Widespread Panic

Maiming mission to mortification. Giant Ant to peeper pariah.

I walked into Frascati. The maître d’ moaned. He took me to my table. Dippy diners at adjoining tables moaned and moved away. Waiters whipped up. They plied plates and place settings and rescued the geeks. It’s Exodus — let my people go!!!

There’s Rock and the girls. Hellllloooo, Janey Blaine.

She’s bravura. She’s mucho magnifica in a madras shirtdress.

She held out her hand. I bowed and took it. Rock winked. Phyllis rolled her eyes and registered resentment. Come on — it’s just a showbiz shuck and another mock marriage. It’s Hollywood. Rock’s Trippy Triangle!!! Let’s lay in for some laffs.

I sat down. Rock motioned for more martinis. I smelled tossed gin on my coat cuffs. It made me moan.

Janey kicked it off. She went for the whammo, straight in.

“Forgive me for being precipitous, but exactly what do I do?”

I lit a cigarette. “You act. You’re a Smith girl on the loose in L.A. You meet Rock at a dinner party. It’s the Some Enchanted Evening scenario that I know you’re acquainted with. Phyllis is with Rock. She’s his fiancée, and she doesn’t like what she’s seeing with you two. I’ll script a dinner-table dialogue for you and Phyllis. You’ll debate politics and some other things, but it’s all a smoke screen to cover the simmering feeling building between you and Rock. That’s how it starts. We’ll see how the kickoff goes, and we’ll take it from there.”

Phyllis said, “It’s demeaning. It can only go downhill from there, at least in my case.”

Rock said, “No heavy petting, Janey. I don’t roll in that direction.”

Janey laffed. Phyllis said, “Not yet you don’t — but we’re working on it.”

The martinis materialized. We took a brief breather and boozed. I scoped Janey, sidelong. I came to cold conclusions.

She’s peremptory. She’s petulant and short-tempered. She gored Phyllis’s goat at the get-go. Let’s define the Tricky Triad. Rock’s the passive putz — but now he’s strictly straight. Phyllis brings the brains and the royal rectitude. Janey is what she is — bait. She’s the torrid temptress who diverts Rock’s idling walk down the aisle.

Janey sipped her martini. “What are you prepared to pay me, and how long will the gig last?”

I said, “Ten thousand. Be prepared for a series of staged encounters, to transpire over a series of months. There’ll be a series of interviews with the celebrity press. Lew Wasserman has pledged a second-tier speaking part in Rock’s next picture. You’ll play the female lead’s bitchy kid sister.”

Janey lit a cigarette. “I’ll upstage her, too. Won’t I, Rock? Or should I start calling you ‘sweetie’?”

Rock said, “Janey’s a pisser. Isn’t she, Freddy?”

I said, “She sure is.”

Phyllis glowered and glared. Hell hath no fury like—

“Just remember who gets him in the long run, dear. Only one of us has the ability to facilitate his conversion, and that’s me. So, in that sense, this tawdry charade of ours does reflect reality.”

Rock said, “Keep referring to me in the third person. It sends me.”

Janey crushed her cigarette. “I can tell you’re quite accomplished when it comes to losing men, Phyllis.”

“Let’s just say I’m more practiced than you in general, dear. For instance, Freddy and I made out in a crowded coffee shop, not that long ago — and I would have slept with him, if he’d asked.”

Janey said, “Freddy, you’re a dog.”

I said, “Woof, woof.”

Rock high-signed me. I moved Janey’s purse out of the way and pulled my chair close. Rock chaired in close.

“I’m coming out of that haze I was in when you got me out of jail. I’m remembering some things that happened at Nick Adams’ place.”

“Such as?”

“Such as arc lights. And, you remember that guy who I said was there with Nick?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Well, now I remember him touching me — if you catch my drift. And he was babbling something about Jimmy Dean playing Caryl Chessman.”

It vibed blackmail/smut smear/cold-cocked Rock and some Nick’s Knights perv. Some filthy-film fandango. That equals Extortion 1. Bill Parker would dig it. Rebel Without a Cause. The derogatory profile expands. Plus — Caryl Chessman, again.

A waiter passed me a message slip. I unfolded it.