Chapter Fifty-four
Marsha Russo pulled me aside as soon as I entered the building. “He’s sitting in your office.”
“Who is?”
“Gustavo Noel.”
“Robaire’s father?”
“Mr. Hollywood Mogul himself.”
“What’s he doing in my office?”
“That you’ll have to find out for yourself.”
“And you let him in because?”
“He promised to introduce me to George Clooney.”
“He what?”
“You know what, Buddy? Why don’t you just go in there and see what it is he wants?”
“Feel free to let anybody in my office, Marsha. Use it as a waiting room, why don’t you?”
“Not a bad idea.” She strolled away.
I stepped into my office and was greeted by the movie industry legend himself. “It’s about time you got here. I’ve been waiting for nearly half an hour.”
I sat down at my desk and stared at him. “I don’t remember you making an appointment.”
“Fuck an appointment. It took two hours just to get here.”
“I’m sorry you suffered such an inconvenience. I hope you’ve recovered enough to make the return trip.”
It was his turn to stare.
Gustavo Noel was an imperious personage, clearly used to getting his own way, decked out in a snug-fitting, silk Bijan suit, accessorized with a pair of gold cuff links the size of cupcakes. An ostentatious gold chain encircled his neck. On his wrist was an Audemars Piguet chronograph timepiece that must have set him back at least thirty grand.
His abundant black hair was slicked back. He had an oversized aquiline nose and large puffy lips. He bore the aura of a tough guy, but one with an inalienable charm that was both warm and winning. His attentive brown eyes held the promise of good times, grand fun, and unimpeachable fellowship. He was the vision of a Hollywood mogul of yore.
“I want you to release him,” he demanded.
“No,” I responded, which was followed by silence.
“Look,” he said, “I’m not here to play footsie with you. What will it take to get him out?”
“He broke several laws, the penalties for which are clear. He’ll be released when he’s paid his debt to society.”
“They said you were difficult.”
“Yet sincere.”
“Sincerity’s overrated,” Noel said. “The great comedian Fred Allen once commented, “You can take all the sincerity in Hollywood, stick it on the head of a pin and still have room for three caraway seeds and the heart of an agent.”
“We’re not in Hollywood anymore, Toto.”
“Funny,” he said. “Clever.”
He moved his chair closer to my desk and lowered his voice. “Listen to me. I’ll make it worth your while if you let him go.”
“Surely you’re not attempting to unduly influence an officer of the law, are you, Mr. Noel?”
“Heaven forbid,” he said, flashing his most winning smile. “But surely you know I’m seriously considering Freedom as the site of my next film. A blockbuster, I might add. Clooney. Pitt. Jennifer Lawrence. All of them here for months. They’ll put Freedom on the map. The economy will go through the roof. We’re talking Hollywood North here.”
I had to admit he was an arresting character, clever and entertaining. Despite myself, I was enjoying his company. “Listen to me, Gustavo. May I call you Gustavo?”
“Maybe someday. Let’s wait and see how this turns out and afterward, maybe afterward you can call me Gustavo.”
“Is this the direction we’ll be going in?”
“What direction is that?”
“Why don’t we can the crap and see if we can find some common ground, okay?”
“Common ground?”
“You know, a place where we can stand as equals, mano a mano.”
He considered his response, not immediately ready to step onto uncertain terrain. Then a broad smile brightened his face. “Okay. I like this common ground idea. I might even like you.”
“Ditto.”
“I’m all ears.”
“You and I both know that Robaire has a history of run-ins with the law. He’s got some cockamamie idea he’s a renowned street artist, which he believes entitles him to vandalize and desecrate any and all property with impunity. He’s a public nuisance.”
“So?”
“So, he’s in jail. And he’ll remain in jail.”
Noel shifted in his chair, causing his weight and his jewelry to shift along with him. He sighed. “He’s been very difficult for me.”
It was my turn to lean forward. “The thing is, he’s no dope. His ideas are misguided but he seems a decent guy. I can’t help but believe he’s salvageable.”
“How do you know this?”
“We had a talk. After he was apprehended. While he was cleaning up one of the graffiti messes he made. To my surprise, I found him articulate and compelling. Wrongheaded, but not criminal.”
“So what do you propose we do about him?”
“You know, if it were me, I’d try to find a way to rehabilitate him.”
“You think I haven’t done that?”
“I’m sure you have, but it’s not likely he’d ever accept anything you would suggest.”
“Because?”
“My opinion?”
“I’m still listening, aren’t I?”
“He’s living in your shadow. Which can’t be easy for him. He wants his own celebrity. Apart from yours.”
“And that’s why he’s defacing walls?”
“He doesn’t see it that way. I’m guessing he sees it as something separate and apart from you. It’s gained him a modicum of notoriety, so he believes it’s working for him. He’s still a kid and hasn’t yet dealt with the downside. As my shrink used to say about me, I believe your son is involved in a conspiracy against himself and he doesn’t know it.”
“What are you, some kind of Siegfried Freud?”
“Sigmund.”
“What?”
“It’s Sigmund. Not Siegfried.”
“Sigmund. Siegfried. Who gives a shit? What is it you’re proposing?”
“How about I show you something?”
“Show me what?”
We were in my Wrangler and Gustavo was none too pleased.
“Jesus,” he said. “My Bentley is parked in your lot and instead of it, you’ve planted me in this decrepit piece of slow-moving shit?”
“It’s nondescript.”
“You’re, what, expecting maybe a crowd?”
“I don’t want us to be noticed.”
I made the left turn onto Harrow Street and slowed. Just ahead was Joanna’s Boutique, a trendy fashion emporium whose formerly immaculate white walled edifice had been swathed in graffiti.
“Look there,” I said as I pulled to the curb, the engine idling.
Gustavo peered out of the passenger side window and spotted his son, dressed in an orange jumpsuit, on his knees energetically cleansing graffiti from the wall. He had been at it for some time and had already removed a goodly portion of his handiwork.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Mr. Noel said. “Will wonders never cease?”
“That’s what he’s been doing for several days now. He starts at dawn and works until dusk. Because it’s his so-called work he’s removing, he goes about it earnestly and quickly. Says it pains him to decimate such outstanding pieces of art so he does it fast.”
“I’ll be damned.”
“You already said that.”
He turned to me. “You know, Buddy, somehow, over time, I’ve managed to make a success of my life. Due in large part to luck, no doubt. But I’ve always prided myself on my ability to talk to anyone and everyone. From presidents to janitors. I treat everyone equally and they return the respect. The only person I’ve never able to reach is that guy over there. My son. Go figure.”
“It’s never too late.”
“For what?”
“Reconsideration.”
“Reconsideration of what?”
“Your communication skills.”
He looked at me quizzically. “I’m a great communicator.”
“Or maybe not.”
“What is it you’re saying here?”
“It takes two to tango.”
“Which means?”
“You know damned good and well what it means.”