by Davis Bunn
Gish was so taken with the scenery he got his legs wrapped around his briefcase and almost landed face-first on the marble floor. Except the maître d’, who was accustomed to first-timers dropping their glasses or teeth and tripping over their tongues, was there to steer him into the booth.
And it wasn’t the potted palms and matching mint-green drapes that captured the lawyer’s eye.
During the lunch crush, flocks of would-be starlets chirruped inside the hotel lobby. They pretended to indulge in conversations deep as their respective cleavages. They tossed heat-seeking gazes in the direction of power players coming and going. They bribed whomever they could with whatever they had to take the first empty booth. They made their stroll behind the maître d’ a version of the Gucci catwalk. They took it slow, they drew every light in the room, and they shone. As the power guys gradually departed for the set or the office or the next viewing, the place became packed a second time. Every emptied table instantly refilled. They toyed with coffees or mineral waters, all most of them could afford. They regaled one another with tales of other wannabes who had found their big break crossing the Polo Lounge. Soon as they were certain the last power guy was gone, they flittered away, migrating to the next watering hole.
Seasonal.
Leo Gish punched his chest like he needed to kick-start his heart. “Are you believing this?”
The collection of beauty was overwhelming. America’s finest, youngest, fittest, most perfect specimens of feminine allure. Table after booth after bar stool. Models, beauty queens, actresses one chance away from the big time. Anywhere else, each one of them would have stopped traffic. Here, they were just background.
Hollywood.
As though on cue, a svelte brunette with a perfect patina of freckles across her cheeks waltzed over. She had eyes of cobalt blue, a spray-painted dress, and lips ready to cry with delight. Leo Gish made a choking sound when he realized she was taking aim for them. “Mr. Allerby? I’m Hannon Hartley, you won’t remember me, but we were introduced when I had a part in—”
“Doctor’s Orders. Of course. The baby nurse. How are you?”
She beamed with the delight of being remembered. “A lot better now, Mr. Allerby.”
“Meet my guests. Milo Keplar, our director of sales. And Leo Gish”— he hesitated a fraction for emphasis—“our newest member of the Centurion board.”
He could not believe it. The girl actually shivered. Martin would have laughed out loud, were it not for the effect she was having on Leo. “Congratulations, Mr. Gish. That is so awesome. And Mr. Keplar, I’ve heard about you for years. This is such a pleasure. I can’t tell you.”
“We’re in the process of planning a new series. Why don’t you give Casting a call. Tell them I said to have you in for a test.”
For an instant he feared he had overplayed it, that she was going to actually crawl into the booth with them. “Wow, Mr. Allerby, I don’t know what to say.”
“Thanks for stopping by, Hannon.”
Only when she had returned to her table did Leo return from his fantasy trance. “How can you stand this?”
Milo answered for them both. “It’s like a buffet, Leo. Mildly interesting, long as you don’t overindulge. Then it becomes a distraction and gives you heartburn.”
Allerby carefully refolded his napkin and set it aside. “I thought this would be a good place to let you in on our little secret, Leo. First, you have to understand this is strictly confidential. You, Milo, myself, and our secret investor. Those are the only players in the know.”
Leo forced his gaze away from the playing field. “What is it?”
“Centurion’s first new series, tied from the outset to a major feature.” Allerby outlined their plan for the new reality show, Vegas Strippers.
Milo took over when Allerby finished. “We could cast the whole thing right here, wouldn’t you say, Leo? And as an active member of the Centurion board, you’d have serious sway over any such decisions.”
Allerby let him digest that for a moment, then turned up the flame. “What we need to know is, when are we closing?”
“Carter Dawes has had the documents for five days. I’ve phoned the ranch every morning, as per his instructions. That desiccated manservant of his keeps telling me to call back.”
Carter Dawes lived on a ranch in the Ojai Valley, one Martin had seen only through stills taken by his PI. Dawes had never invited him out. Which rankled only mildly. Martin had no interest in Ojai except for all the viewers hooked to the small screen. Martin knew about Dawes’ manservant, however. Since his wife had died five years back, Dawes had used the old rancher as driver, butler, and cook. The two old men lived out there alone. Martin had been rebuffed by the taciturn rancher so often he had stopped calling.
“Leo, look at me.” When the attorney reluctantly turned his attention back the table, Martin revealed a bit more of the flame. “Do I need to tell you how easy it is for a deal like this one to go south?”
“What do you want from me?” The guy actually whined. “I can’t sign the documents myself.”
“It’s taken us five years to get this far. We’ve finally gotten the investors lined up. But this won’t keep. We have a project that could turn on us at any minute. A thousand things could go wrong.” Allerby got in close. Gave him a taste of the rage he had been banking up for the past seven days and seven sleepless nights. “We are inches from losing everything.”
Gish was sweating badly. “I’m his attorney, not his boss.”
“I don’t care what you have to do. I don’t care who you have to murder. I want you to get out there and close this deal.”
Milo slid from the booth and turned into a silent menace who gripped Leo’s elbow and tugged. Allerby said, “Get out there and do what you’re being paid for.”
Leo either rose from the table or lost connection to his arm. He clutched his briefcase to his chest. “Come on, guys.”
Allerby planted his elbow on the table and took careful aim. “Hollywood lives by its own laws, Leo. You know laws, right? Here’s one you better remember. There are no second chances in this town. Now bring me closure.”
When they were alone, Allerby signaled the waiter. The kid was a match for any of the female lovelies on display at the tables. “Yes sir, Mr. Allerby?”
“A double Gibson. I want it so cold it goes down like diesel.”
“You got it. Mr. Keplar?”
Neither man questioned how the kid knew who they were. “Same.”
“It’ll be a pleasure.”
Milo asked quietly, “So what’s new?”
“I spoke to both our investors this morning. And the bank. The funds are in place.”
“So everything is cool.”
“For now.”
Milo waited while the kid deposited their drinks. “And the film?”
“They’re reshooting all of last week’s scenes. Britt refused pointblank to send the dailies.” Martin sipped his drink. “My source tells me several trysts have disrupted things.”
Those who dined on gossip feasted well in Hollywood. “So tell.”
“Friday night one of the bit actors, down to play a dopey deputy, a role he was apparently born for, decided to show the chief roadie he wasn’t all that tough. The Salton police claim it set a new record for the world’s quickest fight. Then on Saturday two teenage daughters of a local restaurateur were caught sharing favors with the assistant set designer, who apparently had promised them starring roles. That fight took longer to unravel, and cost us the only designer with any film experience whatsoever.”
Milo inspected his partner’s face. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“There is nothing I know of to cause us any alarm,” Martin said carefully. “What about from your end?”
“We’ve got a bidding war on our hands. Filmbox and Movietime both want Strippers so bad they’re salivating.”
“They can’t leak this.”
“It’s just me and my one guy in eac
h place. Both want points in the feature. They’re ready to write me a check tomorrow.” When Allerby’s only response was to sip from his glass, Milo demanded, “I thought you’d be doing a hula over that news.”
Martin sipped again. The glass was so cold it threatened to stick to his fingers. He felt the oily liquid slide down his throat. “They’ve started a prayer group.”
Milo stopped in the process of lifting his glass. “What, like a church thing?”
“In the hotel. A Bible reading and then a time of prayer. Every morning, apparently. Stars, techies, gaffers, anybody on the set who wants to join in.” Martin drained his glass, set it down, and tinged the edge as the waiter passed. “I’m getting daily figures. Seventeen, eighteen, occasionally two dozen.”
“About half the crew.” Milo finished his drink and motioned for a refill. “That’s right, isn’t it?”
“Close enough. There’s more. Apparently our star has given up both his suite and his trailer. To the writer. Whose wife is heavily pregnant.
The only demands our replacement JayJay has made thus far were for his limo to go fetch Cynthia. That’s the writer’s wife. And for our trusty AD to arrange for a specialist to be on round-the-clock call for this lady.
Who does not, I hasten to add, have any connection whatsoever to the star in question.”
“It doesn’t make him a decent actor, right? I mean, we still have a totally inexperienced crew making a film without a script.”
“Yes.” Martin nodded his thanks as the waiter returned in light speed with their drinks. “I quite agree.”
Milo took his glass like medicine. “So why do I feel the worms gnawing at my gut?”
Martin shook his head. “Perhaps mine are contagious. I have no other explanation.”
Chapter 33
The first indication they had of any problem was when they tried to make the turn onto Main Street and couldn’t.
They made quite a convoy. Britt was in the truck with JayJay because, as Britt put it, he wanted to see what it was like to ride in a cherry-red rocket launcher. Claire sat between them, her place awarded because of her role as JayJay’s coach. The grips and electricians had claimed the truck bed and padded the back with some old Indian blankets.
At three that afternoon they had returned to the hotel for a rest. Over an early catered Mexican dinner, Britt told the crew that everybody not working the set could do what they wanted with the rest of their day. Apparently what all of the prayer group and a number of the others wanted was to come watch.
Two limos and a trio of taxis followed JayJay’s truck from the hotel parking lot. The truck was silent during the ride except for one remark from Britt, which was, “Peter’s told me about Kelly singing for you.”
“For me and a passel of others.”
“Strange she wouldn’t put it on her fact sheet.” Both windows were open, and the late-afternoon breeze was a wash of heat and orchard flavors. “Most actors use their fact sheets like rubber bands. As in, runner-up in the local Miss Car Wash pageant becomes a finalist at Miss Universe.”
“Which means two things from where I’m sitting. One, she won’t sing for you unless it’s her kind of music. Which is Christian with a bluesy-rock-jazz edge.”
Britt humphed a little bounce in his seat, but said nothing.
“And two, when she finds out I’m the one who talked, she’s gonna come armed for bear.”
Claire offered, “I’ve got this little thirty-eight, you can sleep with it under your pillow if it’ll make you feel better.”
JayJay tried to keep his voice calm as he added, “Speaking of the lady, do you know how she’s doing?”
“The limo’s supposed to have taken her straight from LAX to backstage,” Britt replied to his window. “You can ask her yourself.”
But when they arrived at the intersection of the rural highway and Main, the road just froze up. Ahead of them was a solid wall of people.
Britt leaned forward and said, “Is this a joke?”
Kip emerged from the edge of the crowd, so frantic he almost skipped toward the truck.
When he arrived panting beside Britt’s window, the director demanded, “Why aren’t they inside? You were supposed to get them settled and—”
“They are inside!” Kip’s wave took in the intersection, the sunset, the buildings, the whole dusty world. “The hall’s been full for an hour. They just keep coming.”
Up ahead, Derek pushed through the crowd that had now turned to look their way. He called out behind him then jogged to the truck. He climbed onto JayJay’s running board and said breathlessly, “You might as well park here and walk.”
Britt was not smiling. “Do we have a problem here?”
Up ahead of them, the mayor of Salton City wriggled through the crowd, patting backs and shouting howdy’s. He came over, climbed onto JayJay’s running board beside Derek, and poked a sweating face into the cab. “I ain’t seen this many people since Salton High played Fresno for the state finals!”
Claire asked, “Are we safe?”
Miller Whitley’s laugh boomed inside the cab. “They’re pretty calm now, little lady. But I reckon one bolt from the blue and you’d see a stampede to carry home and tell your grandchildren about.”
Kip whined, “I can’t handle them!”
“Don’t you worry none,” Miller replied. “We’ve deputized every deacon in three counties. The sheriff’s got the whole place locked down. They’re turning away everybody trying to slip in under the wire.”
Even Britt could not hide his surprise. “You mean there’s more?”
“There would be if we let ’em in.” Miller beamed as he punched JayJay’s shoulder. “What can I tell you, hoss. This here is JayJay Parsons country.”
Though Kip had no more substance than a brilliant butterfly, he forged a path through the crowd with the force of voice and will alone. JayJay walked in the middle of his own throng like a prizefighter headed for the ring. He heard Miller ask the director, “Wherever did you find that squirt of yours?”
“They sort of spawn around Hollywood,” Britt replied. “Kip has his uses.”
“I heard them environmental yo-yos say the same thing about cottonmouths,” Miller replied. “It don’t mean I’d give one a job.”
The crowd was remarkably silent and well behaved. A few people, mostly young and female, tried to offer JayJay bits of paper and pens. He let his group’s general movement sweep him along. He did not look away from, or directly at, anyone.
Miller stopped when they reached the stairs leading to the hall’s rear access. “Might be a good idea if you said something.”
“Sure.” Britt had an actor’s ability to draw attention. He did not shout, but his voice carried well. “My name is Britt Turner, director of Heartland. I guess it goes without saying we weren’t expecting quite so many people. But we’re glad you’re here. I think what we’ll try and do is shift out the crowd that is inside now after a couple of takes. Does everybody understand that term? We are going to shoot a number of takes of a crucial scene tonight, or at least, we’re going to try. My assistant, Kip Denderhoff, where are you, Kip?”
Miller said, “I believe I seen him riding a westbound train for the coast.”
When the laughter died, Kip called from the front porch, “Here!”
“Okay. Kip will explain how the take needs to run, and what we’d like you folks to do. I guess that’s all, except to thank you for coming.”
Miller called out, “Couple more things. The churches at either end of Main are opening their doors and brewing coffee. The diners and the bakery are all open. And we’re stringing church speakers out here so you folks can listen to what’s going on inside.”
As they headed for the rear entrance, JayJay asked the mayor, “Who did you tell?”
“Aw, nobody you’d know. Word just kinda spread.”
JayJay was kept from pressing further by the sight of a tawny head of hair crowning a woman whose beauty drew light
and attention from all through the back room. He marched straight over and said to the makeup lady working on her face, “Give us a minute, please.”
“Sure, JayJay.”
Kelly did not object as he led her to as remote a corner as he could find. “I’ve missed you, Kelly.”
She was tight. Subdued. “I shouldn’t be here at all.”
“I was sorry to hear about your grandmother. How is she?”
“Not good. She’s eighty-one and she’s independent and she’s stubborn. She hated the idea of live-in help. Ran off the nurses we brought in. Refused to move into our home.” Kelly scanned the room, searching everywhere but in his direction. “Momma found her lying on the kitchen floor, she’d broken her hip. We can’t even say how long she’d been down. But we think all night.”
He made fists by his sides to keep from reaching over and taking hold. This was not the place or the sort of lady who’d accept an embrace she hadn’t asked for. “I can’t tell you how sorry—”
“Grandma’s gone all addled. The doctors say it’s normal for somebody her age who’s had a bad spell.” Kelly bit her lip to stop the tremble. “They don’t think she’s going to get better.”
“Oh, Kelly.”
“She didn’t remember me, JayJay. She basically raised me. My second momma. And here I am, playing games for the camera while she’s alone up there. And I don’t know how many days I’ve got left with her.”
JayJay tried to hear what she was saying and not just what his heart was telling him. Which was, the lady had moved on and hadn’t taken him with her.
“But Daddy said I’d made promises and I needed to keep them. Which is the only reason I came back.” Kelly focused on someone behind him. “Guess it’s time to get started.”
Britt stepped into their midst. “Kelly, you okay?”
“I’m here.”
“Well, I’m sorry for your troubles. But we’re under pressure and we need to play this like the pros we are. Right?” He took their silence as accord. “Derek wants to situate you out in the crowd now. He needs to light your seat. Wait, I want to run through this since you missed my talk earlier on. This scene isn’t just about JayJay swaying the crowd. You are going to hear him, and you are going to change. He is going to affect you very deeply. Can you handle that?”
