Fashionably Late (For My Funeral)

There were two exceptions to this rule, the first were Griffin and James Craigmore, and both were deeply involved in their business negotiations and only occasionally glancing in the general direction of the dancer. The other exception was one of the waitresses. She had been watching closely but unobtrusively, the conversation between the two men. Her memory bank of faces was now stocked, she would only keep a casual watch on them.

At five thirty my cab, the one that I had almost came to blows with an umbrella wielding harridan over, deposited me outside the glass edifice in which Melissa worked. I always use cabs. I have learned to drive but, looking around me I have found the need to own my own car to border on the stupid. I have often chuckled to myself, when watching television, at seeing the hero's car racing down almost deserted streets and finding a parking space exactly where he needed one. He never stops to lock his car and then when he gets back to it it's still there and more to the point all the wheels are still on it.

Melissa met me with her usual enthusiasm, I didn't know whether it was for my benefit or that of her co-workers and quite frankly I couldn't care less. After an effusive kiss and hug she released me. "I won't be a minute Darling, I just need to tidy up this account before we go."

She walked back to her desk and spoke to the rather decorative young lady who was waiting for her. "Susie, would you ring Smithson's, and arrange a meeting for eleven tomorrow, so that we can go over the presentation with them. Then could you send the artwork to the printers and tell them that we want a dozen copies of the preliminaries here, on my desk, by ten thirty. When you've done that you can go."

"Yes Miss Blanchette, I mean Mrs. Feldham." She gathered up the papers and left the office.

"That's that, are you ready Darling?"

"Where are we going?"

"I thought we could try that new South American restaurant that I've read so much about."

James Craigmore had Roman numerals after his name and acted like it. "So pleased to meet you," he held out the dead fish on the end of his arm and I shook it with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. "Melissa has told me so much about you and I feel that I know you already." He sleazed around behind Melissa's chair and slid it under her so that she could sit down.

From this description you might have guessed that I have formed an instant dislike to James Craigmore the whatever, and you would be correct, he made my flesh crawl with his pretentious manners.

We ordered our pre-dinner drinks from a waiter who graduated magna cum laude from the obsequious school of waiting. It was almost as if he was doing us a favor by recommending the most expensive drinks on the list. I couldn't wait for the wine service. James ordered the wine for us, assuring us that his choice would be to everyone's taste. The Sommelier arrived with a bottle that seemed to have been left in the dustiest corner of the cellar. He made a great show of dusting the label and showing James who nodded his head as if he was bidding at an auction, if I hadn't expected it I wouldn't have noticed it.

From his waistcoat pocket the waiter drew an implement that I have since learned was called a 'waiter's friend'. Opening the blade he cut the foil capsule at the top of the neck, and then he opened the corkscrew part and deftly removed the cork. When presented with the cork I expected James just to put it in his pocket as a souvenir but instead he looked at it closely and sniffed it.

The waiter splashed a small amount of the red wine into a tasting spoon and sipped it before pouring some into James's glass. James held it up to the light, swirled it around, sniffed it, picked up the menu and held it behind the glass, sniffed it again and sipped a small amount which he swirled around his mouth before declaring it, with a rapturous expression on his face, to be almost perfect.

"I think it needs a little air, if you'll allow it to breathe for about thirty minutes and then bring it back I'll be most pleased."

"Very good Sir." He oiled off to attend to other patrons' needs. Thirty minutes later, almost to the second, the waiter proceeded to pour some of the wine into all of our glasses. "This is arguably one of the best wines ever produced." James said knowledgably, "The Mouton has always been excellent and this year was no exception."

I looked at the label expecting to see 1988 but to my surprise it had 1975. "You don't think that this is a little old do you?" Melissa kicked me under the table. "Just joking." We all smiled, some of us genuinely. I sipped the wine and wondered what the fuss was about. I guess that my palate just didn't have the necessary sophistication, yet.

The food waiter arrived to take our orders. For the first time I looked closely at the menu. My investments will have to be very profitable to meet the bill for this meal. I ordered a steak, rare, with a sauce based on peppers and brandy. Melissa ordered steak au poivre, medium rare and James, "Whip off its horns wipe its arse and chuck it on the plate, if it doesn't moo when I cut it, it's too well done, ha ha!"

"Very good sir." This waiter must have been trained in the same school as the wine waiter because he oiled off to get the meals.

The rest of the meal followed along the same lines with James trying hard to impress me and, I thought, Melissa. I decided that if he kept this up much longer he wouldn't get any of my business. I don't care how rich he was, and how naive I was when it came to the finer points of life, I have never like being the victim of condescension.

I said as much to Melissa when we eventually got home. "But Darling he is the best in his field."

"I don't care if he can walk on water, I do not appreciate being treated like that."

"Does it matter? As long as he does his job, does it matter how he treats you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact it does. How would you like it if I talked down to people who don't have my knowledge of literature? I do not like 'superior' people and I do not like people who think that they are superior to me. I am a human being the same as everyone else, and like everyone else I have feelings."

"Of course you do Darling, but in business a 'superior' person gets the business while the quiet person starves."

Here ended our first disagreement. The next day, by way of apology, I received a phone call from James who suggested that we meet for drinks and to discuss business. I said 'yes' even though I was tempted to decline the offer, but in deference to Melissa I accepted.

The bar that James had chosen was not one that I would normally have frequented. It was smoke filled, which I hated, dark, which I didn't mind so much, and there were waitresses all of whom wore nothing but a fixed smile and a minuscule G-string, not so much for modesty purposes but to provide patrons with somewhere relatively hygienic to place their tip, usually in the form of large denomination bank notes.

James seemed to be one of the regulars at this establishment, "Hi Honey, can I get you anything?" She was blonde, slim, her tan probably fake as were her breasts. Her line of patter probably learnt at a school for topless waitresses because it showed about as much imagination as someone of her status in life could handle.

"I'll have the usual, Jason what will you have?"

"A scotch will be fine."

"Got that?"

"Got it." She tottered off in her ridiculously high heels that made her legs look as if they finished just under her armpits.

In the time that it took to get our drinks I was treated to the same intelligent line of patter from two other blondes with long legs and large breasts. In the dim lighting the only way that I could be sure which blonde was which was by the color of the sequins on her G-string.

When our drinks arrived and I was treated to a close up view of a pair of breasts that couldn't, I thought on closer inspection, have been natural, James got down to business. "Melissa tells me that you have a large amount of money sitting in a bank account and earning standard bank interest."

"Yes. I didn't know what else I could do with it and no-one that I've asked could tell me. I thought that it is better to have it in a safe place than to run the risk of losing it that is why I haven't thought of using a stockbroker."

"The stock market isn't the only method of investing money. There are better returns to be had by venturing into some of the more risky forms of investment."

"Such as?"

"Well you could invest in a Broadway production."

"What if it flops?"

"Then you take out insurance against that eventuality and let the underwriter take the fall."

"That doesn't seem fair, does it?"

"That's what they're about. They take the risks for you, they charge you a premium that you won't notice if it is a hit and if it isn't they pay out."

"Then why don't they invest in the productions themselves and cut out the other investors?"

"That would take all the fun out of the process."

"What other forms of investments are there?"

"Commodities."

"Like pork bellies. What the hell are pork bellies and why are they always appearing in the commodities reports?"

"Pork bellies are just one form of commodity investment. I don't really know what they are, I think it has something to do with bacon, but I'm not sure. Commodities are basically the goods that people want and can't produce themselves so they have to buy them from someone who can. The commodities market works on a supply and demand basis, the lower the supply and higher the demand the higher the price for that commodity. Take diamonds for instance, here you have a product that is almost indestructible, so you'd think that once all the people who wanted diamonds had enough of them the market would dry up. Not so. Almost all of the world's diamonds are marketed through the one clearing house and that is controlled by the De Beers Company, now they have the market cornered and can regulate the flow of diamonds so that they will always get the optimum price for them."

"What would happen if everyone stopped buying diamonds, wouldn't the price have to come down?"

"When you and Melissa went shopping for her engagement ring what stones did you look at?"

"Diamonds of course."

"I rest my case. There are other commodities that are in high demand, where the risk is higher but the returns are even greater."

"Such as?"

"Drugs. By financing the importation of cocaine from Colombia you could make three, possibly four times the profit in a much shorter time."

"But what happens if you are caught?"

"The investor never gets caught. The money is invested through an organization that is already set up to bring the stuff in, they make dozens of trips each year and the DEA will probably, if they are lucky, intercept one. When they do it is the couriers that get caught and they are paid extremely well to take the fall."

"I hope that you haven't thought of using my money to finance this type of operation." It wasn't a question but a statement.

"It was just an illustration of the sort of money that can be made if you invest in the right areas."

"Let me think about this." I was just about to tell him that I wasn't interested in anything that was even marginally illegal when one of the waitresses came over to take our drink orders. James ordered another couple of whiskies and she teetered off to fetch them. "Why do you come here? I wouldn't have thought that this would be your style."

"This is a good place to do business, most of the more astute players come here to carry out their transactions because it is one of the most private public places around town."

The waitress returned and James slipped the customary large note into her G-string while she was bent over me. It was difficult to concentrate beyond the flesh that was hanging not more than a couple of inches from my face. James patted her gently on the backside as she stood up to face him. They kissed affectionately and he whispered something about seeing her later. She smiled her agreement and walked away with an expression on her face that was something like the cat that had gotten the canary.

"If you would like me to handle your investments for you I can guarantee that you will treble you money in less than six months with no risk to yourself."

"I suppose I could. It would mean that I don't have to work as hard as I am now and Melissa and I could take time off to have a family and go on the odd vacation. Now can I be sure that the money is not used for anything illegal? That is my only stipulation."

"Leave everything to me. You don't have to know what the money is used for, I'll give you an accounting at the end of each month to let you know how much your investment has earned, and you can leave the rest up to me."





CHAPTER 3

"How much money have you raised?" The voice rasped its way through the cloud of cigar smoke and found its way to the opposite side of the desk where James sat.

"I have two million from my usual sources, five million from a government source and I am expecting a further one million from a new source."

"And all of this money is clean?"

"So clean it squeaks, well at least I can vouch for the private investors. No it's all kosher."

"Good, with what my friends and I have we have an investment capital of ten million. That will be enough for the next shipment, once we have that sold we can look to making a huge killing. What we have planned is to import enough cocaine into the country to last for at least a year, possibly longer. When we have it safely in cold storage we will then allow the DEA to find our opposition. Within a year or two we will be in a position of the sole supplier of cocaine in North America and when we have the market cornered we can dictate prices as never before, we will soon be wealthy beyond our wildest dreams."

I transferred a million dollars from my account to James and within a month I received a statement from him stating that this money had grown by a hundred thousand. I should have known that this wasn't possible through legal channels but I had other things on my mind.

A phone call from my agent Felix changed my immediate plans. "Jason I have good news for you."

"Tell me."

"You know 'Murder in the First', well Hollywood wants it. I've arranged for you to fly out to LA tomorrow to talk over the finer points and sign the contract. I've done all the ground work for you, the rest is a piece of cake."

"I don't know about that. Just about every book that I've read that has been turned into a movie had been bastardized beyond recognition."

Melissa and I decided that we could use a vacation so we both flew out to the coast. It was very confusing watching the screen writer hacking a perfectly good novel to pieces to produce a movie that bore little resemblance to the original, apart from the title.

We attended several industry parties where I was feted as the latest star of the movie industry. I got the impression that as soon as my back was turned I would be forgotten, but I was enjoying it while it lasted.

Melissa was also enjoying herself. By night she was my ever present wife, basking vicariously in my glory and by day she worked Rodeo Drive for all it was worth.

The studio had put us up in the Beverley Hills Hotel and Melissa soon became a familiar sight arriving back from one of her shopping adventures in this huge limousine that the studio had laid on for our convenience.

We were there for four weeks and I was hoping that James had increased my money by the same amount just to cover what Melissa had spent. I didn't discuss the question of money or how much she had spent until we had returned to New York and the credit card statement had arrived. "Darling, you seemed to have spent an awful lot of money while we were in Hollywood but our credit card doesn't reflect that amount."

"I didn't use our account silly. I used some funny money that I had set aside for the possibility of ever having the opportunity to splurge out there. I have had no trouble covering all that I have spent."

"That's a relief. I thought that I was going to have to prostitute my art to pay for it."

"I gather from that you don't like what they have done to your book."

"They have paid me over a million for virtually nothing more than the title. My hero was a normal person trying to survive as a policeman and not succeeding very well. They have turned him into some gun blazing, walk on water superhero. He gets blown away several times, beaten up at least once, survives several high speed car crashes and walks away without a scratch with this gorgeous blond on his arm. What could be further from the original? In my book the hero spends several days in hospital after one beating, doesn't even get to fire a gun let alone survive getting shot up, can't drive to save himself and his wife is leaving him for someone else. At the end of the book, apart from arresting the villains, he is nothing more than a sad and lonely man. I have tried to put as much realism as possible into my work. I hate what they have done to it."

I picked up the phone and rang my agent. "Felix, before you go off arranging to sell the movie rights to any more of my books I want one thing made very clear and that is I have final approval on any changes that are made to the original."

The voice at the other end of the line told me that I was committing artistic suicide with my demands and that none of the studios would go for it.

"I don't care. I have no respect for what they have done to my work. I would much rather commit artistic suicide than prostitute my art for a quick buck. If they want my work badly enough they will meet my terms, if not, so be it."

"I am your agent, you pay me quite handsomely to make the right decisions for you. I am telling you that Hollywood won't buy it."

"I don't care. I don't need the money that badly."

"It's you funeral."

I hung up. "What was that all about?" Melissa had just come back into the room.

"I was just telling Felix that I wanted final approval for any changes that are made to my work in future and he has just finished telling me that Hollywood wouldn't be interested on those terms."

"Do you think that you're doing the right thing, after all he is your agent and is supposed to know what's best?"

"That much he keeps telling me. No, I think I've done the right thing. We'll see what happens."

What happened was that I had to take a crash course in script writing because six months after that trip west I was again contacted through Felix with another offer to buy the movie rights for one of my books. It seems that despite the changes to the original of my first, the movie was a success and the studio was willing to meet any demands that I made just to secure the rights for more.

This time Melissa didn't come out to the coast with me. I found that working in the close confines of the room that the studio had set aside for me was better than trying to function out of the hotel. At the hotel I was forever receiving phone calls from the media trying to arrange interviews and attendance on TV chat shows. It took me a while to realize that this was all a part of the studio publicity machine.

I would have preferred to have stayed in my hotel room at night but they wanted me seen around the most fashionable watering holes, usually with some publicity hungry 'star' on my arm. Every night before I went out to one of these events I spoke to Melissa by phone. "You should be here, and then I wouldn't have to squire these shallow women around to these functions. I would love for you to come out, can't you get away from work for a couple of days?"

"Sorry Darling, we're in the middle of a very important campaign right now. Look, if I can arrange it how about the week after next?"