Page 20 of Blood Stone
Chapter Five
A space big enough for the Maserati miraculously opened up the second time Roman circled the block and he slid into it with a sense of satisfaction. It didn’t alleviate the subterranean layer of concern building in him, but it stopped the frustration from boiling over.
He looked around. He was familiar with the studios in this section of Van Iuys, but his knowledge was from back in the seventies. He hadn’t worked Hollywood from inside the studios since then.
He oriented himself and headed for the big, discreet building that was Kate’s. She had told him how pleased she had been with the bargain she got the old aircraft hangar for and how perfect it was for her work, with its endless amounts of square footage. It had been painted a fresh coat of white, and did nothing to advertise that movies were shot inside now.
He glanced at his watch again and his worry increased. His stride lengthened. What had happened? Why hadn’t she shown?
Just as he found the public entrance to the hanger, Roman got a hint of a possible answer. A long, tall skinny drink of water of a man stepped out from the building, a heavy briefcase hanging from his arm. Roman didn’t know his name but he recognized the man’s face and build. It was the lawyer that had been with Garrett five days ago in The Standard car park.
The lawyer nodded at Roman as he passed. He had been recognized.
Roman didn’t nod back. They didn’t know each other and as far as Roman was concerned, he didn’t yet know if they were enemies or not. Jovial nods were for when he knew where they stood on the board in relationship to each other.
The fact that Kate hadn’t turned up for their meeting and now this guy was emerging from her studio didn’t make him any happier, either.
He stepped inside and was bathed in the cool wash of air-conditioning. The area immediately inside the door was a low key reception area, unmarked by any company logo or name. A male receptionist sat behind a desk with nothing on it. His gaze ran over Roman, sizing him up.
Security, Roman realized. And top notch security at that.
“Kate Lindenstream isn’t expecting me,” Roman told him, fishing out his wallet and pulling out his driver’s license. “But she knows me. She’ll vouch for me.”
The man turned the driver’s license around and studied Roman, then the photo. “Got any other ID, sir?” he asked.
Roman nodded, appreciating the thoroughness. He pulled out his current social security card and flipped it onto the desk so it was facing the guard the right way around. The guard looked at it, then at the driver’s licence, then put the licence down on the desk next to the social security card, and picked up the telephone next to his elbow. “Have a seat, sir,” he suggested.
Roman moved away from the desk, letting the guard speak into the phone without being overheard, which was what the command to take a seat had really meant. He wandered over to the coffee table where a stack of magazine sat in a squared off pile, and read the spines. All of them were this month’s and none of them had anything to do with the movie industry. If anyone wandered into the studio by accident, they wouldn’t have a clue they had stumbled into the headquarters of one of the biggest producers in Los Angeles. The guard would ensure they didn’t progress any further inside. They would be bounced back out into the street without ever realizing where they were.
“You can go in, Mr. Xerus,” the guard said.
Roman turned. The guard was holding out his cards, his other hand pointing toward the inner door.
Roman walked over and took back his cards. “Thanks.”
“Someone will show you to Kate,” the guard said. “Just push on the door handle.”
Roman walked over to the door and just as he put his hand on the handle, he heard a lock click. The handle turned without resistance. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
It was not what he expected.
The aeroplane hangar was still a hangar. The curved iron roof and struts soared seventy-five feet overhead, and frank concrete flooring spread across the expansive space. Some of the iron roofing sheets, perhaps one in every five, had been replaced by clear plastic ones. Natural light blazed down from the roof, illuminating a quiet, empty area, dotted with left-over bits of scenery, flats and props from the last three movies Kate had made, along with a dozen other movies, for Kate rented out the space to other directors when she didn’t need it herself.
Roman’s business brain tripped into high gear as he spotted props and scenery that he could easily sell at a hundred times their actual value to movie buffs and collectors, or that he could refurbish and store, for use by other directors for other movies. There were six Doric columns in prime condition collecting dust there. Doric columns appeared in dozens of movies, and directors were always desperate for them at the last minute.
“Mr. Xerus?”
He turned to his right. Hovering by a flower cart from nineteenth century London, complete with flowers, was a woman in the tightest pair of leather pants he’d ever seen, six inch spiked boots, and a tee-shirt with rolled up sleeves showing off painfully thin and blindingly pale white arms. Her hair hung lank, pale, and blonde down her back, while pimples dotted her forehead. She was clutching a clipboard to her chest like it might leap out of her arms if she loosened her grip. Production Assistant, Roman mentally classified. And very new at it, too.
“Hi,” he offered.
“Umm...Ms. Lindenstream said to show you to her trailer, so if you’ll just...if you’ll come with me?”
Trailer. Of course. It clicked into place with the neatness of Lego. The whole hangar was one big film studio, with no partitioning walls, no internal structure, except for the high-security reception area. Kate simply arranged things as she needed them for any particular movie situation. Her office was kept permanently inside a trailer that was parked inside the hangar when she was here. When she was on the road and filming on location, the trailer just moved with her.
Efficient. Elegant.
The P.A. was wobbling her way around a small mountain of scenery flats all stacked together and held secure with elastic packing straps. She glanced over her shoulder to ensure he was following her, and nearly tripped over her own stilettoes.
