“Let me be candid with you, doctor,” Barry spoke softly. “It’s pre-Oscar season and I don’t really have time for this.”

“I need your blood sample and a number of X-rays, Mr. Santorini, and then we can make some decisions.”

“But it’s the early stages, right?” Barry asked. “I’m thirty years younger than the old men out there.”

“I need your cooperation, Mr. Santorini.” He extended his hand to Barry. “It was great meeting you.”

As the world-famous Dr. Vartan walked out of the examining room, Barry looked at his relatively small Gucci loafers.

Fuckin’ nouveau riche Harvard boy, Barry thought to himself. Must have a small dick.

Barry walked down East Sixty-seventh street and pulled out his cell phone.

“Yup. What’s up?” He dialed his office.

“Terry Franks from the Times called again and Jack Koppelberg from Warner’s—says it’s urgent. Also Kevin Huvane wants to know if you’ve read that script, and Samantha called a few times. She said you weren’t picking up your cell.”

“That’s it?” he said distractedly.

“Do you want me to call anyone back?” Yvonne asked.

“No, not particularly.” Barry put his phone in his pocket and continued to walk as Julian pulled the car up beside him.

“I’m right here, Mr. Santorini.”

“Just a minute, Julian.” Barry pulled out his phone and walked a few steps away.

“Clarice?” he said as soon as she picked up.

It took Clarice a moment to respond. “Barry?”

“Clarice, have you forgotten my voice already?”

“What’s wrong? Why isn’t Yvonne calling? Did something happen to one of the kids?” She began to panic.

“No, the kids are fine. Clarice, I need to see you.”

“Is it something I can help you with on the phone?”

“How ’bout dinner tonight?” He didn’t want to pussyfoot around.

“I already have a date with Pippa Rose.”

Barry could hear Clarice flattening out her voice.

“Okay. How ’bout tomorrow night?”

Clarice began to lose her composure. “Tomorrow night?”

“I’ll see you at Vico at eight-thirty.” Barry clicked his phone and his cell immediately rang.

“What, Yvonne?”

“Honey, it’s me,” Samantha whispered. “Are you all right? I haven’t been able to reach you.”

“I’m fine. Fuckin’ Hollywood agents are takin’ up all my time. I’ll see you later, baby. I love you.” He put his phone in his pocket.

Barry got into his waiting car. “Back to New Jersey, Julian.” He slammed the door. As the car got onto the West Side Highway, Barry looked into the rearview mirror.

“Hey, Julian.”

“Yes sir,” the driver answered.

“You still got those Al Green CDs?”

“Yes sir, Mr. Santorini.”

“Let’s hear one. And if anyone calls looking for me, I’m playing golf in fuckin’ Scotland.”