by Davis Bunn
“Which makes them not ‘our’ employees, does it not?”
Lang faltered. “Excuse me?”
“If they are not unionized, they cannot be represented by you.”
“Your Honor, I represent the workers whose jobs are at stake here.”
She flipped to the last page of the writ. “And your desire is what, exactly?”
“That should be self-evident, Your Honor. We want them stopped. We want an injunction against their operation, and a cease-and-desist on their filming until contracts are renegotiated under proper terms.”
“Very well. Mr. Hessler?”
The burly attorney rose to his feet. He indicated a massive leather satchel on the side of the table. “Your honor, I have here copies of the contracts signed by all Shoestring employees. I’d like to introduce them as evidence.”
“What, all of them?”
“Yes, Your Honor. It’s the only way we could think of to stop this nonsense dead in its tracks.”
The judge worked at keeping a straight face. “Do they vary greatly?”
“Not much at all, Your Honor. The same structure was used by everybody, from the cameramen to the stars.”
Derek and Leo exchanged astonished looks.
“Do you have a sample?” the judge asked.
“Permission to approach the bench?”
“Proceed.”
Hessler handed one to the judge and another to Lang. “I also have a list of the exact items that were ruled unlawful by the US Supreme Court in the original case. To each I have responded with the position taken by Shoestring Productions. I would like this introduced as evidence.”
The judge reached across the bench. “May I?”
Hessler made a second trek to the front of the courtroom. “Shoestring Productions has taken the same contractual structure used by hundreds of thousands of companies. In truth, the only real exception these days is companies in the entertainment industry. The contract stipulates that so long as their employees work for Shoestring, they cannot be employed by a competitor without Shoestring’s express permission. Shoestring will continue to pay them a monthly salary whether or not they are actually filming. And Shoestring will only reject their working on other projects when or if the project conflicts timewise with a Shoestring film or when the project conflicts with the objectives of this company. Shoestring seeks to establish a moral high ground in entertainment and wants its employees to represent this position so long as they are under contract.”
“Mr. Lang, would you care to respond?”
“Your Honor, this entire proceeding is ludicrous. We are in the entertainment business. Actors in particular are hired by the project.”
“Mr. Hessler?”
“There’s no law stating this is the sole way to conduct business, Your Honor. And speaking of which, I am still not clear why a Tennessee company filming in North Carolina, Tennessee, and Kentucky is being forced to respond to an injunction leveled by a Beverly Hills court.”
“I completely agree.” The judge slapped the file shut. “Case dismissed. Plaintiffs are hereby ordered to pay all costs.” She leveled a finger at Lang, or seemed to, although the direction of her ire seemed equally focused at the rear of her courtroom. “I remind everyone in this courtroom that the studio monopoly system was struck down because it stifled fair competition. Any other injunctions of this kind will be considered frivolous and the plaintiffs will be held strictly accountable. Court adjourned.”
Shari was halted on the courthouse’s top stair by the pinging of her phone. When she heard the voice of Gilda, Sam Menzes’ secretary, she waved the others on. Gilda put Sam on, and Shari gave her boss a brief summary of the events, making no attempt to gild the bad news. Sam Menzes preferred his reports hardboiled.
When she clipped the phone shut, a southern voice behind her said, “Ms. Khan, do I have that right?”
Shari turned and felt her gut freeze. “Mr. Dupree.”
Up close, the man held none of Sam Menzes’ aristocratic cool. Instead, he appeared unable to let go of the little boy he once had been. But he was surrounded by an aura of intense power.
Or maybe it was Shari’s own nerves.
“I’ve been trying to figure out whether God had some special reason for me to make this trip. Especially since it landed right smack in the middle of the busiest time I’ve known in years.”
Shari started to back away. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back—”
“Oh, I know all about how you Hollywood folks measure time by a different clock. I don’t aim on keeping you but a minute.”
Only one thing kept Shari from turning and walking away. She happened to catch sight of Bobby Dupree’s rumpled lawyer standing at the base of the courthouse stairs, not even trying to hide his smirk. Shari crossed her arms and showed him her grandmother’s style of cool resolve. “I’m listening.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Bobby Dupree reached into his pocket. “Only it ain’t me you need to be listening to.”
“Excuse me?”
“Here. I’m thinking this might be meant for you.”
Shari took a step back. “If you want to serve a writ, Mr. Dupree, it should be to the studio’s attorneys.”
“Don’t that sound just like Hollywood? I’m not after dueling lawyers, Ms. Khan. That’s your game.” He showed her what appeared to be an oversized business card. “Does this look like a legal document to you?”
“The unions came after you, Mr. Dupree. Not me.”
“Now, don’t you be tainting these waters with such talk. Here, this won’t bite you. It’s a gift.”
When Shari hesitated further, Bobby Dupree reached over and placed the paper between her fingers. “There are nine Bible passages printed there, sort of leading you through the need for salvation. And three more, talking about what you should do if you want to pray.”
Shari started to protest the way he had invaded her personal space, then decided, “I have nothing whatsoever to say to you.”
As she turned and walked away, Bobby called after her, “It ain’t me you need to be talking with, Ms. Khan.”
Shari strode the sandstone walkway to the taxi stand. As she opened the first taxi’s rear door, she spied a waste bin beside a nearby bench. Shari walked back and dumped the card in the can. She slipped into the taxi and said, “Galaxy Studios on Pico.”
As the taxi pulled away, Shari glanced back but could not spot either the strange boyish man from Nashville or his attorney. Her fingers tingled strangely, as though they had been infected. Her grandmother was right. She wiped her hand on her skirt, willing herself to put aside the man and his twang and his strange burning gaze.
37
The first thing Bobby saw when he approached his boardroom was a miracle in progress.
Jerry Orbain was seated in the chair by the window. He was surrounded by the other team leaders. They all focused on the assistant director, whose hostile attitude had initially threatened to derail the project. Now, however, his head was down over his notepad, writing as hard as he could and nodding in time to what the others were saying. Bobby stopped just outside the open door so he could watch. They were so intent on their discussion they did not notice him.
The entire crew looked exhausted. Stretched thin, worn to nubs. Despite the outdoor tans, they seemed pale. Almost translucent.
But they also looked happy. Calm and immensely comfortable with one another.
Brent was saying, “Most actors only have three takes in them. Four at the most.”
Celia said, “A star will talk to people she trusts who have worked with the director. She’ll go in knowing the director’s habits. If a star knows this director goes for seven or ten takes, she’ll give him twenty percent less.”
Trevor scoffed. “Try fifty percent.”
“Obviously you have worked with a lower grade of actor,” Celia said.
Trevor’s fur stiffened. “I’ll have you know I have worked with the tippy-top.”
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“Nobody says tippy-top anymore.”
“She’s pulling your chain, Trevor,” Brent said.
“Was she? Shame on you, Celia. I advise you to exercise more caution, else I will give Brent the closeup of your spots.”
Celia bridled. “I don’t have spots.”
Trevor smiled. “Got you.”
Jerry impatiently drew them back to the matter at hand. “What about the less experienced actors? Don’t they need the extra takes?”
“Some do,” Brent conceded.
“Not many,” Celia said. “It mostly breeds bad attitudes. They start to doubt themselves. Especially if the director says, go this way, then no, let’s do it totally different. They’re afraid the director doesn’t know what to do with them or the story.”
“My second film, I worked for a guy who’s gone now,” Brent said. “A great man. He held to a set of pretty firm objectives, and they’ve served me well. Film every take. Give the script two goes. As in, hold the actors strictly to the book for two takes. After that, give them some room to play with it. But only after they’ve talked the changes over with the director.”
Candace said, “The writer has an objection against that last part.”
“No she doesn’t,” Celia said.
Brent went on, “Two takes with these actor-led digressions. Three at the most. Then wrap, unless there’s some serious issues to be dealt with.”
Jerry continued his note taking. “Anything else?”
“If I might insert my two-pence worth,” Trevor said. “Build a reputation for buying the first take.”
“Excuse me?”
Celia explained, “If a director is known to treat the first take or two as add-on rehearsals, the whole crew goes slack. They build slowly. But your star might shine the brightest in the first take. If the lighting’s off or the other actors don’t play the scene for keeps, you’ve lost your best chance at a hit.”
Jerry rubbed his eyes. “I did that in the television project. I was afraid of not having a handle on the scene. So I ran everybody through and tried to fix things in my head. But by the time I was ready, one of my leads was pretty much done.”
“It happens,” Celia said.
“I saw it then,” Jerry agreed. “But I didn’t know what to do about it until now.”
“You’ll get it better next time,” Celia told him.
“Forget next anything.” Brent said. “You’ve hit the mark this time. Your work with the second team is superb.”
Jerry looked up from his notebook. “Really?”
“The word our editor used was seamless.”
Bobby took a step back. A second. Then he turned and walked away.
His secretary watched his retreat. “Aren’t you going in?”
He had to force the words around the lump in his throat. “Not just yet.”
“Liz? Bobby Dupree. I know I’ve brought you outta something important; I just heard your secretary fussing at me when she thought her Mute button was on.”
“Never mind her. You’re on my put-straight-through list.”
“I could sure use a little of your time.”
“Wait just one second, Bobby.” Liz walked to the door and said to her secretary, “Tell Jeffrey this is going to require a few minutes. Have him take over the meeting for me.”
She shut the door and pulled off her earring as she walked back to her desk. She shut her eyes and pushed away the day’s business as best she could. Then she lifted the receiver. “All right. I’m back.”
“I know what it means to steal minutes from an overpacked day. So I’ll come straight to the point.” Bobby huffed a hard breath. “I just got back from Los Angeles last night. I hired myself one of these super-duper consultants to get us a distributor. In the film business, you take on one of these distributor companies and they handle getting the film into cinemas. And after that, out on DVD and then onto the cable channels. Because we’re an unknown, I hired the most expensive consultant I could lay my hands on to grease the way.”
Knowledge of what was coming sank her into the chair. “They’ve shut you out.”
“My fellow started at the top and worked his way down to the bottom rungs. Couldn’t get a single one of them to even sit down and talk.”
“Oh, Bobby.”
“Galaxy has hit us with a knock-out punch, Liz. Whacked us right out of the ring.”
She searched for something to say, some small kernel of hope, and came up blank. “I’m so very, very sorry.”
“Reason I called, I was walking into the boardroom where I’ve got my team. And what I saw …” He stopped and huffed again. “Your man Brent has taken a group that wanted to murder each other and turned them into a team. A family. He sits there, this strong humble man, and they follow his lead even when he’s silent. I couldn’t be prouder if I’d invented the guy. And now I’m supposed to go in there and tell them I’ve failed.”
“You haven’t failed anybody.”
“I’ve let them all down, Liz. They’ve done some great work. I haven’t seen more than snippets of the film, and I don’t need to. No matter how the finished product winds up playing, this group of mine, they’re a living, breathing miracle.”
She took a long breath. “It sounds to me like that’s what we need right now.”
“Come again?”
“I’m supposed to be the hard-driving businesswoman. But at night, when I lie in my lonely bed and wonder how I’m supposed to make it all work, I cling to God, Bobby. I clutch at His promises with both hands. So here’s what I think you should do. Go in there and tell them the truth. Be the bruised and shaken man. Pray together. I’ll get busy and pass the word along the prayer chain. And Bobby?”
“I’m here.”
“Don’t underestimate Brent. The man is strong. Stronger than I hope I’ll ever need to be.”
They took the news like a team.
Bobby laid it out in more detail than he had to Liz. But the telephone conversation granted him the strength to be both raw and, as she had instructed, fully broken. The man who had prayed his way through LA and come up empty-handed. The man who had never felt such a sense of defeat as he did not once, but twice. First, when he got back on his fancy jet for the return flight to Nashville. And second, when he stood in the doorway and saw just how badly he had let down his team.
His friends.
They sat and waited. Not for some shred of hope from Bobby. No. For Brent to speak. Their leader needed to respond for them all. They would take their direction from him.
Brent said, “There are certain lessons I feel have become branded on my soul. One is, I am a product of the fall of man. This is not something that changes with a momentary success, or a chance to take on a bigger job. No matter how grand the day might be, this simple fact remains. And this is truly liberating knowledge. It gives me the permission to fail. I am human, I have flaws. Hard as I strive to follow my Lord’s call to discipleship and all the lessons of perfection, still I know. On my own I can do nothing. My salvation depends upon His eternal gift alone.”
Brent leaned back in his chair. “There are certain elemental promises I will do my best to remain true to. I pray for the strength to remain absolutely free of booze and drugs. I pray God will grant me the wisdom never to let the world put me back on the lonely pedestal. If fame comes again, I pray to acknowledge it for God’s glory. Not mine. Never mine. And above all else, I pray that I won’t fail at holding on to God.”
He leaned forward and leveled an iron-hard gaze at Bobby. “Any day I can look back and see that these prayers have been answered is a success.”
Bobby felt the words groan out of his chest, “I let you folks down.”
“Have you, Bobby? Have you?”
“You gave me your best. I went out there to find—”
“No, Bobby. Excuse me. You went out there to serve the Lord. What else happens is in His hands.” Brent waited long enough to be sure Bobby did not want to come back at him. “Let�
��s just say for the sake of argument that something you did or didn’t do had a hand in this not working out like we wanted. Which, by the way, I don’t think is the case. But let’s say it did. Failure is not an indictment of you in eternity’s eyes. You did not fail your friends’ trust, not even if you let us down. I know you, Bobby. I know this.”
“You gave it your best,” Jerry said. “You always do. It’s who you are.”
“If I’ve learned anything from these past weeks, it’s this,” Candace said. “Fall down seven times, and get up eight.”
Celia reached inside the pocket of her jeans and came out with a folded slip of paper. “I’m probably the last person who should be talking to you about God. But Brent said I should find passages that speak to me, write them out, and carry them around with me. Let God speak through them, if He will. I found this yesterday.”
Brent covered his eyes with one hand.
“It comes from the thirty-first psalm. ‘In you, Lord, I have taken refuge; let me never be put to shame… . Since you are my rock and my fortress, for the sake of your name lead and guide me… . Into your hands I commit my spirit; redeem me, Lord, my faithful God… . I will be glad and rejoice in your love, for you saw my affliction and knew the anguish of my soul.”’
No one spoke.
Celia flattened the paper on the table, running her hands over the surface. “It seems to me that even when I don’t understand it, even when part of me wants to laugh this off, if I can just manage to hold on and wait, I feel …”
“Peace,” Jerry supplied. “Rightness. Even when the world says it’s impossible.”
Brent reached over and took Celia’s hand. His eyes were wet. “Whatever happens to the film, Bobby, know this. I have lived in a time of miracles great and small.”
“I wouldn’t trade this gig for an Oscar,” Candace agreed.
38
Theirs was an odd sort of first date.
To begin with, Liz was an hour late picking up Stanley because she needed to phone a few more friends and ask their help in praying for Bobby Dupree and the Shoestring project. She and Stanley met at a service station six blocks from the church, after Stanley’s truck broke down while on his way to trade it in for a car more in keeping with what a pastor should be driving. Whatever that was. When Liz met him after the tow truck had left, Stanley’s first words were, “I feel like I just plumb broke the old girl’s heart.”