even close to true, but people get ideas, you know? There are just so many crazies out there, and all it takes is one. We stay prepared at all times.”
    I nodded. Hollywood celebrities live in utter terror of loons these days. Some of it is paranoia, but not all of it. Not even maybe.
    He held his arms out to his side and spun slowly around. “How do I look to you?”
    “Terrific. Don’t change a thing.”
    “I’m wearing bullet-proof body armor. Guy said it wouldn’t show. Cost me two thousand bucks.”
    I turned to his wife. “And you?”
    “You should see this little lady on the target range,” he said. “Dead solid perfect.”
    She lowered her eyes demurely. “Now, Twinkle …”
    “I’m serious,” he said. “She’s won all kinds of badges. Sure as hell beats the pants off of me.”
    “He’s just being modest, Hoagy,” she said.
    “And the other wives can’t even begin to touch her.”
    “A lot of us shoot,” she explained. “We want to be able to defend ourselves if we have to.”
    “What do you use?” I asked her.
    “Well, I started out with a Smith and Wesson Chief Special,” she replied. “But now I prefer the Glock nine-millimeter semiautomatic pistol. The other ladies seem to like it, too. There’s less recoil. The trigger’s lighter, don’t you think?”
    “I wouldn’t know,” I replied. “I try to get by on my wits.”
    “Some people you just can’t reason with,” Mr. Shelley pointed out.
    “In that case, I have my protector,” I said, indicating Lulu, who was sniffing delicately at a vase of yellow mums on the coffee table.
    “I go to the range with my mother every Saturday,” Mrs. Shelley said. “Pennyroyal used to come with us, but not anymore.”
    “And Matthew?”
    “He hates guns,” said Mr. Shelley.
    “Is he here at the hotel with you?” I asked.
    “No, he’s home in L.A.,” he replied. “Press downstairs all think he’s here because we used the studio jet. They have informers who tip them off about stuff like that. Only this time they’re way off.”
    “They usually are.”
    “Mommy, let’s go!” whined Sarah. “C’monnn …”
    “Okay, okay, button. We’ll be back after lunch,” she said to her husband, as she gathered up her purse.
    “Take Frank with you, Cookie,” he said. “And don’t go out the Tower entrance. The chauffeur’s waiting for you around the corner outside of the Bull and Bear.”
    “We’ll be fine, Twinkle.”
    He kissed both kids, then kissed his wife, gazing at her adoringly. “Love you,” he cooed.
    “Love you