Free Selling Out by Dan Wakefield Page A

could hardly imagine not knowing she was the hottest new overnight sensation in town by virtue of raves on the Industry grapevine for her knockout performance in the new remake of “Streetcar,” which wasn’t even released yet.
    The Vardemans didn’t at once respond, looking at each other with curious glances, and Perry’s heart leaped, pulsing with the wild hope that by some miraculous lapse the Vees had not yet heard of Renna Greaves. That meant he would be one up on them about the hottest new sensation in their own backyard!
    Jane, evidently sensing another reason for their lack of response, quickly said, “Perry means can you see her playing the part of Laurie, the young wife in “The First Year’s the Hardest.’”
    Pru finally spoke, in her heaviest, most nasal Radcliffe accent.
    â€œYou mean hypo the tically, I presume, since she surely wouldn’t actually do it?”
    Perry smiled.
    â€œI think you guys know me well enough to realize I don’t go around tooting my own horn. But I gotta tell you, this script is something special. I mean, I’m only a little more than halfway through, but I’m really excited about it. So, who knows? Maybe even Renna Greaves will go for it.”
    â€œOh Lordsies, I didn’t mean any reflection on your script. I’m sure it’s charming. I only meant I couldn’t imagine now that she’s hot she’d want to do television .”
    Vaughan burped and shrugged.
    â€œFor big bucks, Renna Greaves would hump a horse,” he said.
    Pru turned quickly to Vaughan and spoke in such a sharp, sudden manner it seemed as if she were spitting the words at him, through the slit of her thin smile.
    â€œSince when do you know about Renna Greaves’s humping habits?”
    â€œOh, for shit on a stick,” Vaughan groaned, tossing his napkin up in the air.
    Perry had to stifle a laugh, not of enjoyment over the Vees’ little controversy, but really from affection at how little they had changed. Vaughan was still the raunchy little cock of the walk, enjoying his farts and belches just as he did back at Cronin’s bar in Cambridge, and Pru was the stiff, horsey type, the eternal image of the Eastern socialite snob. They were an unlikely pair, physically as well as in personality, but somehow if you knew them they went together, an odd but credible combination. Perry wondered, though, if Vaughan’s being—as he no doubt would put it himself—“ass-deep” in sexy young actresses in the line of duty as a producer was really causing trouble for them.
    â€œBy the way, I think you both know Archer Mellis,” Perry said quickly, hoping to shift to neutral terrain.
    â€œMellis?” asked Pru. “Isn’t he the real estate lawyer who fronted for those Iranians—the ones who wanted to buy the Santa Monica Mall?”
    â€œNo, no,” Vaughan corrected her, “you’re thinking of Arnold Melman. Archer Mellis is the new boy at Paragon.”
    â€œYou must be mistaken,” Pru shot back. “Rick Stutz is the new boy at Paragon.”
    â€œHe’s features ,” Vaughan explained. “Mellis is Paragon Television.
    â€œOh, tele -vision,” Pru said, as if chewing on a prune.
    â€œAnyway, Archer Mellis is the guy I’m working with over there,” Perry said. “He told me he knew you guys, met you at parties, I guess.”
    â€œI’m sure,” Pru said, looking blank. “We must have.”
    â€œYeah, yeah, Archer Mellis,” Vaughan said. “Long drink of water with aviator glasses.”
    â€œLots of gold chains?” Pru asked.
    â€œNo, no. Only chains he’d have would be for his dog tags,” Vaughan said. “Dresses like Che before coming down from the Sierra Madre.”
    â€œAh,” Pru nodded. “Sort of a Rodeo Drive Sandinista look?”
    â€œBulls-eye,” Vaughan nodded.
    â€œIs that where you