by Davis Bunn
Alf supplied, “My boss does Chapman’s personal work. I know when he’s been out with Chapman on account of how he can’t take off his shades for a week.”
Shari could have kissed him. “He and Solish spent the entire time so stoned I doubt they remember anything, much less a grommet sent by head office.”
“Let’s see, that would be Raul Solish, the world-famous director?” But Tiffany was smiling now.
“I’ve done that once,” said a ravishing redhead schlepping deal memos at Paramount’s subsidiary rights division. “Played minder to a visiting producer. He wanted to unwrap me like ice cream on a stick.”
“I always liked ice cream,” Alf said.
“You wish,” the redhead said and suddenly the attention was bouncing around the table with the conversation, and Shari was able to breathe easy again.
At least until Tiffany said, “There’s a whole universe of power people around here. Moore Madden just turned and smirked at me.”
“Sorry, hon,” the redhead said. “That was me. I know on account of the waiter just slipped me a note, Madden asking for my phone number.”
Tiffany shot back, “Sorry yourself. I thought you were smart enough to know the waiter used Madden’s name to get your info for himself.”
The redhead sniffed. “There’s one table in the front room big as ours, must be six green-lit films just begging for somebody like me to make things happen.”
Alf said, “All I need is one of those guys in the other room to let me handle his work, I’d have my place in limo land.”
The redhead complained, “Why are we out here sweating when the power guys are all in the shade? I thought the patio was the happening place.”
“It was,” Tiffany said, “until certain parties who weren’t actually invited showed up and bounced them inside.”
Shari waited until the talk swung away to ask Tiffany, “Madden is here? You’re sure?”
“Just inside the front room. Turn around and get an eyeful for yourself, and it was me he smiled at.” Then she saw the change. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I just …”
She stopped because the table went totally silent, and a shadow fell on her place.
“Let me see if I got this straight,” a voice said. “Some nowhere chick from donkey land hitches a ride in my agent’s limo and thinks that gives her wheels to say my script won’t fly? Where do you get off?”
Shari took her time turning around. “And you are?”
“Honey, if you don’t know, you got no business in this town. Wait, what am I saying? We already knew that.”
The table was frozen. The day demolished. Her dream of a few hours with friends, away from the confusion of a week she still had not digested, all gone. Shari kept herself from rising to her feet. That was something a clone did, a mailroom gofer. Not the woman she was now, the lady instructed by Sam Menzes to handle this guy. She shifted her chair around.
“I get a call from my agent,” Madden sneered. “You remember my agent, right? Zubin Mikels. Head of CAA. A real player in this business. Zubin tells me there’s this new brain-dead reader or whatever it is Sam Menzes calls his lackeys these days. She gets her name in the trades and suddenly she thinks she belongs.”
It wasn’t the director’s rudeness that turned her body to ice. It wasn’t her grandmother’s silent voice that kept her calm. It was the sadness of knowing she had turned the corner. And whatever she said, however she responded, Shari knew the instant she opened her mouth she’d bid farewell to her only friends in the Hollywood jungle.
Moore Madden the director cocked his fists on his hips. With the sun behind him he looked like a double-barreled pistol with both triggers in firing position. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Khan. Tomorrow my agent is going to arrange a meet with Menzes. Zubin Mikels is going to make this deal happen like I want. Then he’s going to have Menzes send you back to Kabul.”
Shari shook her head, ostensibly to clear her dark hair from her eyes, but really to let the director’s words fall away like water. She said calmly, “I’m sorry to hear you take that option, Mr. Madden.”
“Oh hey. Wait. Let me take my pulse, see how much that bothers me. Not. At. All.”
“You see, Mr. Madden, I am one of your biggest fans. I’ve seen Broken Angel a dozen times and more. Your power behind the camera is second to none. And that’s what I told Menzes when he sent me the pink slip telling me to ax your project.”
One of the cocked triggers fell off his hip. “What?”
“Yes, sir. You see, that’s why I made Zubin wait so long. Zubin must have mentioned that, how I kept his limo by the front gates for over half an hour. I planted myself in Mr. Menzes’ office and basically tackled him as he came out of a meeting with Mr. Steen. You know Mr. Steen. He’s the man who wrote the cancellation clause into your original contract. The one that says you owe Galaxy the four-and-a-half mil they fronted you for development funds?”
The other arm trigger uncocked. “I won’t pay those bums a dime.”
“I admire you, Mr. Madden. If it were me, I’d pay with my own blood not to have Mr. Steen and his snake pit guys go after me.”
Madden crossed his arms. He appeared completely blind to the fact that the entire patio now listened in rapt attention. “There’s a padded cell with Steen’s name on it.”
“You don’t have to work with the guy on a daily basis.” Shari gave a delicate tremor. She deserved two Oscars for this day’s performance. One for calming Madden. The other for pretending it didn’t hurt to watch her friends gradually fade into the background. “Menzes saw your original script as a perfect vehicle for a star he basically owns.”
“Colin Chapman.”
“None other. When Chapman refused to work with your rewritten script, which I thought was brilliant, by the way, just brilliant. But not Chapman. And so not Menzes. When he heard from Chapman’s agent that he was off the project, Menzes sent me the note. Two words, Mr. Madden. Offer retracted.”
“He can’t do that.”
“Menzes thinks he can, and he has Steen to back his play.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll have Zubin give them a call.” Madden ran his hands through his hair. “You in tomorrow?”
“For you, Mr. Madden, I would be in any day of the week.”
“Let’s do lunch.” He headed for the exit. “The Grill at noon.”
A few beats of heavy silence hung over the patio. Finally Tiffany spoke up. “So that’s how it’s done.”
There was little of the normal banter at the conclusion of that afternoon’s brunch. Instead, they all seemed to just drift apart, blown by the realization that one of their own had actually made it. Shari Khan had entered the realm of dreams come true.
Shari listened to them talk about where they were going next, a couple across the street for a towel on the beach and some rays, three off to some beachside volleyball tournament, four others to a local café for yet more caffeine-fueled chatter. The glances said that the talk would mostly be about her. Shari wanted to say she’d join any who would have her. And she knew they all would make room, but only as the newest outsider they had to schmooze. The glass barrier surrounding the patio glinted in the strong California light, and she knew it would follow her wherever she went.
“Shari, you mind if I ask you something?”
She raised a hand as though to shield herself from sunlight off the glass, and pressed something out of her eye. “Sure, Alf.”
The guy she had laughed with, caroused with, even contemplated a little fling with at one time, was suddenly as nervous as if he were seated in his boss’s outer office, and not waiting for the junior accountant at the table’s other end to calculate their share of the bill. “I’ve got a pal, he’s been working on this screenplay. It’s really something. He’s even had McConnell over at USC do a read-through. The guy said if he was still at DreamWorks he’d green-light the thing tomorrow. But you know how hard it is to get face time in this town.
”
Her heart thudded like it had been transformed to a leadlined gong. “All too well.”
“I was just wondering, and it’s okay if you can’t, you know, do it. But I just thought maybe, if you had a minute …”
“Me reading the thing would be about as helpful as giving it to the waiter.” But her joke fell flat and she saw how he took it as a turndown. Just another refusal in the land of closed doors. “I know Emily Arsene, she’s Menzes’ principal reader. I could ask if maybe she’d take a look.”
Alf stared at her like the heavens had suddenly opened. “For real?”
“All I can do is ask. And I got to tell you, she is one tough cookie.”
“Hey, who isn’t in this town? The way you handled Madden, I’m amazed he could walk away on his own steam.”
“All I did was pass on a message.”
“Sure. A message from Sam Menzes.” Tiffany laughed with equal parts of silver and lemon. “Like the rest of us wouldn’t give away our firstborn for the chance to say those words.”
“Come on, Tiffany, lay off.”
“What are you talking about, girl? This is awesome. You’ve made it.”
“Right. And my limo is waiting outside the door.”
“Maybe not now. But tomorrow. The same day you tear the page with my address out of your Day-Timer.”
“Now you’re talking total—”
“Ms. Khan?”
How the guy managed to sneak up on them was a complete mystery. He was drop-dead gorgeous, in a town where looks were about as unique as white bread on a minimart’s shelf. “Yes?”
“Jason Garrone. I represent Colin Chapman.”
This time she was on her feet before she could tell herself it wasn’t done. “It’s an honor, Mr. Garrone.”
And the guy was tall. Tall enough to smile down at her. Hair a shade darker than russet. Eyes like an emerald sea. Great smile. Not just the teeth but the lips … oh stop. This wasn’t happening.
“I have to tell you, Ms. Khan, the way you handled Moore Madden was a stellar performance.”
“You obviously mistake me for somebody worth buttering up.”
His laugh was as rich as the rest of him. A white polo shirt turned special by the patchwork silk lining the collar. Cerruti, probably. Brioni jeans, she knew because the name was sewn into the front pocket. Alligator belt. Deck shoes with the discreet Ferragamo label. Anywhere but Hollywood, the man would have to be gay. But ever since the weekly cable show where gay guys dissed some unfortunate victim over his clothes sense, refined dressing was in.
“I was wondering if I might have a word.”
“Sure. Grab a chair.”
Alf did a jackrabbit out of his chair. “Right here, Mr. Garrone. I’m Alf Waters, with Stone and Kimball.”
“So nice to meet you, Alf. Please keep your seat.” The man actually had manners to match his looks. “I played golf with Rich last week. He used me to polish the eighteenth green.”
Alf’s laugh had a manic edge. Shari knew Richard Stone, the firm’s senior partner, had never even shaken Alf’s hand. “Yeah, that sounds like Rich.”
Jason Garrone said to Shari, “I’d love to join you, but unfortunately I’m hosting Shirley O’Hane and her sixth husband. Or maybe it’s her seventh. I lose count and I’m her manager.” He motioned to the back room. “If your friends could possibly spare you, I’d love to introduce you and have a word about this Snowbound project. Colin really would like to participate, if you can handle Madden and convince him to return to the original script.”
If she could handle Moore Madden. Shari should have been singing the words. If she could handle a top-tier director. “Lead the way.”
As she followed the agent inside, she glanced back. Tiffany tried to give her a smile to match the thumbs-up but couldn’t. Alf made the universal sign for I’ll phone. The others just watched her pass through the door barred to them.
Shari could have wept.
26
Sam? It’s Derek. Thought you’d want to know. Zubin called me. Snowbound is back on track again.”
“This is Zubin talking smoke, or has Madden actually agreed?”
“Zubin just got off the phone with Madden before he phoned me. I also spoke with Shari Khan. She met Madden.”
“When, today? Sunday?”
“Apparently so. And she had lunch with Garrone. Who has agreed to lower Chapman’s scale for the film.”
“She told you that?”
“Actually, I spoke with Garrone himself. While he was still at the table with Khan. And Shirley O’Hane, who apparently has expressed an interest in seeing the script as well.”
Menzes laughed. It was a rare sound. “Looks like you owe me double.”
“I got to tell you. The girl had me fooled.”
Menzes laughed again. “Move her into that vacant office on our floor.”
“Isn’t this a little fast?”
“I don’t want her learning the snake pit tactics. Put her in charge of this Snowbound deal.”
“She’s not ready, Sam.”
“She got them to sing from the same page.”
“Emily was feeding her the lines.”
“Correction. Emily gave her the background. She handled Zubin all by herself. And now Madden. Not to mention the fact that Garrone is no pushover.”
Steen did not respond.
“Let Shari run with this thing.”
“If you say so.”
“Where’s the secretary they think fed the inside scoop to Zubin … what’s her name?”
“Natalie. I believe she’s looking for a job in Guam.”
“Good. Watch Khan, Derek. Watch her close.”
Derek hung up the phone, not saying what he was thinking, which was, if he knew his boss at all, he’d say Sam Menzes was setting Khan up to fail. Which made no sense at all.
27
Her grandmother entered the studio lot with the assurance of a queen.
The limo cruised to a halt by the front gates. Shari had made a point of introducing herself to the main guard, who grinned as the smoked window came down.
“How we doing today, Ms. Khan?”
“Fine, thanks, Herb. Could I please get a day pass for my grandmother?”
“No problem. Always a pleasure to see a pretty lady in the back of a studio limo.” He tore the sheet from his pad and slipped it through the window. “Make that two pretty ladies.”
“How extraordinary,” her grandmother purred, “that they would think to place a gentleman in such a position of responsibility.”
Herb laughed with genuine pleasure. “Hey, you obviously got me mixed up with the folks I pass through these gates.”
“On the contrary. You are the studio’s public face. My granddaughter told me about you, but I thought, no, this is not the Hollywood I know, to take such concern over vital details.” She slipped her hand through the window. “I am Lizu.”
“Great to meet you, Lizu. That’s a swell name.”
“Thank you, Herb. It was my own grandmother’s name. It is very old. From Persian royalty.”
“Which is why it suits you so well.” He actually saluted. “You pretty ladies have a swell day.”
Shari rolled up the window and said, “Next time you want somebody to try and shift the earth a few degrees for you, you know who to ask.”
“I saw how he looked at you, who he smiled at first. You have learned the lessons well.”
Shari let her grandmother set the pace. Lizu Khan wore a discreetly expensive St. John outfit, a coarse weave silk suit in three shades that all matched her pearls. Lizu Khan had a softly elegant word for the receptionist, another for the two aides they passed in the lobby. She even made the three snake pit fiends in starched shirts and suspenders they met in the elevator stand up straight and speak with respect. Something they would not do for anybody.
When they came out of the elevator on the twelfth floor, Shari pointed down the main foyer and said, “The king and his ch
ief of staff are down that way. Us peons are kept penned over here.”
“Lesser nobility, perhaps,” Lizu Khan corrected, “but look at where you are.”
“Yeah, who would believe it.”
“I still don’t understand why you made me wait until today to see where it is you work, my dear.”
“I had my reasons.” The hall’s narrowness was masked somewhat by the decoration, which caused Lizu Khan to walk more slowly still. Original Galaxy movie posters from the thirties and forties alternated with signed portraits of the stars and glass shelves containing duplicates of the Oscars they’d won. “This is my secretary, Kitty Sheen. Kitty, this is my grandmother, Lizu Khan.”
“A real pleasure, Ms. Khan.” Kitty was an ample woman with playful eyes.
“The honor is all mine, Ms. Sheen. Is that an Irish lilt I hear?”
“I left the bog a wee lass,” she said, heightening the brogue, “and here I am, a century and six children later, still singing the old-country tune.”
“I have always admired someone who is able to claim their heritage with pride and beauty.”
“Why, Ms. Khan, you talk like somebody who belongs in this business.”
“I am happy to live this through my granddaughter, thank you. She speaks very highly of you and your friend.”
Shari said, “She means Emily.”
“I know who she means. And you look like a woman who values truth, Ms. Khan, so I’ll share a tidbit with you. The only reason Emily Arsene has helped your granddaughter is because Shari here deserves it.”
Lizu Khan smiled at her granddaughter. “I see you have chosen your front office ally wisely.”
Shari shared a look with her secretary, then took her grandmother by the arm. “This way.”
Kitty scurried to the office door. “Allow me.”
Lizu started to enter the office, then froze.
Shari did not try to hide her pleasure. “You know it, don’t you.”