Brandon’s head snapped up. “Will Tommy May be there?”
“That’s why I’m going,” I told him. “I finally get to see the great and powerful Oz.” So far I’d only exchanged emails and texts with the tech genius. “It’ll be good to meet him in person.”
A snort from behind me told me that Marty had come down from his ladder. “If he even is a person,” he said. “And not some sort of robot.”
“Technically, he’d be a cyborg—” Brandon began. I left before he could explain the distinction.
Chapter 3
“What’s going on?” Robbie asked. “Catch me up. I don’t want everyone to think I’ve been hiding in a cave somewhere.”
Robbie was my best friend and the reason I’d fled to San Francisco and the Palace six months ago. She’d offered me safe haven and welcome distraction when my almost-ex-husband Ted—movie star, liar, and world’s most charming rat—had left me for his gorgeous co-star and taken all the money with him.
“You have been hiding in a cave somewhere,” I told her, speaking into my phone as I crossed the street. It was a chilly March afternoon, but I’d decided to walk to the owners’ meeting, which Robbie would attend via video call from LA. “You’re smack in the middle of pilot season, and nobody works longer hours than you during pilot season. How’s it all going?”
Roberta Prowse was one of the most successful showrunners in Hollywood. She already had four hit shows on the air. I knew she was producing pilots for three more this season and I knew she’d written them all. So maybe she hadn’t been in a cave, but she’d been buried under a mountain of work. Three mountains.
“I’ll tell you later,” she assured me. “In excruciating depth and accompanied by much wine.”
Robbie was an established hit-maker, but Hollywood is relentless in its search for the new. Add to that the fact that Robbie was a no-longer-young woman of color, and you have a recipe for someone who has to work harder than just about anyone else I knew.
“Suffice it to say, you’re so lucky to be out of this game,” she said.
I wasn’t sure about that. I knew I was incredibly lucky that she’d given me the use of her guesthouse and a job doing something I loved while I figured out my next steps. But a long time ago, before I’d turned into Ted’s unpaid manager and agent, I’d wanted the life that Robbie now had.
“I hate my life,” she groaned.
“No, you don’t,” I told her.
“No, I don’t. I just hate everyone who isn’t us.”
“How about your daughter?”
“Everyone who isn’t us or Tia.”
“I’m sure we could expand that list, but I’m also sure we only have about three more minutes for this conversation.” It felt good, for once, to be the one cheering Robbie up. In the last few months she’d talked me off so many ledges that I’d lost count.
“Ugh, you’re right. We’ll list the people I don’t hate later, over even more wine.”
“Deal,” I told her. “Now, what do you need to know?”
“You tell me,” she said. “Are there going to be any surprises at the meeting?”
She and Tommy each owned one quarter of the Palace. The remaining two quarters were owned by Mitchell Black, a sitcom director down in LA, and Monica Chen, who ran a thriving cannabis shop on Divisadero, a few blocks away from the theater. The owners’ meeting would be held at her shop.
“No surprises from me,” I told Robbie. “I’m not even sure why Tommy invited me.” Usually the owners met privately. “He was annoyingly mysterious about it.”
“He’s like that,” she said. “He always acts like he’s Steve Jobs the day before the iPhone was announced.”
I laughed. “I picture him more like a Vaudeville magician, making sure you’re looking at the stage while his partner picks your pocket.”
“Is he going to pick my pocket?” Robbie asked.
“You know him better than I do. I’ve been texting and emailing with him for weeks about his big webcast announcement, but it’s been all business. I really don’t have a sense of who he is as a person. Everything is shrouded in secrecy.”
“Maybe he is Steve Jobs the day before the iPhone,” Robbie mused. “Any idea what he’s announcing in the webcast?”
“According to Brandon it will be the most amazing game ever,” I said.
“That narrows it down. What kind of game?”
“If I knew that I’d design one myself and make a zillion dollars.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Do that! Then cut me in and we can both just sit around and watch Cary Grant movies all day.”
“I’ll get right on it.” Like she’d ever just sit around, even for one day.
“And speaking of a zillion dollars…” she said meaningfully.
“I haven’t heard a thing.” I knew she was asking whether my extensive team of lawyers and accountants had managed to trace any of the money Ted had spirited away from all our joint accounts upon leaving me. “The lawyers just keep telling me to ‘sit tight’ and ‘hang in there.’”
“I hate lawyers,” Robbie said supportively.
“I’ll hate them less if they get back my life savings.”
“True.” Then I heard someone in the background on her end, his voice sounding just a few notches past hysterical. “Um, Nora?”
“Go,” I told her. “I’ll see you at the meeting.”
The voice in her office reached screeching pitch as she hung up. I walked the rest of the way to Monica’s shop thinking about the gang I’d left squabbling companionably at the theater and the lineup of movies we had on tap for the week.
Maybe I didn’t want Robbie’s life after all.
The Potent Flower was a chic little boutique decorated in soothing colors and natural wood accents. If it weren’t for the affable security guard perched outside you might think it was the kind of place that dealt in overpriced organic home goods. But no, the guard was there because it stocked a bewilderingly extensive array of cannabis products. It was a legal pot shop, and a bustling one.
Before going in I stopped for a moment to check my reflection in the window of the taqueria next door. I’d finally gotten around to finding a hairdresser in my new city, and I’d gotten rid of the last of my Hollywood blonde highlights—as well as a bit more gray than I wanted to admit. I was still a while away from forty, but the past six months had been rough.
As I smoothed my hair and straightened my shoulders it occurred to me that I might have made a bit more of an effort for what amounted to a meeting of all of my bosses, but it was a little late for that now. Since leaving LA I’d gotten into the habit of a quick ponytail and a wardrobe that leaned heavily toward jeans and comfy sweaters. That would have to be good enough.
I showed my ID to the guard and entered the long narrow space of the pot shop, spotting Monica in conversation with two people at a small display table near the back of the store. Monica was a forty-something Chinese American woman who wore yoga clothes every day of her life. I’d never known her to actually do yoga. She’d become one of my closest friends since I’d moved to San Francisco.
She glanced up and waved me over. I maneuvered my way through the crowded store to them. There were more people than I would have expected to be browsing for pot on a Monday afternoon, and a line had formed for the three cashiers along the back wall.
“Nora, so good to see you.” She said this while hugging me. Monica was a hugger. “This is Abby Newlyn and of course you know Tommy.”
Of course I knew Tommy, but this was the first time we’d actually met. “Tommy, it’s so nice to meet you in person.”
Nobody passing this guy on the street would have known he was a titan of tech. He was probably in his thirties but he dressed like a middle-schooler. Sneakers, jeans that at some point had been a shade of burgundy but were now faded to an indetermin
ate non-color, and a gray t-shirt with a gray zip-front sweatshirt over it. Generic white guy messy hair. Phone in his hand. Did nerds like him look like that because nerds in the movies looked like that, or was it the other way around? I didn’t really have time to ponder.
“I’m glad you’re here, Nora.” He spoke with an intensity that was out of keeping with his slacker appearance. “There’s a lot we need to talk about.”
“Oh, great.” Not great. He’d had every opportunity to talk to me over the past weeks and months. So why had he felt the need for a formal meeting with the partners to do so? If we were back in Hollywood I would have assumed he was one of those insecure guys who needed an audience for everything. Maybe those guys weren’t just in Hollywood.
Monica glanced at her watch. “We’ve still got a few minutes before the call. Tommy and I were just talking to Abby about creating a custom tincture for him. Abby’s company makes amazing products. She’s a genius at blending cannabinoids.”
“Oh, cool.” I smiled at the woman they’d been speaking with. I wasn’t entirely sure what cannabinoids were, but somehow I had no doubt that Tommy would want them customized.
Abby waved a modest hand. “I don’t know about genius,” she said. “I just tinker around.” She looked to be in her early sixties, with a compact body and the short practical hairstyle of someone who probably swims for fitness. Her product line seemed to consist of tiny green bottles topped with eyedropper lids.
“I’m definitely into it,” Tommy told her. “But the guy who’ll really want to talk to you isn’t—” He glanced toward the door, his face clearing as he found who he was looking for. “Oh, here he is. S!” He raised a hand in greeting.
A ridiculously tall man stood at the front of the shop. He wore a creamy white crewneck sweater and white jeans tucked into black biker boots. His straight white-blond hair fell to his shoulders. He acknowledged Tommy’s greeting with a cool nod, pausing to take in the surroundings before starting toward us. He moved like a mid-level deity, with the assumption that people would part to give him way. They did.
I don’t know why the deity impression came to mind. Just that morning we’d been discussing whether he was the antichrist. There was only one thing I did know for sure. Brandon was going to die. Because I was about to meet S Banks.
Chapter 4
“Brandon will literally die.”
This was Callie’s reaction to the news that I’d met the famous S Banks. We’d both come to the Palace early the next day to make sure everything was ready for the webcast. At least I’d thought that getting there three hours before the event would be early, but when I’d arrived at eight that morning there had already been a line of eager geeks snaking around the block.
“Are you going to tell him?” she pressed me. “Oh! Can I tell him?”
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I said. “And on the subject of enjoying things, do I need to remind you about the ‘no photography’ rule during the webcast?”
She gave me eyes wide with innocence. “I mean, why would you need to remind me of that?”
“You’re telling me you’re not planning on filming this thing for a documentary on nerd culture or tech or something?”
“You mean, like, a groundbreaking film that blows open the misogynist underpinnings of online gaming? That kind of thing?” She grinned.
“I mean exactly that kind of thing. And as much as I’d love that kind of thing, you can’t film today. It’s not just me saying that, it’s the team of security guards that Tommy hired to police this thing.”
She made a face. “I can’t say I’m not, like, tempted, but I’m working on something else. So don’t stress. I won’t do anything.”
I decided to believe her. It would be easier that way. I looked out the window, down past the Palace marquee that jutted out over the sidewalk. There were a lot more than 311 people down there. “Why isn’t that security team here yet?”
In addition to making sure nothing was clandestinely recorded at the launch event, the team was supposed check IDs and keep anyone unauthorized from getting in. The invitees were mainly tech press and bloggers, industry influencers who would get the word out about the new offering. But clearly the word was already out to a lot of fans who just wanted to get their hands on it, whatever it was.
“It’s still early.” Callie plonked herself down on the lumpy leather couch. Her wild masses of dark curls were barely contained in a messy bun that made her look even more twenty-first century pre-Raphaelite than usual. “But back to the point. What was S like? And what’s the deal with his name?”
I turned away from the window. “Who’s the coolest guy you can think of?”
She considered. “Steve McQueen? Bogart? Young Brando?”
“Roll them all together and add a splash of Keith Richards.”
“I mean, that’s pretty cool.”
“He’s got that thing that movie stars have. That thing that makes everyone in the room notice them.” It wasn’t just his appearance, it was that something undefinable that turns an actor into a star. Charisma. Magic. It. I’d seen it before and it almost frightened me. Maybe because I’d been married to it. “And he’s really into weed.”
Callie nodded. “That tracks.”
“He wasn’t part of the owners’ meeting. He’d just tagged along with Tommy because the meeting was at Monica’s.” The shop had a lounge in the back. In addition to being a space where her customers could hang out, it sometimes served as Monica’s boardroom. Furnished with soothing lighting and low couches, it also had a large table and an enormous video screen that normally showed stoner-appropriate movies, but that we’d used to conference in Robbie and Mitch from LA.
“How did it go, anyway?” Callie asked, bringing me back to the present. “The meeting?”
“Okay. Fine. No big deal.” Which was a huge lie, but I saw no reason to ruin her day. It was enough that Tommy had ruined mine.
“Ladies and gentlemen…Tommy May!”
The crowd went crazy as Tommy hit the stage. Both the crowd in the arena where he physically was and the crowd in the Palace, where his image filled the screen and his legend filled the theater. Presumably it was the same in the other theaters that were hosting events all over the world.
“Ugh.” Marty snorted in disgust at the spectacle of it all. “This culture rewards all the wrong people.”
I’d chosen to watch the webcast from the projection booth with Marty because for once my mood approximated his. I was thinking very dark thoughts about the man on the Palo Alto stage.
“It’s an affront to the sanctity of the silver screen,” Marty went on. “That screen, where Garbo first talked, where Norma Desmond was ready for her closeup—”
“That screen was replaced three years ago,” I reminded him. “Let’s not over-romanticize things.”
“My point remains valid,” he stated.
“I get it.” I sat carefully on a stool. “More than you know.” Every surface in the tiny room was cluttered with disassembled bits of aged equipment, and I didn’t want to commit the mortal sin of knocking something over. “But let’s try to think of this as just a short commercial interruption to our regularly scheduled programming. This afternoon we’ll be back in glorious black and white.”
“Hrumph,” he grunted. “Showing technology films. Both of which, by the way, are in color.”
I shrugged. “My point remains valid.” I’d decided to lean into the tech theme with our programming after the webcast. Our double feature for the next three days would be Hot Millions (1968, Peter Ustinov and Maggie Smith) and Billion Dollar Brain (1967, Michael Caine and Françoise Dorléac). In Millions, Ustinov uses a computer to embezzle funds from his employer while Maggie Smith hovers around being an absolute delight, and in Brain, Michael Caine takes orders from a computer that runs a spy network in some very cold countries. Coinciden
tally, both films feature Karl Malden, a San Francisco favorite.
“I do like the computers in old movies,” I said, a little more wistfully than I’d intended.
“Who doesn’t?” Marty asked. “Big gray boxes with lights all over the place, and giant buttons and levers.”
“And the spinney tape things,” I reminded him. “Don’t forget the spinney tape things.”
“I love the spinney tape things,” he agreed. “I bet this guy wouldn’t know a spinney tape thing if it bit him in the ass.” He nodded toward Tommy, onscreen in the theater.
We both watched the presentation for a while. Tommy slouched around the stage talking about all the cool things his company had done and hinting at all the cooler things they were about to do. The crowd was with him, but they weren’t there for a talk. They were impatient for an unveiling. Tommy teased them until they were practically frothing with anticipation, and then he gave them what they wanted.
“It is with enormous pleasure that I want to bring out our newest collaborator. With his genius for imagining new realities and our deep mapping and geolocation data, I think you’ll agree we’ve come up with something pretty special. Friends, to welcome you to our new reality, I give you S Banks!”
“Give me a break,” Marty muttered.
Banks sauntered out from the wings to frenzied cheering, dressed all in creamy white again, looking effortlessly, nonchalantly cool. He held a glass bottle of something murky in his right hand and raised it in a toast. “Who’s ready to have some fun? Who’s ready to have more fun than you’ve ever had in your lives?” The crowd roared in response to each question. “Then let’s have some fun!” The camera pulled in as he took a swig from the bottle. If he had actually been the rock star he was acting like it probably would have been Jack Daniels. But he was a tech star, so instead it was some sort of green drink that looked both healthy and disgusting. A stage assistant dashed out and took the half-empty bottle from him on cue.
“Is that guy stoned?” Marty asked.
Movie Palace Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 51
