Blind Item(113)

The eagle has landed. Car trace successful. SOR and mystery girl inside. Not being as careful as usual. Await advice what to do next.





CHAPTER 29

BILLY SPED UP THE HIDEOUSLY narrow switchbacks of the Hollywood Hills, alternately blinded by the glare of the sun and then by its absence, praying that there weren’t any oncoming cars at each hairpin corner.

He hadn’t meant to answer the call from the blocked number a half hour earlier, but his finger hit the wrong button. He’d been annoyed, until he heard Robert Flanger’s mellifluous voice.

Billy had immediately panicked, imagining some sort of further punishment for the whole fake-NDA thing. He was wrong.

“If you’re not too busy, I suggest you come up to my house right now,” Flanger had fairly purred. “We have fallen face-first into a particularly juicy scandal featuring one of our most homophobic actors. Personally and professionally, you will benefit greatly from coming here now. I hope you can make it.”

Intrigued and relieved, Billy had thanked Flanger, reconfirmed his address, and hit the road.

The ornate wrought-iron gate swung open as Billy drove up, and as he turned into the horseshoe driveway, Flanger strode toward him and extended his hands warmly.

“Come here, my boy,” he said, gesturing for Billy to come toward him. Billy got out of the car and walked into Flanger’s embrace.

“My goodness, you got here fast,” Flanger said, hugging Billy for longer than Billy thought necessary.

“Yes,” he said into Flanger’s shoulder, “you said I needed to hurry, so I drove like SaraBeth Shields on the wrong way of a freeway.”

Flanger released him from the hug and smiled warmly. Jesus, wondered Billy. What the fuck is this scandal? Flanger was hopped up like a kid at Christmas.

“I wish more young people had your tenacity.” He motioned for Billy to go inside. As Flanger pulled the door closed, Joe the butler emerged from his curtained office cubbyhole.

“Hello, sir,” he said warmly. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Okaaaaay.” Billy stopped in the middle of the foyer. “This is weird. I was basically marched out of here like a criminal two nights ago, and now I’m like a long-lost son returning home?”

“I must apologize for that mix-up,” said the butler, “but I hope you understand the nature of these parties and the freedoms they offer necessitate extra precautions.”

“Yes, Billy, we read you wrong,” Flanger said, closing the door behind him. “I hope you don’t mind, but we did do a thorough background check on you, and I’m happy to say that you passed with flying colors. For a tabloid man, you do seem cursed with a conscience.”

“Your background checks reveal that I have a conscience?” Billy said, one eyebrow raised.

“Well, it does seem that you’re very protective of your social circle, even though all of Hollywood is dying to find out who Seamus O’Riordan’s secret girlfriend is.”

Billy stopped dead and turned to Flanger.

“Okay, how the fuck did you find that one out?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Flanger. “You’re gay, you understand the risks and the costs, and in this town we had to become very cunning to survive and keep our lucrative careers safe. It takes a village to be Rock Hudson, my boy. Yes, times have changed, but a taste for cock can still terminate a career. I’m sure your boyfriend has made you acutely aware of this.”

“Point taken,” said Billy. “And yes, I do try to have some decency in what I report, and I take care of my friends.”

“That’s why I called you here. Our guests of honor will be here shortly.” Flanger and Joe exchanged knowing half smiles. The secrecy was driving Billy mental.

“Can you give me any info before they get here?” he said, settling into one of the oversize dark brown leather chairs by the windows.

Flanger took the chair opposite him with a Mona Lisa smile.

“I’d like nothing more than to debrief you,” he said lecherously, waiting for Billy to respond to the flirt. An awkward second passed, and Flanger resumed his monologue.

“Max Zetta has long been a bigoted sack of hateful shit,” he said, his perfect diction making the obscenity sound almost polite. “He has humiliated gay crew members, he has attacked gay staff members, he has donated money to antigay causes, and he has extolled the virtues of traditional marriage at the expense of gay equality.”

“Yes, Mr. Flanger, I know all that. And?”

“Well, it seems that yesterday, Mr. Zetta downed a bottle of whisky for breakfast and wrapped his car around a pole in Beverly Hills. Things only got worse when the cop who got there, a lovely gent by the name of Harrison, was a bit too obviously gay for Mr. Zetta. When Harrison tried to help him from the car, Zetta swung a fist at him, which missed, but still counts as aggravated assault. He then unleashed a tirade about not wanting a dirty fag to touch him.”