“Another thing,” Kavanaugh continued, “I’ve been thinking that it would be best to make some changes here at the magazine. I’m sure you can understand that I need to have my own team.”
“Oh,” she said, removing her reading glasses. She folded the frames and put them on her desk in the exact place where they always were.
“You faithfully served Mr. Gruber for years. No one can question your devotion. I assure you I’ll review your file and provide you with a more than adequate severance package and a letter of recommendation.”
She listened to him showing no emotion.
“You obviously had a strong working relationship with Mr. Gruber. Those bonds are hard to break. I understand. I hope you recognize my position.”
Still no response.
“I’m sure we can tidy this up amicably by the end of the week.” Kavanaugh smiled insincerely.
“Thank you for your offer, Mr. Kavanaugh,” Dunbar finally replied. “However, proper arrangements have already been made.” She matched his callous smile. “My path has been set for years.”
Kavanaugh felt the lingering presence of Martin Gruber from his grave. Will he ever go away?
He prepared to leave, but Dunbar began the conversation again. “As I stated, Mr. Kavanaugh, you have an appointment at Brown’s. Eighteen-thirty sharp. Your regular table.”
“I’ll be there,” he replied with open hostility.
Although he didn’t watch, he just knew that she’d picked up her glasses again, rolled closer to the computer and got back to the job she wasn’t going to leave on his account.
Quinn and Katrina drove to the TV production company office a few miles away on Lankershim Blvd. They were there by 10:15 A.M., without a meeting scheduled.
Alpert took the lead with the receptionist.
“I’m Dr. Katrina Alpert from Cambridge University in England. This is Dr. Quinn McCauley from Yale. We’re both paleontologists. I left a message yesterday for Mr. Krein. Since we’re on a tight research time frame, we do need to see him this morning. Can you let him know? We won’t take much time, but it’s urgent.”
She had stressed two words in particular: need and urgent.
Alpert wasn’t certain if she was addressing the same person she’d spoken to on the phone, so she added more. “Oh, and please mention that Robert Greene said it was very important that we get together.”
“Once again, you are?”
McCauley looked away totally frustrated. The young redhead had just fulfilled his stereotypical image of a Hollywood airhead.
Alpert slowly repeated their names.
“Please take a seat, Dr. Al-bert,” she said immediately underscoring McCauley’s impression.
“It’s Alpert. Doctors Alpert and McCauley. We’re,” she decided not to say paleontologists again. “We’re dinosaur scientists.”
“I’ll try Mr. Krein’s assistant,” the young woman said.
“Thank you,” Katrina said.
They waited ten minutes, mostly watching the receptionist text between calls. Finally, another woman, barely a few years older, came through the doors. She had black hair with red streaks and wore a short navy blue skirt, a yellow button-down linen shirt and two inch heels.
“Dr. Al-bert?” She automatically addressed McCauley.
“Yes,” Katrina said offering her hand. “It’s Dr. Alpert.” She stressed the correction. “And Dr. McCauley.”
“I’m Autumn, Gene’s assistant.”
“Autumn?” Katrina tried to stifle a laugh. “Very pretty name.” Very LA. “Nice to meet you.”
“Thank you. But I’m sorry to say Gene can’t fit you in today. He’s in edit hell with network notes.”
McCauley quickly deduced that Autumn was the gatekeeper and Krein was dodging them. He was about to respond, but Katrina beat him.
“Excuse me? What does that mean?”
Autumn seemed surprised by the question. Everyone knew what network notes were, didn’t they? “Sorry, he’s dealing with changes from the network.”
Katrina smirked. She raised her finger to make a point. Autumn cut her off.
“He can’t leave the edit bay.” Her eyes darted. Now she acted more stressed than surprised. “And he’s really under the gun.”
Under the gun? McCauley thought it was an interesting choice of words. However, he responded tactfully. “Of course, we understand. We’ll only take ten minutes. Robert Greene said Mr. Krein — ah, Gene — was the best person in television to meet.” He decided to throw in some bait. “We’re onto something that he will be very interested in hearing.”
“Well, we have a website portal where you can pitch your ideas.”
Shit! That didn’t work.
“Listen, I apologize if I don’t have the TV jargon down, but this isn’t about pitching or submitting, or whatever you call it.” McCauley gave up the niceties. “I can’t emphasize strongly enough that we need to speak with Mr. Krein. Ten minutes, that’s all. Ten minutes.”
Autumn was unprepared and inexperienced for an escalating situation. She lost her composure.
“He can’t possibly see you. You have to leave. Goodbye.”
She turned on her heels and spoke sharply to the receptionist. McCauley and Alpert easily overheard her say, “If they don’t leave immediately, call the North Hollywood police.”
“What the…?” Katrina whispered much too loudly. “I can’t believe it!”
“Believe it. Krein obviously heard about Greene,” McCauley said as they cleared the door. “And he’s scared.”
“Well, join the club,” she added.
Colin Kavanaugh was led to the regular table. Like clockwork, Gruber’s waiter appeared.
“Good day to you, Mr. Kavanaugh. So pleased to see you.”
“Thank you, ah…” Kavanaugh hesitated, trying to remember the waiter’s name.
“Leon, Mr. Kavanaugh. Not a problem.”
“Thank you, Leon.”
“Of course. And may I add that it’s a pleasure to see you carrying on an important tradition.”
“Yes. Tradition is important.”
“Then I will assume you’ll be in more frequently?”
“As often as possible.”
“More than that, Mr. Kavanaugh.” Leon leaned forward and quietly repeated, “More than that.”
The comment stung as sharply as those of his assistant.
Leon straightened to a proper waiter’s posture. “Now, will it be an Earl Grey, sir?”
“That will be fine, Leon,” Kavanaugh managed.
“I also suggest you try the plain scones with clotted cream and the strawberry preserves. They’re delicious and among Mr. Gruber’s favorites.”
“Yes.”
“And as an old teacher of mine once said, let a word to the wise be sufficient, sir.”
“And that would be?” he snapped.
“Mr. Kavanaugh, you walk in the footsteps of your esteemed predecessor and those before him. You are part of an organization, not the organization.”
The construction of the statement, like the other things he’d heard that day, was unmistakable. A warning.
“Leon.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kavanaugh motioned with his finger to come closer. Now within earshot he continued. “Who are you?”