Bombshell Read online

  “Oh, look, there’s Eddie,” Rachael said. She sounded like she’d been thrown a lifeline, spotting someone she knew. “He’s the head electrician. He can help you out. Hey, Eddie!”

  Bruce pointed at her. “Don’t go anywhere. He won’t know what I want.”

  The electrician came over.

  Rachael, desperately trying to maneuver the handoff, said, “Eddie. This is the electrical inspector, checking out the circuits. Surely you can tell him what he needs to know?”

  Eddie reacted as if Bruce had invaded enemy turf. His greeting could not have been less welcoming. “Who sent you?”

  “Wozniak,” Bruce said. It was his go-to name. Nobody wanted to admit they didn’t know Wozniak. “Said I’d have a clear field.”

  “Is that right?” Eddie said.

  “Listen, I don’t want to keep you from what you’re doing. I know you’re under time pressure. Rachael can show me what I need. I’ll just ask you if I have a question.”

  “Right,” Eddie said. He couldn’t get away from Bruce quick enough.

  Bruce turned back to the unfortunate Rachael. “So, I’m mostly concerned with the production. You’ll be having dance numbers?”

  “There are five Oscar-nominated songs. Three of them have dance numbers. There’s also the opening number. It starts on film, then through movie magic appears to finish up in the theater, and leaves the host onstage for the opening monologue.”

  “Where is that?”

  “On the podium.”

  “In the center?”

  “No. It’s upstage left.”

  “There?”

  “No. Stage left is the actor’s left. It’s to your right as you face the stage.”

  “Where do they give out the awards?”

  “Downstage center.”

  “Exactly where?”

  “Why?”

  “There will be a mic there. You say that’s downstage center?”

  “Actually, there will be two of them. One right of center, one left of center. They’ll alternate presenting from side to side.”

  “I’ll need those spots marked off. And I’ll need to know which awards are given from which.”

  “Why?”

  “Do they tell me? They say find out. I’m sure you can get me a list. And I’ll need to see where those mics line up under the stage.”

  “Oh.” Rachael’s spirits were sinking. “Really?”

  “By now you got your show mapped out. Where the host is, where the presenters are, where the numbers are staged. You got a copy of that with you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, let’s get one. Where would that be, back at the office?”

  “That’s right. I’ll go get it.”

  “Don’t be silly. Call them. Have someone run it over.”

  Rachael liked the idea. She took out her cell phone, made the request. Minutes later an intern arrived with the chart. Rachael, who couldn’t have been much more than an intern herself, was gratified to accept it.

  “Here, let’s see that,” Bruce said.

  He took it from her, sat on the steps, and unfolded it onto the stage.

  From a distance the stage had appeared solid, but up close it was a checkerboard of cracks and lines.

  “What are all the grooves in the floor?”

  “Oh. Trapdoors. Removable sections. The whole stage is trapped. You can take out any section and have an entrance from anywhere for a production number.”

  “What’s down below?”

  “Removable grids and catwalks. We’ve been told that there’s nothing we could do at the other theater that we can’t do at this one.”

  “Well, let’s see,” Bruce said, lining things up. “The spots for the presentations are here and here. And look. We have outlets sunk into the floor of the stage in both places. I’ll have to check them out from below and see how they’re wired. You say there’s a grid down there?”

  “Scaffolding and catwalks. Do you need to see?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Rachael led Bruce into the wings, through a fire door, and down a long stairway to the lower level.

  At the bottom of the stairs they emerged into a large open area with chairs and couches scattered about.

  “This is the greenroom,” Rachael said, “where the actors from the show hang out. It’s right below the orchestra pit. The dressing rooms are off that way, under the audience. The section you’re concerned with is over here.”

  Directly beneath the stage, a concrete floor held scaffolding rising all the way up to the catwalks twenty-five feet above.

  “The actors have to come from down here?” Bruce said.

  “No, there’s access to the catwalk from the wings on either side so they don’t have to climb.”

  “We couldn’t have done that?” Bruce said.

  Rachael was flustered. “I thought you wanted to see it from down here.”

  “Not a problem.”

  Bruce climbed a set of metal steps up to the catwalk along the back wall of the theater. He had to stoop down to walk under the stage. He followed a maze of ramps in the direction he thought the presenters’ marks might be. He could see the power lines from the outlets tacked along the support beams that held up the sections of the stage. There were many more outlets than the two he was concerned with.

  Bruce maneuvered himself into position below his best guess for the stage-right presentation outlet. The stage floor next to it had a hinged trapdoor held in place by sliding wooden beams. Bruce pulled them out. The trapdoor swung down and hung on its hinges.

  Bruce stuck his head through the trap and checked out the stage floor. Sure enough, the outlet he had lined up was the one he had located from the floor plan, the one where the stage-right presenter’s microphone would be.

  Bruce pushed the trap back up and secured it. He fished a Magic Marker out of his pocket and unobtrusively marked an X next to the bottom of that outlet.

  He located the stage-left outlet in a similar manner and marked it, too.

  Bruce spent another ten minutes inspecting the grid, then joined the assistant down below. He toured the rest of the theater so she wouldn’t be suspicious, and let her go.

  “Well, that’s it,” he said. Rachael was tremendously relieved, but her heart immediately sank. “I’ll have to check it out one more time on the day of the show. Nothing extensive, just a quick check to make sure everything is in place. Won’t take more than fifteen minutes, tops. You’ll need to meet me and let me in. If everything goes smoothly, I will be able to give you a very nice boost with the boss.”

  Bruce favored her with a smile, and left.

  It should work just fine.

  69

  Sherry Day was over the moon. Sleeping with that producer had been worthwhile after all. She hadn’t gotten the part, but she had wound up with seats at the Oscar Awards, the hottest ticket in town. She would go dressed to the nines in a backless gown, something plunging to the waist, her outfit just screaming for attention. One way or another she would get on TV, and it would lead to something big.

  She knew it was a pipe dream, but it was a nice pipe dream, and it made up for a bunch of bad readings and missed auditions and cattle-call extra work, and the whole sad cycle of desperation and despair. For one glorious night she’d be somebody.

  Her cell phone rang. She fumbled for it in her purse, saying the same little prayer she always did on these occasions. “Let it be my agent.”

  “Sherry Day?”

  “Yes?”

  “My name is Sylvester, I’m a friend of Nelson Hogue’s. Do you remember the party at the Richter estate?”

  Sherry did. She’d begged a massive favor from Nelson, to secure her an invitation to a party at the home of a prestigious Hollywood agent. The agent didn’t seem the least bit interes
ted in her, and some of the guests got the impression she’d been hired from an escort service.

  “Well, you owe him, and he owes me. I need a favor. He offered to transfer the indebtedness. I understand you’re going to the Oscars.”

  Sherry’s heart sank. “Yes, I am.”

  “Well, good for you. It’s almost impossible to get those tickets. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.”

  Sherry’s relief was palpable. “Yes, I’m sure I will.”

  “You have two tickets, don’t you? Who is your date?”

  “My boyfriend.”

  “Yeah. About that. I’m afraid he won’t be able to go.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry. I have someone to take his place.”

  70

  Peter called Teddy into his trailer between takes.

  “You had something you wanted to discuss?” Teddy said.

  “Oscar night. We have to work out the logistics.”

  “Ah, yes. You have it figured out yet?”

  “To the extent that I can. For reasons that defy understanding, the awards are being held at the Grande Palladium Theater this year, instead of the usual venue. Which is a pain, because you can’t get a sense of where everything is by watching previous Oscars ceremonies.”

  “I’m sure it will be the same.”

  “Some things never change. Celebrities will be walking the red carpet for the pre-Oscar show. You and Tessa will have to do that.”

  “Oh, hell.”

  “You’ll be fine. Most of the questions will be aimed at Tessa. I’d appreciate it if you’d jump in if anyone is giving her a hard time.”

  “I’m going to be with Tessa?”

  “Yes. I’ve ordered the two of you a limo. It will drop you off right on the red carpet. Hattie, Ben, and I will go in quietly together. Not a recognizable face in the lot of us. We can walk in practically unscathed.”

  “You’re an Oscar-nominated director. An interview wouldn’t kill you.”

  Peter grinned. “That doesn’t mean I have to do one. Anyway, Ben and Tessa are coming over for drinks beforehand. I figured you’d join us and we’d all leave from there.”

  “What time?”

  “Around three. I suggested earlier, and the girls howled. Apparently there’s something about dressing for these occasions that requires half the day.”

  “Yeah, the gowns get more ink than the awards. Luckily, a tux always looks like a tux.”

  “You’re wearing a tux?”

  “Absolutely. I’ll have to be two people. I don’t have to change if they’re both wearing a tux.”

  “Good point.”

  “The order of the awards works for us. The first one given is always Best Supporting Actor. The presenter will read the nominees. The camera will cut to me sitting with Tessa. That will establish that Mark Weldon is there and is in the audience.

  “Best Picture is the last award. So, about halfway through the show Mark Weldon will get up and go to the bathroom. Sometime after that, producer Billy Barnett will come in and take his place with you, Hattie, and Ben.”

  “That’s fine in theory,” Peter said.

  “What do you mean, ‘in theory’?”

  “Well, in your little scenario, you’re in the audience sitting next to Tessa after your category’s called.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Well, what happens if you win? You’ve got to accept the award, and even after that you can’t go back down the steps into the audience. Don’t they spirit you off somewhere and shoot footage of you and do backstage interviews and all that?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Well, think of it now. What happens if you win?”

  Teddy considered. “Well, I don’t think we’ll have to worry.”

  “Why not?”

  “Hell will have frozen over.”

  71

  Teddy, in his Mark Weldon guise, took Tessa and Viveca out to a restaurant on the lunch break. They had Dylan, the production assistant, drive them. He was rapidly becoming the actors’ go-to PA. At least Viveca’s. She seemed to take a keen interest in the boy.

  “Too bad Dylan can’t come in,” Viveca said, once they were seated at a table in the restaurant. Dylan, of course, remained outside in the car.

  “He’s got to guard the production car,” Teddy said. “If anything happens to it, the production manager would have his head.”

  “So why’d you want to come here?” Tessa said, changing the subject.

  “Oh, I just wanted to have lunch with my two best girls outside the watchful eye of the whole damn crew. It always feels like we’re under a microscope on the set. It’s nice to be alone.”

  “I hate to spoil your fun,” Viveca said, “but if you glance around, heads are turning.”

  “Maybe so, but nobody’s going to rush up and put makeup on our faces, or lead us back to a trailer for a costume change, or walk us in front of a camera to show us our marks.”

  No one bothered them. They ate lunch without incident.

  When they were done, Viveca got a doggie bag and brought half of her beef brisket sandwich out to Dylan in the car. He munched on it gratefully as he pulled out of the parking space. The boy was clearly hungry.

  “If he drives off the road it’s your fault,” Tessa said.

  “Sorry,” Dylan said. “I shouldn’t be eating in the car.”

  “No one cares,” Viveca said. “Just don’t hit any large trucks and we’ll be fine.”

  Teddy wasn’t listening. He was glancing out the windows to see if anyone was taking an interest in them. He spotted two cars belonging to Mike Freeman’s men, who were protecting Tessa as they’d been assigned to do. That was good to know.

  It only took Teddy a few blocks to ascertain that no one else was paying any attention to the car. That was the true reason he’d taken Tessa and Viveca out to lunch. Mike Freeman’s men would have reported any suspicious activity if they’d spotted it, but Teddy didn’t want to rely on that alone. He wanted to see for himself.

  Mike Freeman’s men were good.

  But he was better.

  72

  Gino Patelli was nervous. The one key piece of information they needed to provide to their shooter—Billy Barnett’s seat location at the Oscars—still eluded them, despite all of Sylvester’s connections.

  “Don’t we know one damn person who can find the info?”

  “No,” Sylvester said. It wasn’t good to say no to Gino Patelli, but this was a case where the best course of action was ripping off the Band-Aid. He immediately plunged into an explanation. “The producers don’t share the seat numbers of the celebrities with the ushers or staff until the last minute. Such information is likely to slip out and makes it too easy for fans to stalk them. They don’t want people pestered and made to feel uncomfortable. Their faces are going to be seen on TV. It’s important that they seem to be enjoying themselves.”

  “That’s the party line?”

  “It is.”

  “You buy that bullshit?”

  “I do. We know approximately where he’s going to be sitting. Up front with the other nominees.”

  “This is a nightmare. If we can’t give the shooter Billy Barnett’s seat number, how is he going to find him?”

  “The man’s a professional. I’m sure he can find his target.”

  “I don’t want your assurance. I want his assurance. And I can’t fucking get it, because I can’t fucking talk to him.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “How will you take care of it?”

  “I don’t know, but I will.”

  “Not good enough. Tell me now.”

  Sylvester felt uneasy. He’d had an idea, but it was a last resort that involved bringing yet another risk factor into the operat
ion. But Gino was beginning to panic, and beggars couldn’t be choosers. “The kid can do it.”

  “What kid?”

  “Dylan. He can get Billy Barnett’s seat number, and give it to the shooter.”

  “You think he’ll be able to come through?”

  “He doesn’t have a choice.”

  “Make it work.”

  73

  Dylan had a sick feeling in his stomach as he knocked on the door to Viveca’s trailer. He’d done everything he could think of to find out where Billy Barnett would be sitting the night of the Oscars—scanned incoming mail, tried to break into Barnett’s trailer, prodded Barnett’s secretary until she became noticeably suspicious and clammed up. This was his last chance, his Hail Mary.

  Viveca called, “Come in.”

  He went in and found her lying on the bed. She had taken her costume off, and was wearing a bra and panties and a skimpy makeup robe. She hadn’t bothered to pull it around her. She was, as usual, completely unselfconscious.

  “Hi, Dylan. Don’t tell me they want me.”

  “No.” He grimaced. “I have something to ask you.”

  Viveca smiled and sat up. “Well, it can’t be as bad as all that. What is it?”

  “About Sunday night.”

  “The Oscar awards?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about it?”

  Dylan shook his head and kicked shit. “I feel really funny asking you this.”

  Viveca patted the bed beside her. “Sit down, Dylan. You’re way too nice a guy to be so troubled. What is it?”

  He sat down and took a breath. “I know there’s not a chance in hell, and I feel bad about asking, but is there any way you could get me there?”

  Viveca’s mouth fell open. She blinked. “You want to go to the Oscars?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, my goodness. No wonder you’re so nervous about asking. Do you know how hard it is to get a ticket to the Oscars? I’m a nominee, and I wasn’t sure they were going to give me a ticket.”