Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (71 page)

'Goddammit!' he fumed over and over. 'There's got to be
a bewitching woman out there somewhere!'

Among the first things Oscar Skoinik had done upon acquiring
IA was to set up weekly Monday-morning meetings—
nuts-and-bolts meetings which focused mainly on the behind-
the-scenes workings of the studio. Regulars at the Monday
meetings generally included Milton Ivey, head of the legal
department; Marty Scher, head of accounting; Edward Brain,
who handled distribution and was in charge of IA's chain of three hundred outrightly owned nationwide cinemas; Skol
nik's severe but efficient secretary, Miss Schultz, who took copious notes and kept her first name a jealously guarded
secret; Rhoda Dorsey, who headed the reading department,
where fifteen full-time readers pored over books and plays
and wrote reports on their viability as possible film properties;
Bruce Slesin, vice-president in charge of publicity; Roger
Callas, the general manager of IA and Skolnik's right-hand
man, whose duty it was to keep the cogs of the studio's busi
ness machinery humming; Carol Anderegg, whose scouts
were always out sniffing for new talent; and, unless he was involved in shooting, testing, or in production, Louis Ziolko.
Other studio executives and managers were summoned on an
'as-needed' basis, depending on the subjects under discussion.

The Monday meetings focused upon finances, distribution,
production schedules, projects under consideration, projects in the works, who was available for loan from other studios,
how many inches of film had been shot per dollar, whom they
should or shouldn't cast and in what, safety procedures and
legal liability for stunt crews, and, invariably, the subject
would somehow always roll around to Skolnik's pet peeve:
finding and developing a beautiful, talented major new star.

On this particularly dreary, rain-lashed Monday morning in
January, Skolnik looked around his conference table with the
deceptive lack of emotion typical of him and asked, ' Where's
Ziolko?'

The others glanced at Louis Ziolko's empty leather chair
and shrugged, but then Miss Schultz, seated off in one corner, spiral-bound shorthand pad poised on her crossed legs, spoke
up and said, 'Mr. Ziolko was
supposed
to be testing.'

'Supposed
to be?' Skolnik asked without turning around to
look at her.

'Yes, sir,' Miss Schultz sniffed. 'But according to his sec
retary, he won't be in today. It seems his house slid down the
canyon.'

'Beats hell out of me why anyone'd want to live on a mountainside,' Skolnik grumbled, eliciting some chuckles. 'But he's
all right?'

'I believe so, O.T.'

'Then why the hell didn't he come in to work? Doesn't he
realize that a screen test costs an average of four thousand
dollars whether it's made or not?'

Louis Ziolko could scarcely contain his excitement. His body temperature rose feverishly, and his heart thumped at twice
its normal rate. He was dizzy with delirium and felt like danc
ing and shouting for joy.

He
had
found
her!
Her!
That
ephemeral presence, that new
face for which everyone at IA had been fruitlessly scouring
every nook and cranny of the country, that face which, like
Helen of Troy's, would be capable of launching a thousand ships, inspire a million dreams, drive men insane with lust,
and, miracle of miracles, had been right here all along, practi
cally under all their very noses!

The very notion that she'd been the proverbial hop, skip,
and jump from the studio struck him as being too,
too
delicious. It was, he considered, not at all unlike finding a wish-wielding genie inside a Coca-Cola bottle.

Would he ever knock Oscar Skolnik's black silk socks off
when he brought
her
in! He couldn't wait to see Skolnik's face.
He had made the once-in-a-lifetime discovery, and it was his,
and his alone. Posterity would see to it that he would receive
the credit for having discovered her. Whether or not she could
act was a bridge he would cross when he came to it. At any
rate, it wasn't a worry which would eat at him days and keep
him awake nights. Somehow he would cajole her, prompt her,
teach her, and patiently direct her, drawing a performance out of her by using his own genius and conducting her as carefully
as any nimble conductor led his orchestra. After all, films
weren't like the stage, where acting ability counted for every
thing. In films, too much talent and overacting could kill a
scene more swiftly than an untalented youngster who could be
herself and follow direction. He much preferred to direct a
fresh newcomer he could mould into
his
vision of a star than
deal with a talented name saturated with other directors' mistakes. It was far easier to create than to destroy and re-create,
do than undo.

'Mister!'
Tamara's sharp hiss intruded into his spiralling,
convoluted thoughts. 'You're keeping me from my work!'

He stared into the limpid pools of her uncanny, glossy emer
ald eyes, and it was as if he were being inexorably swept into
the hypnotic, spiralling depths of a slowly moving maelstrom.
'Huh?' he said dreamily.

'I said, I've got to
work.'

He said nothing in reply, dismissing her with good-natured
impatience, his eyes agleam.

She looked down at her arm, which he was still clutching
tightly, and tried to shake him off. 'Please! Let go of me!'

He narrowed his eyes to squints and, without asking her
permission to touch her, raised a trembling hand to her chin and moved her face this way and that, studying her profile, calculating her superb, startling facial angles with keen pro
fessional interest.

Abruptly she jerked her head back angrily. 'What's the mat
ter with you? Are you crazy or something?'

'Ssssh! Keep still.'

'What the—' For the third time Tamara tried to shrug his
hand off. This time she succeeded.

He was in euphoria. No, he was definitely not dreaming! he
thought exultantly. She was very, very real indeed.

'Sit down, please listen to me,' he urged quickly, starting
to pull her down into the booth. 'Just give me a minute to
explain.'

'It's against the rules, I'm afraid.' She laughed good-
naturedly, but stood her ground and refused to budge.

'Rules are made to be broken,' he said solemnly.

'Unh-unh.' She tossed her head. 'Not here they aren't. Not
if I want to keep my job.'

'What you want to do that for? You're beautiful. Why would
you want to work in a place like this?'

'If you haven't figured it out already, I'll spell it out for you.
I've got to eat.'

'Don't you want to be in movies?' he asked curiously. 'You
can sign a contract today.'

She blushed and then laughed. 'Mister, that's got to be the
oldest line in this city. Now excuse me, but I have better things
to do.'

He looked genuinely hurt. 'Listen, you want to check up on
me? See if I'm kosher? There's a pay phone over there.' He
nodded toward the entrance.

'I work here,' she reminded him stiffly. 'I know very well
where the phone is.'

'Good. Here, I'll even give you change.' He dug deep into
his pocket, and she took the opportunity to make her escape.

'Hey!' He jumped back to his feet. 'Where're you going?'
he called out in surprise. 'Don't you want to call the studio
and check up on me?'

'I've got tables to wait.' She strode swiftly toward the coun
ter, trying to ignore the other patrons, who were now staring
at her with new interest.

He was at her heels. 'I don't even know your name!' he said
loudly.

'And I don't know yours either, do I?' she said casually,
trying to keep her voice low so the entire restaurant wouldn't be privy. She grabbed two plates from the hatchway, pirou
etted, and smiled sarcastically at him. 'That makes us even,
don't you think?'

'Mine's Louis Ziolko,' he said quietly. 'What's yours?'

She was so startled that she dropped the plates. They fell to
the tiles with a clatter, and he had to jump back to avoid being
splattered by eggs and pork sausages.

'What's the matter with you?' he asked. 'You look like
you've seen a ghost or something.'

She grabbed his sweater precisely where lapels would have
been had he been wearing a suit, and shook him. 'What did
you say?' she whispered incredulously. Her face had suddenly
gone ashen.

'I said, my name's Louis Ziolko. Now, would you be kind
enough to tell me yours?'

She released his sweater and took a stagger backward.
Hands on her hips, she sighed hopelessly, rolled her green
eyes, and shook her head. 'Tamara, my dear,' she said aloud,
'
sometimes you can be a first-class bimbo.'

Chapter 6

'Cut!' Louis Ziolko roared malevolently into his megaphone
as he shot up from his director's chair. 'Cut-cut-cut!' He
stamped around noisily, muttering curses under his breath. He
interrupted his pacing just long enough to throw a withering
glance in Tamara's direction.

What have I done wrong
now?
Tamara wondered in dismay.
She stared at Ziolko. This was the twenty-eighth time he had
had her repeat this simple scene, and once again he had
brought filming to an abrupt halt. She could sense that his perfectionist's patience was beginning to wear dangerously
thin.