waiting for Andrei Serkinoff to join us to rehearse a piece he’s playing at Immi Gotham’s concert at The Arrington the day after tomorrow. He’s also playing piano on our film’s sound track. While we’re waiting, would you mind running through what you’ll be playing for me? Just cue yourself when you’re ready.”
Hattie sat down at the Steinway concert grand and, without hesitation, began to play. Greenfield watched with interest, looking slightly puzzled. When she had finished, he took the podium. “All right, everybody, Mr. Serkinoff is late, so let’s rehearse the title music with our guest artist, Hattie Patrick. Ready, Hattie?”
She nodded and waited as the conductor gave the orchestra a downbeat, then joined in when she was cued. They played for a little over four minutes by a large clock on the wall while the film’s opening titles appeared on the screen behind the orchestra. When they were done, Greenfield turned to Hattie. “That was perfect. If you were a member of the musicians’ union, I’d say we’d have that in the can.”
“I am a member of the musicians’ union,” Hattie replied.
That brought Greenfield up short. He turned toward the glass panel separating him from the control booth. “How was that for you, Jerry?”
Jerry’s voice came back over a loudspeaker. “Absolutely perfect, John. The time was right on, too.”
“Then we have the title music in the can,” Greenfield said. “Can you burn a DVD for Ms. Patrick to take home?” He looked at his watch. “Mr. Serkinoff is now forty minutes late,” he said, “and I have to rehearse his piece before Immi gets here. Hattie, do you think you can get through a performance of ‘Rhapsody in Blue’?”
“Yes, Mr. Greenfield.”
“Get me a copy of the piano part, please,” Greenfield called to an assistant.
“What arrangement are you using?” Hattie asked.
“The Previn,” Greenfield replied.
“I won’t need the music, I know it,” she said.
He stood, staring at her.
“I recorded it with the Manhattan Youth Orchestra two years ago,” Hattie said.
Greenfield turned back to the orchestra and raised his arms. “All right, everybody, this is a rehearsal, but I’m not going to stop. Let’s see if you can all get it right the first time.” He raised his arms and cued the clarinetist, who played the opening trill, then the glissando, the entire orchestra came in, and Hattie played her first phrases.
At the end of the piece, the orchestra gave Hattie an ovation, and Greenfield simply beamed at her, shaking his head. Then Immi Gotham entered from the control room where she had stood at the rear, listening. She was applauding, too. She hugged Hattie and introduced herself.
Hattie was flushed and smiling. She thanked everyone. “And thank you, Mr. Greenfield, for allowing me to…”
But John Greenfield was on his cell phone. He finished his conversation, then hung up. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said to the orchestra, “I’ve just been told that Andrei Serkinoff was in an automobile accident on the freeway an hour ago, and I’m told he’s now in the emergency room at Cedars-Sinai, having a broken left wrist set. We are without a soloist.”
There were sympathetic sounds from the orchestra.
“John,” Immi Gotham said, “I’m sorry to hear of Mr. Serkinoff’s accident, but you are not without a soloist.”
Greenfield turned to Hattie. “Are you doing anything Saturday evening?” he asked.
37
The group left the music department, Hattie with two DVDs under her arm, and got back into the electric cart to continue their tour. They visited set design and the props warehouse, the motor pool where a collection of vehicles, some of them going back decades, was kept, ready to be used in scenes, and the costume department, where they watched Immi Gotham being fitted for her concert gown.
Finally, they were driven down streets occupied by a mix of small office buildings and cottages, and the cart stopped in front of a traditional California bungalow with a wide front porch and a beautifully tended front garden. Goldman led everyone to the house and opened the front door with a key. “Peter,” he said, “this was your father’s… excuse me, your stepfather’s bungalow for more than fifty years. I’ve left it just as it was the last time he used it. It’s sentimental of me, but in fact, no one on the lot has had the courage to ask me for it.”
They walked through the bungalow, which contained a living room, dining room, and kitchen, plus three other rooms, several utility rooms, and Vance Calder’s office, which opened onto a back porch that offered a good view of the entire lot from a small rise. Nobody said much of anything.
Peter took a chair and waved to the others to gather around a table on the porch. “Leo,” he said, “Hattie, Ben, and I have been on an accelerated program at Yale, going to school the year ’round, and we’re going to graduate next year.”
“What are your plans then, Peter?” Goldman asked. “I know you well enough already to believe that you have some.”
“Our plan is to come to L.A. and make pictures for Centurion.”
Goldman broke into a wide grin. “I’ll tell you the truth, I was hoping you’d say that. Your first film, Autumn Kill, has already grossed more than sixty million dollars, and we’re about to release it in Europe and Asia, where we project it will earn at least that much more. And a lot of people couldn’t understand why I paid so much for it! The quicker we have another film from you, the better.”
“Thank you, Leo. Hattie, Ben, and I want to operate as a unit on the lot, drawing on the studio’s resources as we need them, and, of course, we’ll need a space to work in. Do you think you could keep this bungalow for our use?”
“I’d be delighted to do that, Peter. Of course, you’ll want to bring it up to date, but we’ll have plenty of time to get it ready for you.”
“I think the main things we’ll need are soundproofing, a piano, and recording facilities for Hattie’s studio, and an editing suite for Ben and me, and, of course, wiring for computers and wi-fi.”
“Tell me which rooms you’d like to use, and I’ll get an architect started on some drawings for your approval.”
“Let’s go take a look,” Peter said. They went back into the house, where the three of them discussed their needs in the space and Leo took notes. Half an hour later, they were done. They had a late lunch at the studio commissary, then resumed their tour of the Centurion lot.
Late in the afternoon, after a look around the executive offices, Goldman walked them to the waiting hotel SUV, and they started back to the hotel.
“That was a very exciting day, wasn’t it?” Ben said.
“Nobody’s more excited than me,” Hattie said. “Immi is doing an all-Gershwin program at her concert, and Mr. Greenfield wants me to come back tomorrow and rehearse a number for her with me on piano.”
“Wonderful! It was a very satisfying day for me, too,” Peter said. “I can see a future for all of us. It’s what Dad calls ‘severe clear.’”
“What does that mean?” Hattie asked.
“It’s a pilot’s term, it means a cloudless sky, ceiling and visibility unlimited.”
“Severe clear,” Ben said. “I like it.”
When they arrived back at the hotel the Cayenne was shunted into a parking area again.
“I thought we wouldn’t have to go through this another time,” Peter said, “coming and going in one of the hotel’s cars.”
“Something must have happened,” Ben said.
After the search of the car had been completed, Hans drove them back to their cottage. They arrived simultaneously with Mike Freeman, who was carrying a briefcase.
Inside, Stone was sitting with another man they hadn’t met.
“Hi there, kids,” Stone called out. “I don’t think you’ve met Special Agent Rifkin, of the Secret Service.” Everybody shook hands.
