“So answer another question for me. Why so many recesses or half-days of testimony? On TV, trials just move right along,” Jeff said.
“That’s because TV lawyers only seem to have one case at a time. It’s not that way in real life. The parties to this arbitration have other court dates, hearings, depositions, appointments. We’re working around a lot of schedules. Also, this is a civil case and an arbitration to boot. The Sixth Amendment guarantees the right to a speedy trial but that applies to criminal cases. Bottom line, the law grinds slowly, but it grinds exceedingly fine.”
“Okay, that makes sense,” Jeff said,
Our lunches arrived. After a few bites I set aside my fork. “Okay, I’ve got to ask. Why in Earth Defense Force did they not have the commander marry Tabitha at the end?”
Jeff threw back his head and laughed. He had a good laugh, full-throated and uninhibited. “Oh, God love you, you’re a romantic.”
“No, I’m not. It was all set up in the scene where you … they were trapped in the ship that was about to burn up in the atmosphere.”
“Why do you think?
“I don’t know, which is why I’m asking you.”
“Because we thought there was going to be a sequel, and the producers thought a staid and married Commander Belmanor wasn’t going to pull in the female audience. It also didn’t help that Miranda got pregnant. That, together with somewhat disappointing overseas box office, meant the commander’s adventures were over. There is going to be a video game set in that universe.”
“Okay, I said, that makes it a little better. Can I play Tabitha if I buy the game?” I asked.
“I think they’re going with new characters, since I haven’t been asked in to voice the commander.”
“Well, now I’m less interested.”
“Looking to romance me?” Jeff teased.
“I’ve got a crush on the commander, not on you.”
“Ouch.”
We finished and walked outside into bright California sun. I threw my head back and let it beat on my face.
“More like what you were expecting?” he asked and his usual smile was back.
“It is a nice change after February in New York and all the rain since I got here.”
Jeff led me down one of the narrow streets between soundstages. Many of the streets had large white travel trailers with blue and pink piping parked against the walls and the words STAR WAGGON in bold blue letters emblazoned across the outside. I pointed mutely.
“Private trailers for the actors. Also makeup, wardrobe, some are even set up as schoolrooms when you’re shooting with kids. You’ve arrived as an actor when you get a private one. And trust me, size matters. Your costar’s better not be bigger than yours.”
“Wow, is everything out here about perception?” I asked.
“Pretty much, yeah.”
Outside several of the buildings were whirling red lights mounted on tripods. There would be the harsh ring of a bell, and the light would start spinning. “I’m guessing that’s some kind of warning?” I suggested.
“Yeah, it tells people that they’re shooting so no one blunders in from outside.” Jeff was whispering, and I guiltily put a hand over my mouth. “You’re fine. You weren’t exactly shouting.”
We reached a building, and Jeff led me up the steps and through a heavy metal door. I took a step and stumbled. Jeff caught me under the arm. “You have to look down on a stage,” he said. I followed his advice, and saw massive cables snaking across the wood floor. There were voices calling from overhead. I stood still so I could look up. Men were on catwalks probably thirty feet above the floor, adjusting lights and placing gels.
Three men began pushing a flat across the floor with a howl of wood on wood. Set dressers scurried through setting up a vase of flowers on an end table, plumping up pillows on a sofa. In another area a man was pushing squibs into holes in a flat, and covering them with wood putty. In the center of it all was the director with a device hanging around his neck that looked like a light meter. As the light changed he would pick it up on its lanyard and look through it.
You didn’t have to be a movie geek to have heard of Boucher. Though young, the director had burst onto the scene three years before with a celluloid ghost story that had terrified audiences around the world. Now his name was heard in conjunction with Spielberg, Scorsese, and Nolan. He was the new face of movies.
Standing on his right was a young woman with a walkie-talkie; on his left was a big man with a shock of curly black hair and his own light meter. He and Boucher would occasionally lean in close and exchange a few words.
“Okay, who are the two people with Boucher?” I asked.
“The girl is Debbie, his assistant. She’s taking notes on everything that’s discussed. The other man is Christian Alter, the DP.”
“What’s a DP?” I asked
“Director of photography. It’s his job to light each scene. He does that in consultation with the director, but he brings a lot of his own ideas to the table. If you’re an actor you want to be very, very nice to the DP. They’re the ones who make you look good.”
“I thought makeup did that,” I said.
Jeff flashed me a grin. “That helps too, but in a pinch I can do my own makeup. I can’t go reset all the lights, and the DP and the gaffers can do something subtle. Light you from below so you look like you’ve got a double chin. Little tricks, and you, as the actor, won’t know until the movie’s released. And then you’re wishing you’d been nicer.”
“Be nice to people on the way up because you’ll meet them on your way down,” I said, quoting my human father.
“Exactly. Words to live by in Hollywood.”
“Anywhere, really,” I countered.
“Yeah, good point.”
The meeting broke up and Jeff led me over to Boucher. The lights overhead flashed off the sweat on his forehead.
“Tom, I’d like you to meet Linnet Ellery,” Jeff said.
He held out a shovel-like hand and gave me a startlingly shy smile. “Hi. Welcome.”
“Thank you,” I said. “This is very exciting.”
“First time?” Boucher asked. I nodded.
“It’s thrilling for the first hour. Then it gets really boring when you are just watching. But enjoy it before the disillusionment sets in.”
“Thank you, I will.”
Boucher waved a hand off to the side. “The craft table’s over on the left. Help yourself to anything.”
The girl friday was suddenly back at Boucher’s elbow. “Would you like something, Tom?”
“Yeah, an apple juice.”
Debbie gestured. “Follow me, I’ll take you over.”
Jeff held back. “I’ll catch up with you. Got something to discuss with Tom.”
I nearly tripped again because in addition to the tangle of big cables there was a metal track, and a tall metal column topped by a camera and mounted on wheels resting on the track. The contraption looked like an anorexic, cyclopian robot.
Then we were off the set, behind the flats, and up against the wall of the soundstage. There was a long table loaded down with bowls of apples, bananas, and oranges. Giant jars of peanut butter and jelly, loaves of bread. A bowl of M&M’s. Some bags of chips. There was a coffee maker and powdered creamer and artificial sweeteners.
My cell phone chirped. Debbie whirled at the sound emerging from my purse. “You need to turn that off. The mikes are incredibly sensitive, and I don’t want you forgetting before we start shooting.”
“Sorry, sorry,” I mumbled. I pulled out my phone and turned it off.