She was so sheltered.
Mary closed down the computer just as her cell phone rang.
“Mary, come and pick me up,” Kurt said. “From work.”
She checked the clock. It was only 8:30 in the morning. Awfully early for a comedy club to be open.
“Where?” she said.
“You know that Ralph’s Supermarket on Lincoln, about a half mile from your place?”
“Yeah,” Mary said. “Is there a club near there?”
A pause.
“Would you like paper or plastic?” Kurt responded.
And then a dial tone.
Oh, Mary thought.
Thirteen
Kurt emerged from the Ralph’s Supermarket wearing dark slacks, a red polo shirt with the Ralph’s logo, and a black apron.
He got into Mary’s car.
“I don’t even want to hear it,” Kurt said.
“Is this some kind of work-release program?” Mary said. “Do they pay you in produce?”
“Hey, I need the cash,” Kurt said. “And they were hiring, without much in terms of background checks. End of story.”
Mary decided to let it drop.
“So where’s Jason? Does he have some kind of secret part-time job too? Manning the perfume counters at the mall?”
“He did go through a phase …” Kurt said, but then stopped himself. “No, he’s going to meet us there. How are we on time?”
Mary glanced at the car’s dashboard clock.
“We’ve got time,” she said. “But now we have to stop at this clothing store up here, unless you’ve got some explanation why an international pornography director is walking around in a Ralph’s Supermarket shirt.”
Kurt contemplated for a moment. “Maybe I’m filming an orgy in the produce section,” he said. “You know, cucumbers being used as sex toys, pieces of ham being made love to.”
“I so enjoy hearing you brainstorm,” Mary said. “It’s like watching Einstein solve equations, but I’m not buying any of it.”
She turned into the clothing store’s parking lot and shut off the car.
“Time for your makeover, Grocery Boy.”
Fourteen
The structure was a towering, white office building, one of the few in downtown Santa Monica. It stood on the corner of Ocean and Wilshire.
Mary stood with Kurt and Jason on the sidewalk in front, the bright, direct light from the sun making her “cast” look even more pathetic. She gave each of them one last look.
Kurt was dressed in a maroon velvet blazer, knockoff designer jeans, and pointy shoes made of purple imitation leather. Mary thought he looked like a gay mental patient.
Jason had on his normal clothes: jeans, a dark-blue T-shirt, and the stench of pot. The only thing they’d added was a shiny sport coat from the Magic Johnson collection. The coat’s tails went all the way down to the back of Jason’s knees.
“Jesus, you guys look like a Vegas lounge act gone terribly wrong,” she said.
“Oh yeah? Look at you,” Kurt said. “You look like an overworked and underpaid Holiday Inn hooker.”
Mary did glance at her reflection in the windows of the office tower’s foyer. She had on a tight, black leather skirt, stockings, red platform shoes, and a red leather half-jacket.
“More like an upscale escort, working in Beverly Hills,” Mary said.
Jason snorted.
“Where do you take your johns, the Four Squeezin’s?” Kurt said.
“Oh Christ,” Mary said. “Let’s go.”
She led them inside and punched the elevator to the twenty-third floor.
“Just follow my lead,” she said. She looked directly at Kurt. “No improvising. I’m working here, not fucking around.”
Kurt nodded. “Got it. You’re the boss. The Head Hooker.”
The elevator doors opened, and Mary found the front desk of “Global Talent Management.”
She asked the young male receptionist, dressed entirely in black with a Bluetooth earpiece, to see Trey Williams.
“You have an appointment?”
“Yes, I do. Please inform him Tati Rivers is here to see him,” Mary said. She had decided to skip the Italian accent. “He is expecting me.”
The young man nodded and said into his earpiece, “Tati Rivers is here to see you.”
Kurt whispered in Mary’s ear. “Tati? Tati the Hottie?”
“Shhh,” Mary said.
The young man stood.
“Right this way, please,” he said.
Mary followed the man first. She noticed the framed certificates on the walls. Grammys. Emmys. Photos of celebrities with people she assumed were the agents. You could tell because the stars were good-looking, the agents, not so much.
They were led into a surprisingly small office where a man in a black suit stood with his back to the door, looking out the windows that made up ninety percent of the office’s wall space. Over his shoulder, Mary could see the Hollywood Hills.
“Mr. Williams,” the secretary said, “your three o’clock is here.”
Trey Williams turned to face Mary. She was shocked. He looked like he was about twelve years old. He had short, brown hair, a baby face, and a watch so big she wondered how he was able to lift his arm.
“Come in,” he said.
Mary took the chair directly opposite his desk. Kurt sat to her right, and Jason to her left. She glanced at the various piles of paperwork and folder on the desk. They were all neatly arranged and separated into groups.
“Thank you for agreeing to see us, Mr. Williams,” Mary said.
“My pleasure, Ms.-”
“Tati Rivers,” Mary said. She gestured toward Kurt. “And this is my director, Patrick Bishop,” she turned to Jason, “and my lead actor, Austin Lee.”
“Nice to meet you all,” Williams said. “I understand, Ms. Rivers, that you’re looking to cast a new film?”
“Please call me Tati,” Mary said.
“The hottie,” Kurt said.
“Okay. Tati.” He smiled at her.
Mary felt like taking this kid’s milk money and hiking his underwear up.
“We are about to embark on an incredibly tight production—-” Mary began.
“Here is my vision!” Kurt said, leaping to his feet.
Mary cursed silently. She should have known this was a bad idea.
“I picture morning dew on lillies in a vase perched by the side of the vibrating bed,” he said. He had his fingers joined to resemble a camera’s viewfinder.
“How did the dew get inside the house?” Mary asked.
“The camera pots down toward the floor,” Kurt continued.
“I think you mean pans, not pots,” Mary said. “The camera pans down.”
“To the most beautiful ass the world has ever seen,” Kurt said. His eyes grew wistful.
“I told you, Patrick, I’m not going to be in this one,” Mary said.
“We move up on the ass like the Allies at Normandy—”
“Can we back up for a moment?” Williams said. He looked at Mary. She sensed he thought she was the safest bet in the room.
Williams said, “As excited as I am about your director’s visual treatment, what are your casting specs exactly? And did you bring a copy of the script?”
“We’re looking for the actress, of course,” Mary said. “She is the hinge upon which this production will swing. Italian and French actresses are out of the question, of course, as we are not allowed to work in Italy anymore … really, all of Europe.” She pointed a thumb at Jason. “My star actor here got drunk in Brussels and thought he was making love to an obese barmaid. Turned out to be a farmer’s prize milk cow.”
“Wait, a minute,” Jason said, a confused look on his face. “Are you saying—”
Kurt held his hands out for silence.
“In order to continue, I’m afraid I need a beer and some chocolate,” Kurt said, an imperious tone in his voice. He glanced back at the office door, looking for the secretary. “Can that be arranged?”
During Kurt’s rant, Mary had taken the opportunity to read some of the names on the files upside down. One of them seemed familiar to her, but she couldn’t place it.
Williams turned his attention from Kurt back to Mary. “I love working with you creative types,” he said. “But I don’t believe I have anyone currently on my roster who would be a good fit for what you have in mind.”
“What about Nina Ramirez?” Mary said. “Her head shot created quit a stir in our office.”
“And in my pants,” Jason said, warming up to his new role.
“Nina Ramirez?” Williams said. His boyish innocence was suddenly gone, replaced with a slightly flustered look.
“I’m not sure I’m familiar with her work,” Williams said, with a noticeable lack of confidence.
“Well, you should—everyone knows you’re her agent,” Mary said. “Now is she available for a screen test? Can she read for us?”
“I represent hundreds of actors,” Williams said. “Why don’t you leave your script with me along with your casting specs, and I’ll see what I can do.”
“But we really had our hearts set on Nina,” Mary said.
Williams checked his massive watch. “Like I said, I’ll see what I can do.”
“Come on,” Kurt said. “We’ve been sporting wood for this chick for a year—in the moviemaking sense.”
“Yeah, where is she?” Jason said, warming up to the idea of putting Williams on the hot seat. Mary was surprised by his perceptiveness, factoring in the ganja haze.
“Gentlemen, and Ms. Rivers, I’m afraid I have a conference call I simply can’t miss,” Williams said. He was suddenly a bundle of nervous energy. He pressed a button near his phone, and the secretary arrived moments later.
“Thank you so much for thinking of me for your project,” the young agent said. “I’m sure it will be an amazing production.”
Mary stood.
“Thank you for your time,” she said. “I’ll buy you a drink sometime. Once you turn twenty-one.”
Fifteen
“What part of ‘follow my lead’ did you two Neanderthals not understand?” Mary said.
They stood outside, the hot southern-California sun making Mary wish she was not in a ridiculous outfit that weighed ten pounds. Now she knew how a sausage felt being stuffed into a highly restrictive casing.
“What part of fucking awesome do you not understand?” Kurt said. His big face carried a big, lopsided grin. “That shot I described was incredible, totally cinematic! And it was right off the cuff! Holy shit, I should’ve been a director!”
“You were great, Dad,” Jason said. “I thought my line about the stirring in my pants was cool too.”
“It was a little over the top,” Kurt said to Jason. “But I’ll give you points for trying.”
“Over the top?” Mary said. “Don’t be ridiculous. Uncle Kurt, I thought your performances were really subtle too. Highly nuanced.”
“You’re being sarcastic, aren’t you?” Kurt said. He narrowed his eyes.
“You guys were supposed to keep your mouths shut and let me do the talking,” Mary said. “You both sounded absolutely ridiculous. I especially liked the ‘beer and chocolate’ request. That was highly inspired.”
“Oh, get the giant corncob out your butt, Mary,” Kurt said. “That was perfect! These big-time directors like Steven Spielsburger always make requests. You know, M&Ms of one color, hookers without STDs. And they get ‘em, by God! Anything they want!”
Mary unlocked her car and gestured for them to get inside. She fired it up and pulled out onto Ocean.
“They get those things because
they’re actually directors
,” she said. “Not Ralph’s grocery baggers pretending to be directors.”
“Wow, I wanna direct,” Jason said.
“Quit being so high-strung,” Kurt said to Mary. “That guy didn’t know anything anyway. Christ, he looked like his Dad brought him into his office so he could print off his grade-school paper.”
“Where do you want me to drop you?” Mary said.
“Back at Ralph’s,” Kurt said. “I’ve got a big day in the produce section. You should hear some of those old biddies bitch. Christ, they tell me the cantaloupe are overripe, I tell ‘em to get a fucking mirror.”
Jason snickered in the backseat.
Sixteen
The crew was on lunch break. A little food van serving mostly tacos, arrived at the set every day around noon.
Jake Cornell watched the little tyrant director, Morrison, skip ahead in line and place a special order.
He had to stand on his tiptoes to see over the counter.
Jake snickered.
“Out of the way, Drag Ass,” someone said behind him. It was Paolo, the guard from Venice Security.