The Classic Car Killer. Richard A. Lupoff
there hates it. But that’s where the industry is. So I commute as often as I have to. Anybody who can help it lives someplace else. San Diego, Bakersfield, Palm Springs, Santa Barbara. LA is one miserable town.”
“You mean, you commute between Oakland and Los Angeles? You live here and work here, and just head down there when you have to, to, uh, attend a meeting, or whatever?”
Roberts smiled. “Well, I keep a little place down there. My little cottage in the valley, you know.” He whistled a few bars of an old tune. Lindsey recognized the melody. He could almost hear Bing Crosby singing, “I’m gonna settle down and nevermore roam, and make the San Fernando Valley my home.”
Lindsey said, “I see. And you’re working on your next film now?”
“TV series. I’m thirty-three years old and I’ve got my own series. My concept, I pick the scripts, I write the ones I like. Already did a pilot, network loved it, we’ll be on next season.”
“I didn’t realize you were switching from motion pictures to TV.”
“Not switching. Done both all along. You ought to see my episodic credits. You ever watch Kelly Scalese, cop show? Galaxy Force, sci-fi? Uncle Bud, real heart-warmer? Did scripts for ’em all. Almost won an Emmy year before last. Well, almost got nominated. Let me tell you something, there are so many bums peddling their scripts down there, anybody has a shred of talent can’t help succeeding.”
“That’s fascinating. I always wondered.…”
“Writers Guild is full of deadwood, more smarts in a Burger King than most studios and networks put together.”
Lindsey had the feeling that this conversation was slipping away from him. He’d meant to ask a few polite questions about Roberts’ work, get him talking freely, then switch the subject to the Duesenberg and the New California Smart Set. Now Roberts was revving up to speed for what looked like a full-fledged exercise of Hollywood ego.
“I don’t want to take up your time,” Lindsey interrupted. That was usually pretty successful. “It’s just that, as the only eye witness to the theft of the Duesenberg, I was hoping you might be able to give me some help.”
“Didn’t we go over this yesterday? Didn’t you come to my condo?”
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
“Then I don’t see what I can do to help you. I’m awfully busy, you know. I have to start stockpiling scripts for Jazz Babies. You know who this is for? I don’t even want to say it. Look at this.” He picked up a matte finish Cross pencil and sketched a network logo. “They’re all cast, going to use most of the people from the pilot, they need to start shooting episodes. Network wants to run the pilot again, that’s fine with me, then start right off, hour a week.”
“Is that the name of the show? Jazz Babies? Oh, that must be what your license plate means. Very clever. Mother wanted to watch the movie of the week.”
“That’s what they do with pilots nowadays. Too expensive to make ’em and then trashbarrel ’em if they don’t fly. So they put ’em on as movie of the week. If they fly, the pilot pre-sells the show to the public, you get a ready-made audience from day one. If they crash, at least the net makes some money off the pilot so it isn’t a total loss.”
“Yes. Uh—”
“Did your mother love it?”
“Well, she—”
“Would it be impolite to ask you her age? She’d have to be in the fifty-five-to-sixty-four bracket, I’d think. White female. Marital status?”
“Uh, she’s widowed.”
“Income, no, never mind, I can gauge that, total household thirty-five-to-fifty kay. Ah, never mind that. Did she love it a lot?”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you, Mr. Roberts—”
“Joe. You can’t imagine what it’s like, getting called Henry Fonda ten times an hour. Just Joe. What about your mom?”
“Well, she wasn’t feeling very.… She has these, ah…let’s say, spells. You know, she isn’t quite as—well, anyway, she had to lie down so she missed the movie. Jazz Babies. But she wanted to see it.”
“You didn’t tape it? Time-shift. She could watch it when she felt better.”
“No, actually I didn’t.”
Roberts turned to his computer and entered a few words from the keyboard. “There, that should remind me to give you a tape for her. She’ll love it a lot.”
“Is that why you joined the Smart Set? Are you doing research for your TV show?”
“Nobody down there knows that.”
“I won’t tell.”
“Sure. Bunch of old geezers. You get some of those old-timers off in a corner, get a couple of drinks inside ’em, they won’t turn it off about the old days. In fact, you don’t need to get any drinks inside ’em, often as not. They love to talk about it.”
“And you listen.”
“Sure. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there? Have to do research. They all know what I do for a living, they’ve all figured it out by now, why I’m there.”
“You just said nobody knows.”
“Well, officially nobody knows. Unofficially, some of them know. Hell, probably all of them know. They get a thrill out of thinking they’re the only one who’s caught on.”
“Your license plate is a clue, isn’t it? And I imagine most of them would have seen Jazz Babies.”
“Jazz Babies—the Movie.”
“Yes.”
“I like to call it that to distinguish it from Jazz Babies—the Series.”
Lindsey grunted.
“Once we’re on the network, I’ll be made,” Roberts said. “There will be no stopping me, then. You just have no idea what it means to have a prime-time series of your own. This will be it for me!”
Lindsey said, “Who do you think stole the Duesenberg?”
Roberts’ eyes widened. He’d been dazzled by the brilliance of his own Hollywood fantasy. In his mind he’d been surrounded by big-shot producers and glamor-dripping actresses. Suddenly he was back in Oakland, back talking with an insurance adjuster about a stolen car.
“You have a theory?” Lindsey pressed. “Let your creative imagination roam.”
“I can think of a lot of people who’d love to own a Dusie. Hell, I’d love it myself. But not to steal one. It’s too hard to hide.”
“Right. I’ve been over that ground myself.” There was an uncomfortable silence, then Lindsey said, “Well, I suppose I’d better be on my way. Thanks for your time, Joe.”
Roberts swung toward the door. “Think I’ll ride down in the elevator with you. Take a little walk, get out of this air conditioning and breath some natural pollution for a change.”
On the way to the lobby, Roberts said, “Where you headed now? You going to play sleuth on this thing?”
“I don’t know.” Lindsey frowned. “I’ve handled plenty of stolen auto cases, but never one like this before. I think I’d better get back to the Kleiner Mansion while it’s still daylight. Walk around the scene, maybe talk to Ms. Smith.”
“Like some company? I wasn’t getting much done today, on Jazz Babies. Maybe this’ll clear my head for me.”
Lindsey shrugged. “Sure.” After all, why not? Roberts had given him a lot of information about his career in Hollywood, but almost nothing about the Smart Set or the theft of the Duesenberg. Lindsey had a feeling that Roberts