schedule, maybe even some P and A participation.' Off Shane's puzzled look he added, 'That's Prints and Advertising. I think I can actually sell a piece of this film to a major studio-Warner or Universal. We got offers for housekeeping deals at two major studios. That's a deal where they give us an office and some overhead, maybe a development fund. It's like I finally broke through because of this thing, and I love you for it.'
'Nicky, we are not gonna make this movie, okay?' Just then, the door flew open and Champagne Dennis Valentine walked in. 'Is Michael Fallon around?' he asked, smiling.
Chapter 27
Shane found out that Paul Lubick had a few numbered copies of the script. He saw one in the director's briefcase just before lunch. He would have swiped it and made a copy, but it was printed on red paper, which defeated Xeroxes. When Shane asked for one, he was told by Lubick that he wasn't on the approved distribution list.
'I'm the producer. I'm paying your salary. How can I not be on the approved list?' Shane argued.
'Woody Allen doesn't even let the lead actors who've already been cast in his movies read the whole script, just the scenes they're in. You have to operate on a little faith… have trust in your director,' Lubick said.
'But I'm the producer,' Shane raged impotently.
'Right. And you're not on the list. I don't know you from a box a rocks. How do I know you're not gonna get it retyped on white paper? Make copies and pass 'em around town? Next thing, critics are taking shots at me before I even shoot a frame. I'm hot news in show business. When you're tits, you're prime for trashing. Right now, just the few people I need to read it will get a copy, and then only the pages they're involved with. No exceptions.' He left Shane standing in the hallway.
At twelve, Shane and Dennis Valentine, who had both been more or less ignored all morning, decided to keep each other company for lunch. They walked across the lot toward the Studio Commissary, which was really only a restaurant located just off the property, across an alley in an old railroad dining car. Nicky called it the vomitorium, but the manager gave discounts to people who could show studio gate passes.
They sat in a back booth. Framed cartoon sketches of old movie actors grinned down at them from red flocked wallpaper.
'When do you suppose Michael Fallon will show up?' Valentine said.
'Don't know. You should check with Paul.'
'This guy, Paul, whatta you think of him?'
'He's an asshole.'
'Purebred and overfed,' Valentine agreed.
They ordered. Shane asked for the twelve-ounce rib-eye. Valentine ordered steamed vegetables and Taittinger.
'We don't stock Taittinger. Got a nice Paul Masson sparkling Bordeaux,' the waiter said, and got the vitamin lecture for his suggestion.
They did some showbiz small talk, and after ten minutes, Shane finally worked his way around to Alexa. 'That thing we were discussing yesterday?' he began as they both picked at a lettuce and tomato salad.
'Yep,' Valentine said as his order of cooked vegetables arrived, looking like a steaming plate of dinner scrapings. The rib-eye followed.
After the waiter left, Shane continued. 'I talked it over with her. I think we got a player.'
Valentine stopped eating his vegetables and looked up angrily. 'I don't wanta discuss this here. I don't talk about business in rooms I don't trust.' Valentine had undoubtedly heard the tape of Shane and Alexa from last night and was well prepared for this conversation. But just not in a room he hadn't swept.
'If not here, how about tonight?' Shane said.
'Tonight's fine.' Valentine forked in some steamed cauliflower. 'My house, five-thirty this afternoon.'
'She's pretty busy. How's after work sound… around seven?'
'Sure, seven's good.' Then Valentine switched subjects quickly, pointing disgustedly at Shane's plate. 'Y'know how long some of that meat's gonna live in your intestines?' he said.
'Not long… I shit logs.'
'Yeah, you laugh, but most Americans carry around ten pounds of undigested meat in their colons. You're killing yourself one bite at a time.'
'I'd rather be dead than hungry,' Shane said as he took another bite. 'We can compare notes in hell.'
Shane's afternoon was full of couldn'ts. He still couldn't get a copy of the script, because Paul and Rajindi were locked in a Concept and Tone meeting, whatever that was. He couldn't hang with Dennis, because once the mobster knew Michael Fallon wasn't going to show up, he left. Shane couldn't beat up on Nicky because he had gone with Buzz, the UPM, on a preliminary location scout out to the Disney Ranch. Shane had been fielding phone calls from vendors that Lubick had already put to work. They all wanted down payments. An extras casting company had started hiring teenage boys for the Georgia regiment, and the bank had called twice to tell Shane that they were overdrawn again.
Nicky had somehow managed to add himself to the signature card on Shane's blind account and had been writing checks. Shane had totally lost control. He felt closed in on, and impotent, so he left the studio at four-thirty and escaped to the relative safety of Parker Center.
He pulled into the vast underground garage next to the Glass House, parked on the third level, then went to the fourth floor where the CRASH unit was located inside the Geographic Operations Bureau.
Shane found a sergeant he knew named Sylvia Hunt.
Everybody in the CRASH unit looked tired and overworked.
'What d'ya need, Shane?' Sylvia said, her green eyes still on the computer screen at her desk. She was scrolling Crip gang addresses.
'With all this going on, I'm guessing you're probably working The Hills pretty hard, am I right?'
'You can't piss on a wall in Las Lomas without getting busted,' she said, finally looking up.
Shane handed over the Jeep's license plate number and vehicle description, along with the photo of Chooch he always carried in his wallet. 'This is my son. He's half Hispanic and has a girlfriend in The Hills who's missing, named Delfina Delgado. She's American Macado's second cousin. I'm worried my son is gonna end up in the middle of this fire zone, trying to find her.'
Sylvia stopped working and focused on him. 'Your son's dating Amac's cousin?' she asked.
'Yeah. Anyway, that's his picture and his plate number. He drives a 1999 black Jeep Cherokee. If anybody spots him, I'd appreciate it if you'd pick him up.'
She took Chooch's picture and the paper, and studied them. 'If she's Amac's cousin, maybe she was abducted.' 'Yeah, maybe. But he doesn't think so.'
'Who doesn't think so?' Sylvia Hunt was now drilling him with her green eyes. 'What do you know? Who have you been talking to?'
'Nothing. Nobody,' he said.
'Have you been in contact with American, Shane? If you've spoken with him, the head of DSG will want to talk to you.'
'Hey, Syl, I'm married to the head of DSG, remember? This is her adopted son.'
'Forgot.' She blushed.
Shane turned and left the bureau. On his way to the elevator, his cell phone rang.
'Yeah?'
'Shane, it's Fineburg,' the little computer jock said. 'I got something, but maybe we shouldn't talk on an open line. When can you come see me?'
'I'm upstairs,' Shane said. 'I'll be right down.' 'See you when you get here.'
Shane found Lee Fineburg at his console in the computer section. They headed to the coffee room at the end of the corridor. Nobody was inside, so they entered and closed the door.
