Chapter 6: The Virgin

CHAPTER 6 

The Virgin

 

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The car accident that will kill Tom Atari is still days away.

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The man waiting on the bench seat lit up a cigarette, and it was only after his first drag that he thought to look for a wastepaper basket for the smoking match. There was no wastepaper basket. There was also no one in here- just a sign on the wall:

Tom Atari, Private Investigations

It was posterboard, hand-lettered, the drawing of an unsettling eye above the lettering. Marvin wondered what studio graphics could do with the Tom Atari logo. Magnifying glass? Binoculars? Visual reference seemed to be the key.

There was a desk in this dusty lobby, for a secretary ostensibly, but Marvin could see that there was no secretary employed. The surface of the desk was immaculate clean & every woman, every woman everywhere, keeps a flower on her desk. No flower, no secretary. Marvin, done detecting, dropped the smoking match on the hardwood floor.

Tom Atari- ten minutes out of bed- opened the door and entered the lobby, plucking the cigarette from Marvin’s mouth and stamping it out on the floor.

“No smoking.”

“Mr. Atari?”

“Inside.” Tom said, unlocking the knob of his office door with a key on his chain. Marvin stood and followed.

A buzz of the light and then, illumination. Tom pulled a bottle of orange juice from his blazer, popping the cap and having a sip. He sat on top of his desk, which was just as naked as the one outside. He motioned for Marvin to sit in the visitor’s chair, but the man stood instead.

“I let myself in... there was no secretary..”

Tom smiled. “Yeah, she went for coffee. Six years ago.”

Marvin probably would have laughed harder if he knew this was Tom’s first and only joke for the year. His polite chuckle was all.

“She’s probably dead,” Tom said helpfully.

Marvin got to the point. “I’d like to hire you. Jan Perry said you’re the best.”

Tom took a breath & let it out. In that order.

“Jan’s dead.”

“Notwithstanding.” Marvin finally took a seat, in the chair next to Tom beside the desk. “My name is Marvin Millser. I work for MCM Studios-”

Tom was laughing: good, pure. It stopped.

“If you knew Jan then Jan would have told you: I don’t work Hollywood.”

Mr. Millser reached deep into his bag of bullshit.

“This isn’t Hollywood, Mr. Atari. This is America.”

Greasy people know how to buy time.

“I'd like to hire you for a very simple job: we have a young lady under contract at the studio. Her name is Heather Jasmine- beautiful girl. Mr. Majer thinks she will be quite the movie star. In time.”

"She's not yours, is she?"

"Beg pardon...?"

Tom crossed behind his desk and sat down.

"I can tell..." He was grinning. "No stars in your eyes... no pussy on your face."

He spun around in time to see Mr. Millser go red. Poor sucker. You have to entertain yourself.

"No, sir," Mr. Millser said, "I'm too busy with money."

He said it so sweet that you couldn't see the grin on Tom's face going- it was just gone.

“How old is she?”

"I'm acting on behalf of the studio-"

"How old?"

“Her first picture starts filming at the end of the Summer & Mr. Lerner- the head of the studio- would like to help her stay fresh until that time. It's essential to the role, you know."

"How old is she?"

"The camera knows, Mr. Atari. We need you to keep her fresh because... the camera knows."

"I'm a little fuzzy on 'fresh...' Does this girl fuck goats? Does she drink heroin juice? Cross the street against the light?"

"You're talking about your client." 

Atari knew that yes, he had taken the case, but much worse than that: this cold man was right. He shouldn't talk about a client that way.

"Her name is Heather Jasmine and Mr. Lerner at the studio would like her to have a chaperone until production starts in August."

Tom watched Millser talk, feeling more sympathetic for the man. This was a talented drone, an inspired messenger but no more: why bust his chops? 

"A chaperone who will see to it that she gets plenty of sleep, loses plenty of weight, and that her virtue remains... unsullied.”

“About the weight- I don’t push any pills.”

“No pills necessary. Just keep her out of the candy store.”

“And about her virtue... you’ve got the wrong guy, Millser. Protecting ladies’ virtue is a job for a white knight or a hero and I’m neither, believe me, not promising a thing.”

Someone was in the lobby- Tom heard the door close in the outer room.

Mr. Millser stood up then, smiling, “I don’t think you’ll have a problem with that.”

Through the doorway, behind the smiling producer, Heather Jasmine made her entrance, sun dress because of society, lit cigarette burning quickly in her delicate fingers, a mane of blonde hair that didn’t care for combs, and a look in her eyes so blissfully pissed and helpless it was all he could do not to fuck her right there on the desk.

Mr. Millser beamed. “Tom Atari, this is Heather Jasmine.”

Tom nodded. Heather blew smoke.

Mr. Millser dropped a fold of bills on the desk and added before leaving: 

“She’s thirteen.”