Box Office Poison le-2

by Phillipa Bornikova

  John. Last summer I’d had what I thought was contact with him. I’d dreamed he was in my bedroom with me, and when I’d awakened there had been a flowering branch at the foot of the bed. Even now I could recall the perfume from those flowers. Since then—nothing. Had he been punished for that incursion into our reality? Or had he just moved on and forgotten about me? Come to accept his life in Fey? That I didn’t buy. He seemed to have an active dislike, if not downright hatred, for the Álfar and a deep love for his human family and human institutions. My mind returned to that hateful phone call. Why not vampire whore? I worked for a white-fang law firm. I couldn’t find any rational explanation.

  Giving myself a shake I stood up and went into the tiny kitchen area. I opened the fridge, contemplated the contents, and decided to settle for a Trader Joe’s prepackaged seafood salad. After dressing it, and dumping it out onto a plate I wandered through the apartment, nibbling. The call had really disturbed me. It had left me shaky and very sad. Was this any less depressing than a hotel room? I missed my female colleagues back at the New York firm. Suddenly the city seemed very large and I seemed very small, lost in a vast, sprawling web of lights, roads, houses, and people.

  The phone rang. I studied it with apprehension, forced my feet to move, and picked up the handset.

  “Hello?” came Jeff Montolbano’s voice. “Linnet? Are you there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Hi, Jeff, what’s up?”

  “I just got word that there’s only going to be a morning session tomorrow because of some of the participants’ shooting schedules. That made me think, hey, I bet Linnet has never been on a movie set.”

  “You’d be right.”

  “Want to change that? I’m an executive producer on a new spy thriller starring Jondin. I was going by the set tomorrow afternoon. I could take you along.”

  Jondin was the female version of Kerrinan, who was now occupying a cell in county lockup. “This isn’t going to be a repeat of Ketchup, right? Not using me for a prop.”

  “No. This is me trying to make up for that.”

  “In that case, I would love to go with you. Where are they filming?”

  “On a soundstage at Warner’s,” he said.

  “Well, it just so happens I was looking at the water tower at Warner’s from my balcony this evening.”

  “Perfect. How about we just go from the office tomorrow. We can grab lunch in Toluca Lake.”

  “I rented a car and it will be at the office.”

  He dismissed the problem. “I can take you back there after we’re done.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Good. See you tomorrow.”

  * * *

  This was going to be my first day driving myself to the IMG office, so I left absurdly early. And found myself in a long line of cars inching their way up Barham Boulevard. Apparently everybody had the same idea. I had rented a portable GPS system when I rented the car, and I had the address to the office entered into the Garmin. I selected a male voice as the guide because the default woman reminded me of a first-grade teacher I had really hated. The softly accented Brit voice, which I had dubbed Nigel, suggested I take a right in five hundred feet onto Highway 101.

  Nigel guided me onto the I-405 freeway heading south. Now it was easy. Just ride this to the Santa Monica exit. I listened to the radio as I drove, flipping back and forth between a contemporary pop and a classical station. My average speed seemed to hover around five miles an hour. Getting to shoot up to fifteen miles an hour was exciting, but this was quickly dispelled when the traffic would inexplicably stop. After twenty minutes I gave up stressing about it, and cultivated a Zen attitude. It would take as long as it took.

  Eventually I reached the office and pulled into a space reserved for IMG employees. I dumped my computer and the files I’d been reading at home and headed into the break room for a cup of coffee. It was a more utilitarian space then the opulent kitchen on the partner’s floor in New York. White refrigerator and microwave, no china plates or cups. A toaster but no stove.

  Merlin, Junie, and a few other people were present, toasting bagels, doctoring coffee, brewing tea. Merlin was drinking a Coke and eating a cupcake. He grinned at my expression.

  “Breakfast of champions,” he said.

  “Ugh,” was my articulate response. I poured out a cup of coffee and the rich smell was like a hug. I wasn’t really hungry, but I opened up the full-size refrigerator just to see what might be lurking and found myself staring at a carton of nonfat half-and-half surrounded by premade salads and lots of diet drinks.

  I took out the container of half-and-half and held it out to the room. “What is the point?”

  “Calories,” said Junie. “But if you want real half-and-half just put it on the shopping list. She indicated a small notebook.

  “No, thanks. I take mine black,” I said.

  “Like your heart?” Merlin asked.

  “No, like my mood.”

  “You do look frazzled,” Junie remarked.

  “I am. I drove for the first time. How do you people stand it?”

  “How did you come?” a young male PA asked.

  “The 101 to the 405.”

  “Well, there’s your problem,” Merlin said. “Where do you live?”

  “I took your advice. I’m in the Barham Oakwood.”

  “Okay.” He took a big swig of Coke. “You’ve got to use surface streets to get over the hill and into the Basin. You want to get on Riverside and go down to Laurel Canyon and over.”

  Junie was shaking her head. “No, Laurel Canyon’s a nightmare at rush hour. Coldwater Canyon is better.”

  “No, too many curves and too many accidents,” said the PA. “One wreck and the road is shut down for hours.”

  “What if she went down Cahuenga past the Rose Bowl, caught Santa Monica, and headed west?”

  The others considered Merlin’s suggestion. “Yeah, that makes sense,” Junie said. “Then she’d have the option to bail out onto Sunset or Melrose depending on what she’s hearing on the radio.”

  I just stared at them. I hadn’t seen this much focus since the New York office wrote an amicus brief for the Supreme Court. They correctly interpreted my expression.

  Merlin was grinning again. “You have just experienced the most common LA conversation. It breaks the ice, it can be used as a pickup method, and it covers all social gaffs.”

  “Yeah, well, we’ve got the same thing in New York. Except we discuss apartments. I would submit that our discussions are ultimately more useful,” I said.

  Merlin grinned at me, enjoying the sparring. “Big-city rivalry. We’re more exciting.”

  “We’re more sophisticated.”

  “We’ve got movie stars.”

  “We’ve got skyscrapers.”

  He threw up a hand. “Okay, I call it a draw.”

  “You do know to tune your radio to 1070 am for traffic updates?” asked the PA. She clearly hadn’t gotten the memo that we were teasing now.

  “No, but I guess I do now. Okay, all you California dreamers, this hard-charging New Yorker is going to work.” I gave them a finger wave and went back to my office to prepare for the day’s testimony.

  6

  David had called for a fifteen-minute recess while we waited for the next witness to arrive. This was going to be the big enchilada, the world-famous director George Campos, who was going to talk about human versus Álfar actors. The previous three hours had been taken up with a statistician, and my brain felt as numb as my butt. Barbara Gabaldon hadn’t even bothered to question the man because she could sense he wasn’t having that much impact. My three days of burrowing into the reports had only intensified the sense that humans were getting the short end of the stick. But what to do about it?

  As I bolted for the bathroom I reflected that this was another problem with vampires: they tended to forget that humans had bodily functions. The ladies room was outside the office proper, down the hall past the elevators. Missy had
already beaten me to the facility. While I was in the stall I heard her washing her hands, but I didn’t hear the door close. Sure enough, she was waiting for me when I emerged. She leaned against the wall by the towel dispenser and glared at me. I let the warm water roll across my hands and tried to think of something to say. The soap offered a conversational opening, and I seized it like a drowning woman.

  “You know, this new foam soap makes me think of shaving cream.” The inanity made me cringe, but the angry silence had just been too much.

  “We’re checking into you,” Missy said. She was so stiff I thought her jaw would crack.

  “Okay. What else did you say?”

  “You’re a whore for the Spooks.”

  Spook was an incredibly pejorative term for the vampires, werewolves, and Álfar who made up the Powers, and it offended me. She’d gotten under my skin.

  “Okay, I’m not going to take you up on this,” I said. “First, you shouldn’t be approaching me without the other parties being present, and do you really think this is a winning strategy—to be nasty to one of the people judging this case?”

  “That’s the problem. There’s only one person judging, and you’re questionable.”

  To get a towel I had to stand right next to her, and she didn’t budge. We were inches apart. “I’m going to do you a favor,” I said. “I’m not going to mention this conversation to Mr. Sullivan, but don’t you ever approach me again. Understand?”

  “I’m not afraid of you. Once we finish with the Álfar we’ll take care of the others, and people like you, too.” Missy slammed out of the bathroom.

  There was a quivering in the pit of my stomach. I waved, the dispenser burped out a towel, and I clutched the material so tightly that my nails broke through the rough paper. We’ll take care of the others? Who was the we? My mind jumped to the threatening phone call from last night. Maybe I should say something to David, but I didn’t want to prejudice the proceedings for all the human actors because Missy was a bitch.

  I left and found myself walking with a whip-thin older man whose deep-set dark eyes seemed even blacker when contrasted with his shock of silver hair. He seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place him. He was also heading for the doors leading to IMG. He held open the door and indicated for me to go ahead, displaying the kind of manners you only saw in vampires and the elderly.

  Inside it seemed like the entire firm was milling around in the reception area. Everyone was staring at us. No, correction, they were staring at the old man. He paused for an instant. The young PA from earlier edged closer and said in a breathless voice, “Mr. Campos, it’s an honor to meet you. I think No Miracle was the best movie ever made.”

  So, this was the expert witness, the world-famous director whose films had influenced Spielberg, Lucas, and Coppola. I knew from our documents that he was eighty-two years old, and hadn’t worked much in the past twenty years.

  “Well, then, you’d be an idiot. Citizen Kane was the best movie ever made,” the man said in a rumbling, gravel bass that could have doubled for the voice of God.

  The kid didn’t seem embarrassed; he just seemed dazed that he had spoken to his idol.

  “Mr. Campos, I’m Linnet Ellery, one of the arbitrators in this case. I’m heading back to the conference room if you’d like to accompany me,” I said.

  “Certainly.”

  “Can we get you anything? Coffee? Water? Soda?”

  “Water, please.”

  There was a scramble as the PA and several others went lunging for the break room. We walked in silence. Then just before the door to the conference room he said, “Nothing’s like it used to be, not the town or the industry. This is just part of the change.” And he once again held the door for me.

  * * *

  “They’ve been a disaster.” Campos’s words were flat and uncompromising.

  “But they are beautiful,” Sheila LeBlanc said. It was more of a statement than a question.

  “Oh, yeah, they’re gorgeous, but looks aren’t what makes an actor. Look at Bogart, Astaire, Tracy, Orson Welles, Hepburn—who was, frankly, funny looking. Those were actors. These Álfar, they’re like pretty dolls with just about as much animation.”

  There was a stir from Qwendar, and Palendar looked outraged.

  “I won’t use them in my movies, and most directors feel the same way if you get them in private.”

  I looked down at the statistics I’d compiled and stepped in before LeBlanc could pose another question. “I don’t understand, Mr. Campos. If we extrapolate from your statement, then the Álfar shouldn’t be getting cast. But they are. A lot. The statistics are here.” I held up the papers.

  David pinned Sheila with a look. “Is there going to be a long line of directors who support Mr. Campos’s view? Because if so you seem to be making Ms. Gabaldon’s case that the Álfar don’t have an advantage.”

  “We’re getting to how this is relevant,” she said. “Mr. Campos, if you would, please.”

  Campos jumped in. “They get cast because they whammy the humans when they audition. They’re not winning these parts on merit. They’re cheating. Using their magic.”

  Qwendar took to his feet. “That is gross slander, and I object.” It was declaimed more than spoken. I remembered John telling me that the Álfar all lived as if they were in an opera. Qwendar seemed to bear that out.

  David gave the ancient elf a weary look—and a vampire could pack a lot of ennui into a look. “Mr. Qwendar, this is not a courtroom, and you aren’t representing the other party, so you really can’t object to anything. Now sit down.”

  “I will report your attitude to the Council,” Qwendar said.

  “That is your prerogative,” David answered. “Though I don’t see how they have any relevance to this case.

  Barbara Gabaldon stood up. “If I may, Mr. Sullivan?” David nodded in assent. She turned to the director. “Mr. Campos, you state this as if it’s a fact, but by your own testimony you say you’ve never cast an Álfar. So how could you have experienced this reputed magic power?”

  “No, I haven’t felt it because I don’t read them. But everyone knows it exists. It’s the only thing that explains what’s been happening.”

  Gabaldon looked at us. “Forgive me, but belief isn’t evidence. I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to consider this witness’s testimony.”

  David and I exchanged a glance. She had made a good point, and LeBlanc had walked right into it. “We’ll keep that in mind, Ms. Gabaldon.”

  Both Missy and Palendar were looking confused and pissed. They could sense something had happened, but seemed not to understand the ramifications. Jeff, watching quietly from a seat against the back wall, gave a sad, slow headshake.

  McPhee was next. It was like watching a breaching whale as he levered himself out of his chair. “Well, Mr. Sullivan, this has been most interesting testimony. Most interesting indeed. And if it’s true that these Álfar actors have put the whammy on people, then my clients”—he indicated all the studio and network suits—“can’t be held liable in any way. They were under the influence, so to speak. It seems to me that this fight is between the human actors and the Álfar actors, and all the rest of us are just innocent bystanders.”

  One corner of David’s mouth quirked up in a barely suppressed smile. “Nice try, Mr. McPhee, but no. And now you can sit down, too.” He looked back at Sheila. “Are you finished with this witness, Ms. LeBlanc.” She nodded. “Well, as Mr. Palendar has an afternoon call and Ms. Gabaldon has a court appearance on another case this afternoon, we will adjourn for the day. See you all tomorrow.”

  People stood and milled, random movements like spooked fish in a tank. I slipped along the wall to where Qwendar was packing up his briefcase.

  “Sir,” I said.

  He looked down at me. “Yes … Ms. Ellery, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. I was wondering if humans ever got to address the Álfar Council, and if there was a mechanism for making such a request?”
r />   “Is this a question on your behalf, or are you asking for your firm?”

  “Maybe a little of both. IMG had an Álfar on retainer. He was … assisting me on a case.” I firmly pushed aside the memory of the night John and I had spent together. “When he … we were forcibly pulled into your realm, and John was forced to stay.”

  “His mother would dispute your characterization,” he said dryly.

  My mouth had gone dry. I swallowed hard. “Oh, so you know her.”

  “Yes. She’s a very powerful figure in our world.”

  “Maybe so, but she used threats to get John to agree, and then she did something to him.”

  Qwendar looked at me intently. “You care for him.”

  “He’s my … friend,” I hedged. “And I want to be sure that he’s remaining in Fey because he wants to, and not because he was coerced.”

  “Then you are not sympathetic to these nativist humanist hate groups?”

  “You know I can’t answer that. And there’s a plethora of these nut jobs. Which group in particular are you talking about?”

  “Check out the Human First movement, then maybe you will have a better understanding of my role here and why it’s so vitally important.”

  Jeff came up at that moment. “Hey, Linnie, ready to go?”

  “Yep, just let me put my things in my office. Meet you at the door?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Thank you,” I said to Qwendar.

  “I’ll consider your request,” he called after me.

  I returned to my office floating on hope.

  * * *

  The Mercedes seemed to dance through the traffic with Jeff driving. Watching him made me realize I needed to embrace my inner formula-one driver if I was going to get anywhere in LA. He took the Barham exit and we went sailing past the Oakwood. I should have driven home and met Jeff out front so he wouldn’t have had to drive me back to Century City. I said as much, and he shrugged.

  “Not a problem. I live in Newport Beach. I have to go right past Century City to get home.”