I am Hollywood

Chapter 47: I Wore That Shirt Too



[Chapter 47: I Wore That Shirt Too]

Eric spoke with determination, "Jenny, I'm not breaking up with you. Can you tell me your address in New York? I'll come see you for Christmas."

"Not a chance," Aniston replied with a pouting face, while her mind wandered, wondering why he couldn't just figure it out himself. Even that Drew Barrymore girl could be found. "Aren't you... aren't you seeing someone new? That... big mouth girl?"

"You're talking about Julia. She's got some potential. I'm thinking of starting a management company and want to sign her."

Aniston shot a displeased glance at the tabloid still spread out on the table nearby. "Do all the actresses in your agency have to sleep with you? I've worn that shirt too... you jerk!"

After a few seconds of hesitation, Eric softly said, "I'm sorry, Jenny. Can you forgive me? I promise it won't happen again."

Hearing Eric's rare tone of weakness, Aniston softened her voice a bit, "Eric, I think we're just too far apart. The longer I'm with you, the more I realize you're just a wanderer. I don't want to live with that kind of insecurity all the time."

"Jenny, I just bought a villa up in Beverly Hills..."

"But you don't have a home in your heart, Eric. Maybe it's just my illusion, but I feel like you're just a guest who suddenly crashed into my world. Sometimes when I'm with you, I can't help but worry that you might just vanish."

The two fell into a brief silence.

"Eric, I called you today just to tell you that I received an anonymous letter this morning, asking to meet and talk about you. The address was in a public place in Central Park, so I figured it was safe enough to check it out. The stranger asked about you and me, then... he asked about what happened that morning. I didn't say anything, but he might have picked up on something and probed to see if I was willing to testify against you for your relations with Drew. He even said if this worked, he could offer me some money. I turned him down."

Eric listened quietly to Aniston's account, his lips pressed tightly together. Once she finished, he casually responded, "Jenny, thanks for telling me all this. You still love me, don't you?" "You..." Aniston's heart raced, and her voice rose considerably. "How can you still be worried about this? Didn't you hear? Someone wants to send you to prison. I looked up Roman Polanski; the evidence was solid when he had his affair with that girl. But some people wanted to nail him, hoping to put him away for life, which is why he had to flee the country."

"Jenny, I understand. Don't worry, I'll handle it."

...

After hanging up the phone, Eric sat quietly on the couch, deep in thought. Sure, Home Alone had squashed many movie companies' box office returns, but that was just normal business. While many people might hate him, the most aggressive tactics had only just involved some media smear campaigns to hurt his film's earnings.

Moreover, Fox was fighting back hard. Once the opposing side saw the futility of it all, they quickly backed off.

When it came to hating him enough to want to send him to prison, Eric could only think of one person: Cohen Blount. After the betting scandal, Cohen Blount had to publicly apologize to Eric. For someone who had lived high on the hog for so long, swallowing his pride in front of someone practically his grandson's age was a disgrace, and considering Blount's narrow- mindedness, he was the prime suspect.

But there were other possibilities. Everyone knew that human nature was the hardest thing to read. It was entirely possible that someone had taken a disliking to Eric, someone who happened to have the means to make trouble.

Though not overly worried, Eric dialed Edward Lewis's number, and after more than half an hour, his personal attorney arrived at Eric's house.

Eric recounted what Aniston had told him, and they discussed it for quite a while. Edward made notes as he asked a multitude of detailed questions.

After more than two hours, Edward Lewis closed his notebook, his expression serious as he asked, "Eric, I want to confirm one last time -- can you guarantee that you did not have any relations with Miss Drew Barrymore that day? You must understand, having or not having evidence requires two completely different strategies. If... if you're not being truthful, we could be caught off guard."

Eric recalled the situation with utmost care and affirmed, "Absolutely not. Sure, we woke up in the same bed, but the sheets were clean, no signs of any post-coital evidence. Besides, Drew also explicitly confirmed that we didn't do anything like that."

"Then I have no further questions. Eric, don't worry, I'll prepare a response strategy when I get back. You don't need to be concerned about this. Although public opinion is still against you, without any facts to support the claims, it's unlikely anyone could successfully frame

you."

...

At last, Eric felt a sense of relief as he saw off Edward Lewis. Suddenly, he recalled that when the commotion first started, Drew had been calling him now and then, even though she couldn't come by his place. But lately, there had been no word from her.

After several unsuccessful calls to Drew's house, a nagging sense of unease crept up. He wasn't worried that Drew would join forces with anyone to put him in a bind; it was her greedy and not-so-bright mother he feared.

On the second floor of an apartment building in Culver City, Drew sat bored, locked in her room watching TV, when the ringing of the telephone in the living room started to get on her nerves. Although Eric had never contacted her before, her sixth sense told her it was probably

him calling.

Over the last few days, her mother, Jaid Barrymore, who typically paid her no mind, had suddenly turned into a responsible mother. Using the media frenzy as an excuse, she had confined Drew to her room, forbidding her from going out or even making phone calls.

Drew refused to accept this. After an argument where they almost came to blows, the petite Drew ultimately could not overpower Jaid and found herself locked away.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Moreover, she sensed her mother was plotting something. Late last night, Drew had overheard her quietly chatting on the phone in the living room for ages. Generally, Jaid Barrymore didn't bother to cover up her calls, even while flirting with men.

"This can't be good..."

Drew switched off the TV, muttering to herself as she anxiously paced her room. Glancing at the clock, she figured her mother would be back soon. She decided she could no longer wait. After rummaging through her closet for some sheets, she tied them together to make a makeshift rope about ten feet long, secured it to the bed leg, and tested its strength. Then, opening the window, she carefully climbed down the rope.

Just as she was nearing the ground, the knot suddenly snapped, and Drew fell from the height of about three feet. Wincing in pain, she couldn't pay attention to the bruises on her knees as she limped out of the yard, hailed a cab, and headed for Eric's place.

*****

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