Beverly Hills Dead

by Stuart Woods

After their tour they went to a corral and met the ranch foreman, Dick Torrey, who had a wrangler choose horses for them. The animals were saddled, then Torrey led them away from the ranch house for an hour’s ride. They arrived at a low bluff on the Snake River, where the ranch’s chuck wagon awaited them and served lunch while a wrangler picketed their horses.

  They sat around a rough-hewn portable table on sawhorses and ate the good food.

  “I think I’m going to enjoy shooting up here,” Rick said, “and I’ll be sorry to leave.”

  “You can visit as often as you like,” Eddie said. “I bought the place this morning.”

  His wife’s mouth dropped open. “You what?”

  “Mac and Ellie Cooper expected their sons to carry on here, but that is not to be, so they’ve decided to retire and build a new, smaller house for themselves a couple of miles up the river on fifty acres they’ve kept.”

  Suzanne was having difficulty with this. “You bought a ranch?”

  Eddie nodded. “This ranch, nearly sixteen thousand acres of it. It’s a going concern, you know, and Dick Torrey is going to run it for me.”

  “But you are the most urban person I know,” Suzanne said.

  “I could get used to this,” Eddie said, waving an arm. “In fact, I’m already used to it. I even like being on a horse.”

  “How much do you expect we’ll use the place?”

  “As often as we like,” Eddie replied. “After all, we have an airplane; let’s use it.”

  “Congratulations, Eddie,” Rick said.

  “You’ll all be welcome any time.”

  “When do you close on the place?”

  “Well, I’ve got to find legal and accounting representation in the state, then incorporate. I expect it will be about three months. The Coopers will stay on in the big house until their new one is finished. Suzanne and I probably won’t see the place again until next summer.”

  “It ought to be a great investment,” Vance said.

  Eddie grinned, “I think so, too. Not to mention the fun Suzanne will have decorating it.”

  “I’ve got to start making lists,” Suzanne said.

  That night after dinner the four men made themselves comfortable in Mac Cooper’s study.

  “Eddie, Rick,” Sid Brooks said, “we had a meeting a couple of nights ago.”

  “What sort of meeting?” Eddie asked.

  “A strategy meeting. There were two lawyers from New York there, and we hired two West Coast attorneys. We’re going to make this a First Amendment issue. The idea is, if we have freedom of speech, we have the right not to speak, and if we have the right to choose our politics, we have the right not to talk about it.”

  “I’m a lawyer,” Eddie said, “and I think that’s a novel approach.”

  “You sound disapproving,” Sid said.

  “If I were your lawyer, I’d advise you to take the Fifth, rather than depend on an untested legal strategy.”

  “When you take the Fifth, everybody thinks you’re guilty of something, and we’re not guilty of anything. Anyway, we have a liberal Supreme Court right now, and if we lose in the hearings, we can appeal with the hope of success.”

  “There are what, nineteen of you?”

  “Forty-one were subpoenaed; nineteen of us are going to be unfriendly witnesses, as they’ve begun to call us. There’s also a group being formed called the Committee for the First Amendment, people who aren’t politically suspect, who are going to send a delegation to the hearings to morally support us.”

  “I know,” Eddie said. “I’m a member, and I’ll be there.”

  “I’d like to go, too,” Rick said.

  “You’re going to be shooting a movie right here,” Eddie pointed out, “and anyway, I’m the public face of the studio, since Sol Weinman died. You leave this to me.”

  “As you wish,” Rick said, but he was disappointed.

  “Eddie’s right, Rick,” Sid said. “You’re better off keeping your head down; this could get messy. And I want to thank both of you for paying for my script up front. That gives me a financial cushion, and I may need it.”

  “The least we could do,” Eddie said.

  “I’m grateful for the trip up here,” Sid said. “Alice has been worried sick about all this, and, I have to admit, I have been, too. It’s good to get away from L.A. for a few days and breathe some fresh air without the press all over us. I haven’t been this relaxed for weeks.”

  “Our pleasure,” Eddie replied.

  Vance, who had said nothing until now, spoke up. “I guess I’m going to have to read the U.S. Constitution,” he said, “if I’m going to understand any of this.”

  13

  They landed at Santa Monica on Monday evening, their return flight longer than the trip out, because of the westerly winds. Everybody piled out of the airplane, and the linemen got their luggage unloaded and into the trunks of their respective cars.

  On the way home, Rick felt very satisfied with their weekend. “We got a lot done,” he said to Glenna.

  “You sure did, but nothing compared to Eddie.”

  Rick laughed. “That was a surprise; I didn’t have a clue. I just knew he and Mac Cooper were spending a lot of time together.”

  “When will you go back to start shooting?”

  “A couple of weeks. Everything will be in place by then, and we’ll be trucking up equipment and crew in advance of that.”

  “What do you want me to do while you’re gone?”

  Rick looked at her, surprised. “Why, I want you and the girls to come with me. Didn’t you know?”

  “Well, you didn’t mention it until now.”

  “I’m sorry. I just assumed you’d think the same way. I think we’d enjoy the time together up there.”

  “You’re going to be busy as hell, and I’m going to be spending a lot of time with Ellie Cooper, quilting or something.”

  “Would you rather not go?”

  “No, I want to go, but I want to be able to bail out if I get…whatever the reverse of cabin fever is.”

  “Sure, you can go home any time you like.” He had a thought. “Listen, all your experience is in front of the camera; how’d you like to spend some time behind it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How would you like to be an associate producer?”

  She thought about that. “You mean, order people around?”

  “No, I mean we’d carve out some responsibility for you, and you’d be in charge, reporting to the producer.”

  “And that would be you?”

  “No, that would be Leo Goldman. He’s a bright new guy who’s seriously on the make, and I think you’ll like him.”

  “And if I don’t like his decisions, can I appeal to you?”

  “No. Leo would probably fire you.”

  “I’ll have to think about that,” she said.

  Vance Calder went back to his rooming house, cleaned out the last of his belongings and put them into the ’38 Ford convertible; he had already sold the Whizzer to the guy across the hall for sixty dollars. He gave his landlady a check, then drove to Centurion Studios, to his cottage/dressing room.

  The place had a living room with a foldout sofa, dressing room, bath and kitchenette. It was snug, but it was a lot more room than he was accustomed to.

  He put away the last of his things: three pairs of Levis, some work shirts, boots and underwear, and his one suit, two good shirts and one pair of good shoes. It wasn’t much of a wardrobe, but when he left New York he was so broke he couldn’t even afford a bus ticket. He took a commuter bus to a New Jersey station, then hitchhiked all the way across the country, carrying one suitcase and a backpack, along with a rolled-up sleeping bag. It took him twelve days, and he slept in barns, the backs of rolling trucks and in the woods. Along the way he gained a real appreciation of the size, diversity and wealth of this amazing country.

  A short time ago he had been making two dollars an hour as an equipment operator. Now, all o
f a sudden, he had a place of his own, a car and a little over four thousand dollars; also an agent, a lawyer, a three-picture contract and, if he worked hard and played his cards right, a career. He sat down and wrote his parents a long letter, detailing everything that had happened to him over the past weeks and giving them the studio as a mailing address.

  He unpacked half a bottle of good Scotch, poured himself a drink and got back into the Ford, taking the bottle with him. Slowly, he drove around the studio, taking it all in. He drove down the set streets: the New York brownstones, the downtown business street, the small-town set, with its village square and pond and, on the back lot, the western street. The studio police never stopped him because they knew the car.

  On his way back to his cottage he noticed lights on in the motor pool, and he turned in and stopped. Hiram, who ran the place, slid out from under an elderly Rolls Royce and looked at him.

  “Hey, Vance, what brings you around, car trouble?”

  “No, Hiram. The car is just great. I was just driving around, looking at the place. You want a drink?” He held up the bottle.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Hiram said. He stood up, walked to his desk and found a coffee cup, watching as Vance half-filled it. “Down the hatch,” he said and took a swig. “Good stuff.”

  “Black Label. I splurged.”

  “How’s it going for you?”

  “It’s a dream, Hiram; don’t pinch me.”

  Hiram laughed.

  “That’s quite an old crate,” Vance said, nodding at the Rolls.

  “Yes, it is, and it’s in perfect shape, or it will be when I finish this little job. You want to see something really special?”

  “Sure.”

  Beckoning for Vance to follow, Hiram walked over to a rear corner of the big garage, switched on the overhead lights and pulled a sheet of canvas off a car. “What do you think of that?” he asked.

  Vance stared at the sleek black roadster. “My God,” he said, “is that a Mercedes SSK?”

  “You bet it is.”

  “I thought they were all destroyed in the war.”

  “Not this one, though Clete Barrow tried hard enough.”

  “This was Clete Barrow’s car?”

  “Hasn’t Rick told you the story?”

  “No, he hasn’t.”

  Hiram climbed into the passenger seat and motioned for Vance to sit behind the wheel. “Well,” he said when they were settled, “this goes back to ’39. Rick Barron was a cop on the Beverly Hills police force at the time, and he had just been busted from detective to patrolman. He and his captain didn’t get along.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ll let Rick tell you that part, but don’t ask him right out.”

  “All right.”

  “Anyway, late one night, he’s sitting at the corner of Sunset and Camden in his patrol car, and Clete Barrow, driving this car, came barreling down Sunset and made scrap metal out of an old Ford driven by a woman who had run the stop sign.

  “The Mercedes spins across Sunset into a hedge, throwing Clete out. Rick runs over there, recognizes Clete, finds out he isn’t hurt much, checks on the woman, who, he says, was hamburger. Then he did something really smart: Clete gave him Eddie Harris’s home number, so instead of taking Clete to a hospital, where the cops and the press would have been all over him, he calls in another car to deal with the wreck and, after taking the plates and the registration off the Mercedes, calls Eddie and takes Clete to the studio.

  “They get the famous Dr. Judson over here to check out Clete, and Eddie and Rick fall into conversation. Eddie likes him, and within seventy-two hours, Rick has a new job as head of security for the studio. The rest, as they say, is history.”

  “And you fixed the car?”

  “We had to order the parts from Germany, and they came in on the last German merchant ship before the war started. I worked on it in my spare time for two years, until I had it back in mint condition, as you see it. It hasn’t been driven since.”

  “Why not?”

  “Rick inherited the car when Clete was killed in the war, and I guess he’s never had the heart to use it.”

  “Seems like a waste,” Vance said.

  “Yeah, well. Maybe they’ll use it in a picture, or something.”

  “What do you suppose it’s worth, Hiram?”

  “Christ only knows. More than anything else in this barn, that’s for sure. More than a new Cadillac.”

  Vance tried to imagine himself driving it.

  “Well, I gotta get back to work, get this job done and get home. The little woman is saving supper for me.”

  “Thanks for the look at the SSK,” Vance said.

  “Thanks for the drink.”

  Vance got back into the car, drove back to his cottage and heated up a can of chili con carne for dinner.

  14

  At breakfast the following morning, Glenna said, “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Don’t mess with me this early in the morning,” she said. “How much do I get paid?”

  “Five hundred a week.”

  “How much does Leo Goldman get paid?”

  “None of your business. Glenna, I wasn’t kidding when I said that Leo can fire you, if you don’t do a good job.”

  “I know you weren’t; you’re a hard man, mister.”

  “Oh, and I guess so that the kids won’t die, you’d better bring Rosie along. And I won’t take her pay out of yours.”

  “That’s mighty white of you.”

  “I know it is; I wouldn’t do that for a producer who wasn’t my wife.”

  Rick arrived at his office to find Leo Goldman, a large, bearlike, bullet-headed man in his late twenties, waiting for him. He had joined Centurion after slugging his boss at Metro. Eddie had thought his action was “admirable.” “Morning, Leo,” Rick said. “I’m glad you’re here; we’ve got things to talk about.”

  “We sure have,” Leo said, following him into his office and taking a chair.

  “Something on your mind?”

  “I hear you went up to Jackson Hole this weekend to work on the picture.”

  Rick immediately realized that he should have invited Leo, but it had never crossed his mind. “I’m sorry, Leo. I didn’t intend to leave you out of anything important. It was a weekend off, that’s all. We took the wives, but we did get a look at the locations Manny had picked out.”

  “Manny decides on locations?”

  “Manny finds them; the director decides.”

  “Look, if you don’t want me on this picture, just say so. In fact, if you don’t want me at the studio, say so, and I’ll tear up my contract.”

  “Listen to me, Leo,” Rick said. “If I didn’t want you on the picture or at the studio, you wouldn’t be here. Anyway, you were still cleaning up your last production over the weekend, weren’t you?”

  “I could have shook loose.”

  “Leo, I promise you that no decision was made over the weekend that is in any way going to impact on your job.”

  “You’d better not ever do that.”

  “Leo, I’ve apologized, and I’m not going to do it again, but don’t ever tell me I’d better not do something. I suggest you get a grip on yourself and start addressing what we’re going to do with this script.”

  Leo took a deep breath and let it out. “All right, I had my say. Let’s go to work.”

  “Good. Manny is still up there dealing with getting some war-surplus barracks put together. Call my father, Jack Barron, at Barron Flying Service, at Clover Field, and he’ll get you flown up there.”

  “When do you want me to leave?”

  “As soon as you can get a list of equipment and crew that will have to be trucked and bussed up there, and get them rolling. You’ll be there two or three days before they arrive, and Manny will work out some office space and transportation for you.” He gave Leo Manny’s phone number at the local saloon. “He’ll have some phone lines in for us in a
few days. Also, set up a meeting here to finalize casting.”

  “I hear we’ve already got a leading man.”

  “That’s right. His name is Vance Calder, and he’s going to be very good. He has a three-picture deal with us.”

  “I saw him out on the back lot doing stuff on horses. The guys out there are impressed; one of them told me Calder could win money at the rodeo.”

  “He’d better not, or our insurance is blown. I’ll make sure he understands.”

  “I’d like a trailer to work in, so I won’t be tied to a desk.”

  “Good idea; get me one, too. Have you met my wife?”

  “No, but of course, I’ve seen her pictures.”

  “She’s coming up to Wyoming for the shoot, and I’ve hired her as an associate producer at five hundred a week; get that in the budget.”

  “You told me I’d be single-card credited as associate producer.”

  “You’ve been promoted. Now you’re executive in charge of production.”

  “Well, I can’t argue with that, as long as the title describes what I do.”

  “Leo, don’t push your luck. I’m still producer and director, and, in case you’ve forgotten, I’m head of all production for the studio, so you work for me.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll share the best-picture Oscar with you.”

  Leo laughed out loud. “From your lips to God’s ear.”

  “Carve out some stuff for Glenna to be in charge of; costumes would be good. A couple of other things: she’s smart, and she’s a good organizer. I’ve told her that if she does a lousy job you can fire her, so don’t take any crap from her. Also, don’t ride her because she’s my wife.”

  “You give me a thin line to walk.”

  “I want you to treat all the people who report to you decently, and that includes Glenna. You’ve been here for one picture, so by now you should know that’s studio policy.”

  “Sure, I do; don’t worry. I’ll get along with Glenna, but what happens if she comes to you, complaining about me?”

  “I’ll send her right back to you.”

  “How about our star? Is he going to be a handful?”