Box Office Poison (Linnet Ellery) (9 page)

Eventually I reached the office and pulled into a space reserved for IMG employees. I dumped my computer and the files I’d been reading at home and headed into the break room for a cup of coffee. It was a more utilitarian space then the opulent kitchen on the partner’s floor in New York. White refrigerator and microwave, no china plates or cups. A toaster but no stove.

Merlin, Junie, and a few other people were present, toasting bagels, doctoring coffee, brewing tea. Merlin was drinking a Coke and eating a cupcake. He grinned at my expression.

“Breakfast of champions,” he said.

“Ugh,” was my articulate response. I poured out a cup of coffee and the rich smell was like a hug. I wasn’t really hungry, but I opened up the full-size refrigerator just to see what might be lurking and found myself staring at a carton of nonfat half-and-half surrounded by premade salads and lots of diet drinks.

I took out the container of half-and-half and held it out to the room. “What is the point?”

“Calories,” said Junie. “But if you want real half-and-half just put it on the shopping list. She indicated a small notebook.

“No, thanks. I take mine black,” I said.

“Like your heart?” Merlin asked.

“No, like my mood.”

“You do look frazzled,” Junie remarked.

“I am. I drove for the first time. How do you people stand it?”

“How did you come?” a young male PA asked.

“The 101 to the 405.”

“Well, there’s your problem,” Merlin said. “Where do you live?”

“I took your advice. I’m in the Barham Oakwood.”

“Okay.” He took a big swig of Coke. “You’ve got to use surface streets to get over the hill and into the Basin. You want to get on Riverside and go down to Laurel Canyon and over.”

Junie was shaking her head. “No, Laurel Canyon’s a nightmare at rush hour. Coldwater Canyon is better.”

“No, too many curves and too many accidents,” said the PA. “One wreck and the road is shut down for hours.”

“What if she went down Cahuenga past the Rose Bowl, caught Santa Monica, and headed west?”

The others considered Merlin’s suggestion. “Yeah, that makes sense,” Junie said. “Then she’d have the option to bail out onto Sunset or Melrose depending on what she’s hearing on the radio.”

I just stared at them. I hadn’t seen this much focus since the New York office wrote an amicus brief for the Supreme Court. They correctly interpreted my expression.

Merlin was grinning again. “You have just experienced the most common LA conversation. It breaks the ice, it can be used as a pickup method, and it covers all social gaffs.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve got the same thing in New York. Except we discuss apartments. I would submit that our discussions are ultimately more useful,” I said.

Merlin grinned at me, enjoying the sparring. “Big-city rivalry. We’re more exciting.”

“We’re more sophisticated.”

“We’ve got movie stars.”

“We’ve got skyscrapers.”

He threw up a hand. “Okay, I call it a draw.”

“You do know to tune your radio to 1070 am for traffic updates?” asked the PA. She clearly hadn’t gotten the memo that we were teasing now.

“No, but I guess I do now. Okay, all you California dreamers, this hard-charging New Yorker is going to work.” I gave them a finger wave and went back to my office to prepare for the day’s testimony.

6

David had called for a fifteen-minute recess while we waited for the next witness to arrive. This was going to be the big enchilada, the world-famous director George Campos, who was going to talk about human versus Álfar actors. The previous three hours had been taken up with a statistician, and my brain felt as numb as my butt. Barbara Gabaldon hadn’t even bothered to question the man because she could sense he wasn’t having that much impact. My three days of burrowing into the reports had only intensified the sense that humans were getting the short end of the stick. But what to do about it?

As I bolted for the bathroom I reflected that this was another problem with vampires: they tended to forget that humans had bodily functions. The ladies room was outside the office proper, down the hall past the elevators. Missy had already beaten me to the facility. While I was in the stall I heard her washing her hands, but I didn’t hear the door close. Sure enough, she was waiting for me when I emerged. She leaned against the wall by the towel dispenser and glared at me. I let the warm water roll across my hands and tried to think of something to say. The soap offered a conversational opening, and I seized it like a drowning woman.

“You know, this new foam soap makes me think of shaving cream.” The inanity made me cringe, but the angry silence had just been too much.

“We’re checking into you,” Missy said. She was so stiff I thought her jaw would crack.

“Okay. What else did you say?”

“You’re a whore for the Spooks.”

Spook
was an incredibly pejorative term for the vampires, werewolves, and Álfar who made up the Powers, and it offended me. She’d gotten under my skin.

“Okay, I’m not going to take you up on this,” I said. “First, you shouldn’t be approaching me without the other parties being present, and do you really think this is a winning strategy—to be nasty to one of the people judging this case?”

“That’s the problem. There’s only one
person
judging, and you’re questionable.”

To get a towel I had to stand right next to her, and she didn’t budge. We were inches apart. “I’m going to do you a favor,” I said. “I’m not going to mention this conversation to Mr. Sullivan, but don’t you ever approach me again. Understand?”

“I’m not afraid of you. Once we finish with the Álfar we’ll take care of the others, and people like you, too.” Missy slammed out of the bathroom.

There was a quivering in the pit of my stomach. I waved, the dispenser burped out a towel, and I clutched the material so tightly that my nails broke through the rough paper. We’ll take care of the others? Who was the we? My mind jumped to the threatening phone call from last night. Maybe I should say something to David, but I didn’t want to prejudice the proceedings for all the human actors because Missy was a bitch.

I left and found myself walking with a whip-thin older man whose deep-set dark eyes seemed even blacker when contrasted with his shock of silver hair. He seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place him. He was also heading for the doors leading to IMG. He held open the door and indicated for me to go ahead, displaying the kind of manners you only saw in vampires and the elderly.

Inside it seemed like the entire firm was milling around in the reception area. Everyone was staring at us. No, correction, they were staring at the old man. He paused for an instant. The young PA from earlier edged closer and said in a breathless voice, “Mr. Campos, it’s an honor to meet you. I think
No Miracle
was the best movie ever made.”

So, this was the expert witness, the world-famous director whose films had influenced Spielberg, Lucas, and Coppola. I knew from our documents that he was eighty-two years old, and hadn’t worked much in the past twenty years.

“Well, then, you’d be an idiot.
Citizen Kane
was the best movie ever made,” the man said in a rumbling, gravel bass that could have doubled for the voice of God.

The kid didn’t seem embarrassed; he just seemed dazed that he had spoken to his idol.

“Mr. Campos, I’m Linnet Ellery, one of the arbitrators in this case. I’m heading back to the conference room if you’d like to accompany me,” I said.

“Certainly.”

“Can we get you anything? Coffee? Water? Soda?”

“Water, please.”

There was a scramble as the PA and several others went lunging for the break room. We walked in silence. Then just before the door to the conference room he said, “Nothing’s like it used to be, not the town or the industry. This is just part of the change.” And he once again held the door for me.

*   *   *

“They’ve been a disaster.” Campos’s words were flat and uncompromising.

“But they are beautiful,” Sheila LeBlanc said. It was more of a statement than a question.

“Oh, yeah, they’re gorgeous, but looks aren’t what makes an actor. Look at Bogart, Astaire, Tracy, Orson Welles, Hepburn—who was, frankly, funny looking. Those were
actors
. These Álfar, they’re like pretty dolls with just about as much animation.”

There was a stir from Qwendar, and Palendar looked outraged.

“I won’t use them in my movies, and most directors feel the same way if you get them in private.”

I looked down at the statistics I’d compiled and stepped in before LeBlanc could pose another question. “I don’t understand, Mr. Campos. If we extrapolate from your statement, then the Álfar shouldn’t be getting cast. But they are. A lot. The statistics are here.” I held up the papers.

David pinned Sheila with a look. “Is there going to be a long line of directors who support Mr. Campos’s view? Because if so you seem to be making Ms. Gabaldon’s case that the Álfar don’t have an advantage.”

“We’re getting to how this is relevant,” she said. “Mr. Campos, if you would, please.”

Campos jumped in. “They get cast because they whammy the humans when they audition. They’re not winning these parts on merit. They’re cheating. Using their magic.”

Qwendar took to his feet. “That is gross slander, and I object.” It was declaimed more than spoken. I remembered John telling me that the Álfar all lived as if they were in an opera. Qwendar seemed to bear that out.

David gave the ancient elf a weary look—and a vampire could pack a lot of ennui into a look. “Mr. Qwendar, this is not a courtroom, and you aren’t representing the other party, so you really can’t object to anything. Now sit down.”

“I will report your attitude to the Council,” Qwendar said.

“That is your prerogative,” David answered. “Though I don’t see how they have any relevance to this case.

Barbara Gabaldon stood up. “If I may, Mr. Sullivan?” David nodded in assent. She turned to the director. “Mr. Campos, you state this as if it’s a fact, but by your own testimony you say you’ve never cast an Álfar. So how could you have experienced this reputed magic power?”

“No, I haven’t felt it because I don’t read them. But everyone knows it exists. It’s the only thing that explains what’s been happening.”

Gabaldon looked at us. “Forgive me, but belief isn’t evidence. I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to consider this witness’s testimony.”

David and I exchanged a glance. She had made a good point, and LeBlanc had walked right into it. “We’ll keep that in mind, Ms. Gabaldon.”

Both Missy and Palendar were looking confused and pissed. They could sense something had happened, but seemed not to understand the ramifications. Jeff, watching quietly from a seat against the back wall, gave a sad, slow headshake.

McPhee was next. It was like watching a breaching whale as he levered himself out of his chair. “Well, Mr. Sullivan, this has been most interesting testimony. Most interesting indeed. And if it’s true that these Álfar actors have put the whammy on people, then my clients”—he indicated all the studio and network suits—“can’t be held liable in any way. They were under the influence, so to speak. It seems to me that this fight is between the human actors and the Álfar actors, and all the rest of us are just innocent bystanders.”

One corner of David’s mouth quirked up in a barely suppressed smile. “Nice try, Mr. McPhee, but no. And now you can sit down, too.” He looked back at Sheila. “Are you finished with this witness, Ms. LeBlanc.” She nodded. “Well, as Mr. Palendar has an afternoon call and Ms. Gabaldon has a court appearance on another case this afternoon, we will adjourn for the day. See you all tomorrow.”

People stood and milled, random movements like spooked fish in a tank. I slipped along the wall to where Qwendar was packing up his briefcase.

“Sir,” I said.

He looked down at me. “Yes … Ms. Ellery, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I was wondering if humans ever got to address the Álfar Council, and if there was a mechanism for making such a request?”

“Is this a question on your behalf, or are you asking for your firm?”

“Maybe a little of both. IMG had an Álfar on retainer. He was … assisting me on a case.” I firmly pushed aside the memory of the night John and I had spent together. “When he … we were forcibly pulled into your realm, and John was forced to stay.”

“His mother would dispute your characterization,” he said dryly.

My mouth had gone dry. I swallowed hard. “Oh, so you know her.”

“Yes. She’s a very powerful figure in our world.”

“Maybe so, but she used threats to get John to agree, and then she did something to him.”

Qwendar looked at me intently. “You care for him.”

“He’s my … friend,” I hedged. “And I want to be sure that he’s remaining in Fey because he wants to, and not because he was coerced.”

“Then you are not sympathetic to these nativist humanist hate groups?”

“You know I can’t answer that. And there’s a plethora of these nut jobs. Which group in particular are you talking about?”

“Check out the Human First movement, then maybe you will have a better understanding of my role here and why it’s so vitally important.”

Jeff came up at that moment. “Hey, Linnie, ready to go?”

“Yep, just let me put my things in my office. Meet you at the door?”

“Sounds good.”

“Thank you,” I said to Qwendar.

“I’ll consider your request,” he called after me.

I returned to my office floating on hope.

*   *   *

The Mercedes seemed to dance through the traffic with Jeff driving. Watching him made me realize I needed to embrace my inner formula-one driver if I was going to get anywhere in LA. He took the Barham exit and we went sailing past the Oakwood. I should have driven home and met Jeff out front so he wouldn’t have had to drive me back to Century City. I said as much, and he shrugged.

“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.