I backed up a few steps while Dad took his place behind the barber shop façade again. The flood lights overhead went out and Thurman yelled, “Speed, camera and…action.”
As I stood there waiting to deliver my lines I looked in the canvas-back chair next to where Thurman was standing. Sitting there was Stu, the original actor who I’d found lying in the street. Hey, these guys are good at what they do.
Gloria was already at the kitchen table when I got up the next morning to join her for breakfast. I told her about how I’d earned that extra three thousand dollars last night and she had to shake her head and laugh.
“Come on,” she said, “are you trying to tell me that you couldn’t tell a fake dead guy from the real thing?”
“Of course I could,” I said. “I had to stay in character the whole time as part of my contract with Thurman. That is, the real Thurman.”
“What do you mean, the real Thurman?” Gloria said.
“The guy I’d been talking to this whole time was an actor playing the part of Roger Thurman, the director,” I said. “Everything that happened that day on the back lot was being filmed, including me eating lunch behind a façade and hearing the shot, coming out to find the actor dead, all of it was part of the film.”
“What about our search for Jay Fuller?” Gloria said. “Was that part of this movie, too?”
“No,” I said. “That was real. He’s really still missing, but all the rest of it wasn’t. I was originally told I was being hired as a technical consultant for the film. Once I got there, the real Roger Thurman pulled me aside and explained his whole idea of a movie within a movie and that I’d have a substantial part in it. He explained that while he had promised me my regular rate of two hundred dollars a day as a consultant, he also told me that by agreeing to go along with his movie idea and act in it, that he’d pay me one thousand dollars a day. It didn’t take a lightning bolt for me to see the financial advantage of being an actor versus being a technical consultant.”
Gloria mentally calculated the number of days I’d spent on this job and whistled. “You mean you’re bringing home five thousand dollars for your week’s work?” Gloria said.
“So far,” I told her. “I’m not finished yet. They still want me to come back for two more days of close-ups and audio dubbing.”
“Six grand,” Gloria said. “I think I can live with that. What about Clay?”
“He didn’t know about it at first,” I said. “After I told Thurman that Dad might become a fly in the ointment, he agreed to give Dad a small part as well and pay him five hundred dollars for an hour’s work.”
“Hey,” Gloria said. “I just realized that I’ll be seeing you both on the screen when the film comes out. Oh, I wish they’d had a part for me.”
“We did all right,” I said. “It’ll pay the bills around here for quite a while.”
We both finished our breakfast just as the front door opened and Mrs. Chandler, Matt’s nanny, walked in. “Good morning,” she said in a cheerful voice.
“It certainly is,” Gloria said, shooting a quick glance at me. She turned to Mrs. Chandler and said, “We won’t be gone late today, Mrs. Chandler. “Elliott and I are knocking off early and we should be home by noon. Don’t worry, we’ll still pay you for the whole day.”
Mrs. Chandler smiled. “Thank you both,” she said, just before Gloria and I left for the office.
Dad was already at his desk when we walked in and hung up our jackets. Dad was all smiles but said nothing at first. I looked at Dad and said, “It’s all right. I told her everything.”
Dad’s smile broke out into a full-face grin. “You should have seen us, Gloria,” he said. “We were a regular Cagney and Bogart team last night.”
“Let’s not exaggerate, Dad,” I said. “For all we know our parts could be cut down to just a few minutes, if they don’t cut them out altogether.”
“They wouldn’t dare,” Dad said. “Why, I’ll bet we…” Dad’s bragging was interrupted when the office door opened and Simon Fuller walked in, accompanied by a young man. Fuller walked up to me with a sheepish look on his face.
“Mr. Cooper,” Fuller said, and then turned to Dad and Gloria. “Mr. Cooper, Mrs. Cooper, I’d like you to meet my son, Jay.” Fuller held his palm upward and gestured toward the young man on his left.
Gloria pointed at the younger man. “But I thought…”
“Darndest thing,” Fuller said. “His mother got another letter from Jay while I was down here looking for him and she called my cell phone. I’d have never found him had it not been for that letter. Jay wasn’t in Hollywood all this while.” Fuller turned toward Jay and said, “Suppose you explain it to them, son.”
Jay looked embarrassed as he started to speak. “Well,” he said, “I originally came out here to try and get into the movies, only I found out that it’s not so easy, like people think it is. I answered an ad in the paper for movie work and went to an office on Hollywood Boulevard above a drug store. The guy who interviewed me said he had a part for me right off the bat and I thought, man this was too easy. Anyway, this guy writes down an address and tells me to go see this other man and I think I’m going on an audition so I hurry over there.”
“I think I’ve heard this one before,” Dad said. “Don’t tell me, when you got to the address it was a photography studio that talked you into publicity photos.”
Jay nodded. “How’d you know?”
“The guy who put the ad in the paper for movie parts worked for the photography studio knowing that gullible and eager kids from all over would flock to him and all he had to do was steer them to the photographer and they’d split the take. As for the movie parts, all he had to do was get wind that a particular production was putting out a casting call for extras and send you over to them, once you’d already spent your money having pictures taken. How am I doing so far?”
“Spot on,” Jay said. “It didn’t take me long to get disillusioned with the whole Hollywood scene, but by then I’d spent all my money. I didn’t even have enough for a bus ride home.”
Dad smiled. “So you did what the other ninety-nine percent of the actor wannabes did and found a real job parking cars or waiting tables.”
“Or panhandling,” Jay offered. “I was feeling lower than a doorstop after two weeks on the street and nothing to show for it all. The third week I took a bus down to San Pedro and answered an ad for manual labor at the shipyards. I figured it would take me three or four weeks to earn enough to get back to Idaho, but you know what? When that time came, I discovered that I actually enjoyed the work I was doing and decided to stay. I’m making better money than I ever could have in the movie business.”
“Well,” Dad said, “If all you lost was the money you paid the photographer, I’d say you didn’t come out of all this in too bad of shape.”
“There’s a funny part to all this, believe it or not,” Jay said.
Simon Fuller turned to his son. “There is?” he said. “And what would that be?”
Jay recalled his experience with the photographer. “After I’d spent my money on the photographs, the proof sheet and the composites,” he said.
“Composites?” Gloria said. “What are those?”
“They’re an eight by eleven sheet with one big head shot on the front and four smaller action shots on the back,” Jay explained. “Along with your name, phone number and agent’s name and the age range that you could be considered for. Anyway, the funny part was that after pounding the streets with my composites, looking for movie work, I eventually wore holes in the soles of my shoes. I guess the money for the composites wasn’t totally wasted, because I folded them up and stuffed them into my shoes to keep my socks from sticking out those holes.”
We all had a good laugh at that explanation, including Simon Fuller.
I turned to Fuller. “I guess this means you won’t be needing our services any longer,” I said.
Fuller shook his head. “I guess not, Mr. Cooper,” h
e said. “But I want to thank you all for the effort you put in on this case. How much do I owe you for your services?”
I gave Fuller the amount and he wrote out a check and handed it to me. “Thanks again,” he said, turning his son toward the door and walking out.
I held the check up, snapped the paper from both ends and announced, “Well, ladies and gentlemen, dinner is on me tonight.”
“Can you make that dinner and a movie?” Dad said.
I winced. “Don’t mention movies to me again. I’ve had enough of movies to last me a lifetime.”
I gave Gloria a hug, opened one arm and drew Dad in with us. Life was good.
85 - Auction
I sat poised at my computer keyboard, ready to enter my bid for the acoustic guitar that was being auctioned on one of those online auction sites. I wanted to wait until just before the clock ran out to enter my bid so that I wouldn’t be outbid by one of the thousands of other bidders. I’d already signed into the site with my name, Clay Cooper, and my password, which was Marlowe. What can I say, I’m a Raymond Chandler fan.
The clock showed that there were less than thirty seconds remaining before the end of this auction. I typed in my bid and clicked submit. The auction ended a few seconds later and I was now the proud owner of the guitar of my dreams. All I had to do now was e-mail the seller, ask for his address so I could send him a check and tell him where to send the guitar to me.
It all worked pretty simply and I usually came away with a bargain. The day after an auction ended, the auction hosts would send confirmation e-mails to the seller and high bidder to notify them of the end-of-auction results. That was to ensure that both parties knew where they stood.
I wasn’t always a bidder, though. Sometimes, I’d win a bid on a guitar, have it shipped to me and turn right around and offer it for auction the following week. I’d run successful auctions dozens of times and looked forward to watching the progress of the bidders eager to buy my wares.
The auction had a few rules for sellers and buyers to abide by. Most people followed the rules and conducted their auction legitimately and above board. But there were those out there in cyberspace who preyed on the ignorant by selling merchandise that was less than had been described in the ads. Others would bid on items with no intention of following up or sending the bid amount to the seller. And a few sellers even refused to sell their advertised item after the auction had ended. I guess I would fit into that last category. But I have a good excuse. Allow me to explain.
Twenty years ago, when Dad was still around, I had bought a car on impulse as Dad and I were driving through a small town in Southern California. It was love at first sight when I found the fully restored royal blue 1940 Oldsmobile sedan. Actually it was my father, Matt Cooper, who had first spotted the car sting in the driveway with the For Sale sign in its front window. I remember how excited Dad was to see it. He told me it looked just like the Olds he’d driven for many years back when he was running our family-owned private investigations business that he’d started right after the war.
When we found it, Dad was already in his eighties and had stopped driving. I guess you could say that I bought it for him as much as for myself. Now, with Dad gone ten years now, I’d had my fun with it and wanted to sell it.
That was easier said than done and six months of effort produced no cash buyers. Then I hit on the brainstorm. I would offer the car for sale or trade on the online computer auction. If someone didn’t want to buy it outright, I’d offer to trade it for several guitars that I could readily sell to recover my costs.
I took pictures of the car, scanned them into my computer, wrote a tantalizing description sure to lure a buyer and listed it on the auction page. I checked the box indicating I wanted the auction to run for seven days. I entered the amount of the minimum bid—one dollar. That was the amount needed for the first bidder to start the ball rolling, so to speak. I clicked the box marked reserve and typed in a figure of $10,000.00. That protected me in the event that the bids didn’t reach what I would take for the car. If that happened, I wasn’t obligated to sell to a bidder who only bid as high as $9,000.00, for example. I entered my name and password and clicked submit. My auction was underway.
My seven days ran out without producing a bona fide buyer. It was the policy of the auction host to allow a one-time re-list of any item that didn’t sell. I followed the same procedure as before for listing my vintage automobile. I clicked the seven-day box, added the one dollar minimum bid amount and clicked submit again. Maybe I’d be luckier this time around.
Several hours later, I received an e-mail from a former customer of mine who’d purchased one of my auction guitars. He pointed out to me that I’d neglected to enter a reserve figure with my auction. I wrote back thanking him and as was my choice, I immediately clicked the option that allowed me to cancel my auction early, withdrawing the car.
Boy, that was close, I thought. I’d been watching the auction proceedings and one bidder had started the ball rolling by bidding one dollar. The bidder went by a screen name of “noo” so that he wouldn’t have to reveal his real name to the other bidders. That was his prerogative. I decided I’d better drop the bidder a line to explain why I’d ended the auction early. I was sure he’d understand and wish me luck next time around. What follows is a verbatim transcription of our e-mail communiqués.
Hi,
Thought I'd better explain my canceling the auction on my 1940 Olds. It was a re-list of my original auction. When I re-listed it, I neglected to check the RESERVE box and enter my $10,000 reserve. When I realized my mistake, I cancelled the auction, since I didn't want to sell my car for a dollar. I'll re-list it again at a later date. Thanks.
Clay
I thought, “That ought to explain things to his satisfaction.” A few hours later I got his response. It read as follows:
auction was not cancelled I have confirmation from the auction site that I
have won bid.
Right away I got a mental picture of an ignorant geek with thick glasses, perched on a stool in front of his computer, eagerly pecking away at the keyboard, oblivious to capitalization and punctuation rules. He probably had visions of himself driving down the street in my 1940 Oldsmobile, waving his receipt for one dollar at passersby.
Sometimes people, myself included, will e-mail the person who made the mistake and give them a little ribbing about having pulled such a boner. That’s what I figured this guy was doing so I wrote back to him, still in a friendly tone. I said:
Noo,
I hope you're just displaying your sense of humor because I have no intention of letting anyone have my Olds for one dollar.
Bill
There, that ought to set him straight without trying to sound mad. I figured it was a closed case and forgot all about the dink who called himself “noo.” The next morning I checked my e-mail again only to find another message from this persistent pest.
we will be forwarding all info to the auction site along with your statement stating that you had cancelled the auction to get their side of the story then we will be turning the whole matter over to the F.B.I. for wire fraud depending upon what the auction site tells us will depend on who we file suit against for the value of the car
Mister Punctuation strikes again with one long, run-together sentence. I can see now that this guy has been watching way too much television. He must have figured that by dropping key phrases like “F.B.I.” and “file suit” and “wire fraud” that I’d jump through hoops to avoid getting into trouble with the feds. Wrong. That only made me more determined to make sure this guy not only didn’t get the car, but that he knew I wasn’t intimidated by idiots like him. I have never been accused of having too much tact. I responded thusly:
Go to hell, kid. There's no way you're getting that car. Any reasonable person would see the mistake that was made and accept it as such. I'd rather burn it than let you have it even at full value now. Forget it.
Clay
There. Not only did I set him straight about my intentions; I also showed him the proper way to split my thoughts up into properly punctuated sentences. I jumped right in with the “kid” remark to let him know I was a force to be reckoned with. That should be the end of that. How wrong I was. He responded with the following:
First mistake is that you assumed I am a kid! The car is mine, I won the auction. Since you have now threatened to burn the car rather than deliver it to me, that's a threat of ARSON. This leaves me no choice but to contact your local police and report that you intend to burn my property. If forced to I will file a citizens arrest complaint and have you put in jail to stop you from damaging my property. Your intentions will be made known to the auction site and the F.B.I.. Any attempt to resell this car is fraud, your agreement to sell through the auction site is binding. You have 36 hours to supply address so my auto transporter can make arrangements for payment and to inspect for damage and pick up car. Consider this is legal notice to surender car.
Well, well, what do you know? The little creep finally figured out how to add periods, exclamation points and commas but still can’t spell worth a damn. Guess it’s up to me to point out the grammatical errors.
By this time, I’m really not intimidated and I’m actually having fun reading his ramblings. Again he dropped a few key words and phrases, like ARSON, F.B.I., jail, local police and surender, although he could have used another “r” in surrender. Now it was my turn again. Here’s what I wrote back:
Kid,
This is the last time I'm going to tell you.... you ARE NOT going to get this car. You can take your citizen's arrest and your FBI and shove 'em. CASE CLOSED. What kind of moron are you anyway?
The Complete Cooper Collection (All 97 Stories) Page 243