*
Larry Goldman, the eleventh most powerful man in Hollywood according to the latest Hot List in Variety, was a difficult man to track down. The fourth time Tess had phoned his New York office without response, she told his secretary she was calling about a movie entitled Wycombe Square, the name of the Venus party’s location. Tess added that she was sure he would want to talk to her. Within the hour, Tess and Larry had scheduled a meeting at the bar of the Four Seasons Grill Room. He was already there by the time she arrived and she recognized him immediately; short, rotund, salt–and–pepper hair, dark, hooded eyes and the round, worn face of a retired boxer. He certainly didn’t look one of LA’s biggest players, but then neither did he look like the kind of man who would routinely attend orgies. The restaurant had closed a couple of hours earlier and, although still open for drinks, the room was almost empty apart from two cocktail waiters polishing glasses and a couple of businessmen propping up the bar. Under the circumstances it was wise to be discreet.
‘Why do I suspect this conversation isn’t going to be good news?’ said Larry as he looked up from his drink – still water. Tess had heard that he’d been on a liquid–only diet for the last month in an attempt to take him from obese to merely overweight in readiness for his wedding – his fourth – to a glamorous Venezuelan set designer he had met on his last film.
Tess straightened her Dolce&Gabbana suit as she sat down. ‘Actually, it might not be as bad as you think.’
He looked at her suspiciously.
‘So you work for the Billingtons? I know Wendell very well’ he said, his eyes wandering away. Force of habit, thought Tess with a slight smile. In Hollywood, you were always scanning the room for someone more important, even if the room was empty.
‘Actually, I deal more with David and his fiancée Brooke.’
‘Personal publicist?’
‘Something like that.’
She ordered a white wine; she felt like she needed it. Despite her outward calm, her heart was pounding. Larry Goldman was a poor kid from Nevada who had become one of LA’s biggest players, his films were big budget and netted huge receipts – his last five films alone had taken over one billion dollars at the box office. The annual party he held at his home in Bel Air was one of the hottest tickets on the LA social calendar. Tess knew that you didn’t get to be that guy without being incredibly tough and utterly ruthless. For a second, Tess wondered how she could bargain with him and come out on top. She took a deep breath; she was about to find out.
‘So how do you know about Wycombe Square?’ he said before she could speak. His voice had lowered a couple of tones and his black eyes were now fully focused on her. She was taken aback at how nervous he was acting. For one moment, Tess wondered if she’d missed something, whether there was something bigger Larry was hiding. After all, it would surprise no one that a big–time super–rich Hollywood producer got his rocks off at a sex party. The coke–and–hooker antics of Tinseltown big shots like the late Don Simpson made Harvey’s nocturnal activities seem like teenage fumblings by comparison. She shook off the feeling and ploughed on. She had to focus on what she knew.
‘Before I worked for the Asgill family,’ she began, ‘I used to work for a British tabloid. A photographer of ours was doing a story on the Venus parties. She managed to infiltrate the Wycombe Square party.’
Larry looked at her blankly, giving nothing away. ‘I assume the story never ran,’ he said, ‘I’d have heard about it.’
‘You’re right. It never got published. I came to New York to work for the Asgills, and the story came with me. The details of that night and who was there won’t be public. For now, anyway.’
She took a sip of her spritzer. Her fingers left a clammy smudge on the stem of the glass, but Larry’s eyes never left hers.
‘What do you want from me, Miss Garrett? Money?’ he said in a cold voice. She had to tread carefully.
‘No, I don’t want your money, Mr Goldman. I need your help.’ She noticed the tight line of his mouth soften ever so slightly.
‘I’ve protected your privacy; I hope I now have your confidence. What I’m about to tell you is fairly sensitive.’
Larry looked at her, more interested now, and then nodded begrudgingly.
‘I have been hired to protect Brooke Asgill and David Billington’s interests,’ continued Tess slowly. ‘A member of the Asgill family is being blackmailed by an actor called Russ Ford and the information he has could be damaging.’
‘Russ Ford? Never heard of him.’ He swilled his water around in the bottom of his glass so that the ice cubes chinked against the side.
‘You won’t have. He’s small time.’
‘So what did they do? This member of the Asgill family. Kill someone?’
Tess hesitated before she told him. ‘They had a one–night stand. With Russ Ford.’
Larry was nodding sagely. ‘I get it. So this Asgill is gay. Is it Sean Asgill?’
Tess didn’t want him getting ahead of himself. She shook her head, careful not to tell him anything more than she had to.
She noticed that Larry was already looking at his watch and his drink had been finished. ‘So what’s this got to do with me?’
Tess folded her arms and leant forward on the table. ‘This Russ Ford guy is a creep,’ she said. ‘We can pay him off, of course, but the problem with people like Russ is that you have to keep paying them. When the time comes that he needs more money, he’ll be back. I need something that is more persuasive.’
She told him her plan. It was as underhand as anything she’d ever attempted as a Fleet Street hack, and she actually felt quite proud of it.
‘This guy had better not be the new Brad fucking Pitt.’