the next room over screaming for their lives—but that I’m also addicted to heroin.” He paused for a moment to consider the irony of his good fortune, breathing in the warm ocean air.
“You went to jail, Dirk,” David pointed out grimly.
“That wasn’t part of the plan,” Dirk admitted. “But Declan got me out in an hour, and I spent most of that doing cop selfies and signing autographs. And did you happen to turn on your TV last night?”
David gave him a grudging smile. “One of your finer performances. On the steps of the precinct looking suitably contrite. Right up until you parted the sea of paparazzi and sped off in a black, tinted-windowed Escalade. It was very Hollywood of you.”
“I couldn’t have scripted it any better. They’re playing it on every station. GMA ran the whole thing this morning.”
“But heroin?” David said, shaking his head in frustration. “Jesus Christ! I don’t even want to think about—”
“I know. But it wasn’t my hotel room—it was theirs . And the models—Savannah, Dakota, Eddison or Addison or whatever the fuck her name is—already fessed up to it, and I’m sure they’re working something out with the DA. I had no knowledge that there was any heroin in the room. I’ve already been cleared. Officially cleared. Hell—I consented to a drug test at the station. I pissed in a cup. I’m clear.”
“But all this—” David began, then looked up and blew out a sigh. He finished half his drink and started over: “All this, all this insanity—and it is insanity, you know! If that heroin was tied to you, not even Declan could save your ass. We’re talking prison, Dirk. Prison! And not the minimum security country club bullshit for hedge fund guys who forget to pay their taxes. Prison! And for what? Why on God’s green earth would you fucking risk everything for a little publicity? Because that’s what this is about, right? Publicity?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Right,” David said wearily. He held his glass up to his nose, giving it a deep appreciative sniff. “The plan—and let me know if I’m getting this right—is to garner as much attention as you can. But nothing good. Only the shit that sane people try to avoid.” He groaned, then added sarcastically, “Makes perfect sense.”
Dirk could almost picture the acid in his agent’s stomach spouting up like seawater form a whale’s blowhole. “We went over this, David. I need to hit bottom— rock bottom.” He drank from his glass, staring off at a yellow lab fetching a piece of driftwood for an elderly woman walking the beach. “The public needs to think I’m out of control. Lost. In a spiral. Charlie Sheen a few years back—but much, much worse.”
David smiled, but his eyes were nervous and he was white-knuckling the armrests. “I get the relevance angle here. It’s funny—all those times I got on you for not promoting yourself. I think I even accused you of living like an accountant once. But this”—he grimaced and glanced down, shuffling his loafers along the stone tiles—“this is extreme . I only wanted you to interview more and do the talk show circuit. Not this. This is… guerrilla marketing. And let’s be honest—do you really need this? You’re Dirk Rathman. No one’s more relevant than you. I mean look at you.” He waved a hand at Dirk like his appearance offended him. “It’s not fair that you look the way you do. You make guys like me look like a different species. And by different , I mean uglier, fatter, hairier and just all-around less appealing to the other seven billion people we’re sharing the planet with. I don’t think it’s a coincidence my wife only has sex with me after you stop by the house. And how about your career: Six of the top twenty highest grossing films in the last five years. So this—this plan of yours, I just don’t—”
“What were they talking about before the cops arrested me?” Dirk interrupted, then drained his glass,
“You went to jail, Dirk,” David pointed out grimly.
“That wasn’t part of the plan,” Dirk admitted. “But Declan got me out in an hour, and I spent most of that doing cop selfies and signing autographs. And did you happen to turn on your TV last night?”
David gave him a grudging smile. “One of your finer performances. On the steps of the precinct looking suitably contrite. Right up until you parted the sea of paparazzi and sped off in a black, tinted-windowed Escalade. It was very Hollywood of you.”
“I couldn’t have scripted it any better. They’re playing it on every station. GMA ran the whole thing this morning.”
“But heroin?” David said, shaking his head in frustration. “Jesus Christ! I don’t even want to think about—”
“I know. But it wasn’t my hotel room—it was theirs . And the models—Savannah, Dakota, Eddison or Addison or whatever the fuck her name is—already fessed up to it, and I’m sure they’re working something out with the DA. I had no knowledge that there was any heroin in the room. I’ve already been cleared. Officially cleared. Hell—I consented to a drug test at the station. I pissed in a cup. I’m clear.”
“But all this—” David began, then looked up and blew out a sigh. He finished half his drink and started over: “All this, all this insanity—and it is insanity, you know! If that heroin was tied to you, not even Declan could save your ass. We’re talking prison, Dirk. Prison! And not the minimum security country club bullshit for hedge fund guys who forget to pay their taxes. Prison! And for what? Why on God’s green earth would you fucking risk everything for a little publicity? Because that’s what this is about, right? Publicity?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Right,” David said wearily. He held his glass up to his nose, giving it a deep appreciative sniff. “The plan—and let me know if I’m getting this right—is to garner as much attention as you can. But nothing good. Only the shit that sane people try to avoid.” He groaned, then added sarcastically, “Makes perfect sense.”
Dirk could almost picture the acid in his agent’s stomach spouting up like seawater form a whale’s blowhole. “We went over this, David. I need to hit bottom— rock bottom.” He drank from his glass, staring off at a yellow lab fetching a piece of driftwood for an elderly woman walking the beach. “The public needs to think I’m out of control. Lost. In a spiral. Charlie Sheen a few years back—but much, much worse.”
David smiled, but his eyes were nervous and he was white-knuckling the armrests. “I get the relevance angle here. It’s funny—all those times I got on you for not promoting yourself. I think I even accused you of living like an accountant once. But this”—he grimaced and glanced down, shuffling his loafers along the stone tiles—“this is extreme . I only wanted you to interview more and do the talk show circuit. Not this. This is… guerrilla marketing. And let’s be honest—do you really need this? You’re Dirk Rathman. No one’s more relevant than you. I mean look at you.” He waved a hand at Dirk like his appearance offended him. “It’s not fair that you look the way you do. You make guys like me look like a different species. And by different , I mean uglier, fatter, hairier and just all-around less appealing to the other seven billion people we’re sharing the planet with. I don’t think it’s a coincidence my wife only has sex with me after you stop by the house. And how about your career: Six of the top twenty highest grossing films in the last five years. So this—this plan of yours, I just don’t—”
“What were they talking about before the cops arrested me?” Dirk interrupted, then drained his glass,
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