Chapter Eleven
The Law Offices of Mandell and Schaefer occupied their own glass cube in Century City, a cross between an aluminum water tower and the Russian Tea Room. Normally, a client of Melchior’s stature did not visit his lawyer. His lawyer came to him. But showbiz lawyer Schaefer was in demand and had to shuffle appointments to make room for Melchior.
Melchior bulled by the helpful staff, holding up a palm to indicate he knew the way and was in a hurry. Schaefer’s door was open, Schaefer talking to someone via headset, his tasseled loafers up on the battleship-gray desk. He motioned for Melchior to take a seat.
“I’m sorry Ms. Main,” Schaefer said. “My client is adamant. Either you change the title or we will sue.”
Beat. Schaefer winked at Melchior. Melchior found that trait irritating. He did not like to be winked at, not even by glamorous movie stars. He looked around the office. Nice impressionist—could it be a real Cézanne—law certificates, photos of Schaefer with his two daughters sailing on his 45-foot yacht, Schaefer with Arnold, Schaefer with Jerry Brown.
“All right,” Schaefer said. “We look forward to hearing from you tomorrow. Good day.”
Schaefer put his feet on the floor and stood to shake hands across the desk. He was a jovial man with curly red hair cropped short and big bifocals.
“’Preciate you’re making time for me,” Melchior said. He sat on the leather sofa diagonal to the desk.
Schaefer folded his hands on the desk in front of him. “We’re dealing with intellectual property rights in the EU. Fortunately, the EU has very strong rules on that. Unfortunately, it can be a bear to enforce, especially in Czechoslovakia.”
“They’re playing Berlin tonight,” Melchior said.
“Better. Obviously, it’s too late to get an injunction, but maybe something as simple as a letter will get the job done. After all, these are kids, I mean, if the reports are accurate.”
“I got something better than a letter,” Melchior said. “I sent Freddie to deliver a message up close and personal. With any luck, there will be no performance tonight.”
Schaefer pursed his lips. “What’s Freddie going to do? Berlin isn’t East L.A.”
“He’s just going to lean on them a little. Freddie can be surprisingly effective as a negotiator.”
Schaefer took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
Melchior spread his hands. “Too late. Done deal.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Get the legal thing in motion. I need a back-up plan in case Freddie falls through.”
“Why don’t you call Freddie off, and I’ll see what I can do.”
“No can do.”
“Burke. Of course you can. Pick up the phone.”
“I’m not going to do that, Stan. These people have got to learn that Burke Melchior is not someone you want to cross, do you follow?”
“That’s your call. I just hope you’re not creating more problems for yourself.”
“Freddie’s a professional. He knows just how far to lean.”
“There are several people in the cemetery who might beg to differ.”
“Freddie has paid his debt to society and turned over a new leaf. He’s living proof of the power of redemption. Goes to Mass and confession every week. He’s not going to do anything to fuck up the part I just offered.”
“What part?”
Melchior stretched luxuriously like a big Persian cat. “Helmet Head.”
“The one about the homicidal biker.”
“That’s it.”
“Miss Galindez is dropping her suit.”
Melchior levitated. “Finally!”
“In exchange for ten thousand dollars.”
Melchior made a flicking motion. “Take care of it.”
“I will, but I have to tell you from what I learned in deposition there may be other time bombs out there. Burke, explain to me how a man in your position consistently hires illegals, and then tries to screw them out of their wages.”
That was not all Melchior tried to screw. He had a thing for young Latin and Asian women. The younger the better. Ten years ago, he and Schaefer had flown to Thailand on a sex holiday. They never spoke of it, but it was part of the invisible bond that held them together. Schaefer was married to his childhood sweetheart and had two grown-up children. If the news ever became public, he was finished.
A producer could survive such a fall. A lawyer couldn’t.
“I stopped using that agency.”
“How’s that hottie you’re dating?”
“Melissa is cream pudding. We’re going to have a party in July. You’ll meet her then.”
“Okay, great. I’ll get the gears in motion on copyright and trademark infringement and let you know when something happens.”
Melchior got to his feet. He had a tennis date at one. “Thanks, Stan. I’ll be in touch.”