High Risk 9.2

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[Continuing chapter nine]

I didn’t hear what I think I heard, did I? “You want me to act? Now?”

“I want all of my performers to act,” Straebo said drily. “I’m usually prepared to accept it when they stand in the right place, look good for the camera, and more or less say what they’re supposed to.” Didn’t Desiree just say exactly that? Casey asked himself, trying not to laugh. “In your case, what did you think was the purpose of your screen test?” Straebo continued. “I looked at it last night, Casey. I must say your performance during the formal part of the test was, um, dreadful. But I was persuaded to watch the footage filmed after you’d completed your pages, and I think there’s something in you that can be worked with. You’ll do your scenes on Saturday; one of my assistants will give you the necessary information.”

Casey fumbled for something to say that might sound grateful, but Straebo wasn’t finished. “You will need to be fitted by our wardrobe people, of course, but Hogan tells me he can’t spare you today. So you’ll have to do it tonight. Go to the main gate at seven-thirty. I’ll have left instructions with the guard.”



Casey waited until Straebo had lumbered away in the direction of the production office before he turned to Desiree. “Now we have an excuse for being on the lot tonight,” she said with a smile. Then, seeing the expression on Casey’s face, she blurted, “Not my idea! I swear. It wasn’t me.”

“I’m the guilty one, I’m afraid,” Cunningham said. He’d left his tent and walked up behind Casey while Straebo had been dropping his bombshell. “I figured you’ve been given a raw deal so far, and maybe this way you could get something back. Besides, you know this flying stuff—you can pitch it better than any of the kids on the lot right now. Anyway, I think you’d look good on camera.”

“I agree,” Desiree said. “What’s more, so does Jerry. He wouldn’t have offered you the job if he didn’t, Casey.”

“You don’t think this is just a clever ploy to bring me around to Monarch’s way of seeing things on the Cross murder?”

“If they suddenly offer you a seven-year contract at a thousand a week, yes,” said Desiree. “Otherwise, it’s just a minor consideration. Look, Casey, it may very well turn out that the studio thinks it can buy you with a small part and a contract that they can end whenever they want. But why not take it? You know you’re not going to roll over for them, and so do I. Think of it this way: whatever else Jerry thinks about you, he likes your bones and what the camera sees in them.”

“And that’s flattery?”

“In this business it is. Surely by now you’ve noticed,” she said, “that there’s no shortage of good-looking faces in this town.” She batted her eyelashes at him. “And lately we’ve been utterly swamped with every Tom, Dick, and Ethel from Broadway”—she struck an exaggerated pose—”all of them far better actors than little old me will ever be.”

“I’m not that good-looking, and aside from some mess-room antics that I’d be embarrassed to tell you about, I’ve never acted in my life.”

“But that’s precisely the point,” Cunningham said. “Movies aren’t really about acting.”

“And they’re not about who’s prettiest, either,” Desiree said. “Look at Eve Adams and Lily Cross. Both of ‘em would probably be considered prettier than me.” By the blind, perhaps, thought Casey. “But I’ll bet you I’m still acting when Eve’s married off to some real-estate tycoon from Iowa. And Lily—well, we’ll never know about Lily.”

“So you’re saying it’s all about my bones.” Just when I thought I was starting to understand this place, Casey thought sadly.

“In a way, it is,” Desiree said. “Nobody really knows why the camera likes who it likes, Casey. Or if they know they’re not saying. But the simple fact is that some people just seem more real on camera. Rudy Valentino was that way. Most people thought he couldn’t act—I don’t agree, by the way—but nobody would argue that the camera didn’t love that man. Maybe you’ll be the same.”

“Or maybe I’ll make a complete idiot of myself.”

“We won’t let that happen to you,” Desiree said. “Will we, Jeff?”

“Not a chance.”

“And I wasn’t kidding earlier,” Desiree said. “This is a great chance for us to—to do what we were talking about the other night.”

“Oh-ho,” Cunningham said. “I detect skullduggery.”

“At this point,” Casey said, glancing at Desiree, “I think you’re better off not knowing any more.”

“You think writers can’t keep secrets, don’t you?” Cunningham pouted and dug the toe of a shoe into the turf.

“Jeff, you boys are worse than the make-up artists,” Desiree said. “Why don’t you go back to your pages, darling? Casey and I have grown-up things to discuss.”

Cunningham responded with a scandalous epithet, but went back to his tent. “Now we don’t have to worry about leaving the set early,” Desiree said to Casey. “And nobody will wonder if I come to the studio with you tonight to offer encouragement and support.”

“Nobody?”

“All right, some might raise an eyebrow. I’m not supposed to be hobnobbing with extras. But you’re a glamorous pilot, Casey. If your bit in this picture goes well, you could soon be the toast of Hollywood.”

“I’d rather not dwell on that right now, if you don’t mind. I’ve got to fake a dog-fight up there today.”

“Is that risky?”

“Not as risky as that stunt last week,” he said, patting his ribs. “But any time you’ve got planes flying close together, there’s an element of risk involved.”

“I’ll leave you to not think about it, then,” she said. By now, the crew was beginning to assemble, and Casey knew he’d have had to vacate the area soon anyway.

Next     Prologue    Chapter One    Chapter Two    Chapter Three    Chapter Four    Chapter Five
Chapter Six    Chapter Seven    Chapter Eight    Chapter Nine