Movie Mogul Mama

by Connie Shelton

  Gracie’s voice came over the line. “So, you think my mom was steered in the same way? You don’t suppose her friend Patty …”

  “Does Janice know this Patty very well?”

  “I don’t really know … I mean, she talks as if she does, but Mom is one of those who instantly becomes friends with everyone. She doesn’t have good radar for spotting phonies.”

  “It would have been difficult in this group tonight,” Pen assured her. “They blended in very well.”

  “But, Pen, I think you’re right,” Amber said. “I never did see Maisie or the other couple after the presentation. Once the selling began, these people were very cautious to keep us separated. They didn’t even let me go in with Pen. I noticed that couples were kept together. I guess, obviously, husband and wife will make joint decisions, but people like me—P.A.s or business associates—anyone who might talk the real investor out of signing—we were kept away until it was a done deal.”

  “But you got a much better look at the mansion than the rest of us,” Pen said, with a grin toward Amber.

  “Well, yeah. And, I did get a few juicy tidbits of conversation here and there. They might have tried to keep us apart, but they don’t know that I have excellent hearing.”

  Pen looked at Amber over the top of her teacup. “Excellent … do tell.”

  “Well, the brunette who came under the spotlight after Rob showed the movie trailer … her name’s Abby. While he was in the other room getting signatures and money she was steering the various gofers to their positions, and she seemed pretty friendly with one guy. Anyway, I was with a group being shown the billiard room, and while our guide was going on about the amazing tile work and the fact there’s some inconspicuous little turtle in a mosaic on the ceiling, I edged closer to Abby. I still had my camera going and I tilted it her way.

  “She’s telling the guy things about Rob, kind of personal stuff, and I caught something about France. Well, my ears perked up at that. You know I’ve always wanted to go to Paris …”

  “Amber!” Grace’s impatience came through.

  “Okay, I know. So, the thing that really stuck with me was when Abby said Rob puts down the rich people all the time. Loves their money but is sick of dealing with them calling the office and pestering.”

  “What! The rat! That would have been my mom.”

  “Yes, and he apparently also told her once he has enough money, he’s going to vanish. To hell with everybody in the movie business. He’s out of there.”

  “Oh my god,” Gracie said. “He really is going to take the money and run.”

  “Did you manage to record that part?” Pen asked, glancing around for the notebook with the camera.

  Amber crumpled. “No, unfortunately not. I’d left the camera on too long and my battery died. It’s charging in my room right now. We can look at the footage and see what I did get later.”

  “So, we don’t have enough to turn him over to the law?” Gracie asked.

  “We might. We’ve got a good start with the contract. I gather I was one of the few to get out of the building with a copy of what I signed. As contracts go, it’s really pitiful. Two pages, all of it in favor of the production company, nothing in the way of a guaranteed return. No recourse for the investor if every cent of the money is lost.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “But probably not uncommon. Most investments involve some degree of risk—your stock broker won’t guarantee much of anything either. Every investor is supposed to make his or her own informed decisions. But this differs radically in the contrast between what the sales pitch, the website, and the video trailer promise and what the contract says. There’s nothing naming these A-list actors they promised; loopholes allow them to change the script, the location, all of it. Not to mention the way investors are pressured. He wouldn’t let me take a copy of the contract for review by my attorney—insisted the offer was only good tonight.”

  “If we turn it over to the law, will they just shake their heads and say it’s a case of Buyer Beware?” Gracie asked.

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to do my best. I’ll run it past Benton when I get home,” Pen said. The retired district attorney was a close friend and confidant who had advised her on legal matters a few times.

  Gracie thanked them and they hung up.

  “Let’s see what we got on video,” Pen suggested. “Can we watch while it’s plugged into the charger?”

  They went into Amber’s bedroom and she brought up the camera program which had transmitted to her phone. First impression of the video was a garble of noise. The dramatic music from the movie trailer was overwhelmed by chatter—Pen recognized the voices of their table companions—and by dishes clattering as the waiters picked up dinner plates and delivered desserts. It was the only part of the whole production which had not been choreographed quite closely enough.

  Once the noises abated, the soundtrack quality improved. There were still a couple of interruptions when a waiter passed between their table and the projection screen, but much of the trailer came through. They sat close, squinting at the small screen.

  “I don’t know,” Pen said when it finished. “Do you think anyone else will be able to grasp it? We know what was said because we were there. I’m afraid others may find it hard to follow.”

  “I’ll see what I can do with it once it’s transferred to my computer. I’ve a pretty good editing program.”

  Pen still had the two-page contract in her hand. “I’m disappointed we didn’t get more. I’ve no idea if this skimpy document and our dubious video will be enough to convince the law to pursue a case.”

  “What about if we could find other so-called investors who would join in?”

  Pen thought about it. “I like the idea. We could ask Janice who, besides her friend Patty, was at the presentation she attended. I’d want to talk to others—I have a feeling Patty may have been put into the audience just as our Maisie was.”

  “So, a couple of us go to California while Rob is out here, filming on location, and we break into his offices and find the other contracts. We could contact each investor, say we’re just checking up to see if they’ve been pleased with the return on their money. I bet we’d get an earful.” Amber had a devilish look on her face.

  “No doubt.” Pen laughed as she left for her own bedroom.

  In the morning they treated themselves to a room service breakfast. Amber appeared in a long t-shirt and robe, her wild curls in complete disarray. She downed two cups of coffee, then her eyes brightened and her customary smile came back.

  “I was thinking most of the night,” she said.

  Pen smiled as she cracked her soft-boiled egg. “I’m not surprised. And what did you conclude?”

  “Rob said his crew is filming at The Breakers this week, right? It was one of the reasons he hosted last night’s gathering there. So, maybe we go there again this morning and see who’s around. Some of the investors from last night may have shown up to watch the action—in fact, we could use that as our own excuse—or, I might spot Abby or some of the other gofers and blatantly listen to the gossip some more.”

  “Why not? Our flight doesn’t leave until this afternoon.”

  “If I get the chance, at least this time I have a fully charged phone for recording and filming what’s going on.” Amber laughed and lifted the cover from her plate of blueberry pancakes.

  An hour later they were in their rental car again, having packed and checked out of the hotel. They could spend the morning watching how film production worked and still make their flight easily. From Bellevue Avenue they made their way through the neighborhood of huge homes, turned on Ruggles, and made a left on Ochre Point. The street in front of The Breakers was clogged with tour trollies, but the parking lot across the street still had spaces. They parked and walked among a stream of people headed up the long drive toward the ticket counter.

  “Rather a different picture than last night,” Pen commented. “Arriva
l at the front door by limo sort of spoiled me.”

  “Yeah. I’m kind of surprised,” Amber said. “How can they be filming with this many people milling around? Looks like we’ll have to buy a ticket if we want to get beyond the front door.”

  “Maybe we misunderstood and the filming only takes place early or late in the day, outside tour hours.” Pen looked around and spotted a door marked Office. “Let’s check with someone.”

  Pen tried the door. It opened to a small reception area with a slender young man seated at the desk. Beyond, she saw another room and heard female voices. Presumably, this was where the ticket proceeds were brought and counted. It certainly wasn’t the management office she’d been taken to last night in order to make her photocopy.

  “We’re not here for the tour,” she began, “we need to speak with Rob Williams, the producer who’s filming here. Where might we find him?”

  The desk guy gave her a completely blank look.

  “Movie?” Amber said. “They’re shooting a movie here. Is it inside the mansion or out on the grounds somewhere?”

  His mouth opened and shut a couple of times before words came out. “I have no idea about that. Let me call Ms. Blanchard.” He picked up his handset.

  They waited nearly ten minutes before an efficient-looking woman in a navy suit bustled in.

  “Harriet Blanchard, estate manager,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m afraid I didn’t understand the question about some sort of filming …”

  Pen repeated what they’d heard the previous evening, Rob’s claims about the mansion being used as a movie set for his current production.

  Harriet’s eyebrows pulled together in front. “What was the name of the production company?”

  “Intrepid Dog Pictures,” Amber said. “Robert Williams is the producer.”

  Blanchard shook her head. “I’m afraid there’s a misunderstanding. Mr. Williams rented a few of the rooms for a social gathering last night. He catered a dinner for his guests, and they had access to a few of the ground floor rooms afterward. But that was the extent of it. They paid for the use of the space until ten o’clock. Everything was cleared away by eleven, and the entire house was reset for tours again well before we opened the doors at nine this morning.”

  “So, even outdoors on the lawns—no filming?”

  Blanchard made an impatient gesture. “No. As I said, there are no film production companies with access at all right now. It’s something we plan well in advance. There are arrangements to be made, legal contracts, permits issued and deposits paid, clearances for all their staff. This man you’re talking about has never filmed a movie here.”

  Chapter 8

  “So, I wonder how many other film locations Rob Williams has claimed, places he’s never actually made a movie?” Sandy mused.

  The team had assembled the following morning, choosing one of their favorite breakfast places for an early meeting. Mary’s jujitsu class would come to her gym at ten and Sandy needed to be at the bank for a client meeting, so seventy-thirty for omelets and coffee worked for all.

  Amber, looking far more bright-eyed than Pen after their quick East Coast trip, held up her phone for all to see.

  “I couldn’t sleep last night,” she admitted, “so I started checking. Rob Williams’s website claims he was producer or executive producer on five films, dating back about eight years. But that’s his word. He doesn’t even have a Wikipedia bio, and I’m not finding much of any Hollywood connection prior to his own listings.”

  “Because he was probably in grammar school,” Pen mumbled. She’d drained her first cup of coffee and was working on the second, but her flawless English complexion seemed more drawn than usual.

  Mary and Gracie chuckled at her comment.

  “I tell you, you cannot believe how young he is,” Pen said.

  “According to his website, he’s forty.” Amber squinted at the phone.

  “He began producing movies in his early thirties, then,” Sandy said. “That does seem young to have gotten such a head start in the business.”

  “What did I tell you? A baby,” Pen said. Her poached egg and toast had arrived, and she spread marmalade on one of the whole-wheat triangles. “It’s the trouble with these new up-and-comers, they want instant fame and fortune without putting in the years to earn it—present company excepted, of course.”

  Amber gave her a sweet smile.

  Gracie, halfway through her Denver omelet, set down her fork. “What did Benton advise? You saw him last night, right?”

  “Yes, he picked me up at the airport and we had a quick bite on the way home. I showed him the contract and filled him in on our visit to Newport. He said, and I quote, ‘I don’t see how throwing a party in a mansion while claiming something more can really be construed as illegal, actually.’ He did admit such false claims are on the shady side, but it’s almost always up to the investor to check out the claims and the company they are signing with.”

  “But did he have any advice for what might be done now?” Gracie asked.

  “He said, based on what I told him, he would recommend that we find more victims of Williams’s before we try taking it to the law. It will be up to the prosecutor’s office to decide whether to pursue criminal prosecution, and that will likely depend on the amount of money involved. If they won’t pursue it, there are the civil courts, but we would spend a great deal on lawyers if we go that direction. When he asked whether any of the plaintiffs have money to go that route, I had to admit we only know of your mother so far.”

  Gracie’s mouth pursed and she nodded.

  “We actually met very few of the guests at the dinner, and those were introduced by first names only.”

  “Other than Maisie Brown,” Amber reminded. “I’m going to see if I can search her out.”

  “She wouldn’t be of any help. She swore she’d made a lot of money from her film investments,” Pen said. “And when I mentioned her to Benton he made the very valid point that perhaps it was true. Maybe Maisie really did earn an impressive return.”

  “Even if she didn’t, would she admit it to us? She was glowing with excitement at the chance to invest with Rob again,” Amber said.

  “Unless, as I suspected, she might have been planted in the audience to help drum up enthusiasm.” Pen popped the orangey bite of toast into her mouth.

  “Okay, so if this Maisie Brown proves to be a dead end, victim-wise, what about others? Who else’s names do you remember from the gathering?” Sandy asked.

  “I talked with one of Rob’s assistants, a thirty-something woman named Abby. Unfortunately, she and the others who were part of the show only gave first names.”

  “A first name is a starting place. We can find out more about anybody,” Mary said. “Look, I can take some time away from the gym. Billy took his vacation last month and he’s been pushing me to do the same. If we have to go somewhere to track down this Rob Williams, I’m in.”

  “A new face would be good,” Pen said. “I fairly well burned my bridges, if it comes to doing anything sneaky, since I got a little confrontational with him at the contract signing. He might remember Amber, but he’s never seen the rest of you.”

  “So, here’s what I’m thinking,” Sandy said, pointing with her pen at the yellow pad of notes she’d been taking. “We locate Abby whatshername and Maisie Brown. Figure out where we’d need to go to talk with each of them face to face. If we can get any kind of admission from Abby, or some kind of paperwork from Maisie … well, it would give us that much more evidence.”

  “Where are the offices of this Intrepid Dog Pictures—somewhere in California?” Mary asked with a chuckle. “Sorry, that name is just too funny.”

  “Yeah, it’s in the Los Angeles area,” Amber said, smiling back. “I can get an address.”

  “Okay, do that,” Sandy said. “Then let’s look at the next steps. If we can somehow get in there—maybe with this Abby as a contact, maybe not—at least we can try to get a look th
rough the records and find out how many victims were scammed. According to Benton, the more the better because the law can then build a stronger case.”

  “And at least we’ll find out that my mom isn’t alone in this thing.”

  “She’s not alone, I assure you,” Pen said. “That huge room was full of new takers for Rob Williams and his offer. In the room where the hard-sell pitch was made, I personally witnessed at least five other people signing up.”

  “We have to take this guy down,” Mary said, her eyes bright with moisture. “We just have to.”

  Chapter 9

  Rob Williams sat back in his first-class seat, eyes closed, savoring the past few days. Newport had gone well. And The Breakers—nice. He could get used to a lifestyle like that. Yeah, easy.

  He felt movement at his wrist. The flight attendant had picked up his empty scotch glass. When he opened his eyes she asked if he would like another.

  “Sure, hon.”

  She gave him a look but headed to the galley to get the drink.

  Hon. His father’s way of addressing women. Rob’s years in California had taught him better but he sometimes forgot to watch his mouth. Robert senior had never sat in first class on an airplane, had never walked into a mansion like that one in Newport, was probably sitting in some Milwaukee bar right now, wondering if it was going to snow tonight.

  Rob put the picture out of his head, his old man with stained dungarees and a beer gut that grew bigger every year. His mom, the longsuffering quiet one, until she just gave up and died last year. Cancer. Now, Pop didn’t even bother to go home for dinner, just ate pork skins and pickled eggs at the bar and called it food. Whenever Rob (he’d ditched childhood-cute ‘Robbie’ the minute he left their home) talked to his dad about his unhealthy lifestyle, Pop either went on a rant about what a young ingrate he was, or the phone line got real quiet and Rob felt bad for lecturing.