The Ayatollah's Money

  Chapter 39 - Shimmey Makes His Move

  The next morning at eleven Shimmey went up the steps of the stage door and pushed it open. The lights were on and Laleh was sitting in a chair on the stage, reading about Plato’s cave on her smartphone. She didn’t get it, but that was ok. Most people who read about it don’t get it because it’s overrated as an analogy. She figured the philosophy profs who play with it have to earn their paycheck somehow. She looked up at Shim, turned off the phone, and smiled. “Hi.”

  “Hi, you,” he said, pulled a chair close to her, and sat down. He thought of Roger and the dog, and felt an incredible surge of of emotion that was a combination of libido and intellectual desire. It was Shimmey the second class citizen, with the fetters taken off. The dog hadn’t taught him telepathy yet, so he opened his mouth and said, “There are some things I want.” She nodded, and he smiled. “I want to be part of the movie project. I want to write the screenplay.” She nodded. “Is Roger going to get Big George and Soderberg?”

  Laleh said, “Probably, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to be sleeping with the dog, and not with Gwen, and I don’t think he wants that.”

  Shim thought about that and came to the conclusion the probability of Clooney making the movie was high. He said, “Those guys may want their own writer. Probably will. Soderberg may want to write it himself.”

  “They’ll do what Gwen tells them to do.”

  Shim thought about that and realized the statement rang true. Again he said, “I want to write the screenplay.”

  “Ok. I’ll tell her.” She kept looking at him.

  “And I want to finish the book about the ballet production. It’s exciting, and I love the story and the characters I’ve created after the real characters. They're so much fun.”

  She nodded and smiled and said, “Yes, Shim. You need to finish the book. I want to read it. We all want to read it.”

  He reached down with his left hand and touched Laleh on her right ankle. Slowly he raised her leg, set her foot on the edge of his chair, and slipped his hand up the end of her pants leg until he felt the bare flesh of her calf. For the first time her demeanor changed, from a neutral, attentive friendliness to something different. Involuntarily she sucked extra air into her mouth with a sound he heard. Now it was his turn to smile, because he knew he had her, right down to her first class citizen bones. He gently massaged her calf, and she relaxed, letting her head rest on the back of the chair and closing her eyes. He didn’t have to tell her the third thing he wanted.