Chapter 44

He would return to Europe, to another film festival in fact, Cannes, in May, but before that he had a lot to do. He had a film to produce, his newest hat, in close proximity to Linda and Pat’s production company. Both festivals he’d already attended had fleshed out financing for Whatever You Want, though they hoped to generate more, to deal with post-production costs and possible distribution when they went to Cannes.

But enough money had been accrued to begin production, to be able to pay those that worked with Pat before on Stillwater, including Joe for the set and Mary for costumes and Jonas as cinematographer and of course Sam.

Immediately after officially agreeing to be casting director, before Harry had a chance to ask her about their relationship, Sam told him, “Steve won’t be a problem.”

“Oh?”

“He’s really not the jealous type,” Sam explained. “Maybe partly because I’m inured to handsome men and pretty boys I’ve been around all my life, and know they’re not just uninterested in me, but by and large anyone else really except themselves. He sees me around other fellows all the time, whether musicians or audience, and none seem to distract me from him. But you’re his Achilles heel, Harry.”

“Why’s that?” Harry asked.

“Because he thinks you’re bad for me.”

“Because you still want to be with me, but there’s no future in it.”

“Yes.”

“Then why isn’t it a problem?”

“It’s an ultimatum, Harry. If he can’t accept me working with you ... being with you, than he can just fucking walk. The point is...”

“That there is no future with me.”

“Ironic, isn’t it? I love you Harry, and I don’t see that changing. What you’ve done for me is ... incalculable. You’ve made me happier than I’ve ever been just by pushing me to get over myself. You’ve made me feel beautiful. Both you and Steve make me feel desirable.”

“He doesn’t make you feel beautiful?”

“Not physically no. Like Bogart says in Casablanca, a beautiful friendship. But he’s not all that handsome a man, and though his body has improved, it’s still a bit lumpy, which is fine. We’re compatible. And part of why he doesn’t worry about me hooking up with another guy is that he doesn’t see me as especially beautiful. But I look at you, and you are handsome, and although older, that doesn’t matter with you. And who do you end up with but beautiful women.”

“And you’re one of them.”

“Yep.”

“So how does that work with us working together? Do we keep our distance and I give you the occasionally peck on the cheek?”

“I fucking hope not! I don’t think I could stand that! The night before we work, I want to sleep with you, otherwise that’s all I’ll be thinking about. After that, sometimes, like we did before.”

“Before we start auditioning,” Harry told her, “there’s a production meeting for all the directors. Pat and I have already met with Joe and Mary and Jonas individually. We haven’t decided on the music, but...”

“I thought that would be the easiest,” Sam interrupted.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you pretty much describe the music in your script: old timey player piano at the beginning; ragtime piano later; and then the Victrola. I always imagined like the scenes in the whore’s rooms, whether where they had their assignations or when they were where they actually slept, there’d be like a quieted version of those sounds in the bar, maybe even a distorted version.”

“And outside the bar?” Harry asked.

“There aren’t that many scenes outside.”

“True.”

“Ambient sounds I think, like maybe the crush of snow underfoot or the clomping of horses or the bouncing of carriages or noise of early cars or something. There could be some echoes too, some thematic music barely there like the quieted, distorted music in the whorehouse or a bugle sounding attack or retreat for the old Indian fighter.”

“Sort of haunted then.”

“Exactly.”

“Maybe you should do that.”

“But...”

“You should. And maybe you could sing in the movie, like one of the whores entertaining the customers with her voice. You could write songs...”

“Harry, you want me to be a whore?”

Harry chuckled. “Just for the movie,” he said.

“I don’t...”

“You think they’d all look like starlets?”

“No, but...”

“But what, Sam? I think you’d be perfect. You’re a sexy woman, and beautiful in a non-traditional way, which should be the point as much as possible don’t you think?”

“I do but ... I mean some might look like starlets though. Maybe two, three if you count the exotic Indian. They’d be young if nothing else, just old enough to be legal as far as current censorship allows, and we’re talking blonde, blue eyed Swedes as far as being local, either corrupted for whatever reason or wild and rebellious.”

“I’m glad you’re already in casting mode, but that still leaves out the less classically beautiful, the older set, perhaps visiting whores or older widows or something looking for a way to make money.”

“Or just veterans,” Sam agreed.

“And you could be any of those.”

“Except the young ones,” Sam added.

“Movie magic,” Harry countered. “Make up and lighting and Jonas’s miraculous camera.”

“I prefer a younger actor being aged rather than vice versa.”

“If we’re talking about Jimmy Stewart playing a young pilgrim when in his fifties or sixties or whatever in Liberty Valence or Cary Grant looking positively creepy with a far younger costar, I couldn’t agree more. But you’re not all that far away from being a teenager or at least in your early twenties.”

“I suppose. At least I’m not casting girls in their twenties to play fifteen year olds the way they do these days on those teen shows. I really do like casting age appropriately.”

“Good.”

“But there’d be aging anyway with some of the whores sticking around while Nathaniel gets older.”

“He’d be the biggest challenge I would think, being a kid, an early teen and a young adult.”

“There’s a lot of hopeful young actors out there,” Sam disagreed. “Those not yet discouraged about not making it. I’d probably need to work backwards, find the young adult and look for what they might look like younger. I might not cast the more expensive films, but at least I have a reputation for casting the more interesting ones, and with that I have a great deal of resources at hand.”

“So working from headshots.”

“Avoid cattle calls,” Sam confirmed.

“Definitely,” Harry agreed. “So we’re meeting at Pat’s starting at six-thirty on Monday, dinner first, so if anyone can only show up later, there’d be some leeway.”

“Hmm,” Sam reacted.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Just wondering if I should show up Sunday or early Monday at your place. Might be uncomfortable if I waited until Monday, I mean sitting there after being well plowed.”

“Or you could come by now,” Harry suggested.

“Where are you staying?” Sam asked eagerly.

Harry chuckled and let her know.

“Nice place,” Sam commented when she got there.

“You’ve just seen the top of the icicle,” Harry told her. It was a modernist home with tons of windows looking over LA, one of those that hung off the side of the hill and had three floors below the entrance, the top floor, which was already quite broad, including a three car wide garage.

Beyond the entranceway, impinged on two sides by the servants’ quarters, convenient for the chauffeur, butler and cook since their work was close by, though only one maid room was occupied, the only employee needed since Sondra and her family mostly lived other places, there was a step down to the common room, there for dining and entertaining, the kitchen adjoining through swinging doors on the left, the dining table seating eight nearest the kitchen, and the rest a carpeted family room, understated, comfortable and yet elegant somehow, probably having to do with the obviously expensive furniture as it did the subtly mauve/gray gradation of colors or the original Klees on the wall that somehow fit the coloring perfectly.

Beyond greeting Peg and being introduced to Sondra, Sam didn’t see much of the common room, Harry instead leading her to a side door and into an enclosure where both stairs and an elevator were housed. Sam chose the stairs, and they descended four flights (two flights per floor) to the floor in which Harry and Peg essentially lived, with his office and a room being eventually used for their baby and three other rooms, for guests or for, more likely, Harry’s Harem, either living there or visiting.

Harry and Peg of course shared the biggest room with the biggest bed, a California King, and that’s where Sam was led. “Champagne?” Harry asked, a bucket with a split and a couple glasses sitting on a dresser.