Beverly Hills Dead

5

Before Rick left the house the following morning he called his assistant director on Times Square Dance. “Hi, Billy, I’d like you to set up a screen test this morning, and I want you to direct it. I’m sorry it’s such a rush, but it’s important.”

“Sure, Rick. Who’s the girl?”

“Guy. His name is Vance Calder, and he’s coming to my office at eleven. I’ll talk to him for a few minutes and then send him over to the little stage.”

“What sort of stuff do you want?”

“I want a dramatic scene and a comedy scene, then I want you to dress him in cowboy gear — nothing Roy Rogers, just plain stuff — then take him out to the back lot and shoot him handling a gun, throwing a rope and riding a horse.”

“Does he know how to ride?”

“I have no idea. Tell you what, for the interior stuff, use the comedy scene on about page thirty of Times Square Dance and the dramatic scene toward the end, when he tells Katherine how good she is. In the dramatic scene, have him use an English accent.”

“Okay. I can even put the real set back together.”

“If it’s no trouble. Take the time to light this guy well; he’s very tan, so he won’t need a lot of makeup. You can pick him up at my office at eleven-fifteen.”

“Okay.”

“And get the film to the lab tonight; I want to see it before noon tomorrow.”

“Will do.”

Rick hung up and left for the studio.

When he walked into his office there were half a dozen people seated around his conference table, drinking coffee and eating pastries. “Morning, all,” Rick said. “Sorry I’m late, but I have a good excuse.”

“What’s that, Rick?” somebody asked.

“I’m not going to tell you.” Rick pulled up a chair, poured himself some coffee and chose a Danish from what remained. “Okay,” he said, “let’s get started.”

Everybody pulled out legal pads and pencils and settled down.

“As you’ve already heard, we’ve postponed Pacific Invasion in favor of Sidney Brooks’s new original script, Bitter Creek.”

“It’s a great script, Rick,” somebody said.

“I think so, too. Unless somebody at this table comes up with some necessary changes because of logistics, I’m not even going to give Sid notes. Anybody got anything like that? Speak now, or...”

Nobody said anything.

“Okay. Let’s start with locations.”

“There’s nothing in the script that can’t be shot on the back lot, Rick,” somebody said.

“We’re not going to shoot a foot of film on the back lot.”

“Where do you want to shoot it?” the man who was in charge of location scouting said.

“I want you to tell me,” Rick said. “I’d prefer a place where nobody has ever shot anything before.”

Everybody was very quiet.

“Manny,” Rick said to the location man, “I want you to leave tomorrow on a scouting trip. Call my father at Barron Flying Service at Clover Field and charter an airplane. Look at the Sierras, look at Colorado, look at... I don’t know, Montana, some place like that.”

“How about Monument Valley?” Manny asked.

“That’s John Ford’s backyard,” Rick said. “He owns it, and he can keep it. This is a cattle and water western, so I want enough grass to support cattle and a river worth fighting over, and Monument Valley doesn’t have either of those. I wouldn’t mind some snow-capped mountains in the background, either. We’re probably going to have to build some early ranch houses, so if you can find some that will do, that’ll be a plus. They’ll need to be simple, though, maybe even raw. I want you back here in ten days, a week, if you can manage it.”

“Anything else?” Manny asked.

“Nope.”

“Then I’d better go home and pack and get out my atlas.” Manny gathered his things and left the room.

“Costumes,” Rick said, turning to Elsa Cameron, the studio’s chief staff designer.

“We’ve got it all in my warehouse,” Elsa replied.

Rick shook his head. “I don’t want to see so much as a hat or a dress in this picture that has ever been used in a picture before. I want you to research the era, which is the 1870s, get photographs and work from the clothes real people wore.”

“This is going to be fun,” Elsa said.

“Then go get started,” Rick said. He turned to Ruth Gannon, the casting director. “Ruth, I expect you’ve already got a list of actors for every part.”

Ruth slid a memo across the table, and Rick caught it and slid it back. She looked surprised.

“I want this film cast with a lot of actors who’ve never been seen before in a feature film; look for stage actors and people new in town, maybe some old-timers who haven’t worked for a long time. Look at acting teachers at the schools around town for middle-aged types; look at kids in their classes. I want fresh faces.”

“Okay,” Ruth said. “Who do you have in mind for the leads?”

“For the girl, the young widow, I want a young character actress, not gorgeous but not unattractive, one who’s willing to bring her looks down a peg for the part. As for the male leads, I’m testing an actor today who may be right for the second lead; I’ll know more tomorrow. Again, I want fresh faces, even for the star’s role.”

“I’ll go call some agents,” Ruth said.

“Call the acting teachers first. See who among their students they recommend.”

She gave him a wave and left.

His associate producer, Howard Cross, spoke up. “Who do you want to shoot it?”

“I hear Basil Weathers is shooting something at RKO.”

“He’s a Brit and a first-timer here. You want a Brit to shoot a western?”

“I want a fresh eye; a Brit would kill to shoot a western. Find out when Weathers wraps on the RKO film, and if it’s soon, get him over here to see me.”

“I’ll call his agent. What about lighting?”

“We’ll let our cameraman pick him.”

“Right. Anything else?”

“I’m going to produce and direct. I’ll give you single-card coproducer, though.”

“Okay.”

“I want you to handpick the stunt guys on this one. There are going to be some rough scenes, and I want them to look really rough.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“That’s it, then. Keep me posted.” With everybody gone, Rick started on the paperwork on his desk. Vance Calder wasn’t due for an hour.

Calder was announced and brought into Rick’s office at eleven sharp. He was wearing a Savile Row suit and expensive linen and shoes. His hair was beautifully cut. The two men shook hands, and Rick sat him down on the sofa and took a chair.

“I hope you haven’t made any plans for the rest of the day,” Rick said.

“No, I’m out of work now.”

“Not for long. An assistant director I like is going to come and get you in a few minutes, and you’re going to shoot a screen test, two scenes from a film we’ve just finished shooting, one with an American accent, one English. The clothes you’re wearing will be fine, and that will save time.”

“All right,” Calder said.

“Then he’s going to take you out to the back lot for some outdoor stuff, and we’ll provide you with the proper clothes. Have you ever ridden a horse?”

“I had a pony as a child, spent a lot of time pretending to be Tom Mix. I rode to the hounds a couple of times in my teens and didn’t die.” His accent was stage English now.

“That’s a start,” Rick said. “Tell me, how does an out-of-work actor with a construction job come up with that suit?”

“It was made when I was a working actor, in London. I think I may still owe the tailor for it.”

The door opened, and Rick stood up. “Hi, Billy. Vance, this is Bill Thomas. He’s going to direct you today. Billy, this is Vance Calder.” The two young men shook hands and started to leave the office, but Calder returned.

“Rick, there’s something I have to tell you. I lied to you yesterday, and I don’t think that’s a good way for us to start out.”

“What did you lie about?”

“My real name is Herbert Willis. Calder is my mother’s maiden name, and she had an uncle named Vance. It was legally changed in London a couple of years ago.”

“Herbert Willis, huh? Glenna’s real name is Louise Brecht. Keep both of them to yourself,” Rick said.