Chapter 15
Austin tells us what he'd do for the one he loves!
The drive to the studio to see Phil in the morning is a little nerve-racking.
Clarence said the meeting had to do with the show, but if it was good news—like the network picked up the show—then why didn’t Phil just call me and tell me himself?
He’d asked me to stop by the night he saw me and Harvey at dinner, but I sort of forgot about it. Actually, that’s not true. I didn’t. I was just hoping Phil sort of forgot about it. It shouldn’t be a big deal. We weren’t fighting, but I can’t help the growing dread when I arrive at the studio.
I try to act cool and collected when I walk in and shake Phil’s hand. He tells me to have a seat, and I do. I glance around to see if Arnold or Brad are in here, but it’s only Clarence.
Phil sits behind his desk with his hands clasped. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”
My fingers clench the arm rests. “Okay.”
“Good news first. The network ordered ten more episodes. A whole season.”
I feel my shoulders relax. “That’s great!”
“Millions of people tuned in to the pilot. They were impressed.”
“So, when do we start back?”
Phil sits back in his chair and stares at me for a few moments.
I tense up again. That look doesn’t indicate anything good.
Phil says, “I thought our discussion about not making a fool out of yourself or anyone else went well. It seemed you understood.”
I feel like a kid that’s been caught stealing. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
Phil crosses one leg over the other. “Austin, you and Brad are going to be the stars of this show. The face of the show. When people think of The Precinct, they’ll think of you two. Of course, the rest of the cast will have lots of scenes, lots of screen time. But you’re our main duo. You see?”
Discomfort twists in the pit of my stomach. I nod.
“So, being seen with the likes of Harvey Laden is not a good look. Not for you, and not for the show. You’re playing a cop, and he’s a delinquent. I told you, he’s trash. The kind that ends up in a gutter. You’re not. You get what I’m saying to you?”
I glance over at Clarence. His expression is flat and unreadable. I clear my throat. “We were just having dinner. We’re friends now. We won’t be fighting anymore.”
“You can’t be associating with lowlifes, Austin.”
“Phil.” I laugh nervously. “You can’t tell me what to do in my personal life. You can’t just dictate who I can and can’t have dinner with.” I want to add something about Harvey not being anything like his dad, but I heed Clarence’s warning.
Phil raises a brow. “I thought you read your contract thoroughly.”
I feel my face heat. I did start reading it when he first sent it to me. It all looked standard to me. I sent it to my agent who looked it over and said it was fine. Apparently, neither of us looked it over well enough.
“As long as you’re a part of this show, you need to be mindful of how you present yourself outside of here.” He snaps his fingers at Clarence who pulls some papers from a folder on his lap. Phil takes them and turns the pages. He hands it to me. “Section 14, clause 2, paragraph 4.”
I read it and feel my hands get clammy. It actually says right there in black and white that the producers can and will release the cast member from the contract if the producer feels the cast member is compromising the integrity of the production.
And it goes on to say that “compromising the integrity of the production” is at the producer’s sole discretion.
Fuck.
“What about Brad?” I say. “Did he sign this too?”
Phil takes the contract from me and hands it back to Clarence. “Brad understands what’s expected of him.”
“And what you’re saying is that what’s expected of me is to not have dinner with Harvey Laden.”
“I’ve told you this before. Men like Harvey only bring you down to their level, which is in the gutter. You’re all cleaned up now. Don’t get all dirty again.”
I swallow, trying not to look as blindsided as I feel. “How do you know Harvey is in the gutter? You don’t know him at all.”
“I know enough about his disgusting, home-wrecking father. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Austin, you need to be associating with better people.
Go out with Margie. You’re still seeing her, aren’t you?
What about that kid we had on a few episodes, Steve?
Better yet, be seen out with Brad. It’ll be good publicity.
Get people talking. We can probably arrange for some photographers to be there. ”
It feels like the walls of Phil’s office are closing in.
Is he really going to punish me for Pete Laden fucking his wife years ago?
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say it, but I don’t want to throw Clarence under the bus.
I always thought he was this nervous, diminutive man that Phil enjoyed running ragged. Now, I don’t know anymore.
“Coca-Cola and Kraft have already bought commercial slots, did you know that?” Phil says. “Arnold’s been talking to some department stores. We intend to make this show a success. Even more than Love Thy Neighbor. It’s got people excited. And you get to be a part of it.”
I nod as if I’m in agreement of something that I’m not.
“I hope this talk cleared things up for you,” Phil says, his tone darkening. “And we won’t need to have another one.”
I stand up. “It was pretty damn clear to me.”
My mind is racing on the drive home, and when I get there, I dig the contract out of a drawer in the kitchen where I probably shouldn’t be keeping important documents. I flip to the page and see the paragraph. And my signature at the end with my agent’s.
I pace back and forth, trying to think of what to do.
I can’t have my agent call up any other producers.
Norman Lear was interested in me, but he’s with a different network.
Aaron Spelling wanted to have lunch with me a couple of years ago, but I was filming a movie and couldn’t make it.
Phil is good friends with both of them, and as soon as he found out I’d called them up, I’d not only be fired from the show but I’d never work in this town again.
It wouldn’t be just a silly, cliché little threat.
It would be real, the well poisoned, and it would all be over for me.
Stupid. Stupid me for not reading that contract carefully enough. And stupid agent for not reading it carefully either. But if all those advertisers are buying ad time, then Phil wouldn’t dare get rid of me or Brad. It would be a big change to the show. Big changes usually scare off advertisers.
I pace around and around, my heart racing, my mind a whirling mess.
He can’t really do this, can he? Forbid me from seeing someone like he’s my dad.
Maybe I can just see Harvey at my house.
He can come over, and we’ll be together.
Phil lives in Sherman Oaks, I think. He can’t see into my house.
And if Harvey and I go out, we’ll just go somewhere not here.
It might be okay if we just avoid anywhere near the studio or Sherman Oaks.
If we just get on the 101 and start driving, it can be done.
Bonnie and Floyd have some attorneys I can talk to…
I could find one myself. That clause in the contract can’t be legal. But Brad signed it. Did he see it?
I’m not going to stop seeing Harvey. It’s not fucking happening. I just can’t do that. The cold void that starts to grow in my chest at the thought hurts.
Fuck, I wish I had a pill. My medicine cabinet was purged of any ludes when I got back from rehab, but I’d settle for a Valium.
Or even a Seconal. Bonnie used to take those to help her sleep.
I stop pacing and go over to my phone. I could call her and see if she still has any…
just say I’m having trouble sleeping and she’d probably give me one. Or two.
I’m startled by the doorbell ringing.
When I open the door, I’m surprised to see Harvey walk inside.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. He gives me a look. “I just mean that you usually come over at night. It’s early.”
“Sorry,” he mumbles. He goes and sits on the sofa, putting his head in his hands.
I go over to him. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s gone,” he says quietly.
“What’s gone?”
He looks up at me. “All the money I made. Every single penny. It’s gone.”
I sit next to him. “What?”
“Pete took it all.” He rubs his head. “I was at the bank. He left me with nothing.”
“Fuck. Seriously? Why would he do that?”
“Because he’s an addict and a gambler. Because he’s selfish and miserable and a fucking asshole.”
I don’t know for sure how much Harvey made during his teen idol days, but I raked in quite a bit in addition to what I got paid for the show.
I would imagine Harvey made roughly that same amount.
He was popular and sold millions of albums. Bonnie and Floyd put some away for me in case I wanted to go to college.
They’d never in a million years just take it all for themselves.
“If he stole all your money,” I say, “can’t you call the cops?”
He shakes his head. “He opened the account for me when I was a minor. His name was still on it. I never thought he’d do something like this.”
“Bonnie and Floyd have some lawyers,” I say. “Or I could help you find one. In the meantime, if you need anything, I can help you.”
He turns to look at me, and there’s no arrogant prince there now. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this sad before. I can’t give him up. I can’t just end things between us when he needs me now. Pete might be the home-wrecker addict, and now a thief, but Harvey isn’t.
“This is exactly what I don’t want,” he says. “Being some kind of leech. I don’t want other people taking care of me.”
“You’re not a leech to me.” I take one of his hands and kiss it. “You mean everything to me.”
He actually blushes. “I think you like me, Hollywood.”