The Big Bamboo

by Tim Dorsey

  “Pretty high, eh?” said Mark.

  “We’re sticking off the side of the mountain. What’s holding us up?”

  “Tall poles.”

  Ford looked side to side at the neighboring residences. “Don’t they ever fall down?”

  “All the time. Mud slides or weight overload from too many people at a party.”

  They turned around and looked back through the balcony’s open sliding doors. A barrel-chested man leaned suavely against a baby grand, swirling a snifter of cognac. He had thick gray hair and a black blazer over a black turtleneck. Women in strapless evening gowns surrounded the piano and applauded quietly.

  “Who’s that?” asked Ford.

  “Our host.”

  “What’s he doing?”

  “Requests.”

  “

  The season finale of Law and Order you won’t want to miss!

  ”

  Dallas came out on the balcony. “Just got the new address.”

  They collected the gang and headed for the front door, past two old men with ponytails. “Just heard the stupidest script about a carpenter

  ”

  Back to the car. Farther and faster up the mountain. Ford hit his blinker for a left on Mulholland. “Whose place now?”

  “Former child star,” said Pedro. “But not a big one. You know by the fourth season how the original kids aren’t cute anymore and they bring in a younger relative?”

  “Like cousin Oliver on Brady Bunch?”

  “Right, but not him.”

  They swung through a circular drive.

  “Holy cow!” Ford stared up at the mansion. “If he wasn’t big, how can he afford a place like this?”

  “Wrote a tell-all on the other child stars,” said Pedro. “Got nasty. A kid who played a dork in suspenders took a shot at him outside the Staples Center, so he was in demand again. Did the talk shows and some celebrity boxing, then another book on the shooting incident and spending the first book’s advance freebasing.”

  They went inside. This one was much, much louder. The Guess Who.

  Ford found himself talking to a man in a safari vest.

  “No kidding?” said Ford. “A real paparazzo?”

  The man nodded and popped the ceramic stopper off a Grolsch.

  “

  American woman, get away from me-heeeee!

  ”

  “So how come you’re not taking pictures?” asked Ford. “The place is crawling with stars.”

  The photographer took a swig. “People don’t realize it, but we all specialize.”

  “Like what?”

  “Actors leaving rehab, bandaged stars after nose jobs, telephoto work of celebs making out on yachts, stars who’ve let themselves go. One guy just did Brando. Had to sell his house.”

  “What’s your specialty?”

  “Getting Alec Baldwin to punch me for the out-of-court money.” He showed Ford his Rolex. “At least it’s steady.”

  “I got a question,” said Ford. “The former child star standing over there who owns this place. Why does he have so many bodyguards?”

  “They’re not bodyguards. They’re trainers. He pays them to keep him off drugs.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  The photographer shook his head. “He’s always trying to give them the slip. The main thing is for them not to let him go upstairs under any circumstances.”

  “Why not?”

  “That’s where everyone’s doing drugs.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Everyone knows. Every party in this town has a designated drug floor. Like a smoking section. Out of respect. Half of Hollywood is on a health jag; the other half is old school.”

  Pedro ran into the kitchen. “Ford, quick! Follow me!”

  Ford was halfway up to the second floor. “But I don’t want to do any drugs.”

  “We’re not getting drugs,” said Pedro. “We’re getting a limo.”

  He opened a bathroom door. Two naked women in an oversize Jacuzzi smoking opium. He closed the door. On to the den. He opened the door. Oak library shelves and a parchment globe of the neoclassical world containing crystal decanters. Someone was screaming down on the Persian throw rug. Six people restrained a thrashing man trying to take bites out of his own shoulders. “The spiders!”

  “Bad acid,” said Pedro.

  “They’re chewing my eyes!”

  He closed the door. Tino came over. “Limo yet?”

  “Not yet

  Wait. Hold everything

  ” Pedro pointed down the hall. “That looks like a promising lead.”

  Dallas was knocking on the last door at the end of the hall. The guys walked up behind him. Dallas knocked again, harder.

  An impatient voice from the other side: “Who is it!”

  “Doctor Feelgood.”

  Locks unbolted. The door opened three inches. The props guys caught a brief glimpse as Dallas passed a Baggie through the slit: Mel in undershorts with something attached to his nipples; Ian wearing nothing but white powder on his upper lip; an unconscious young woman on the bed, panties around one ankle. The door slammed shut.

  “That girl looked like she was in trouble,” said Ford.

  “Just partied too much,” said Dallas. “Or they put something in her drink. That’s the rumor going around.”

  “What are they going to do to her?” asked Ford.

  “Anything they want.”

  “Shouldn’t we do something?”

  “Somewhere else, yes, we should,” said Dallas. “But I’m sure she gave her consent before passing out.”

  “What?”

  “Every woman in this party would kill to trade places with her,” said Dallas. “She’s going to get a part out of this. A speaking part.” A beeper went off. Dallas looked down. “Gotta run.”

  “I don’t know,” said Ford, looking at his friends. “I still think we should do something.”

  “We are,” said Tino, knocking on the door.

  “Who the fuck is it?”

  “Mr. Glick, we work for you. The Vistamax limo. Do you still need it, because some other executives from the studio—”

  “Take it! Jesus! Just leave us the fuck alone!”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Glick. Thank you, sir.”

  “We’re on!” said Ray. They ran back down the hall.

  “I can’t stop thinking about that girl,” said Ford. “I have a bad feeling.”

  They scampered down the stairs. A former child star dashed past them going up. He was tackled on the landing by a trainer. “Oh, no, you don’t!

  ”

  Ford followed Pedro and the others to the front door. He heard something in passing. He turned around.

  Two guys with highball glasses were shmoozing up a casting agent.

  “

  Started shooting today. Like The Grifters, but different. Probably the first decent script they’ve done all year.”

  “Must have been a slip-up,” said the agent.

  They laughed.

  “Excuse me,” said Ford. “Are you talking about Vistamax?”

  “Yeah. Unless you’re with them.”

  More laughs.

  “Where’s this movie set?”

  “I don’t know,” said one of the highball guys. “Some place down south. Arkansas?”

  “Alabama,” said Ford.

  “As a matter of fact, you’re right. It is Alabama

  Hey, how’d you know?”

  ** Chapter 11

  FORT LAUDERDALE

  Six A.M. Patient room 23. The sky started getting light outside.

  Chi-Chi was snoring in his chair by the door. Coleman had gone back to crash at the Howard Johnson with Coltrane.

  Serge was still sitting next to his granddad’s bed. Hadn’t slept a wink. Bloodshot eyes, head occasionally bobbing down, then jerking up, then slowly bobbing down again.

  His granddad began coughing. “Little Serge, you still there?”

  Serge scooted closer. “Yes.”

  “I don’t feel so hot.”

  “Want me to get a nurse?”

  “I don’t know. I feel strange.” He began hacking again, then stopped and fixed h
is eyes on the ceiling. “What’s happening? Did someone turn off the lights? It’s so dark. I’m floating out of my body

  ”

  Serge leaned forward and clutched his grandfather’s hand. “I’m here.”

  “

  There’s a tunnel, a bright light at the end

  ”

  Serge gulped and squeezed the hand harder. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “I

  I’m walking toward the light now

  It’s getting brighter. I hear beautiful music. I—”

  The old man’s eyes closed, and his head fell to the side.

  “Grandpa!” yelled Serge. “Nooooooo!”

  The old man opened his eyes and grabbed the TV remote. “I was just fuckin’ with you.”

  The TV changed channels. “Oh, good. A Miami Vice rerun. This is my favorite episode. Ted Nugent guest stars.”

  Serge looked up at the set mounted on the wall. “Grandpa, that’s 60 Minutes.”

  “The series was never the same after they blew up Crockett’s Daytona. And don’t even get me started on the Sheena Easton story line

  ”

  “Grandpa—”

  “You read where they’re planning to build a Disney World around here? Just like the one in California

  ”

  “Grandpa—”

  “Little Serge. Hurry up and finish your breakfast.” He tried raising his head, IV tubes stretching. “We have to get hopping if we’re going to catch some fish.”

  “Take it easy and rest,” said Serge. He adjusted his granddad’s pillows.

  “Did I tell you about the big Alabama score?”

  “What Alabama score?”

  “I didn’t tell you? I thought I told you. You sure I didn’t tell you?”

  “When were you in Alabama?” asked Serge.

  “Biggest score yet. My finest piece of work. I was president of an oil company! Can you believe that? Your ol’ granddad

  ” He looked up at the TV. “Ooooo, this is a good part. Crockett and Tubbs have another buddy talk on the nature of women. Everything you need to know about relationships is in this series

  ”

  “Grandpa,” said Serge. “What about Alabama?”

  “Alabama? What are you talking about?” Cough.

  Serge sighed.

  “Lean closer, Little Serge

  ”

  He did.

  “You have to go to L.A.”

  “What?”

  Sergio began snoring.

  Chi-Chi woke up and came over from his chair by the door. “How’s he doing?”

  “Sleeping.”

  “Did you talk?”

  “Yeah, but he was rambling at the end.”

  “At least you got to talk.”

  Serge’s butt was numb. He shifted weight in the chair. Chi-Chi put a hand on his back. “Serge, you look like shit. Why don’t you get some sleep?”

  “No. I have to stay.”

  “I talked to the doctors,” said Chi-Chi. “Completely stable. But he needs his rest. So do you.”

  Serge shook his head. “What if something happens? He’ll be alone

  I can’t imagine anything worse.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen,” said Chi-Chi. “I’m heading back to the HoJo. Why don’t you come with me, just for a few hours?”

  Noon. A rejuvenated Serge walked briskly down the hospital hallway, breaking into a trot. He reached the door of room 23. “What the—?”

  A nurse walked by with patient files. Serge grabbed her by the arm. “Who’s that woman? What’s she doing in my grandfather’s bed?”

  The nurse checked the chart on the door. “That’s her room.”

  “Where’s my grandfather?”

  Another nurse heard them and came over. “Were you related to Mr. Storms?”

  “Were?”

  VISTAMAX STUDIOS

  A secretary’s voice in the lobby: “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t just barge in there!

  ”

  The door flew open.

  Ian looked up from a desk drawer. “Who are you?”

  “Ford Oelman.”

  “Who?”

  “I was just in here the other day.”

  Mel squinted at Ford’s face. “Uh, sure, right

  ”

  “You don’t remember me?”

  “Of course we do,” said Ian.

  “But we see a lot of people.”

  “What were we talking about again?”

  “My screenplay,” said Ford. “The oil scam in Alabama.”

  “Did we like it?” asked Ian.

  “No. You said you couldn’t use it.”

  “I see,” said Mel. “Well, don’t get discouraged. It’s a crazy business. Just keep up the good work.”

  “But right now we have some other matters

  ” said Ian.

  “

  So if you don’t mind,” said Mel.

  “You started shooting it,” said Ford.

  “We have to—

  What?”

  “You’re filming my movie,” said Ford. “I just came from the soundstage.”

  “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

  “They got the oil derrick and the limo and the old guys, just like I wrote.”

  “Which stage?”

  “Fourteen.”

  Ian leaned and pressed a button on the intercom. “Betty, could you bring in the shooting schedule for Fourteen.”

  “We’ll straighten this out,” said Mel.

  Betty came in and handed Ian a pack of stapled pages with grids. He flipped through and stopped near the end. “Here we are. Yeah, you’re right. Oil scam movie. But says here it was written by this guy over in Warsaw. You know, the one who did that Altmanesque comedy on Pol Pot. Very dark. Didn’t do well here.” Ian turned the page around to show Ford. “See? There’s the writing credit.”

  “That’s so like this business,” Mel added with a chuckle. “Ten thousand screenwriters in this town and we have to go to Poland—”

  “He didn’t write it,” said Ford.

  “I just showed you the page. Weren’t you paying attention?”

  “You’re shooting my fucking movie over there!” yelled Ford. “That was my big break and you just stole it!”

  Mel picked up the phone. “I’m calling security.”

  “Wait a second,” Ian told his brother. “I think I can handle this.” He got up and walked over to Ford, putting an arm around his shoulders. “I understand how you feel. A totally normal reaction. But I’ve seen this same kind of thing a million times.”

  Mel joined them and put an arm around Ford’s shoulders from the other side. “He’s right. It’s not your fault. I’d be angry, too, until I understood what was going on.”

  “There are only so many ideas out there,” said Ian. “And only so many variations on those ideas. Virtually everything bears at least a vague resemblance to something else.”

  “It isn’t vague,” said Ford. “It’s my exact script.”

  “Look, I don’t want to say you’re imagining things,” said Ian.

  “I’m not,” said Ford. “It was based on a true story. That’s how I know.”

  “True story?” said Mel. “Were you involved?”

  Ford was suddenly flustered. “W-w-what do you mean?”

  “Look at that treacherous peach face,” said Ian. “Definitely a con man. Probably originally wrote the script for the real oil scam.”

  Ford lost color.

  The brothers broke up laughing. Ian made a dismissive wave. “Must have read it in the papers.”

  “Uh

  yeah,” said Ford. “That’s right. I read it in the newspaper.”

  “There you go,” said Ian. “Someone else must have read the same articles.”

  “You don’t have a copyright on the papers, do you?” said Mel, laughing again.

  “People are always complaining that we’ve ripped off their stories,” said Mel.

  “Normally we sic our lawyers on them,” said Ian.

  “But you’re family,” said Mel, squeezing Ford’s shoulder. “We’ve heard great things about what you’re doing in props.”

  “You have?”

  “I�
�m speaking hypothetically.”

  “But it really is my movie,” said Ford. “You have to believe me.”

  “I believe you wrote a great screenplay. But you have to start accepting that it’s just a coincidence. I know it’s hard for a writer. In your mind, remote similarities become huge, overarching plot duplications.”

  “Someone just retyped it,” said Ford.

  “That’s exactly what they all say.”

  “But we like you, kid,” said Mel. “So we’re going to forget your little outburst. A harmless misunderstanding.”

  “You’ll forget?”

  Ian squeezed his shoulder again. “That’s right, we forgive you.”

  “No need to thank us,” said Mel. “It’s just the kind of guys we are.”

  Ian began walking him to the door. “Now, we really do need to be going. Get back over to props and keep doing that special Ford thing that we haven’t been hearing much about.”

  Ford left the office in a daze. The door closed.

  Desk drawers opened.

  “You’d think he’d be happy seeing his work on the big screen,” said Mel.

  Another commotion in the lobby. The secretary’s voice again: “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t just go in there!

  ”

  “Shit, he’s back!” Ian closed his drawer.

  The door opened. Six bulky Japanese men entered.

  “Oh, it’s you,” said Mel.

  Betty came in behind. “I tried to stop them.”

  “It’s okay,” said Ian. “You can go now.”

  Betty closed the door. The brothers were already rushing around their desks to pull chairs over from the wall.

  “I didn’t hear anything about you coming for a visit,” said Mel. “You should have called.”

  “We were in the neighborhood.”

  The brothers dragged the last chairs into place. Some of the men had digits missing. Ian and Mel went back behind their desks. Everyone sat. Except one. He remained standing by the door. The more Ian and Mel tried not to look at his face, the more they found themselves looking. That was the desired effect.

  Ian’s eyes returned to their leader, sitting in the closest chair. “What do we owe the pleasure?”

  The leader had heavy acne scarring. He lit a filterless cigarette and pinched it between his thumb and index finger. “Should we be worried?”

  “About what?” asked Mel.

  The man answered by using the floor as an ashtray.

  “Oh, All That Glitters?” said Ian. “No, everything’s under control.”