The Perils of Praline (23 page)

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I prayed and prayed and prayed on that and God told me that it’s all right to lie, especially if it’s for profit. In fact, he has removed ‘thou shalt not bear false witness’ as a commandment and there will only be nine commandments from now on. Which, if you ask me, will make life a whole lot easier.”

“I hate it when you talk to God,” Praline said. “He always agrees with you.”

“Isn’t he sweet that way?”

Just then, Jason came into the office with a funny look on his face and said, “Praline, Malcolm Wright is here to see you.”

“Oh, um, I don’t think I want to see him.”

“Praline, I brought you up better than that,” said his mama. “The man has licked your asshole. The least you can do is say ‘hey.’”

“I’ll send him in,” said Jason.

Seconds later, an impeccably dressed Malcolm Wright stood before them. Praline introduced his mother.

“Mr. Wright, I am your biggest fan and I am so proud you’ve taken an interest in my son. I hope your presence here indicates your intentions are more than fleeting. I would so love to be your mother-in—”

“Mama, please,” Praline interrupted, then turned to Malcolm. “What can I do for you, Mr. Wright?” As he asked, he sincerely hoped that Malcolm was hoping to be cast in some Box TV show. Other than the one he already had, that is.

“I read on harrispilton.com that you worked here. And I thought, well, I hoped, really, I’m going away for a while and…” he stopped speaking and by way of explanation took out his wallet and extracted several hundred dollar bills.

Praline was appalled. “You’re trying to hire me to have sex with you in front of my mother?”

“Oh, no, no… I don’t want her to stay.” Then he turned to Robin and said, “No offense, ma’am.”

“None taken. If y’all wanna be alone—”

“No! Mama! You’re not going anywhere. Mr. Wright is leaving.” And then, futile though it seemed, he added, “I am not a prostitute.”

Without warning, they heard yelling from the outer office and Jocks Hammer burst into the room with Jason following close behind. The moment he saw Praline, Jocks yelled, “YOU! I KILL YOU!”

Apparently, porno directors also read Harris Pilton.

“Oh, my stars!” screamed Robin. “Who is this man!?” Unfortunately, Praline found it difficult to make introductions while running for his life, so his mother really had no idea exactly who it was she was hitting on the head with her heavy pumpkin-colored purse.

Praline ran out of his office and the whole crew followed. He yelled at Jason to call security. Malcolm Wright screamed like a starlet forced to pay her half of a lunch tab at The Ivy. Jocks kept after Praline, while Robin clung to the director continuing to clock him rhythmically with her handbag.

Suddenly, Madison Harvey ran into the office suite wearing a divine gunmetal gray suit and pair of black designer boots with four-inch stiletto heels. The outfit was stunning. More stunning, though, were her chosen accessories: an AK47 under each arm
.

At last, Praline meets the man of his dreams.

“They think my life is boring! Well, I’ll show them!” yelled Madison. “I’m not boring!” She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the triggers. The motley crew of Jocks Hammer, Malcolm Wright
,
and Robin scattered. Jason stood frozen
,
watching his former boss go postal in haute couture. Praline dove on top of Jason and pulled him under the desk just as
a
hail of bullets erupted.

The framed posters from past Box TV shows were instantly slaughtered and a torrent of glass rained down onto the floor. Bits of acoustical tile fell as the ceiling was butchered. And the designer furniture was permanently maimed. It was carnage.

The shooting abruptly stopped and Madison screamed, “These are my demands! I want front page, above the fold coverage! I want my life rights to be purchased for one million dollars! I want participation in gross profits! And I want a private jet to take me and my darling husband to a country that has liberal laws regarding sexual conduct and doesn’t extradite!”

She punctuated her demands with a burst of machine gunfire. This burst was shorter than the first and was immediately, and unexpectedly, followed by a heavy thud and Madison muttering, “Oh, shit.”

Praline peeked out from under the desk to see her struggling to get up off the floor. Apparently, the kick from two machine guns hadn’t worked well with such a fashion-forward outfit. The heal on her designer boot broke as she tried to get up and she couldn’t get the kind of purchase necessary to stand up again while tightly holding two machine guns.

Recognizing their chance, Jason and Praline rushed in and pulled the machine guns away from her. Instantly, the studio executive turned hostage-taker began sobbing.

“MY LIFE IS INTERESTING! IT IS! IT’S WORTH A MILLION DOLLARS! ASK ANYONE!”

A SWAT team flooded into the office. Madison was led out of the office as she wailed, “My life is interesting! Someone buy my life!”

After a few preliminary questions, the two police detectives in charge, a Detective Kerry and a Detective Gelson, decided it best to bring everyone downtown for a little chat, which led to Praline and Jason sitting in an interrogation room at LAPD headquarters.

The room was bare and air-conditioned to the point of frostbite. Praline wondered if they attempted to freeze confessions out of criminals. Slumping in a chair, Praline studied the two detectives; Detective Kerry was square-jawed, blue-eyed and handsomely built, while Detective Gelson had spent his life developing a personality.

“Before we start, can we get you anything?” Detective Gelson asked.

“Nothing for me,” replied Jason.

Praline wanted a chocolate fudge sundae, three or four butterscotch brownies and a crème bruleé
,
but he knew better than to ask, so he just said, “A cola, maybe?”

“Diet or regular?”

“Regular. My mama says diet drinks are the work of Satan.”

Gelson nodded and said, “My wife says high fructose corn syrup is a Republican plot to destroy the health of lower-class Americans.” Praline didn’t know what corn had to do with the cola he’d asked for, but decided to bite his tongue. Taking a cue from his mama, he wanted to say as little as possible to the two detectives.

“So, you’re a studio executive and a part-time prostitute?” Detective Kerry asked Praline with a glinting white smile.

While Praline was deciding what kind of lie to tell the detective, Jason answered truthfully for him. “He’s not a prostitute, that was a misunderstanding.”

“Let’s let him talk for himself.”

“Well, while that is the plot of the film they plan to make about my life, in reality I got into Mr. Wright’s car because I thought he was kind of cute,” Praline explained, making both Detective Kerry and Jason cringe. Apparently neither agreed.

“So, anyway, we did what we did…I didn’t know he thought I was a prostitute until he pushed me out of the car and forced money on me.”

Gelson returned with a can of soda for Praline. The two detectives conferred in whispers.

“If you’re accusing him of a crime, then he needs a lawyer,” Jason said forcefully.

“Look, we can work this out,” suggested Gelson. “Your story fits with the videotape. We’ll plead you down to public lewdness—”

“Excuse me!” Jason interrupted. “He didn’t do anything.”

“He had sex in a public place, that’s illegal,” explained Kerry.

Jason forged on, “Oh? And exactly how many straight people have you charged with public lewdness for having sex in a car?”

Kerry glared at him, while Gelson stuttered, “Well, I mean, we don’t, you know, have figures on hand. It even might be considered prejudice if we kept track.”

“And, are you charging Malcolm Wright?” Jason demanded.

“Of course we’re charging Malcolm Wright!” exclaimed Kerry.

“With?”

The detectives hesitated, finally Gelson said, “Endora Allgreen is a formidable woman.”

“What are you charging him with?”

“Double-parking,” Gelson said reluctantly.

“Praline will take that, too.”

“We can’t give him a parking ticket,” insisted Kerry. “He doesn’t own a car.”

“We have to follow the law, you know,” Gelson added.

“Fine, give him a ticket for jay-walking.”

“When exactly was he jay-walking?” Kerry took a pad ready to take the details of the crime.

“He wasn’t,” Jason replied. “I’m negotiating.”

“Well, we can’t give him a ticket for something he didn’t do.”

“Okay, let’s go outside and we’ll have him jay-walk.”

“We’re police officers,” said Kerry. “We can’t encourage the commission of crimes.”

“Let’s move on to the arson charge,” suggested Gelson.

“Arson?” asked Jason, and then glared at Praline.

“I didn’t want to mention it,” he whispered.

“How much did Warren Filbert pay you to burn down his apartment building?” Kerry demanded to know.

“Nothing!” Exclaimed Praline.

“You did it for free?”

“No, I gave him five hundred dollars.”

“You paid him to let you burn down his building? Is that some kind of sex thing?”

“No…” Praline took a deep breath and, against the tenets of his upbringing, decided to tell a policeman the truth. “I was trying to rent an apartment in order to impress a guy who I haven’t met yet, and then Warren tied me to the bed and asked me to be his slave. When I said no, he left me there to think about it and when I tried to escape I knocked over a candle.”

“That’s the most ridiculous story I’ve ever heard,” claimed Detective Kerry, though Praline didn’t believe it. In a town full of celebrities, someone had to have done something more ridiculous.

“This will require further investigation,” said Gelson.

“Let’s move on to the indecent exposure,” added Kerry. “We have videotape of you running along the Hollywood freeway naked.”

“Wait a minute,” said Jason. “We were held at gunpoint, threatened, and shot at. Why are we talking about these silly little trumped-up charges?”

“Silly? You call soliciting, arson, public exposure and a hate crime silly?”

“Hate crime!?” exclaimed Jason. “What hate crime?”

“That’s where you come in,” said Kerry, giving Jason the look he reserved for the lowest of the low. “The two of you assaulted four young men in West Hollywood. During the assault, you called them ‘breeders,’ ‘hets’ and ‘straights.’  These young men were emotionally traumatized.”

“We were protecting ourselves,” said Praline.

“They called us faggots,” added Jason.

“A likely story,” claimed Kerry. “You expect us to believe the four young men barely out of high school drove to West Hollywood intending to verbally harass and physically assault homosexuals in a place where there are literally thousands of buff, muscular gays roaming in packs along the streets. Why would they take a risk like that? It makes no sense.”

In his defense, Praline said, “I fight like a girl.”

“Deliberately, I’ll bet,” Kerry sneered. “Just to further humiliate those fine young men.”

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and a man with shoulder length hair, dressed in a rumpled three-piece suit and carrying an overstuffed briefcase walked into the interrogation room. For a moment, no one spoke as he set his things on the table and pulled a chair up. Detective Kerry cleared his throat.

“Oh, I’m Roderick Downs. I’m their attorney.”

“Did the studio send you?” Praline asked.

“No, Robin Palmetier.” Which explained why he smelled like bong water. “Which one of you is Praline?”

“I am,” replied our potentially felonious hero.

“Don’t answer any questions. You either,” he added to Jason.

“Well, if they’re not answering questions, we’re done,” said Detective Gelson.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Roderick. “We’re always happy to listen to your questions. So any time you want to ask them, just let us know. We won’t be answering, but we’re happy to listen.”

The detectives scowled and left the room. After thanking Roderick for his help, Praline and Jason promised they’d call him should the police decide to press charges. Roderick didn’t feel it likely they would.

Outside, the lawyer gave Praline his card and told him to have his mother call—he’d gotten her released immediately so she could hurry to her taping with Dr. Jill—and arrange delivery of the you-know-what. The phrase you-know-what was accompanied by Roderick’s squeezing his thumb and index finger together, bringing them up to his mouth and sharply inhaling.

As they walked away, Praline and Jason noticed a stylishly dressed Endora Allgreen in front of a small herd of reporters. She was saying, “Madison Harvey is a victim of the women’s movement. Thrust into the workplace against her will, forced to pursue dreams in direct conflict with her delicate, feminine nature, it’s no surprise she ended up wielding a pair of AK47s and committing the typically male crime of assault and kidnapping.”

She paused dramatically, as though to allow the reporters to absorb the weight of what she was saying, and then continued, “In the criminal proceeding, we will outline the actions of the women’s movement that caused Mrs. Harvey to act in such an out-of-character manner. Naturally, she’ll be pleading innocent by reason of mental defect. Concurrently, we’ll be filling a civil suit against the following individuals, businesses and women’s organizations
.
T
hey include, but are not limited to, Oprah Winfrey, Cosmopolitan Magazine, the PGA, Women in Film and Mothers Against Drunk Driving.”

“We need to get out of here,” Jason said, pulling Praline away and right into…Jocks Hammer. The older man glared at Praline. There was nowhere to run except into the crowd of reporters surrounding Endora Allgreen.

Frustrated, Praline said, “Look, I just don’t get it. You’re like this big porno guy. I bet you can sleep with any one of the actors you want to—”

“And, I do. Is professional courtesy.”

“So why are you so mad that your boyfriend had sex with someone else?” Praline asked, genuinely curious.