[W]here’s Anthony Pellicano when you need him?
I’m not advocating for a return of the gumshoe, now convicted of 76 counts of racketeering and wiretapping, but he definitely had a well-defined spot in the Hollywood food chain — fixer, interlocutor between celebrities and the populace, the man to call when your one-night stand, your nanny, your personal assistant, your housekeeper, yoga instructor, chakra cleanser, what-have-you decides to sue for slights real and imagined. Or decides to sell your intimate secrets to Us magazine and the tabloids.
Obviously Pellicano was a bully, ready to smear the less powerful with impunity. But there could be a cool efficiency to how he operated. During his recent trial, out came testimony about a college student who was impregnated by a rich financial type. Pellicano arranged for her abortion, drove her to the clinic and handed her a $120,000 check when it was over.
Unpleasant, yes, but more unpleasant than a protracted lawsuit, where all the combatants end up covered in slime?
I’m not so sure.
“[T]here could be a cool efficiency to how he operated.”
That certainly is a cavalier way to describe the actions of a man who wiretapped people, threatened them, and turned their lives upside down.
Lawsuits are no fun. But if Rachel Abramowitz isn’t sure about which is worse — resolving disputes in a courtroom according to the law, or being one of Anthony Pellicano’s victims — maybe Abramowitz should talk to Anita Busch, or Bo Zenga, or Garry Shandling, or any of Pellicano’s numerous other victims.
I have a feeling we haven’t heard the last of this.