Goldenboy by Michael Nava Page A

looked shocked. “On
a date.”
    I looked at him until
he looked away. He was lying. “Who with?”
    Recovering himself
he said, “The D.A. said I don’t have to talk to you.”
    “But you are going
to have to testify again,” I said.
    “I’ll tell the
truth,” he replied, his face coloring. It was useless to push him.
    “You won’t have any
choice, Josh,” I said. I wrote Larry’s number on a slip of paper. “If you want
to talk later you can reach me here.”
    He looked at the
paper as if it were a bomb, but took it and slipped it into his pocket.
     
    *****
     
    Larry’s car was in
the driveway though it was only two-thirty. That worried me. Except for a
certain gauntness, Larry gave no sign of being gravely ill, but his condition
was never far from my mind. I knew it preoccupied Larry, too. Sometimes he
became very still and remote. It actually seemed as if some part of him were
gone. When I mentioned it, he smiled and said he was practicing levitation.
What he was actually doing, I think, was practicing dying.
    I found him in his
study on the phone. He saw me and motioned me to sit down.
    “Sandy,” he said to
his caller, “you really can do better than Rogers, Stone.”
    I recognized this
as the name of a well-known entertainment law firm. Larry put on his patient
face. I could hear his caller’s voice across the room.
    “That’s true,”
Larry said, “but I’m not available.” He listened. ‘‘I know you think he walks
on water, Sandy, but the guy’s a one-season sensation. Next year you’ll be
pushing someone else.” He picked up a pen and started to doodle on a legal pad.
“Look,” he said finally, “I’ll think about it, and get back to you. No, I
really will think about it. What? Yeah, he’s right here.” He pushed the mute
button on the phone and said, “It’s Sandy Blenheim. He wants to talk to you.”
    “The fat guy at
Fein’s party?”
    Larry nodded. “The
one who wants to make you a star.”
    Reluctantly, I took
the phone. “Hello, this is Henry Rios.”
    “Henry,” Blenheim
said, all oily affability, “You think about my proposal?”
    “No, not really. I
haven’t had much time.”
    There was a
disappointed silence at his end of the line. “What is it, Henry? The money?”
    “Look, Mr. Blenheim
...”
    “Sandy.”
    “Sandy. I don’t
think this is going to make a good movie.”
    “There’s a lot of
kids out there in Jim’s position,” Blenheim said. “Kids in the closet. Kids
getting picked on. This picture could show them there’s a right way to come out
and a wrong way. You know what I’m saying?”
    I shot a glance at
Larry. He smiled. “Sure, I understand,” I said. “But this isn’t the right — “ I
searched for the word, “ — vehicle,” I said.
    Larry nodded approvingly.
    “Come on, you’ve
talked to the kid. You know what’s going through his head. That’s the good
stuff. Like how did he feel when he pulled the trigger—”
    I cut him off. “Actually,
he doesn’t remember.”
    “What do you mean
he doesn’t remember?”
    “Just what I said,”
I replied, “and I’ve really told you more than I should but it’s just so you
know that this isn’t the story you think it is.”
    “Maybe if we talked
some more,” he suggested.
    “I’m sorry,” I
replied. “It wouldn’t serve any purpose. Do you want to talk to Larry?”
    “Yeah, put him back
on.”
    I handed the phone
to Larry. “It’s for you.”
    “Yes, Sandy,” he
said. I heard the angry buzz of Blenheim’s voice complaining about my
intransigence. Larry broke in and said, “He doesn’t want more money, Sandy. He
wants to try his case in peace.” More angry buzzing. “Well,” Larry said,
shortly, “I think it’s called integrity. You might look it up in the
dictionary.” There was a click on the other end. “If you can spell it,” Larry
added.
    “I didn’t mean for
him to get mad at you, too,” I said.
    Larry put the phone
down. “Big finishes are a