Tony, the maitre d’, grinned. “Hear you been slumming over at the cafeteria.”
Finn slapped his gut beneath the Hawaiian shirt. “I couldn’t take too many more gourmet meals and keep my boyish figure. Dad here?”
Tony indicated the direction with a cock of his head. “Corner right.”
“Thanks.”
Finn minced his way between the tables, exchanging hellos with various actors, directors, producers and studio heads. He had practically grown up on this lot, and in fact been the focus of a law suit between Disney and Warner’s in the late fifties. Warner’s had used Finn in some of their promotional material, and Disney had screamed infringement of trademark, citing Fantasia. Since Finn had been two at the time, he wasn’t sure how it had all been resolved. He just knew it was a favorite dinner tale of his father’s.
His dad was eating with Ester Flannigan, the most perfect of personal assistants. There was a slight frown on his long, lantern jawed face, and he seemed to be talking more than he was eating. Which meant Ester was taking shorthand instead of eating. Finn came up behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders, and gave her a kiss one wrinkled cheek. “Doesn’t the union have something to say about working through lunch?”
Benton Finn looked down at their virtually untouched plates and gave Ester an apologetic smiles. “Sorry, we’ll finish this after lunch.”
“What’s got your shorts in a twist?” Finn asked as he swiped a cherry tomato off his dad’s salad plate. He bit down and savored the tart/sweet explosion. He swallowed and added, “The break in?”
“So it’s all over the lot, is it?” Finn asked.
“I don’t know. It’s at Corman’s.”
“It’s all over the lot,” Ester broke in. “Jenny called to ask about it, and she’s over in the bungalows.”
“Why is this a deal?” Finn asked. “Nothing was stolen.”
“Because everything on Lieutenant has to go smoothly and if you look close enough at any production you’ll find problems, and Coppola will use it,” Ester said in sing song voice while Benton glared at her.
Finn gave his dad a look. “Wow, you are being paranoid.”
“Coppola wanted this movie, and Bernie told me Coppola told the Chairman I didn’t know how to pull something new and fresh out of Kelly. Kelly doesn’t need to be new and fresh. She just needs to be Kelly.”
“You’ve directed her in three other films. These other guys don’t know how to work with someone from that generation,” Finn soothed.
Ester closed her eyes briefly, then mouthed to Finn wrong thing to say.
“Meaning what?” Benton asked low and cold. “That I’m also from that generation so I know how?”
“No, that you’re a gentleman and Kelly is a real lady,” Finn babbled, and hoped his dad would accept this statement of the public’s view of Kelly even though everyone in the industry knew she slept with every hot young star who came along. “These young… er, new guys don’t know how to work with someone like that.”
Benton looked mollified. “You’re sure right about that. These new guys are punks. They have no respect for the institutions…”
Finn cocked a back foot for greater comfort and settled in to listen. He also helped himself to the sole almadin on his dad’s plate.
Finn heard the sharp clatter of high heels on concrete, and suddenly an arm was slipped beneath his. The redhead from the Lieutenant set had attached herself limpet-like to his side.
“Hi.” The word emerged on a puff of coffee scented breath. “Sorry I had to run off back there. By the way, I’m Julie.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Bradley said.
He waited to see if Red would ask for his name, but apparently she had discovered that the joker with the pony’s body was the director’s son, and she wasn’t bright enough to realize that she needed to pretend that she hadn’t. Finn had long ago stopped being angry over these sudden shifts in attitude from eager young starlets. What he hadn’t totally resolved was whether to laugh or cry about them.
“So, are you in the business?” she asked as she tried to adjust her steps to match Finn’s length of stride.
“No, not really.” He watched the glow of interest in her eyes die. “I’m in medical school.” A touch of interest returned. So we’ve established what motivates you, Julie. Looks like… money. Which is probably good because you sure can’t act.
“So, how do you like it out here as compared to the Bronx?” Bradley asked.
Julie pouted. “Oh, pooh! I’ve been working so hard to lose the accent.”
In your dreams, baby.
“So you were born like… here,” the girl suddenly amended.
“Yeah, born at the Hollywood Presbyterian hospital. Went to Hollywood High. And I expressed my wild card moments after birth. Which was good, because if it had happened in the birth canal I would have killed my mother, and that would have really sucked.” He smiled at her brightly. She blanched at the image his words had elicited. Which showed she had some imagination.
“So it sounds like you really know the ropes here, and that’s good because I could sure use some advice.” It was the dogged delivery of a rehearsed line, whether it fit into the conversational flow or not. It also made it very clear relationship she envisioned-friend, mentor, confidant.
“Sure,” Finn answered. “My cards are in my briefcase on the Jason set. I just keep a wallet in my pocket.” He taped the breast pocket on his Hawaiian shirt. Julie’s eyes flicked toward his gleaming palomino haunches.
Years ago the sisters at his elementary school had forced him to wear pants. His father had declared that Finn looked like a bad clown act, and they’d found another school. Finn was careful to keep his penis sheathed, but nothing could hide his balls, and even pony sized they were still the envy of every male and a terror to most women.
“Why don’t you come back after shooting, and I’ll get you a card.” His bad angel prodded him to add. “We could have dinner.”
“Uh, I’m busy tonight. Sorry. I’ll get the card… later.” She glanced hastily at her wristwatch. “Well, gotta go.” She gave him a perky smile, waved, and hurried off between the stages.
Finn allowed himself a laugh. It felt a little hollow.
The next day Corman was shooting coverage on Jason and his merry band of Argonauts. Finn decided to use the free time to head down to U.C.L.A, and buy his books for the fall semester. He enjoyed medical school, but it seemed like the summer had just started, and he wasn’t quite ready for the grind yet.
He stood between tall bookcases, his arms stretched around a giant stack of books, squinting at the class list perched on top, and realized he only had half the required texts. He wondered if he could make it to the front of the store for a cart, or if he should just leave the books here and come back. But there had only been one copy of the epidemiology text, and some bastard would probably swipe it if he left them.
“Man, these suckers are heavy,” a voice suddenly said. Startled, Finn let out a yell and dropped the precariously balanced stack of books.
Harry Gold was peering around a bookcase like a malevolent leprechaun. He stepped around the case, and began to gather up the strewn books. “You shouldn’t try to carry these things. You’ll herniate yourself. You should get a cart.”