Part of her thought the episode with the desert bunker would have dissuaded her from further thoughts about H.R. Lewandowski and the Portals series. Yet the opposite occurred. One by one her co-workers arrived around her, blank looks on their faces, possibly dreading the start of another work week. Vic was always among the last to arrive, lumbering down the aisle between cubicles, red-faced and tousle-haired, as if he’d just awakened from a three day drunk.
Once again, she typed “H.R. Lewandowski” into the “find” field of her search engine and the familiar series of articles appeared on her computer screen. Since Dorina used the same ISP account at work and at home, she could see that the entries she’d selected on Saturday night still had been shaded in dark. She decided she might get somewhere and learn something new if she hit on one of the virgin listings she hadn’t looked at before.
There was one entitled “H.R. Lewandowski the Enigma.”
At first the new site simply glossed over and rehashed everything she’d learned about the man on Saturday night. His early life, his early marriage and how his life completely changed during a routine trucking run in the southwest. The article described how inaccessible the director had been, refusing practically all interviews. She hoped the information wouldn’t corroborate what Mitch had suspected, that the mogul had something to hide. Yet, a new entry piqued her curiosity: “Behind the camera with H.R.: the strange case of movie alchemy.”
Dorina clicked on the site page, which contained a free-wheeling interview with a former cameraman from Merlin’s Lair. The Portals movies had been so profitable because they had been relatively inexpensive to make, considering the spectacular special effects they contained. While the typical big budget film was prepared by an endless array of script conferences, story boards, and mock ups, many times the Portals movies seem to have been shot on the fly. William Bitzer the fourth, the cameraman said “A lot of times the man seemed to make up things as he went along.”
Even stranger than that was the mysterious metamorphosis that often occurred in post production. “H.R. would say ‘That’s a wrap,’ and I’d wonder how in the world he was gonna piece together the hodge-podge of scenes we’d thrown together. I mean I’d been there through it all, seen every shot and there was no way he’d gotten enough material for any kind of a story. No way. But then months later, boom, there’s a perfect, spectacular filmed rendition of another world. And I swear, I tell you, I swear, I don’t remember shooting even half of what ended up onscreen.”
Dorina wondered where all the footage came from. Digital characters and effects still needed to play off a real-life framework that could only be achieved by shooting in real time. Or so she thought. When she read on, the author of the new website confirmed what she’d heard on all the others. H.R. Lewandowski was as close as anyone in the western world to being completely untouchable. The secret location of Merlin’s Lair was only the start. He also employed an office staff in Los Angeles, New York, and in Scotland, where they often filmed location work. The main reason he was so inaccessible was that a thick bureaucracy shielded him from all the Hollywood players and the public.
Jacy’s words came back to haunt her: “Mr. Lewandowski himself would be the one to tell you how he awakened from his coma.”
The more and more Dorina read about the man, the more and more she was convinced that whatever happened to bring him out of that coma had had a profound effect on his startling success. She would find out what it was.
She closed out all the windows and brought up her inbox and the work-related email account. The mere sight of the mundane ad deadlines and collection schedules caused her eyelids to droop and brought on a headache of dread. Out loud, she said “I’m just not up to this today.” But she went through the motions anyway, because while her work was mind numbing, for now it paid all her bills. And she made all her calls, filled in the data spreadsheets, and made copies while on auto pilot, the greater part of her mind still devoted to her obsession with the Portals mystique.
By 10:30, when her stomach usually began to growl in anticipation of lunch, she had a brainstorm. The enigmatic director was thickly shielded from all types of curiosity seekers including reporters. Yet each new Portals movie contained a whole new list of characters including the staple players who continued on from film to film. She knew that many of the scenes contained casts of hundreds, whether it was an exodus or a battle, or simply a typical street scene in an exotic “otherworld.” They had to hire these extras from somewhere!
Her electronic rolodex contained a list of casting directors and talent agents that she’d often interviewed over the phone as part of legwork for other reporters doing a story on Hollywood happenings. Excited, Dorina defined a list of agents and called it up on the screen. She poised her fingers over the numerical keypad and positioned her headset and microphone. The phone rang at the first talent agency office. Would the person answering recognize her voice? Possibly or possibly not, but while she waited for someone to pick up she decided to use her all-purpose alias. When a receptionist answered the other line with a cheery “Colston agency,” she sprang to action: “Hello, this is Serena Blumenberg. I was calling to see if anyone has any information about how I can become an extra in the new Portals movie that’s filming right now.”
There was a short pause at the other end of the line and the receptionist said “Let me connect you with Ms. Haliburton.”
Moments later, the agent came on the line, and Dorina repeated her question to her.
A long silence ensued. “That’s strange, I didn’t know they were doing anything,” the agent woman said in a sophisticated, smooth way. “Do you have a SAG card? And have we worked with you before?”
Dorina told her that the answer to both questions was no, and thanked her for her time. She swallowed and proceeded to the next name. The male agent who fielded her next query said “Lewandowski likes to work with unknowns. The thing to do is to keep your eyes and ears open for an open call. But I don’t think he’s going to be having one anytime soon, or else I would have heard about it. But good luck.”
She received the same type of lukewarm response from three other agents on the list. All of them seemed totally unaware that a new Portals movie was in the works. One of them tried to schedule Dorina to come in and register, fully aware that she didn’t even have a comp card or a head sheet to offer.
There had been numerous Portals employees at the back lots near the Archives building just the week before. Maybe she could show up there that afternoon and see if anyone knew when an open casting call was going to take place. She was considering a way to get Vic to give her the afternoon off when her phone rang. “Features, Dorina Pettit,” she said, upon picking up the line.
A male voice chuckled at the other end of the line and she felt slight chills race up and down her spine. “Man, you are one tough lady to reach,” Mitch said. “Are you trying to be editor-in-chief or what?”
Dorina sighed and said “Hi.”
There was a pause at the other end of the line and a faint rustling. She imagined him pulling the handset away from his ear, staring at it in disbelief, the way she’d seen him do during many a phone conversation. “Well, hi back,” he said. “You don’t seem too thrilled to hear from me.”
“Well I’m just kind of...distracted. Hectic morning. You know Mondays.”
“Yes I do. Hey, I just wanted to tell you, I know I acted like an ass yesterday, and I’m sorry.”
Dorina’s first inclination was to blurt out “Mitch, I don’t think now is the time or the place,” but instead she just said “How’s your car?”
“Fine. After three trips through Sudsy-Dudsy she was looking like she did when I first saw her on the lot.”
“Oh.”
“I decided that for acting like such a jerk, I owe you lunch. Deal?”
Dorina lied. “Oh, I’m sorry babe. I can’t today. I have a meeting.”
“Really? Who with?”
She blurted out “Jacy Ray
ner.”
“What? Are you doing her biography or something? I’ll give you a tip: it won’t sell unless you get her to talk about all the big-name guys she slept with.”
She pinched off the microphone so he wouldn’t hear her sigh of exasperation. “Listen, there are four other perfectly good days of the week. I’ll make it up to you. We’ll do something tomorrow or Wednesday.”
“Oh. Okay,” he said, clearly sounding disappointed. If someone at Spectrum was reporting on her relationship for an article, she would say that the power balance had swung over in her favor. Yet it didn’t feel good, in fact she felt rather queasy.
“Call me later?” she said.
“Sure hon,” Mitch mumbled before he disconnected the line.
Dorina ate her lunch in the cafeteria that day, dining on a Swiss cheese and lettuce sandwich she’d put together from the leftovers in the picnic basket. She sat at a table with her friends Miggy, the earth mother from accounting (who had somehow gleaned that nickname from “Margaret”) and Isaac, a gangly African American who worked in the mail room. They did most of the talking as she listened, munching on grapes, keeping the better part of her mind active on the story she would give Vic that would enable her to leave for the afternoon.
The hour lunch break, as always, lapsed in record time. Dorina finally decided that the direct-but-vague approach was best. When she returned upstairs just after one, Vic was convening a meeting of senior reporters in his office. She pulled him aside and said “Can I talk to you out in the hall? Something important. It won’t take but a minute.”
“So what’s up?” he asked her when the door closed behind them.
“Vic, I know this is sudden, but I need the afternoon off,” she said.
“What’s the matter? You sick?”
“No, just something personal I’ve got to handle.”
He shrugged and said “Whatever tingles your tuner, gal. Just don’t come crying to me if you get behind later in the week.”
“I’m on top of it, like always,” she said. “It’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” And he excused himself to start his meeting.
When the door shut and she was alone in the hall she thought that it was almost too easy. Before anyone else in the office would notice her leaving, she returned to her desk, closed out all her programs, logged off and shut down for the day. She grabbed her purse and headed out for Suzy Blue.
Once she hit the freeway, she learned all over again the advantages of having a free hybrid. Traffic in the slot lanes was snarled by a grid problem. Status boards showed that the delay would be ten to fifteen minutes but she’d known commuters in slot cars to be mired in standstill traffic for much longer. When she whizzed by in the outer lane she saw cops on the far shoulder writing tickets. The foolish people in slot cars who jumped the median into the outer lanes were almost always caught and it was not a cheap traffic ticket.
Within minutes she reached the back lot and the Archives building.
This time, however, she received a shock. It being a Monday, the streets around the barrack-like buildings were busier than normal, but they lacked the frenetic beehive of activity that she’d seen during the previous week. She found the identical parking spot near the hangar-like, blue metal building that she’d used days earlier. When she got out of her car and walked on the sidewalk, she passed a couple of people in craftsman type uniforms but no Cushman vehicles whizzed past or hard driven studio types barking into their cell phones. What was the deal; she thought as she rounded a corner and headed toward the open door of the hangar building.
Days before the warehouse-type structure had teemed with people yet that Monday she found only one solitary workman lathing a piece of wood near the back. He had a droopy blond mustache and wore a vinyl apron and safety glasses to protect his eyes from wood dust. To Dorina he looked like a surgeon when he held the metal file to the revolving spindle of wood. She approached him and tried to get his attention by standing and waving.
The lathe emitted a loud humming and she wasn’t sure if she could be heard above it without screaming.
Finally the woodcrafter noticed her and straightened, flipping the switch on the machine. He propped the safety glasses onto his forehead and addressed her with a slightly annoyed look on his face to go with a gruff tone. “Something I can help you with, ma’am?”
Dorina raised both her palms up. “Where is everybody?”
The solitary worker looked taken aback, squinting. “What do you mean? There’s two other guys working today but they’re out on a food run.”
“Well last week this whole place was crawling with people rushing all over the place, driving Cushmans and all. Somebody said that Portals Beyond was back in town and everybody was getting ready for that.”
His eyes widened and his mouth formed a small “o.” “That’s news to me. I ain’t heard nothing about that.”
“Well, were you here last week?”
“Yeah.”
“Every day?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t remember all those people running around last Tuesday or Wednesday?”
“No.” He grinned a little, and then chuckled. She wondered if he thought she needed an adjustment on her medication.
“Sorry to bother you,” she said, backing away from him.
Once outside, she scampered across the street. She needed a second opinion, and to get one, she headed for the Archives building. By the time she arrived there she felt strands of her hair adhere to her face from sweat and she knew she’d ruined the sole on her delicate cut-out low heels she’d worn that day. And her blouse tugged out of her skirt, probably billowing up and making her look early-pregnant.
Inside the Archives building she felt relieved when she recognized the receptionist from the week before. She approached her desk, slightly breathless from running. “Listen,” she said to the plain girl with pulled back red hair. “I know I’m not going crazy, but do you remember me from last week? I know you must see lots of people come through here.”
The girl narrowed her eyes, studying her. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess so.”
“Good. Now, do you remember there being tons of people running around here last week? People involved with the new Portals movie?”
She registered the same confused look as the man working on the lathe. “No, last week it was pretty much business as normal. Besides, they don’t film Portals on a studio lot usually. They do a lot of location work or they go to that soundstage near Lewandowski’s spread in the desert.”
Dorina’s stomach sank. The sweat matting her hair to her forehead suddenly felt chilled, clammy. “Ok,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Thanks for your help.”
The receptionist’s gaze suddenly turned empathetic, almost worried, her eyes pale.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. I guess. Do you have a phone I could use?”
She nodded, shifting in her seat, indicating the multi-line model sitting beside her atop the desk. “You can use this one. Press one of the buttons and dial nine.”
Dorina felt very glad she had committed Jacy’s number to memory. If her luck held out, she would be home that afternoon. She dialed the number, her racing heart quickening with each passing ring. After the fifth ring, she was about to replace the receiver, dejected, when she heard the familiar rustlings and clunks from the other end. The familiar throaty alto spoke to her from the other end of the line: “Hello?”
She felt instantly elated, gushing happiness. “Jacy Rayner! Thank god!”
There was a pause, and then she said “Dorina?”
“Yes!”
“What’s the matter?”
“Ohmigod, I’m going insane. Listen, I know this is a gross imposition and that you’re very busy, but I’ve just got to see you about something this afternoon. I swear I won’t take up too much of your time and normally I would even think of doing something like this but I’m really upset now.”
“Oh you poor thing
. Everything is going to be all right. Breathe, darling.”
“Okay.” She paused to take a deep breath and exhale, slowly feeling better.
“I have a meeting at three,” Jacy said, “But I’m free before then.”
“Okay. I’ll be right over.”
“You be careful, now!”
“Okay.”
Dorina took Jacy’s words to heart and when she climbed back into Suzy Blue, eased away from the curb and into traffic like an overly cautious grandmother. The sound system in her car was a far cry from the state-of-the art masterpiece in Mitch’s car. She retrieved an ancient box from beneath her seat that contained a sliver of her collection of cassette tapes. A few moments later she was listening to Alanis Morissette singing the question “How about getting off of these antibiotics?” and it continued to have the same odd, soothing effect on her. The barracks buildings gave way to old factories, which gave way to fancy hotels and golf courses, which gave way to the wooded splendor of Jacy’s neighborhood. Dorina had negotiated the entire drive over as if she had been on autopilot.
She eased into Jacy’s driveway marveling about how yet another sunny southern California afternoon belied the haunting specter in the air around her. Would Jacy sense it, or see it? She gingerly walked up the flat stones to the front door, hoping that Josette had gone shopping or was involved at another crisis at one of their rental buildings. To her surprise, even before she was able to ring the doorbell, she could hear the latch creak on the other side and the jamb give way with a rush as the door opened. Jacy smiled at her, radiant as always, wearing a floral black lounge jumpsuit accented with a gold sash. “Come on in, darling,” she said, gently ushering her inside.
Dorina had thought and even hoped Jacy would invite her out into the garden again because it was such a tranquil place. Instead, she led her to the side of the house opposite of the kitchen, study, and living room she’d already seen.
They entered a smaller room with a bay window facing the front lawn and shrubbery. An antique sleigh daybed with piles of delicate lace pillows had been placed against the wall, facing the window. A forties style, plush velvet cushion dragon lady chair lay across from the daybed. A coffee table between them held large picture books and a photo album.
Lush, potted tropical plants occupied the corners. On one wall hung a breathtaking artist’s rendition in oil of Jacy in her Empress Tigra costume, smiling seductively at the viewer.
Curiously, on the opposite wall a laminated poster of Albert Einstein hung, gazing down at them out of his cocker spaniel eyes. “This is one of my favorite rooms,” Jacy explained. “I come here to think, or to meditate.”
She gracefully lowered down onto the daybed, crossing her legs, sitting Indian style, indicating the plush chair for Dorina. When they had both settled down, Jacy turned to her and said “What’s on your mind, dear? Tell me.”
“I don’t know where to start,” she said
Jacy reached forward and touched her lightly, to encourage her. “It’s okay.”
“You told me on Saturday that if I wanted to find out what happened to H.R. Lewandowski during his coma that I should ask him, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’ve tried, it’s become kind of like an obsession, but as you can probably imagine he’s quite hard to reach. Not the kind of person you can reach just by picking up the phone and calling.”
Jacy was patiently listening, nodding.
“Last week, when I was out at the archives building, there were all kinds of people at the studio lots nearby. Someone told me they were there getting ready for another Portals Beyond movie. Long story short, I thought I could possibly get to meet him by becoming an extra in the movie. None of the agents I called seemed to know anything about it. So I went to the studio lots again thinking I would find someone who could tell me if they were having an open call. Jacy, there was nobody there today!”
She tilted her head and narrowed her gaze quizzically. “That’s odd,” she said.
“You’re telling me!”
Jacy shrugged. “There could be a mundane explanation,” she said. “Projects pop up over there and come down in practically a minutes notice. Money runs out, or opinions change, things like that. Who told you they were going to be working on another Portals movie out there?”
“A man in a hangar type of building where they seemed to be building furniture and scenery flats.”
“Maybe all they were doing was building props.”
Dorina sighed. That did seem to make sense. “I just hope I still have a job tomorrow. I asked for the afternoon off to go on this crazy little jaunt.”
“Sometimes you just have to go where your spirit leads you, honey,” Jacy said.
“Let’s have some tea.”
A short while later the Spanish housekeeper brought in a silver platter with a china teapot and delicate demitasse cups. Dorina was beginning to feel much better, having completely forgotten about the possibly phantom crew. Jacy showed her a photo album containing pictures of her as a teenager, visiting Europe with her equally striking mother and her younger brother. There were also photos of her father in a football uniform taken during the late 1930's. She also explained the hanging poster of Einstein: “I’ve had that since I was a little girl,” she said. “I’ve always been touched by his quote that ‘Imagination is more important than knowledge.’ Smart words.”
Soon Jacy had to excuse herself for her late afternoon meeting. As she saw Dorina to the front door, she said “Everything’s going to be all right. You’ve got a long and wonderful career ahead of you.”
Jacy remained in the doorway while Dorina walked out to her car. Before getting in, she looked back and said “It’s been wonderful meeting you.”
“My pleasure as well, sweetheart. See you later.”
Dorina double-taked about that last remark but just chalked it up as a throwaway line that people sometimes said to each other. She was suddenly very tired.
Meanwhile in the World where Kennedy Survived Page 24
