Box Office Poison le-2 Page 6

  David’s response was swift and summary. “Mr. Qwendar. You will keep quiet or I will ask that you leave.”

  Sheila gave David a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Sullivan. But to continue. Are the Álfar more talented than humans? We’re going to present evidence that will show it’s quite the opposite. No, they’re getting more and more of the parts because they are using inhuman powers at the very start of the process, during their auditions, to deny human actors their chance. This is an issue of basic fairness. We’re talking about people here, not buggy whips or Moviolas or eight-tracks.” I briefly wondered what a Moviola might be. “People who can’t pay their mortgages or support their families, and maybe more importantly, can’t fulfill themselves and pursue their passion because the Álfar are taking unfair advantage.” She sat down.

  Qwendar took to his feet. “Mr. Sullivan, I must protest these kinds of racist and hyperbolic statements. If such defamatory remarks are leaked to the press I will respond most strongly.”

  “Mr. Qwendar,” David said wearily. “This was an opening statement. Ms. LeBlanc will have to prove her assertions. Just as your side will.” David turned to Barbara. “Ms. Gabaldon, do you wish to make a statement at this time?”

  “No, I’ll wait until Ms. LeBlanc has made her arguments.”

  “Very good. Mr. McPhee?”

  The big man hooked his thumbs in his vest pockets and leaned back in his chair until it squeaked in protest. “I’ll bide.”

  “Mr. Brubaker?”

  “We’ll wait.”

  “Fine, then, if there is nothing more we will reconvene day after tomorrow and hear the first of Ms. LeBlanc’s witnesses.”

  “Why the delay?” Brubaker asked.

  “Because I want to do my own statistical research.”

  I gave a mental groan because David’s I meant me.

  5

  Pizer had said there were offices for David and me. There were. David had been given an office next door to Pizer, a large, elegant space as befitted a full partner and vampire. Which meant the occupant of that office was kicked into a different office, which set off a chain reaction. Which meant that I was going to share space with the guy who had been left standing when the music stopped. It was the smallest private office, and it looked like a converted coat closet.

  “Way to win friends and influence people,” I muttered at the desk as I unloaded my briefcase and set up my computer. I was crawling under the desk to plug in the power cord when the door opened and my office mate entered.

  “Hi,” came a chipper voice.

  I quickly tried to turn around to get my butt on the floor, but instead gave myself a painful bump on the head. There is no graceful way to handle the situation when you’re on hands and knees with your ass pointed at the door.

  “Wow, that sounded like it hurt,” the chipper voice continued.

  I scooted out from beneath the desk struggling to keep my skirt from hiking up around my waist and losing a shoe in the process. I finally emerged with one hand clutching a shoe, the other clutching my skirt to meet the amused gaze of a very short man with a head of red-gold curls that resembled those of a Botticelli angel. He was grinning at me, and it was clear from the expression in his dancing blue eyes that he was loving the situation.

  “It did,” I said. “Hi, I’m Linnet Ellery. Who are you?”

  “Merlin Ambinder. The man with no office.”

  As usual my internal editor was asleep on the job. “Merlin? Really?” I asked before I could control myself

  His cupid’s-bow lips quirked in a rueful smile. “Yes, I am a man with a really silly name. Blame my parents. They were hippies long after it was time for any sensible people to be hippies.”

  I stood up and indicated the tiny space with my outstretched arms. “And as for no office, we have all this.” We shared a laugh, and he set down a stack of files on the second desk, then fell into his chair.

  “How long is this likely to continue?”

  I took my chair and we faced each other across our kissing desks. “If we’re lucky—a month. I don’t think we’re going to be lucky. And meanwhile I get to live in a hotel room.”

  “You should rent an Oakwood. Well, rent an apartment at the Oakwood. Corporate housing—studio, one, two, and three bedrooms. No lease and everything is included. Even maid service if you want to add that in.”

  “It’s got to be cheaper than the Beverly Hills Hotel.” I fired up my laptop and started a Google search.

  “Yeah, no kidding.”

  “I could get a one-bedroom. Actually cook some meals.” Chrome loaded the Google search page. There were a number of Oakwoods in the greater LA area. I swung the computer around so Ambinder could see the screen. “Which would be the best choice?”

  “Well, the one in Santa Monica near the beach would be great, but they hike the rates because you’re on the water. The one down on Washington is a pit. I’d go with the Barham Oakwood. Easy access to the Valley or the Basin. Close to Universal and the City Walk, Warner Bros., and Griffith Park.”

  “How do you know so much about Oakwoods?” I asked.

  “My folks got a divorce when I was eight. My dad moved into an Oakwood.”

  “Oh, great, it’s a divorcee’s paradise.”

  Merlin shrugged. “Look at the upside. You can get a lot of dates.”

  I ignored that and asked, “So why isn’t the firm using them? Lot cheaper than a hotel.”

  “It’s usually the partners who commute between offices, and while getting a pizza or takeout Chinese delivered to an Oakwood is no big deal, I think delivering a host would be tricky. The better hotels are set up for that. And you know vampires. They like to be catered to.”

  “Is that ever the truth. So, what’s your specialty?”

  “I’m the research monkey. I would be totally petrified to go into court, but I love digging through minutia.”

  “Glad somebody does.” I cupped my chin in my hands, elbows resting on the desk. “Hollywood has a lot to answer for with their portrayal of lawyers. I thought this profession was going to be exciting,” I said.

  “You’re in Hollywood now.”

  “And it’s still not exciting.” I laid my hand on my stack of folders. “I get to read and summarize a statistical analysis of casting patterns over the past ten years for my boss.”

  “We also serve who only burn our eyes out,” Merlin said, mangling the Milton quote to suit our situation.

  Having bonded, we settled in to work. Merlin was a good office companion. We started off wearing headphones so our music didn’t bug the other, but it turned out we had similar tastes so we just let his IPod and Pandora play for us. We took turns on the coffee run to refill our cups. He even made sure the sandwich lady didn’t overlook us in our cave.

  A few hours later I had a gross overview of the piles of statistical analysis. I knew David would want my initial impression, so I wrote up a short report. While statistics is the discipline where you lie with numbers, it was still pretty clear that the human actors were getting screwed. I hit Print on my computer and stood up, ready to head out to the network center to pull my report off the printer.

  Merlin’s ruddy eyebrows climbed up into his bangs. “You can’t just email him your report?”

  “Are you kidding? He’s a vampire. He wants the feel of paper.”

  “Wow, Mr. Pizer isn’t that way.”

  “Then he must be a very young vampire,” I said and left.

  As I walked to the network center I thought about the calcification that eventually overtook all vampires. They claimed it was a good thing, but I wondered if it hid an underlying concern. The world was moving so fast today, and it was important to keep up. They would never admit that, however; they presented their hidebound habits as a way to revere and honor the past, which was why you found them most often in the law or curating at museums—in fact, the newest head of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York was a vampire. Once they’d gone public they tried to broaden
their involvement in the world. There had been a few efforts to have them teach history, but these hadn’t worked out so well. The bustle of a campus and the manic desperation of undergraduates—But I just have to pass this class, Professor!—did not suit a vampire’s personality.

  But did that bode ill for the future of the country, and maybe even the planet, when you had people with such hidebound and conservative outlooks assuming open positions of power? Not that the Powers hadn’t pulled the strings of politicians, kings, and potentates long before they went public, but their interest had been in staying protected and hidden. Now that they were giving interviews on Fox and CNN, would that increased visibility have an impact on society’s attitudes? Make humans more cautious and conservative? Some problems required nimbleness and risk taking to solve, and neither of those were a vampire’s strong suit.

  I pulled my summation out of the printer and headed into David’s office. It was very sleek and modern, with a wallpaper that looked like beige silk and abstract art on the walls. David was making notes on a yellow legal pad. I took note of the pen he was using. It was a ballpoint. Both Shade and Meredith used fountain pens. Guess it was too hard to get quills these days. The errant little thought gave me a quick chuckle.

  David looked up. “What?”

  “Nothing.” I laid the report on his desk. “And the human actors are definitely getting the short end of this particular stick.”

  “But should they be offered redress?” David asked.

  “Affirmative action has a long and…”

  “Checkered career?” David asked. “It was necessary to ease the injustice of Jim Crow, but can it, should it, be applied in this situation?”

  “And if we rule that way, are we suggesting that all humans are a protected class,” I said.

  He indicated a chair, a modern affair that looked more like art than furniture, with about the same comfort level. I sat and we contemplated each other in silence for a few minutes.

  “It’s early days. We haven’t heard enough to make any kind of judgment, much less suggest a remedy,” I said.

  “Agreed.”

  “Look, David, can we talk to the New York office and see about my renting an apartment? I gotta be honest, I hate living in hotels, even one as nice as the Beverly Hills Hotel.”

  “I don’t want to leave the hotel,” he said, his expression mulish.

  “And I’m not suggesting you should. I want to leave the hotel. Look, I get why you would want to stay. Room service and all that. Then you’re not having to drive all over town looking for restaurants that have hosts and cater to vampires.” I paused, Merlin’s comment about takeout had raised an interesting question. “Is there takeout for vampires?”

  “There was one in New York, but the attorney general’s office figured out it was actually a cover for a high-priced prostitution ring. They got busted.” I chuckled. “It’s not funny,” he said. “It’s actually an interesting business idea, but now it will be years before anyone tries it again.” He looked out the heavily tinted windows where the rays of the setting sun looked like physical spikes. “Los Angeles is a big city, but inside it’s a small town. Even after forty years we’re not well accepted here. Maybe not anywhere.”

  “A million years of evolution tells us humans that you’re predators and we’re prey,” I said quietly. “We can intellectualize all we want, but the fear is still there, living down deep. And there’s fault on both sides. You guys have this distant, disengaged attitude when you deal with humans. Which adds to the feeling that you don’t actually see us as anything but prey.”

  “Are you afraid of me?” he asked, and there was something behind the words that I couldn’t quite interpret.

  “No, of course not. I—” I broke off. I owed him honesty rather than platitudes. “Yes, sometimes I’m afraid. When one of you walks up on me and I don’t hear you coming. It helps if I have time to prepare.”

  “Even with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even after being fostered.”

  I held out one hand. “A million years of evolution.” I held out the other. “Ten years living in a vampire household.” I made a balancing gesture. “Which do you think wins?”

  He slapped his hands onto the desk and stood up. “I think it’s quitting time.” It was an abrupt end to an odd conversation that had clearly discomfited him. “And yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  “Go get an apartment. I’ll clear it with New York.”

  “Thanks.” I also stood. “It will be cheaper.”

  * * *

  While I arranged for a rental car, and investigated the Barham Oakwood, I also snagged an appointment with the district attorney. Henry Jacobs was an older African American man who towered over me. I couldn’t help it. I gaped up at him.

  He laughed and guided me to a chair. “Yes, I really am six-foot-ten. I played basketball for the Lakers, blew out my knee, and decided I didn’t really want to be a coach. So law school, and…,” he looked around the office, “and this.”

  The space had the usual accoutrements of a DA’s office—diplomas and pictures of Jacobs shaking hands with various nationally known politicians—but the desk and several chairs were also piled high with files. This was a DA who was clearly hands-on, and not just a blow-dried politician pretending to be a lawyer.

  “Sorry, I should have heard of you,” I said.

  “Unless you’re a basketball fanatic and a lot older than you look I don’t know why you should.” Jacobs perched on the front of his desk and smiled at me. “So, what can I do for you?”

  “I was wondering how you got Kerrinan out of Fey? I’m trying to do something similar. Well, not exactly, the man I’m trying to extricate isn’t a criminal, but he is trapped.” I gave him the rundown on John’s situation.

  He heard me out, then gave a slow shake of his head. “Well, I wish I could claim some insight, or brilliant legal trick, but the truth is there’s some kind of powerful Álfar Council in charge over there, and they forced Kerrinan to return. It was a smart decision. If human folks got the idea the Álfar are above the law … well, it wouldn’t sit well, and there’s growing tension about the Álfar out here, and not just inside SAG.”

  “Damn. That was what I got from the Justice Department and the DA in New York. There should be some kind of extradition agreement,” I said.

  “Yeah, but then a human who harms an Álfar on this side could potentially get hauled to Fey to stand trial, and I’m not sure how many constitutional protections they would have. Also, do they get an Álfar attorney? Haven’t heard of any. The whole thing on that side seems fairly medieval to me,” Jacobs said.

  “Yeah, John’s mother is referred to as a queen. I have no idea what that actually means.”

  “And the Álfar aren’t real forthcoming about their customs and institutions.”

  “Gee, how is that any different from the other Powers?” I asked, and we shared a laugh, though mine was rather hollow.

  “I’m afraid this is a problem for politicians and diplomats,” Jacobs said. “Clearly something needs to be done as more and more Álfar get involved in our world. Some kind of conflict of law has to apply.”

  “Yeah, well, politicians aren’t known for their burning desire to take on tough problems,” I said with a sigh. I stood and held out my hand. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Not a problem. I just wish I had a solution to offer. Seems to me that high-powered law firm ought to be doing more.”

  “I agree, but even vampires are wary of the Álfar.”

  “Not a comforting thought,” Jacobs concluded.

  * * *

  Merlin hadn’t steered me wrong. The Barham Oakwood was built on a series of hills that separated the San Fernando Valley from the LA Basin and it was quite pretty. Feeling paranoid about earthquakes I had requested a one-bedroom apartment on the third floor. I had seen the pictures from the Northridge quake. Things fell down, and if you were in an underground parking gar
age or on the bottom floor in a building you got squashed. I also figured that, along with the on-site gym, walking up the stairs would be good exercise. The cool, rainy weather made the outdoor pools less attractive.

  I stood on my balcony and looked out at the iconic water tower on the Warner Bros. lot. Even though I’d been in the apartment for three days it still gave me a shiver and a giggle. Hollywood really was the domain of American royalty. Even the most cynical were starstruck, and I was no cynic.

  Behind the studio hills climbed toward a cloud-drenched sky bare of those unique LA structures—houses on stilts. That was because the hills were part of Griffith Park, donated to the city by Colonel Griffith J. Griffith back in the 1890s. There was a theater on the property, the famous Griffith Observatory, a merry-go-round, and a riding stable. I hadn’t checked it out yet because I didn’t love riding stable horses. They were usually old, tired, and sour. Or once people figured out I knew how to ride I got assigned the angry, young problem horse to “fix,” and because I was small I often got stuck with fixing cranky ponies.

  The phone rang. I went back inside to answer it. There was a long silence. This had been happening with increasing regularity over the past few days. In the beginning I did the hello, hello, hello? thing in ever-increasing tones of testiness. Now I just answered and stayed silent, waiting to see if anyone would speak. I was just about to hang up when a harsh voice whispered,

  “Elf whore.” There was the click of a disconnected line and I stared in shock at the handset.

  Elf whore? What the hell did that mean? Because I was an arbitrator in this human-Álfar case? But I wasn’t representing the Álfar—I stood in the position of a judge. Had someone found out that John and I had been intimate? It wasn’t a secret, but who the hell would care? And that was just too creepy for words. A shiver ran through me. I hurried over to the white brick gas fireplace and turned it on. Blue and yellow flames played like coy children around the artificial logs. I sat down on the floor, rubbed my arms, and contemplated the fire.