Box Office Poison

This isn’t the march of technology. This is an invasion.”

Qwendar stiffened and stared at LeBlanc. His pale eyes held both heat and ice, and I wouldn’t have liked to have that look directed at me. “Invasion? Really? That implies the outsider. I would argue my people have been resident on this planet as sentient beings far longer than you.”

David’s response was swift and summary. “Mr. Qwendar. You will keep quiet or I will ask that you leave.”

Sheila gave David a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Sullivan. But to continue. Are the Alfar more talented than humans? We’re going to present evidence that will show it’s quite the opposite. No, they’re getting more and more of the parts because they are using inhuman powers at the very start of the process, during their auditions, to deny human actors their chance. This is an issue of basic fairness. We’re talking about people here, not buggy whips or Moviolas or eight-tracks.” I briefly wondered what a Moviola might be. “People who can’t pay their mortgages or support their families, and maybe more importantly, can’t fulfill themselves and pursue their passion because the Alfar are taking unfair advantage.” She sat down.

Qwendar took to his feet. “Mr. Sullivan, I must protest these kinds of racist and hyperbolic statements. If such defamatory remarks are leaked to the press I will respond most strongly.”

“Mr. Qwendar,” David said wearily. “This was an opening statement. Ms. LeBlanc will have to prove her assertions. Just as your side will.” David turned to Barbara. “Ms. Gabaldon, do you wish to make a statement at this time?”

“No, I’ll wait until Ms. LeBlanc has made her arguments.”

“Very good. Mr. McPhee?”

The big man hooked his thumbs in his vest pockets and leaned back in his chair until it squeaked in protest. “I’ll bide.”

“Mr. Brubaker?”

“We’ll wait.”

“Fine, then, if there is nothing more we will reconvene day after tomorrow and hear the first of Ms. LeBlanc’s witnesses.”

“Why the delay?” Brubaker asked.

“Because I want to do my own statistical research.”

I gave a mental groan because David’s I meant me.

5

Pizer had said there were offices for David and me. There were. David had been given an office next door to Pizer, a large, elegant space as befitted a full partner and vampire. Which meant the occupant of that office was kicked into a different office, which set off a chain reaction. Which meant that I was going to share space with the guy who had been left standing when the music stopped. It was the smallest private office, and it looked like a converted coat closet.

“Way to win friends and influence people,” I muttered at the desk as I unloaded my briefcase and set up my computer. I was crawling under the desk to plug in the power cord when the door opened and my office mate entered.

“Hi,” came a chipper voice.

I quickly tried to turn around to get my butt on the floor, but instead gave myself a painful bump on the head. There is no graceful way to handle the situation when you’re on hands and knees with your ass pointed at the door.

“Wow, that sounded like it hurt,” the chipper voice continued.

I scooted out from beneath the desk struggling to keep my skirt from hiking up around my waist and losing a shoe in the process. I finally emerged with one hand clutching a shoe, the other clutching my skirt to meet the amused gaze of a very short man with a head of red-gold curls that resembled those of a Botticelli angel. He was grinning at me, and it was clear from the expression in his dancing blue eyes that he was loving the situation.

“It did,” I said. “Hi, I’m Linnet Ellery. Who are you?”

“Merlin Ambinder. The man with no office.”

As usual my internal editor was asleep on the job. “Merlin? Really?” I asked before I could control myself

His cupid’s-bow lips quirked in a rueful smile. “Yes, I am a man with a really silly name. Blame my parents. They were hippies long after it was time for any sensible people to be hippies.”

I stood up and indicated the tiny space with my outstretched arms. “And as for no office, we have all this.” We shared a laugh, and he set down a stack of files on the second desk, then fell into his chair.

“How long is this likely to continue?”

I took my chair and we faced each other across our kissing desks. “If we’re lucky—a month. I don’t think we’re going to be lucky. And meanwhile I get to live in a hotel room.”

“You should rent an Oakwood. Well, rent an apartment at the Oakwood. Corporate housing—studio, one, two, and three bedrooms. No lease and everything is included. Even maid service if you want to add that in.”

“It’s got to be cheaper than the Beverly Hills Hotel.” I fired up my laptop and started a Google search.

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“I could get a one-bedroom. Actually cook some meals.” Chrome loaded the Google search page. There were a number of Oakwoods in the greater LA area. I swung the computer around so Ambinder could see the screen. “Which would be the best choice?”

“Well, the one in Santa Monica near the beach would be great, but they hike the rates because you’re on the water. The one down on Washington is a pit. I’d go with the Barham Oakwood. Easy access to the Valley or the Basin. Close to Universal and the City Walk, Warner Bros., and Griffith Park.”

“How do you know so much about Oakwoods?” I asked.

“My folks got a divorce when I was eight. My dad moved into an Oakwood.”

“Oh, great, it’s a divorcee’s paradise.”

Merlin shrugged. “Look at the upside. You can get a lot of dates.”

I ignored that and asked, “So why isn’t the firm using them? Lot cheaper than a hotel.”

“It’s usually the partners who commute between offices, and while getting a pizza or takeout Chinese delivered to an Oakwood is no big deal, I think delivering a host would be tricky. The better hotels are set up for that. And you know vampires. They like to be catered to.”

“Is that ever the truth. So, what’s your specialty?”

“I’m the research monkey. I would be totally petrified to go into court, but I love digging through minutia.”

“Glad somebody does.” I cupped my chin in my hands, elbows resting on the desk. “Hollywood has a lot to answer for with their portrayal of lawyers. I thought this profession was going to be exciting,” I said.

“You’re in Hollywood now.”

“And it’s still not exciting.” I laid my hand on my stack of folders. “I get to read and summarize a statistical analysis of casting patterns over the past ten years for my boss.”

“We also serve who only burn our eyes out,” Merlin said, mangling the Milton quote to suit our situation.

Having bonded, we settled in to work. Merlin was a good office companion. We started off wearing headphones so our music didn’t bug the other, but it turned out we had similar tastes so we just let his IPod and Pandora play for us. We took turns on the coffee run to refill our cups. He even made sure the sandwich lady didn’t overlook us in our cave.

A few hours later I had a gross overview of the piles of statistical analysis. I knew David would want my initial impression, so I wrote up a short report. While statistics is the discipline where you lie with numbers, it was still pretty clear that the human actors were getting screwed. I hit Print on my computer and stood up, ready to head out to the network center to pull my report off the printer.