required. Endless heretofores , hereinafters and notwithstandings on cream sheets of legal vellum. As far as Clark was concerned, it might as well have been in Greek, although he was just glad to see that his hand had decided not to shake.
“And we’ll need a Bible to swear the actual affidavit on…” Amdahl’s smile soured to a momentary look of alarm. “Not Jewish are you?”
“Uh…” Clark glanced towards April, who gave a small negative blink. “No.”
“Stupid of me to ask.” Amdahl’s smile had returned. “Of course, the California regulations do allow registered Yids to make contracts, but it’s really getting to be more bother than it’s worth. Oh, and you did tell us that neither of you have any children who we need to call witness on—is that correct, Mrs Lamotte?”
Faust, Clark decided, as April Lamotte assented to their childlessness, would have been required to sign less documentation than this.
Eventually, it was done.
“Congratulations.” Amdahl gave their hands a muscular shake. “I’ll send the copies back by courier. First thing tomorrow, it’ll be on Senserama’s desks for their signature. A week at the very outside and we should all be done. This has been a real privilege. I’m a big fan of your work, Mr Lamotte. Let’s hope this thing runs and runs.”
“So do I.”
“We all do,” April Lamotte added as she slipped her arm around Clark’s. “Dan’s had his ups and downs lately—some very difficult times, to be honest, haven’t you darling?—but we’re hoping we can put the past behind us and move on.”
Clark nodded, gave her ass a squeeze, and said sure , although he was puzzled as to why she was raking up his problematic mental history at this of all moments.
“That’s… terrific.” Amdahl cleared his throat. “And maybe, seeing as we’re close to the cocktail hour… ?” He gestured towards a glass-fronted cabinet.
“Well, I—” Clark began.
“That’s real nice of you.” April Lamotte gave a burgundy smile. “But Dan and I are planning a small celebration. We’ve booked a table at Chateau Bansar.”
“Chateau Ban sar … ?” Amdahl looked impressed.
ELEVEN
N O CHALLENGES. NO AMBUSHES. And no sudden surprises—unless you counted the brief issue of his possible Jewishness. He felt a sense of anticlimax as they stepped out from the cool offices of York and Bunce, back into the city’s noise and heat. As roles went, dressing in someone else’s clothes and mimicking their signature was hardly up there with playing Shakespeare. But who needed all the hassle and rejection when you could get paid a thousand bucks for doing this instead?
“So—where’s this Chateau place?” he asked as April Lamotte did something complicated with the Delahaye’s keys to get the engine throbbing.
“Up past Silver Lake.” She looked at him and smiled before pulling swiftly out into the rush-hour traffic. “Well done, by the way. I think we did it, didn’t we?”
“I think we did.”
Traffic was slow at first as she drove back along Sunset and then Hollywood. It always was at this time of day. Beyond the hanging veils of smog, the Santa Monica Mountains seemed scarcely there. So, as they shimmered in the heat pouring off the blacktop and the lanes of queuing cars, did the people on the sidewalks and the nearby buildings.
He lit himself a Lucky Strike using that clever lighter, and lit April one of her pastel cigarettes. She touched his hand with her burgundy-nailed fingertips for longer than seemed entirely necessary as he passed it to her. In pauses in the traffic, she demonstrated a few of the Delahaye’s other tricks. A top of the range Motorola. Windows which powered themselves up and down from the press of an electric button. Electric locks, too. Adjustable vents that blew out what passed in this city for fresh air.
Traffic began to clear as they passed Barnsdall Park and turned north on Cahuenga. The Delahaye’s motor began to
“And we’ll need a Bible to swear the actual affidavit on…” Amdahl’s smile soured to a momentary look of alarm. “Not Jewish are you?”
“Uh…” Clark glanced towards April, who gave a small negative blink. “No.”
“Stupid of me to ask.” Amdahl’s smile had returned. “Of course, the California regulations do allow registered Yids to make contracts, but it’s really getting to be more bother than it’s worth. Oh, and you did tell us that neither of you have any children who we need to call witness on—is that correct, Mrs Lamotte?”
Faust, Clark decided, as April Lamotte assented to their childlessness, would have been required to sign less documentation than this.
Eventually, it was done.
“Congratulations.” Amdahl gave their hands a muscular shake. “I’ll send the copies back by courier. First thing tomorrow, it’ll be on Senserama’s desks for their signature. A week at the very outside and we should all be done. This has been a real privilege. I’m a big fan of your work, Mr Lamotte. Let’s hope this thing runs and runs.”
“So do I.”
“We all do,” April Lamotte added as she slipped her arm around Clark’s. “Dan’s had his ups and downs lately—some very difficult times, to be honest, haven’t you darling?—but we’re hoping we can put the past behind us and move on.”
Clark nodded, gave her ass a squeeze, and said sure , although he was puzzled as to why she was raking up his problematic mental history at this of all moments.
“That’s… terrific.” Amdahl cleared his throat. “And maybe, seeing as we’re close to the cocktail hour… ?” He gestured towards a glass-fronted cabinet.
“Well, I—” Clark began.
“That’s real nice of you.” April Lamotte gave a burgundy smile. “But Dan and I are planning a small celebration. We’ve booked a table at Chateau Bansar.”
“Chateau Ban sar … ?” Amdahl looked impressed.
ELEVEN
N O CHALLENGES. NO AMBUSHES. And no sudden surprises—unless you counted the brief issue of his possible Jewishness. He felt a sense of anticlimax as they stepped out from the cool offices of York and Bunce, back into the city’s noise and heat. As roles went, dressing in someone else’s clothes and mimicking their signature was hardly up there with playing Shakespeare. But who needed all the hassle and rejection when you could get paid a thousand bucks for doing this instead?
“So—where’s this Chateau place?” he asked as April Lamotte did something complicated with the Delahaye’s keys to get the engine throbbing.
“Up past Silver Lake.” She looked at him and smiled before pulling swiftly out into the rush-hour traffic. “Well done, by the way. I think we did it, didn’t we?”
“I think we did.”
Traffic was slow at first as she drove back along Sunset and then Hollywood. It always was at this time of day. Beyond the hanging veils of smog, the Santa Monica Mountains seemed scarcely there. So, as they shimmered in the heat pouring off the blacktop and the lanes of queuing cars, did the people on the sidewalks and the nearby buildings.
He lit himself a Lucky Strike using that clever lighter, and lit April one of her pastel cigarettes. She touched his hand with her burgundy-nailed fingertips for longer than seemed entirely necessary as he passed it to her. In pauses in the traffic, she demonstrated a few of the Delahaye’s other tricks. A top of the range Motorola. Windows which powered themselves up and down from the press of an electric button. Electric locks, too. Adjustable vents that blew out what passed in this city for fresh air.
Traffic began to clear as they passed Barnsdall Park and turned north on Cahuenga. The Delahaye’s motor began to
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