Breach of Promise (17 page)

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V
ISIT
1

Thursday finally came, and with it a new player in my little drama. His full name was Renard J. Harper, and he was a robust African-American social worker assigned to monitor my visit with Maddie. Middle-fifties, I guessed. We sat on a bench at a Studio City park. At least I got to choose the location for the visit.

“This is very uncomfortable for me,” I said.
“I can relate,” Harper said.
“I mean, this whole security thing.” I waved my hands around.

“Like I’m going to do something to my daughter.”
“Happens all the time.” Harper had a deep voice, kind of
soothing. Like somebody’s favorite uncle. “Doesn’t mean there’s
anything to it, but we have to walk carefully when a child’s
involved.”
“Yeah, but what about the parents?”
“What about them?”
“Don’t they have rights, too?”
“That’s what court is all about. Better if the two of them can get
together and talk it out.”
“Right.” Bitterness dripped off my tongue. “What if the other
party doesn’t want to talk?”
“Then you end up with me.” Harper smiled. At least he was
trying to be pleasant.
“What gets me is that anybody can say anything, and we end
up with you. I mean, this whole thing is so stupid. Paula knows I
love Maddie and I’d never try anything.”
“What about the beach thing?”
“You mean when I took Maddie to Ventura?”
Harper nodded.
“You know about that?”
“I got the whole file, of course. All I’m saying is, the littlest
things can come back at you.”
I looked him right in the eye. “You think I’d ever do anything
to my daughter?”
“Not for me to say. I’m just doing what the court tells me to do.” “And I get to pay you for the privilege. That’s another thing that
bites.”
“Mr. Gillen, you want some free advice?”
“Sure.” I slapped my thighs. “How much will it cost me?” “My football coach in high school used to gather us around
before a big game and say, ‘Gentlemen, show me what you’re made
of.’ And we’d all go out and pound heads for him. Well, this is a
big game for you, seeing your daughter. Show her what you’re made
of. I’ll see it. And when I report back to the court I’ll be able to say
something good about you. I’d like to, you see.”
“Thanks for that.” I almost choked up. Somebody in the system
was showing a little humanity. I needed that.
“No problem. You played baseball, right?”
I nodded.
“Who’s your team?” Harper asked.
“Dodgers.”
“Too bad.”
“Why?”
“I’m from the Bay Area.”
“Oh no, you’re not a Giants fan.”
“Going back to Willie Mays, my friend.”
“Oh great!”
Harper let out a big laugh. “Now, let’s see. How many times
did you steal the pennant from us?”
And I couldn’t help laughing, too. I knew what he was doing.
Trying to get me relaxed, get my mind off things until Maddie got
here. A good man, Harper.
We talked baseball for another ten minutes or so. Harper told
me he’d once tried to sell a country song about baseball called
“You’d Be So Nice to Slide Home To,” but it never made it. He
even sang a verse or two. What I remember was the line, “I’ve been
in right field so long, missin’ you, I feel like The Babe’s old mitt.” Then the limo pulled up.
All the relaxing I’d been doing shot out of my head, replaced
by a twisting of nerves and a stomach doing flips.
The same driver I’d seen up at Troncatti’s—the one I called
Igor—exited and opened the rear door.
And Madeleine Erica Gillen got out.
My heart started pumping something fierce. A sweat drop came
out of my armpit and slid down my side.
“Game time,” Haper said, encouragingly.
That helped only a little, because I immediately saw something
that turned my stomach into warm clay. The limo driver was holding Maddie’s hand as they walked toward us. Her hand in his. Like
it belonged there. Still, I stuffed my feelings down as deep as I
could and put on a smile.
“Maddie!” I jumped up and started toward her.
The driver stopped, putting up his hand. And Maddie slid
behind his leg, like he was a protective fence and I was some sort
of animal.
The move froze me.
“You Mr. Harper?” Igor looked right past me.
“Yes, sir,” Renard J. Harper said.
“Can I have a word with you, please?”
Harper gave me a glance.
“What’s going on?” I asked him.
“Hold on, Mr. Gillen. I’ll find out.” Harper went over to Igor
and Maddie and started talking. I stood there like the stupid statue
on the Island of Idiots.
A minute or two later, Harper walked back to me. “There’s
been a request for no physical contact.”
“What?”
“This happens. The mother has requested that you not touch
your daughter.”
Heat ran up my face. “No way! If they think I’m going to just
sit here and not touch Maddie—”
“Mr. Gillen, listen to me. If there’s a request like this, I have
to honor that, unless you want to go back to court and convince the
judge to allow it.”
“This is unreal.”
“It seems the child is a little upset about this visit,” Harper
said.
“Please, you can’t let them do this to me.”
Harper spoke calmly, a veteran of many battles like this. “I
understand what you’re going through, I really do. Some advice
again?”
“What?”
“Talk to Maddie. If she makes a move toward you at any time,
wants to hold your hand, anything, I’ll allow that. If she doesn’t,
just remember this is all only temporary. You’ll have your day in
court soon enough.”
Maddie was peeking from behind Igor’s leg.
“This is killing me,” I told Harper. “How could she be afraid
of me?”
“I can’t answer that,” Harper said. “So come on and sit down
and we’ll do this thing.”
I sat on one side of the picnic table. The bench was cold and
hard. Igor coaxed Maddie to come along and sit down opposite me.
She did, but her eyes avoided mine.

What was going on?
“Hey,” I said to my daughter.
“Hi,” she said, still not looking at me. I had my hands on top

of the table, hoping she’d put hers out and touch me, so it would be all right. But her hands were in her lap.

“How’s it going?” It was like talking to a stranger. I could hardly stand it. It felt like Maddie was on drugs or something. I sensed Igor glaring at me from several feet away, and it was all I could do not to scream at him to get out of my face. But I fought for control. I knew I had to, for Maddie’s sake.

Maddie shrugged in answer to my question.
“What have you been doing?”
She shrugged again, still not looking at me.
“Maddie?”
She kept her gaze on the tabletop.
I looked at Harper for some help, knowing there was not a thing

he could do. He nodded at me to try again.
“I’ve missed you,” I said. “I miss story time.”
“Tony reads me stories.”
If an ice pick had been jammed in my heart it wouldn’t have

hurt more.
“Do you miss me?” I said.
Maddie didn’t answer.
“I sure miss you, pumpkin.”
Suddenly, I felt like a prisoner, getting a visit from a reluctant

relative. Nothing much to say. Small talk that goes nowhere. And a big screen between us. No human contact.
I looked at Harper. “Something’s not right here.”
Igor huffed.
“Starting with him.” I pointed my finger at Igor’s face. He didn’t like that. I didn’t care. If I hadn’t been sitting down I don’t know what I might have done.
“Go ahead,” Harper said. “We’ll stand over here.” He got up and motioned to Igor.
“No,” Igor said.
“Come along,” Harper said, his voice with just the right amount of official insistence.
Igor shook his head.
Maddie looked at her hands.
“You don’t want to be here, do you?” I said.
Maddie shook her head.
“All right, baby,” I said, my voice wavering. “You don’t have to.”
Without any hesitation Maddie slipped off the bench and ran to Igor. Out of everything that had happened in this nightmare, that was the worst part. It reminded me of the time Maddie was four and I took her to a birthday party. There were some older kids there as well, and one of them jumped out from a corner and screamed, scaring the little kids. Maddie was one of them, and she turned and ran directly for me, throwing herself at my legs. I was her protector.
Not anymore. And it killed me.

2

I was desperate with Alex over the phone as I told her about Maddie’s behavior at the visit.
Alex tried to calm me. “This is not uncommon.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Kids Maddie’s age are very susceptible to influence from the custodial parent.”
I thought about that a moment. “You mean Paula’s messing with her head about me?”
“Like I said, not uncommon. I’ve seen cases where in a matter of days a child has been turned around.”
“But Maddie and me.” My voice was hollow. “She loved me.”
“I know.”
“She wouldn’t even look at me.”
“Mark, I’ll put this in the file—”
“File? We’ve got to get Maddie out of there.”
“We’re working on that.”
“Meanwhile, Maddie’s stuck up there? With Troncatti and Paula? And they’re feeding her lies about me? And we can’t do anything about it?”
“We
are
doing something about it. We have to do it the legal way.”
“Not enough. I can’t just sit here.”
“Mark, don’t do anything—”
“Good-bye, Alex.”
I disconnected and turned off the phone. Then I burned rubber onto the San Diego Freeway.
The offices of AEA, American Entertainment Artists, Inc., were in a new glass building on Wilshire in what was known as the Power Corridor of Beverly Hills. It was halfway between CAA and William Morris. Fully 90 percent of the big players in the movie and television industry had their reps in these buildings, all within a half mile of each other.
I was not even in the other 10 percent. But that didn’t stop me from walking up and down Wilshire, across the street from the place, waiting for someone to emerge.
That someone was Leonard Remey, and he loved sushi for lunch. You pick up those facts by reading the industry trades and assorted media. Most of the time it’s about actors. But Remey was a superstar agent, the biggest kahuna since Ovitz ruled the roost, and he was news.
He liked Ito Sushi, a very upscale place within walking distance of the AEA building. I’d been in there once, with a small group after an acting class. The sushi was good and expensive, the atmosphere alive with power talk. How many stars had been made or broken there over a plate of raw fish?
What I was about to do was a high-wire risk, but I didn’t care. I was beyond caring about my reputation. This was about protecting Maddie, and whatever might happen to me came in a distant second.
It was shortly after twelve when Remey finally came out. He was coatless, but in a crisp white shirt and blue tie. A couple of other men in similar attire were with him. I thought to myself, if a car hit all three of them, the town would probably have to shut down for a month while they figured out what to do with all the Alist stars who suddenly had no agents.
The trio strolled to the corner, waited for the light, crossed. They yakked it up, but as they got closer I saw that they were not speaking to each other. All three of them had cell phone earpieces inserted in their heads and were talking into the little mikes.
Perfect,
I thought.
All human contact cut off. Business as usual.
The three power mongers walked and talked another block or so, me strolling along behind. They turned left at the next corner and, as predictable as the night, entered the gold and burnished walnut doors of Ito Sushi.
I waited a minute or so, then walked in.
The place was already doing a brisk trade. A few young turks—black shirts, short goatees, earrings—sat at the bar, talking to each other and a couple of impossibly blond women in dresses that hugged their silicone. An older couple, probably citizens of Beverly Hills since the Lucy-Desi era, seemed out of place in the corner. It was as if they had been stuck there purposely, so as not to intrude on the important schmoozing now under way in the prime sushi-bar seats.
A hostess asked if I had a reservation, and I said no, I’d sit at the bar, and there was a chair open. As I made for the chair— between one of the turks and a guy who looked like his jaw had been chiseled by Michelangelo—I spotted the three agents at a table near the back.
Still talking into their little wires. To be hip in LA you have to have a busier-than-thou attitude. You have to believe there is simply not enough time in the day, and so on the eighth day God created cell phones and PDAs to prove your indispensability to the universe. Staying hip is almost a full-time job for Angelenos. And the three major cheeses at the back table were in frantic pursuit of their calling.
A nice-looking waitress handed me a warm, damp cloth and asked if I’d like anything to drink. I asked for a very un-hip glass of ice water and continued to watch the three stooges.
Was I nuts? My thought had been to just walk over to Remey with a surprise attack. An in-your-face to tell him I knew exactly what was going on.
Too public, too desperate, I decided.
Which meant I could accidentally-on-purpose follow him into the men’s room and let him have it with a threatening cool.
But to what purpose? Did I really think one of Hollywood’s most powerful agents was going to care what I had to say?
This was beginning to feel like another of my fool’s errands.
A sushi chef with a bright bandana on his head asked me what I’d like to start with, so I ordered shrimp.
I remembered Maddie liked sushi. We couldn’t afford it very often, but every now and then, for a treat, I would take her out. Shrimp was her favorite.
And thinking of that only made me angry. Maybe I would go over to Remey right now, while the feeling was with me.
What stopped me was the sight of one person I never expected to see.
Paula’s mother, Erica Stanton Montgomery, was making a beeline for Remey’s table.
I almost choked on some ginger root.
Erica was tall, statuesque, perfectly groomed, and dressed to the nines. She looked like old money and new surgery. Yet here she was, in the land of warm beaches.
Remey stood up to greet her. They shook hands like old friends. She did not sit down. She spoke to Remey for a couple of minutes—as the other two agents spoke into their wires—and then she turned to walk out.
Without a thought I got up, tossed a ten on the counter, and followed her.
Erica was strolling down the street, casually looking in windows. She could have been going anywhere. There were tons of upscale stores in the vicinity. I followed her.
She did not go far before ducking into a place called Maria’s, which was, from the look of it, a woman’s apparel place.
I waited a moment, then went in.
The place looked like it was designed in gold. Maybe it was. All I knew was that I was a fish out of water in there.
Erica was looking at a dress display near the window. It was some sort of strapless number. I made my way to her side.
“Not your style,” I said.
Her look was startled at first, then furious. When the Montgomerys get mad, it’s like something out of
Nature’s Savage Fury
on The Discovery Channel.
“What. On. Earth.”
“Hi, Erica. Longtime.”
Suddenly she looked around, as if afraid someone would see her talking to me. “How did you—”
“Find you? Serendipity. Sometimes things are just meant to be.” I slapped my hands together. “So, what are you doing out here on the coast?”
“I don’t have anything to say to you, Mark.”
“Maybe you’d like to explain to the judge what you’re doing meeting with Leonard Remey?”
I wondered if her heart was beating as fast as mine. Certainly blood was pumping to her face. I could even see it through the industrial layer of makeup.
“You were
spying?
“I was sitting in a public place, is what I was doing. Leonard Remey has taken a bit of an interest in my career, though not in a way that’s very flattering. You know anything about that?”
“I am not going to stand here and let—”
“Chill, Erica. You owe me.”
“I owe you nothing.”
“Oh really? Let me hazard a guess then. Meeting with Remey has something to do with Paula, obviously. Why else would he give you the time of day? I figure you’re getting some money, maybe you’re managing her career. What’s that, fifteen percent?”
Erica stiffened, and I knew I had her on the run. “I don’t have to stand here and—”
“Your daughter and her boyfriend are trying to keep my daughter away from me. You all right with that? You think that’s right?”
Erica said nothing.
“And Remey’s part of the plan. You probably know all about it. You know he made sure I didn’t get the role that was going to save my sorry acting career.” The outrage was still fresh in me, and my voice was getting higher. “He called up and—”
“Is there anything I can help you with?” A saleswoman—all pearls and stiff hair—was behind us.
“The gentleman is leaving,” Erica said.
“I’m just browsing,” I said, nodding toward the dress on display. “Do you think it’s my color?”
Apparently, the sense-of-humor fairy had flown over Beverly Hills without stopping.
“Is this man annoying you?” the saleswoman said.
Erica looked me up and down. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Sir, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
“Are you the one who put Remey up to it?” I leveled my eyes at Erica.
“Sir,” the saleswoman said.
I ignored her. “You the one who’s pulling the strings?”
“Sir!”
“Answer me, Erica.”
“I’ll call the police.” The saleswoman marched toward the counter.
“See what you’ve done now?” Erica said.
“I’ll find out,” I said. “I will.”
“You’re a pitiful man. It’s a good thing you won’t have Madeleine anymore.”
My chest spasmed, like I’d been given a shock from a live wire. “How do you know that?”
She looked sheepish all of a sudden and completely turned away. I grabbed her arm and spun her back.
Her chin dropped like a stone. “Don’t you touch me!”
“What do you know? What sort of scam is going on?”
There were about half a dozen women in the shop, all looking at us.
“What you’re doing,” I said, “is wrong.” That’s all I could think of to say. It was wrong, but did that matter to her? Had it ever, her whole life?
Erica said nothing. She looked behind me. Before I could turn I felt a hand like a bear trap clamp down on my shoulder.
Igor. He had me and was pulling me toward the door.
“Hey man!” I tried to whirl out of his grip but couldn’t.
So, with all my might, I jammed my elbow into his stomach. It was like hitting a wall. The guy was in shape.
My blow, such as it was, did nothing but make him mad.
Igor threw me out the door of the shop.
I went sprawling on the hot sidewalk, head hitting hard.
Something took hold of me then, and I knew what I would do if they ever tried to keep Maddie away from me.
God forgive me, I knew.