Madison Avenue Shoot (6 page)

“No. No,” Antonio said, recovering his cheerful demeanor, “but you buy for yourself something very beautiful for a beautiful lady.”

“Don’t you worry your head about that. I surely will. And I’ll show it off to you, too.”

Anne gave out a loud sigh. “Can we get this meeting going, please? You may have time to go shopping,” she said, giving Stella a baleful look, “but I have important appointments today.”

“Hon, there ain’t nothing more important than buying diamonds,” Stella said, putting on a show of tucking her card in her cleavage.

Howerstein jotted down something on a piece of paper, folded it in quarters, and wrote a name on the top. From where I sat, I couldn’t see whose name it was. He gestured to Lucy, the production assistant, and handed her the note.

Antonio cleared his throat. “Yes. We will begin now. I begin by saying that Permezzo has a celebrated history in Europe,” he said, launching into what I expected might become a long speech. “We were first to include concierge service for our marvelous customers.” He flicked his fingers as if shooing something away. “The other cards,” he said, making a face, “they have only a few things.”

“If I may?” Betsy broke in.

Antonio frowned at her, but she quickly added, “We are providing everyone with a history of this wonderful company so they can see how important it is. Inside your folders, ladies and gentlemen, you’ll find this elegant brochure.” She held up a colorful booklet with a picture on the cover of a smiling couple clearly delighted with Permezzo’s services.

Antonio nodded at Betsy. “Yes, yes, this is a very good piece,” he said, turning back to his audience. “You will see how we took all the experience of our competitors who develop their service in the twentieth century, and we—how you say?—do them better. Permezzo is on the toe to take over the twenty-first-century market to create the premier business service for successful executives, like yourself.”

He prattled on for a few more minutes, praising his company’s foresight in anticipating and delivering what the sophisticated traveler would need in the new millennium, but when he paused to take a breath, Howerstein jumped in.

“Thank you, Mr. Tedeschi,” he boomed. “We are all big Permezzo fans here. And it is our goal to make Permezzo a household name in America. How are we going to do that? Well, we’ll start with the commercials we’re going to shoot next week.” He lowered his voice as if giving confidential information. “If any of our distinguished guests have questions for Mr. Tedeschi, we’ll arrange to keep the conference room open as long as you need it following the meeting.” Howerstein shot a smile at Antonio. “Right! Now, let’s go over the scripts and the storyboards. I’m certain Mr. Tedeschi will tell you that what’s key for Permezzo’s success is that the spots we’re about to film go off smoothly.”

Antonio bobbed his head in agreement and flopped back into his seat.

The production assistants, carrying trays, circled the table offering everyone bottled water and clearing away our plates from the buffet. For the next twenty minutes, we reviewed the material in the folders, going over sheets of paper that laid out the assignments for each day of shooting, who the crew would be, where the talent—us—was supposed to be at each point in the production, and what our lines were for the commercial. He also explained the storyboard, an illustrated version of the spot, something like a comic book page, giving not just the characters and dialogue but also a rough idea of camera angle, props, and wardrobe.

Lance raised a hand to get Howerstein’s attention. “I have an important question,” he called out. He poked his assistant, Lena, with his elbow, and pointed his chin toward her pad.

She quickly picked up her pen and sat with it poised over the paper, ready to take down the conversation verbatim.

“Yes, Mr. Sevenson?” the producer said, tapping on the face of his watch.

“Who is going to be directing this illustrious group, and why has he not deigned to attend this meeting?”

The scratching of Lena’s pen was the only sound in the momentary silence that followed Lance’s query.

Betsy jumped in before Howerstein could answer. “I can answer that. Our agency, Mindbenders, has selected a prominent Hollywood director, Adam Akmanian. He directed the hit
On the Planet Pluto
.”

Grady leaned close to my ear. “These days they’d have to rename it
On the Dwarf Planet Pluto
,” he whispered. “It doesn’t qualify as a full planet anymore.”

The title of the film didn’t strike a bell with me, but then I don’t often get out to a movie theater. The last time must have been several years ago. I do like to read the movie reviews in the newspaper every week. And with cable service I can catch up with the latest films on television, even though it’s a couple of months after they come out.

Lucy, the production assistant, leaned between Grady and me and asked in a low voice, “Would you like more water?”

I declined, but Grady took another bottle from her tray.

When she’d withdrawn, I noticed a folded note in front of Grady. I nudged his arm and pointed to the paper. Grady opened it. “Call me,” it said. He looked over at the producer, who’d been watching him, nodded, and slid the message in his pocket.

Meanwhile, Betsy rattled off the names of three more movies from the Adam Akmanian canon, but those titles were also unfamiliar to me.

Grady leaned over again. “I’ve never heard of any of those films. Who is this guy?”

“And, of course, last year he directed
Battle of the Alien Space Cadets
.” Betsy sat back and smiled.

“Okay. That one I’ve heard of,” Grady said under his breath. “A real shoot-’em-up. Frank loved it.”

“So is the Permezzo commercial going to be science fiction?” Anne asked no one in particular.

“Adam is tied up in meetings in L.A. today,” Howerstein said, ignoring the aside. “He’s flying in the beginning of next week, but he told me to tell you he sends you his very best, and that he’s eager to meet and work with each of you next week.”

“I doubt he sent any messages at all,” Lance said, giving his assistant another poke. “Directors are prima donnas, or I should say prima donalds, since they’re all male.”

Lena began writing furiously on her pad.

“And I know all about Akmanian. He’s a wack job!” he proclaimed.

“No. No. Only the best for Permezzo,” Antonio said.

Anne waved a hand in the air. I noticed that she had removed her opal ring. “He’s probably more like a has-been,” she said, “but then I suppose doing commercials is not at the top of the wish list for Hollywood’s A-list directors.”

“On the contrary,” Betsy said, working to control her temper. “Commercial work is prized by Hollywood directors.”

“So you say. Name one,” Lance said.

“I can name you dozens of Hollywood directors who have done spots,” she replied, “including just about all the famous names.” She started counting on her fingers. “Spike Lee, Ridley Scott, Michael Bay, Martin Scorsese, Michael Mann, Oliver Stone, Wes Anderson, David Lynch.”

“All right. Let’s stop this now,” Howerstein said. “Betsy’s right. The top guys in Hollywood are happy to direct commercials.”

“I wouldn’t have hired Akmanian,” Lance said, leaning over to see what Lena had taken down.

“Well, fortunately it isn’t up to you,” Betsy said acidly. “We’re very pleased with his reel. He’s going to do a marvelous job for Permezzo. He’s excited about the project, and I’m certain you’ll find him very professional when you work with him next week.”

Antonio seemed happy that his director was in the company of Scorsese and Stone; he clasped his hands together and smiled his approval at Betsy. She sat up a little straighter in her seat. “Daniel has to leave for another appointment. If you have any questions, now is the time to ask them. Or you can wait till you’re on the set next week.”

No one around me raised a hand, and neither did I, although, if pressed, I could think of a few, beginning with,
Is it too late to back out?

“S
ay cheese!” “Brie!” Stella Bedford had linked arms with me while Jimbo Barnes aimed his digital camera in our direction and clicked the shutter. “That looks good,” he said, squinting at the tiny screen on the back of the camera.

“Are we both smiling?” she asked. “Take another one, just to be sure.” Stella hugged my arm. “This is gonna be great. I’ll send you the print and you can sign it to me. Make sure you use permanent ink, right?”

“I’ll remember.”

“Now, don’t forget to give me your address.”

“I won’t forget,” I said.

“Cookie, shut up so I can take the picture.”

Stella tilted her head toward mine and gave the camera a perky smile.

“That’s it,” Jimbo said, turning a dial so he could view what he’d captured.

“Let me see,” Stella said. She leaned against his arm, then pulled the camera out of his hands. “Look, Jessica. Don’t we look nice?”

I put on my reading glasses to peer at the screen. “That looks like a good one,” I said.

“Can I see?” Grady asked, peeking over my shoulder.

After the meeting emptied out, the four of us had lingered in the agency’s conference room. Stella had prevailed upon me not to leave until Jimbo could take our picture together.

“That’s a great shot of you guys, Aunt Jess.”

Jimbo smiled. “I’ll have extra copies made so you can have one, Grady.”

“Thanks! By the way, what kind of camera is that?”

“I just got it,” Jimbo said, taking the camera back from Stella. “It’s a new Japanese model. Does video, too. Lots of bells and whistles. Comes with three different lenses.”

“Men and their paraphernalia!” Stella said, rolling her eyes. “I swear, if it has a wheel or a speaker or a dial or a cartridge, they just love it. My Homer’s no different. The surround sound in our media room back home could blow you out of your seat. Me, I’m a down-home girl. I like things simple. If it has too many buttons, I’m not interested—unless it’s a dress.”

“Does that preference extend to kitchen appliances as well?” I asked, thinking a professional chef must have a pretty fancy supply of tools, too.

“Now, there I might make an exception,” she said with a grin. “But only for a high-end fridge or stove. I’m just not good with technology. Computers! You can keep ’em. Lucky for me, my specialty is barbecue, and for that, a spicy marinade and a hot fire can take you pretty far. Look where it took me!” She struck a pose and laughed.

“That’s some camera he’s got,” Grady said, coming over to us.

“Just so’s it don’t catch my extra chin,” Stella said, patting the back of her hand under her jaw.

“You looked lovely to me,” I said.

“You’re gonna be my new best friend.”

Grady glanced at his watch. “Ready to go, Aunt Jess? I have to get back to the office.”

“Wait, Jessica,” Stella said, settling a large tote bag on the conference table. “Tell me where you’re staying and I’ll get Jimbo to send the pictures over soon as they’re ready.”

I gave her the name of my hotel, but suggested that she send the prints to Cabot Cove instead, or wait until I returned. “I hadn’t planned on staying in New York through next week,” I said as I printed my address on a card. “I have to go home this weekend to tie up some loose ends, but I’ll be back in time for the shoot. I’m not sure at the moment where I’ll be staying when I return.”

“Our door’s always open,” Grady said.

“I know, dear, and I appreciate that.”

I’d decided it was too hard on the pocketbook, never mind the psyche, simply to stay in my dollhouse-sized hotel room for another week. While the bed was everything that had been promised—and I’d slept very well—it was impossible to relax in the room during the time I wasn’t under the covers. I’d tried taking my book downstairs to the hotel lounge, but the lighting was dim, and the noise level much too high to concentrate on reading.

In addition, all the business meetings I’d arranged during my visit would be concluded by the end of the next day, and as I’d been originally scheduled to fly home Friday night, I made up my mind to keep to the plan. I’d decided that when I came back from Cabot Cove, it would be to another hotel, or Frank’s room at Grady and Donna’s apartment. They were urging me to bunk with them, and I was leaning in that direction.

“Jimbo and I are over at the Waldorf-Astoria,” Stella said, tucking my card in her wallet and fishing out one of her own. “Not together, of course. His wife would kill me if she even heard me talking about it—she’s one of my oldest friends—to say nothing of what my Homer would do. He’s jealous of every man I talk with. We could have stayed at the Plaza; I hear it’s opened again after the renovations. But it was easier to stay at the Waldorf, what with Permezzo paying for the nights when we’re doing the shoot.”

“They are?”

“They do that for all the talent, Aunt Jess.”

“Well, for goodness’ sakes, Grady. Why didn’t you say something?”

“Gee, Aunt Jess, I guess I forgot.”

“Tripper lives here in New York, but Sevenson is also staying at the Waldorf,” Stella said, making a face. “Not that I want anything to do with either of them. Did you ever see such a pair of egos? Him with his assistant writing down everything he says, as if pearls of wisdom could ever drip from those lips. You should have heard Betsy take that little girl over the coals before you arrived.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Does she need a reason? She’s not the sweetest cube in the sugar bowl, let me tell you. Told little Lena she should be ashamed to degrade herself working with that charlatan. That’s the word she used, ‘charlatan.’ Told her that if she had any brains, she would get a ‘real’ job instead of following around that phony like a sick puppy. I thought Lena was going to cry, but she didn’t. Raised her chin and walked away. Didn’t defend herself or nothin’, just walked away.”