The Hollywood Trilogy (71 page)

Novotny grinned and grasped Alexander's hand. “I thought I'd join you if you don't mind,” he said smoothly. Alexander was delighted, but tried to keep it off his face. Novotny was at least a realist, and Alexander would not have to make his argument with this hambone's new conscience.

“Come into my office, gentlemen,” Alexander said graciously. After they were all seated, orders for coffee delivered and morning pleasantries made, Alexander said, “Okay, now, why are you guys in Hollywood instead of freezing your asses off in the mountains?”

Novotny smiled politely and said, “I think this thing can be cleared up pretty fast. I advised my client to come home for a while.”

“He's in breach,” Alexander said politely.

“Come on, we're making a picture, not a deal.” Novotny continued to control the meeting, and Alexander let him, knowing their interests were similar, if not identical. As he spoke, a picture emerged of what had been going on in the Utah mountains. Everybody was under terrific strain because of the cameraman's insistence on perfect light. Alexander had seen most of the dailies, and the stuff was utterly beautiful, but at enormous cost. There were Indians around, several of them had parts in the picture, and many of the cast and crew were bending over backward to let the Indians know they were appreciated, and that they had gotten a bad deal from the U.S. government. But this was normal and happened on nearly every set over something or other. What came out from under David Novotny's careful circumlocutions was that the cameraman, an old-line Commie, had openly ridiculed Travis Morgan, and had even called him “a dumb asshole” in front of half the crew.

Travis Morgan, then, overreacted by showing off his power, his power to alter the script, delay things and generally bully people around. Of course David didn't put it that way. He said, “They've all been working their asses off, they're all tired and on edge, and I thought Travis might feel better after a couple of days' rest. That's all. Blame me for the delay, although I hear you're getting some nice second unit stuff meanwhile, so no one's really hurt.”

“Except your client's salary continues to run, and days are being put on the production board,” Alexander said.

“I don't like being made a fool of,” Travis said with great sincerity. He almost dug the toe of his boot into the rug.

“I don't see you as the villain of the piece,” Alexander said. “I think that fucking Communist ought to go back to shooting commercials. Fire him.”

“You can't fire him,” Kielmann said stubbornly.

“We can buy out his contract. He'd love that. He loves money almost as much as he loves himself.” That's it, Alexander said to himself, jump on the guy who isn't here.

“But it's personal,” said Kielmann stubbornly.

“Then you should be the one to tell him,” Alexander said gently, and the substantive part of the meeting was over. The dailies wouldn't be as good, but the picture would get done. That was what mattered.

Although Alexander strangely enough did not think any of it
really
mattered.

But you shouldn't call the star a dumb asshole.

LUNCH WAS in his private dining room, all business, putting together the final elements in a project that had stars, script, a start date, budget, location and crew, and needed only the final mesh of details to get rolling. There were ten men in the room, and they ate and worked in their shirtsleeves. This was the last chance for anybody to say his department wasn't ready, but nobody said it, and at the end of the two-hour meal, the producer of the picture gravely shook hands with Alexander.

“Looks like we have a picture.” he said.

Alexander replied with equal gravity, slipped on his jacket and left the room first. I wonder if anybody noticed my ass, he found himself thinking.

“The Boss is packing quite a rumbleseat,” nobody at all said behind his back.

Time for a wee snooze. If he did not shut the blinds and stretch out on the couch for an hour, he might fall asleep during dailies, and that would be bad. Alexander liked to keep track of not just everything on the lot, but location dailies and anything that could be stolen or borrowed from other film production units. It would have taken a fifty-hour day just in the screening room to accomplish this, so much of what went on had to be scrutinized in summary. Only the most important things passed through his screening room, and it would be bad news to fall asleep.

On this particular day there was nothing of any real interest to watch, just snips of film. He was slightly surprised to find at the end of the afternoon that he had drunk five Coca-Colas. He felt pretty good, though.

“Thank you,” he said to Harry, and went back to his office. Rick Heidelberg
was in the secretaries' office talking to Willi Gottlieb, his executive secretary, an attractive levelheaded woman whose father had been a driver captain over at Universal for years.

“Please don't bother the help,” he said to Rick. He held his door open for Rick to enter. After Rick said hello and went past him, he said to Willi, “We'll be casting,” which meant, don't interrupt us for anything, unless, of course . . .

Willi silently handed him his call log, and he glanced over his unanswered calls. There were three or four he knew he should really answer, and it would put Rick in his place if he had to sit there and listen, but no. Alexander did not feel like it. He wanted to relax and have a drink, right now. He handed the call log back to Willi and went into his office, closing the door.

“Let's open the blinds,” he said. While he was doing this the intercom buzzed. Instead of answering it, he walked to the door and pulled it open. Willi was standing there next to David Novotny, who looked exhausted, but managed a smile.

“I talked her into it,” he said. “I knew Rick was here, and I hoped I could get a free drink out of you.”

“Of course,” he said. “Come in and get off your feet.”

Rick did not look surprised to see his agent, but got up from the couch and shook hands. Alexander went to the small bar and opened it. “Gentlemen?” he asked.

They sat quietly around the coffee table, Alexander on the couch next to Rick and David in a low armchair, listening to the ice crack in their drinks. The afternoon light made the battlements outside the window look romantic and remote. Alexander lifted his glass, and the others followed suit.

“Here's to the picture,” he said. He took a healthy swig and so did Rick. But David merely sipped his.

David smiled tiredly. “I have to go out tonight,” he said.

They talked business for a while. Naturally, since David was Rick's agent, he knew everything about the project and was not above putting in the names of other clients as director or stars. Some of his ideas were good, and some of the people he named were on Alexander's mental list, but Rick seemed restive and instead of just absorbing Novotny's ideas as Alexander did, he argued or looked negative.

“What's troubling you?” Alexander finally asked him.

“I want this picture to go,” Rick said.

“We all do,” David said dryly.

“But this isn't the way to cast it. Casting's the most important part of a movie like this. People will only want to go see it if they are promised a good time . . .”

“You're right,” Alexander agreed, “it isn't exactly Hamlet we're doing here . . .”

“Thank God for small favors,” David said.

“Okay,” Rick said, with more animation. “A young guy falls in love with the young mistress of a rich and powerful middle-aged charmer, a guy who's got it made, had it made for years, and knows how to keep what he's got. The kid is funny, goofy and irresistible. The girl is attracted to him, the old guy stands to lose her. This is when we find out he really loves her. But he does nothing, and the girl falls deeper and deeper for the kid. They do crazy wonderful things together . . .”

“Yeah,” said Alexander.

“There has to be magic in the casting,” Rick said stubbornly.

Novotny winked at Alexander. “Terrance Segebarth opposite Richard Thomas,” he said, naming a notoriously filthy old man and a notoriously clean young man.

Alexander laughed. “All right, we're getting too serious.”

They all had another drink, although David only added fresh ice to his.

“Who's going to write this, anyway?” Novotny said.

“I think maybe I will,” Rick said.

“There you are,” said David. “An Academy Award screenwriter.”

Rick shook his head. “That's not the point. The original story's set on a college campus, old prof, young students, and the old guy's played as a fool. I want to reverse that, make the young guy a fool, and I just think it would save time for me to write the script rather than to try to get my ideas across to some other writer. But before I proceed, I want some assurance that I'll have the casting I want. That's why Newman and Travolta were so appealing to me; I could
write
for them . . .”

“This won't be our last meeting on the subject,” Alexander said, to take a little of the pressure off Rick. But Rick didn't want the pressure off.

“I want
that
casting, and I'm willing to pay for it.”

“Learn the facts of life, sonny,” Alexander said sharply. “Even you with all your doctors and dentists couldn't pay for
that
casting.”

“Can't I just buy up the availabilities?”

“You would have to, in effect,
buy out
the pictures they're working on, and even then I'm not sure Fox and Columbia are all that willing to sell. They think they're making blockbusters, too, why the hell do you think they're casting those guys? It would cost you a hundred million dollars to just go in there and buy everybody out.
Forget it.”

Rick looked as if somebody had let about half the air out of him, Alexander decided. He was feeling much better himself.

“Don't be dejected, kiddo,” he said.

“I still think Raymond Carr and Dael Tennyson would make a nice combination,” said David. “Ray's top ten, he's been top ten for a dozen years, and Dael is a very well-liked young man.”

“But not a star,” Alexander said.

“Yet,” David said. “I'm going to send you some film tomorrow. You'll see a young man who can not only sing and dance, but charm the girls right out of their pants.”

“You've had too much to drink,” Alexander said, and laughed. David got up, leaving his glass half full. “Well, boys, my wife is waiting for me to come home and take a shower and dress up in my tuxedo.”

“You'll be beautiful,” Alexander said.

“Of course,” David said modestly, and left.

“Let's have another drink, Richard, and stop being so serious.”

Rick grinned. “I'm sorry. It all seems so trivial, you know?”

“And yet it must happen,” Alexander said solemnly. “How do you like Carr and Tennyson? With maybe Brooke Shields?”

The casting talk went on, Rick finally loosening up under the impact of four drinks of bourbon. Both of us are kind of drunk, Alexander thought. “How about dinner?” he asked Rick.

Rick smiled. “My lady's going to meet me at the Roxy at ten, otherwise I don't have a thing to do.”

“Swell. We'll go to Matteo's and fill up on fine Italian dishes. How is that lovely lady of yours?” he asked with a pang, thinking of his own fine lady.

“Oh, she's swell, only . . . well, shit, I have this slight problem with her. I want to move to town and she's supposed to be looking for a place for us, but she really likes it at the beach, you know?”

“Why not get some realtor to look for the house? Larry Goldman, for example.”

“Yeah, but that's kind of going behind her back . . . you know? So I spend a lot of nights at my office . . .”

“If you want to do that, we have a couple of old apartments on this lot, you know . . .”

“No, I didn't know . . .”

“We don't advertise 'em,” Alexander said. “Usually only top-line hambones with paranoid problems get to use 'em. But if you'll goddamn move your company over here like you're supposed to, and help me with my overhead problems, I'd let you have one of the places for during the week. Then you and your baby could weekend at the beach.”

“Sounds interesting,” said Rick.

“But not what you want to do, huh?”

“The thought of her stuck in some little apartment . . .”

“They ain't that little . . .”

“And she wants to be an actress . . .”

“Oh, Christ . . .”

“She gets offers. Not from me, but she gets them. You'd be surprised at the scumballs who want to hire her.”

“If she wants to be an actress, how come she hasn't fallen for any of the scumballs?” Alexander liked that word
scumballs.

Rick laughed. “Because she's my good baby, and she always asks my advice.”