I was frankly shocked to hear the effusive warmth in Berenbaum’s voice when I identified myself. I had to give myself a firm reminder that Hollywood people always sound like you’re just the person they’ve been dying to see.
“Did you find something out about Johnny?” Berenbaum asked. “Things have been so nuts in post that I haven’t had the chance to do any real digging. Part of me still expects it to be him every time the phone rings.”
“We do know he was alive and well very recently. He arranged for Vivian Chandler to stay at Regazo de Lujo under his name. We ran into her there, but she doesn’t seem to know what’s going on either.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the line.
“Mr. Berenbaum?”
“This is bad.”
“You know what she is?” I said tentatively.
When he spoke again, it was quiet and a little muffled. “Look, can you meet with me somewhere? I can’t talk about this with the post crew breathing down my neck.”
“I’d love to,” I said, then slapped a hand over my mouth. Could I sound any more like a fan? Hastily I tried to smooth it over. “The sooner we can get this figured out, the better. Where would you like to meet?”
“My office. It’s one of the few places we can talk safely about this kind of stuff. Teo can tell you the basics about Vivian on the way.”
A lie fell out of my mouth before I had time to examine it. “Ahh, no, Teo’s tied up with another thing. It’s just me today. But it’s all right, Caryl gave me the nutshell version.”
“You wouldn’t rather wait for him?”
“Nah.”
“Okay.” He paused. “You know, that’s all right, really. Maybe it’s my age, but I find Teo a little hard to talk to.”
“It’s not your age. I’ll be there in an hour.”
18
Reason Mind told me I should give the shallow cuts on my thigh more time to air out before I put my AK prosthetic back on, especially since I hadn’t showered the night before, but Emotion Mind didn’t want David Berenbaum to see me in a wheelchair. Cleverly masquerading as Reason Mind, it argued that I wouldn’t be wearing the AK for very long and that time was of the essence. I took it as an encouraging sign that the cuts didn’t hurt too badly once my thigh was nestled firmly in the socket.
I put on my third-nicest outfit and some fresh deodorant and decided that would have to do. I considered telling Teo that I was going out for a while, but after last night I was afraid he’d get too nosy about it, so I just left.
I had enough cash for a cab there and back, but after that I was going to need to visit an ATM. Little details like this drove me nuts; life seemed too full of speed bumps when I just wanted to Get Things Done. This was why I made a better director than a production assistant.
The trouble with taking a taxi to the Warner lot was that because I wasn’t driving through a security booth, I had to limp my way down the sidewalk to the place where people from the parking garage checked in. That normally meant extras or tourists, so when I told the freckled white guy at the turnstile that I was here to see Berenbaum, he looked at me like he was fitting me for a tinfoil hat.
“He knows I’m coming,” I said, but my voice sounded uncertain even to me. “Can someone contact him?”
“Ma’am, you’ll want to get a pass for your dashboard and drive through the main entrance.”
“I don’t have a car,” I said, feeling my cheeks go hot. In L.A., that’s like admitting you don’t have a place to sleep.
“How did you get here?”
“Taxi.”
“What’s your name?”
“Millie.”
“Millie what?”
“He doesn’t know my last name. Millie from the Arcadia Project.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“Mr. Berenbaum will know, if someone can get hold of him.”
“Can you stand over there a minute?”
I got out of the way of the tourists and “background -talent” and stood against a hedge, feeling the sun beat down on my hair. I suppose my lack of outrage wasn’t helping my case for being Someone Important, but I had too many humiliating memories associated with the Warner lot to cop an attitude.
Anyone who does background work more than twice is either a starry-eyed wannabe, an out-of-work actor slumming to keep his SAG card, or someone unemployable at any other job besides taking up space. Generally speaking, extras are an unruly mob with a variety of unpleasant attitude problems, and sometimes in desperation they try crazy stuff like, oh I don’t know, claiming they have an appointment to see the most famous person on the lot.
I stood there long enough that it was beginning to seem like the guy was hoping I’d get bored and go away. Finally I approached him again. “Hi,” I began, but he cut me off.