The Boy from the Woods(72)

“Hi, Arnie.”

He scowled a little too theatrically. “What the hell is this, Hester?”

They’d met over the years at one thing or another. Twenty-five years ago, Arnie Poplin had starred in a hit family sitcom as the hilarious neighbor. For three years he was beloved and famous. Then, poof, it was over. Like many, he ended up fighting the withdrawal pains from two of society’s most potent addictions—drugs and fame. People underestimate the power of that bright, warm beacon known as fame—and how dark and cold it gets when that beacon goes out.

So Arnie desperately tried to hang on. Allison Grant half joked that Arnie Poplin would appear at the opening of a garage door. He tried to bow and scrape his way onto game shows, reality shows, home and garden shows, cooking shows—anything to turn on that beacon—less bright, less warm—for even a few seconds.

Hester said, “I wanted to ask you—”

“You think I’m an idiot?”

He was sweaty and red-faced.

“I saw your Saul Strauss segment, Hester. Do you know what you called me?”

“A celebrity has-been-turned-conspiracy-nut,” Hester said.

His mouth dropped open in what she assumed was mock surprise. It took him a few seconds to work up the bluster again. Actors. “You expect me to just forgive you for that?”

“You have two choices here, Arnie. You can disconnect this call or Skype or whatever this video-cloudy thingy is, or you can tell me your side of it.”

“You won’t believe me.”

“Probably not. But if you can convince me you’re telling the truth, even a little bit, I’ll have you on the show.”

“Solo segment?” Arnie rubbed his face. “I don’t want some point-counterpoint crap.”

“One-on-one interview. Just you and me.”

He crossed his arms and pretended to think it over for a millisecond. “What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about the Rusty Eggers tapes you claim Dash Maynard has in his possession.”

“They exist.”

“How do you know?”

“I was on The Rusty Show. You know this, right?”

“Right.”

“Big ratings when I was on. No one talks about that.”

Hester sighed. “Arnie.”

“Right, right. So anyway, I overheard them. Rusty and Dash. They were talking about the tapes. Dash swore he’d destroyed them.”

“So if Dash destroyed them—”

“Oh come on. No one really destroys tapes, Hester. You know that. And Rusty knew it. That’s why he was so upset. He knew that Dash would never get rid of them totally. Why would he?”

“Dash Maynard swears he doesn’t have any damaging tapes.”

“Yeah, well, Dash is a selfish prick, isn’t he? He has this big empire. You ever been to his house? It’s like something out of Gatsby.”

“Have you seen the tapes?” Hester asked.

“Me? No.”

“So how do you know they exist?”

“I heard them.”

“Heard the tapes?”

“No. I heard Dash and Rusty arguing about them.”

“What did they say exactly?”

“It was late at night, see. I was the only one still around. They thought I was gone. That they were alone. Can I tell you the truth though?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice, Arnie.”

“I passed out on the toilet.”

“Sorry?”

“Yeah, I was in the studio office. In a toilet stall. Sitting down on—”

“I got the visual, Arnie.”

“Anyway, I was snorting some coke, whatever. I don’t know. I passed out. When I woke up, the bathroom was totally dark. It was ten at night. I pulled up my pants. They were still down around my ankles.”

“Hey, thanks for that detail.”

“You want the whole story, don’t you?”

“Boxers or briefs?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” Hester said. “You pulled up your pants.”

“Right, I pull up my pants. But like I said, it’s totally dark. I mean, pitch black. I feel my way to the latch. You know, the one that opens the stall.”

“Yes, Arnie, I know about those latches. We have them in women’s bathrooms too.”

“Anyway, it’s still dark. I feel my way out of the can. I get into the hallway. I’m worried that maybe they lock the doors at night. Like maybe I can’t get out. You know what I mean?”

“Right, go on.”

“Then I hear voices. Two men.”

“Let me guess. Rusty and Dash.”

“Right. And they’re arguing. I get closer. I heard Rusty say, ‘You got to get rid of the tape. You have to promise me.’ He’s drunk. I can hear it in his voice. Rusty is usually in control, but he’s got that sloppy-drunk thing going on. And he keeps saying, ‘You don’t get what it could do to us, you should destroy it, you don’t want anyone to ever know.’”

“And what did Dash say?”

“He just said don’t worry, no one would ever know, he’d make sure of it. But Rusty kept insisting. He kept begging Dash to delete it, but then he’d sort of take it back.”