“So what’s the offer?” she asks.
“To the point,” he says.
“Directly to the point,” she says.
“Good old Lainie.”
“Let me hear it.”
At first, the offer sounds terrific.
What he’s proposing is that instead of Toyland coming out in competition with whoever decides to manufacture her bear — Ideal or Mattel, either one, he has ears all over the trade, and he knows there’s keen interest at each company...
“Which I think is wonderful for you, Lainie, you’re so talented, and it’s time you were rewarded for the hard years of apprenticeship you’ve put in...”
Which appraisal she doesn’t quite accept since she’s had half a dozen toys already produced and marketed, for Christ’s sake, and that ain’t no apprenticeship, thank you. But she says nothing, just listens for now, sipping at her Perrier, watching him across the table as he pours more Scotch over the ice in his glass.
He tells her that he recognizes a bidding situation might very well develop between Ideal and Mattel, which is why he’s willing now to make a preemptive offer that he hopes she’ll consider satisfactory. What he’s suggesting...
She leans forward expectantly. In periods of stress, the eye seems to wander mercilessly. She can feel the tug of the muscle shortened twice by surgery. The eye is losing the battle yet another time.
“Here’s what we want to do, Lainie. Toyland is willing to manufacture your bear, using your copyrighted design and your trademarked name...”
She recognizes this as a victory.
“...and compensating you by way of a substantial advance against generous royalties...”
“How substantial? How generous?”
“To be mutually agreed upon, Lainie. I promise you, no one’s trying to take advantage of you here.”
“You’ll call the bear Gladly?”
“Just as you have it.”
“My design? For the bear and the eyeglasses?”
“Exactly to your specifications.”
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch. I just don’t want to have to go through this whole damn mess, Lainie.”
Which means he believes Santos will decide against him.
“So if you think what I’m suggesting is something doable,” he says, “maybe you can have Matthew call my attorney...”
She notices that he does not refer to him familiarly as “Sidney,” he is now merely “my attorney,” perhaps because he’s concluded the infringement case is already lost...
“...so they can work out the advance and the royalties, and prepare transfers of copyright and trademark. How does that sound?”
“Transfers?”
“Yes. Toyland would want an outright assignment of all rights to the bear and its name.”
“Outright?”
“Which, I’m sure, any other company would insist on.”
“An outright assignment of all rights?”
“Forever,” Brett says.
“Forever,” she repeats.
“Yes. Well, Lainie, I’m sure this doesn’t come as a surprise to you. If we’re to try making a success of the bear, we’d have to be certain beforehand that we have the irrevocable right to manufacture it for the life of the copyright.”
“I was thinking more in terms of a licensing agreement.”
“A transfer, an assignment, a license, all the same thing.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m sure neither Ideal nor Mattel would sign a limited licensing agreement.”
“It sounds to me as if they might.”
She is lying. The feelers from both companies have been tentative pending resolution of the copyright problem.
“Well, perhaps so, who knows, stranger things have happened. But we’re willing to go a long way on royalties, Lainie, and on subsidiary rights to...”
“What do you mean, a long way?”
“Escalation clauses should the bear really take off. Bonuses premised on performance. A huge share of subsidiary rights...”
“Like what?”
“Who knows? A television show? A movie? Whatever. The percentages would be heavily loaded in your favor.”
“What sort of control would I have, Brett?”
“We would guarantee the quality of the product.”
“But what control would I have?”
“I think you know what the Toyland logo stands for. Besides, your compensation would ensure optimum performance on our part.”
Which sounds like double-talk to her.
“How does it sound to you in general outline?” Brett asks.
“I’m not sure. I’ll have to discuss it with Matthew,” she says, and puts down her glass, and is sliding her way out of the banquette when Brett puts his hand on her arm.
“Lainie,” he says, “I wish we could shake hands on this tonight.”
“No, I can’t. Not until I talk to him.”
“Santos has promised a decision by the twenty-second.”
“Well, he’s shooting for that.”
“End of the month, for sure. “You can lose, you know.”
“Then why are you offering a deal?”
“I want things to be the way they were between you and the company.”
“Maybe they will. Let me talk to Matthew.”
“When will you do that?”
“I’ll try him when I get home.”
“Will you let me know?”
“As soon as we’ve discussed it.”
He extends his hand. She takes it. They shake hands. The forty-five is lying on the table, alongside the bowl of limes.
“That’s the last time I saw him alive,” she tells me.
Warren sat in the dark, waiting for her to get home. This was not going to be a kidnapping, per se. In Florida law, the term “kidnapping” was defined as “forcibly, secretly, or by threat confining, abducting, or imprisoning another person against his will and without lawful authority...”
All of which Warren planned to do.
“With intent to...”
And these were the key words.
“With intent to hold for ransom or reward or as a shield or hostage, or to commit or facilitate commission of any felony, or to inflict bodily harm or to terrorize the victim or another person, or to interfere with the performance of any government or political function.”
None of which Warren planned to do.
So what this would be was false imprisonment, which was defined in the statutes as “forcibly, by threat, or secretly confining, abducting, imprisoning or restraining another person without lawful authority and against his will...”
And here’s where the difference came in.
“With any purpose other than those referred to in Section 787.01,” which was the kidnapping section of the statutes.
Add to that the B&E, because he had once again unlawfully forced the door to her apartment the moment he saw her driving off in her faded green Chevy at ten o’clock tonight. He sat just inside that door now, where he could hear her key the moment she inserted it in the keyway. He had dragged a chair in from the kitchen and had placed it just to the side of the door, the bottle sitting on the floor beside him, the cap on it.
Somewhere outside, church bells began bonging the hour.
In the stillness of the apartment, he listened.
Eleven P.M.
He checked his watch.
He was two minutes fast.
Or the church was two minutes slow.
Or maybe it took two minutes for the bells to ring eleven times. This made him wonder if any clock in the world was precise. Because in the second it took for the sweep hand to move to the next number, wasn’t the second already gone? Or if a digital watch read 11:02:31, as his watch now read, wasn’t it already past 11:02:31 by the time the... well, there it was already 11:02:32, forget it, 11:02:33, 11:02:34, damn metaphysics could drive a person nuts.