The Groaning Board

too tiresome playing the game with Smith, so Wetzon
said, “Bill Veeder’s an attractive man.”
    Smith’s feet hit the deck. “You are
impossible. Do you think I brought the two of you together so you could close
me out? That’s not fair. You had two days together. You know what I’m asking.
Sex. Orgasm. I insist you share. What is Billy like in bed? I hear—”
    “Insist, Dolly Levi? Oh, come now.”
Wetzon sat on the other chair and took a sip of coffee. “Obviously you know
more about it than I do, because I haven’t slept with him. And we did not have
two days together.”
    “You haven’t slept with him?” Smith’s
inflection indicated that Wetzon had betrayed her by doing something comletely
stupid. “What a dumb move. He’ll never call you again. It’s not his style. I
set this up for you and now look what you’ve done. You’re still carrying a
torch for Dick Tracy.” She sighed loudly. “What did you tell Bill?”
    “Christ, Smith, give me a break, will
you? Don’t jump to any conclusions. I didn’t tell Bill anything. He took me to
meet Evelyn.”
    “He didn’t!” Aghast, Smith raised her
dark glasses to stare at Wetzon.
    “He did.”
    “What a fool. That zombie could turn
off a nymphomaniac. Why on earth did he do that? I’ll have to have a little
talk with him.”
    That did it. Wetzon stood up and
boiled over. “No, you won’t, Smith. You’ll kindly stay out of it.”
    “Aaaah.” Smith let go of her glasses
and they dropped back on her nose. She raised her face to the sun. “I know you
so well, sweetie pie. You like him. I knew it. He’s been after me to get you
two together since the tree lighting last year.“
    “Smith, goddammit, promise me—”
Wetzon was suddenly conscious that the decibel level of her voice had risen
precariously. “Please, please, butt out.” God, that’s what Silvestri had said
to his mother. She dropped into the deck chair, set the mug on the floor.
    “Okay, okay, babycakes. No need to
get so upset.” Smith sat beside Wetzon and patted her shoulder. “I never
interfere when I’m not wanted. My only wish is for you to be happy. I’d never
do anything you wouldn’t approve of. You know that.”
    Wetzon said, “You wouldn’t? Well,
you’ve got us representing talent without my okay, you’ve got us as associate
producers of Softly, and you want to take Smith and Wetzon public. I
never approved of any of it.”
    Smith went back to her deck chair and
sipped her coffee, hiding behind her dark glasses. Wetzon kept quiet, not
giving her any help. Finally, Smith said, “You are absolutely right, sweetie
pie.”
    Wetzon rolled off the chair. “She’s
admitted she’s been wrong. I’m shocked, do you hear? Shocked.”
    “Humpf,” Smith said. “Actually, I’ve
come to the conclusion that we can’t do everything, so I’ve found an agent for
Lesser and Carpenter.” She beamed at Wetzon. “I negotiated a finder’s fee of
two percent on all earnings. It’ll be a nice bit of change for the firm.”
    Wetzon got back on the chair and
reached down for her mug. “You’re amazing.” She had Micklynn’s check in her
purse. How would she tell Smith about it? Maybe she should just deposit it into
the Smith and Wetzon account and explain later.
    “As for going public, I was just
testing the waters, sweetie pie. It was a theoretical question I put to Billy—friend
to friend. I’m not ready to have investors peeking over our shoulders, are
you?”
    “No. I’d rather sell the firm
outright.”
    “Well, of course, that will never
happen. We are partners. I love you. I trust you. Whatever we do, Smith and
Wetzon will be our base of operations. We can launch all of our projects from
here.”
    “By projects you mean like
associate producing?”
    “Yes. I don’t want to give that up.”
She took off her glasses again. “You’ll be pleased to hear that Twoey and I are
back together.”
    Wetzon was pleased, but not
surprised. “I got that message the other night.”
    “He’s such a sweetheart. I just
couldn’t let him settle for that awful Puerto Rican girl.”
    Groaning, Wetzon said, “So you saved
him. You’re so noble. And by the way, Sunny Browning is not Puerto Rican. Why
do you keep saying she’s Puerto Rican?”
    “Because who else would name a child
Sunny? I’m right. Admit it.”
    Wetzon threw up her hands. “Oh,
please.”
    “I can’t believe Billy took you to
meet that lump.“
    “Drop it, Smith.”
    “Tell me