by David Chill
"Maybe not," I said. "Look, I was brought in to do background work on a CEO candidate. Hector was looking into him as well. I don't know if that had anything to do with Hector's murder. But the timing is curious. I'm just checking out all the possibilities."
Patty's mouth curled slightly when I mentioned the CEO search. She impatiently waited until I finished before responding. "A CEO candidate? You don't mean Eric Starr?"
"You know him?"
"Of course. Or his reputation anyway. He'd be a disaster. Trust me. He doesn't understand our business."
"Is there something you can share?" I asked.
"Oh. Well. He has a bad rep when it comes to working with women," she managed, in a less-than-confident voice. "And that's one issue our company certainly doesn't need."
"No company needs that. But I keep hearing BMB and sexual harassment thrown around together. Why is that?"
Patty stared into her coffee for a minute. "A lot of it has to do with the industry," she finally said. "Entertainment is full of wounded people. Not all of the charges you hear about are legitimate. Some of them are trumped up. Hector was good at figuring out what was real."
"Whatever you know might help."
She raised the cup to her lips and blew softly into the coffee. "Listen, I manage a lot of people. Every time one of them files a complaint, I hear about it. And no, I can't share any details. There are confidentiality issues."
I began to get impatient. "Is that because you were one of the people Hector was investigating?"
She glared at me and slammed her cup down onto the saucer. Some coffee sloshed onto the tablecloth. Diners at surrounding tables looked over at us. "That's outrageous! What are you talking about?"
"I have reason to believe Hector was investigating you."
"And how would you know that?!" she demanded.
"Because he told me."
The slight curl of anger had now turned into an ugly scowl. "I don't know what he told you," she said and suddenly got up to leave. "But I suspect whatever it was he was investigating, it died along with Hector."
*
The morning commute into downtown L.A. is an endless line of slow-moving vehicles trudging forward at a snail's pace. Traffic normally began bottling up early, and didn't bust loose until after 10:00 a.m. For the last three years I had made this drive down to USC most mornings, but I usually left at the crack of dawn, so the Santa Monica Freeway was a breeze. When traffic was light, navigating L.A. was almost a pleasure. But except for long holiday weekends, when the city empties out and residents flee to more tranquil locales, good traffic days were rare. And today I didn't have much choice. My appointment was for 9:30 a.m., and I was told I was lucky to get it.
I still had my faculty parking pass, so I cruised easily onto the SC campus, although I didn't take one of the coaches' reserved spaces. Instead, I entered the parking structure next to the Dental School, off of Vermont and Jefferson, and wound my way up five levels before finding a space big enough to fit my SUV. I skipped quickly down the steps, passing a number of sleep-deprived students. Spring Break was a week away, and it looked like many of the kids needed the time off.
The USC School of Cinematic Arts was located right next to the sprawling John McKay Center, where I had spent much of the past three years. The McKay Center was the athletic complex that housed the training rooms, coaches' offices and an underground practice field. The student-athletes there were often big, muscular and cocky. The Cinema School, by contrast, had a far more eclectic crowd. From daydreaming future screenwriters to gorgeous aspiring actresses to some very weird people dressed in black, Cinema students were a stark contrast to the football players whom I had coached. But in the end, they were all just a group of focused young adults trying to navigate their way in the world. And unlike a lot of students, these kids not only had dreams of fame, but they often had plans mapped out to get there. Not all would make it, but at least they were trying.
The Cinema School occupied a series of seven connected buildings, with a small courtyard in the middle. Passing through an arched entryway, I pulled open a glass door with black iron trim and walked inside what some have called an architectural masterpiece. The University had spent the better part of a decade erecting new buildings, and this complex was the crown jewel. Atop one of the archways was a Latin inscription, Limes Regiones Rerum which translates to "Reality Ends Here."
It took me a few minutes to find Dr. Lucas Kanter's office. This journey was made longer by a number of misleading directives from students who appeared to be knowledgeable, but were, in fact, merely guessing. Good acting comes in many forms.
I rapped softly on the open door and a tall, slender, middle-aged man stood up and walked toward me. He had a distinguished appearance, thin, almost delicate features, and slicked-back brown hair. The dark green shirt looked expensive, as did the tailored slacks and tasseled loafers. He had a skeptical smile, but when he spoke he revealed a surprisingly deep, baritone voice that commanded presence.
"Coach Burnside," he said, his voice loaded with inflections. "I'm so pleased to finally meet you."
I smiled, mostly reflecting his enthusiasm. "And I, you."
"Please," he offered, motioning to a luxurious burgundy leather couch. I sat down and immediately sunk a few inches into the soft cushion. "I've met quite a few of the football staff, but I don't believe I ever had the pleasure of meeting you."
Lucas Kanter's office was plush for a professor, most faculty offices were largely utilitarian. His matching burgundy chair had a high back and chrome armrests, giving it a more regal look. His window faced a tranquil courtyard, and there were stacks of papers and files neatly piled on his oak desk. The book shelves were filled, floor-to-ceiling, with an array of books and scripts.
"I declined a lot of faculty meet-and-greets," I acknowledged. "I probably should have gone to a few. Or at least to one, anyway."
"We do like to get to know one another on campus. And football coaches have a celebrity status, as I'm sure you're aware."
"You know I've left the University."
"Yes, yes, that was big news around here when Johnny moved on. Disappointing. And it looks as if the new coach has brought in his own people. The jury's still out on him."
I shook my head. The season hadn't even started yet, and the new coach was being judged before a single game had been played. Such is the world of big-time college football. "Once he wins 10 or 11 games, and the team goes to the Rose Bowl, I'm sure he'll be accepted."
"Well, we do celebrate our winners here."
"And you're quite the celebrity yourself," I pointed out.
Dr. Kanter held out his hands. "What I do is largely maneuvering behind the scenes. My career took off when a few of my scripts were turned into features. But luck plays a big role. Some of the best screenplays ever written are still lingering on producers' shelves."
"You've done a little bit of everything," I observed. "Writing, acting, directing."
"More by necessity. I started out as an actor. Trained at Stella Adler. I landed a few good roles at first, but being a performer is a tough life. Unless you hit it big, an actor has to do an awful lot of auditions. The rejection takes its toll."
"And you turned to writing to assuage that problem."
Kanter laughed. "You've got a nice vocabulary. I'd love to have seen the reaction on a football player's face when you used a word like assuage. But no. I started writing based on a tip I once received. I was attending a party following the premiere of a movie in which I had a small role. I was the eighth lead, basically a nobody, and some producer approached me. Elderly man, old Hollywood type, even wore an ascot. He said it was a shame I didn't have leading-man looks. So I'd need to learn how to write screenplays, pen one with a starring role for myself, and then insist on directing it, too."
"Interesting advice."
"Yes. He disappeared right after that, I have no idea who he was. But I took his advice and wrote a script for myself. The only
problem was that no studio would let me play the lead. BMB finally let me direct it. And I discovered I liked what came with directing. I had to learn every bit of the filmmaking process. From location scouting to camera angles to editing."
"You did all that?"
"I didn't do any of that. This is show business, remember. But I had to understand it in order to direct others. In the end, what I liked most was teaching. To a large extent, that's what a director does. Teach. Not unlike a football coach. You know who's good at what, and you try and prepare them to do the best job they can. If you're lucky, it all comes together."
"And if it doesn't quite come together, you become a professor?"
"Or, I suppose, a private eye."
I smiled. "Touché. You've done your homework, too."
"I have a curious mind," he said. "But I heard Nick Roche was bringing you on board to do some detective work. You know, I didn't plan on teaching, but I didn't plan on earning a Ph.D. in Cinema either. I liked it, began studying it in-depth and well, here I am. Teaching bright young minds how to make movies. Including one of your football players, I should add."
"Really. Who?"
"Demetrius Goffney. Bright young man, has a lot of ideas. And quite an, er, interesting background. Growing up in South L.A., impoverished childhood, parents not around much. How he avoided the gang life is a miracle."
"Sometimes the gangs leave athletes alone," I said. "They know they're special. It's a level of respect."
Demetrius was one of my safeties, a player we sometimes called a tweener. He wasn't quite fast enough to be a great cornerback, and he didn't tackle sure enough to be a safety. But he was agile and he was smart. Demetrius had a knack for winding up in the right place at the right time. In college football that was sometimes enough. The NFL had stricter requirements, though.
"Give him my regards," I said. "He's a good kid."
"You might run into him on your way out. I'm trying to get him an internship at BMB, he's been asking about it. In fact, I had to push him back today, to make room to see you."
"I appreciate it. That brings us to the reason for my visit. I'd like to know a bit more about BMB."
"Anything in particular?"
"Mostly learn about a few people. You heard about what happened to Hector Ferris?"
He nodded. "Very tragic. I didn't know him personally, but it sounded like a horrible thing."
"Do you know Patty Muckenthaler?" I asked.
Dr. Kanter took a deep breath. I wasn't sure how much he was going to share with me. But the good professor struck me as someone who liked to show off his knowledge.
"Patty's a unique talent. Very left brain-right brain. She has creative chops, but she's also very organized. She has to be. Heading up Production for a long list of features and TV shows is a big job."
"But?"
"Ah, yes. But. You know how a person's biggest strength can also be their biggest weakness?"
"In a way, yes."
"Patty's drive and ambition led her to the top levels of a multinational corporation. She'd do anything to get ahead. But she expects others will also. That includes bosses, colleagues and underlings. And it's where things can go off the rails."
"By chance, does sexual harassment play into all this?"
"There have been allegations made."
"About her or by her?"
Kanter chuckled. "Well, I think you may be on to something. The scuttlebutt around the company is that she screwed her way to the top, but that's not really fair. It's also sexist. She's good at her job."
"But there have been dalliances," I continued.
"A few. Maybe more than a few, I honestly wouldn't know. But it's a part of the industry. And some people use these affairs as leverage. It happens in business. More often in our business, though."
I thought back to something that was still bothering me. "When I was introduced to Hector, he was finishing a meeting with Patty. Any idea as to what they could have been talking about?"
Kanter shook his head. "Could have been anything. Might not have been related to her, Patty oversees a big organization. But I guess if you wanted to find out more about her, you should talk to Malcolm Taylor, he was our last CEO. He's the one who promoted Patty to where she is. She was his protégé."
"Think he'd be willing to talk to me?"
"I can make a call. Mal's just over in Century City."
"Near my office," I pointed out. "Appreciate it."
"I'll let him know. He still has a relationship with BMB."
"You've lost a few CEOs in the past couple of years. Sounds like a tough job."
"It is. I've known Mal forever. We've been friends since seventh grade. Harvard-Westlake. Well, it was called the Harvard School back in the day. That's actually how I wound up at BMB. Malcolm brought me in. Said it would be prestigious for BMB to have someone from academia on the board of directors. And that certainly wouldn't hurt my standing at the University."
"I would imagine. You have nicer office furniture than I had."
"Within a big university, every little bit helps," he laughed.
"But it sounds like you couldn't help your friend much. He only lasted what, a year?"
"It's a rough job, CEO. Tons of pressure. But he'll be fine."
"How's that?"
"Golden parachute. When a guy at that level gets cut loose, companies hand them a bundle of money to ease the fall. Getting another CEO job is tough, there just aren't a lot of them around. And most of those guys know they're not going to be around for too long. It's a 24/7 job these days. High burnout rate."
"So this Malcolm Taylor negotiated a good exit package?"
"Did it before he even took the job. Executives get their severance agreement written into the contract. They have an exit package before they even start the job."
"Planning for failure. It's no wonder they don't last long."
Kanter shrugged. I had an idea. "Let's get back to Hector for a moment," I said. "Tell me something."
"Yes?"
I leaned forward. "You're a storyteller. You know something about motivation. If this were a movie you were directing, who would have killed Hector Ferris?"
Kanter stiffened and gave me a hard-edged look. "This is real life, Mr. Burnside."
"It is. But it's not getting me very far."
"I thought you were brought in to look into Eric Starr's background. This is above and beyond your assignment, isn't it?"
"Sure. And maybe Hector's murder isn't related to Eric Starr. Most likely it's not. But what if it is?"
Lucas Kanter gave me a long look and glanced over at his computer monitor. It was as if he hadn't heard me. "It appears as if my next appointment is here. I'm glad you stopped by, Mr. Burnside. I'll call Malcolm. And let me know if you need anything else."
I didn't like being dismissed in this manner, but nor did I want to make an issue out of it. Nothing would be gained by pushing him now. I said a polite goodbye and walked out of his office. But as I started down the hall, I caught a glimpse of a familiar face. He didn't see me, but only because he was doing what young people are prone to do, walking while looking down at his iPhone. I moved into his path and cleared my throat, but he barely noticed, opting to walk around me instead of looking up. I tried another tact.
"Hey, number thirty," I barked, referring to the uniform number he wore on the field. "I guess you forgot the lesson I taught you about keeping your head on a swivel."
Demetrius Goffney jerked his head up in surprise and then broke into a wide grin. "Hey-hey, Coach!" he shouted and moved to give me a hug. "I didn't think I'd see you around here so soon. Or ever, maybe."
"I have a lot of ties to this place, Demetrius. It's like I said when I recruited you. Back when you were torn between whether to commit to UCLA or USC. You remember what I said?"
"Oh yeah," he giggled. "You're a Bruin for four years and a Trojan for life. I still hear it. It's like a mantra around this place."
"That's why we call
it Trojan Family. So how're you doing with the new coaches?"
"Okay, I guess. This was supposed to be my breakout year. I was looking to be a starter. Junior year, you know. Feels like I have to prove myself all over again."
"That's always going to be the case," I warned him. "Everywhere, and not just football. You're always being evaluated."
"I was hoping to start at safety. They have me back at cornerback. Second string."
"Things might work out," I told him. "But you can help yourself. Volunteer for special teams. Everyone needs a good gunner. And realistically, you might wind up being a nickel back. Coming in on third down passing situations. That might suit you. You're smart. And teams need smart players on third down."
He looked at me and processed this. "Okay. I hear you. Seems like you're still coaching me."
"Well, I hope you learned a few things."
"Yeah," he laughed. "I still remember when I was in high school. You told our coach to always have his players wear gloves the color of the opposing team's jerseys. Cuts down on holding calls."
"Uh, right," I said, my face feeling like it might be getting red. I pointed to Dr. Kanter's office. "What are you doing here? I didn't know you were a Film major."
Demetrius smiled. "I was majoring in NFL," he said, "but I finally started thinking about the stuff you and Coach Cleary were preaching all along. Make the most of your time here. Study something you like. Use the university, just like the university is using you. You never know what might happen. It didn't really sink in until you guys left."
Back in the day, I had also hoped to get a shot at the NFL. But my pro football ambitions were short-circuited due to a freak accident assisting a USC campus security officer. I helped him chase down a petty thief, but in so doing, tore the ACL in my knee. It happened in the spring of my senior year, and with the absence of today's medical advances, no NFL team would take a chance on drafting me. My knee healed, but not enough for me to chase down a speedy wide receiver. And thus, a career in law enforcement began.
"Funny how that all works," I said. "Your perspective changes when you start to look beyond college, at the real world."