Reel Stuff (18 page)

“Is there a paycheck involved?”

I assured him there was.

“Then, of course, I'm interested. Most of the time paychecks are few and far between in this racket.”

I had a twinge of guilt. But only a twinge.

Surprisingly, he suggested a restaurant on La Brea Avenue across from Henson's studio, just a few doors down from where Em was being offered the role of a lifetime. I drove there getting
a little more comfortable with the surroundings. After all, this really was a small town.

L.A. drivers lead the nation in the road-rage epidemic, and the maniac two cars back seemed to have invented it. In a black BMW sedan with tinted windows, a guy laid on the horn, swerving out into the opposite lane and careening around me, narrowly squeezing into the space between my rental and a white box truck. I braked and the Porsche behind me almost rear-ended my vehicle.

As the BMW cruised ahead, making another daredevil lane change, I saw an arm sticking out of the shiny black car, middle finger extended to someone. I'm not sure who had offended the driver.

Shaking, my hands gripping the wheel, I actually relished the driving in Miami. Crazy motorists, but not nearly the caliber of Los Angeles drivers. I've read since then that California road rage leads the nation in not only incidents but fatalities. Dear Lord, deliver me.

After arriving at the restaurant and settling into the booth, I smiled and nodded to the cinematographer. I was about to confront this guy and admit I'd lied to him on the phone. I wasn't sure how he would take that.

About thirty-five, trim, sandy-blond hair and a no-nonsense expression on his face, Greg Handler clasped his hands in front of him as he stared into my eyes.

“So what kind of film do you have in mind?”

The bleached blonde over-forty waitress with a skirt that was much too short brought me a Coke. Handler had ordered coffee and a ham sandwich.

“Have you ever worked in Miami?” I decided to get right to the point.

Leaning back in the booth, he studied me for a second.

“Is this about Jason Londell?”

“Yeah. I've got to be honest. I'm looking into his death, and—”

“You couldn't have told me that on the phone?”

“I wasn't sure you'd talk to me.” I wasn't sure he would right now, but he didn't seem to be too upset.

Running a hand through his hair, he nodded.

“You know I've talked to the Miami cops. They almost sent someone here to check on me.”

“I assumed.” Finally the cops were exploring leads.

“And you know I didn't kill him.”

“I assumed that as well.”

“Then why the meeting?” He took a bite of the sandwich.

“Well, there are a lot of unanswered questions, and we've been hired by someone to get as much information as possible on what happened.”

“So you're private?”

“I am.”

“So there's no job and all I'm getting out of this is a cheap lunch?”

I saw a look of resignation on his face.

“Look, why you? Why did this guy who shot Londell pick your name? Greg Handler isn't a common name. I mean, no one would make that up, would they? Someone knew of you or your reputation.”

“I have no idea why they picked me. Since Miami P.D. called, I've been thinking about it. There's a chance that I worked with the guy, and he decided to use my name, or maybe he just pointed to a page in the directory.”

We'd had the same idea.

“Greg, do you know anyone who works on
Deadline Miami
? Actor, camera guy, grip?”

Sipping his coffee, he thought for a moment.

“I don't watch it, but doesn't Ashley Amber have a role on that show? You know, blonde and—”

“Yeah.”

“I worked with her on a production. About four years ago. We did a couple episodes of some forgettable sitcom that got canceled. But I doubt if she would remember me. I don't know that she even knew anyone on that show. Nose-in-the-air kind of girl, am I right?”

I understood exactly what he was saying. She still didn't know my name. Kept calling me James. And James was just a guy she slept with. Wow. He'd actually done that.

“How do you know the show?” he asked.

“One of my partners and I are doing security for an outdoor set they've been using this past week. I was right there when Londell fell from the scaffolding, maybe twenty feet away when he hit the ground, and I swear to God I thought he took a deliberate dive. I did not figure that fall to be a murder.”

“Deliberate dive? You thought it was—”

“Suicide.”

“Must have been gruesome.”

I kept my eyes wide open. If I closed them I would see the scene.

“You can't imagine.”

“I've seen some weird shit in my line of work.”

“Jerry Clemens is the other camera operator who was shooting the scaffolding scene. Do you know him?”

“Clemens?” Handler concentrated. “Doesn't ring a bell.”

“I don't know that many people on the set. My job is to keep gawkers at bay. Occasionally, we drive the actors around, run a couple of errands, but I'm like you. I never watched the show.”

Handler pushed half of the greasy sandwich away and finished his coffee.

“I don't exactly appreciate the way you got me here, but I'm curious about the situation. I'd like to know who felt they could use my name.” Folding his hands under his chin, his elbows resting on the table, he stared at me intently for a moment. I finally had to look away.

“Do you think Ashley Amber could have anything to do with this?” he asked. “I mean, she may have remembered my name.”

“Do you know her sister?”

“Sister? No. I'm sure I don't.”

“Juliana Londell, Jason Londell's wife.”

“No shit?”

“As I'm sitting here.”

“She's a talent agent, right?”

“She is.”

He smiled. “Maybe I'm glad I showed up. So there is a connection. Maybe the sister is involved and did remember working with me.”

“Maybe. I don't know. I get the feeling that Hollywood is somewhat incestuous to begin with. Everyone supposedly sleeping with everyone else, jobs being handed out as favors—”

“I'm not saying you're wrong, but apparently I haven't been sleeping with the right people.”

And I was reminded I might be sleeping with a future TV actress. It was all so very strange.

“The director for the episode, Randy Roberts, said something about sleeping with the right people. He said if he'd slept with the right people—”

“Roberts?” Handler interrupted.

“Randy Roberts. He's been directing this episode we're working on.”

The waitress walked up to our table and, glancing up, I could see wrinkles around her eyes and a hint of a mustache on her upper lip.

“Anything else for you two?”

“No.” I hesitated, not sure I should ask my next question. “Excuse me, ma'am, but were you ever an actress?” It was just a hunch. “Any television or movies? It just seems I've seen you before and—”

A long sigh and she squinted, her skin sharply creasing around dull, brown eyes. “Briefly. Back in the nineties. That was another life.”

Dropping a check on my side of the table, she hurried away, and I was sorry I'd asked. She just had the look of someone who had come to town on a dream and, sadly, it had never materialized.

Handler watched her as she walked toward the kitchen.

“The town is full of them, Moore. More broken dreams in this small part of the world than anywhere else,” he said with a nod, “in the universe.”

I understood.

“You come to town, and if you're hot, everybody's going to make you a star. And if it turns out you're not star material, you're just another schlep laboring for minimum and calling your agent every other day asking why he's not working you.”

“Life of a film actor is rough. I get it.”

“No, no. Sure, the actor is taking it in the shorts, but it's not just the actor, okay? I'm not just talking about a film actor. Actor, director, grip, prop, makeup artist, camera guy. It's all the same.”

I wasn't sure I wanted Em to have a broken dream. But I also wasn't sure I wanted a self-centered lady who had the world waiting at her beckon. Then I remembered, she believed in me, and that was important. Most of the time she gave me the support I needed, and
I
needed to believe in her.

Pulling out a ten dollar bill, I put it on the check. Not much money for an expense I could collect on, write off, and still get some useful information from. Little did I know how much information I would get.

“Thanks for not being too upset about my ruse.”

“I've had meetings that were less fulfilling than this. In my line of work, you deal with a lot of kooks. You had a legitimate reason.” Handler paused. “But, let me be perfectly honest.”

“What?”

“You are still a kook.”

“There's no such thing as a free lunch. You know that, right?”

“I've been around here long enough to understand.”

We both stood up, and I reached across the booth to shake his hand.

“A last comment,” he said. “I want you, or the cops, to catch whoever used my name. If I'm going to kill someone,
I
want to do it. Not someone who stole my identity. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“By the way. Randy Roberts?”

“What about him?”

“That canceled sitcom I told you about. About four years ago. The one with Ashley Amber?”

“Yeah.”

“I would bet money that Randy Roberts directed that. I am almost positive I worked with that guy and I think it was on that show.”

“Seriously?”

“Pretty sure, man.”

Coincidence
? I thought.

“Hold on. You think Randy Roberts directed this canceled program?”

He totally surprised me.

“Roberts. Randy.” Closing his eyes for a moment, he said, “This gig, it only lasted several episodes, but I think I remember the guy. Damn, the more I think about it the more I—”

“Try to remember, man. This could be very important.”

“Okay, if memory serves, the guy used to drink coffee from an aluminum coffee mug. I think.”

“Same guy.”

“Okay, and it was rumored to be half liquor and half coffee. He hid it well, but I think the guy was drunk the entire time he was directing.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

“So you know Randy?” This interview was going to be better than expected. I sat back down, and he followed my lead.

“Know Randy Roberts? No. I didn't know him. And I barely remember him. You work with a director, and if it's just one time, you don't really get a feel for the guy. Two times you know what he probably wants and the third time you sense beforehand what he's after. By then you are designing shots and setting up frames in anticipation of his demands.”

The cinematographer held up his hands in front of his face and framed a camera angle, as if he was seeing me in his lens.

“It was the first time with Randy Roberts. I'm certain it was him. I remember I was not one hundred percent sure of what he wanted. The guy was kind of vague. Not a real strong communicator. And, like I said, I'm pretty certain he was lacing his coffee with something pretty strong. I feel certain that had something to do with his direction. The guy was a little loopy.”

“But you remember him?”

“Yeah.” Handler nodded. “Looking back, I guess I do. There's
a team effort involved in shooting a movie or TV show. The director does a lot more than tell actors what to do. You may have seen it on your set in Miami. The director decides how to light the set. He is responsible for camera angles. He even makes design suggestions. So, even though we were together for maybe only two or three episodes, I do remember him. He was basically my boss. I took directions from him. It just took me a couple of minutes to process, you know?”

“Would he remember you?”

Handler seemed to be lost in a trance. His eyes glazed over, and he stared back at the rear of the restaurant.

“Mmm, I don't really know.”

“You know who he was. Why wouldn't he remember you? I mean, you were his eyes, right? The camera guy?”

“This job tends to be somewhat of a blur. For everyone concerned. I mean, you do two weeks here, three months there, and six months somewhere else. Then a week, a day, or less in some other location.” He paused, closing his eyes for a moment. “I've worked two hours before. And that was it.” Handler smiled. “It's a blur of faces, personalities, and scenes.”

I nodded, not really relating.

“Then, there's the layoff period. We nomads don't have the most steady jobs in the world. Directors are in the same boat. They move around like gypsies. My wife wishes I'd get a job that actually gave me steady work, you know? Would he remember me? Maybe. But there have been a lot of shows between then and now. A lot of camera guys, actors, lights, sets, and angles. So, maybe not.”