Page 21 of Chained

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Terry conjured a slightly ingratiating smile. “Well, did I?”

“You played your part well.”

That wasn’t really an answer. Now Terry wanted to kick the bastard too. When Whitaker simply stood next to him, smoking, Terry decided to move things along. “So I’ve been here for several days now. I’ve done my best to show you that I’m worth your time. Have I succeeded?”

Whitaker dropped the cigarette onto the tile floor and ground it under his heel. “Come with me.”

Their little parade down the hallway—Whitaker leading and Edge taking up the rear—didn’t last long. A few doors down, they entered a miniature theater decorated in the style of a grand movie palace from the early twentieth century. Faux Egyptian paintings and statues decorated the walls, a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and a sumptuous velvet curtain hid the screen. Each of the twenty-five seats was an oversized armchair complete with drink holder.

“Have a seat.” Whitaker pointed at the front row. Terry chose the center chair and Whitaker sat next to him, while Edge remained standing near the door. When Whitaker waved a raised hand, the lights dimmed, the curtain parted, and a movie began to play.

No, not a movie, but rather a montage: scenes from dozens of films and TV shows. Some of them had come out years ago, when Terry was a kid, but many of them were recent. He recognized a few of the actors from the previous night’s party. Images flickered and voices recited lines of dialogue, but if there was any uniting theme, Terry didn’t catch it. For over thirty minutes he stared at the screen and wondered what Edge was thinking.

When the show finally ended, the curtains closed and the lights came on. “So?” Whitaker had slightly reclined the back of his chair and raised the footrest.

“You represent all of them?”

“Of course.”

“That’s impressive.”

Whitaker snorted. “Every actor I sign—every single one—becomes a success. They see their names in lights. They watch their bank accounts grow. They read their names inPeoplemagazine. And they gain a sort of immortality too, you know. Fairbanks, Valentino, Lorre, Garland, they’ve all been pushing up daisies in Hollywood Forever for decades, but you know who they are, right?”

“Of course.”

“Everybody does. Even yahoos from—where are you from, kid?”

“Wisconsin.”

“Even yahoos from Wisconsin. And do you know why?”

God, Terry had faced some nasty monsters over the years, but none of them had tried his patience like this. “Because they were in movies.”

“You got it. Once you make it big in the industry, you never really die.”

“So what do I have to do to get fame, fortune, and eternal life, Mr. Whitaker? Just sign on a dotted line?”

Whitaker laughed as if that was really funny. After lowering the footrest, he levered himself out of the seat with a little grunt and marched to the back of the room, where he grabbed Edge’s wrist. Edge neither protested nor changed his blank expression as Whitaker dragged him forward, but his face flushed a little. Whitaker either didn’t notice or didn’t care. They stopped in front of Terry’s seat.

“Edge, tell Mr. Brandt what your life is like here.”

For just one moment, Edge’s eyes flashed anger. Then they dulled again. “My life is good. I have a nice place to sleep. Good food. Nice clothes. I meet famous people.”

It was like a poor recital of a badly written speech, but it seemed to please Whitaker. “Without me, Edge would have nothing. Be nothing. But I’ve given him a great deal, wouldn’t you say, Terry?”

“Sounds like it.” Terry had no idea where Whitaker was going with this.

“I ask for things in return, of course. That’s how the world works. In exchange for my generosity, Edge gives me his loyalty and service.” Whitaker leered as he swiped a finger across Edge’s lips, then looked at Terry. “Sometimes I loan his service out, as a favor. Did you enjoy him last night?” He dropped his hand to Edge’s ass and gave a hard squeeze.

Terry had to force himself not to grit his teeth or ball his hands into fists. “Yeah, very much. He was fantastic.” Terry’s performance in that moment was worthy of an Oscar. Edge shot him a brief glance of what might have been gratitude or relief, and Terry kept his cool. “But I don’t think I understand what you’re getting at.”

Whitaker was petting Edge’s back, very much like a person might pet a dog. “Edge gets moderate benefits from me and he pays a moderate price. But you want something bigger from me. You want me to make you a star.”

“So I have to pay a bigger price.”

“You’ve got some brains, boy. Good. Just don’t use them too much. You sign with me and I’m your brains.”

“Fine. But what’s the price?”