Stuart Kaminsky - Show Business is Murder

But she’d promised Bill a dinner, and there was no reason to think she’d be less tired tomorrow. Besides, she’d hustled him out of her room a little brusquely last night and though he’d deserved it, this was still someone she didn’t want to piss off needlessly. She owed him this job, and while today’s shooting had been roughly as bad as she’d expected, it was better than ushering Off-Broadway for thirty-five dollars a night or waitressing at the Union Square Coffee Shop, both of which she’d done not too long ago.

There was a phone in a cabinet under the stairs, next to the water fountain and the door to the men’s room. She called Bill’s office number, but judging by the background noise reached him in his car.

“You’re done already? It’s not even nine o’clock.”

“They still have work to do, but they told me I’m not needed again till tomorrow. Just position shooting for the computer animation.”

“Who’s doing the effects, ILM? Digital Domain?”

“I don’t know, Bill. They probably told me, but I’ve forgotten.”

“I bet it’s Digital. Listen, are we still on for tonight?”

“Sure. As long as it’s some place quiet, and not too far away.”

“Why don’t I pick you up where you are, I’m just a few miles away, and I’ll take you some place nice.”

“Not too nice.”

“You got it.”

She stepped into the women’s wardrobe room and changed back into her street clothes. No dressing room with a star on the door for her. Not yet.

Bill was waiting for her when she made her way out to the street. He reached across the passenger seat and opened the door for her. When she slid in, he gave the back of her neck a quick massage.

She tensed. Was everyone in Hollywood this touchy-feely? As a born-and-bred New Yorker, Lisa was suspicious of people who kissed and patted and touched too freely. On the other hand, when in Rome.

“So, where are we going?”

Bill pulled off onto the road. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

“Oh, not tonight, Bill, I won’t make a good impression-”

“Not tonight, not tonight-then when? Don’t worry. You look great.”

“I can’t keep my eyes open.”

“You’ll keep them open.”

“Who is it?”

He turned to her, and waited till she said, “Well?”

“My old friend, Michael Haber.”

“Jesus, that’s too important, I can’t see him tonight-”

“That’s where you’re wrong. You can’t not see him tonight. Now is when he’s thinking about who he wants in State and Main, and you want to meet him before he starts thinking about someone else for your part.”

“I-” Lisa put her forehead in her hands and rubbed her temples. “Okay.”

“Damn right, okay.” He flipped open his cell phone and dialed one-handed. “Mike, you there? Goddamn, I can’t hear a thing. Hold on.” He rolled up the car’s windows. “Let’s meet at Santiago’s. Yes, she’s right here. She’s dying to meet you. You want to say hello? Hang on.” He handed her the phone. “Say hello.”

“Hi, this is Lisa.” He said something, but she didn’t catch it. “What’s that? Yes, it’ll be nice to meet you, too.”

Bill took the phone back. “We’ll be there in ten minutes. Meet us in the cigar room.”

Michael Haber met them, hand extended, as they came in. She didn’t recognize him at first-he’d shaved the beard he’d had the last time she’d seen him on “Access Hollywood” and he wasn’t wearing the baseball cap he seemed to have on in every photograph ever taken of him. What the cap would have covered was a high forehead and very little in the way of hair. He looked a little like Ron Howard, Lisa thought.

“Lisa? I’m Michael. I understand you’re working on a picture out here?”

She nodded. “It’s called Transparent . Science fiction. We just finished for the night, and I didn’t even get into L.A. until one this morning, so if I seem a bit groggy, that’s why.”

“Don’t worry about it. Bill warned me.” He guided her to a corner table with a hand at the small of her back. “We’ll go easy on you tonight.”

The meal was a blur. She didn’t fall asleep in the soup, but by the time the waiter brought coffee with dessert, she grabbed at it like a life preserver. The conversation veered in her direction every so often and she answered questions about herself-Had she always lived in New York? What had she done for the stage?-with as much energy as she could muster. Bill spent the evening fidgeting in his chair and got up twice to take calls on his cell phone. The second time, Michael put his hand on Lisa’s and said, “You look tired. Let me get the check and we’ll take you home.” By the time Bill returned, Michael was helping her on with her jacket.

The topic of the new movie hadn’t come up during dinner. Lisa was relieved when Michael stopped her in the parking lot and said, “Let’s talk about State and Main .”

“Okay,” she said.

“Bill tells me he sees you as Celia, but I have to say, Celia is supposed to be what, twenty-three, maybe twenty-four, and very plain, real salt-of-the-earth, and I don’t know, forget the age, that just doesn’t seem like your type.”

“I understand.”

“Margo, on the other hand, twice married, working on her third, snaring men like flies, cosmopolitan, chafing at having to endure small-town life again-I could see you as a great Margo.”

Had he said what she thought she’d heard? A great Margo? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d literally felt her heart beating in her chest like this. She felt like she couldn’t speak, like one wrong word could shatter the fragile opportunity and leave her with nothing.

“Obviously, I need to bring you in to read for the producers, but we’ve worked together before and I’m confident they’ll leave the casting decisions up to me. Except for Mitch, of course, since they’ve already got Russell Crowe lined up.”

She found her voice. “Michael, I’m very flattered. I really-I don’t know what to say.”

“Let me send you a copy of the script, so you can read through it.”

“She can have the copy you sent me,” Bill said. “I have it at home. We can pick it up on the way back to her hotel.”

Michael nodded. “Sure. Sooner the better.” He shook Lisa’s hand, held it between both of his. “I like you. I’m glad Bill introduced us. I hope this works out.”

BILL STEERED HERback to the car and drove off in the direction of his house. “What did I tell you? Did I say he’d like you?”

“This is wonderful, Bill. You were right.”

“So the next time I tell you I know someone you’ll believe me?”

“I believed you knew him, I just didn’t think-oh, what difference does it make? You were right, you were right, you were right, I’ll say it till you’re satisfied.”

“I’m never satisfied.”

“Do you really think they’ll let him cast someone like me as Margo?”

“Absolutely. They’d be idiots not to let him. You’re going to make this picture for them.”

They drove for a while in silence. Lisa felt herself drifting into and out of sleep, lulled by the motion of the car and the lights streaming rhythmically by on the side of the highway. She felt full: a long day’s work, a good dinner, and for dessert, a job offer that could make her career. No, she corrected herself, not an offer, not yet. But an opportunity, and what an opportunity!

She woke up when the engine stopped. Bill led her up a half-flight of stairs to his front door and she stood in his foyer while he rummaged around for the script in a pile of papers. “Hold on, I know where it is.” He headed into the kitchen, then on to a room beyond. “Why don’t you make a drink for us, we can celebrate.”