Immaculate Reception (4 page)

O
nce the guard at the gated entrance to the Warner Bros. lot checks his clipboard, hands you a parking pass, and causes the gatearm to raise up, you leave the world of the hopefuls and enter the realm of the arrived. Here, a private pastel-colored city spreads out, crisscrossed by narrow streets. Forty-four enormous sound stages, each several stories high with identical barrel-vaulted roofs, hulk in row after windowless row, with the numbers painted on their enormous peachy-pink stucco walls the only way to differentiate Stage 5 from Stage 16.

Inside these gates, cars are seldom driven; those who work within ride bikes, or golf carts, or stroll. Don't be fooled by the nonchalant attitudes, worn like faded jeans by this city's inhabitants. In the constant battles for survival of the fittest, most talented, best connected, most fanatically determined, these are the victors. Their casual smugness is understandable. If there really is such a place as Hollywood, this is it. And don't look now, but we were the ones on the inside.

It's a whole lot of fun hanging out at Warner Bros. Its 110 acres hustle with purpose. At first, you can't believe that someone has allowed you to just wander around, like Alice inside a heavily guarded Wonderland. Today, a small forest of tree limbs being touched up with green paint could be glimpsed through the open cavernous door to Stage 2. The sound of power saws buzzed like distant bees under
the cloudless blue sky. At the small intersection where four soundstages met, women wearing bald caps and strapless gowns could be spotted catching a smoke outside a row of trailers.

There were some ground rules for not getting your butt kicked off the lot. First, no matter how big a fan you might be of this show or that, you have to control your impulse to squeal and/or accost celebrities. It sounds easy enough, but turn a corner, and my God! That's George Clooney shooting hoops. Stay calm. Rule two is look down. There's a large variety of stuff to trip over. Don't. Then there's rule three, noise. There are times not to make any. Generally, anytime you see a red light flashing outside a soundstage, it means they're filming inside. No one opens the soundstage door, walks, whispers. Follow those three simple guidelines and people pretty much leave you alone.

I've been coming to Warner Bros. for years now, working on various series like Arlo's show, “Woman's Work,” catering meals for casts and crews. Dating the producer is a time-honored method of doing business and is referred to in these parts, admiringly, as having friends. Isn't nepotism a nasty word?

Today Holly and I were here strictly as guests. Since we sold the catering business last November, I'd naturally had to turn over my badge I.D.

I hurried Holly along as we parked behind Stage 26, pulling my Grand Wagoneer into a reserved spot, a perk for wives, lovers, whatevers of the folks who work above-the-line on hit series. In the hierarchy of television production, budgets created a caste system, dividing people according to perceived worth. Costs of employees who create, such as “talent” (by which they mean actors), producers, directors, and writers, are generally placed above-the-line on the ledgers of T.V.'s bean counters. The salaries for crew and technicians are found, somewhat symbolically, below-the-line. It boils down to this: you could be married for twenty years to the guy who pulls the camera and you park in East Kishniff. But even a casual acquaintance of
the actor who plays “the nosy neighbor” gets to park on the lot.

It was six-thirty, and we were running a little late. The audience was let in at six, and folks tended to get nervous when seats are still empty fifteen minutes before cameras were scheduled to roll. But another perk for above-the-line guests was having seats in the front row thoughtfully taped off for one's late arrival.

“It feels weird to be here and not be working,” Holly said.

“I know. It's the first time I've ever been on this lot and didn't know what Arlo was eating for dinner. Odd.” I jumped down from the Wagoneer and locked it. Holly came to my side and hooked my arm.

“We're tourists,” she giggled.

“So, where's Donald tonight?” I asked. Holly had a new “friend” and Wes and I were keeping our fingers crossed.

“He said he had plans, but he's gonna try and stop by here later.” She hugged my arm and giggled again.

For the occasion of attending tonight's filming of episode ten of “Woman's Work,” Holly wore a tight pair of orange bell bottoms, topped by a pink satin shirt, left unbuttoned down to the middle of her bosom. Her white-blonde hair was spiked, and creatively gelled so that the ends of her bangs came to points. I had on a tailored black linen suit. We checked each other out.

“What's under the jacket?” Holly inquired, pulling open the single button and seeing for herself. Underneath was a skimpy black lace camisole top. She smiled. “Wear it like that. Show a little skin. Give Arlo a thrill.”

I buttoned up. “The man is one thrill away from a nervous breakdown on the night they do one of his scripts.”

The red light was not blinking, so I opened the side door to the soundstage and we entered. In the dim working light backstage, we made our way carefully toward the front, stepping over the dozens of thick cables strewn all over the floor. Already we'd practiced rules two and three, but Holly and I were old pros. We could hear the subdued talking of
the seated audience in the distance, but we were shielded from view by the artificial walls of the show's set.

Holly would not let me off the hook about my conservative wardrobe. “Worried about what your priest will say?”

“He's not actually a priest. And he's bringing another one, so behave yourself.”

“We're double dating a couple of Jesuits? Jeez, no one's gonna believe me when I tell them about my night.”

We came around a corner and I saw Arlo standing with some of the writers. They kind of stand out as a group. Usually they're the ones with the dark hair. Everyone else seems to be some kind of blond.

They were standing next to the crafts services table, which was loaded with goodies such as crackers with pate, Brie, and fruit, and a huge five-pound gold box of Godiva chocolates. These are the treats, kept fresh all night, upon which the movers and shakers of prime-time television can stimulate their caffeine-fueled creative momentum. Arlo came over and put his arm around me. Since I was wearing fairly high-heeled pumps I was about eye to eye with him. Holly towered over us both.

“You're here. Great. Xavier and his buddy have been here since six.”

We were standing out in front of the set, off to the side, and I looked up at the rows of risers where the audience was seated. There in the front I saw Xav and a younger man with curly black hair. They weren't looking our way, but were caught up in the experience of seeing the set and the cameras and the lights and the dozens of crew members getting ready for the show.

“How ya doing?” I asked Arlo.

“He's not himself,” one of the writers answered for him.

“He's not even drunk yet,” said another, in mock awe.

“I did a major rewrite last night,” Arlo told me.

He was forever rewriting.

“And…” I looked at him, expecting his usual self-criticism.

“You be the judge,” Arlo said.

As Holly and I walked over to our waiting seats, she whispered to me, “Did Arlo just smile?”

I had to admit it was a first.

 

“Brilliant,” said Brother Frank del Valle. “I laughed so hard. But it wasn't just funny, I was hit on another level as well. It must be so much fun to work on a show like this.”

“I don't think I've ever heard Arlo say he was having fun, have you?” Holly asked me.

“Well…”

“Oh, come on. I think you must all be taking things for granted. I can't believe you know Erica Moss. She's something else,” the young Jesuit said with enthusiasm.

“Dottie is a real original,” I began, and then started over. “Brother Frank, we call Erica Moss by her childhood name, Dottie. Did you know that?”

“Man, how cool is this? We're getting to hear some inside stories.” Brother Frank turned to Xav. “Thank you, Brother Xavier, for sharing this experience with me. And I can't believe that the writer put such a spiritual message into the story.”

“It's making me rethink my decision not to watch any commercial television,” Xavier agreed. “Madeline, I had no idea your friend Arlo had such a gift.”

“He's got an Emmy,” Holly offered.

“But this was different,” I said. Not only had Arlo packed some exceptionally funny jokes into the twenty-two minutes, but he had actually gone deeper than most sitcoms attempt. I was puzzled.

“Did the lawyer see herself as a victim, too? Wasn't that a great moment?” Xavier asked, stimulated by the experience of watching Arlo's script acted out by a cast of zany characters.

Arlo joined our group just then, and seemed, well, happy.

“Arlo!” Holly grabbed him and planted a nice kiss somewhere near his mouth. “You are soooo talented!
You've got actual minister-like-types talking about actual like moral issues here. And not only that, everybody was laughing like crazy. What got into you, dude?”

“Thanks. Yeah.” Arlo grinned. “I guess it didn't suck.”

I looked at Holly and she looked at me.

“Arlo, you're so…well…so calm. I mean that's great. The show was terrific.” I'd seen a lot of sitcoms from the back of the house and this episode had been truly touching. The jokes came off less bitter than Arlo's darkest but were still sharp. That's a hard line for a smart sitcom script to walk.

Xavier started explaining to Brother Frank and Holly how he and Arlo had briefly discussed the idea behind “service without power” yesterday, but before this evening he had never seen a humorous side to it.

The members of the audience were filtering up the stairs and out the public exits. But just then, a dark young man with a shaved head and very baggy pants came down from the bleachers and moved right past us, trying to get out through the door off the stage. Before he could get very far, a studio page intercepted and rerouted the young man back up the steps.

In the meantime, one of Arlo's assistants, a young woman named Jody Mazzoli, came up and handed a note to Arlo. He checked it and gave it to Xavier. Xavier read it and showed it to Brother Frank. And then Erica “Dottie” Moss, the star of the series, came up to our group.

She was in her later thirties. Those were Hollywood years. For those who reside in other parts of the world, think dog. Her deep red hair framed a heart-shaped face, complimenting her peachy complexion. She was still wearing the green leotard she'd worn in the final scene when her character, Zoë Diller, was caught in the Buddhist temple after dark.

“Mad, honey!” she called to me, and slid her size-two hips between Arlo and Jody to grab my hand. “You've left us, you horrible girl!” I hadn't seen Dottie since I'd sold
my company and I'd become a rich thirty-year-old retiree.

“I heard you got over
three
.” Only Dottie would know the intimate terms of my contract. Only Dottie would whisper the number of millions so loud most of the audience who were departing the sound stage could hear. Actors love an audience.

Arlo changed the subject for me. “Dottie, I'd like you to meet some friends of ours. This is Xavier Jones, who's an old friend of Maddie's and his friend Frank…”

“del Valle,” Frank helped him, furnishing his last name. “Brother Frank del Valle.”

“Oh!” Dottie said, dimpling to her new fans. “You're brothers! And you don't look a thing alike. But aren't you both handsome. Mad honey used to have excellent taste in men, I see, And then, somehow, she went awry.” Dottie pinched Arlo, so he'd get the joke.

Frank handed the note back to Xavier and Xav said, “Excuse me. I regret having to leave the presence of a star, but there's someone who needs to speak to me near the stage door.”

“Why don't you stay with your friends and I'll find out what it's about?” Brother Frank offered. He looked around. “I just need to find the right door.” He was very handsome, with big brown eyes in a dark angular face, and he looked to be in his younger twenties.

“I'll show you, my dear,” Dottie offered quickly. “I believe this is the door you want back here. Why it's not so very far from my trailer. And if you're good, I'll even give you a peek inside. Bet you never saw where they keep us T.V. stars when we're changin' our clothes.”

“That's okay, Dottie,” Arlo piped up. “I can take him…”

“Oh, shucks, Arlo. Can't I entertain a fan if I want to?”

Behind us, the audience had cleared out and now the work lights had come up. Dottie, wearing her poison-green leotard and tights, led the way, followed by a somewhat amazed Brother Frank.

“I'm looking for a Bible reference here,” Arlo joked to
Xavier. “Like Veronica leading Archie to slaughter?”

Xavier and Holly laughed.

“That's the problem with your mom letting you read the comic-book version of the Old Testament,” I said.

Arlo looked after Brother Frank. “I hope he'll be okay.”

Xavier said, “Before Frank joined the order, he had a lot of experience on the streets. He can take care of himself.”

“For real,” agreed Holly. She had been talking with Brother Frank all night, during the many breaks between the scenes. “Brother Frank grew up in South Central, where they have those serious Latino gangs. I'm pretty sure he can handle Dottie.”

Arlo was not resting easy. “Jody,” Arlo turned to his assistant. “Go save the guy from our star.”

Jody left as we said goodnight to Arlo. He and the cast still had work to do. They would go over the notes he and the director had made during the filming. Any pickup shots would have to be refilmed now. All around us, cast members were saying goodbye to their guests as well.