“Interesting. I just can’t see why they’d want to make the Álfar look bad.”
“It’s puzzling, yes. Well, thank you for the chocolate. I’ll leave you to your evening now.”
I walked him to the door. He took my hand. “There is something here, I just can’t quite bring it into focus.” I gave his hand a squeeze. “We’ll figure this out.”
“I believe you will.”
The arbitration resumed the next day. LeBlanc, realizing that Campos, the director, hadn’t actually helped her all that much, had a new expert witness. Unfortunately he was in New York City, which meant an AV expert had joined us in the conference room to handle the linkup. Computers had been placed strategically to create the illusion that Ashley Schultz was seated at the front of the room near to David and me, and our seats had been moved since we couldn’t look sideways at a computer screen. LeBlanc moved along the table handing out a sheaf of papers. They were emblazoned with a heading that read “Q Squared” in a logo that had overtones of an Escher drawing.
The big thirty-six-inch screen went from black to gray, then stabilized, and I saw a man in his thirties with slicked-back black hair, a pair of coolly appraising gray eyes, and an understated but very good suit. He was fiddling with a tiny microphone, trying to clip it onto his shirt collar. One of the assistants in our Park Avenue office in New York was trying to help him. I recognized one of the conference rooms.
Chuck, our AV guy, said, “Mr. Schultz, can you hear me?”
“Yes, I can hear, but I can’t see you.”
Chuck made grumbling noises that almost became words and fiddled with the console. “Yes, that’s got it,” Schultz called. Like many people using a video link he seemed to think he had to speak louder than normal and enunciate very carefully.
I looked down and referred to the witness profile that LeBlanc had provided. Ashley Schultz owned Q Squared, a marketing and research company that specialized in taking the temperature of the public about everything from television shows to computers.
“Are we ready to begin,” David asked, his tone huffy. I wondered if it was because of the intrusion of the computer equipment, never a vampire’s favorite thing. Chuck gave him a thumbs-up and adjusted his headphones. David nodded at LeBlanc. “You may begin.”
“The pages I’ve just handed out are last month’s Q scores for every Álfar actor currently working. The second section is the Q score for every human actor currently working. If you’ll take a moment to glance over the figures, my point will become immediately apparent.”
David and I looked at each other and started flipping through the pages. From the corner of my eye I could see Gabaldon doing the same. I didn’t need to be a statistician or a marketing analyst. The numbers were boldly clear. The human actors consistently scored twice as high as the Álfar actors. I remembered Campos’s words: they’re just pretty dolls.
After having allowed us all to fully digest the numbers, LeBlanc turned back to Schultz’s image on the screen. “I hired you to run a Q rating for me, didn’t I?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And whom did you test?”
“Casting directors, producers, and directors, but only those who have actually used Álfar actors,” the marketing man answered.
“And what did you find?”
“That the Álfar scores—”
There was a sudden screaming burst of feedback from the speakers on the computer in our conference room. People jerked, clapped hands over their ears, and erupted into a few exclamations and curses.
“New York, it’s on your end!” Chuck was yelling into his microphone. We saw the technician come scurrying into range of the cameras in New York and rip off the microphone. Chuck was frantically dialing down the volume. The awful sound ended, and people pulled their hands away from their ears.
“What the devil is happening? Have you no control over this damn stuff,” David huffed.
“Sorry, sorry,” Chuck panted as his hands played across the console. A few minutes later and the New York technician gave us a thumbs-up.
“Is it safe for us to resume?” David asked, each word dripping ice.
“Yeah, go ahead,” Chuck said.
“Ms. LeBlanc, please continue,” David said.
“Let’s go back a little, Mr. Schultz. So you tested casting directors, producers, and directors who had worked with Álfar actors?”
“Yes.”
“And you found?”
“That the Álfar scores were almost off the charts among that group. A complete reversal of the numbers we saw when we polled only viewers,” Schultz answered.
“And do you have a conclusion, Mr. Schultz?” LeBlanc’s voice was a husky purr.
“I can only speak to what the numbers tell us, and they tell us that humans who have had direct, personal interaction with the Álfar have a much higher regard for them than people who merely view them on the screen.”
“So, in other words, whatever it is that the Álfar project, it doesn’t cross the barrier of the screen. Physically they are beautiful, but the something that makes a Julia Roberts or a Leonardo DiCaprio a star is lacking.”
Before LeBlanc had finished Gabaldon was on her feet. “Objection. This witness hasn’t been established as an expert at anything aside from taking polls.”
David looked at LeBlanc. “It’s a fair point. Please establish Mr. Schultz’s expertise in this area, aside from the company he owns.”
Schultz gave David a long, level look, clearly not intimidated by the vampire. “I have a PhD in psychology from USC and a PhD in mathematics and statistics from CalTech.” LeBlanc handed over the man’s vita and we looked at it together.
“I’m inclined to agree that Mr. Schultz is, in fact, an expert,” David said. He cocked a brow at me.
I nodded, but then a question occurred to me. I directed it toward McPhee and the studio executives. “How is this not a self-correcting problem? If the Álfar actors aren’t appealing to audiences, then the movies fail to make money. Wouldn’t the bottom line ultimately win out?”
One of the executives tugged at McPhee’s sleeve and whispered to him. The old lawyer answered me. “A movie is a collaborative effort, Ms. Ellery. Many things go into making a hit. Yes, the stars are important, but there’s thematic material and special effects. The real bottom line is that no one knows what makes a hit. For years Tom Cruise got twenty million dollars a movie because it was believed he could open a film. Sometimes it was true.” He shrugged. “Sometimes it wasn’t.”
David glanced at me. “Finished?” I nodded. “Please continue, Ms. LeBlanc.”
She returned to her place at the conference table, picked up another sheaf of papers, and handed them out. “These are the ratings from people who actually interacted with both human and Álfar actors.”
I studied the pages. The scores for the Álfar were stratospheric. Four times as high as the reactions to the human actors.
“Are there any other conclusions you can draw from these statistics, Mr. Schultz?” LeBlanc asked.
“These numbers make no sense statistically. Putting aside the fact that people respond more favorably toward people they actually meet, these numbers are out of line with the norm.”
LeBlanc looked pleased. “It’s known that the Álfar have the ability to fascinate and attract. Could that power account for these numbers?”
“I don’t know how to test for unknown powers. I will go this far: something is skewing these numbers, and the only data point we have is physical proximity.”
“Thank you, Mr. Schultz.”
Gabaldon was shuffling rapidly through her papers. Gordon McPhee leaned over and whispered something to her. She gave a sharp nod. David cleared his throat. “Ms. Gabaldon, Mr. Brubaker, Mr. McPhee. Have you questions for this witness?”