Stuart Kaminsky - Show Business is Murder

“Get dressed,” Arthur said, disgusted with himself.

Lisa stared at him. “Is something wrong?”

“Please.”

“Is there something wrong with me?”

“Just get dressed.” She was frozen. “Christ, there’s no part for you, okay?”

She didn’t say anything, just picked up her wrap from the arm of the chair, wound it around her waist, tied it, and quickly pulled the sweatshirt over her head. She grabbed her photo and her bikini.

He turned his chair to face the window and heard the door slam.

The next girl he saw was a nineteen-year-old from Toronto, a bottle blonde whose headshot mentioned parts in Hollywood Hookers and Hollywood Hookers in Bermuda. He stopped her before she could unbutton her shirt and told her she had the part and asked her to leave. She blushed tremendously and thanked him.

Bill Fitch didn’t return his calls all afternoon.

ARTHUR TOOK LISA’Sheadshot home with him, hidden between two pages of budget projections for Goin’ West. Some time after midnight, he got out of bed and carried his briefcase into the living room. He turned on the lamp next to the TV set and angled its shade so that no light shone toward the bedroom. Then he took Lisa’s photograph out and looked at it for a long time. He lit a cigarette, but it burned most of the way down untouched on the rim of the ashtray.

He had no idea whether Lisa Brennan had talent. But hell, what was talent anyway? Didn’t plenty of successful movie actresses come up short in the talent department?

Arthur dug through his briefcase until he found his Filofax, and through his Filofax until he found Bill Fitch’s home number. Bill had written it in there himself, back when he was still taking Arthur’s calls. Next to the number, Bill had written, “Call any time.”

A groggy voice answered the phone on the fourth ring.

“Bill? Arthur. Arthur French.”

There was silence on the other end, for perhaps half a minute. “Hey, Art. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to call you back. I was in meetings most of the day.”

“That’s what I figured,” Arthur said. But to himself he said: Sure you were, you lying son of a bitch. You knew I was trying to land someone for Goin’ West and you didn’t have the balls to tell me no to my face.

“What can I do for you?”

“Listen, I’ve got a-”

“Hold on one second. Sorry to interrupt. Just hold on.” Arthur held on. He heard Bill put the phone down, get out of bed, pad softly away. In the distance, a little while later, a toilet flushed. The footsteps returned. “I’m back. Sorry about that. Twice a night these days, rain or shine. Shoot.”

“What I wanted to say is, I saw a girl today. Her name’s Lisa Brennan. She was in Telling Lies, you remember that one?”

“No.”

“With Goldie Hawn…?”

“No. I don’t. But I’ll take your word for it.”

“It was out, I don’t know, four years ago. She was Goldie’s sister.”

“Okay, fine. Go on.”

“She’s also done soaps, small things here and there, nothing big since Telling Lies. ”

“And?”

“She’s good. She’s really good, Bill. I saw her today-” I saw her today, made her take her clothes off, told her I wasn’t going to hire her, and then she left. “I saw her and I had her read, and I’m telling you, this girl has got it. She could be-oh, I don’t know. Hillary Swank. Cate Blanchett. Any part they do, this girl could do. But she’s good looking, too, so it’s the best of both worlds.” Then, because there was only silence on the line, enough silence for Arthur to start asking himself, “Why are you doing this?” he added, “You’ve got to see her. I’m telling you, she’ll be a star. With you or with someone else, she’ll be a star. I’d rather it was you, Bill. You wait too long, she’ll be with CAA or ICM, making the fat cats fatter.”

“Who is she with now?”

“Jennifer Stein.”

More silence, and lots of it.

Finally: “You screwing her, Arthur?”

“I’m not screwing her. I never even touched her.”

“So what’s the real story?”

“I told you the real story.”

“Jennifer Stein rents bimbos out to Italian directors who want to remake Caligula, Arthur. Jennifer Stein supplied the cast for Caged Women. Don’t tell me Jennifer Stein has found herself a real actress. Jennifer Stein couldn’t sign a real actress to save her life.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Arthur said. “Did I say you’re wrong? No, you’re right. I agree completely-nine times out of ten.”

“Please-”

“Maybe ninety-nine out of a hundred. But this is the one time, Bill. I’m telling you this based on thirty years in the business: She’s got it like no one else I’ve ever seen.”

“Come on. You’re calling me at two in the morning to tell me about some girl you saw once in your life? Give me a break, Arthur.”

“Trust me,” Arthur said. “Write down her number. Give her a call. See her. You’re going to thank me.”

“I can’t believe you called me up in the middle of the night just to tell me about some girl.”

“Would I-tell me this, Bill, I’m serious-would I call you in the middle of the night if she were just some girl? Don’t I have better things to do in the middle of the night? I couldn’t sleep.”

“You couldn’t sleep.”

“Please. Write down her number.”

“Okay, fine,” Bill said. “Give me her number.”

Arthur heard a pencil scratching against paper as he read off Lisa’s phone number.

“Arthur, are you using her in Goin’ West? ”

“No,” Arthur said. Then: “She’s too good for Goin’ West. ”

“Well, listen,” Bill said. “If she’s as good as you say she is, which I still don’t believe, but if, I’ll see what I can do about getting Corey to do the film for you.”

“That’d be great, Bill.”

“I’m not making any promises.”

“That’s fine,” Arthur said. “I know you’ll do your best. That’s all I can ask for.”

When Bill had hung up, Arthur dialed the number written on the back of Lisa’s headshot. An answering machine clicked on, spieled, and beeped.

“This is Arthur French calling,” Arthur said. He paused. “I’m sorry about what happened today. I passed your headshot to William Fitch at ASC and I think you’ll hear from him soon.” He paused again. “I told him I had you read for me today and that I was very impressed. So if he asks, go along with it.” This time he took a deep breath before proceeding. “If I could have cast you in Goin’ West, I want you to know I would have. But I’m just a hired hand. I have to do what they tell me.”

As an afterthought, Arthur left his phone number. “In case you need to reach me,” he said.

“THAT WAS BILL,”Arthur said as he replaced the receiver in its cradle. “He says hello.”

“Did he say if he’s made a decision?”

“It’s only been a week.”

“I know.” Lisa stood up, walked a lap around the office, and fell into the chair again. “I’m just anxious.”

“You should be anxious. Fitch is a dealmaker. If he decides that you’re going to be in a movie, you’re in it.”

“Do you think he will?”

“Yes,” Arthur said.

“Pale Moon?”

“I’d put money on it. If not Pale Moon, it’ll be something else. He’s already said he’ll handle you. It’s just a question of which project he places you in first.”

Lisa turned her chair, back and forth, back and forth.

“You want to know what I said to myself the last time I walked out that door?” she said.