The make-up man made a moue of distaste. “You’re done. Go away.” He made shooing motions with both hands, and Goathead went clattering away on his cloven hooves. Finn reflected that they were going to have to refinish the ancient wood floors after eight weeks of his and Goathead’s hooves.
The terribly sweet boy who was doing Finn’s make-up smoothed the foundation over his nose, and reached for the powder. “Did you hear about the commotion over on the Lieutenant set?” He punctuated every word with a little gusting breath.
Finn knew it was stupid. It was just a movie. But it was his dad’s movie, so he felt his stomach clench down into a small tight ball. “What?”
“Somebody broke into the production offices last night.”
Finn blinked. He had been prepared for a dead star, a fire on the set, lost film. “Was anything taken?”
“They don’t think so. The files drawers were all open, and they found the petty cash box by the open window, but all the money was there.”
It was an odd enough occurrence that Bradley decided to talk to his dad when the Argonauts broke for lunch.
There was a cafeteria on the Warner’s lot where extras, day players and the below-the-line people went to eat. The food was plentiful and cheap. You would often see writers in there, which said something about the self-image of Hollywood writers.
Then there was The Warner’s Restaurant. Table clothes, linen napkins, wines and gourmet food. This was where the powerful “did lunch.” Finn swung on down the street to the entrance to that restaurant. Steps led up to the etched glass doors. The doors opened out, and he had to lower his hindquarters down a step to make room for the swing of the door. Eventually he was inside. They had just repainted the place in azure blue and cream with pale blue upholstery on the furniture. Beneath the scent of fresh cut gardenias in a vase on the maitre d’s desk there was the tang of newly dried paint.
Tony, the maitre d’, grinned. “Hear you been slumming over at the cafeteria.”
Finn slapped his gut beneath the Hawaiian shirt. “I couldn’t take too many more gourmet meals and keep my boyish figure. Dad here?”
Tony indicated the direction with a cock of his head. “Corner right.”
“Thanks.”
Finn minced his way between the tables, exchanging hellos with various actors, directors, producers and studio heads. He had practically grown up on this lot, and in fact been the focus of a law suit between Disney and Warner’s in the late fifties. Warner’s had used Finn in some of their promotional material, and Disney had screamed infringement of trademark, citing Fantasia. Since Finn had been two at the time, he wasn’t sure how it had all been resolved. He just knew it was a favorite dinner tale of his father’s.
His dad was eating with Ester Flannigan, the most perfect of personal assistants. There was a slight frown on his long, lantern jawed face, and he seemed to be talking more than he was eating. Which meant Ester was taking shorthand instead of eating. Finn came up behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and gave her a kiss one wrinkled cheek. “Doesn’t the union have something to say about working through lunch?”
Benton Finn looked down at their virtually untouched plates and gave Ester an apologetic smiles. “Sorry, we’ll finish this after lunch.”
“What’s got your shorts in a twist?” Finn asked as he swiped a cherry tomato off his dad’s salad plate. He bit down and savored the tart/sweet explosion. He swallowed and added, “The break in?”
“So it’s all over the lot, is it?” Finn asked.
“I don’t know. It’s at Corman’s.”
“It’s all over the lot,” Ester broke in. “Jenny called to ask about it, and she’s over in the bungalows.”
“Why is this a deal?” Finn asked. “Nothing was stolen.”
“Because everything on Lieutenant has to go smoothly and if you look close enough at any production you’ll find problems, and Coppola will use it,” Ester said in sing song voice while Benton glared at her.
Finn gave his dad a look. “Wow, you are being paranoid.”
“Coppola wanted this movie, and Bernie told me Coppola told the Chairman I didn’t know how to pull something new and fresh out of Kelly. Kelly doesn’t need to be new and fresh. She just needs to be Kelly.”
“You’ve directed her in three other films. These other guys don’t know how to work with someone from that generation,” Finn soothed.
Ester closed her eyes briefly, then mouthed to Finn wrong thing to say.
“Meaning what?” Benton asked low and cold. “That I’m also from that generation so I know how?”
“No, that you’re a gentleman and Kelly is a real lady,” Finn babbled, and hoped his dad would accept this statement of the public’s view of Kelly even though everyone in the industry knew she slept with every hot young star who came along. “These young . . . er, new guys don’t know how to work with someone like that.”
Benton looked mollified. “You’re sure right about that. These new guys are punks. They have no respect for the institutions. . . .”
Finn cocked a back foot for greater comfort and settled in to listen. He also helped himself to the sole almadin on his dad’s plate.
Finn heard the sharp clatter of high heels on concrete, and suddenly an arm was slipped beneath his. The redhead from the Lieutenant set had attached herself limpet-like to his side.
“Hi.” The word emerged on a puff of coffee scented breath. “Sorry I had to run off back there. By the way, I’m Julie.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Bradley said.
He waited to see if Red would ask for his name, but apparently she had discovered that the joker with the pony’s body was the director’s son, and she wasn’t bright enough to realize that she needed to pretend that she hadn’t. Finn had long ago stopped being angry over these sudden shifts in attitude from eager young starlets. What he hadn’t totally resolved was whether to laugh or cry about them.
“So, are you in the business?” she asked as she tried to adjust her steps to match Finn’s length of stride.
“No, not really.” He watched the glow of interest in her eyes die. “I’m in medical school.” A touch of interest returned. So we’ve established what motivates you, Julie. Looks like . . . money. Which is probably good because you sure can’t act.
“So, how do you like it out here as compared to the Bronx?” Bradley asked.
Julie pouted. “Oh, pooh! I’ve been working so hard to lose the accent.”
In your dreams, baby. “And you have,” Finn said diplomatically. “It’s more intuition. Native Angelinos are few and far between.”
“So you were born like . . . here,” the girl suddenly amended.
“Yeah, born at the Hollywood Presbyterian hospital. Went to Hollywood High. And I expressed my wild card moments after birth. Which was good, because if it had happened in the birth canal I would have killed my mother, and that would have really sucked.” He smiled at her brightly. She blanched at the image his words had elicited. Which showed she had some imagination.
“So it sounds like you really know the ropes here, and that’s good because I could sure use some advice.” It was the dogged delivery of a rehearsed line, whether it fit into the conversational flow or not. It also made it very clear relationship she envisioned—friend, mentor, confidant.
“Sure,” Finn answered. “My cards are in my briefcase on the Jason set. I just keep a wallet in my pocket.” He taped the breast pocket on his Hawaiian shirt. Julie’s eyes flicked toward his gleaming palomino haunches.
Years ago the sisters at his elementary school had forced him to wear pants. His father had declared that Finn looked like a bad clown act, and they’d found another school. Finn was careful to keep his penis sheathed, but nothing could hide his balls, and even pony sized they were still the envy of every male and a terror to most women.
“Why don’t you come back after shooting, and I’ll get you a card.” His bad angel prodded him to add. “We could have dinner.”
“Uh, I’m busy tonight. Sorry. I’ll get the card . . . later.” She glanced hastily at her wristwatch. “Well, gotta go.” She gave him a perky smile, waved, and hurried off between the stages.
Finn allowed himself a laugh. It felt a little hollow.
The next day Corman was shooting coverage on Jason and his merry band of Argonauts. Finn decided to use the free time to head down to U.C.L.A, and buy his books for the fall semester. He enjoyed medical school, but it seemed like the summer had just started, and he wasn’t quite ready for the grind yet.
He stood between tall bookcases, his arms stretched around a giant stack of books, squinting at the class list perched on top, and realized he only had half the required texts. He wondered if he could make it to the front of the store for a cart, or if he should just leave the books here and come back. But there had only been one copy of the epidemiology text, and some bastard would probably swipe it if he left them.
“Man, these suckers are heavy,” a voice suddenly said. Startled, Finn let out a yell and dropped the precariously balanced stack of books.
Harry Gold was peering around a bookcase like a malevolent leprechaun. He stepped around the case, and began to gather up the strewn books. “You shouldn’t try to carry these things. You’ll herniate yourself. You should get a cart.”
“Thanks,” Finn gritted.
Gold had stopped stacking, arrested by the picture of Dr. Tachyon on the back flap of his introductory text on Joker Medicine. “I hear this guy is a real stud, but he sure looks like a poufftah,” Gold said. “I tried to make a movie about the Four Aces back in the fifties, but Universal shut me down because of their movie. Actually it worked out great because after their movie came out I could do a parody and they couldn’t touch me. The Four Deuces, Golden Hotdog, the Enema, Cock Tease and Black Stallion.” Gold smiled fondly at the memory. He picked up another book and did an elaborate double take at the price. “Seventy-five bucks? These suckers are expensive.”
“Yes, and heavy,” Finn said.
“Look, I’ve been thinking about it, and now that I see the kind of expenses you got I realize I wasn’t being fair. I’ll give you twelve thousand dollars to be in my movie.”
“Mr. Gold. I don’t want to be in your movie. I’m not an actor. . . .”
“I can teach you.”
“Look, Mr. Gold, I was trying to be polite. I’m not interested in being in a porno movie. I couldn’t face my family, my friends, and. . . .”
“You could wear a mask.” Gold was charmed with the idea. “Yeah, like Zorro. . . .”
It was hard to get out the words past the laughter. “Like nobody would recognize my big palomino ass bouncing up and down on the screen. How many joker centaurs do you think there are?”
“One. Which is why I need you. Look, I specialize in wild card porn. I got guys with double dicks, and gals with three boobs, but you’re unique.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Gold.”
Finn took the joker medicine text out of the producer’s hands and set it on the top of the stack. He slowly bent his forelegs until he was resting on his knees and picked up the pile of books.
“You’re being very unreasonable about this,” Gold grumbled. “I’m telling you ponies are a pain in the ass.”
I’m sure your star would think so too, Finn thought, but successfully resisted the impulse to say it. Instead he replied, “So get two guys and a horse suit.”
“That would look cheesy,” Harry complained.
Like your movie won’t? Finn thought, but he didn’t say that either.
Benton Finn was footing the bill for a bon voyage party at City, one of L.A.’s more trendy restaurants down on Melrose Boulevard. Personally Bradley hated the place. It bowed to the new trend in interior design which decreed there should be no color, no fabric, no softness and no warmth. There were concrete walls and floors, exposed pipes in the ceiling, gleaming metal track lighting, and black metal tables. The wealth of hard surfaces amplified every sound, so forks connecting with china became a hail storm, the drone of conversation a roar, and the background music an irritating beat with no discernible melody. Worse, from Finn’s point of view, was the footing. The floor offered no traction so he was forced to wear his booties, and while they were practical he thought they looked dorky, especially with a French cuffed shirt, tuxedo jacket and black bow tie.
He spotted Julie sitting with the same group of females from the set. Since two of the four had indicated they would tolerate him he decided to head over. The plump blonde spotted him first, grabbed up her plate and bolted for the buffet. Finn found himself watching her behind in the satin sheath dress and thought nastily a few more runs to the chow line and she’ll be vying for the Shelly Winters roles.
Julie gave him a too bright, too large smile, Tanya coolly surveyed him, and the brunette eyed him nervously but this time held her ground.
“EVENING LADIES,” Finn bellowed.
“HI,” Julie shouted back. The brunette’s mouth opened and closed, but he couldn’t hear what she said. Tanya just inclined her head with air of a queen. Again Finn felt respect for the girl. She knew how to avoid looking ridiculous.
Finn bent at the waist and put his lips close to Julie’s ear. “Who’s your friend?” He indicated the brunette with a jerk of his chin.
Julie turned to place her mouth near his ear. Wisps of hair tickled his nose and cheek. He could smell the hair spray. “Anne,” Julie replied.
“Hi, Anne.” Finn waved at the brunette. She gave him a tense smile.
“Nice party.”
It wasn’t that he heard her, but years at these events had taught him a form of ESP crossed with lip reading. It was the safest and most inane thing the brunette could say so Bradley suspected that was what she had said. He gave her a broad smile and nodded enthusiastically.
Tanya was watching him. The intensity of her gaze was such that he found himself looking at her rather than at Julie, who was trying to talk with him. Since he was only catching one word in four, it wasn’t working. Tanya lifted her champagne glass, quirked an eyebrow at him, and jerked her head toward the bar. Finn nodded. He make his excuses to Julie. From her expression when he walked away he gathered she hadn’t gotten the drift.
Tanya led him around the bar where it dovetailed into a corner. Amazingly it was almost quiet in the cubbyhole. Finn looked around at the rows of glittering bottles, and the racked glasses hanging like bulbous stalactites. A short hallway ran past them leading to the bathrooms. It made for an odd mixed smell of spilled beer and toilet bowl freshener.
“How did you know about this?”
“Used to tend bar here,” Tanya answered.
“A woman of many talents.” Finn cringed again.
Tanya gave him smile. Her lips quirked up higher on one side than the other which gave her a gamin look. “You really keep walking into them, don’t you?”
“Sorry, I’m not usually this gauche.”
“Should I take that as a compliment?” Tanya asked.
“Yes. You’re quite beautiful and you fluster me.”
“Good. Can you fluster your dad for me?”
Finn was disappointed. He’d thought this girl might avoid the worst of the actress clichés. He realized she was watching him very closely with a measuring expression.
“Is this a test?” Finn asked.
“Yeah. I figured I’d do it for Julie and save both of you the embarrassment.”
“I never use the relationship on anyone’s behalf.”
Tanya pulled down a bottle of scotch and poured a couple of fingers into her champagne glass. “I’ll pass the word.”
“Guess this means I won’t be hearing from her,” Finn said.
“Oh cut the crap. If you really want to connect with women that way you’d be making promises whether you could keep them or not.”
Grace Kelly came gliding down the hall from the bathrooms. Stan followed a few steps behind. He was shoving a small make-up case back into his shoulder bag. The elderly make-up artist made himself unobtrusive and slipped away along the back wall. Kelly gave Finn and Tanya a smile, then swept on and rejoined Harrison Ford at their table. She had arrived with the actor, so Finn figured the fling with Beatty was over. Finn looked back down at Tanya and found her staring across the room at Stan Whitehorn-Humphries where he sat alone at a small table.
“So, you want to dance?” Finn asked.
Tanya kept looking at Stan. “I don’t think either of us want to look that absurd.” It stung, but Finn had to admit it was an accurate assessment. “Actually I think I’m just about funned out. See you around, Bradley.”
She waved her fingertips and slipped away. Finn looked back at Stan. The Englishman was watching Kelly. His expression was both fond and regretful. Stan had never married. Finn now thought he knew why. Bradley looked from Kelly glowing and radiant as she leaned against Ford’s shoulder, to the withered old man who watched her with such longing. They were separated by a vast gulf of age and status and it wasn’t going to be bridged. Finn glanced back along the length of his horse body. He looked at all the pretty girls. Suddenly he was all funned out too.
Three days Finn had a late call, four pm. He parked his van, and backed the length of the stripped interior and out the rear doors. There was a tendril of smoke hanging over the hills of Griffith Park, and the hot Santa Ana winds carried the acrid scent of burning.
The high walls of the sound stages blocked out the wind, and Finn’s shirt was soon sticking to his back. He trotted toward stage 23, and stopped dead when he saw the knots of people hanging around in the street. The small groups would split apart and coalesce in new configurations. Cigarettes were being nervously puffed, flipped onto the pavement and crushed. New ones were lit. Finn knew what this looked like. It looked like trouble.
Edgar Burksen, Finn Senior’s favorite director of photography, was pacing in small circles outside the stage door. Finn joined him.
“Hi, what’s up?” Finn asked the Dutchman. “Warren shut down the production?” The rising star was known for his insistence on perfection.
“No, Kelly.”
Finn goggled. In all the long years of her career the actress had never shut down a production. “What happened?”
“We don’t know. She won’t come to the stage. She won’t let your father in the trailer.” The D.P. gave a very European shrug.
A big black limo came nosing down the street and stopped almost at the door of Kelly’s trailer. The driver climbed out and knocked. The door of the enormous Star Waggon abruptly swung open and with such force that it slammed against the metal side of the trailer. Everyone jumped, then stared as Grace Kelly emerged.
Her head and neck were swathed in scarves and enormous sunglasses hid her eyes. She almost jumped the two feet separating the trailer from the limo, and dove into the back seat. The back door was closed, the driver took his place and the car rolled away. Nothing could be seen through the darkly tinted windows.
Everyone released a pent up breath and began talking at once. Finn stared at Edgar. “She looks like Marilyn dodging the press,” Finn said.
“At least with Marilyn you knew why she was shutting you down—pills and booze,” Edgar said. “This is just a glamour fit.”
“About what?” Finn asked.
“Stan didn’t show up to work today, and she won’t let anyone else do her make-up,” Edgar explained.
“Did somebody check on him?”
“Your dad sent a P.A. over to his house. He wasn’t there.”
There was a tingle of concern down the length of Finn’s human back and into his horse back. It manifested in his white tail beginning to swish madly. “Or he couldn’t answer. Stan’s seventy if he’s a day.”
“We can’t exactly break in,” Edgar answered.
“Does he have family?”
Edgar gave the shrug again.
Finn felt really bad. Because Benton had directed so many Grace Kelly movies, and because Stan was her preferred make-up artist, Finn had gotten to know the English émigré pretty well. He had always treated Finn with courtesy and respect, and not just because of who his dad was or how much money they had. Finn hoped the old man hadn’t had a stroke or a heart attack. Finn glanced at his watch, and realized he was late for his call.
“Keep me posted,” he said to Edgar and kicked it into a gallop.
“Coppola has already been over to Diller’s office telling him that he knows how to handle a real star. That’s he’s an ‘actors director’.” Finn senior provided the quotes with his fingers, then twisted his lips in disgust.
“Be sure to seed the cucumbers,” Alice Finn said, as she bustled past Finn where he stood chopping salad fixings at the marble cutting board. “They give your father gas.”
“I’m discussing the eminent end of my career, and you’re discussing cucumbers?” Benton Finn demanded.
Alice paused to kiss her husband on the top of the head, “Actually your reaction to them,” she said, and headed across expanse of marble floor to the oven.
The family was gathered in the giant kitchen of the Bel Aire house. Black granite counters stretched out in all directions like an alien monolith. There were two ovens, a convection oven, a microwave oven, and an open hearth rotisserie. The refrigerator was hidden behind cherry wood panels, and glass fronted cabinets threw back the light from the track lighting. It looked like a movie set, but for the incongruity of a battered Formica breakfast table with cheap chrome chairs which sat in the bay window of the breakfast nook. Benton Finn was seated at the old table morosely drinking wine.
“So what is the deal with Stan?” Finn asked as he sprinkled on dressing. The pungent scent of vinegar and pepper made him sneeze.
“God Bless you,” said his mother placidly.
“Who knows?” Benton replied. “The cops say they can’t enter the house until he’s been missing twenty-four hours. By then my career will have ended.”
“By then Stan might be dead if he’s fallen or had a stroke,” Finn said.
Benton flushed. “Look, I’m worried about Stan too, but I’ve got two hundred people working for me. . . .”
“Would you get the butter, dear?” Alice sang out to her husband as she pulled the pot roast out of the oven.
Benton started for the refrigerator. The phone rang. Benton answered it. “Grace, my God, we’ve been so worried. . . .” His voice broke off abruptly, and he began listening intently. Finn stood holding the salad. Alice held the roast. The aroma of roasted potatoes and gravy filled the room. It was so quiet in the room that Finn could hear the tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway.
“I don’t think Dr. Tachyon is the right choice,” Benton finally said. “You’re not a wild card.” Benton listened again. “You think you caught it this morning?” His father rolled a desperate eye at Finn.
Finn shook his head. What the actress was describing was virtually impossible. If she had somehow caught a spoor she’d be dead . . . or a joker. Which might explain her demand for Tachyon.
“Look, I’ll try to get him here, but it’ll take a day. . . .” There was obviously some kind of explosion from the other end of the line, because Benton broke off abruptly. His father was nodding, muttering uh huh, uh huh; finally Benton blurted out, “My son is in medical school. Specializing in wild card medicine. Let me have him take a look at you.”
I’m going to lose my license before I ever get it. Finn thought.
“Okay, just hang tight,” Benton was saying. “We’ll be right over.” The director hung up the phone, and headed past his wife and son. “Let’s go,” he snapped to Finn.
“Dad, I’m starting my second year of medical school. I barely know how to find the pancreas.”
“And dinner’s ready,” Alice protested.
Benton didn’t pause. He slammed out the pantry door into the garage. Finn heard the whine of the garage door going up. He looked at his mother and shrugged. The horn of the van started blaring in sharp staccato honks. Finn put the salad on the table, and headed out.
“Oh . . . Holy . . . Shit . . . !!”