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Interlude: 25th Anniversary
Cindy:
The stories of the week before the wedding get strange at mid-week. Aunt JO continues to talk about the preparations. That was when the Amish moved in. Aunt Francine flew across the country—twice. Mom and Dad spent the time getting Mom set up in her new position. It had to be done in a hurry, because Mom's first movie job was already waiting.
I always wondered how much Aunt Francine had to do with that. She says nothing. Dad says a great deal. Mom shrugs, as if everyone gets calls to save a major motion picture. I've seen it. Mom says she just pointed out how to use the highlighter. Hello. The highlighter makes it possible to follow the action. It must have been confusing as, um, confusing without it.
Francine:
Damn Siobhan and her too perceptive mind. It was bad enough having Sheila talking about having a baby right away. Since Jo Jo had pointed out that I wanted a child, I could not get the thought out of my head. I had owned a dual breast pump for ten years, but I had to face the fact that I was thirty four and not getting younger. So, there I was at four in the morning, somewhere over middle America, thinking about specifics. The problem was that Sheila had taken the most obvious sperm donor off the market.
California is both more than everyone imagines and far less. The prices and inconvenience are far worse than any sane person would believe. The opportunities, both business and artistic, are greatly exaggerated. Yet, I was going to buy a home out here, so I could pursue the business and artistic opportunities. At least I could afford to pay cash.
One of the nice things about owning a movie company is that there are always accommodations available, in case of need. Artists stay in too many hotels, so a house is much preferred. At the moment, it took the form of a bungalow in Palm Springs. It would do for a couple of days, but it was both too small and too large. It was more space than I wanted to maintain, but it was not large enough to entertain. On the other hand, the location was excellent for my purposes. I made a note to look nearby.
Since I was flying west, I would gain three hours. When I arrived at LAX, local time was earlier than when I left Philly. I told my driver to take me where dealers made deals over breakfast. He found this confusing. I told him to find me a restaurant, that served breakfast, close to one of the studios. That he could do. We wound up at a place called Ramon's. Despite the name, it served traditional Midwestern American food. I ordered an omelet and a truckers breakfast, plus a carafe of coffee, and hoped for the best. I did not expect much, so I was not disappointed when all I got was autograph seekers.
It was 9:30 local time when I made it into the office. I could have come straight from LAX, because the office has a 24 hour live phone set up. However, before normal hours, the receptionist was the only person on site, not counting security, which covered the whole building. Yes, I owned a chunk of the building, but ordering Security around is heavy handed. It works better if you allow your people to at least try to present a good face.
That said, I was not impressed. My car and driver were an open book. At least one of my senior people should have contacted me before I arrived and all of them should have met me at the door. Instead I was greeted by a perky bottle blond named Roxanna. If she was having carnal relations with anyone in the office, both of, all of, the parties would be unemployed.
I walked up to Roxanna's desk. I spoke very clearly, because my phone was set to record. "Roxanna, I need to talk to Richard and John. They should both be here. Where are we set up?" Roxanna licked her lips, which was a dead give away. She was an aspiring actor who was not up to her part. Oh well. She might be able to deal with her next audition better than the one she just flunked. That still left the question of who else would be fired.
While this was running through my head, Roxie remembered her lines. "Excuse me, but Mr. Williams and Mr. Thomas are not in. Mr. Williams is not expected today. Mr. Thomas should be in after lunch, but his afternoon is booked. I can take a message, but I am afraid I cannot allow you to wait." It was worse than I thought.
On the off chance that one of them was just incompetent, I continued in the role. "My name is Francine Martel. Did they leave any messages? I sent them word I was coming." That brought a reaction. My name was familiar. The next words out of her mouth would tell me a great deal. For one thing, Roxie clearly understood that the sewage was deep. If she decided to come clean I might let her keep a job. I found myself wishing I had a Deirdre Walters to act as hatchet man, so to speak. I reached a decision.
Sliding up close, I lowered my voice and said, "Roxie, here is the deal. Both your bosses have fucked up big time. I don't know the details yet, but they both know better than to freeze out the person that signs the checks, which would be me. Right now, you are no longer the receptionist for this office. If you want to have some job by Monday, tell what is going on." While I looked into Roxanna's eyes, I remembered the set of Sheila's jaw, as she coiled the Cat for that last strike. That would forever be my definition of grim.
It must have worked. Roxanna caved like a set building in a windstorm. "Richard said that no one would come in, much less the chairman. He's been over at Sony trying to steal a script, or so he says. I think he is trying to steal the VP of Casting position. Mr. Thomas is just in Bakersfield with his mistress. Officially he's on set, but she only has a small part, and it shot last week. I doubt if it's worth it. She's a skinny little bitch." Interesting stuff to have recorded.
I paused to order the attack. "OK. You are now auditioning for a part in this company. The next thirty minutes will determine if you remain employed or, if not, the nature of your severance package. If you do a good job, this might work out for you. First, call the building Super and tell him that the Board has ordered the locks changed. I will confirm through other channels. Second, call Whitmore, Thompson and Watkins and ask for Jack Thompson. Tell them that it is me calling and the shit has hit the fan. Put that through as soon as it comes in. Where is my office?"
Once she decided to throw her lover under the bus, Roxanna performed much better. Not surprisingly, the office I was supposed to have existed only on electronic paper. However, there were old laptops and broadband hookups. In short order, I was able to order the lawyers and accountants to freeze everything solid. I have had a lot of experience writing employment contracts and a very canny instructor. There were a lot of useful clauses in both contracts. If Richard and John went softly into the night, they might salvage something. If they fought, there was little chance either would ever work in pictures again.
Having started the ball rolling, I returned to Roxanna's desk. She was no longer the receptionist—that was being farmed to a service for the short term. That meant that her board was available for other use. I told her a little of the last couple of days. The short version was that my best friend was getting married, which caused me to reconsider my career. It turned out that Roxie had some real estate classes through the community college. It did not make her a pro, but she would do for an escort.
I left her to make some preliminary calls while I went down to security and confirmed the earlier call. After a few minutes of proving I was me, things started moving. The first thing they showed me was the surveillance feed of Richard Williams attempting to access the building. Even better, he was being belligerent, which allowed me to have the police take over. As an employee on premises, he and his vehicle were subject to search at management's discretion. I sent the head of security down with a full team. Not long thereafter, handcuffs came out and Richard Williams was taken away for several drug offenses. As he left, he was treated to the sight of building security video searching his personal vehicle, with police standing by. Things were not going well.
Roxanna's reaction was interesting. I had concluded that she and Richard Williams were lovers. Everything since had confirmed my initial assessment. I was beginning to think that Roxie had not been a completely willing participant. I have broken a lot of bullies in my time, but the worst have always been the sexual predators. A lot of people, such as myself, sleep around. The industry lends itself to the practice. That does not invalidate the right to consent. I decided to take Roxanna to lunch.
In any part of LA, there are three Mexican restaurants within a couple blocks. We found a middling respectable one and settled into some chips, salsa and margaritas. Roxanna poured out her story, which I had heard many times before. Her small town in the Midwest was actually Jacksonville Florida, but the rest was right out of a Lifetime movie. She had come to LA hoping for the best and surviving something less than the worst. I just wished that my company had not been one of the problems.
Roxanna could not stay where she was. If nothing else, I had already fired her. However, she did have a bit of education and seemed willing to do a job, so I could use her. More importantly, she had been sexually harassed on my watch, so I owed her. That being the case, I resolved to do a Sean and collect her. She had no ties to LA, so I could take her back east with me. When I made my offer, the relief was obvious. Like much of the population of most cities, she was not officially in residence. She would have to buy her way out of her room, but there was no lease to break. I gave her $500 and the address of the bungalow. If she was there when I left, she could come with me—one way.
That done, I stopped to check my mail. Aaron Aldermann at Columbia Pictures wanted to talk. What the hell was this about?
Sheila:
I was in a funk. This happens. Normally I either throw myself into work or Ebay. Neither was an option. Instead I had to deal with a succession of sleazy media types. How Jones is a joke in poor taste, but there are people that will listen to even him. The three at my apartment were not nearly as bad, but Jones had set me on edge. Hopefully I had salvaged something. There are few things I fear more than an investigative journalist on my scent.
When I arrived at the Residence, Sean was there to meet me. It was early for him to be home, but there was good reason. Heaven knows there was a lot of activity going on, including a bunch of Amish buggies coming out from town. This was my idea, but I could not get interested. Siobhan would have me covered. Instead, I told Sean I wanted to dress up for dinner.
This was not trivial. Gerald had brought most of my clothing from the apartment, but I had not yet unpacked. Instead, I chose the ensemble Francine had chosen for me in Elizabeth. The silk skirt and organdy top would be suitable anywhere short of a formal occasion. I needed only accessorize. However, there was one thing I could not do—pull the laces of the corset. As Sean pulled the strings, everything seemed to come into focus.
Sean would not tell me where he was taking me, but it quickly became apparent that it was either in Trenton or beyond in Philadelphia. That gave me time to learn that the car had internet reception built in. Sean showed me the access port and then hooked up his PDA. I had a tablet, which would do well enough. For a while I was happy as a clam in sewage. Then I started getting news.
The nationwide report on the Amish buggies was only a 20 second spot, but it was also the last item on the program, so people noticed. I could live with it and I did not have to like it. There were several news items arising from Sean's impromptu new division. I still had mixed feelings about that. Then there was the email giving me my new corporate email account and asking me to come in for an orientation. I opened that account and saw three other welcome aboard/we need to talk messages. Then there was one from columbiapictures.net. I felt a gulf open below me as I clicked on the line.
It was as bad as it could be. Whoever Ivan Nevsky was, he obviously thought I was someone important. Of course, a signature reading "Sheila R. Schwartz-Richards, Vice President" might have something to do with that. I asked Sean. He said that Mr. Nevsky is why they rushed my division's formation. He was Columbia Studio's senior film editor, whatever his title. He wanted to run some images by me. Thanks for the heads up.
There were three images, all in high resolution. I wished I was at my cutting desk, but I could do enough to get more information. They appeared to be from an action sequence in a mall or depot. There was a lot of space and a lot of people. I chose the least cluttered of the three images and isolated the interesting parts. I saved those and tacked them to the reply. Then I overlay the three best cuts on the original, highlighting where each cut had been taken. It was student grade work, but it gave me a platform to ask what exactly Columbia Pictures wanted done.
I closed my browser and gave Sean my best evil eye. Unfortunately, the cad was immune. Finally, he took pity on me. Shutting down his PDA, Sean slid over and gave me a badly needed hug. Then he gave me a recap of his day, at least the parts bearing on me. It was all both impossible and thoroughly documented.
The week before, Justin and Peter had intimated that I was going to be receiving some high level attention in the photographic community. Harold Johnstead had given independent confirmation when he printed off proofs for signature. According to Sean, Curtis had been working up a contract for almost a week, which put it before the pictures had gone to the printer. I could understand that. Curtis and Sean get along because Curtis is enough of a maverick to keep up with Sean's crazy ideas. When Sean said that Emily Lucann had my staffing roughed out, I was floored. Emily is as straight an arrow as they come. Evidently the only one that did not see me moving into an executive position was me.
As I let all that soak into my consciousness, I could understand Sean's decision process. He had expected to be able to break the idea to me gently. Given our history, that would involve convincing me that he was serious. It made me wonder how many glass slippers he kept in his closet. In any event, the call from Mr. Nevsky had forced him to step up the schedule. Rather than an entry level executive position, like Tess McGill in Working Girl, I was getting the corner office. I was never getting back to my clients.
That thought was like ice water. I had commitments that I would not be able to service. I had just purchased a building, that I would not be using. I had personal friends that I would ... Oh boy. Those personal friends would soon be seeing me socially. I needed a large rock, so that I could crawl under it. Sean was the soul of concern. He asked, "Are you over your funk yet?" I was. How about that?
Rowan
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