Madison Avenue Shoot

by Jessica Fletcher

  A production assistant leaned forward and put the cup into his hand.

  Cookie said, “Well, if you’re all goin’ off, Ah’m gonna get me a doughnut.”

  Five minutes passed and then ten, but none of the combatants returned. The crew was standing around waiting.

  “Is the number two set ready to go?” the director asked.

  I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Mrs. Fletcher?” Dave Fitzpatrick said. “Would you like to see your set now?”

  “Ooh, can I see it, too?” Frank said.

  “Of course,” I replied.

  Grady, Frank, and I followed Dave back the way we’d come and down a different corridor with offices on both sides. We could hear a loud argument going on in one of them. As we approached, I recognized the voices of Howerstein and Betsy.

  “Where’s the money, Betsy? I had to lay out a fortune for Akmanian. And I got a crew to pay.”

  “Stuff it, Daniel. You get paid when the client pays us. Not before.”

  “If I find out you’re cheating me . . .”

  “What’ll you do? Leave? You’re easily replaced. There are dozens of production companies that would jump at the chance to work with Mindbenders, even if they never got paid.”

  “Not this one!”

  “I don’t have time for this.” Betsy stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind her. An ironic expression bloomed on her face when she saw us. “There’s always oodles of drama on a production,” she said, forcing a smile. She strode down the hall in the direction we’d come from.

  Frank hugged Grady’s side as we continued down the hall to a book-lined library at the end. “She sure yells a lot,” I heard him whisper to his father as we entered the room.

  “Grown-ups don’t always behave like grown-ups should,” Grady replied. “Let’s forget about her and see what Aunt Jessica’s set is like.”

  A large walnut table that I assumed usually occupied the center of the room had been pushed to one end, and its chairs wheeled in a bunch next to it. In their place, a desk, surrounded by light stands, had been set up in front of a bookcase. I noticed a row of my books on one of the shelves. On the desk, a laptop computer sat on a blotter framed in brown leather. Lined up neatly at its side were a brass pen and pencil set and a stack of lined paper pads. Three books—a dictionary, a thesaurus, and a book of quotations—stood between a set of marble bookends in the shape of lions’ heads. Warm light from a desk lamp shone down on a small bowl of flowers. It looked like a very pleasant place in which to write.

  “This looks cool, Aunt Jessica,” Frank said. “When did you get a new desk?”

  “It’s not mine, Frank. It’s just the suggestion of my working space,” I explained. “It doesn’t have to look exactly like my desk at home, but we’ll pretend that it does for the commercial.”

  “Is that allowed?” he asked.

  “I think for this purpose, it’s allowed. But you should keep in mind that a lot of things you see in commercials on television may not be portrayed the way they actually are in real life.”

  “Oh.”

  “Do you like it, Mrs. Fletcher?” Dave asked.

  “It’s lovely,” I said.

  He pulled up his sleeve and looked at his watch. “Your spot has been moved back to this afternoon. We’re planning to shoot you at the desk, and then do some of your lines in front of a green screen we have set up in another room,” Dave said. He looked at Frank. “Do you know what a green screen is?”

  Frank shook his head.

  “It’s a neutral background, and it’s really colored green,” Dave told him. “I’ll show it to you later. When we take what we’ve filmed in front of the green screen, we can insert any kind of picture behind your aunt. We can put her in front of the Eiffel Tower or London Bridge, or we can show her standing in a jungle.”

  “Awesome!” Frank said.

  “Are those the backgrounds you’re going to use?” I asked.

  “I don’t think it’s been decided yet, but they’ll probably ask you if it’s okay to use whatever they pick.”

  “I’m sure whatever they choose will be fine,” I said.

  “How did you get this office building?” Grady asked.

  “And where are all the people who work here?” Frank added.

  Dave laughed. “We had a bit of luck. An insurance company went under and left this place just as you see it. Since it’s unoccupied, our location scout was able to get a good deal from the landlord to let us shoot here.”

  “So it already had a kitchen,” I said.

  “Yes, ma’am. Kitchen, library, offices. We’re using their satellite-conferencing setup to mimic a news studio for Miss Tripper’s spot. And we found a great room for Sevenson. It’s got wallpaper with stars on it. He’s the famous new age guru, right? It’s the perfect background. I just hope he doesn’t figure out he’s in a day care center.”

  “He would love that,” I said, thinking the opposite.

  “The toys are gone, so I doubt he’ll know what the room was used for. At least I hope so.”

  “Well, you can be assured I won’t tell him,” I said.

  Jason poked his head in the conference room. “Dave, Howerstein wants you back on number two. That guy Sevenson is threatening to leave.”

  “Speaking of the devil,” Dave said.

  “He says he doesn’t care what kind of paper she has—she can’t treat him that way.”

  “Aw. C’mon. A contract’s a contract.” Dave excused himself and hurried from the room. Frank ran after him.

  “Frank!” Grady called. “Come back here.”

  “It’s okay, Dad. I’m just going down the hall. I can’t get lost.”

  “You better stay out of trouble. And don’t get in the way.”

  “I won’t.”

  Grady looked at me. “Just as well. I want to talk to you about something.”

  “Are you sure he’ll be okay?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah, everybody’s been looking out for him this morning. They’ve been great. He’s like their mascot. Besides, everything takes place on this floor. He can’t go far.”

  “If you’re sure,” I said, but I was uneasy at leaving a nine-year-old boy unsupervised.

  “Can you believe that argument between Betsy and Howerstein? I don’t want to be responsible if his company goes under.”

  “How could you be responsible?”

  “Because of that problem he asked me to look into. Remember? We may have a bit of trouble with that.”

  “Who’s we?” I asked.

  “My company. I checked with the California office and it seems we’ve been late on a lot of crew payments lately. We don’t have the money to cover them.”

  “But I thought the production companies had to give you the money in advance for their payroll. Aren’t they doing that?”

  “The problem is, they are giving us the money.”

  “Then why are the payments late? Where is the money going if it isn’t going to pay the crew?” I asked.

  “I wish I knew. The office is sending out the checks, but not on time. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Is it possible the company overextended itself, spent more money than it had?”

  Grady scratched the back of his head. “The big brass made a number of acquisitions lately, buying up smaller companies. I thought we were growing awfully fast.”

  “Could they have used some of their production companies’ payroll money to pay off those purchases?”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. If they’ve been scrambling to cover the checks, they may be taking money from the next company to pay the crew of the last company. At that rate, they’ll always be behind.”

  “If you’re right, Grady, that means your employer is in financial trouble. It’s bound to catch up with them sometime. Is there anything you can do?”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t want the production companies I work with, like Eye Screen, to lose their payroll money. I’ve worked hard to learn
their business and I know they trust me. But at the same time, I don’t want to accuse my company of doing something unethical, or even illegal, unless I’m really sure that’s what’s happening. If I’m wrong, it could ruin my reputation, never mind cost me my job.”

  “Can you speak with anybody about this?”

  “My boss is out of town right now, but I’m going to bring it to his attention as soon as he gets back.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “And, Grady, please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  “I will, Aunt Jess. Thanks.”

  “Now, let’s go find that boy of yours.”

  Chapter Ten

  We found Frank wearing a different set of earphones, the red ones he’d been given earlier looped around his neck like a collar, in imitation of other crew members. He was standing next to the soundman, who had commandeered one of the cubicles for his equipment and himself. He was close to my age, gray and slope-shouldered, practically an anachronism on a set where the next-oldest person was probably in his or her forties. He leaned back in an office chair behind an array of decks with as many dials, buttons, and meters as he would have if he were sitting in an airplane cockpit. A cardboard sign, taped to the back of one of the components, said CLIFF’S cave—keep OUT!

  “Now, you listen to me, kid,” Cliff said to Frank. “Experience means never having to move. If you know what you’re doing, you don’t have to see what’s going on. You can hear everything and make adjustments from this seat without ever having to get up. Look at this.”

  Frank leaned closer so he could see the dials to which Cliff pointed.

  “I hand-massage the sound,” Cliff said. “It goes through my ears and into my hands.” He reached out a gnarled finger and twirled a dial. “Hear the difference?”

  Frank nodded. “What’s that banging sound? It sounds like bowling balls.”

  “I can’t see her, but this is what I’m thinking: They put the microphone on her collar and she’s wearing some kind of necklace. Every time she turns her head, the beads click together and that’s what you get.”

  “Wow! They’re loud.”

  Cliff turned down the volume. “Now, you go around the corner and see what she’s wearing. Then come back and tell me if I’m not right.”

  Frank took off the earphones, handed them to Cliff, and put his red ones back on. He rounded the corner of the cubicle intent on his task.

  “Slow down, sport,” Grady said as Frank passed us. “And tie your laces or you’ll trip.”

  “No, I won’t,” Frank called back.

  “Sharp little guy,” Cliff said to us when we introduced ourselves. “Might just make a good soundman one day.”

  We heard an enormous crash, followed by a scream.

  Cliff shuddered. “That’s not a good sound,” he said, but he didn’t get up.

  Grady and I glanced at each other and ran in the direction Frank had gone. He was kneeling on the floor, an enormous light lying next to him, its glass bulb in shards scattered on the carpet. Several other light stands had toppled over, making it difficult to reach him.

  “You little brat! What are you doing here? See what you’ve done. Get out! Get out! Get out!”

  Grady jumped over the poles to reach his son. “Are you all right?” he asked, helping Frank to his feet.

  Frank nodded, but his face was ashen. “My earphones,” he said, picking them up where they had fallen. “Are they broken?”

  “Never mind your earphones,” Grady said. “How did this happen?”

  Frank pulled the earphones around his neck. “I don’t know, Dad.”

  Betsy was standing in the doorway of an office. Behind her, Anne Tripper sat at a long counter that looked as if it were part of a newsroom. Clocks on the wall were set to four different time zones. A bank of television monitors tuned to CNN and MSNBC was off to one side.

  Betsy was fuming. “You, there. Look what he did. This is a professional set. He doesn’t belong here. Those lights will cost us thousands.” Her voice rose as she vented her fury on Frank. “What were you thinking, you clumsy idiot? Didn’t you see the lights? This is expensive equipment. Where are your brains?”

  “Don’t talk to him that way,” I said. “He’s only a child.”

  “A child has no business being here, especially not a stupid one who doesn’t look where he’s going.”

  “Now, just a minute,” I said, getting angry. “It’s not necessary to call him names.”

  Grady shook his head. “Please, Aunt Jess.” He looked at Betsy. “I’m really sorry, Betsy. He didn’t mean it.”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it. What are we supposed to do now?” she said, chopping off each word.

  “Calm down, Betsy,” Howerstein said. “Leave the kid alone.”

  “Leave him alone? He’s created a disaster. I promised our client we’d come in under budget. We’re on a tight schedule here, and he’s just set us back hours, maybe days.”

  “No, he hasn’t,” Howerstein said. “We have other lights.” He tried to put his arm around her shoulder, but she shrugged him off.

  “And what are you all staring at? Standing there with your mouths gaping open. Get in here and fix this,” she raged at crew members who’d stood frozen in place while she yelled at Frank.

  Six people jumped forward and began righting the light stands, and picking up the slivers of glass. No one said anything. When a path had been cleared, I stepped around the crew to Frank and Grady’s side.

  “Is he injured, Grady?” I asked.

  Frank hung on Grady’s arm. “Dad, I didn’t do it,” he said, his eyes filling with tears. “I promise. I was just standing here.”

  “It’s okay, son. We’ll pay for any damage.”

  “You better believe you’ll pay for the damage,” Betsy said.

  “No! It’s not fair. I didn’t do anything,” Frank said, the tears rolling down his cheeks.

  “You must have done something, son. How else did the lights fall down?”

  “I don’t know, but it wasn’t me. I swear.”

  “He’s lying,” Betsy yelled. “Who told you that you could bring him here?”

  “You did,” Grady said, his face getting red. “And my son is not a liar. If Frank said he didn’t do anything, he didn’t.”

  “Oh, come off it. Next you’ll be telling me kids never lie. I have another leg. You wanna pull that one?”

  “Grady, let’s get him out of here,” I said softly. “We need to make sure he’s not hurt.”

  “You’re just trying to get out of paying for this.” Betsy’s voice was nearing hysteria. “But you won’t get away with it. I’ll take you to court.”

  “Betsy, shut up.” Kevin Prendergast stepped forward and grabbed her arm.

  “Let go of me,” she screeched, wresting her arm away. “I’m not the one who ruined this shoot.”

  Prendergast signaled to Dan Howerstein, and Howerstein whispered to another man, who called out, “Lunch break. Be back at oh one thirty.”

  The crew hastily melted away, leaving only a few of us behind.

  “We can do another day, no?” Antonio said, clearly unnerved by Betsy’s breakdown.

  “No!” Betsy said, trying to tamp down her anger. “We cannot. We have a schedule to keep. Every second costs us money. Your money.”

  “But I pay everything already,” Antonio said, waving his hands back and forth. “No more. I don’t give any more.”

  “What did you say?” Howerstein yelled. He glared at Betsy.

  Kevin forced Betsy to turn toward him and spoke to her in low tones I couldn’t hear.

  “Don’t tell me to calm down,” she said, shaking him off. “I know what it takes to get this done better than you do. . . . Don’t threaten me, Kevin. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even be here. I know all your secrets. Do you want me to start talking to Antonio?”

  “What?” Antonio said. “What should you talk to me on?”

  “Shut up or you’re out
the door,” Kevin ground out, pushing Betsy to get her to move away.

  “Oh, really? I’d like to see you try it. And I know what your little girlfriend is up to. Do you?”

  In the office behind them, Anne Tripper sat serenely on her set. She was flipping through a magazine with one hand, while the beringed fingers of her other hand toyed with a strand of large beads. Her legs were crossed, and she casually bounced one foot up and down, the pointed toe of her patent leather shoe catching the light. She seemed to be unaware of or uninterested in the scene outside in the corridor, but she must have heard what happened. Did I detect a slight smile on her lips?

  I leaned over Frank and put a hand lightly on his shoulder. He winced and I pulled my hand away. “Did one of those stands hit you and knock you down, Frank?”

  He sniffled and shook his head. “I’m all right, Aunt Jessica,” he said. “I didn’t do anything.” There was a hitch to his voice and I knew he was trying not to cry anymore. “You believe me, don’t you, Dad?”

  “Of course I believe you, sport, but I think it’s time to leave.”

  “Nooo. It’s not fair. I’m being punished and I didn’t do anything.”

  “You’re not being punished,” I said. I felt terrible that Frank had been yelled at, and that Grady felt they had to leave, but I also wasn’t happy that Grady and I had let Frank wander freely, only to get into trouble. As mature as he may be for a nine-year-old, he’s still only nine. And most important, Betsy was right. He didn’t belong there; a production is no place for a child. There are so many potential places where someone can get hurt, even for an adult accustomed to the fast pace and knowledgeable about all the equipment. For a boy who is quick and curious, it takes only one misstep to set a dangerous chain of events in motion. Add to that the high-strung nerves of the agency creative director. I agreed with Grady. They should leave.

  “The kid can stay.” The speaker was Akmanian, the director. He was sitting on his canvas chair, a Starbucks cup in his hand. “It’s my set. I say who gets to stay and who has to go, not her.”