Chapter 4
FOUR
Stage 2 was roughly four hundred feet onto the lot. We entered by climbing three concrete steps and squeezing through a narrow door. That put us in a kind of tiny antechamber facing another door. Ricky was trying to talk to Finn about the Dodgers, who had apparently just beat the Reds. Marc was asking Louis where he found parking.
And then, thankfully, we were beyond that. Someone flipped a switch somewhere and basic lighting came on. Directly in front of us was a long hallway that looked as though it ran the length of the soundstage. To our left was a door about ten feet away. It opened onto the stage itself. I couldn’t see much, just a sliver of a brightly colored set.
“Do you know what they shoot here?” I asked.
A couple of people nearby shrugged. The bearish guy said, “ Guessmate? .”
I’ve never seen Guessmate?, have you? From the commercials I assume it’s a game show having something to do with two teams of two—one celebrity, one normal, everyday human being—answering silly, barely logical questions, and then making their way across a projected checkerboard à la Pac-Man without getting trapped by the other team. How all that comes together I’ve never been interested enough to find out.
Donald turned around to face us and said, “Wendy, would you take Mr. Henderson and Ms. Bright down to the Zola Emery dressing room? It’s at the far end of the hallway. I’ll take Mrs. True and her son to the Fatty Arbuckle dressing room, the first door on our left. Meg and Keely, you’re in Barrymore. Marc and Grace in Cagney. And Ricky, you’re on your own in Durante.”
That was all very confusing. The dressing rooms were named after actors? Actors from a million years ago? Ones no one remembers? Zola Emery and Fatty Arbuckle were from the silent era. We didn’t even have any of their videos at Pinx.
Donald picked out Louis, and said, “There’s a craft room halfway down. You can prep in there. You’ll find a banquet table against one wall. If you could bring that out and set up in front of the risers—thanks so much.”
Then, “Ed, if you could bring the camera equipment onto the set that would be great.” Apparently, Ed was the name of the bearish guy.
Before we began moving, Grace asked, “Is there a makeup person coming? Hair?”
“If you need any help with that sort of thing Wendy will lend a hand.” Donald said, before saying, “Right this way, Mrs. True.”
“If I have time I’ll help, of course,” Wendy sniped. “I am being stretched a little thin.”
Grace frowned, and said, “Seriously? No makeup? No hair? No wardrobe?”
“What did you expect, Grace?” Meg said. “We always did the show on a shoestring. Did you really think this would be different?”
“I know but… we at least had Melvin. Yes, they made him do everything, but he was fabulous. I was kind of hoping he’d be here to comb out my hair.”
I can’t say that made a lot of sense. Her hair looked fine. Great even. And her makeup?—
“Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” Meg said.
“I’m not letting you touch my hair.”
“It was just an offer.”
Louis led Marc, Eldridge and me down the hallway. We struggled with the coolers and the bags and the giant industrial blender, but I was still able to get a peek at the Arbuckle room, which was large and had some furniture in addition to the makeup table, giant mirror and chairs. Keely had already dropped off one of the enormous floral arrangements, which took up half of the table. Donald was fawning over Kathleen True and her son. Neither of them seemed to be paying attention. In fact, Heston was already on the couch deep into his Gameboy.
Next to it, the Barrymore room—there were brass signs on each of the doors—was still empty and not nearly as roomy. There was the makeup table, chairs and not much else. Then there was another empty dressing room just like it, the Cagney room. Just as Donald said, the craft room was in the middle—it was not named after anyone. Probably because it wasn’t much more than a counter, an ice machine, a folded banquet table against one wall, and a huge sink. It had two lights on the ceiling, one of them was flickering.
After we set down the bags and coolers, I asked Marc, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Oh God, I know that tone of voice,” Louis said. “There’s a lot to worry about. What’s going on?”
Marc rolled his eyes. “It’s just the thing with my parents. People keep bringing them up. That’s all. Not a big deal. We just have to get through tonight and everything will be fine.”
He tried to give Louis a reassuring smile, saying, “All right, I’m going to get ready now.”
Louis kissed him. “Good luck, dear.”
“Thank you, I think I might be needing it.”
As soon as Marc was gone, Louis said to us, “I’m going to get the coffee urn going.” He pointed at the ancient, two-foot-tall metal coffee pot sitting on the counter. Then he noticed me staring at the five pound can of bargain brand coffee he’d pulled out of a bag. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a trick up my sleeve.” He put the urn into the sink and started filling it with cold water.
“I know Marc’s parents wanted him to be a movie star. Is that all that’s going on?”
“They wanted him to be a movie star so they could have the money. They took most of what he made as a kid.”
“That’s not legal,” Eldridge said.
“While he was a minor, they had to put something like twenty percent into a trust. The rest they got to spend… supposedly on taking care of him. When Marc was eighteen, they basically coerced him into giving them the money from the trust. He managed to keep enough to get an AA in accounting, but they got their hands on the rest.”
“Was it a lot of money?”
“Well, we’d probably be in a house already.”
“Oh. I guess that’s why his parents are never around for the holidays.”
“You’re so lucky to have Angie.” Then to Eldridge he said, “She’s going to love you.”
“Louis!”
“What? I’m sure you’ll bring her around to the store next time she’s here.”
I blushed deeply. Louis lifted the urn out of the sink and set it on the table. He filled the basket with the can of cheap ground coffee. Then he took a bottle of cinnamon and shook in two or three tablespoons. Or maybe teaspoons. I don’t know, but it was a lot.
He glanced at us and said, “Works like a charm. Can you two take that folding table out and set it up in front of the risers like Donald said?”
“Okay.” I grabbed one end of the table while Eldridge grabbed the other. We walked back by the Cagney room. Its door was open, and I could see Grace and Marc sitting in front of the mirror chatting. Next was the Barrymore room, where Keely and Meg were getting ready. Things in there looked a little chilly. The door to the Arbuckle room was shut, though I could still hear Donald’s fawning voice. Even without words it sounded like he was giving undeserved compliment after undeserved compliment.
Eldridge said, “You know this place is haunted, don’t you?”
“What? Why would I know that?”
“Everyone knows that. Haven’t you ever been on that haunted Hollywood tour?”
“No.”
“Oh, well maybe we should?—”
“No.”
“Anyway, Zora Emery hung herself in one of the dressing rooms. Probably the one named after her. She was making her first talkie and, well, I guess it wasn’t going well. People claim they hear her voice late at night. Rehearsing her lines.”
“Is it a grating voice?” I couldn’t help asking.
“Very.”
“You don’t really believe in ghosts.”
“No. But I do believe in stories about old Hollywood.”
“You really like that stuff, don’t you?”
“Um… why do you think I work in a video store?”
He had a point. It certainly wasn’t for the money I was paying him. Then he asked, “So… Marc and Louis are a cute couple. You’ve known them a while, I guess?”
“I met them when I moved into the apartment above theirs. I guess it’s been about three years.”
“Mikey says you’re all best friends.”
“We are.”
“Good friends means good people.”
“Yeah… not always. The Hillside Stranglers were good friends and cousins.”
Eldridge frowned at me. “Really? You just compared yourself and your friends to a couple of serial killers.”
“Well…” Changing the subject seemed to be the best option. “How about we put the table right over… here.”
Just then, someone, probably Ed, turned the stage lights on. The set behind us was shockingly bright. I glanced upward, and above the risers I saw that there was some kind of control room. I could see a silhouette through the window but not who it was.
After a moment I went back to the table; I wasn’t there to gawk. We unfolded the banquet table and spread a giant tablecloth over it—a floral black-and-white print. It was actually too big, so I used a trick Louis had shown me where you tie a simple knot into each corner to make the cloth smaller.
“Is Louis a caterer?”
“No. He’s in IT.”
“Why does he have such a big tablecloth?”
“Because he’s Louis.”
I was quite used to Louis going into the tiny apartment he shared with Marc and coming out with whatever was needed in any given situation. That he could cater snacks and an early morning breakfast for fifteen out of his personal belongings didn’t strike me as odd.
After the comments Eldridge made in the car, and the comments Marc and Louis kept making, I decided I really ought to set things straight. “Eldridge, you know that I’m your boss.”
“Tonight?”
“Well, no. Tonight Louis is your boss.”
“Okay. So you’re not my boss.”
“What I mean is… I really can’t ask you out. Because I’m your boss.”
“But you’re not my boss tonight.”
“No, not tonight. I’m trying to explain?—”
“That you can ask me out tonight.”
“No. I mean, I’m still your boss?—”
“But not right now.”
“I’m still your boss in the larger sense. And that prevents me from?—”
“So I could ask you out?”
“You could… I just can’t accept.”
“Because you’re my boss. In the larger sense.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Thank goodness that was over, I thought just before he said, “If I quit, can you go out with me?”
“Oh my God, don’t quit. We love—Mikey really likes you.”
“You don’t like me?”
“You’re doing an excellent job at the store and I’d hate to lose you.”
“Not even if that meant we could go on a date?”
I didn’t get a chance to answer because Louis was there carrying a plastic tub filled with the snacks.
“Okay, I’ve started the coffee. And I brought an electric kettle for hot water in case anyone wants tea.”
At that point, I realized there were no electrical outlets anywhere near where we’d put the table. Would we need one? There were cables running all over the stage. If we needed one, maybe?—
“Noah, find something to write on and check with everyone to see who wants coffee and how they want it. The cream and sugar are next to the coffeemaker, as are the Styrofoam cups. If anyone wants tea, we have Constant Comment, which has caffeine, and Lemon Zinger, which does not. I dumped ice into the sink and put a bunch of sodas and evian in it to get cold. There’s a tray in there, you’ll see it. I’m going to keep Eldridge here to help me set up the table.”
“Okay. Where do you think I’ll find something to write on?”
“I think there’s an office down past the dressing rooms.”
“Unlocked?”
“Hopefully.”
I went back to the dressing rooms and then down the long hallway. It’s a very weird feeling to start work at eleven at night. It feels out of step with the rest of the world, and at the same time dramatic and a little exciting. Well, I was helping to make television. That was exciting. Or rather, I was feeding people who were making television. That seemed less exciting.
The smell of coffee brewing didn’t help with the strangeness, though. Coffee suggested morning. It was definitely not morning, given the way my eyes were starting to droop. I wondered again if this was a big mistake. No, no, it was not a mistake. The worst thing that would happen was that I’d take a break in one of the audience seats and fall asleep. Maybe I’d snore and get made fun of when I woke up. That’s all. That’s the worst. I needed to relax.
When I got to the office—which had D.W. Griffith’s name on the door—it was a cramped little room with a desk, a chair and a telephone. I found a pen in the top drawer but nothing to write on. I popped into the men’s room—thankfully unnamed—and grabbed a paper towel. The pen worked. Going back down the hallway, I was about to knock on the door of the Emery room when I heard Amber saying sharply, “You can’t fire me. We have a contract.”
I decided I’d come back later. I went further down the hall and walked through the open door to the Durante room. Ricky Bellows sat in front of the mirror making faces at himself. On the table in front of him were a number of makeup products, mainly bronzer. He’d taken off his tank top and seemed to have little interest in putting on anything else. His chest was impressive. I tried not to think about that, and said, “Hi. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
He gave me a curious look and I thought he was about to ask me something like, did we have Sweet’N Low, which made me realize I hadn’t checked and I really should have. But instead, he said, “You guys are all fags, right?”
“Excuse me?”
“Marc and that older guy, Louis? And then the one in the fag T-shirt. You’re all fags.”
That was offensive. A lot. I chose to ignore it, and said, “I’m really just here to ask if you want coffee. And if so, did you want cream and sugar?”
“Don’t get your tits in a twist. I’m okay with fags. I own three gyms. If I had a problem with fags I’d be out of business.”
“That’s so kind of you,” I said, meaning the exact opposite. “Coffee? Milk? Sugar?”
“Naw, I don’t want any coffee.”
“Tea?”
He shook his head.
“A pop?” I offered.
“Lemme know when the Juicy Juice starts. I’m gonna want a Banana Blast.”
“Will do.”
I walked out of his dressing room deciding I’d be avoiding him as much as possible, when I found myself face to face with Amber Bright.
“Did I hear you mention soda? Is there Diet Coke?”
“I can get you one.”
“It’s right here, isn’t it?” she said, pointing to the nameless craft room.
“Yeah…” I turned and we walked into the room. I was relieved to find Louis had put some Diet Coke on ice, though it would hardly be cold.
“Yeah, it’s right here.”
Amber breezed by me and grabbed a can of pop. Feeling that it was still warm, she also picked up a cup and scooped up some ice.
“Do you think Mr. Henderson would like coffee or a Coke?”
“What he wants is a speedball, but I’ll bring him a Diet Coke.”