The Prince of Beverly Hills

by Stuart Woods

  Shortly, a script was delivered from Eddie Harris with a note: “Read this. I’m going to produce it myself, and I thought you might like to look over my shoulder while I’m doing it. We go into pre-production tomorrow, so be in my office at nine for the first meeting.”

  Rick spent the remainder of his day reading the script and making notes to himself about questions to ask. This was going to solve the problem of what to do with his days.

  Late in the afternoon, he tried phoning Clete again; still no answer. He left the studio at six and drove over to Clete’s house. The Filipino houseman answered the door.

  “Please come in, Mr. Barron,” he said.

  “Is Clete in?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I’ve been trying to reach him, but nobody answered the phone.”

  “Mr. Barrow instructed us not to.”

  “Why?”

  The man pointed to an envelope on the living room coffee table. “He asked me to give you that.”

  Rick picked up the sealed envelope and ripped it open. There was a letter in Clete’s public schoolboy hand, a neat copperplate:

  My Dear Rick,

  I’m sorry I couldn’t talk with you about this before I left, but I would have been putting you in a difficult position. By the time you read this, I’ll be on an airplane to Montreal, whence I will hitch a ride to England on the first available ship.

  My regiment has called up its reserve officers, of which I am one, and my contract with Centurion not withstanding, it’s a call I must heed. I’ve sent Eddie Harris another letter explaining all this, so you won’t be on the hook for it.

  When this is all over, if it ever is, and if I live through it, I expect to be back, so I’ve not put my house up for sale. I know you’re comfortably fixed in Eddie’s guest cottage, but I’d be very grateful if you would move into the house while I’m gone and keep an eye on it for me. Empty houses have a way of deteriorating, and I love the place too much to let that happen. Manuel and Maria have packed up my duds and stored them in the attic, so the master bedroom is all yours. Use it well.

  I’ve paid Manuel and Maria through the end of next year, and at that time you can decide whether to keep them on. You can take care of the phone and utility bills. My car is still being worked on in the studio shop, and I’d appreciate it if you’d see to the return of the loaner to Hiram. The keys to the house and car are in the second envelope.

  During the time you and I have known each other, I’ve come to think of you as a close friend, perhaps the closest I have, and I’ll miss your company. Still, I’ll have the company of a lot of other good chaps for the duration.

  I don’t know what else to say. If America comes into the war, and I expect she will, eventually, perhaps we’ll meet on the other side of the great pond and raise a glass once again. Until then, take care of yourself, and Glenna, too. I think she’s for you. I’ll write when I can.

  With my affectionate regards,

  Clete

  Rick read the letter again, then folded it carefully and put it into his coat pocket.

  Manuel came out of the kitchen. “Shall I tell Maria you’ll be here for dinner this evening, Mr. Barron?”

  “Not this evening, Manuel,” Rick replied. “There’s something I have to do. I’ll bring my things over tomorrow.”

  “Very good, Mr. Barron. Maria and I are glad to know you’ll be staying here. It would have been very empty without Mr. Clete.”

  “Thank you, Manuel.”

  Rick left and drove back to the studio, then to Glenna’s bungalow. She was in the kitchen.

  “Hi, there. Will you stay for dinner?”

  “I certainly will,” he said. “Can I fix you a martini?”

  “Oh, please do.”

  He made the drinks and set them on the kitchen counter, then he took her face in his hands and kissed her lightly, then again, more thoroughly.

  “That was very nice,” she said, putting her arms around him.

  “I plan to do a lot more of it,” he said. “Has the studio made any progress finding you a place to live?”

  “I haven’t heard from Eddie’s secretary; she’s handling it.”

  “Tell her to stop handling it.”

  “Oh? What did you have in mind?”

  Rick sat down at the counter and took a sip of his bourbon. “Clete Barrow has left for England, to rejoin his regiment.”

  “Oh,” she said, surprised. “I suppose I can understand that.”

  “So can I, though I’ll miss him.”

  “You’re quite good friends, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, more than I had realized. He’s better company than anyone I know, except you.”

  She brought her drink over to the counter and rested her elbows, bringing her face close to his. “I feel the same way,” she said, then she laughed. “I thought I was too shy to say that.”

  “I’m glad you did, because it makes my question to you easier.”

  “What question?”

  “Clete has asked me to move into his house. It’s a lot bigger than mine, and there are servants. Why don’t you move into it with me?”

  She gulped and took a sip of her martini. “Wow. I hadn’t expected that.”

  “I know.”

  “I mean, we haven’t even . . .”

  “We can remedy that anytime you say.”

  She smiled. “It’s an attractive thought.”

  “I can protect you so much better if I’m around all the time,” he said.

  “I do need protecting, don’t I?”

  “And you wouldn’t have to find a place to live.”

  “There is that. What would I do about Barbara? She’s out of the hospital next week.”

  “There’s a little guest house on the property. It’s hers for as long as she wants it.”

  “I’m trying hard, but I can’t think of an objection to your plan.”

  He kissed her again, and they forgot about dinner.

  46

  RICK ARRIVED EARLY for his meeting in Eddie Harris’s office the following morning.

  Eddie looked up from his desk. “Good morning. I got Clete’s note. Did you know he was going to do this?”

  There it was, the direct question. “I can’t say I was surprised.”

  “Why didn’t you mention it to me?” Eddie’s voice was uncharacteristically cold.

  “As I recall, you mentioned it to me, on one occasion. It can’t have surprised you, either.”

  Eddie looked out the window. “Goddamnit, I wanted him to star in this script I sent you.”

  Rick said nothing.

  “It was only one more film. He could have waited until the end of the year.”

  “His letter to me said that his regiment called up its reserve officers, and he was one of them. What else could he do?”

  “I had a call from Sam Goldwyn last night. David Niven has gone, too, and Sam is livid.”

  “It’s war, Eddie, and if we get into it a lot of Centurion people are going to have to go.”

  “Meaning you?”

  “I’m the right age for it. I could get the call.”

  “I don’t mean to sound unpatriotic, but thank God I’m past forty.” He tapped the script on his desk. “I’ve been going over our contract players in my mind, and I haven’t been able to cast the male lead. We’re going to have to go outside, and it’s going to cost us to borrow a star.”

  Rick was glad for the change of subject. “When I read it, I didn’t see Clete in the part,” he said. “The character is younger and American, and I’ve never heard Clete speak with anything other than his own accent.”

  “You’ve never heard Errol Flynn speak with anything but his own accent, either, but he sells tickets, even to Westerns.”

  “This character is American, urban and a little rough around the edges.”

  “So, who do you think?”

  “The week before I came to work here, I saw a movie called Dynamo, and there was a young actor in a
featured part who impressed me. Name was Barry something, or something Barry.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Maybe it was his first film.”

  “Which studio?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe RKO.”

  Eddie pressed a button. “An actor named Barry, first or last name, did a picture called Dynamo, maybe at RKO. Get me a print of the picture and find out the rest of his name and who his agent is.” He turned back to Rick. “We’ll have a print by noon, and we’ll take a look at it together. Meanwhile, think of some more names.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, how about the girl?”

  “Glenna.”

  “She’s got three more weeks’ work on the musical.”

  “When do we start shooting?”

  “Two weeks, and we can’t wait. We’re shooting in sequence.”

  “The girl only has one scene in the early part of the film. Maybe we could borrow her for a day from the musical.”

  “Possibly. Give me some more names for the girl, too.”

  The box on Eddie’s desk buzzed. “Yes?”

  “I called RKO, and they didn’t want to give us a print of Dynamo or even tell us the actor’s name, so I found a print we can borrow at a theater in Santa Monica, and I’ve sent a messenger out there for it. I haven’t been able to find out anything about the actor, but we can get his name from the titles, and then I’ll track him down.”

  “Good. Put it up in my screening room the minute it gets here, and call whatshisname, the director of the musical, and tell him I want Glenna Gleason for a day, two weeks from Monday, so he should shoot around her.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Eddie turned back to Rick. “So, who else for the guy?”

  “Alan Ladd.”

  “Not bad, though he’s pretty smooth. I see how you’re thinking, but he just started shooting a picture at Paramount.”

  “John Garfield.”

  “Not available, either. He’s in the middle of a film at Warners’. But he would be damn good casting.”

  The box squawked again. “Mr. Harris, the others are here for your production meeting.”

  “Send ’em in,” Eddie said, and four people walked into the office and were waved to the conference table. Eddie introduced Rick to the director, set designer, costume designer and production manager. “Rick is going to sit in on this production all the way through,” he said, and no one objected or even seemed surprised.

  Eddie and Rick took seats at the table. “All right,” Eddie said, looking at the set designer, “what are we going to need? Let’s start saving money right now.”

  “We’ve got just about everything we need in storage,” the man said. “It’s nothing unusual—offices, a hotel room, a bar. I can make it all look fresh. There is a country club scene, though. We might have to do it on location.”

  Rick had a thought. “The colonial officers’ club set is still on stage two, isn’t it?”

  “Good idea!” the man said. “I can dress it with more modern things and move some windows. It’ll work fine.”

  Eddie gave Rick an approving glance. “Costumes?”

  “Pretty much off the wardrobe department’s rack,” the designer said. “I’ll need to do a couple of dresses for the girl, though.”

  They worked on through the morning, and Rick began to see how a film was put together.

  THEY WERE ABOUT TO BREAK for lunch when Eddie’s secretary came into the room. “The print of Dynamo is ready in your screening room,” she said.

  “Great,” Eddie replied, standing up. “Get the commissary to send over some sandwiches, and we’ll eat while we’re watching it.”

  “What’s Dynamo?” the director asked.

  “Something from RKO with an actor Rick likes for the lead.”

  “What actor?”

  “Barry something or something Barry.”

  Everybody moved into the screening room next door, and the film began to roll.

  “Lawrence Barry,” Eddie and Rick said simultaneously, as the name came up in the credits.

  “Oh, shit,” Eddie said, “the guy must get called Larry Barry.” Everybody laughed.

  They settled in to watch. They were half an hour into it when the sandwiches arrived. Eddie picked up a phone attached to his chair. “Stop for a minute.” The film stopped and the lights came up. “Everybody grab a sandwich, and we’ll resume.”

  “I’ve heard about this picture,” the director said.

  “We got the print from a theater in Santa Monica,” Eddie said. “RKO didn’t want us to see it.” He picked up a phone. “The actor’s name is Lawrence Barry. Find out who his agent is, and get them both in here this afternoon.” He turned to the director. “What do you think of Barry?”

  “I like him. I’ve heard a little about him from New York. He did something on the stage last year. I wasn’t aware that anybody had signed him.”

  “Maybe nobody has,” Eddie said. “Maybe Dynamo is a one-shot deal for Barry, and that’s why RKO is being uncooperative.” He got a sandwich and sat down next to Rick. “I like the guy,” he said quietly. “He and Glenna will look great together, too.”

  “I thought so,” Rick said. Actually, it hadn’t occurred to him until Eddie mentioned it, but he was willing to take credit for the idea. “By the way, Clete has asked me to live in his house while he’s gone.”

  “So you’re moving out of my place?”

  “I guess so. I’m sure you can find somebody else. If Suzanne wants a man in the place for protection, I know a cop who might be good for you.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Tom Terry. He’s one of the Beverly Hills officers who helped me with the Stampano thing.”

  “I’d like to meet him.”

  “I’ll arrange it.”

  “Or I could offer it to Glenna.”

  “Well, ah, Glenna is moving into Clete’s place with me.”

  Eddie laughed. “You don’t waste much time, do you?”

  “I, ah . . .”

  “She’ll be safer with you than alone, and I guess that’s good for the studio.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” Rick said. He was relieved, too.

  47

  RICK SAT IN EDDIE’S OFFICE and watched Lawrence Barry. He was dressed in a decent suit and tie, and Rick was impressed with his calm demeanor.

  “So,” Eddie said, “what do your friends call you? Larry?”

  Barry smiled a little. “My middle name is McArthur. I’ve always been called Mac.”

  “Good. Did you have a chance to look at the script?”

  “Yes, I did, but not thoroughly.”

  “What did you think of it?”

  “I think it could be a good film.”

  “You think you could handle the lead?”

  His agent came to life. “He certainly could. He’s had a lot of stage experience.”

  “Shut up, Jerry,” Eddie said. “I’m talking to your client.”

  “I certainly could,” Barry replied. “I’ve had a lot of stage experience.”

  Rick liked that, the guy standing up for his agent, and not afraid to be a smart-ass with Eddie Harris.

  “Which won’t do you a hell of a lot of good in the movies.”

  “Sure it will,” Barry replied. “You saw Dynamo. Whatever I brought to that I learned on the stage.”

  “How do you know I saw Dynamo? It hasn’t even been released yet.”

  “Because I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t seen it.”

  It occurred to Rick that Barry was very much like the character in their script. “I think you read the script pretty thoroughly, Mac,” Rick said, “because you’re doing a very good job of playing the character right now.”

  Eddie looked at Rick, then back at Barry, then he burst out laughing. “I’ve been had,” he said. “I thought this was an interview, but you’re doing an audition.”

  “It seemed like a good idea,” Barry said, smiling.

 
“All right, you get the part.” Eddie turned to the agent. “Standard seven-year contract, five hundred a week.”

  Barry spoke up. “I got more than that in Dynamo.”

  “Yeah, for four weeks’ work. This is seven years, and you get paid every week, with raises as you get better.”

  “I’m already very good,” Barry said.

  The agent spoke up. “Mac isn’t really interested in the usual long-term contract. He’s already turned that down at RKO.”

  “Then he isn’t interested in working?”

  “I said the usual long-term contract. We’ll want script approval and time off for him to do theater in New York, plus salary increases on each film.”

  “What kind of salary increases?”

  “He’ll do your first picture for a thousand a week. After that, he gets a five-hundred-dollar raise for each picture.”

  “Okay, here’s my final offer,” Eddie said. “He does two pictures a year for Centurion, and he can turn down one script a year. I’ll give him three months a year off, so he can dabble with the stage, if he wants to—the dates to be negotiated. I’ll pay him a grand a week for the first picture and two-fifty more for each picture after that, but I’ll only pay him for the weeks he works. The term of the contract is seven years.”

  “What about fringe benefits?”

  “He’ll get star treatment when he shows me he’s got what it takes to be a star, and the minute he shows me he can’t become a star, then I’ll fire him. He starts two weeks from Monday.”

  Barry spoke up. “I want two weeks’ rehearsal with the cast and director on each picture, and I want to be paid for rehearsals.”

  “I’ll guarantee you a week’s rehearsal, and I’ll give you two weeks when I can, but you’ll get half-salary for rehearsing.”

  Barry looked at his agent but said nothing.

  “I think we can proceed on that basis,” the agent said. “You want to send me a contract?”

  “You’ll have it before the close of business tomorrow,” Eddie said. “One thing, your leading lady won’t be available for rehearsals on this one; she’s making a musical. You won’t meet her until the first day of shooting.”