Sue Me Rich

Lakrabos, May

Anson Luddy!

Good to hear from you! This history-polluted Aegean's so far from Malibu (on our splendid isle we don't even have a moviehouse) that I wasn't sure the mails could get through.

Yes, I've been working. How I've been working. It's less than six months since I crept away from Tambo Town, bloody, bowed, but nicely solvent, and the novel's finished. The more I examine it the less can I avoid the conclusion that it's a dazzler.

But I find nothing in this deftly spun tale for Anson Luddy. I know you movie luminaries are always on the hunt for vehicles, Conestogas, bobsleds, but I just don't see a movie here. Rather, I might, but Hollywood producers won't. This is "another" novel about Hollywood. You know how Hollywood, in an uncharacteristic access of modesty, is forever pronouncing that the subject of Hollywood is not box office.

I understand Roar of Charlemagne is getting mixed notices in New York. Well, mixed notices are better than no notice at all, I always say. It rather astonishes me that the critics would go so far as to acknowledge the existence of our epic with any reaction beyond a shudder. Incidentally, if you're stuck for projects, why not follow up with Squeak of Charlemagne? Grunt of Charlemagne? Belch? Yip? Falsetto? Might be a series there.

Gloria sends greetings. She's in her seventh month; lazing for two.

All best, Jonathan Silk

Lakrabos, May

Dear Anson,

OK--you insisted, so I've airmailed a set of galleys. But I want to make sure you don't read things into the text that aren't there.

Anson, you're not the movie star in this book. There are superficial resemblances--Andor Mustie is a bruiser, he scowls a lot, his lower lip is meaty, he once was a roustabout and spent time in the merchant marine. I made this guy look somewhat like you physically because, frankly, I like your looks, you're a convincing star type. As for Mustie's less savory side--his (continued on page 174)Sue me Rich(continued from page 107) love affair with himself, his big muscle with women, his rough-tough posing--I hope you will be discerning enough to see that in this area I invented very freely.

My God, who would believe Anson Luddy capable of luring a 12-year-old pig-tailed lass away from her hopscotch and doing the nasty things to her that this bum does? If I happened to borrow a few, a very few, of my starting facts from you, purely on the physical side, it does not follow from that accidental circumstance that I am suggesting Anson Luddy would ever molest a 12-year-old tyke. If you take this personally, your misreading will be an insult to me as a creative artist.

I still don't see a movie in this, but if you're of another mind, start talking.

All good thoughts, Jonathan

Lakrabos, June

You Hothead,

I knew this would happen, I knew it. No movie star can read a Hollywood novel without assuming the thing is about him. You people are so subjective, so ego-focused, it's appalling.

Yes, Andor Mustie goes on Biphetamine jags. Are you the only Hollywood dignitary on a pill kick? Yes, Mustie was once on the Red Channels black list--so were a couple hundred actors. Yes, Mustie is fond of the bottle, and hates to part with a buck, and wears a partial toupee and corsets, and has a taste for floral-design shorts, and reads the end of a book first, and blows his nose in tablecloths and napkins--but how dare you strike the grand proprietary note about such bits of characterization, as though all the peccadilloes of the human race were registered in your name? And there are any number of Hollywood people who dig the wax out of their ears in public, though not all of them do it with panatela cigars, at the Academy Awards.

This is in no way a take-off on you, Anson. You were furthest from my mind, believe me. I simply had to give this fellow some behavioristic color, some emotional texture, and toward that end I assembled all the vivid attributes I could think of.

You can judge from the foregoing how much I resent your suggestion that I modeled this guy after you to create a literary scandal and sell books. The accusation is beneath you, old colleague, as the act is beneath me.

In any case, nobody can possibly mistake Mustie for you, because this bum is defined as a drawing-room farceur and it's general knowledge that you never appear in drawing rooms--your habit of blowing your nose in napkins would exclude that.

Textual dissections aside, I agree that there's no picture here, though not, as you suggest, because this book is "a vilification of the entire human race." (When will you learn to read, man? Isn't the 12-year-old girl Mustie slobbers over presented with "warm humanity"?) The locale is Hollywood, and Hollywood is not fond of examining its own navel for the more unsavory lints.

Apropos the lints collated in my book: Stop this tiresome howl that they all come from your precious pre-eminent navel, will you? I use only lints in the public domain.

Yours, Jonathan

Lakrabos, September

Ans Old Buddy,

Should have answered you weeks ago, but it's been hectic. Gloria delivered herself of a real fullback--a bouncing baby boy--and, well, I've been busy bouncing it--in between reading reviews (my book's been published, as you may know).

Your letter was more than generous. I knew your largeness of spirit would prevail, finally. Obviously, it was high time to call off this senseless feud. Simply no grounds for it--whatever the incidental overlaps between Mustie and you, it's just not in me to hatchet my friends.

(About your statement--"This portrait of an unregenerate skunk has no parallel in literature for sheer nastiness, and it is a transparent exploitation of certain facts of my private life which you saw fit to distort for your own splashy purposes, but I know how you writers get carried away and I think it's demeaning to hold a grudge"--I wish you hadn't put it quite that way, Ans. But if you're still laboring under the wild misapprehension that Mustie is you, your note of forgiveness is all the more impressive. I'm genuinely touched.)

Tell you why I'm writing, Ans. The tone of your letter was so warm--I hope I'm reading it right--that I'm emboldened to ask an enormous favor of you, if you can see your way clear to doing it. Would you sue me?

I mean it. The book's just not taking off, Ans. Those pinhead reviewers aren't knocking the thing so much as plain burying it--even the enthusiastic notices are usually a couple of measly paragraphs way back on page 46, sandwiched between ads for antiobesity tracts and Rosicrucian guides to the inner mysteries. I thought this one was going to cause jigging in the streets--so far not a lousy minuet.

This must not be, Ans. I am being no more than objective when I tell you that this is far and away the best book ever done about Hollywood. It must not be allowed to wither on the literary vine and plop mustily into the remainder shops. So I am asking you, begging you, to sue me, and I'd like to lay out the logic behind this merchandising idea.

Scandal sells books today. Sensationalism, insideism, the peephole approach, the aura of exposé--often as not, that's what does the trick. Well, I've been thinking about what might be done to get this book talked about, make it attractive to the sensationmongers, and I believe I've hit on the formula. Matter of fact, it was you who planted the idea in my head when you accused me--wrongly, as I hope you will eventually realize--of making you my central character to create a scandal. My thought is this--even though Andor Mustie is not you, why can't we get it nosed around that he is? Wouldn't that build up a juicy, book-selling scandal?

Good thinking. But I can't go around telling people my hero is really Anson Luddy. It would be unseemly, it would be undignified, and besides, they'd know I was trying to sell books. But suppose you unleashed this thunderclap? In the most dramatic way--by suing me for libel, invasion of privacy, malicious misrepresentation, and all those other happy, book-hawking things? I mean, go through the first motions of suing: Serve me with the right legal documents, splash the story over the front pages, let it get talked up for a month or so. We could drop the whole thing after about a month. We'd grab a lot of headlines in a month. A month, I'm sure, is all it would take.

Don't just shudder and put a match to this letter, old buddy. I have never before besmirched myself by descending to the literary mart, but this time I mean to fight. I'm trying to serve the cause of Letters and make a few bucks along the way, too. I would insist that what contributes to my alimentation advances the cause of American Lit, said Lit and I being, in the essentials, a joint venture.

Just by the by, it might advance your cause a bit, too. I gather Roar of Charlemagne isn't doing at all well at the box office, not to mention in audiences' stomachs. A bit of splashy publicity of the sort this fake suit would be bound to stir up wouldn't hurt that slew-footed masterwork's reception a bit. It appears to be badly in need of every assist it can get.

Gloria sends many hugs. She thinks we could do worse than name the kid Anson--I'm beginning to cotton to the idea.

Litigiously and belletristically, John

Lakrabos, September

Dear Friend and Brother,

Speechless with gratitude. Just heard from your lawyers about their intention to file suit. To have done this magnanimous thing for me after your first (unjustified, but all the same) anger over the book--I'm moved.

Under separate cover I'm airmailing a copy of the book with all the possibly libelous passages marked. There are some 193 pages, by my reckoning, which it would be reasonable for your lawyers to single out in their complaint. They aren't really libelous, since Andor Mustie is a fictitious character not modeled after any living person, but if I were nailed down as to all the superficial resemblances I might have some sweaty moments in court. All of which is academic, of course. We'll be dropping this inspired horseplay long before the trial stage--the moment the sales chart starts zooming!

I've informed my publisher that you're instituting action against me and he's ecstatic. In anticipation he's taking full-page ads in The New York Times Book Review and the Herald Trib's Book Week--more money being spent right there than the son of a bitch laid out for all ten of my previous books!

We are embarking on the Great Merchandising Experiment, dear friend. The Muse of Letters, in the large-gross areas, anyhow, may turn out to be Sweet Sue!

Eternally, Johnnie

Lakrabos, October

Fellow Conspirator,

We pulled it off! It's the literary coup of the century!

You no doubt know that I jumped on the best-seller lists the week after your press agent broke the news and that I've been there ever since, climbing steadily, but you couldn't possibly guess what that means in terms of books sold--we're approaching 70,000, and going into ninth printing, and the end is not yet! Finally I have a best seller, me, unsung, unhummed, unwhistled Jonathan Silk, at age 45. And I owe it all to you. I know that with absolute finality, because my clipping service has been sending me the mountains of newspaper and magazine articles--Ans, let me tell you, John Glenn himself didn't corner this kind of space!

So--would you consult with your lawyers and work out a way to withdraw the suit? Discreetly, of course? The reason I'm asking is that I've just been served with a subpoena through the American consulate in our area instructing me to appear in Los Angeles District Superior Court this coming January, to answer your complaint. A trial would give us still more sensational mileage, of course, but who needs it? You've sued me into immortality, Ans! You've sued me rich!

There's no way to convey what I feel toward you, but let me say this: We're going to name the little fellow Anson.

Your friend for life and as far beyond as possible, Johnnie

Lakrabos, November

Dear Ans,

I don't get your lawyers' point at all. What do they mean, you'd look silly if you dropped the case? Cases like this are dropped all the time--generally because the parties have arrived at a settlement out of court.

Tell you what: If you want your press agent to get up a release hinting that I've agreed to a settlement, that's fine with me--it can only mean that I'm admitting you are the hero of my book, and that can only sell more books.

Any way you want to work it is fine by me, but get me off this spot, will you, Ans? We're well past the 100,000 mark in sales now. The book has become a living legend in the annals of American Lit. I'm well into my next book, which is a cinch to be another living legend, and I definitely don't want to take any trips.

We've just about decided to name the young 'un Anson. It's the least payment I can make on my debt to you, staunch colleague.

Get those lawyers of yours on the ball, OK?

Many, many warm thoughts, John

Lakrabos, November

Dear Anson,

Still no word from you or your lawyers about the status of the suit. I won't conceal from you my concern about this. The trial's due to come up in a month and a half and I most decidedly am not interested in traveling 6000 miles to keep the Sheriff of L. A. County happy.

Call this off, will you, Anson? Our sales just passed 130,000. It was a beautiful charade, but we've won, we've won.

By the way, about the annotated book I sent with all the passages marked that I thought might (by wild misreading) be called libelous--could you find a minute to send it back? If we're not going to court, your lawyers couldn't possibly have any further use for the thing, and I'd sort of like to have it in my files, as a curio. Young Anson should get quite a kick out of it when he's old enough to savor the gorgeous joke behind the Great Deception we cooked up.

People won't understand, of course, but I mean to dedicate the new book to you. It will hardly suggest how much I owe you, but it's a gesture.

Fondly, Jonathan

Lakrabos, December

A. L.,

So. I suspected all along that the opposition to killing the suit came from you, not your lawyers.

What do you mean, you "dipped into that marked copy again and got fighting mad again"? We've been all through that, man! You know goddamn well that those marginal notes I made are in no way, shape or form "an admission that I ransacked your personal life like a second-story man to paint my vomitous portrait of Andor Mustie." You know goddamn well I was only indicating passages you might build up a phony case against for purposes of a phony libel suit.

You and I were involved in a felonious conspiracy to commit a fraud on the courts, my friend. If you're insane enough to go before a jury with this trumped-up case and introduce that marked book as evidence, I'll reveal the whole sordid story. I can't get hurt--if I draw a stiff fine, I've still sold over 160,000 copies of my book--but what about you?

I'll wipe the floor with you in court, friend. Do you know what a horse's ass you'll look like when I bring forth the thick correspondence between us in which this whole publicity stunt was cooked up with your enthusiastic cooperation?

A smart Charlemagne knows when to roar, and when to button his lip.

Yours, J. S.

Lakrabos, December

L.,

Good enough. You win this round. A wily piece of entrapment, you swine. You let me think you were magnanimously agreeing to help me, and all the while you were leading me on into what look like admissions of libelous intent. My letters contain the suggestion for your suit, but my lawyers concede yours carefully avoid giving any hint that you acted on that suggestion.

What all this indicates about your capacities for double-dealing, your unfathomable viciousness, I will not go into at this time. I will only observe that it takes a terrifyingly twisted mind to ambuscade an old friend so foully.

You'll get your comeuppance in court. Maybe I can't prove you entered into this litigation fraudulently. But I'll poke your fake libel action so full of holes that every bone of your thieving, conniving skeleton will be exposed for the world to see and shudder at.

I mean this, S.

Lakrabos December

Luddy,

The scummy secret is out. I can hardly believe my eyes, but there it is, on all the front pages--your press agent is getting you great coverage. Well, you're heading for disaster, you swine, and I'd like to tell you why.

The history-making popularity of my book does not at all mean that "the public wants to read about Anson Luddy, no matter how slanderously distorted the account may be." All it means is that the public is eager to read a serious, literate, in-depth novel, with rich characterizations and a wealth of meaningful incident, the best novel ever done about Hollywood, once it's made aware of the novel's existence. Your legal action drew attention to the book--after that the book made its own way. You opened the doors, I walked through. So it does not by any means follow from the success of this novel (which is not about you, anyhow) that an autobiography with your name on it would stand the populace on its head, too.

Even if Luddy's true story were of some conceivable interest--and you can't prove it by my novel, which is about a man far removed from you and infinitely more interesting than you--it would still have to be written beautifully to bring it into competition with my work, and you're a man who has never composed so much as a laundry list. Even with the labors of the hundred hacks you've no doubt hired to ghost this epic, it won't be done with the polish and élan that characterize my work.

I repeat: You don't know what you're talking about when you claim it was the "shadow of Anson Luddy" over my "insipid piece of crap" that commended it to the reading public. Leave aside the fact that your shadow cannot be made out over a single one of my words. Let's see what the magnificent Luddy shadow does for this hack-produced "autobiography" of yours. It will only hide the pale, verminous excuse for a book from view, I assure you.

Anyhow, it's now clear what you've been up to from the beginning. The only reason you're going ahead with this fake trial is that you badly need a publicity stunt to stir up interest in your own forthcoming book! Don't you see how you're exposing yourself with this shoddy procedure? If you're so damned sure your name is magic, why do you need a suit against me to promote your memoirs? In going ahead with the court action, aren't you in effect admitting that your name alone won't sell a book and you have to drag in another name, that of the author of a history-making best seller?

In any case, it was a scurvy trick to release to the newspapers photostatic reproductions of the pages of that book I annotated marginally, with the swinish claim that "Silk stands condemned by his own hand." I must say that you are acting in a most peculiar animalistic way. Is there no blow too low for you to resort to in your self-promotion?

Come to your senses, Luddy. Once I demonstrate in court that Andor Mustie is not you, and that you are merely trying to muscle into my act for vulgar publicity purposes, you'll be the globe's foremost laughingstock.

After all that's happened, after all your ranting, maniacal statements to the press, I find it utterly incomprehensible that your agents should have made an off-the-record offer to my agents to buy the movie rights to my book for $50,000. Are you completely out of your mind? Obviously there's a big movie in this property, now that it's sold close to 180,000 copies. And just as obviously, the movie rights would be a giveaway at $200,000. But let's not discuss your laughable offer. I would not sell this book to you for a million dollars, after the maniacal way you have tricked and maligned me.

Sincerely, Silk

Lakrabos January

Dear Mr. Luddy,

You can't possibly meet my "fantastic" price because you have no intention of making a movie of my "offensive" book? You just want to keep my book off the Hollywood market to avoid possible competition with the movie you'll be making of your book?

You people must take me for the rube of the century. Let me point out that you'll never get even a Donald Duck short subject out of your autobiography, let alone a feature-length movie. There's simply no story in your drab life. If you want to make a movie about a swinish Hollywood star, you'll have to base it on my book, whose hero, though he's not you, does bear some superficial resemblance to you and, thanks to your wily efforts, has now been established in the public mind as you. So don't try to steal my extremely valuable property for peanuts with this sleazy, hypocritical logic.

As for your nasty innuendoes to the effect that there couldn't be any other Hollywood interest in my book, I won't even deign to answer. If there couldn't be other interest, why are you so anxious to get the book off the market? You know damn well that the most spectacular best seller of our generation is bound to be bought for the movies sooner or later, and at a really impressive price, even though it is about Hollywood.

In any case, your "final" offer of $75,000 is an insult. I might be persuaded, in the interests of a quick sale, to come down to $175,000, but that's my bottom figure, and at that it's a sacrifice.

We're so far apart on price that I see no alternative but to go to court as scheduled and mop the floor with you, which will give me great and lasting satisfaction.

Sincerely, Jonathan Silk

Beverly Hills Hotel January

Anson

Astonished by your disgraceful testimony in court today. I happen to know personally 47 actors black-listed by "Red Channels" and 23 who get high on biphetamine and 19 who wear toupees and 11 who blow their noses in napkins and at least 7 who clean their ears in public with one makeshift instrument or another and I mean to name all of them if I am called to witness stand. Will strew your pulverized remains over the courtroom, Pal. Furthermore if you pursue this witch hunt I will have no alternative in re 12-year-old moppet Andor Mustie molests but to give details about occasion when we were shooting "Charlemagne" on pacoima ranch and you disappeared for over an hour in ravine with pig-tailed daughter of wardrobe mistress, said daughter being at the time, if memory serves, age 11. That might establish andor mustie is you but it would also have salutory effect of branding you forevermore as cancerous monster. Incidentally, your just-published autobiography is abominable junk and pack of lies to boot, since it contains no reference to above-mentioned 11-year-old pig-tailed lass. For your information my next book being dedicated to Nathanael west and our kid now named Jonathan junior. My thought from beginning was that no red-blooded boy should be obliged to go through life named Anson. You don't stand Formosan's chance of winning this case but all the same to avoid further inconvenience and get back to lakrabos will reluctantly consider your attorneys' sly proposal to withdraw suit if we come to terms on movie rights for my book. Your new offer of $140,000 an outrage and an affront and means clear loss to me of at least $100,000 but am extremely anxious to get back to work and a best-selling author's time is too precious to be wasted in Santa Monica courtrooms so have instructed my attorneys to accept your bestial terms, kindly have your agents meet with my agents to work out details. Incidentally, remarks in your book about me have hyena ring but am going to be large-hearted about this. Is there anything I can do to help this illiterate opus along? Just let me know. Yours for movies that are bigger and better than ever.

Jonathan