An Accidental Affair (2 page)

But the driving conditions were no match for the paparazzi. Like flies drawn to shit, they had come to my estate, were buzzing around my property, the residence that I shared with Regina Baptiste, the stunning actress who was willing to do anything to make herself famous. If she had been ugly the streets would be empty and the cameras pointed in a different direction. Stunning Hollywood actress fucks up. The pack salivates and attacks like hungry wolves. She had sold her soul. She had destroyed our marriage. She had earned herself the bright lights of fame and infamy. America loved it when people fell. Hollywood loved it more. TMZ loved it the most.

Regina Baptiste’s face stared at me from a billboard, an advert for her new perfume.

Heavenly, mysterious, the naked fragrance he will want to embrace for an eternity.

Baptize your senses in a touch of heavenly elegance.

MAPONA by REGINA BAPTISTE.

Face flawless, wearing diamonds and her smoldering grin, she spied down on me from the land of soy lattés, macrobiotic baby food, tofu, and Xanax. Her goddess-like image was very powerful, yet very accessible, very womanly, unremorsefully and lethally womanly.

MAPONA by REGINA BAPTISTE.

Also on that billboard was a male model, his face unseen, holding her as if she was the woman all men desired. My cellular rang. I looked down and thought that I would see my wife’s name on the display. But it was one of Hollywood’s power brokers calling me. The cellular was connected to the car’s hands-free system and answered automatically.
I didn’t say anything. I sat in the car, in the rain, watching the press as they stalked my once peaceful home.

Two police cars were parked outside the gate. The long arm of the law had arrived.

“James.”

“Hazel Tamana Bijou.”

“Where are you?”

“Two minutes away from my estate with a gun in my hand.”

“Please don’t do anything else stupid.”

“You heard about my little meeting with Johnny Handsome?”

“What did you do to Johnny? You have set Twitter and Facebook on fire.”

“I beat his ass.”

“You attacked Johnny Bergstein?”

“Where are you, Hazel?”

“I’m in Atlanta. Good Lord, James. You don’t mess with Johnny Bergs. Not that family.”

“I have to find Regina. It’s her turn now.”

“Do not do anything to Regina. Do you hear me?”

“Atlanta. You’re missing all the fun, Hazel.”

“I left LAX eight hours ago…made it to Hartsfield ahead of severe thunderstorms, damn tornadoes, and winds at sixty-miles-per-hour. I’m trapped here in this god-awful place. Otherwise I’d be on a plane back to Los Angeles at this very moment. I’d come help.”

“I should’ve left a bullet in his fucking face.”

“Wait, you have a gun?”

“It’s America. We all have guns. Robert Blake, Phil Spector, the kids at Columbine, the D.C. sniper, cops, drug dealers, and angry husbands. God bless the Republicans and the NRA.”

“Please, James. Think before you do something that will have you in jail forever.”

“O.J. got off. Blake got off. Spector got off the first time. Why not me?”

“James. Tell me that you’re joking about the gun.”

“Which side of this line are you standing on?”

“I am on your side. Your wife, well, that ambitious actress is a vindictive piece of work to say the least, but I still have to work with her on this issue as well. And you. The former gives me no pleasure and the latter is where my professional effort remains.”

“The film? Someone forwarded that clip to my phone.”

“It was sent to my phone too, James. Sent from an unknown number.”

“It was sent to mine unknown as well. It’s all over the Internet.”

“It’s gone viral.”

“How many hits?”

“You don’t want to know. I’m working on getting it shut down.”

“
The damage is done
. It’s probably been bootlegged and is being sold on every corner.”

“James, I saw it. It was shocking, to say the least. I’m already fighting for that part of the film to be removed and shelved permanently, even for the release of the DVD. My lawyers are on it. I have to get ahead of the game. But for now, I’m in a battle on your behalf so we can keep it rated at R, not at NC-17 or X. If it goes NC-17 or X, those parts will still be in the film.”

“Do you ever leave work mode, Hazel? Do you? I don’t care about NC-17 or X at this moment in my life. In the morning, the next day, maybe. Now, I don’t care about a movie rating.”

“Sorry, James. Forgive me for sounding insensitive, but I’m in your corner and I’m already on the phone and online looking out for you.”

“It’s posted on Facebook. It’s posted on Twitter and being re-tweeted.”

“Calm down, James.”

“What the hell happened? And don’t ask me to accept this shit because of its artistic value. He fucked my wife on camera. My wife fucked him on camera. I saw the fucking money shot. I saw it, Hazel. How in the fuck did Regina Baptiste…what the hell happened on set?”

“James, I have no idea. Last I heard they were having problems with that scene. They improvised. They took liberties with the script. And with that one improvised sex scene, this production changed into an out-of-control version of
Nine Songs
meets
Lie to Me
.”

“Was Regina coerced into fucking her costar on camera in front of everybody?”

“James, you saw as much as I saw. I have no idea what happened on set.
Nine Songs
set a precedent, showed the actors having real sex, and maybe this director felt as if he had to follow that controversy, if only for the sake of generating buzz about his next film. Mr. Director would sacrifice us all and write his name in the blood of others in order to make his reputation.”

“That is what Alan Smithee does best.”

“And he does it well. Alan Smithee cares only about Alan Smithee.”

“This is a nightmare. He took my script…and my wife…this is a nightmare.”

“This project has been a nightmare for me and everyone involved. And as a co-producer I know that somewhere along the line, even if unbeknownst to me due to my ambitions and the way I drive people to be successful, maybe I was the spark that lit this fire, as I did want more, want better, want perfection, but this was too much, even for me.”

“I have my gun, Hazel. I can create a climactic chapter with a few bullets.”

“James, no. Just meet me and we can talk this thing through.”

“I’m so fucking done.”

“I swear, what happened on set that last day of shooting was out of
my immediate jurisdiction and beyond my control. And I can’t make choices for actors. I can’t control directors any more than a man can control the choices that an ambitious woman makes.”

“Yeah, I know. No man can control a woman’s choices; good, bad, or otherwise.”

“What she has done, in the end, will do as much for her career as being in
The Lover
did for Jane March. Once you do a part like that, you’re the chick who fucks in movies, nothing more. Men don’t suffer from having sex on camera. Women do. Regina Baptiste will be done in Hollywood. In this matter I can speak my mind and make threats and phone calls, but despite my roar I am powerless. You, me, no one in production, we didn’t see this coming.”

“Nice choice of words.”

“James—”

“This is unreal.”

“I’m so glad you answered your cell. I’m so glad.”

“The car answered. Just when I thought it respected me.”

“Either way, intentional or accidental, I’ve been trying to reach you since everyone started blowing up my BlackBerry. You’ve deleted your Facebook account.”

“Suspended. Those information-stealing fucks don’t actually let you delete Facebook.”

“All of your AOL, Gmail, and Yahoo! accounts have vanished.”

“When I need you, I’ll e-mail you from a phone. More than likely I will have to send you a message to come and post a multimillion-dollar bail, or help me escape the country.”

My cellular rang again. This time the caller ID read
DRIVER.
I told Hazel to hold on and then I clicked over and talked with one of my loyal employees. He was paid to be loyal.

In the deep voice of a strong man Driver said, “You didn’t wait for me.”

“Some things a man has to do on his own, Driver.”

“I know that. We all have to fight our own battles at some point.”

I looked at the blood on my fist, then opened and closed my hand.

He said, “Miss Baptiste isn’t at the estate. All the workers have been calling each other, so I know that for a fact. One of your cars is gone, so they assumed she left in the Bentley.”

I held my gun, gritted my teeth. “So she’s not there.”

He asked, “What can I do?”

“It’s done. The first half of it is done. The second half, in due time.”

“I wanted to stop you before you did something that couldn’t be fixed.”

“Drive by Sunset and La Brea.”

“Sunset and La Brea. I’ll head that way.”

“At the intersection.”

“Oh. Bobby Holland dropped off flowers and a package at the estate.”

“That bastard came to my house? Bobby Holland came to my house?”

“Saw him when I was there looking for you. Miss Baptiste’s ex came to your estate.”

“In this world he’s nothing but an animalcule that jacks off to the misery of others. Tell the guards to kick his Norwegian ass if he comes back. If you do it I’ll double your pay.”

I let Driver go and clicked back over to Hazel Tamana Bijou.

She asked, “Was that Regina?”

“No. She’s not answering my calls. Calls are going to voice mail.”

“Don’t do anything crazy. Sit on it for a moment. You’re enraged. Running on emotions. Think. Call me back at this number. Call anytime. Send up a smoke signal before you do something foolish. James, I pulled you into this business, fought for you and the first screenplay you wrote, and your work pushed my career to where it is now. Back
then I told you about the crossroads where many came to sell their souls to the devil. It cost me my marriage. We’re standing here together now, and I’ll fight with you. I’m a warrior. But I am also your friend.”

“I guess what she did is part of the feminist movement.”

“Bullshit. I am a woman. And as a woman what transpired on set is an embarrassment. It has cheapened every woman in the business and I no longer want my name associated with the wretched project, but I still must see this catastrophe through until the end.”

I paused. “You heard the applause.”

“I heard it, James. I heard the applause.”

As anger made it impossible to breathe, I fell silent. Watched traffic and rain.

For the first time since birth I was speechless. Absolutely without words.

The phone buzzed again. Driver was calling back. I didn’t answer.

Hazel asked, “What are you going to do, James? Talk to me.”

My head ached and as I looked at my loaded .38, I hung up my phone.

My quandary had me nonplused.

The phone rang again and the car answered without my permission.

“Driver. What’s up?”

“The Porsche is still sitting in traffic, window broken, engine running.”

“That’s the way I left it. No sign of Bergs?”

“No sign. Raining hard. A tow truck is pulling up. Police are already here.”

“Then it won’t do me any good to come back that way and finish what I started.”

I couldn’t go home. Not now. Not for a while. I told Driver what I needed.

“Everything.” I said that, then grimaced and repeated, “Everything in a U-Haul.”

I killed the call the way I wanted to kill Johnny Handsome and Regina Baptiste.

If a man has never wanted to kill a woman, a man has never really been in love.

I looked down at my wet T-shirt.
SUCK IT EASY
. Spots of pink were on its golden front. It was his blood mixed with rainwater. It was Johnny Handsome’s blood splattered all over my clothing. The knuckles on my right hand were raw, blood dripping back into my palm.

Not far away, in the hills above my home stood the iconic
HOLLYWOOD
sign.

Hollywood was where a man could have everything, and still have nothing.

It was my home. But I had to leave the land of lights, camera, and action.

I had to get out of here; I had to make myself disappear.

The billboard with my wife’s sensual smile stared down on me as I made a U-turn.

Her image remained in my rearview mirror as if she was following my retreat.

Anyone who didn’t know about Regina Baptiste before, did now. I wouldn’t be able to walk down the street without seeing her face on a newspaper or up high on a billboard. She was everywhere. The problem was being James Thicke. I didn’t want to be James Thicke anymore.

The phone rang again, a roaring monster that refused to sleep.

My eyes were closed, head throbbing, breathing curt, and the car answered.

He said, “James Thicke. I know you’re there. I can hear you breathing.”

“Bobby Holland. The only man I know whose voice sounds better on mute.”

“I’ve been trying to reach you and Regina Baptiste to talk about this prop—”

“You know we return calls up here, not by the squeaky wheel, but from most important to least. I was going to get around to you, hopefully before I turned eighty, ninety at the latest. I hadn’t called you, but you were on the list. The problem is not that you were at the bottom of mine, but that I was at the top of yours. That’s the source of your angst, bad prioritizing.”

“We sat next to each other in class at USC.”

“We were in the same room. I never sat next to you.”

“And we did a movie together.”

“A project that I want to forget. I had to sue you to get paid. We had a contract. It took me four years to get paid. And then you had the audacity to demote me in the credits, from ‘screenplay by’ to ‘story by’, so I had to sue you again. So fuck you, you piece of talentless shit.”

“You betrayed me and took my woman. She betrayed me and went to you.”

“Fate. You couldn’t handle her. I’m the better man. Take your pick.”