Stuart Woods - Swimming To Catalina

She cocked her head and frowned a little. “I’ve heard of Woodman and Weld, of course, but what does ‘of counsel’ mean?”

“It’s a catchall phrase, usually applied to an elderly lawyer who doesn’t practice full-time anymore, but who the firm calls on from time to time for advice.”

“You’re not exactly elderly.”

“Not yet.”

“What does ‘of counsel’ mean inyour case,exactly? ” she persisted.

“It means that I’m not quite respectable enough to be a partner at Woodman and Weld. I’m at arm’s length, but they can reel me in whenever the need arises.”

“What sort of need?”

“Let’s say a valued client is arrested for drunk driving, in a car with a woman who is not his wife; let’s say the daughter of a client is beaten up by her boyfriend, but the family doesn’t want to prosecute; let’s say the son of a client rapes a nun. That sort of thing.”

“Sounds pretty sordid.”

“Sometimes it is. All sorts of people need all sorts of legal representation, and not everything a client needs can be directly provided by a prestigious firm. The firm, in fact, is as concerned about its own good name as the client’s. They want these cases to go away in the quietest and most expeditious manner possible.”

“I suppose it must be interesting at times.”

“It’s interesting all the time,” Stone said. “And it beats estate planning any day.”

She laughed again, and he enjoyed it.

“Vance is tied up for lunch,” she said, “so you’ll have to make do with me at the studio commissary.”

“Making do with you sounds good; you’re a lot more interesting than Vance and nearly as beautiful.”

She threw back her head and laughed until someone in the distance screamed, “QUIET!”

Back in the golf cart, they drove down the street past more soundstages and made a couple of turns, finishing up in front of a low building with a well-kept front lawn. A patio was filled with tables, and people in all sorts of dress-period, Western, and just jeans-were having lunch.

“Let’s walk through the main room and I’ll ask the maitre d’ if he has a table outside; it’s such a nice day.”

Stone followed her through a handsome dining room, and as they were approaching the doors to the patio, Stone heard someone call his name. He stopped and turned toward the voice. Louis Regenstein was at a booth in the corner of the room, standing, waving him over. Stone touched Betty’s arm and motioned for her to follow him.

“Stone, it’s good to see you,” Regenstein said, offering his hand. He gestured toward his companion. “This is Mario Ciano; Mario, this is a new acquaintance of mine, Stone Barrington.” The two men shook hands. “Stone, will you join us for lunch?”

“Thank you, but…”

“You go ahead, Stone,” Betty interrupted. “I have some work to do back at the office.” She leaned closer. “I’ll see you at Vance’s house tonight.” She vanished.

Stone took a seat facing the two men, with his back to the room.

“Would you like something to drink?” Regenstein asked.

“Some ice tea would be good,” Stone replied.

Regenstein waved a hand and the ice tea and a menu appeared. When Stone had ordered, Regenstein turned to Ciano. “You see what I mean?” he asked, nodding at Stone.

“You’re right, Lou,” Ciano replied. “He’s perfect.” Ciano turned to Stone. “Have you ever done any acting?”

“Not since high school,” Stone said.

“Except in front of juries,” Regenstein chuckled. “That’s what he told me.”

“You’re actually a lawyer?” Ciano asked.

“Yes.”

“A trial lawyer?”

“From time to time.”

“What was your most recent trial?”

“I defended an American woman on a Caribbean island against a murder charge,” Stone replied.

“And what was the outcome?”

“She was hanged.”

Ciano burst out laughing. “He’s typecasting, Lou; our guy loses the case, too.”

“May I ask what you gentlemen are talking about?” Stone said.

“The voice is good,” Ciano said, ignoring him, talking about him as if he weren’t there.

“Good for what?” Stone asked.

“He wouldn’t have to join the Screen Actors Guild, would he?” Regenstein asked.

“Nah, he gets one freebie, then he has to join.” Regenstein turned to Stone. “You’re planning to be out here for a few days, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but Vance…”

“How would you like to appear in this picture with him?”

“With Vance?”

“Of course, with Vance; Mario is the director.”

“Oh.”

“Well?”

“Are you perfectly serious, Lou?”

“Perfectly. We’ll pay you, let’s see, twenty-five thousand dollars for a week’s work.”

Stone turned to Ciano. “You look like a perfectly sane person, Mario,” he said. “What the hell is Lou talking about?”

Ciano leaned forward. “We have this scene to shoot this week, a courtroom scene, and the actor who was to play the lawyer got a better offer and wants out. Lou and I would like you to test for the part.”

Stone shook his head. “Gentlemen, you’ll have to forgive me, but I come from New York, where things like this don’t happen. I mean, I’ve heard about Schwab’s Drugstore and the casting couch and all that, but…”

“Schwab’s is long gone,” Ciano said, “and don’t worry, neither Lou nor I wants to fuck you; we just want you to stand in front of a camera and read a few lines. If you do it well, you’ll play a prosecuting attorney who is trying to put the client of a lawyer played by Vance Calder in jail. You’ll lose, of course, but you’ll look good doing it.”

“I can’t believe there aren’t a hundred real actors who could do it better,” Stone said.

“That remains to be seen,” Ciano said. “Don’t worry, if you’re lousy, we’ll hire an actor.”

“Actually, you’d be doing us a big favor if you’d do this, Stone,” Regenstein said. “Mario is due to start shooting the scene tomorrow morning, and he doesn’t really want to spend the afternoon casting instead of shooting.”

“It’s settled, then,” Ciano said. “My first assistant director will direct your test this afternoon. We can do it in a corner of Stage Ten while we’re between setups.”

“I’d really need to talk to Vance about this,” Stone said.

Regenstein produced his tiny cellular telephone and dialed a number. “Betty, this is Lou; find Vance for me, will you?” He looked at Stone. “This’ll just take a moment. Hello, Vance? We’ve solved the casting on the prosecutor; how about Stone Barrington for the part? I’m sitting here with him right now, and Mario thinks he’d be great; we’d do a test this afternoon. Great! See you tonight.” He hung up. “Vance is all for it, Stone, so you’re out of excuses.”

Ciano produced his own phone, called his assistant, and ordered preparations for the test. He hung up. “Welcome to Holywood,” he said, grinning.

Stone stood in the dining room of the Connecticut farmhouse on Stage Ten and listened to the young man who was directing him.

“Okay, you’ve had a few minutes with the lines,” the director said. “You okay with them?”

“Seems almost as if I’ve said them before,” Stone said.

“That’s the way! Now, you pretend that the dining table there is the railing in front of the jury. I want you to deliver the lines across the table as if the jury were there, butdon’t look directly into the video camera, just to either side. Got it?”

“I guess so,” Stone replied, putting his script on the table.

“You can hang onto the script,” the young man said.