Between The Lines Ch. 02

"No... I don't think so," I replied after a pause, "as long as you accept that there may be times when I'll suddenly burst into tears and say 'I can't work like this! The sexual tension's killing me!' Or something of the kind."

"Behave yourself, you old lecher!" she laughed, and then she suddenly became serious again as she said, "There is one thing, though."

"What's that?"

"I'm not blaming just you; it was my fault as much as yours. But we both got carried away this morning... and we didn't use a condom. We need to make sure that doesn't happen again."

Was I upset by that? Certainly not! The word 'again' took any possible sting out of the sentence. After that, she explained that Mr Savundra -- the man with the money -- would be bringing his lawyers, advisers, and Uncle Tom Cobley and all with him to the meeting. In our corner would be a lawyer of Penny's choosing, plus her agent and, much to my amazement, my own agent. Not only was the idle bugger still alive, he was prepared to work on a Sunday! I was definitely impressed with Penny's powers of persuasion.

In the time that was left to us, I had a read-through of the revised script and found that she'd done exactly as I'd asked. She'd set it up so that a real 'smoothie' was in hot pursuit of the heroine while her clearly smitten, but shy right-hand-man was looking at her with lovelorn eyes. On paper, at least, it seemed like a winner. I made a few pencil notes in the margin, changed a few of my own lines in order to reflect something of the new tensions and handed it back to her about ten minutes before the crowd was due to gather.

We were in the drawing room (that's what Penny called it and who am I to argue?), as they began to arrive. We were able to watch them being greeted by Mason and led into the dining room which was probably perfect for such a meeting.

As a matter of fact, it was the first time I'd seen the view from the front of the building and the sheer size of the grounds amazed me. "How many county lines do you cross before you reach the road?" I asked, but she only smiled at me. I was definitely feeling a bit nervous by then. They all looked wealthy (apart from my agent, Davy Slack, who looked as if he bought all his clothes from charity shops), and I really hoped that I wouldn't let Penny down by opening my big mouth at the wrong time.

Eventually, we made our way to where they were gathered and introductions were made - lots of names that I probably wouldn't remember and handshakes that varied from wimpish to the finger crushing of those who were determined to assert their masculinity. I barely bothered to look at their faces; instead I played a little game of examining their attire and trying to assess their wealth from it. Stupid, perhaps, but it kept me from saying anything out of place. Well, that is until Davy came to shake hands and I noticed some faded, but still visible stains on his lapel. Then, I couldn't help myself; "Do you suppose I could buy back my introduction to you?" He just gave a kind of snort of derision and sat down.

Most of the early part of the meeting was taken up by Mr Savundra's advisers picking over the script and talking a load of rubbish about 'plot idiosyncrasies,' 'character development,' and 'location shoots;' most of it in a way that suggested they were things they'd read about but clearly had little understanding of, and that worried me. As the first hour passed into a second I began to feel increasingly uneasy. I sensed, rather than saw, that there was something not entirely right about it all, but I couldn't seem to identify what it was. However, it was when the discussion turned to financial matters that I really got the whiff of something rotten.

I suddenly realised that Mr Savundra, the man who was supposedly dispensing the money for the whole project, was not what he claimed to be!

Okay, I may have been biased, but that was only because I'd taken an instant dislike to the man. It didn't, I swear, have anything to do with the fact that he was from an Indian background -- I've never had any time for racism, not even in humour. No, to begin with, it was the fact that he seemed to be sweating quite profusely -- as if he was nervous -- coupled with the fact that he appeared to be mentally undressing Penny whenever he looked at her (and he seemed to be looking at her most of the time). Add that to the fact that he stuck rigidly to the prepared statement in front of him -- even attempting to quote from it to answer any questions -- and didn't even pretend to take any notes about what was being said, and I thought I had him nailed.

Showbusiness attracts con men the way a fresh turd attracts flies, and my first thought was that he fell into that category. As I observed him more closely, however, I realised that he fell into another form of 'showbusiness.' The possibility that I was wrong about him -- and there were both lawyers and showbiz agents in the meeting who didn't seem to be harbouring any doubts -- was a frightening one, because I knew I couldn't just let it be. Nervously, I cleared my throat, but no one took any notice -- so I plunged in.

"Mr Savundra," I suddenly interrupted, much more loudly than I'd meant to -- and this time all eyes turned to me. I looked him straight in the eyes when I spoke, mainly because I didn't want to see the probable look of horror on Penny's face when I continued. "Mr Savundra... if we happened to insist on a number of changes to that document you have in your hands... do you have the authority to agree to them immediately... without having to refer to anyone else?"

I could almost smell his nervous sweat as he huffed and puffed and tried to evade answering, but I kept my gaze firmly fixed on him as I went on; "You see... you've told us that you're the sole owner of the company that's backing this project; that it's your money and no one else's that's involved. If that's the case, then you can make decisions without referring to anyone else... yes?"

By this time he was shifting very uneasily in his chair and his attempts to answer were littered with phrases such as 'I don't think,' and 'I'm not sure,' usually followed by something from his precious pieces of paper. Finally, though, I'd seen enough. I dropped my pen onto the three pages of notes I'd made up to that point -- quite dramatically, if I do say so myself -- and declared:

"I really think, Mr Savundra, that you should go somewhere private and call your employer. We need to talk to whoever it is who's the real power behind the throne. Tell him the discussion is at a stalemate until he appears." And then, with what I thought was excellent aplomb considering the circumstances, I went on;

"Gentlemen, I'm sure Mason will attend to your comforts and needs while we're waiting," Following which, and without looking at anyone, I rose from the chair and left the room.

Naturally, Penny caught up to me very quickly, grabbing my arm and practically frog-marching me to the study once more. When the door was closed behind us, I got as far as saying "Penny..." before she hissed;

"Just what the fuck do you think you're playing at?"

I tried to answer, but interrupting an angry woman when she's in full flow is a bit like trying to find a dry spot in the middle of an ocean. So I let her rant and rave; allowed her to tell me how I'd just destroyed everything, ruined her future, made her look a complete fool -- you name it! I could even see her hands clenching into fists as if she was barely suppressing the desire to belt me.

"Just because I let you fuck me in the bedroom doesn't mean that you can do the same in the boardroom!" she almost spat which, I have to admit, was a pretty good line. That was when she finally had to pause to take a deep breath and, grasping the opportunity, as calmly as I could, I told her:

"Penny... Savundra's not a businessman! He's an actor! He's a front man for someone else and he's been reading from a prepared script!"

She opened her mouth to speak again, but this time no words came out as the enormity of what I was saying hit her. Then, at last, she said:

"How do you... I mean... what makes you say...?"

I told her some of it, and then asked, "Does your father wear scuffed shoes with worn-down soles and heels?"

"No... Of course he doesn't, but...."

"Why not?"

"Because he...."

"Because he's a rich man and he doesn't have to, does he? But Savundra does!" I saw her face fall and the look of dejection as she seemed to see her dream dissolve, so I quickly went on:

"Look... the offer's probably genuine... but the money's coming from someone else. We don't know who that someone is, Penny! It could be criminals trying to launder some cash. It could be... well... anyone!"

"Even my bloody father!" she whispered as the enormity of it all began to sink in.

"I hadn't actually thought of that," I lied, "but how would you feel if...."

"I'd burn the fucking script first!" she said as tears came to her eyes. Then she leaned forward, put her arms around me and began to sob gently. I held her close until the sobbing slowly died away, praying that her mascara wouldn't run on her father's shirt. She took some deep breaths to compose herself and drew a tissue out of her pocket to dab at her eyes before asking what we were going to do.

"We wait," I told her, "We stay here until someone sends Mason to fetch us. Then we'll see what Savundra has to say."

She wasn't happy with the idea but, as it happened, it didn't take long. In less than half an hour we were back in the dining room as an embarrassed Savundra apologised for any 'misunderstanding' and informed us that the 'major shareholder' of the company would be arriving shortly. Mason kept serving drinks and delicious little snacks kept appearing on the table as if by magic, but the level of conversation was stilted.

After a little while, Savundra received a call on his mobile phone that led to a lot of 'yesses' and 'certainlies' and an 'of course' before he disconnected. He then explained that he would be leaving along with his entourage; only the lawyer and an accountant staying behind to conduct the rest of the negotiations.

I think they were just stepping out of the front door when the main character in the little drama arrived and we heard the unmistakable clacking of high-heeled footsteps coming towards the dining room. Mason, of course, held the door open and was about to announce her, when she saw me and a huge grin spread across her face.

"Jack de Ladd!" she declared, "I might have known!"

For a moment or two I was too nonplussed to find my voice. I looked at the bleached hair and the lined face that seemed older than it ought to have been. My glance took in the preposterously large breasts that appeared as real as a six-pound note, the wide belt that tried to conceal an expanding waistline and the tight skirt that stretched across spreading hips, and I still couldn't think of anything to say.

"What's up, Jack... don't you recognise me?" she asked

"It's not easy... not with your clothes on!" I finally managed.

"Same old Jack!" she laughed, but I was hearing Penny's puzzled voice saying:

"I take it that you two know each other?"

"You could say that," I replied, far more calmly than I really felt, "We used to be married!"