Blood is Pretty

by Steven Paul Leiva

  Then the studio was taken over by an even larger conglomerate. There was the attendant massacre of the studio executive ranks. It completely passed Rand by, who, it was rumored, may have provided the takeover company with vital financial information the studio had done its best to camouflage. He became the president of production. But he was not as happy as he could have been. He thought he deserved to become president of the studio. It meant more time to wait. It pissed him off. But he made hits. His guts were gold, everybody was sure of that, and it made their normal organic guts miserable. But what could they do? They had to love him. So Paramount grabbed him and made him president of their studio, but not an officer of the parent company, Gulf & Western. He, of course, thought he deserved to be and resented that, once again, there was more time to wait, and once again it pissed him off. But he made hits for the big conglomerate, hits for the board members, hits for the stockholders.

  And he was a defender of the faith. Congress became concerned about violence in movies. Rand gladly testified:

  Movies reflect the world. Movies aren’t the world. Movies are but puffs of entertaining smoke trying for some semblance of verisimilitude. If that means we have to put violence in our movies, it’s because there is violence in life. I quite frankly resent you, Congress, the makers of our laws, the guardians of our society, pointing the finger at movies. Gentleman, use your power to remove guns from the streets, to put more cops on the beat, to end poverty and hunger, to make this a better world, and I guarantee that movies will reflect that. You give us peace; we’ll give you peace in movies. I mean—to use the vernacular— “Get real. ” Did the movies invent the atom bomb? Do movies pollute the air? Are movies decimating whole populations of species? Gentlemen movies don’t kill. Science kills…

  Ah, yes. Science kills…

  He was well paid and he was famous; he was wearing the crown of a prince. But you know what every prince wants. And it’s not just a princess. Then Engstrand came along, an outsider with a small concern, but he offered Rand the opportunity to make hits for just Engstrand and him. Rand would be the President and CEO of NewVue. This was just when “CEO” was becoming a magical designation as the Eighties began to deify business. Everybody wanted to become a CEO. The owners of small companies in Hackensack printed new business cards and dubbed themselves, “President and CEO. ” It looked so—so Barron’s, so Business Week, so Forbes. It appealed to Rand who, golden gut or not, was still human and susceptible to petty vanities.

  And now he had suddenly left NewVue…

  And who was Rand the man? As differentiated from the businessman, assuming that can be done? He was short, five foot six, but people swore it didn’t affect him and he carried himself like a tall man. Nonetheless, corporate America is a tall culture, and this may have been a factor in this MBA student’s attraction to Show Business, a business that has always offered opportunities for the disenfranchised: Jews, Gays, Gals, Blacks, as they used to be called. You think it’s an insult to include short men in this list? Try walking in the shoes of a short man sometime. Besides pinched feet, you’ll get a sense of what it means to be low to the ground.

  There was much whispered talk that one way Rand had ingratiated himself with the Hollywood powers of the Eighties was in finding and exploiting the best sources for cocaine. An old girlfriend, one of his more intelligent ones, once told me that he was, “addicted to addicted personalities. He finds them fascinating in their malleability. ” If the law ever got interested, they never got close. The talk never rose above a whisper.

  The old girlfriend also told me that no matter how busy he was, and he was always busy, he would schedule—literally schedule—in sex. Not so much because he enjoyed it—although he was fascinated by beautiful women—but because he took it as an accouterment to the job. She was sure that when he didn’t have a trophy girlfriend of the moment, he paid for trophy whores.

  His charity and/or cause—another accouterment of the well-heeled Hollywood-ite —was Nouveau Internationalism. “More important now than ever,” he is quoted as having said. “With the old two power rivalry gone, the world is fracturing, breaking into little pieces of ethnic strife. Now, more than ever, we must promote the idea of world citizenship. I am an Earthperson. ” His charity was EarthPeople, and it funded conferences and educational tools promoting World Citizenship as a vehicle to solve problems feuding governments weren’t able to. It was sort of a private United Nations, making Rand a “worldly” guy, to say the least.

  Roee collected me at one for lunch, a pleasant cold seafood salad accompanied by his homemade bread.

  “When Norton called to confirm the Engstrand meeting,” he said as we sat down, “he warned not to expect him to be very cooperative. ”

  “Why?”

  “Couldn’t understand why he should talk to you, a person Norton couldn’t even explain or give a name to. ”

  “He has not heard of me?”

  “He has not heard of the Fixxer legend, no. ”

  “But Norton did his best. ”

  “Well, he got the meeting. But Engstrand made it clear he had very little to say about Rand. Somewhat hurt over Rand’s abrupt move, Norton suspects. Engstrand also suspects you’re a writer doing a book. ”

  “Well, we must find a way to put him at his ease. ”

  “I think I already have. I called a friend in Norway. He faxed this to me. Makes a nice little file. ”

  Roee slid a file folder over to me. I opened it and glanced at the areas underlined by Roee. “Well,” I said after digesting it, “this will hardly put him at his ease. ”

  “No, but it should open his mouth. ”

  *

  NewVue Pictures had offices in Century City but Torvald Engstrand would only agree to meet on the construction site of the studio he was building in Santa Clarita, a community up the Five freeway north of Hollywood with its own film past as a location for westerns.

  The site was rather stunning. Huge, behemoth sound stages under construction, giants of steel and concrete that existed mainly to enclose and control space, to create and maintain environments not necessarily native to the location or the moment. I’ve seen many sound stages. These would be the biggest in Hollywood.

  “Impressive, aren’t they?” Engstrand said to me. “But then monuments should be. Yes, monuments, monuments to filmmaking, practical, usable monuments, yes? But monuments to stir the soul nonetheless. ”

  “Too much, too late?” I asked.

  “I don’t understand?”

  “Don’t you think digital scene simulation will eventually eliminate the need for huge sound stages? After all, if you can recreate Rome in a computer, why build the Forum on a sound stage?”

  Engstrand, a man about 55 years of age, tall, sliver haired, with an elegant, aristocratic bearing, snorted. “You sound as shortsighted as Andy Rand. He was against this. Thought it a waste of money. But there is something indefinable in the creation of movies, in playacting, if you will, that you will miss if you just have actors and directors work in a big green room. You want to stir souls you must have on the screen souls that are stirring. How are you going to do that in a big green room?”

  There was a breeze, focused and tunneled between sound stages into a near silent, just whispering wind—silent because, outside of the guard at the gate, we were alone. It was a holiday, one of those nondescript government holidays well loved by Federal employees and union members. We walked from the sound stages that were nearly completed to those that were still skeleton like, including a giant among giants one with a deep hole.

  “Our tank stage. I could re-make “Jaws” in there for less than what it originally cost. ”

  Engstrand was obviously proud of this little kingdom he was building, and proud to show it off. Even to me, a stranger with motivations he was unsure of.

  “Now, please, tell me why you take up my time on a holiday?”

  “You seem to be working anyway. ”

  “I never abandon my chi
ld. What is it you want?”

  “Some information on Andy Rand. ”

  “This is the film business. Andy Rand has been a media darling and a media victim. Surely you could get all the information you need from old press accounts. ”

  “No, I don’t think so. ”

  “Who are you? Are you a reporter?”

  “No. ”

  “Lawyer?”

  “No. ”

  “IRS agent?”

  “No. ”

  “Drug dealer?”

  “No. ”

  “Then what could you possibly want information about Andy Rand for?”

  “I’m afraid that is information I must keep to myself. ”

  “Then I’m afraid any information I have on Andy Rand I must keep to myself. ” With that he huffed, turned and started to walk to his trailer office. “You know the way out Mr. No-name,” he said dismissively.

  “How’s your father?” I shouted after him.

  He stopped. He turned around. “Why would you inquire after my father?”

  “I know he’s still in Norway. I believe it’s a nice home you have him in. By all accounts he’s a sharp old man. Still pretty opinionated on politics. ”

  “He is more interested these days in his bladder than in politics. But I’ll be happy to inform him that a stranger asked after him. Good-bye. ” Again he tried to turn and dismiss me.

  “Does he ever talk much about Vidkun Quisling?”

  Again Engstrand turned back to me, stared at me, wondering, I’m sure, why he must have both Andy Rand and his father mixed in some stew this stranger was preparing. He looked down. I did not see what he saw there until he quickly bent down, grabbed it, and rushed towards me.

  The 2X4 slammed into my raised right arm and was deflected, but not without some pain. Engstrand pulled back and tried again, but I was on him like a madman, jumping at and gripping his two hands, which were enclosed around the wood as I slammed my right knee into his belly. He collapsed as if an off switch had been pulled. We were far from the front gate; the guard had not seen the struggle so Engstrand knew there would be no reinforcements. He held up a hand to beg surrender. I gave him a moment to get over the loss of breath. Then I helped him up and sat him on a pile of lumber.

  “Vidkun Quisling was the head of the Nazi party in Norway,” I told him, although he knew it very well. “He was instrumental in paving the way for Hitler’s invasion of Norway in ‘39-‘40. Your father was one of Quisling’s secret operatives—”

  “That is not true,” Engstrand said still feeling the pain in his belly.

  “No, it is true. You and your father have just always done a marvelous job covering it up, especially with the help of the CIA, his employer after the war. They found great use for your father keeping an eye on the Russian activities along the Scandinavian border. Your father has never been less than a dedicated Nazi and a fervent anti-Communist. And a real hater of Jews, of course, that goes without saying. Something, I believe, you actually share, even if you keep it quiet in this town. ”

  “So? What of it?”

  “So? So nothing. Just facts. Just history. Nonetheless, this is not a town that likes Nazis, paranoid and now out-of-date anti-Communists, Jew haters, and upstart rich foreigners who think they can compete in Hollywood by just throwing money around. ”

  “I came to America to compete. ”

  “Yes, I know you did. I understand the frustration of trying to be an entrepreneur in a fairly socialistic society. America is the land of opportunity. And Hollywood is the land of the dead who have fallen trying for opportunity. No one really sees that, do they? Like no one really sees all the dead skin you shed everyday. Except in a case like yours. High profile. Rand gave you acceptance in Hollywood. Rand gave you hits. You no longer have Rand, but you’ve been here a dozen years now, you’re part of Hollywood. So much a part the competition would like to ‘kill’ you and grab your assets. Your family history, were it known, could only aid them in that kill. ” I bent down and brushed off dirt that had clung to his clothes from the fall. “Now tell me why Rand quit, what kind of unusual contacts, especially foreign, he’s had recently, and what you think he’s up to now. ”

  He wanted a drink, so we moved to his trailer. It was an opulent affair, befitting a builder of monuments. After settling down he began to talk.

  “I am totally at a loss as to why Andy quit. Outside of turning over total control of NewVue, I gave him anything he wanted. He argued with me about this studio, as I said, but he knew how much I wanted it. But one day last week he just came in and announced he was quitting. Wouldn’t explain why beyond the explanation he gave the press. ”

  “Was his contract up?”

  “No, we had no formal contract. We never needed one. The fact that our self-interest lay so heavily in each other was our contract. It was always his option to leave at any time. My first thought, quite frankly, was that he was dying of something horrible, that he wanted to get out of the public eye. ”

  “Something horrible like what?”

  “Oh, you know, Cancer, AIDS. ”

  “AIDS?”

  “No, no, of course not, the thought left me quickly. He is very healthy—in all aspects of his life. ”

  “So what was your second thought?”

  “That he was telling the truth and was tired of this business. It happens. But it seemed unlikely. Did something better come along? I asked myself. But what that could be? I have racked my brain to think. I mean, outside of mine, he had the greatest job in Hollywood. Almost total green-lighting freedom. ”

  “Almost?”

  “Well, he did have to answer to me. I do own 53% of the company. But I gave him great latitude. I have made my fortune giving him great latitude. ”

  “What do you think of his charity, EarthPeople?”

  “I have contributed several hundred thousands to it. ”

  “Do you believe in its goals?”

  “What is there not to believe in? That we should start thinking of ourselves as one people instead of diverse nations and ethnic groups? Nationalism is an antiquated idea. I changed my citizenship for business reasons. Do I think we are all going to come together in happy harmony soon? No, of course not. But it can’t hurt to try. And it was important to Andy. ”

  “EarthPeople gave him a lot of contacts with people around the world. ”

  “Well, yes, of course. But then so did the film business. ”

  “No, I mean with people not involved in film. ”

  “Oh yes. Normal people. Yes, yes, of course, you’re right. He liked associating with thinkers, politicians, diplomats, Mother Theresa, the Pope. ”

  “Did he have any particular interest with people in East Europe?”

  “Oh, that was whole new ground for him ever since the Iron Curtain came down. ”

  “Have you ever heard of a man named Zhelyu Batsarov?”

  “Batsarov?” He took a moment to think back. “Yes! Yes, I made a payment to a Batsarov. It was an option on a story he had that Andy was very high on, a post Cold War spy story of some kind. Andy became interested in what was going to happen to all ‘Spooks,’ agents, James Bonds, now that the great rivalry had ended. He wanted to do a movie about it. So he nosed around over in East Europe and came back with Batsarov’s story. I paid him a much larger than normal option fee, but Andy said it was the only way to loosen his tongue. It was, Andy said, what he was use to in his last business. ‘His quote,’ as we say in this business. ”

  “Did you ever meet Batsarov?”

  “No, Andy dealt with him exclusively, always going to meet him over there in, ah, in… . ”

  “Bulgaria?”

  “Yes, exactly. ”

  “When did this all start?”

  “Oh, a little over a year ago. ”

  “Did a script ever come of it?”

  “None that I saw. Andy kept telling me that the idea hadn’t gelled. But he kept going to Bulgaria to personally work on it with this B
atsarov. ”

  “Can you recall when Rand’s last trip over there was?”

  “Two months ago, I think. Yes, we had a Royal premiere in London. Andy went on from there. ”

  “Did Rand take drugs?”

  “No! Never!”

  “You mentioned drug dealers. ”

  “You asked if he took them. ”

  “True. Have you talked to Rand since last week?”

  “No. I’ve tried, but he’s not at home. The maid, of course, speaks no

  English, just ‘Senõr Rand no en casa. ’”

  “Does he have a second home? Vacation property?”

  “No. He’s a hotel man, when he takes vacations, which is rarely. He likes traveling on business and grabbing a spare day or two on each trip to rest and see the sights—very smart actually. He likes, you see, feeling a part of the world, likes to be in among it, not just a ‘tour bus lookie-loo,’ as he called it. ”

  “So you know of no way to get in touch with him?”

  “No, really, I don’t. But, of course, next week is the annual EarthPeople

  Ball. I can’t imagine him not showing up. It’s sold out. He’s the host. All of Hollywood will be anxious to see him there. ”

  “Can you get me two tickets?”

  “Now? Absolutely not! It’s impossible. ”

  I gave him an incredulous, questioning look tinged, I hoped, with something dark, and asked again. “Can you get me two tickets?”

  “Well, yes, all right. Where should I send them?”

  “To Norton Macbeth. Now, tell me about Rand and women. ”

  “What is there to tell? He is a very powerful man in this town. He can get any beautiful woman he wants. ”

  “That’s a bit of a Jackie Collins hyperbolic cliché isn’t it?”

  “Well, any beautiful woman within reason. Reason these days taking into account threats of sexual harassment suits and women who don’t really know their place in the natural order of things. But still, that leaves plenty of women in this town. ”