Box Office Poison (Linnet Ellery)

by Bornikova, Phillipa

  The big thirty-six-inch screen went from black to gray, then stabilized, and I saw a man in his thirties with slicked-back black hair, a pair of coolly appraising gray eyes, and an understated but very good suit. He was fiddling with a tiny microphone, trying to clip it onto his shirt collar. One of the assistants in our Park Avenue office in New York was trying to help him. I recognized one of the conference rooms.

  Chuck, our AV guy, said, “Mr. Schultz, can you hear me?”

  “Yes, I can hear, but I can’t see you.”

  Chuck made grumbling noises that almost became words and fiddled with the console. “Yes, that’s got it,” Schultz called. Like many people using a video link he seemed to think he had to speak louder than normal and enunciate very carefully.

  I looked down and referred to the witness profile that LeBlanc had provided. Ashley Schultz owned Q Squared, a marketing and research company that specialized in taking the temperature of the public about everything from television shows to computers.

  “Are we ready to begin,” David asked, his tone huffy. I wondered if it was because of the intrusion of the computer equipment, never a vampire’s favorite thing. Chuck gave him a thumbs-up and adjusted his headphones. David nodded at LeBlanc. “You may begin.”

  “The pages I’ve just handed out are last month’s Q scores for every Álfar actor currently working. The second section is the Q score for every human actor currently working. If you’ll take a moment to glance over the figures, my point will become immediately apparent.”

  David and I looked at each other and started flipping through the pages. From the corner of my eye I could see Gabaldon doing the same. I didn’t need to be a statistician or a marketing analyst. The numbers were boldly clear. The human actors consistently scored twice as high as the Álfar actors. I remembered Campos’s words: they’re just pretty dolls.

  After having allowed us all to fully digest the numbers, LeBlanc turned back to Schultz’s image on the screen. “I hired you to run a Q rating for me, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And whom did you test?”

  “Casting directors, producers, and directors, but only those who have actually used Álfar actors,” the marketing man answered.

  “And what did you find?”

  “That the Álfar scores—”

  There was a sudden screaming burst of feedback from the speakers on the computer in our conference room. People jerked, clapped hands over their ears, and erupted into a few exclamations and curses.

  “New York, it’s on your end!” Chuck was yelling into his microphone. We saw the technician come scurrying into range of the cameras in New York and rip off the microphone. Chuck was frantically dialing down the volume. The awful sound ended, and people pulled their hands away from their ears.

  “What the devil is happening? Have you no control over this damn stuff,” David huffed.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Chuck panted as his hands played across the console. A few minutes later and the New York technician gave us a thumbs-up.

  “Is it safe for us to resume?” David asked, each word dripping ice.

  “Yeah, go ahead,” Chuck said.

  “Ms. LeBlanc, please continue,” David said.

  “Let’s go back a little, Mr. Schultz. So you tested casting directors, producers, and directors who had worked with Álfar actors?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you found?”

  “That the Álfar scores were almost off the charts among that group. A complete reversal of the numbers we saw when we polled only viewers,” Schultz answered.

  “And do you have a conclusion, Mr. Schultz?” LeBlanc’s voice was a husky purr.

  “I can only speak to what the numbers tell us, and they tell us that humans who have had direct, personal interaction with the Álfar have a much higher regard for them than people who merely view them on the screen.”

  “So, in other words, whatever it is that the Álfar project, it doesn’t cross the barrier of the screen. Physically they are beautiful, but the something that makes a Julia Roberts or a Leonardo DiCaprio a star is lacking.”

  Before LeBlanc had finished Gabaldon was on her feet. “Objection. This witness hasn’t been established as an expert at anything aside from taking polls.”

  David looked at LeBlanc. “It’s a fair point. Please establish Mr. Schultz’s expertise in this area, aside from the company he owns.”

  Schultz gave David a long, level look, clearly not intimidated by the vampire. “I have a PhD in psychology from USC and a PhD in mathematics and statistics from CalTech.” LeBlanc handed over the man’s vita and we looked at it together.

  “I’m inclined to agree that Mr. Schultz is, in fact, an expert,” David said. He cocked a brow at me.

  I nodded, but then a question occurred to me. I directed it toward McPhee and the studio executives. “How is this not a self-correcting problem? If the Álfar actors aren’t appealing to audiences, then the movies fail to make money. Wouldn’t the bottom line ultimately win out?”

  One of the executives tugged at McPhee’s sleeve and whispered to him. The old lawyer answered me. “A movie is a collaborative effort, Ms. Ellery. Many things go into making a hit. Yes, the stars are important, but there’s thematic material and special effects. The real bottom line is that no one knows what makes a hit. For years Tom Cruise got twenty million dollars a movie because it was believed he could open a film. Sometimes it was true.” He shrugged. “Sometimes it wasn’t.”

  David glanced at me. “Finished?” I nodded. “Please continue, Ms. LeBlanc.”

  She returned to her place at the conference table, picked up another sheaf of papers, and handed them out. “These are the ratings from people who actually interacted with both human and Álfar actors.”

  I studied the pages. The scores for the Álfar were stratospheric. Four times as high as the reactions to the human actors.

  “Are there any other conclusions you can draw from these statistics, Mr. Schultz?” LeBlanc asked.

  “These numbers make no sense statistically. Putting aside the fact that people respond more favorably toward people they actually meet, these numbers are out of line with the norm.”

  LeBlanc looked pleased. “It’s known that the Álfar have the ability to fascinate and attract. Could that power account for these numbers?”

  “I don’t know how to test for unknown powers. I will go this far: something is skewing these numbers, and the only data point we have is physical proximity.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Schultz.”

  Gabaldon was shuffling rapidly through her papers. Gordon McPhee leaned over and whispered something to her. She gave a sharp nod. David cleared his throat. “Ms. Gabaldon, Mr. Brubaker, Mr. McPhee. Have you questions for this witness?”

  McPhee rose to his feet. “Mr. Schultz, let me see if I understand in plain English what you appear to be saying. You seem to be saying that when people meet each other in person they tend to like each other, correct?” Schultz gave a cautious assent. “And since the object of these meetings was to get hired for work, one assumes that the parties in question were putting their best foot forward, so to speak.”

  “I’m not sure I follow,” Schultz said.

  “Meaning the Álfar weren’t going to be rude or unpleasant.”

  “Yes, that is true.”

  “And people when they go to job interviews they tend to dress well, and look their best—”

  “Is there a question in this, or is Mr. McPhee simply offering us pointers for our next interview?” LeBlanc asked.

  The older attorney inclined his head toward LeBlanc with courtly dignity. “I’m always happy to be of service, Ms LeBlanc.”

  “Is there a point to this?” David asked.

  “Yes, sir. Indeed there is. The conclusion Ms. LeBlanc seems to be wishing the arbitrators to reach is that the Álfar are using their god-given natural talents to achieve their ends, namely, a job. Is that correct, Ms. LeBlanc?”

&n
bsp; “Yes, they’re using unnatural abilities.”

  “Mr. Sullivan, I should like to call Missy Able as a rebuttal witnesses to Mr. Schultz.”

  That got a big reaction from the room. Missy came half out of her chair, face reddening. LeBlanc hurried over to talk with her. Despite being the person who had brought the lawsuit initially, the actress seemed deeply shaken at being singled out.

  “Mr. Sullivan, Ms Able is a plaintiff in this action,” LeBlanc argued.

  “I see no reason why she can’t be questioned, assuming the same right is extended to the defendants. Ms. Gabaldon?”

  “We have no objection if counsel wishes to question Palendar or any other Álfar actor.”

  “Very well,” David said. “Mr. McPhee, you may question Ms. Able.”

  “I don’t want to!” Missy said.

  “And bluntly, Ms. Able, that’s too bad. You brought this lawsuit. Presumably you feel strongly enough to defend your position. Now, you can either submit to questioning or I may be forced to decide this case right now in favor of the defendants.”

  There was more hurried conversation between Missy and LeBlanc, then Missy reluctantly took the chair indicated by McPhee.

  “Now, Ms. Able, or may I call you Missy? My boys and I just loved you in Rednecks. My eldest son had your poster in his bedroom.” He beamed down at the woman and got a reluctant smile.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “Now, Missy, what is your profession?”

  “You know that.”

  “I know, but humor me.”

  “I’m an actress.”

  “An actress. That’s a tough job, isn’t it?”

  “Tougher now,” she snapped back.

  “Yes, well, putting that aside for right now—it’s a tough job because so much of it hinges on things like how you look, your height, and so forth, things you really can’t change”

  “Yeah.”

  “So I presume that when you go in to read for a part or audition for a director you try to find out everything about the role and try to bring yourself in line with that character. Dress like that character. Or put on extra-high high heels. Maybe even dye your hair. You ever been known to do that?”

  “A few times.”

  “And sometimes people are inclined to take more permanent measures, aren’t they?”

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “Well, you had breast augmentation when you were nineteen years old, didn’t you?”

  “That’s … that’s … none of your business.”

  McPhee lifted up a Xeroxed page. “You talk about it in this article you gave to Rolling Stone about how you credited those…” He perched reading glasses on his nose and read, his voice supplying the quote marks. “‘Those tits really did the trick for me. I’m sure they’re why I got the part of Crissy on Rednecks.’”

  “Okay, maybe I did say that, but I was twenty, and you say stupid things when you’re twenty.”

  “But you did have breast augmentation surgery, yes?”

  “Okay, yes!”

  “And seven years ago, according to sources, you had a face lift.”

  I didn’t like Missy Able and she had overtly threatened me, but McPhee’s pointed questions were flaying her in front of us, and I found myself writhing in sympathy for the woman.

  “What if I did?”

  “You’re fortunate that you were able to have the financial wherewithal to afford these procedures.”

  “I suppose I was.”

  “But I’m sure there were many actresses who didn’t have your resources and were unable to afford similar procedures.”

  “I guess.”

  “Do they have a right to sue you because you had an advantage over them in auditions?”

  Missy goggled at him. McPhee turned his back on her and addressed David and me. “I have nothing further.”

  “I, however, have a question for you, Mr. McPhee,” David said, stopping the lawyer before he could resume his seat.

  “Of course.”

  “So your contention is that it is completely fair for the Álfar to use abilities that might surpass those of humans in an effort to win parts?”

  “Yes, sir, that is exactly what I am saying.”

  * * *

  “It’s an interesting argument.”

  We were in David’s office. The parties to the arbitration had left, and we were indulging in a postmortem. David sat at his desk, buffing his nails, an oddly dandyish behavior and a side of him I hadn’t seen before. I stood at the UV-treated window watching the traffic in the street below. I was listening, but with only half my attention. There was something about the day’s testimony that was teasing at the back of my mind and refusing to come into focus.

  I turned my back on the view and faced him. “It’s the old meritocracy versus affirmative action argument.” I said.

  “It going to be a constant tension in a society that has any desire to be fair.” He reacted to my expression. “What?”

  “That is a very curious attitude for a vampire. You guys are all about the rule of the elites.”

  “Maybe Roosevelt affected me more than I knew.”

  “Which one?” I couldn’t resist asking.

  “Both,” was the bland response. Which was a new data point but didn’t really take me any closer to knowing when David had been turned. “Truth is, you have to be careful. Elites can ossify. It’s not that much of a problem among my kind. We don’t hand down power to children.”

  “When you turn someone, they’re like your child.”

  “True, but we pick them based on merit, not on the luck of the genetic draw.”

  “Bringing us back to that whole meritocracy thing,” I said. “The truth is that affirmative action is an imperfect solution to the problem. We can’t make everybody equal. We can make sure there aren’t artificial obstacles placed in the way of people, but genetics are a bitch. I can’t carry a tune in a bucket, but I love music. Doesn’t mean I should get to sing at the Met.”

  “And it’s human, and probably Álfar, nature to try and use every advantage.”

  “And launch a thousand industries—hair dye, face cream, diet books.”

  “So, where is the line? When does an advantage become an unfair advantage?” David asked. He threw aside the nail buffer and ran a hand across his face, his fingers seeming to linger on the scars. “Everyone screams about drug use in professional sports and seems to think the modern home run stats have been ruined by steroids. ‘The Babe didn’t take no stinkin’ steroids.’ But players in the modern era receive vaccinations, have a better diet, take vitamins. They’re stronger, taller, faster than players back in the day. Does that mean that every modern statistic is suspect?”

  “A baseball neep?” I asked. “I’m learning all kinds of things about you today.”

  He gave me a quick, closed-lip vampire smile. “Well, I better fix that. Back to our case. The Álfar are more beautiful than humans, and stardom is often based on beauty.”

  “Where does it stop? The Álfar could argue that they’re being treated unfairly because until this year no Álfar has ever been nominated for an Academy Award, much less won one.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I looked it up after Campos testified about how the Álfar are such shitty actors. Now, either they’re being discriminated against by the Academy members, or they really are shitty actors.”

  “They do tend to star in these action or fantasy pieces. I don’t see them doing the remake of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf,” David said.

  “You’ve seen a lot of Palendar’s and Jondin’s films?”

  “I like to go to the pictures.”

  “Okay.” I threw myself down on the sofa and frowned at him. “Look, if it’s just beauty that’s at work, then the human actors don’t really have a case, and that’s how we should rule. But anecdotal evidence suggests that the Álfar can cast a…” I waved my hand in the air. “What should I call it? A … a glamour whammy?
”

  “No, don’t call it that, but I take your meaning, and those statistics today suggest it’s more than anecdotal,” David said.

  “So, beauty is okay, but whammy’s not?”

  “McPhee thinks both should be allowed,” David said.

  “Because he’s trying to get the studios off the hook so they don’t have to potentially pay settlements to human actors. The human actors want the Álfar banned from using their special abilities. The Álfar are arguing they don’t have any special abilities.”

  “And the agents and managers don’t care so long as their clients are landing roles and bringing in money,” David said.

  “Which means there’s probably a rift inside their ranks too. The agents with Álfar clients think this is great, and those with human actors in the stable, not so much.” I sank down in a chair.

  “We are trying to thread a really tiny needle here.” We both chewed on that for a moment, then I added, “It all comes back to Álfar magic. Is it real? If it is, how does it work. What are their abilities?”

  “Let me know what you discover,” David said. He was looking down at the papers on his desk. I had clearly been dismissed.

  I was surprised to find Jeff waiting in the lobby. He looked tired and very woebegone. “Hey, what’s up?” I asked.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems to me that McPhee just won the case for the human actors. I mean, don’t you have to decide for Missy now?”

  I led him back into the conference room where we could talk in private. “Jeff, there are four different parties with four different agendas in this arbitration. Gabaldon is trying to win for the Álfar and prove they have a right to the parts they’re getting. LeBlanc is trying to prove they don’t. McPhee and Brubaker just want to get their clients off the hook for damages, so they’ll make any argument that will accomplish that.”