The Man Who Would Be F. Scott Fitzgerald (26 page)

“Everything. Until I get it, you get nothing from me, except a cell.”

“And if I tell you, you’ll help me?”

He didn’t answer me. Just stood there glaring at me and popping his gum.

So I told him. I told him all about Ferris Rush of Port Arthur, Texas, and how he’d slammed into a busload of kids and gotten away with it, and how Skitsy Held had owned him because of it. I told him about the shack on Crescent Moon Pond, and how I’d been there, and thought he had, too. I told him all of it, because it didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was that I get into Skitsy Held’s files upstairs, and I couldn’t do that without him.

When I finished, he closed his eyes a second and made a face and rubbed his stomach, mulling it over. “Okay … okay … and now you got some theory involving Murray Hill Press.”

“Correct.”

“What’s this theory got to do with Rush?”

“Everything and nothing.”

He frowned. “I don’t follow.”

“Do you trust me, Lieutenant?”

“No.”

“Look, just do this one thing for me and I promise I’ll make it up to you for having been so uncooperative.”

“How?”

“I’ll take you to Ferris Rush.”

His eyes widened. “Wait, you know where he is?”

I started for the revolving door.

“Stay with me, Lieutenant.”

He stayed with me.

(T
APE #2 WITH BOYD
Samuels recorded May 20 on the patio of Ferris Rush’s Gramercy Park town house. Also present are Lt. Romaine Very, Vic Early, and Samuels’s assistant, Todd Lesser.)

Hoag
: Thanks for coming here like this in the middle of the workday. I know it was short notice.

Samuels:
You said it was an emergency, amigo. Whatever we can do, we’ll do. To tell you the truth, I’m not exactly thrilled about the police being in on this. …

Hoag:
It has to be this way. I’m sorry.

Samuels: (pause)
If you say so. Go ahead.

Hoag:
I wanted to talk to you about one of your scams — your biggest scam, in fact. I really have to hand it to you. You’re an artist.

Samuels:
Thanks, but I’m not sure I know what the hell you’re talking about.

Hoag:
Your freshman year at Columbia, Boyd, when you and Ferris were hanging out a lot at the clubs, and he was modeling, and getting bored with it. He started writing stories about your scene, and he submitted them to Tanner Marsh under his modeling name, Cameron Sheffield Noyes. Tanner told me he was really knocked out by him. His looks, breeding, personality. The kid had star written all over him, except for one small problem — his writing.

Samuels:
Yeah, Tanner didn’t like the stories. So Ferris went back to work, and the novel was a whole different thing. Tanner loved the novel.

Hoag:
Yes, he said it was nothing like what Ferris had shown him before. That he’d grown tremendously, blossomed. But that isn’t what really happened, is it?

Samuels: (silence)
Meaning what?

Hoag:
Want to tell us how it happened, Boyd?
(no response)
Or perhaps Todd can fill us in.

Lesser:
Me?

Hoag:
You. You told me at Delilah’s party that you left Columbia because of personal problems.

Lesser:
Yes, I did.

Hoag:
According to Ferris, your personal problem was that you were one of Boyd’s biggest cocaine customers.

Samuels:
Hey, no need to get into that, amigo, especially in front of —

Very:
Shut up, Samuels.

Samuels:
Yessir.

Lesser:
It’s true. I-I had trouble being away from home for the first time. Fitting in with new people. Couldn’t seem t-to talk to anybody. So I started spending more and more time alone in my room. And getting deeper and deeper into coke.

Hoag:
How much did you owe him, Todd?

Lesser:
J-Just under two thousand dollars. But I paid it back before I left school. I paid back all of it.

Hoag:
I know you did. Want to tell us how?
(no response)
Come on, Todd. Tell us what were you doing there in your room with the door closed.

Lesser:
I … I …

Hoag:
You were writing a novel, weren’t you? The story of one sensitive young man’s breakdown. Your breakdown.

Lesser:
Yes.

Hoag:
You were desperate. No money to pay Boyd back. No money to get more coke. So when Boyd came to you with a small proposition, you listened. You had to listen. Isn’t that right, Boyd?

Samuels:
I’m thinking to myself, whoa, this Marsh guy smells class and money on Ferris. Can maybe turn him into a major celebrity. I’m thinking what a shame it is we don’t have a book the fat slob can run with.

Hoag:
So you bought yourself one. You erased Todd’s debt and fed him some more coke, in exchange for which he gave you his manuscript. No big deal, was it, Todd? No different from getting paid to do a term paper for somebody. You were just a college kid, a strung-out, fucked-up college kid. All you cared about was getting Boyd off your back and your nose filled. How could you possibly have known what was going to happen? How could anyone?

Very:
Yo, you’re saying
this
guy wrote
Bang
.

Hoag:
I’m saying Ferris Rush has never published a word in his life. Or even read a word, for that matter. He’s a front. A face. A personality. A scam. Tanner told me how strange he found him when they worked together on the manuscript. How Ferris seemed not to grasp what he had written. Of course he didn’t — he hadn’t written it. That’s the real reason why he ran away from Stony Creek. He was afraid if he spent too much time around there with all of those real writers, somebody might get wise to him. So he hid out at his shack. You met him there, didn’t you, Todd? The two of you went over Tanner’s suggestions together. Then you did the rewrites while Ferris fished. When you were done, he resurfaced with his finished manuscript. And sold it. You freaked out at this point, didn’t you, realizing that your book was actually going to get published and that someone else was going to get the credit for it. Pretty tough to handle. You couldn’t. You dropped out of school. Took off. Why did you let them get away with it, Todd? Why didn’t you speak up?

Lesser:
Because I had no real proof that I wrote it. No handwritten manuscript. No contract. It was just my word against theirs, and nobody would have believed me — Boyd assured me of that. He also assured me he’d go to any length to ruin me if I fucked this thing up for them.

Samuels:
Toddy and I made a legitimate business deal. He
sold
me the manuscript. Besides, I’ve always taken care of him. I gave him a job, didn’t I? I didn’t have to do that.

Hoag:
You’ve taken care of him, all right. Because of him Ferris Rush became a world-famous literary luminary and a millionaire. In exchange for that you let Todd get your coffee for you. You’re a gent, Boyd. A real gent. … The secret of
Bang
has stayed a secret. No one has ever found out. Not Tanner. Not even Skitsy, did she?

Samuels:
Correct.

Hoag:
Naturally, Ferris couldn’t deliver a second novel. He became more and more angry and self-destructive — partly because of the schoolbus business, but mostly because he’s been a complete fraud. He’s been able to fool other people, but not himself. You cooked up your bullshit memoir idea to keep the money flowing in. Charlie’s art was a nice bonus. And you brought me in. Why? Why not just have Todd write it? Why take the chance your secret might get out?

Samuels:
To succeed it had to be prestigious. People around town had to know a name writer was involved, even if uncredited. You were the ideal candidate.

Very:
Yo, if I could jump in here … ?

Hoag:
Go ahead, Lieutenant.

Very:
It’s not that I’m not finding this a stimulating literary discussion, but where is it taking us, y’know?

Hoag:
Be patient, Lieutenant. We’ll get there.

Very:
Yeah, but you told me you knew were Ferris Rush is.

Hoag:
I do.

Very:
So where is he?

Hoag:
We’re sitting on him.

Very: (silence)
We’re what?

Hoag:
Ferris Rush is dead. Has been since the day Charlie died. He was murdered by the same person who stabbed her and pushed Skitsy. His body is hidden under this nice new bluestone patio the contractor laid down. Except it wasn’t the contractor who laid it — was it, Todd?

Lesser:
I-I don’t know what you mean.

Samuels: Toddy?

Early: You
killed that nice little girl?
You!

Hoag:
Sit down, Vic. Stay cool.

Samuels:
Jeez … what’s the matter with him? He looks like he’s going to —

Hoag:
Vic, can you hear me?
Vic?

Early: (silence)
Yeah … Sorry, Hoag. I’m okay. Sorry. Go ahead.

Hoag:
I found something when I was going through Charlie’s canceled checks, Todd. Something that clicked. You told me that after you dropped out of Columbia you drifted around upstate for a while. Worked odd jobs. Worked
construction
.

Lesser:
I did. So?

Very:
Who was this canceled check to, dude?

Hoag:
One Michael Mordarski of Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn. He’s the contractor who’s been renovating this place. I spoke to him first thing this morning. Asked him if anyone had been around in the past few days to put in a little dry wall here, a little patio there. He said no one had. He apologized, promised he’d finish up here as soon as he could.
(pause)
He’s down there, isn’t he, Todd?

Lesser: (silence)
The sleazy bastard got what he deserved. He didn’t deserve his success. He was a fraud, like you said. A fraud! His very existence demeaned the world of literature! He didn’t deserve her, either. Charlie. She was so sweet, so lovely. And he used her. Cheated on her. Hurt her.

Hoag:
Want to tell us about it, Todd?
(silence)
Okay, feel free to stop me if I miss anything. … You wanted me off of this project from the moment Ferris called Boyd and told him what our plan was — a plan for a book that might actually have some value. You didn’t want that. You wanted him to keep sliding down, down, down, this pretender who had achieved the success that rightly belonged to you. So you came to my apartment that first night, by way of my roof, and you left me a threat. When I didn’t quit, you played it a little tougher. Sledgehammered your way in. Destroyed my typewriter — only another writer could know how much that would hurt. Then you tried to blind Merilee with that little jack-in-the-box. Except I still didn’t quit. Neither did you. You sent me to Farmington so that I’d find out the truth about who Cameron Sheffield Noyes really was. What were you hoping I’d do?

Lesser:
Quit. Tell everyone in town. Embarrass him. Humiliate him.

Hoag:
Skitsy’s murder really threw me. I kept thinking she was killed so she couldn’t talk to me. She wasn’t. Her death had nothing to do with our book, or with her crooked business dealing or any of that.
(rustling noise)
It had to do with this, didn’t it?

Samuels:
What is that?

Hoag:
A rejection letter. Lieutenant Very and I found it this morning in her files at Murray Hill Press. That’s something else you mentioned to me at Delilah’s party, Todd. You told me you’d just finished writing a novel.

Samuels:
I didn’t know you were writing another book, Toddy.

Lesser:
I wouldn’t let you get your filthy scheming hands on it! You’d steal it! Make me say Ferris wrote it!

Hoag:
What’s it about, Todd?

Lesser:
A brilliant young writer. His rise to fame and fortune. His burnout. It’s called
Boy Wonder
. I-I’m very proud of it. I submitted it on my own to Skitsy. She was the best in the business. She had made Ferris. Now it was my turn. Time for the success I deserved. That’s all I wanted — what I deserved. What I had earned. It was only fair.

Hoag:
And she turned you down.

Lesser:
She dismissed it. Said it was …

Hoag:
“A small, predictable story about small, predictable people. The writing is flat and undistinguished. Sorry I can’t be more enthusiastic, Toddy. Maybe next time.”

Lesser:
“Maybe next time.”
Maybe next time!
I’m the man who wrote
Bang
, damn it! They’ve compared me to F. Scott Fucking Fitzgerald! But she didn’t smell money on me. I wasn’t hot. So it was sorry, Toddy. Tough shit, Toddy. I-I couldn’t accept that. I just couldn’t. It wasn’t fair. I deserved more. I called her and she agreed to see me for a few minutes at her apartment after work. I went up there at six. Boyd had already left the office for a drink date. One of the other kids covered for me. I said I was getting my teeth cleaned.

Hoag:
How come no one saw you go in her building?

Lesser:
No one ever sees me. I’m part of the wall. The doorman was busy flirting with somebody’s maid out on the sidewalk. He ignored me. I just walked in. I didn’t sneak in. I-I never went there intending to
kill
Skitsy. It’s just that she made me so damned mad. She
patronized
me. Treated me like I was some kind of untalented amateur, some
loser
. Didn’t even offer me a drink. So I-I told her the truth. I told her I wrote
Bang
. I told her that Cam Noyes was a fraud. That she’d been taken in. Know what she did? She laughed at me. She was so damned sure of herself, and of her right to dictate who gets into the charmed inner circle and who doesn’t. I just couldn’t stand it, her laughing at me like that. So I pushed her. It was an impulse. Blind rage. And then … then I realized if I got out of there fast, if no one saw me, it would look just like a suicide. I ran into her bathroom and grabbed the clothes in her hamper. A yellow dress, some other things, detergent. I took the stairs down two flights in case anybody was coming up in the elevator. Then I caught the elevator down to the laundry room in the basement. I did a load of wash while the shit was hitting the fan. No one looked for me down there. When I left, there was still a lot of confusion out front and no one noticed me. By now, I’d been away from the office an hour. I was in a hurry to get back. I had the wet laundry with me in a shopping bag. It wouldn’t have been smart to leave it there. And I didn’t have time to drop it off at my apartment — I live way the hell out in Park Slope. It’s all I can afford. So I dumped it a couple of blocks away in a trash can. I guess that was a mistake.