Madison Avenue Shoot (11 page)

“You see, the problem is, I wouldn’t use a word like ‘cuisine.’ ” She pronounced it “coozine.”

“The problem is, you never looked at your script until you got on the set,” Betsy Archibald said to her. In contrast with her elegant attire at the agency, she wore jeans and tennis shoes, and a baseball cap with her red ponytail pulled through the gap at the back. She looked like a little girl, an angry little girl. She turned away from Cookie, a look of exasperation on her face. “I can’t believe this. How simple can it be? Any idiot could have learned those lines by now.”

Cookie continued talking to her back. “And another thing. I’m a cook. I cook barbecue, basic stuff.” She held up a bottle and made a face. “There ain’t no bottles of champagne and cilantro dressing in my kitchen. This just isn’t authentic at all.”

“Authentic! This is a spot for a credit card,” Betsy exploded. “It’s not your ridiculous cooking show. It doesn’t have to be authentic. It’s just for atmosphere.”

“Now, see here.” Jimbo jumped up. “You’re not to talk to her that way.” He pointed a finger at Betsy. “You give Mrs. Bedford your respect.”

“I’ll give her respect when she acts like a professional,” Betsy shouted back.

Cookie put her fists on her hips. “Jimbo, I can handle this.”

“Don’t interrupt me, Cookie. She has no right to abuse you.”

“Abuse?” Betsy shrieked. “I’m the one being abused. All these people are being abused. You’re wasting our time.” Betsy smacked the rolled-up script on her leg, then aimed it at Jimbo. “You tell her to learn her lines, the way they’re written. This isn’t amateur hour. I’ll be waiting.” She stomped off the set and threw herself into a chair, crossing her arms and her legs.

Cookie pushed a fuming Jimbo to the far side of her set, away from Betsy.

The man behind the camera that was aimed in her direction waved at Cookie. “Mrs. Bedford, no one will be seeing the label that says champagne-cilantro dressing, I promise you. It’s just a nice-shape bottle. You can come over here and look through the lens if you want.”

“But Ah don’t like to have something that would never be in mah kitchen on this here counter,” Cookie said, pounding her fist for emphasis.

“Props!” called a man in a canvas chair sitting in front of a monitor. “Eighty-six the bottle.” He ran a hand over his shaved head.

Another man took the bottle from Cookie’s hand and put a jar of molasses in its place on the counter.

“Now, that there’s much better,” Cookie said, smiling.

Betsy’s eyes rose to the ceiling and she flapped her arms in irritation. “That there’s much better,” she mimicked in a Southern accent.

“Howerstein, you tell her to watch her tongue or this shootin’ party is over.” Jimbo’s face was very red. “We’re not taking any more cheap shots like that.”

Cookie stamped her foot. “Jimbo! Cut it out.”

Dan Howerstein stepped forward and spoke to the man with the shaved head. “Can we take five, please, Adam?”

“That’s Akmanian,” Grady whispered to me, indicating the man in the chair.

I nodded. “The director.”

“And that one”—Grady pointed to a man wearing earphones and standing next to the director—“is the first assistant director, or AD.”

The first AD raised his voice. “All right, folks,” he said. “Take five, but no one go very far, please.”

Howerstein guided a furious Betsy around the corner and out of sight, but not out of earshot. We could hear her complaining loudly as she walked away.

“Would you please keep your voice down,” he said.

“Don’t touch me!” she growled.

“I’m not touching you,” was Howerstein’s irritated reply.

Jimbo walked back onto the set and threw Cookie’s script on the counter. “I told you, you needed to learn them lines. Even so, I’m not lettin’ her talk that way to you.”

“Now, you just calm down. I can learn them lines easy,” Cookie said. “I just don’t like that one word, Jimbo. I don’t wanna hafta say something I never would.”

“You shoulda raised that flag earlier, Cookie. It’s too late now.”

“Ah know it’s late. But if my viewers hear me talkin’ about ‘coozine,’ they’ll think I’ve gone all fancy-pants on them. You go talk to her, but you talk nice, now, ya hear. I know you can do that. No yelling.”

Jimbo stalked away.

“You tell her we’re a down-home show,” Cookie called after him, then muttered “and I’m not changin’ who I am for that little . . . little stuck-up witch.”

“You don’t have to, Mrs. Bedford. We’ll change the line.” The speaker was Kevin Prendergast. I hadn’t noticed him in the crowd until he spoke up.

Antonio Tedeschi was at his side. “Yes, yes, of course,” Antonio said. “Our Betsy, she is a very passionate woman. It is good. But you can say the line how you like, just so you say how wonderful is my Permezzo.”

“Antonio!” Cookie said, her eyes lighting up. “I didn’t see you there. Just wait till you set your eyes on what I got with the card you gave me.” She patted her pockets. “Now, where’d I put my diamonds?”

“Excuse me,” Kevin said. He pointed at the director. “I’ll talk to Betsy. We’ll take care of this right now.”

“Yes. I will talk to her, too,” Antonio said.

“There’s no need, Tonio.”

“I will like to talk to her.”

Akmanian waved his hand, taking in all those standing around the room. “Take as many people as you want. They can
all
talk to her. Whatever. I got paid in advance. My time is yours.” He looked at the floor around his chair. “Where is my latte?”

A production assistant leaned forward and put the cup into his hand.

Cookie said, “Well, if you’re all goin’ off, Ah’m gonna get me a doughnut.”

Five minutes passed and then ten, but none of the combatants returned. The crew was standing around waiting.

“Is the number two set ready to go?” the director asked.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Mrs. Fletcher?” Dave Fitzpatrick said. “Would you like to see your set now?”

“Ooh, can I see it, too?” Frank said.

“Of course,” I replied.

Grady, Frank, and I followed Dave back the way we’d come and down a different corridor with offices on both sides. We could hear a loud argument going on in one of them. As we approached, I recognized the voices of Howerstein and Betsy.

“Where’s the money, Betsy? I had to lay out a fortune for Akmanian. And I got a crew to pay.”

“Stuff it, Daniel. You get paid when the client pays us. Not before.”

“If I find out you’re cheating me . . .”

“What’ll you do? Leave? You’re easily replaced. There are dozens of production companies that would jump at the chance to work with Mindbenders, even if they never got paid.”

“Not this one!”

“I don’t have time for this.” Betsy stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind her. An ironic expression bloomed on her face when she saw us. “There’s always oodles of drama on a production,” she said, forcing a smile. She strode down the hall in the direction we’d come from.

Frank hugged Grady’s side as we continued down the hall to a book-lined library at the end. “She sure yells a lot,” I heard him whisper to his father as we entered the room.

“Grown-ups don’t always behave like grown-ups should,” Grady replied. “Let’s forget about her and see what Aunt Jessica’s set is like.”

A large walnut table that I assumed usually occupied the center of the room had been pushed to one end, and its chairs wheeled in a bunch next to it. In their place, a desk, surrounded by light stands, had been set up in front of a bookcase. I noticed a row of my books on one of the shelves. On the desk, a laptop computer sat on a blotter framed in brown leather. Lined up neatly at its side were a brass pen and pencil set and a stack of lined paper pads. Three books—a dictionary, a thesaurus, and a book of quotations—stood between a set of marble bookends in the shape of lions’ heads. Warm light from a desk lamp shone down on a small bowl of flowers. It looked like a very pleasant place in which to write.

“This looks cool, Aunt Jessica,” Frank said. “When did you get a new desk?”

“It’s not mine, Frank. It’s just the suggestion of my working space,” I explained. “It doesn’t have to look exactly like my desk at home, but we’ll pretend that it does for the commercial.”

“Is that allowed?” he asked.

“I think for this purpose, it’s allowed. But you should keep in mind that a lot of things you see in commercials on television may not be portrayed the way they actually are in real life.”

“Oh.”

“Do you like it, Mrs. Fletcher?” Dave asked.

“It’s lovely,” I said.

He pulled up his sleeve and looked at his watch. “Your spot has been moved back to this afternoon. We’re planning to shoot you at the desk, and then do some of your lines in front of a green screen we have set up in another room,” Dave said. He looked at Frank. “Do you know what a green screen is?”

Frank shook his head.

“It’s a neutral background, and it’s really colored green,” Dave told him. “I’ll show it to you later. When we take what we’ve filmed in front of the green screen, we can insert any kind of picture behind your aunt. We can put her in front of the Eiffel Tower or London Bridge, or we can show her standing in a jungle.”

“Awesome!” Frank said.

“Are those the backgrounds you’re going to use?” I asked.

“I don’t think it’s been decided yet, but they’ll probably ask you if it’s okay to use whatever they pick.”

“I’m sure whatever they choose will be fine,” I said.

“How did you get this office building?” Grady asked.

“And where are all the people who work here?” Frank added.

Dave laughed. “We had a bit of luck. An insurance company went under and left this place just as you see it. Since it’s unoccupied, our location scout was able to get a good deal from the landlord to let us shoot here.”

“So it already had a kitchen,” I said.

“Yes, ma’am. Kitchen, library, offices. We’re using their satellite-conferencing setup to mimic a news studio for Miss Tripper’s spot. And we found a great room for Sevenson. It’s got wallpaper with stars on it. He’s the famous new age guru, right? It’s the perfect background. I just hope he doesn’t figure out he’s in a day care center.”

“He would love that,” I said, thinking the opposite.

“The toys are gone, so I doubt he’ll know what the room was used for. At least I hope so.”

“Well, you can be assured I won’t tell him,” I said.

Jason poked his head in the conference room. “Dave, Howerstein wants you back on number two. That guy Sevenson is threatening to leave.”

“Speaking of the devil,” Dave said.

“He says he doesn’t care what kind of paper she has—she can’t treat him that way.”

“Aw. C’mon. A contract’s a contract.” Dave excused himself and hurried from the room. Frank ran after him.

“Frank!” Grady called. “Come back here.”

“It’s okay, Dad. I’m just going down the hall. I can’t get lost.”

“You better stay out of trouble. And don’t get in the way.”

“I won’t.”

Grady looked at me. “Just as well. I want to talk to you about something.”

“Are you sure he’ll be okay?” I asked.

“Oh yeah, everybody’s been looking out for him this morning. They’ve been great. He’s like their mascot. Besides, everything takes place on this floor. He can’t go far.”

“If you’re sure,” I said, but I was uneasy at leaving a nine-year-old boy unsupervised.

“Can you believe that argument between Betsy and Howerstein? I don’t want to be responsible if his company goes under.”

“How could you be responsible?”

“Because of that problem he asked me to look into. Remember? We may have a bit of trouble with that.”

“Who’s we?” I asked.

“My company. I checked with the California office and it seems we’ve been late on a lot of crew payments lately. We don’t have the money to cover them.”

“But I thought the production companies had to give you the money in advance for their payroll. Aren’t they doing that?”

“The problem is, they
are
giving us the money.”

“Then why are the payments late? Where is the money going if it isn’t going to pay the crew?” I asked.

“I wish I knew. The office is sending out the checks, but not on time. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Is it possible the company overextended itself, spent more money than it had?”

Grady scratched the back of his head. “The big brass made a number of acquisitions lately, buying up smaller companies. I thought we were growing awfully fast.”

“Could they have used some of their production companies’ payroll money to pay off those purchases?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. If they’ve been scrambling to cover the checks, they may be taking money from the next company to pay the crew of the last company. At that rate, they’ll always be behind.”

“If you’re right, Grady, that means your employer is in financial trouble. It’s bound to catch up with them sometime. Is there anything you can do?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t want the production companies I work with, like Eye Screen, to lose their payroll money. I’ve worked hard to learn their business and I know they trust me. But at the same time, I don’t want to accuse my company of doing something unethical, or even illegal, unless I’m really sure that’s what’s happening. If I’m wrong, it could ruin my reputation, never mind cost me my job.”

“Can you speak with anybody about this?”

“My boss is out of town right now, but I’m going to bring it to his attention as soon as he gets back.”

“Good idea,” I said. “And, Grady, please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“I will, Aunt Jess. Thanks.”

“Now, let’s go find that boy of yours.”