Dirty Movies (38 page)

‘As must you
, dear boy,’ she cried, throwing her arms around him. ‘And you Michael,’ she said, yanking him into the fold.

‘Hi Sam, it’s me!’ Polly heard Joe
say. ‘How do you and the kids fancy a trip to Disneyland?’

Joe discovered Polly on the stairs outside their office a little while later. She had a face like thunder and was hacking away at the dress’s security tag with a pair of blunt scissors and a ruler.

‘Want a hand there, Winona?’ he
joked, but Polly didn’t flicker. 

He tried again. ‘Is this your dress for tonight?’

‘It was.’

‘It’s nice.’

‘It was,’ she repeated, tonelessly.

Joe looked puzzled. ‘Are you ok?’

She bit back the tears and nodded.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Joe!’ shouted Michael from the doorway. ‘I’ve got Cosmos Pictures on the line. They’ve gone and hired us some fancy Awards Consultant. He wants to fly us out first thing to discuss campaign strategies, you in?’

‘
You should come too,’ said Joe to Polly. ‘You’re as much a part of this as us. You should be there for the victory lap.’

‘Don’t be silly
,’ said Polly, crushingly. ‘I’d only be a distraction, dragging you on endless celeb-stalking trips around Beverley Hills.’

‘Sounds fun. We could throw
Big Mac wrappers over Stephen’s front gate.’

‘C’mon Joe,’ urged Michael. ‘S
hould I tell them to book the tickets or not?’

Joe wavered for a moment but Polly had no such prevarication. A spell apart might be
exactly what they both needed. She also needed to figure out her next career move. She loved working for Harper but she wanted to produce her own movies one day.

‘He says yes
,’ she called out to Michael. ‘And if possible, he’d like a window seat next to Nicole Kidman.’

‘And if Kidman’s not flying?’ drawled Michael, sounding amused.

‘Then Blanchett at a push... Remember, you’re a Golden Globe nominated director now,’ she added to Joe, as he collapsed with laughter. ‘You may as well act the part.’

On the other side of the Atlantic, Stephen was indeed wining and dining a lucky female that night, but she wasn’t a journalist, she was the hottest new actress in Hollywood, Candy Lee, who, right now, was blowing kisses suggestively across the table at him and doing filthy things with her toes under it. Alas, Stephen’s dick remained as wilted as his spinach. This despite Candy’s divine cleavage pleasantly bloating the front of her sheer black blouse, and the fact that he had just received assurances from Walt Wilson himself that last year’s publicity budget would be trebled for the upcoming award season campaign.

It was all Joe’s fault
, thought Stephen, savagely, as he chased a truffle shaving around his dinner plate with his fork. He had been knocked all kinds of silly by Joe’s success and now jealously was gnawing away at him like a ravenous rat through blood-soaked rope. After pinching one of Maisie’s wigs, he had sneaked into a cinema one night to watch a showing of
Memoir
. Sat alone in the dark, boarded on all sides by a rapt audience, he had quickly realised that the movie unfolding on screen was a million times better than anything GBA had ever produced.  

To
make matters worse, Vincent was acting like a crazed robot two chips shy of a complete short-circuit these days, and it was only a question of time before he was carted off for a lengthy, if not permanent, stay at
Serenity Heights
. Stephen had always known that his producer’s mental state hovered uneasily between the
mildly peculiar
and
completely loopy
, but ever since Cannes, Vincent had been unravelling at a disturbing rate.

What’s worse, his recent behaviour was suggestive of a darker
, more disquieting inclination. There was nothing Stephen would like more than Michael’s dead body pushing up daisies, but he was dammed if he was going to be implicated in his murder. This town had too many washed-up celebrity convicts clogging up the penal system. Besides, the orange jump suit would be a big fashion no-no for him and liable to send his long-suffering stylist, Sergio, scampering up
Serenity Heights’
driveway after Vincent.

‘Excuse me sir would you like another bottle of the Rioja?’

Stephen nodded vaguely and the waiter delivered it minutes later with a business card discreetly attached.

Sebastian E. Stewart, Actor.

Stephen dropped his fork with a clatter. ‘For fuck’s sake, I can’t even have a meal without some desperado pestering me,’ he hissed, chucking the card at Candy. ‘Drink up, we’re leaving.’

Candy tried to pout
about it but she had so many fillers in her face she looked mildly constipated instead.

‘What about the wine?’ she wailed.

‘I’ll send for another back at the Wiltshire.’

Satisfied, Candy removed her foot from his dick. Picking up her clutch, she was just rising from her seat when a tidal wave of crimson hit her square in the face. As she stood there screaming
, and dripping in rich red claret, every male diner swivelled for a peek. Her blouse, by now completely transparent, had moulded to her nipples, which in turn, were looking almost as indignant about the whole episode as her expression.

‘You goddamn bastard
!’ hissed Maisie, slamming the empty glass back down on the table and rounding on Stephen. ‘You said you were dining with Walt Wilson, so why the hell are you hooking up with that tramp?’ She spat the word with such malice that a nearby couple was forced to seek shelter underneath their cocktail umbrellas.

‘Go home you stupid bitch
,’ snarled Stephen, pushing her away. ‘This is a business meeting, nothing more.’

‘A business meeting, huh?’ Maisie turned to face the dripping actress. ‘I didn’t realise you were in that sort of
business
, Candy? It can’t be any other sort, you don’t have the talent!’

‘That’s rich coming from a washed-up old whore like yourself!’ screamed Candy
. 

‘Not that washed-up
after my Golden Globe nomination today! I don’t remember seeing your name on the list? Then again, I don’t believe the Globes have categories for Worst Performance by a Tarty Try-Hard!’

With a squeal, Candy launched herself at Maisie and the two went careering backwards into the laden dessert trolley, catapulting a table of nearby diners with six variations of mouth-wateringly-subtle Michelin star puddings. By the ti
me the pair had been separated by a very harassed Maître D, the very architect of their spat had slipped out under the cover of airborne dark chocolate torte and was already halfway back to the Wiltshire.

LA’s 101 freeway wasn’t a patch on The Croisette, decided Joe, gazing out at a sea of dusty concrete peppered with potholes and skid-marks. It was more like the chavvy relation who never got invited at Christmas for fear of showing up drunk and insulting granny. Tatty green signs for Hollywood and Santa Monica had replaced the lush white buildings of Cannes, and rusty old Chevy’s, not shiny black limos, kept cutting up their taxi on the inside. Even the occasional palm tree dotted along the roadside was surprisingly sparse and grubby-looking.

‘Now this is more like it
,’ he murmured, as they turned onto Highland Avenue and dropped down into Hollywood. Studying the tourist map taped to the taxi driver’s partition, he couldn’t help but smile. Those nine, glossy white, forty-five foot high letters, the eighth wonder of any filmmaker’s world, were only just around the corner. 

‘
Before I flew out to see you last year, I spent my whole life wanting to visit this place,’ he confided to Michael who was sat beside him and texting furiously.

Michael grunted. ‘Somewhat ironic
, considering i’ve spent all mine trying to escape it. Especially the goddamn traffic,’ he howled as their taxi ground to a halt outside the Hollywood Bowl. All of a sudden, there were lanes and lanes of tightly packed, steaming hot vehicles stretching out as far as the eye could see. ‘We’re running outta time,’ he said quickly, consulting his watch. ‘I suggest we skip lunch, go straight to mine, have a quick shower then head over to Cosmos.’

‘When
are the publicity team expecting us?’

‘4pm
.’

‘
Is it going to be some twelve hour bum-blistering session? My head’s pounding after that flight.’ Wincing, Joe pulled out a crumpled box of painkillers and knocked back two with a slug of Michael’s Evian. ‘What time is it back in the UK?’

‘5:30am. Maybe it’s your regular Saturday morning hangover kicking in?’

‘I hope not after one small, revolting chardonnay at 33,000 feet. My god, would you look at that!’ he exclaimed, as a panting, white poodle stuck its head out of the next door Lexus with fancy-pants diamante collar around its neck. ‘That thing alone could finance our next movie.’

Bumper-to-Bumper through the Hollywood Boulevard intersection, their taxi
was soon turning right. Ten minutes later, they were pulling up to a delightful little house with a sweeping front lawn and an aromatic honeysuckle darkening the front porch.

‘
I still can’t believe you don’t own some Beverly Hills mansion,’ said Joe, pulling out a wad of dollars.

‘I’d rather live amongst the empt
y diet cokes in Vincent’s trashcan. You been up there yet? Rows and rows of picture-perfect properties, each one with as much charm as the charmless dick that owns it. At least this place has personality,’ he said, ushering Joe up the driveway. ‘That honeysuckle can be a real bitch if you don’t give her a restyle, once in a while. If we leave soon we can dodge the traffic.’

Taking Highland Avenue onto the 101 again, they followed signs for Cosmos Studios, turning onto the next exit ramp and heading north. Almost immediately, the foliage was greener and lusher, as if a team of Stand-By Art Directors had gone around injecting buckets of dye into everything. Even the palm trees looked more like the postcard variety, rather than their shabby brown cardboard cutout counterparts down the road.

Cruising up the Studio
’s barrier, Michael wound down the window and called out their names to security.

‘Parking Bay twelve please, Sir’ they responded brusquely. ‘A rep will be down to meet you and you
r team straightaway.’

They parked up next to a smart blue Convertible and the biggest pick-up truck Joe had ever seen.

‘Those wheels alone are bigger than my flat!’

‘Probably cost more as well
.’

‘Yoo-hoo Mr Wilson! Mr De Vries!’

A beautiful brunette rolled up alongside them in a golf buggy. Her legs were so skinny and endless they looked like a grasshopper’s squished in behind the wheel.

‘Sandy Yale, Junior Publicist
,’ she beamed at them, reaching out to shake their hands. ‘Delighted to meet the talent behind
Memoir
. Gee, what a wonderful little movie that is. Now hop on in, guys, and I’ll scoot you up to meet Bill.’ 

T
hey were soon whizzing up the drive, past the giant red X of the studio’s heli-pad and into the main complex.

‘Have you visited Cosmos before
?’ she asked Michael.

‘I came here for a meeting with my Pa a few years back
.’

‘I ta
ke it he’s in ‘the biz’ too then?’

‘You could say that
…’

‘His father’s Walt Wilson,’ added Joe, grinning as she
swerved sharply and clipped the side of a parked up camera truck.

‘Oh my gawd!
You’re
that
Michael Wilson…I didn’t realize.’ There was an embarrassed pause. ‘Would you guys like a quick tour of the studios before the meeting?’

‘Sounds good
,’ said Michael, catching Joe’s eye. Sandy was a beautiful woman but she clearly kept her brains in the buggy’s footwell.

They immediately hung a left and found themselves
on an Exterior London street set, complete with red phone booths lining the pavement and calling cards for
Naughty Nina
and
Busty Bella
taped to the windows.

‘Cosmos Studios was formed during the great studio era of the 1920s. Since then
, we have continually ranked as one of the leading studios in the world for both excellence and achievement,’ announced Sandy, programmed to perfection.

Joe stifled a smile. Wasn’t this the studio that
had released the biggest flop of all time, sank two production companies, and had the whole of Hollywood screaming for the VP’s head on a stick?

‘Coming up on our right
, you’ll see the first of our magnificent sound stages,’ she trilled, as they entered a different section of the studio. ‘We have twenty-five in total, ranging from twenty-eight thousand to eight thousand square feet…’

From the outset
, they looked like bleak, grey, industrial-sized packing warehouses, not unlike the ones lining the railway track between Clapham and Vauxhall, thought Joe idly, as Sandy slammed on the brakes to avoid a head-on collision with a FedEx truck.

‘Ahead
, you’ll see our on-site production offices,’ she added, pushing her shiny brown hair out of her eyes. ‘We moved here to set up Harper’s award campaign HQ. And
here
is where our short tour ends.’

In the vast shadow
of the sound stages, the little squat bungalows looked a bit like wooden scout huts. Joe half-expected to find a powwow of Baden Powell’s finest sitting crossed legged on the grass out front singing kumbaya.

As they
exited the buggy, there was a loud bang and a big burly American with an enormous brown birds-nest beard appeared in the doorway. He was waving a smoking champagne bottle in their direction.

‘Congratulations!’ he roared. ‘F
ive nominations for your first movie! I gotta say, you’ve impressed the hell outta me! Bill Charmers, Freelance Awards Consultant,’ he announced. ‘I’m the guy Cosmos call when they think they’ve gotta shot at the big stuff. In the last ten years, me and mah team have been responsible for forty-three top industry awards for this studio.’ He beamed proudly at them. ‘Quite a gold rush, don’t ya think?’

‘You sound like a real, modern-day Midas, Mr Charmers
,’ smiled Michael, stepping forward to shake his hand.

Bill chuckled. ‘That I am Mr Wilson, and if you guys win me number forty-four
, I may just be keeping that sobriquet for mahself. Please, make yourselves at home.’ He guided the men up the stairs and into a large square meeting room.

‘This is very good of you
, Mr Charmers, but I must confess we’re a little surprised,’ said Joe, taking a seat. ‘Our press conference in November was such a wash-out, we didn’t think we had a hope.’

‘But didn’t you get our memos?’ All of a sudden
, his super smooth southern charm didn’t sound quite so languid.

‘No, we…’

Before he could finish, Bill was up and out of his seat, cornering Sandy in the hallway and bawling her out for sloppy oversights.

‘
Stupid airhead,’ he muttered, storming back into the room, ‘I can assure you slip-ups like that won’t be happening now I’m in charge. You know about Cosmos submitting
Memoir
for BAFTA and Academy Award consideration though, right?’

Joe and Michael
both choked on their champagne.

Bill looked
furious. ‘Well that explains why y’all never showed up for the Q&A session at our BAFTA screening then!’

Joe’s brain was spinning like a super-charged Ferris wheel. An Oscar was the ultimate movie-making achievement, a guarantee to instant greatness
. Even in his wildest dreams he had never dared consider it.

‘Do you really think we ha
ve a shot?’ he heard Michael gasp.

Bill thawed out instantly
, with a grin that seemed to encompass the length and breadth of his beard. ‘Guys listen, every winter some ‘lil movie miracle pops out of nowhere and throws a curveball right at those nomination ballots. This year, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out its
Memoir
. But we’ve got our work cut out for us,’ he warned them, pulling out a cigar and neatly castrating the end of it. ‘Other Studios have been formulating their campaign strategies from as far back as May.’

‘Studios like my father’s
,’ said Michael with a slight edge. ‘So what do you need from us?’

‘Exposure!’ roared the big Texan excitedly. ‘And I’m
gonna pull in four of mah best publicists to get it! First off, we need to schedule in some major appearances and raise your profile. Then, we’re gonna throw some parties, charm some journalists and get that movie of yours seen. I want
Memoir
at the top of every publication’s
‘Movies of the Year List’
by Friday, and a wedge of Guild nominations for good measure. We’ll also place ads in the industry papers round town…’

‘You mean the ones with
For Your Consideration
written all over them?’ interrupted Joe.

‘Yes Sir
.’

‘It all sounds pretty ex
pensive. Our movie did ok but it’s no
Titanic
. Who picks up the bill for this stuff?’

‘Cosmos. Believe me,
it’s in their interests. Awards to these guys mean great DVD revenue, a packed theatre to your re-released movie. A Best Picture win can earn some serious bucks.’

‘Re-released?’ asked Joe, looking puzzled.

Bill nodded. ‘If I do my job right then
Memoir
will be heading right back to movie screens after a full house of Oscar nominations.’

‘I see, s
o
that’s
why Cosmo stalled the DVD release.’

‘
How significant are the Globes when it comes to the rest of the awards season?’ asked Michael suddenly.

The Texan lent back in his chair and stared at him
, meditatively.

‘Put it this way
, Mr Wilson, you’ll be needing an extended hire on that tux.’

Joe’s headache seemed to miraculously disappear after his glass of fizz, which was just as well as campaign discussions lasted long into the evening. At some point, Sandy must have crept in with take-out but they were all far too excited at the thought of securing a spot on
Saturday Night Live
to notice. It was gone two am by the time the Junior Publicist drove them back to Michael’s jeep.

The conversation
home was dominated by how best the publicity team should package their movie.

‘A smart narrativ
e performs miracles, I say we push us as the underdog,’ said Michael, taking a detour down Hollywood Boulevard. ‘
The money-spinners
pitched against
the quirky independent
. David versus five Goliaths, or however many films the Academy decide should be in contention for Best Picture next year.’

‘
So long as it doesn’t turn into a public slanging match with me and Stephen, the press are already picking up on the Gallagher Brothers vibes,’ said Joe, gazing out at the stars. Not the ones twinkling above, but rather those cemented to the sidewalks either side of the jeep.

Even at this hour
, the Boulevard was jammed with tourists and street performers decked out in their faded Batman costumes. All being well, come February, he might be back here rubbing shoulders with the real thing; Clooney, Bale. Even the funny looking one he could never remember the name of.