Box Office Poison (Linnet Ellery) Read online

  “Not a problem. I live in Newport Beach. I have to go right past Century City to get home.”

  We continued down the hill where Barham turned into Pass Avenue. On our left loomed the walls of massive buildings. They ended up forming a walled-city effect on the edge of the Warner Bros. lot. The walls had been painted with pictures of Batman, Superman, and Sherlock Holmes. Interspersed between the massive pictures of characters were publicity photos of the human cast members of several television sitcoms. We turned in the front gate. Jeff took us around the line of cars inching toward the guard shack to a lane with a card reader. He had the card tucked into the car’s sunshade. A brief wave at the reader, the gate lifted, and we drove through. I was on a movie lot.

  On our left were low buildings with tile roofs, and a very Spanish feel. Jeff saw me looking and said, “Those are some of the original buildings from the 1920s. When you get an office in there it means you really rate.” He indicated the big buildings on our right. “Soundstages.”

  There were a lot of people walking or biking down the palm tree–lined street while golf carts with candy cane–colored tops wove through them. There were narrow side streets between the soundstages and trucks were parked there, many loaded with equipment. The only thing I recognized were stage lights, and only because I’d been the stage manager on a high school production of Mame. I saw people carrying takeout food containers and beverage cups. It reminded me that I hadn’t eaten lunch. Jeff seemed to read my mind.

  “The set’s on lunch break right now, so we can grab a bite. There’s a cafeteria where below-the-line people, day players, and writers tend to eat. Then there’s the restaurant where the studio suits and big-name actors eat.”

  “You’re a big-name actor. Where do you eat?” I asked, throwing it back on him.

  “In my trailer after sending some gopher out for food, but since I’m a producer and not an actor on this film I can mingle with the hoi polloi.”

  “Would I see famous people in the restaurant?” I asked in a small voice.

  “Probably.” He gave me a smile. “Restaurant it is.”

  We wove down a few more streets, and Jeff went to park. The tire stop was painted with his name. I gave him a look. This time there was a rueful grin. “It’s how we count coup around here. Part of the perks my agent and manager negotiate—a parking space with my name, an office, an assistant.”

  “So, is your office in the old buildings?” I asked.

  “Well, yes.”

  “So, you rate.”

  “For now.” His demeanor became sober. “I really need this movie to be a box-office success if I’m going to make the transition from heartthrob and action figure to producer and director.”

  “I’m sure it will.”

  He recovered the usual grin. “Well, I’ve sure as hell done everything to ensure that happens. I got Boucher to direct, and Jondin to star and Michael Cassutt to write the script. It’s a fucking trifecta.”

  He led me across a small park with a small city street on one side. There was a movie theater, and a store that had been decorated to look like a bookstore. There was a famous actor in the center of the park staring in consternation at a giant white pig. I tried to keep from goggling. As we walked past, the man holding the pig on its leash was saying,

  “You don’t have to worry. She’s just as friendly as all get-out.”

  Once we were out of earshot I gripped Jeff’s arm. “Was that really…?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh, wow,” I breathed. “Why is he meeting a pig?”

  “I couldn’t say. But I’m sure we can find out.”

  The restaurant on the lot was an elegant affair with brushed-glass doors, blue carpeting, and subdued lighting. The hostess started to lead us to a secluded table, but Jeff whispered something to her, and she changed direction, steering us to a table that offered a view of the entire restaurant and the front door. For a moment I felt embarrassed, then I decided to hell with it. This was all totally new and very exciting for me, and I wasn’t going to pretend bored sophistication. It was just too cool.

  I settled on a seafood salad and a glass of white wine, and people-watched and eavesdropped on conversations. They ranged from “The second act just doesn’t work” to “Yeah, she’s an idiot, but if we keep her shirt off no one will notice.” A beautiful English actress whose work I’d admired came in with a pair of men in expensive suits and open collars. I saw a couple of people whose faces I recognized from movie posters, if not from the films themselves.

  Then, surprisingly, Qwendar entered. He was with a tall, broad-shouldered man with curling black hair liberally streaked with gray. Conversations stuttered and died. Everyone was looking at the Álfar and his companion.

  “They act like they’ve never seen an Álfar, but—”

  Jeff interrupted me. “It’s not that,” he said. “It’s who he’s with. That’s Chip Diggins, head of the studio. Believe me, everybody in the industry knows about the lawsuit. When they see an Álfar with the studio head there’s going to be talk. And doesn’t this violate the rules David set?”

  “It’s skirting the edge, but Qwendar isn’t actually a party to the dispute; he’s an observer. But I will tell David.” I had an uncomfortable moment sensing that I was skirting the edge too, but like Qwendar, Jeff wasn’t actually a party to the arbitration. And I did so want to go on a movie set. Also, I had a feeling that David’s order to stay away from the actor had less to do with the case and more with marking territory

  “So answer another question for me. Why so many recesses or half-days of testimony? On TV, trials just move right along,” Jeff said.

  “That’s because TV lawyers only seem to have one case at a time. It’s not that way in real life. The parties to this arbitration have other court dates, hearings, depositions, appointments. We’re working around a lot of schedules. Also, this is a civil case and an arbitration to boot. The Sixth Amendment guarantees the right to a speedy trial but that applies to criminal cases. Bottom line, the law grinds slowly, but it grinds exceedingly fine.”

  “Okay, that makes sense,” Jeff said,

  Our lunches arrived. After a few bites I set aside my fork. “Okay, I’ve got to ask. Why in Earth Defense Force did they not have the commander marry Tabitha at the end?”

  Jeff threw back his head and laughed. He had a good laugh, full-throated and uninhibited. “Oh, God love you, you’re a romantic.”

  “No, I’m not. It was all set up in the scene where you … they were trapped in the ship that was about to burn up in the atmosphere.”

  “Why do you think?

  “I don’t know, which is why I’m asking you.”

  “Because we thought there was going to be a sequel, and the producers thought a staid and married Commander Belmanor wasn’t going to pull in the female audience. It also didn’t help that Miranda got pregnant. That, together with somewhat disappointing overseas box office, meant the commander’s adventures were over. There is going to be a video game set in that universe.”

  “Okay, I said, that makes it a little better. Can I play Tabitha if I buy the game?” I asked.

  “I think they’re going with new characters, since I haven’t been asked in to voice the commander.”

  “Well, now I’m less interested.”

  “Looking to romance me?” Jeff teased.

  “I’ve got a crush on the commander, not on you.”

  “Ouch.”

  We finished and walked outside into bright California sun. I threw my head back and let it beat on my face.

  “More like what you were expecting?” he asked and his usual smile was back.

  “It is a nice change after February in New York and all the rain since I got here.”

  Jeff led me down one of the narrow streets between soundstages. Many of the streets had large white travel trailers with blue and pink piping parked against the walls and the words STAR WAGGON in bold blue letters emblazoned across the outside. I pointed mutel
y.

  “Private trailers for the actors. Also makeup, wardrobe, some are even set up as schoolrooms when you’re shooting with kids. You’ve arrived as an actor when you get a private one. And trust me, size matters. Your costar’s better not be bigger than yours.”

  “Wow, is everything out here about perception?” I asked.

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  Outside several of the buildings were whirling red lights mounted on tripods. There would be the harsh ring of a bell, and the light would start spinning. “I’m guessing that’s some kind of warning?” I suggested.

  “Yeah, it tells people that they’re shooting so no one blunders in from outside.” Jeff was whispering, and I guiltily put a hand over my mouth. “You’re fine. You weren’t exactly shouting.”

  We reached a building, and Jeff led me up the steps and through a heavy metal door. I took a step and stumbled. Jeff caught me under the arm. “You have to look down on a stage,” he said. I followed his advice, and saw massive cables snaking across the wood floor. There were voices calling from overhead. I stood still so I could look up. Men were on catwalks probably thirty feet above the floor, adjusting lights and placing gels.

  Three men began pushing a flat across the floor with a howl of wood on wood. Set dressers scurried through setting up a vase of flowers on an end table, plumping up pillows on a sofa. In another area a man was pushing squibs into holes in a flat, and covering them with wood putty. In the center of it all was the director with a device hanging around his neck that looked like a light meter. As the light changed he would pick it up on its lanyard and look through it.

  You didn’t have to be a movie geek to have heard of Boucher. Though young, the director had burst onto the scene three years before with a celluloid ghost story that had terrified audiences around the world. Now his name was heard in conjunction with Spielberg, Scorsese, and Nolan. He was the new face of movies.

  Standing on his right was a young woman with a walkie-talkie; on his left was a big man with a shock of curly black hair and his own light meter. He and Boucher would occasionally lean in close and exchange a few words.

  “Okay, who are the two people with Boucher?” I asked.

  “The girl is Debbie, his assistant. She’s taking notes on everything that’s discussed. The other man is Christian Alter, the DP.”

  “What’s a DP?” I asked

  “Director of photography. It’s his job to light each scene. He does that in consultation with the director, but he brings a lot of his own ideas to the table. If you’re an actor you want to be very, very nice to the DP. They’re the ones who make you look good.”

  “I thought makeup did that,” I said.

  Jeff flashed me a grin. “That helps too, but in a pinch I can do my own makeup. I can’t go reset all the lights, and the DP and the gaffers can do something subtle. Light you from below so you look like you’ve got a double chin. Little tricks, and you, as the actor, won’t know until the movie’s released. And then you’re wishing you’d been nicer.”

  “Be nice to people on the way up because you’ll meet them on your way down,” I said, quoting my human father.

  “Exactly. Words to live by in Hollywood.”

  “Anywhere, really,” I countered.

  “Yeah, good point.”

  The meeting broke up and Jeff led me over to Boucher. The lights overhead flashed off the sweat on his forehead.

  “Tom, I’d like you to meet Linnet Ellery,” Jeff said.

  He held out a shovel-like hand and gave me a startlingly shy smile. “Hi. Welcome.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “This is very exciting.”

  “First time?” Boucher asked. I nodded.

  “It’s thrilling for the first hour. Then it gets really boring when you are just watching. But enjoy it before the disillusionment sets in.”

  “Thank you, I will.”

  Boucher waved a hand off to the side. “The craft table’s over on the left. Help yourself to anything.”

  The girl friday was suddenly back at Boucher’s elbow. “Would you like something, Tom?”

  “Yeah, an apple juice.”

  Debbie gestured. “Follow me, I’ll take you over.”

  Jeff held back. “I’ll catch up with you. Got something to discuss with Tom.”

  I nearly tripped again because in addition to the tangle of big cables there was a metal track, and a tall metal column topped by a camera and mounted on wheels resting on the track. The contraption looked like an anorexic, cyclopian robot.

  Then we were off the set, behind the flats, and up against the wall of the soundstage. There was a long table loaded down with bowls of apples, bananas, and oranges. Giant jars of peanut butter and jelly, loaves of bread. A bowl of M&M’s. Some bags of chips. There was a coffee maker and powdered creamer and artificial sweeteners.

  My cell phone chirped. Debbie whirled at the sound emerging from my purse. “You need to turn that off. The mikes are incredibly sensitive, and I don’t want you forgetting before we start shooting.”

  “Sorry, sorry,” I mumbled. I pulled out my phone and turned it off.

  We reached the food-laden table just as a young man in a policeman’s uniform furtively grabbed an apple. “Hey!” Debbie said. “Extras aren’t allowed. Stay in your own area.” She did schoolmarm really well. I had probably looked as guilty as the young extra.

  “All we’ve got is bottled water,” he said. “And you won’t let us go over to the commissary.”

  “We’re about to start shooting.”

  “You said that three hours ago.” The young man’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, propelled by both nerves and outrage.

  “Yeah, well, you’re a fucking extra and I can replace you in three minutes flat, so if you want to keep your job, scat!”

  He scooted away, but I noticed he kept the apple.

  “Locusts,” Debbie muttered.

  “Don’t you feed them?”

  “Only when we have to,” she said. “If we hit Golden Time.”

  “Which is?” I asked.

  “Over sixteen hours.” She glanced at her watch. “And the way we’re going, that may happen. Jondin needs to get her skinny Álfar ass over here. Look, I need to head over to her trailer and see what’s up. You can look after yourself?”

  I nodded. “Sure. Of course. Don’t worry about me. I don’t want to be a bother.” I had been talking to air after the third word.

  A young woman knelt on the floor in a corner and snapped open a case. As she lifted the lid I spotted the red cross indicating it was a first-aid kit. I walked over, and she looked up at me with a smile and blew a fringe of curly black bangs out of her eyes. “Hi. Need something?”

  “Just curious. I’ve never been on a movie set before. I didn’t know they had medics.”

  “Yep. Required by law.” She gave me that bright grin again. “Good for EMTs like me, and we’re kept busy, too.”

  “That’s sort of scary.”

  “It’s mostly just small stuff. Some grip takes a header off a scaffold. Somebody sprains an ankle tripping on a cable. Today, because they’re messing around with explosives, I double-check my supplies. Everything usually works great, but once in a while somebody gets burned. And sometimes you can get a bad one. I was on a the set for a TV show once, and the guest star had a heart attack.” She patted the case. “But I’m ready for almost anything. I even have a separate case for Jondin.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked.

  “Álfar physiology is really different from ours. A human-to-Álfar blood transfusion would kill the Álfar—as we discovered the hard way back in the day. That’s why all the Álfar actors donate blood. When you’ve got an Álfar in the cast we send down to Cedars, and they send over a few pints. I’ve got a little fridge where I keep it.” She pointed and I saw the small mini-fridge humming away in a corner.

  “This is really cool. I had no idea that a set was like a little city. I mean you’ve got food, and medics, and—”r />
  “And drivers and contractors and our very own tyrant.” The EMT nodded at Boucher, but her smile removed the sting.

  I held out my hand. “I’m Linnet, by the way.”

  She stood and shook my hand. “Consuela, Connie. My pleasure. Enjoy. It’s fun for a while, but then you’re going to get really bored.”

  I got a cup of coffee, and took a blue M&M, and wandered back toward the edge of the set. I watched the color and intensity of the light play across the set. Over the calls from the crew and the whine of dollies and scissor lifts carrying cameras into position there were a series of dull popping sounds from outside. A man wearing headphones, carrying a clipboard, and sporting a harried expression came through calling, “Stand-ins. Stand-ins. We’re ready for you.”

  A man and a woman walked onto the set. They studied the floor, and I realized they were looking at multicolored duct tape that had been placed there. The woman was human, but she wore a long silver wig with touches of green and gold mingled in. With the wild hair she was clearly the stand-in for Jondin. The man was shorter than I expected, but his hair color and overall features resembled Michael Tennant. Tennant was a serious heartthrob, and he had wowed me when he stared as Mr. Darcy in a remake of Pride and Prejudice. I sidled over to Jeff.

  “Is Michael Tennant starring in this movie?”

  Jeff gave me a smile. “Yes, he is.” He correctly read my expression and added, “I’ll be sure to introduce you.”

  “Okay.” The word seemed to get stuck in a throat that suddenly seemed too small.

  He’s just an actor. Don’t make a fool of yourself, Linnet. Wow! Michael Tennant and Jeff Montolbano. How did I get this lucky?

  I was dying to text this news back to my friends in the New York office, but I had turned off my phone. Then Michael Tennant walked in, and I forgot all about texting anybody. He was gorgeous: tousled blond hair and deep brown eyes and a trim, elegant body. I knew he was twenty-eight. I was twenty-seven. He looked to be five-feet-six or seven. A good height for a boyfriend when you’re only five feet tall. I indulged in a few moments of make-believe and built a few castles in the air.