Tinseltown Riff by Shelly Frome Page B

let out a weary sigh. “Hey, you want one of Iris’s smoothies? Soy yogurt, fiber infusion, chopped fruit and protein powder. Before, she gets here, I mean.”
    â€œIris?”
    â€œOf course. Get with it. Like everything’s gotta click, you follow?”
    â€œGreat. Let’s skip the two minute breaks and get down to it.  Just keep holding the tops up.”
    â€œYeah, fast but not that fast.  I gotta be dressed for it.”
    Again she was gone. As the wind gusts fluttered through the palm fronds, Ben stepped out onto the pink cement rimming the pool. He checked out motionless Ray and peered again through the gate at the Prelude. Going over his exit strategy, he’d have to slip into reverse gear, head twisted toward the rear window, glide down the serpentine run and hope to God he didn’t smack into Iris and get completely boxed in.. With luck, he’d finally get something going with Angelique and hightail it. In short, following the first rule of this business, he’d jump in with a hook, spring back and hope he scored enough points to keep the ball rolling.
    Off the top of his head, he began to come up with a recipe that might zip him past this hurdle.  
    Once again the bamboo curtain rustled. Angelique plopped down on the edge of a white leather recliner. Her chosen top was the tackiest of the lot, the yellow floral with the slashed slits still covering up next to nothing.
    Ben stepped back onto the porch as she fumbled for a stick of gum, lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and said, “Okay, shoot.  And remember Gillian gave her word it wouldn’t be ditsy. And none of that stuff with me playing some sleaze has-been. Check out the monitors at Iris’ gym with me in my glory. You get my drift?”
    â€œNo worries. We’ll capitalize on today’s tough times, hankering for the good ol’ days of ‘You go, girl,’ ‘Breakin’ out’ and ‘Catch me if you can.’”
    Ben didn’t know if these were song titles or what, but he was on a roll and didn’t want to give Angelique any time to think.
    â€œIn other words,” Ben went on as Angelique tossed the gum wrapper aside, “chicks want to be the Angie of old--do anything and take it all back. Let’s simply call it Retro Now .”
    Angelique winced, sucked in more smoke, held it and blew it out through her nose. “That was um ...”
    â€œToo brusk?”
    â€œYeah. Like you see right through me.”
    â€œSee a way to appease our target audience, you mean. They want to do it and, like I said, take it all back.”
    (Ben also had no idea what he meant by “do it” or “our target audience” but keep on going.) “Call it Angie rides again: fearless, cruising the back streets, darting in the shadows, shaking off the denizens of the underworld.”
    â€œHey, let’s leave Ray out of this.”
    Thrown for a second, Ben countered with, “Look, I’m just throwing out some  ingredients. You told Gillian you wanted it streetwise with backup, well you got it. Got an underpinning. Working title, Angie’s Run —whatever.”
    â€œ Angie ...  The Rolling Stones ... me in the same league, I like it, I like it.”  
    â€œNo no, not rock videos or any of that stuff. That’s out of my league. Okay? You’ve got to keep that in mind.”
    â€œOkay, I got it, all right already.”
    â€œGreat. So, what do you say we leave it at that?  I mean, with you under the gun, Ray about to wake up, Iris on her way, and my car parked--”
    â€œIt was the tour that did it,” said Angelique, sitting up, puffing away. “I always hit ‘em with this killer pose and listened to ‘em scream. But this time they checked me out when  I put on my pouty face, flashed some thigh and cocked my head. Nothing. Like they were waiting for the headliner. Like they didn’t realize it