Warren Murphy: Shooting Schedule

"Okay, messenger it to me. I'll look it over."

"No, Bart, sweetheart. There's a Nishitsu corporate jet waiting for you at Burbank Airport. That producer you met in Tokyo, what's his name? Sounds like a Greek sandwich shop."

"jJro something."

"That's him. He wants you in Yuma by noon."

"Yuma! Tell him no way. I spent three days in Japan with those Nishitsu guys. They gave me the creeps, always bowing and scraping and asking me where I bought my shoes and if they were for sale. They were so polite I wanted to punch them."

"Yuma isn't in Japan. It's in Arizona."

"Why do they want me there?"

"That's where you're filming. They've been scouting locations since you got back."

"This is a freaking Christmas movie. It's set in Chicago. "

"I guess this is one of the changes they made."

"They can't film Johnny's Christmas Spirit in Arizona."

"Why not?" Shawn said in a reasonable tone. "They filmed Star Wars in Southern California. Looked like outer space to me."

"It doesn't snow in Arizona," Bronzini said acidly. "They don't have evergreens. They have cacti. What are they gonna do? Decorate the cacti?"

"Don't cacti have needles too?"

"Don't you fucking start, Shawn!"

"Okay, okay. Look, talk to them. Straighten it out. But they need you to smooth things over. They're having trouble with the Yuma Chamber of Commerce or something. It's about film permits and work rules."

"What am I, head of the local? Have them take it up with the union."

"Uh, they don't want to do that, for some reason."

"What do they mean? I'm the star, not the shop steward. This is a union movie, isn't it?"

"Of course it is, Bart," Shawn said plaeatingly. "These are major, major people. They're looking for a piece of the U. S. film industry. No way they're not union."

"Good, because if this isn't a union production, I'd back out right now."

"Can't."

"Why not?"

"They got your name on the contract. Remember?"

"So let them sue."

"That's the problem. They will. And they'd win, because they'll try it in a Japanese court. They're big, a mega-corporation. They could clean you out. No more polo ponies, no more Renoirs. They'd probably bag you for your comic-book collection if they find out about it." Bartholomew Bronzini was silent for a long time. Before he could speak, his agent spoke up.

"You know what they'd do if you backed out. They'd turn around and give the part to Schwarzenegger."

"No chance!" Bronzini exploded. "That side of beef couldn't cut it in my Christmas movie. He's the only actor in the world who steps on his own lines."

"No argument there. But let's not let ft get to that. Okay? Burbank Airport. The jet's waiting." Bartholomew Bronzini hung up the phone with so much force that Donald Duck's beak fell off.

The Nishitsu jet was waiting for him when Bronzini pulled up on his Harley Davidson. A white-coated Japanese steward stood meekly by the door. He pulled it open from the top, exposing a flight of plush steps.

The steward bowed quickly when Bronzini dismounted.

"Konnichi wa, Bronzini san," he said with a tight smile.

The smile fell off when Bronzini began pushing his motorcycle up the plush steps. "No, Bronzini san. "Where I go, my bike goes," growled Bronzini. He pushed the bike up as easily as if it were a ten-speed and not a monster Harley.

The steward followed him up, and as Bronzini leaned the bike against a bulkhead, he pulled up the staircase door. The engines immediately began warming up.

When the Nishitsu jet landed at Yuma International Airport slightly more than sixty minutes later, the Japanese steward lowered the ramp stairs manually and jumped out of the way while the maniac American actor piloted his bouncing motorcycle down it at full speed.

Bartholomew Bronzini hit the tarmac with a bump, nearly wiping out. He recovered, dismounted, and walked the bike up to the Nishitsu corporate van, gunning the engine impatiently while the unhappy face which he recognized as Jiro Isuzu peered out of the side window with horrified eyes.

Finally Isuzu slid open the door and stepped out. "Bronzini san. Good of you to come."

"Save the soap," Bronzini said. "And it's plain Bronzini. So what's the problem?"

"Shooting start in two day. We have much to do."

"Two days!"

"Production on tight shooting schedule. Must hurry. Wirr you come now. Prease?"

"Lead the way," Bronzini said, kicking the bike stand up. "This is bogus."

A brief flash of anger showed in Jiro Isuzu's eyes. For a moment the Japanese looked as if he were going to say something, but he only bobbed his head repeatedly and slid the van's side door closed.

Bronzini followed the van into the city. His initial impression of Yuma was that it was flat. The highway leading into town was dotted with fast-food restaurants and discount stores. He saw very few cacti.

But when they turned into a residential area, several stubby cholla cacti decorated front yards. Most homes had Christmas decorations up. But to Bronzini, the warm desert air and lack of snow made it seem not like Christmas at all.

"How the hell are they going to film a Christmas movie in this godforsaken place?" he muttered as he passed a Pueblo-style home with the inevitable flagstone patio. There was a cow skull by the front door. It wore a Santa Claus cap.

Bronzini was still turning the question over in his mind when the van pulled up to Yuma City Hall. "What are we doing here?" he demanded of Jiro when the latter emerged from the van.

"We have appointment with mayor. I told him you would come. Now, forrow, prease."

"The mayor?" Bronzini muttered. "I hope this isn't another key-to-the-city deal. I already got enough to open up a store."

Basil Cloves had been mayor of Yuma for nearly six years. He was very proud of his city, which was one of the fastest-growing desert communities in the West.

He was proud of its three TV stations, its important military bases, and its crystal pure air.

He would never knowingly surrender it to a foreign aggressor.

But when his press secretary ushered in representatives of the Nishitsu Film Corporation, who were accompanied by the world's number-one film superstar, Bartholomew Bronzini, he broke into a baby-kissing smile.

"Mr. Bronzini!" he gushed, taking Bronzini's hand in both of his. "Wonderful of you to come. I've seen every one of your movies."

"Great. Thank you," Bronzini said quietly. Everyone in the room interpreted his comment as bored disinterest. The truth was that Bronzini was embarrassed by the sunglasses-and-autographs side of his business.

"I loved you in Conan the Mendicant. You were so... so ... muscular!"

"Nice of you to say so," Bronzini said. He decided not to mention that that was Schwarzenegger. He hated when people confused him with that Austrian water buffalo.

"Well, Mr. Bronzini," the mayor of Yuma said as he gestured everyone into seats. "Mr. Isuzu tells me that you want to film a movie in my beautiful city."

"Yes, sir," Bronzini said, and everyone in the room assumed he was being condescending when he used the word "sir." He was not.

"You can understand that when folks I don't know, no offense, gentlemen"-he indicated the representatives from Nishitsu, who sat with straight backs and stiff necks-"come to my city and apply for permits and things of that sort, I have to secure certain assurances. We don't see many flicks made in Yuma. So I told these fine gentlemen that if they could offer proof of their sincerity and good intentions, I would do what I could to get it past the city council."

Here it comes, Bronzini thought. As an occasional producer, he had gotten used to being strong-armed. You contacted the local government for permission to film on public streets and they never thought about the revenue that would be brought into the local economy, the local people who would be employed. They only wondered what was in it for them. If it wasn't the politicians, it was the teamsters or the Mafia.