A pile driver had been set up, making tremendous noise every time the weight was hoisted and fell. Half a dozen piles were already in place. He found Peter James in conversation with a man who appeared to be the foreman and greeted both men. Glenna was nowhere in sight, though it was twelve-thirty.
“They’re making really good progress,” Peter said, “and we’re going very deep, as you asked. A couple more days of this, and we can start framing.”
Glenna drove up in Rick’s old 1938 Ford convertible and got out. “Piles!” she yelled over the noise. “How exciting!”
Peter took them over to where a tabletop had been set on a pair of sawhorses and spread out the plans. He pointed out the changes that Glenna had asked for, and Rick agreed with everything.
“One more thing, Peter,” Rick said. “The room on either end that we were going to build later? Build them now.”
“Oh, Honey!” Glenna shrieked. “You’ve made my day!”
“What the hell,” Rick said, “we’ll go the whole hog.”
They talked for a few more minutes about the way the house would sit on the land, then Glenna said, “I’m hungry; did you bring lunch?”
Rick went to the car and got the picnic basket and a blanket, and Peter walked over to the foreman and told him to break for lunch. The noise abruptly ceased.
“Let’s go down to the beach and eat there,” Rick said, and he led the way. As he reached the edge of the sand he looked back to see Glenna in conversation with one of the workmen. Wearing a baseball cap and naked above the waist, he was tall and well-muscled. He was also deeply tanned and bathed in sweat from his work. To Rick’s surprise, she indicated that he should follow her, and they began walking toward the beach.
“Rick,” she said as they approached, “I want you to meet somebody; this is Vance. Vance, this is my husband, Rick, and our architect, Peter. I’ve asked Vance to join us for lunch.”
“Sure,” Rick said. He was mystified about this, but Glenna had her reasons, he supposed. The young man was very handsome; maybe that had something to do with it. He felt a little jealous.
Rick spread the blanket, and Glenna distributed the food and drink from the basket, then they settled down to eat.
“Vance is an actor,” Glenna said, and then Rick understood.
“Where are you from, Vance?” Rick asked.
“England, a small village in Kent.”
“I don’t hear an accent.”
“It’s better with the crew if they think I’m American.”
Rick laughed. “I understand. How long have you been in L.A.?”
“About four months.”
“Looking for work?”
“Mostly, I work at this,” Vance said, waving a hand toward the pile driver. “I only get weekends off, and to tell you the truth I don’t have much of an idea about how to look for acting work.”
“Have you had any experience?”
“I ran away from home when I was fifteen and joined a touring repertory company. Mostly, I moved scenery around, but now and then I got a small part with a few lines. After a year or so, I got bigger parts and stopped moving scenery.”
“Did you ever make it to the West End?”
“I got a second lead in a comedy that ran for a year; then, when they brought the production to New York, I came with it. It ran for five weeks, then closed. The troup went home, and I stayed to look for work on Broadway. I found nothing, and it was bloody cold in New York, so I came out here. At least, I’m not freezing to death.”
They talked for a bit longer, then finished their lunch, and Glenna began putting the dishes back into the basket, while Peter dealt with the trash.
“Do you know who I am?” Rick asked Vance.
“You’re her husband,” Vance said. “I certainly know who she is.”
Rick laughed and handed him his business card. “Tell you what, Vance,” he said, “you tell your boss that your career in the construction business is at an end, then be in my office at eleven tomorrow morning. Do you own a suit?”
“I do.”
“Wear it, and bring your English accent, too. I’ll leave a pass for you at the front gate. Do you have an agent?”
“No.”
“I’ll recommend a couple of people.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. ...” he looked at the card, “Barron.”
“What’s your last name, Vance?”
“Calder.”
“Vance Calder. That sounds pretty good. What’s your real name?”
“Vance Calder.”
“How old are you?”
Vance looked around to see if anyone could hear him. “Nineteen.”
“Jesus,” Rick said, “I thought you were twenty-five.”
“I’ve always looked older. When I was fourteen, people thought I was eighteen, and so on.”
“That’s an advantage at your age. From now on, don’t tell anybody how old you are; they’ll just think you’re lying about your age, the way everybody out here does.”
“All right.”
“See you tomorrow.” Rick joined Glenna and walked her back to her car. “Thanks,” he said.
“You didn’t notice him, did you?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I think he’s stunning, Rick; very sexy, too.”
“He’s probably queer, like half the boy actors in L.A.”
“Don’t you believe it for a moment,” she said.
5
Before Rick left the house the following morning he called his assistant director on Times Square Dance. “Hi, Billy, I’d like you to set up a screen test this morning, and I want you to direct it. I’m sorry it’s such a rush, but it’s important.”
“Sure, Rick. Who’s the girl?”
“Guy. His name is Vance Calder, and he’s coming to my office at eleven. I’ll talk to him for a few minutes and then send him over to the little stage.”
“What sort of stuff do you want?”
“I want a dramatic scene and a comedy scene, then I want you to dress him in cowboy gear — nothing Roy Rogers, just plain stuff — then take him out to the back lot and shoot him handling a gun, throwing a rope and riding a horse.”
“Does he know how to ride?”
“I have no idea. Tell you what, for the interior stuff, use the comedy scene on about page thirty of Times Square Dance and the dramatic scene toward the end, when he tells Katherine how good she is. In the dramatic scene, have him use an English accent.”
“Okay. I can even put the real set back together.”
“If it’s no trouble. Take the time to light this guy well; he’s very tan, so he won’t need a lot of makeup. You can pick him up at my office at eleven-fifteen.”
“Okay.”
“And get the film to the lab tonight; I want to see it before noon tomorrow.”
“Will do.”
Rick hung up and left for the studio.
When he walked into his office there were half a dozen people seated around his conference table, drinking coffee and eating pastries. “Morning, all,” Rick said. “Sorry I’m late, but I have a good excuse.”
“What’s that, Rick?” somebody asked.
“I’m not going to tell you.” Rick pulled up a chair, poured himself some coffee and chose a Danish from what remained. “Okay,” he said, “let’s get started.”
Everybody pulled out legal pads and pencils and settled down.
“As you’ve already heard, we’ve postponed Pacific Invasion in favor of Sidney Brooks’s new original script, Bitter Creek.”
“It’s a great script, Rick,” somebody said.
“I think so, too. Unless somebody at this table comes up with some necessary changes because of logistics, I’m not even going to give Sid notes. Anybody got anything like that? Speak now, or...”