Hollywood is an All Volunteer Army

by Steven Paul Leiva

  Not wanting to disturb us, the staff of the hotel quietly covered us with thick, long terrycloth robes. For it was just a little bit cool.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Nostrils of a Snake

  We met with Sara Hutton’s lawyer on Wednesday. Anne Barnett was a humorless professional who took seriously the fact that her job was to look after the interests of her clients. She was not a Hollywood lawyer. She was a corporate lawyer with many dealings in the international world of finance. Her office had been decorator designed and was attractive and comfortable, but void of personality. Her desk was organized and uncluttered. She spoke to her staff with courtesy, but each request was obviously a demand. She asked very tough questions and probed intensely the deal we were offering. I believe we satisfied her—just.

  As the meeting was wrapping up a call came in from Sara Hutton for all of us. Anne Barnett put it on the speakerphone.

  “So you’ve worked it all out, all the deal points are set, and we’re ready to roll, right?”

  Everybody laughed for everybody knew she expected it.

  “Pretty near, Sara, pretty near, but you know how these things are,” Anne Barnett said. “We have more discussions and some due diligence to do yet. On both our sides, I would think.”

  “Yes, I agree,” Pinsker said.

  “But, in the main,” Anne Barnett continued, “the basis is there for negotiations.”

  “Good, good, but we all know how long that’s going to take, don’t we? I hope, Anne, you’re not going to tie Lydia up too long. She’s got a TV station to run back in Athens, you know.”

  “Well, certainly, the attorneys can handle most things, but I would like for Lydia to meet my partners, who will also be heavily involved. Unfortunately, they won’t be back until next week. Can you extend your stay until then?” she asked Lydia.

  “Well—” Lydia started

  “Oh, sure she can. Look, Lydia, I’ll keep you entertained, in fact we should spend some time together. We’re contemplating a marriage here. We shouldn’t just leave it up to the yentas. Let’s get to know each other. Got any plans for this weekend?”

  “I haven’t seen my husband for a while. I was going to go home to Athens and jump into our conjugal bed.”

  “Oh. Well, would he be disappointed if you didn’t?”

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  “Well….”

  “But, business is business. I can stay.”

  “Good. Uh, Anne, I don’t want to take up your precious time or bore you with the mundane here. Perhaps you have something to do while I finish up talking with Lydia?”

  Anne was happy to take the hint, and excused herself. Once the door had shut, Sara spoke:

  “Lydia, do you like flying?”

  “It depends whether you’re talking a private jet or commercial. If commercial, then whether you’re talking First Class, Middle Management or Steerage.”

  “No, no, I mean, do you like airplanes; the history of flight?”

  “Not particularly. Why should I? Unless I owned an airline, of course. Even then, what’s the past got to do with shipping bodies today? The boys here seem to, though, they were bothering me about some old planes they saw just the other day.”

  “Ah. Mr. Henderson and Mr. Pinsker. I almost forgot you were there.”

  “A good lawyer knows when not to be a mouthpiece,” I said.

  “Really? Like negative space in art, I suppose. But, you’re into airplanes, uh?”

  “We both fly, yes,” Pinsker said, “and we have quite a collection of Aviation Art.”

  “Well then, you should be excited about this, and, Lydia, believe me, you’ll enjoy this. I’m a pilot also, have been since I was a teenager, and I have a real passion for old classic airplanes. It’s the romantic in me, I guess. Got introduced to them while I was at college by a man who has become a particularly good friend of mine. Well, he’s now operating the San Simeon Air Museum and we try to get together there about once a month to do some flying of these old warbirds from World War II. We’re doing that again this weekend. Now what I like to do, is invite some people from the industry up, executives both here at Olympic and from other companies around town, give them a bit of an air show, then that night we get together for some general discussion about the state of our industry. Sort of like a retreat.”

  Lydia was aghast. “Sara, you get together with your competitors?”

  “Sure, Lydia, it’s a small industry, as you know, we hardly have secrets from each other anyway. So why not foster a communal spirit? That said, I must say, I very carefully handpick the participants. It’s considered quite an honor, among the know, to attend one of my retreats.”

  “Really? Then, of course, I must go.”

  “Good, good, I think you will find it illuminating, Lydia. We get pretty—well—deep in our discussions about the industry. It’s not all just glamour and glitz for some of us, you know, we’re very serious about this business, and we all seem to share a particular outlook about it. In getting to know you, I get the feeling that you may think along the same lines.”

  “If the lines lead to money I do.”

  “Lydia, you’re a deeper thinker on the subject than you’re giving yourself credit for, I’m sure of that, but we are all so used to portraying the Bottom Line as the only line, because we think that’s what’s expected of us. Among the groups I put together, we can be comfortable and drop that—let’s face it, Lydia—stupidly macho stance, and concentrate on the true social aspects of what we do. It’s refreshing. I’m sure you’ll find it so as well, and, in any case, if we have a marriage, you’ll need to know where I’m coming from. It would be unethical of me not to reveal it to you.”

  “Sure, sure, I appreciate that.”

  “And bring along the boys. I hate for them to miss the planes.”

  “That’s very kind of you Ms. Hutton,” Pinsker said.

  “Think nothing of it. Now, I can provide a limo if you would like.”

  “Well, where is this place?” Lydia asked.

  “Uh,” I broke in. “It’s up the coast. About halfway between here and San Francisco.”

  “You know it then?”

  “Oh, yes. Quite well. I was going to suggest to Ms. Corfu that if we had the time we should drive up that way. I thought she would enjoy seeing the coast.”

  “Henderson, I grew up on an island, I’ve seen a lot of coast.”

  “Oh, but he’s right. The California coast is special.”

  “I think what I would like to suggest, Lydia, is that we drive up the day before in the Town Car. That way I can show you some of the highlights. There are some perfectly comfortable motels in San Simeon to stay at that night.”

  “Motels?” Lydia said, wondering if their walls would be slimy to the touch.

  “Oh, come on, Lydia, don’t be such a snob. Sounds like fun, and don’t worry about a motel for Saturday night. You’ll be my guests at a very special place I’m sure you’ll like. I’ll have my office fax all the details to your hotel. The Bel-Air, right?”

  “That’s right,” Pinsker confirmed.

  “Fine. Lydia, this is going to be a great deal of fun, you’ll see. I’ve got to run now; I’ve got New York on the other line. Bye.”

  The line clicked off. We all looked at each other. Lydia took a deep breath then let it out. I think she had just, for the first time, truly realized that the game was going forward, but then she smiled. To reassure us. Which was more than I could do for her.

  *

  Around nine thirty the next morning we received a visit from Mike at the Hotel Bel-Air. He came in wearing some old, faded, slightly torn jeans; a sweatshirt extolling the virtues of Prescott, Arizona; an old Army fatigue jacket and his well soiled Sherman Oaks Newsstand baseball cap. He went to the front desk and asked for Henderson and Pinsker in a voice not subtle. The more-than-subtle desk clerk directed him to the white house phones. Mike went to them, gaping at the lobby as he had been instructed to, and called
us.

  Pinsker went out to collect him and escort him to our garden suite. The previous Monday Roee had thoroughly briefed Mike on the plan; on who Henderson and Pinsker were, and what was to be expected of him. When he arrived in our suite he was definitely, “in the moment,” looking furtive and giving furtive glances.

  “This is Mr. Henderson,” Pinsker introduced me. I also was in the moment. I stood ramrod straight in the middle of the living room on the thick, florid rug that defined the area and that laid on the highly polished wood floor of the suite. Mike headed toward me with his hand stretched out but stopped as he reached the rug, wondering if he should tramp on it with his much scuffed, probably not well wiped work shoes. As I made no move, he had no choice but to suffer the pang of trespass and slam his thick, heavy soles onto the delicate pale pink flowers weaved into the rug. None of this could be heard through the small microphones of the well-placed bugs, of course, but the atmosphere all this generated, I was betting, could be felt.

  “Uh, hello, Mr. Henderson. I’m Mike—”

  “No last name!” I sharply cut him off. “I don’t care to know it. Is Mike your real first name?”

  “Yes.”

  “A pity.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, I’m sure. Sit down. Help yourself to coffee if you wish, or juice or Coke, if you want.” I pointed to a tray of the refreshments laid out on the glass top table before the couch.

  Mike looked around. “Got any beer?”

  “It’s a bit early, isn’t it?”

  “Not when someone else is paying.”

  “If you must then. In the refrigerator.”

  Pinsker directed Mike to the refrigerator in the kitchen area. He opened it up and was delighted to see bottles of Corona. He grabbed one, twisted off the top, and came back into the living room.

  “Sit.” I commanded, sitting myself in an ornate armchair with a back straight enough to keep my posture formidable.

  Mike sat dead center on the fat and luxurious couch, somewhat sinking into it. He took a long drawl of the beer, and then let out a breath of pleasure, as if to say, “Thanks.” He looked around the suite while he waited for me to speak. Which I didn’t do immediately, so he finally spoke.

  “This is really a nice hotel room.”

  “Oh. Do you really think so?”

  “Yeah, sure.” There was a tinge of surprise in his answer, as if he had not expected me to continue the small talk.

  “I find it too feminine,” I said. “I find the decoration of most hotel rooms, especially the costlier ones, to lean far too much to the feminine. Don’t you?”

  “Well….”

  “That painting behind you, for example.”

  Mike twisted to look up at a tapestry-like painting of five stylized swans on stylized water.

  “Is that something any man—you for example—would ever choose to look at if it wasn’t forced upon you?”

  “Uh, no I guess not, but then, you know, my idea of art is movie posters.”

  “Movie posters?”

  “I like movies.”

  “Well, yes. Who doesn’t?”

  “No, I mean, I really like movies. Anybody can tell you that about me.”

  “Anybody?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Say, the Pope for example?”

  “Well….”

  “Or the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff?”

  “No, you know, what I—”

  “Or any one of the stars of any one of your favorite movies of the last five years? Could they tell me that you really like movies? Or would they answer any inquiry by me with a, ‘Mike who?’ indicating that they not only can’t tell me that about you, but that, to them, there is no you. You do not exist to them even to the extent of insignificance. Do you think possibly that could be the case?”

  “Uh, well—”

  “From now on, Mike, speak when spoken to and do not intrude your personal biography into the proceedings. Okay?”

  “O—okay.”

  “Mike, friends of ours here in L.A. tell me that you’re usually willing to do odd jobs for cash, no questions asked.”

  “Yeah, sure! You don’t earn much money working a—”

  “Mike!”

  “Oh, okay, sorry.”

  “Would $5,000 for three days work be sufficient?”

  “Yeah, sure! I mean, just barely, but okay.”

  “Do you mind an element of danger?”

  “Fuck no! Makes life more interesting.”

  “It could make life more dead.”

  “Well,” Mike said with a nonchalance obviously rehearsed, “it’s not like I have a family who would grieve.”

  “Right. Here’s the situation. Mr. Pinsker and I are doing business with an important person in this town. We are going to be this person’s guests this weekend. Now when Mr. Pinsker and I do business with important people, especially when we take out time to socialize, we always like to document the proceedings.”

  “How do you do that?” Mike asked in all innocence.

  “Through our briefcases.”

  Mike snorted out a laugh.

  “Mike—you seem to be a fairly useless member of society. Laughter at your betters is not really in your purview.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Henderson, I wasn’t really laughing at you, I—”

  “Remember the five thousand, Mike. Hold that in your puny little mind as a goal, then shut up and listen to me.”

  “Yeah, right, okay.”

  “Obviously these are not normal briefcases. We have gone to quite a bit of expense to improve them. Each one is a self-contained digital video camera and short range transmitter.”

  “Really?” The boy in Mike popped up. “You’re kidding?”

  “Don’t question me, Mike. I find it irritating. Go open up one of the briefcases.”

  Mike got up awkwardly out of the plush, clutching his Corona, spilling a bit on the couch. “Oh, shit! Sorry.”

  “Mike, maybe you’re not the right man for this job.”

  “No, no, look, whatever it is, I can do it. I’m just nervous, that’s all.”

  “What do you have to be nervous about?”

  “You.”

  “Me?”

  “Look, don’t take this as an insult, but you’re a scary bastard.”

  I laughed a laugh tinged with as much evil as possible without lapsing into melodrama. This was calculated, of course, I was playing to the particular crowd of two I assumed was listening in, basing the direction of my performance on the old saw, “It takes one to know one.”

  “Open the briefcase,” Pinsker re-instructed Mike with impatience.

  Mike moved over to a small, round dining table on which the two briefcases stood. He opened one. Inside was nothing but the normal compliment of files, legal pads, an electronic notebook, pens, pencils, etc. “I’m sorry. I don’t see it.” Mike said perplexed.

  “That’s the point, isn’t it?” I said, “But I guarantee you that, built into the shell of the case are all the electronics that we need, laid out, by the way, in the same pattern as the tartan cloth that line the cases. It helps to confuse the X-ray machines. The unit is powered by super thin batteries.”

  “But—but where’s the camera?” Mike asked, inspecting the case closely.

  “Mr. Pinsker?” Henderson said by way of instruction.

  Pinsker walked over to the briefcases. He pointed to the small, rounded brass lock in the center of the unopened case. It was not a combination lock, or a digital lock, or anything high-tech at all, but a good, old-fashioned key lock, with two small holes, looking somewhat like the nostrils of a snake, sitting in anticipation of a small two-pronged key. Pinsker pulled out of his pocket the key for the unit and showed it to Mike, pointing out that, instead of two prongs, it had only one on one side, the other having obviously been removed. This was noticeable only if one took a good look. Pinsker then inserted the key in the lock and turned it. He removed the key
and very subtly twisted the dome like lock, pointing the snake nostrils at Mike. He then pointed out a small monitor that sat on a side table.

  “Oh my god!” Mike exclaimed as he looked at the very clear black & white image of himself on the monitor.

  “It’s a micro snorkel camera,” I said, “built into the lock with the lens positioned to view out of one of the holes of the lock. The other hole accepts the one pronged key. When you turn it, it not only unlocks the briefcase, it turns on the unit. The lock is on a swivel base, so you can position both the case and it to get exactly the shot you want. The images the digital camera is picking up are being transmitted to the receiver-monitor over there. The unit can transmit to a radius of five miles.

  “Now your job is going to be to sit in a motel room just a few miles from where we are going to be and monitor our transmissions and record them on digital video tape. You will be getting two feeds from the two different briefcases, so you will have a double receiving unit. When we are all done, if all goes well, we will meet you at a prearranged location close to your motel, collect the equipment and pay you your five thousand. If, while you are monitoring you see either of us come to harm, or if we do not show up at the prearranged meeting place, you will have instructions of where to send the tapes. Within days a customer at the newsstand will buy a copy of Le Figaro from you for five thousand dollars and change. Do you understand all this?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Good. Mr. Pinsker will give you a short course in the operating of the receiver unit and the recorders, then you will aid him in packing it up. A bellhop will then take it out to your car. Tomorrow you will drive up to San Simeon. Do you know where that is?”

  “Yeah, sure. Where the castle is.”

  “That’s right. You will drive up there immediately upon leaving us. You did pack a bag as instructed.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. Just south of where the castle is, there is a row of motels on Highway One. Check into one of them. I don’t care which as long as it isn’t the Cavalier. Set up your equipment then lie low. Do not—I repeat for emphasis—do not call attention to yourself while there. The transmissions will start coming in sometime on Saturday, so be at your post nonstop during that day. Lay in a store of food and drink. Nonalcoholic, I must insist. If late tomorrow you happen to see either Pinsker or me in the general area, do not acknowledge us. Is that understood?”