by Davis Bunn
“Just don’t over-egg the custard. We need to get this in one take.” He looked across the bar at Consuela. “What’s the first rule?”
“Don’t ever look at the camera,” she said.
“Right. Now here’s what I want you to do. You’re going to flirt with Gary here, right in front of his date. And to make this real, you’re going to treat Megan just like you do the camera. She’s there, but you ignore her entirely.”
Consuela smiled at her. “Sorry in advance.”
Megan smiled back. “You little thief, you.”
“Pay attention, Consuela. Here’s the key. I want you to focus all your energy, all your powers of flirtation, at the people beyond the camera lens. That’s what makes a great scene. No matter what the line or who your partner is, you’re really trying to get the audience to dance with you.”
If Consuela was the least bit nervous, she did not show it. “I can hear the music already.”
Greg turned and raised his voice. “Okay, everybody. You know your roles. Waiters, serve the tables. Michelle, go manage. Patrons, talk and flirt and have a good time. What’s my first rule?”
The restaurant spoke with one voice. “The camera isn’t in the room.”
Greg clapped his hands. “This is a take.”
33
THE CLUB was a brick-walled cube, with a forty-foot ceiling and the acoustics of an old-fashioned music hall, which it once had been. Back in Santa Barbara’s first heyday, when the stars retreated here to escape the spotlight’s glare and the newshounds’ cameras and do whatever, the Soho Club had been one of their favorite haunts. The stage had seen numerous impromptu late-night sessions starring the likes of Sammy Davis Jr., Harry Belafonte, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and scores of others.
Gary delivered his first line just like Greg had instructed. Talking casually, his arm draped over the back of Megan’s chair. With his gaze locked on Consuela, tracking the lovely bartender’s every move. Megan’s job was to stay silent and fume.
Gary asked, “So what’s the big deal about Thrashers Ridge?”
Consuela picked up the shaker and began mixing a drink, taking the time to flash a look Gary’s way. The entire restaurant was lit for the cameras, but the spotlights were all directed upward. The ceiling was high enough to spread out the illumination, diffusing and softening the effect. Even so, Consuela’s gaze flashed with the sheer pleasure of knowing she had another captive male. “That’s a locals-only sort of story.”
Alex was seated on the horseshoe-shaped bar’s opposite side. He snorted and tossed back the rest of his drink, which was supposedly bourbon on the rocks but was actually iced tea. He supplied his line on cue. “In case you hadn’t noticed, this is California. Take away the folks from someplace else, the tumbleweeds would be rolling down Main Street.”
The next time Consuela danced back in front of Gary, she pointed to Alex and said, “Allow me to introduce Signor Escalofriante.”
“I have no idea what you just said,” Gary told her.
“Mister Spooky there,” Megan said. “His family owns Thrashers Ridge.”
Gary was into it now. “You’re actually telling me you think the hotel has a real live ghost?”
“I don’t think, I know,” Consuela retorted.
Alex asked, “Are we actually having this conversation?”
“I am,” Consuela replied. “Don’t know about you.”
Alex demanded, “So have you seen this thing?”
“Don’t call Skipper a thing,” Consuela replied. “It’s disrespectful.”
“Which means your answer is no.”
“I haven’t ever seen an atom either. But I know it’s real.”
“Here we go.”
Gary asked, “Who’s this Skipper?”
Consuela snapped at Alex, “You give me that face one more time, I’m gonna dump you on the street.”
“I didn’t say a thing.”
Consuela huffed and turned back to Gary. “Look here. Back when this place was young, there was this ship’s captain. His name was . . . oh, what was it now . . .”
Alex rattled the ice in his empty glass. “Wainwright. Richard Wainwright. And he wasn’t a captain. He was a smuggler.”
“They were pretty much the same thing back then. Those were lean times. Very lean. Wainwright smuggled because he had to.” Consuela sparkled with the simple joy of having all eyes on her. As she moved to refill Alex’s glass, the entire bar shifted with her. “The Skipper worked the California coast, but he kept coming back to Solvang because he’d fallen in love with a local girl.”
“Amaya,” Alex said. “A real looker.”
“Amaya’s descendants are still down there in Monarch Valley,” Consuela said. “There was this one guy, a rancher’s son. Maybe ten years older than me. But a real heart stopper when he was young.”
Alex offered, “That would be Rinaldo.”
Consuela turned her martini shaker into cymbals. “Aiyee, Rinaldo. Pedaso de cielo.”
“Piece of heaven,” Alex offered. “Not anymore. He’s still got the ranch next to Thrashers. Doubt he’s been in a saddle recently. Hard to find a horse that’ll carry three hundred and fifty pounds.”
Megan studied the man seated around the curve of the bar. It was astonishing how Alex had become transformed by the presence of cameras and lighting. There was no flamboyance to his gestures, nor much inflection to his voice. Even so, his every word carried a magnetic draw.
Consuela lifted two iced goblets from the freezer, set them on a tray, added fruit, then poured the shaker. “Anyway, Amaya got tired of waiting for the captain to leave the sea. She married the rancher.”
“Named Rinaldo too, as it happens,” Alex said.
“So when the skipper finally came home, he discovered his amante had married somebody else. Which bent him totally out of shape.”
“Wainwright bought this big stretch of land not far from Amaya’s new home. Two hundred acres. Plus the lake and the ridgeline.”
“Then he built himself that huge place.”
“Pretty much a palace,” Alex said. “Nicest home south of San Francisco at the time.”
“Then he just sat there all by himself.”
“All those bedrooms rimming that huge parlor he designed as a ballroom. For a party that never happened.”
“He liked to climb the ridge so he could look down over the ranch where his Amaya lived. Never went back to the sea, by all accounts.”
“Never set eyes on the ocean again, is what I heard.” Alex shook his head. “Wainwright stayed landlocked for the rest of his life. Because of a woman who didn’t love him back.”
“And he waited, year after year,” Consuela said. “He’s still waiting.”
Alex snorted. “Come on.”
“A hundred and eighteen years he’s waited,” she insisted. “He died there after living down the road from his beloved for forty-one years.”
“Who stayed happily married all that time,” Alex said. “To Rinaldo.”
Gary delivered his final line. “That is just wild.”
Greg stepped forward. “Cut. Great job. That’s a wrap.”
The whole restaurant applauded.
34
WHEN GREG FINALLY entered the kitchen, Danny thought he handled himself very well. He was too busy and too involved in the evening’s shoot to be deferential. He spoke to Jennie as if they were just working another scene, one of many. “Your role tonight is crucial. It’s the turning point at the start of act two. Up to this moment, you’ve been pretty much swallowed by the loss of your husband. Emma is the glue that’s held you together.”
Jennie thought that over, then nodded. “Go on.”
“You weren’t going to come tonight. Emma begged, but in the end you refused. Going out in public is just awful. People care for you around here. They all offer you sympathy and want to help, and they’re kind and they—”
“Make things worse.” She nodded again. “I believe I’ve sung that
tune myself.”
“Right. So Emma told you she was going to come here and play—her first public gig. And you said no way. You actually didn’t want her to come. You argued with her.”
“She came anyway.” Jennie gave a tight smile. “I like her already.”
“The lines are Annie’s, but the attitude is totally Emma’s. So she’s going to carry her sorrow up onto the stage. Despite your refusal to come watch her breakout performance, she’s excited about this incredible opportunity.”
“Randy’s playing himself?”
“Right. Back before he broke into the big time, Randy and Michelle used to be an item. Michelle owns this restaurant. Randy plays here from time to time, the sort of secret gig that’s passed around between old friends. He uses these visits as an opportunity to return to his first love of jazz.”
“Modern renditions of big-band swing. I read about that somewhere,” Jennie said. “We all need a time to remember the reality of small-time roles.”
They shared a quick smile before Greg said, “Thanks so much for the chance to work with you, by the way.”
“You can thank me when it’s in the can,” Jennie replied. “But you’re welcome.”
“Right. Back to tonight’s scene. Randy has accompanied Emma several times, thanks to Michelle. In our story, he has arranged tonight to help Emma learn how to handle audiences, which is where she belongs. On the stage, in the spotlight.”
“She’s that good?”
“That’s what drags you down against your will. Needing to see this for yourself and decide.”
“So how do I respond?”
Greg shook his head, refusing to answer. “There’s a place for you at the bar, beside your brother-in-law. You sneak in and sit beside him.”
“Alex. The wastrel. The guy who . . .”
“You both love and hate. Right. He waves you over.”
“And then?”
Greg smiled. “Annie and I have gone back and forth. We can’t decide.”
“So . . .”
“Play it as it lays,” Greg said. “We’ll shoot a couple of takes and see what works best.”
35
MEGAN WOULD HAVE PREFERRED to have this conversation outside, in the open. Away from the myriad of eyes that now tracked Gary. Everyone in the restaurant now assumed Gary was one of the actors. But she had to go with what she had. She touched his arm, drawing him back to earth. “We need to talk.”
He sparkled with adrenaline. “What do you call this?”
“I call you a guy flying about as high as he possibly could without pharmaceutical assistance.”
He laughed. “You got that right.”
“I want you to land, Gary. As soon as we finish the next scene, I’m going to have to go back to work.”
“We’re not working now?”
“No, Gary. For me, this is an interlude. The only one I’ll have tonight.” She poked a finger into his shoulder. “Pay attention.”
“Ow, girl.”
“Oh, get real.” But she saw he was smiling now, his gaze alert and with her. “Two things. They’re not connected. You do the first or not, it’s okay. The second, my offer, still stands.”
He lost the smile. “Offer?”
“First my request. Remember, if you don’t feel it’s workable, I understand. Truly.” She sketched out the mystery of Brandon’s appearance in Lawrence Abbott’s office.
Gary was intent now. Frowning. “Legend Partners doesn’t do television.”
“That’s why we’re discussing it at all,” she said. “Trying to understand what’s below the surface.”
“There have been rumors Legend wants to branch out. You know how it is. Everybody’s trying to ride the Netflix train.”
“But this isn’t Netflix, Gary. We’re talking about a project with Chambers, the new cable kid on the block. Low budget, small audience, super tight timeline.”
“You want to know if there’s an ulterior motive.”
“There has to be. I want to know why. And who is actually behind this, both in the firm and inside Legend.”
He pondered the ancient brick wall. “I might be able to check into that.”
“But only if you can stay safe.” Megan saw Greg emerge from the kitchen and knew she was running out of time. “Back to what we talked about outside. I want you to think about coming to work with me.”
“Megan . . .”
“I know all the reasons why this isn’t feasible, believe me. Two weeks ago I would have recited them all myself. Well, maybe not. I was ready to leave.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“I hated the place. And I suspect down deep you do too.”
“Hey. Arrogant bosses, actions that skirt the fringes of legality, hyper-competitive associates, LA-size egos, backstabbing, high attrition.” His smile was canted now. “What’s not to love about K&K?”
“What I want you to understand is, none of those things you just listed exist in my new professional home.”
“You haven’t been there long enough to be certain of anything.”
She nodded. “You’re right. It could all be a ruse. One day soon I’ll walk in and the evil genie will spring out of the broom closet. Then I’ll be back in the same-old. Only now I’m trapped in San Luis Obispo.” Megan leaned forward. “But what I’m seeing is a totally different approach to law and to serving our clients.”
“Service,” Gary said. “I remember that word. They mentioned it in law school.”
“And something more,” Megan said. “My new firm expects me to define my role. If there really are film production companies moving north, I’ll need help to make this happen. I want you to be part of my team.”
Gary studied her with the same focused intensity he brought to trial work. The reason why she had loved partnering with him on cases. The reason why they were having this conversation. “I’ll think about it.”
Greg chose that moment to clap his hands and call for quiet. He ran through his instructions quickly this time, clearly trusting his actors and all the volunteers to get it right. He positioned the actors, checked the camera positions a final time, then called for action.
When the two people emerged from the stairwell, Gary was almost knocked off his bar stool. He waited for the trailing camera to pass him to whisper, “That was Randy Willis.”
“Right. Shh.”
The world-famous musician appeared centered and calm and utterly professional. A number of the locals applauded as he and Michelle approached the stage up by the bay window. The welcome was totally unscripted, but Megan thought it suited the moment very well.
Randy kissed Michelle before seating himself behind the piano. Michelle leaned over, rested a hand on his shoulder, and spoke into his mike. “Tonight we have a special guest . . . I’m sorry, what was your name again?”
Randy waited until the laughter faded, then launched straight into his first song, a solo rendition of Bobby Darin’s hit “Beyond the Sea.” He was then joined by a couple who rose from the front table. The woman took a companionable hold on a double bass, and the man seated himself at the drum set. Together they swung smoothly into a song made famous by Judy Garland, “Come Rain or Come Shine.”
In the middle of that song, Megan saw Alex wave at someone in the restaurant’s entrance behind her. She did not turn around, but the knowledge of what was about to happen caused her heart rate to accelerate. It was silly being so excited over a star’s arrival. But she couldn’t help it. She pretended to focus on the music as Jennie French slipped through the tables and approached Alex. When Gary let out a faint whuff of surprise, she was ready. She prodded his arm with one finger, a subtle gesture but enough to draw him back into focus on the music. And just in time, for trailing behind Jennie was the close-up camera, there to capture the moment when Alex slipped from his chair, embraced his sister-in-law, and offered her his stool.
The song ended, and Megan watched as Alex said, “I’m glad you came.”
Jennie was not scripted to respond, but she glanced in confusion at the crowd and the applause, then asked, “Why am I here?”
Alex showed a pro’s ability and reacted as the broken brother-in-law, the guy who was rendered only half a man by the guilt he carried and the drink he held. He took a slug of his iced tea and pointed his sister-in-law’s attention back to the stage.
At that same moment, Randy gestured to someone at the restaurant’s far end. A second rustle of anticipation filtered through the rooms.
Emma stepped forward.
Normally such low-budget projects only used one camera crew. Costs grew exponentially when employing a second team because it heightened both the technology requirements and the staff. Even so, Danny and Greg had hired two additional teams from Santa Cruz who made their living shooting advertisements. Using locals as extras, having Randy Willis play, and being given the Soho Club for one night meant getting this scene in the can with a minimum of takes.
Three cameras were in action now, one stationed upon Jennie’s face, positioned so that it captured Jennie’s astonishment and Alex’s slightly canted smile. Rick’s main crew trailed behind Emma as she walked calmly through the crowd and stepped onto the stage. The third camera swept back and forth, panning the audience as they whistled and applauded.
The first camera operator then lowered himself to floor level, there to watch Randy as he handed Emma an alto sax. She wet the reed, positioned her fingers, then nodded. Together they gave the audience Kevin Cole’s “All of You.”
Megan was tempted to lose herself fully in the music. The sight of that young girl playing with three professional musicians was magnetic. The group formed a seamless flow, four instruments in sync. The restaurant lights gradually dimmed. The strongest illumination came from the table candles and a pair of spotlights over the piano. Randy’s two accompanists remained in the shadows. When he was not singing, Randy leaned back so that he too became a half specter. It was a remarkable feat, this star’s ability to reduce himself to a mere silhouette, as though what really mattered was not the man at all but rather his music. And the young woman. The night’s real star.