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laid.”
    â€œI get laid.”
    â€œOh, really? When was the last time?”
    I peered at her curiously. “Why haven’t you broken this story?”
    â€œWhat story?”
    â€œThat Matthew can’t sing. That they’re between a crag and a hard place.”
    â€œGood line. Can I steal it?”
    â€œIt’s yours. Why haven’t you?”
    Cricket drank down the last of her Irish coffee, swiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. “Because I don’t want to see two hundred people thrown out of work. A lot of folks think I’m a heartless little bitch. But I happen to love the theater. And those people are my friends—the kids in the chorus, the set dressers, lighting guys, ushers, all of them. If Wuthering Heights goes under then they’re out on the street.”
    â€œAnd what about the other big shows on Broadway?”
    â€œWhat about them?”
    â€œThey have producers of their own, ruthless bastards one and all. Is there any chance those producers dangled R. J. Farnell in front of Morrie—flat out duped him—because they don’t want Wuthering Heights to open?”
    â€œNo way. A hit show is good for everyone. If the public comes to see one show they’ll stay to see another. Every producer knows that. Besides, those greedy bastards can barely have a cup of coffee together, let alone conspire to scam somebody as shrewd as Morrie Frankel.” She studied me curiously. “Tell me the truth, are you getting any pussy at all?”
    â€œWhy are you asking?”
    â€œBecause I know lots of desperately horny young actresses who deserve to be treated nice for a change. Want me to hook you up with one?”
    â€œI’ll think about it.”
    â€œNo, you won’t. You’re still hung up on that One True Love fantasy of yours. It’s a myth, Benji. This is me talking. Do yourself a favor, will you? Have some fun for a change. Because, guess what, while you’re waiting for that One True Love of yours to come along your whole fucking life is passing you by.”

 
    CHAPTER THREE
    â€œAVALON” BY ROXY MUSIC, Mom’s favorite band, was blasting from her office when I got home. I found her at her desk tapping away on her laptop, a tall gin and tonic within arm’s reach. The lights were low. The rackety window air conditioner was cranked up high.
    â€œYou’re back,” I observed, smiling at her from the doorway.
    She turned down the music, smiling back at me. “A person can’t pull anything over on Mrs. Golden’s sharp-eyed son.”
    â€œDid you eat dinner?”
    â€œI had a huge salad with Gretchen before I drove back from the Hamptons. That would be Gretchen Van Deusen of the Hoity-Toity Agency. Gretchen is the go-to realtor for luxury rental properties in East Hampton, thank you very much. Want Diego to bring you up something? I think Scotty’s special tonight was goulash.”
    â€œI’m all set. Where’s Rita?”
    â€œHaving a late supper with Myron. I practically had to kick her out the door. She was so engrossed in your nudie shots of Boso that she lost track of the time.”
    â€œDid she get anywhere?”
    â€œWell, she convinced me that they Photoshopped Boso’s vay-jay lips. Does that count?”
    My cell phone rang. It was Morrie yet again. This time I took his call. “This is Ben Golden. How may I help you?”
    â€œYou can return your fucking phone calls, you little putz!” he roared at me. “Do you know how many messages I’ve left you?!”
    â€œMr. Frankel…”
    â€œIf I call you it’s for a reason!”
    â€œMr. Frankel…”
    â€œ And I expect you to call me back, hear me? I’m paying you all of this goddamned money and I still haven’t heard a goddamned thing from you!”
    â€œMr. Frankel, we’re devoting a hundred percent of our time to your case. We’re making