Page 40 of All That Glitters

Chapter thirty

Power Grids and Gas Station Burritos

Tony arrived on set that morning and couldn’t believe his eyes.

All the equipment was back — cameras, lights, sound gear, everything arranged exactly as it was before Preston had the rental company seize it.

The Rif Raf crew was bustling around with renewed energy, setting up for their final day of shooting.

“Whatcha got there?” Tony said as he walked over.

“Just a little business transaction me and the boys done with Preston Jordan last night.” Craig held up one of the photos. It was a particularly damning photo of Preston Jordan with an inflatable doll, smiling at a cow.

“And look at this here one,” Craig said, flipping to another photo. “Preston’s all cuddled up with them dudes that’s pretendin’ to be chicks.”

Tony cracked up, shaking his head.

“And these ain’t even the best. Todd’s editing a video that Preston sure ain’t gonna want to see the light of day.”

“I take it the ‘negotiations’ went well?”

“Better than well,” Craig said, holding up another one of the photos from the folder. Tony caught a glimpse of what appeared to be Preston Jordan in a compromising position with the tattooed biker chicks. It involved leashes, leather, feathers, and a goat.

Tony quickly looked away. “I didn’t see that.”

“Smart man.” Craig slipped the photo back into the folder.

“But here’s the best part — Preston didn’t just give us our equipment back.

He also agreed to bankroll a real Hollywood premiere for our movie.

You know, red-carpet, photographers, all that sorta stuff.

Plus, he’s gonna arrange distribution through his contacts. ”

“Seriously?” Tony’s jaw dropped. “How did you manage that?”

Craig’s grin widened. “Amazing what rumors of a sex tape involving farm animals can accomplish.”

Tony laughed. “So you’re blackmailing him.”

“I prefer to think of it as an insurance policy.”

Tony happened to glance across the set to where Carrie was playing fetch with Elvis. She would throw the tennis ball, and the dog would bound off across the cemetery lawn to retrieve it and bring it back to her for a scratch behind his ear. This was new.

“Carrie’s not chasing you guys with a baseball bat anymore,” Tony said.

Craig laughed. “Can you believe she showed up this morning with some cookies she baked for the boys? She wanted to thank us for that apology we got from Preston.”

“It meant a lot to her that you guys had her back like that,” Tony said. “Not many people do.”

Craig nodded. “Been noticin’ that. She don’t get a lot of respect in this town, does she?”

“Not really.”

“That’s a damn shame,” Craig said. “’Cause me and the boys have taken a real likin’ to that girl. She’s kinda become a little sister to us.”

Tony grinned. “When she’s not trying to kill you.”

Craig let out a deep, bellowing laugh. “Hell, I’d be trying to kill me too if I went through half the crap that girl has. But Carrie keeps comin’ back, and that means everything to us. She’s a team player, and me and the boys ain’t gonna forget that.”

Preston sat behind his large mahogany desk, staring at a crystal tumbler of bourbon. It was a little after 1:15 in the afternoon, and this was his third.

His office had once been a mecca to the kind of obscene power Hollywood’s movers and shakers wielded.

But now, it smelled more like a barn. A faint, musky odor still clung to the Persian rug, and chicken feathers were everywhere.

One of his priceless abstract paintings hung slightly askew, and he’d spent the morning picking goat pellets from his carpet and cleaning a mess the donkey left on his putting green.

All Preston could figure was that the gang had fed it a dozen gas station burritos before coming over.

He downed the bourbon in one burning gulp and slammed it back on his desk. Beside it sat the contract with Rif Raf Produkshuns, LLC, making him partners with a gang of biker ex-convicts.

He had no choice, he reminded himself, downing another gulp of bourbon.

They knew all about the tax evasion, the shell companies, and the other.

.. he decided to call them ‘indiscretions.’ Plus, they had enough compromising photos and videos to shame the Marquis de Sade.

So now, he was stuck bankrolling a red-carpet premiere for a vampire movie made by the Three Stooges.

Plus, he had to find a distributor for it.

A tentative knock at the door made him jump, sloshing bourbon onto his desk blotter.

“What is it?” he snapped, wiping the spill with the sleeve of his thousand-dollar suit jacket.

His weaselly assistant, Percy, poked his head into the room, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and morbid curiosity. He looked like a meerkat peering out of its burrow, sensing a predator nearby.

“Mr. Jordan, sir,” Percy stammered, keeping one foot in the hallway for a quick escape. “Line one is blinking. It’s Lauren Zales, from Hollywood Gossip.”

Preston’s blood ran cold. He could feel the color drain from his face. “What does she want?” he hissed.

Percy swallowed hard. “She, uh… she said she’s following up on a tip. She wants to know if there’s any truth to the rumors… of a sex tape.” Percy’s voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “…involving mannequins… and… and farm animals?”

Preston didn’t hesitate. He picked up the half-full crystal decanter of bourbon from his desk and hurled it at Percy with a guttural roar.

“GET OUT!”

Percy shrieked, ducking back out into the hallway just as the decanter shattered against the doorframe, spraying expensive liquor and shards of crystal across the carpet.

From the hallway, Percy’s muffled, terrified voice could be heard. “So… should I tell her you’ll call her back?”

The only answer from inside the office was the sound of something else, possibly a Golden Globe, being thrown against the wall.

Night had fallen over the cemetery as the crew prepared for their last scene. This was it, the ‘martini shot,’ and the excitement on set was palpable. Around them, the air was cool and thick with the smell of damp earth and diesel fumes from the ‘fog machine.’

“Alright, everyone. Get in yer places,” Craig bellowed from his director’s chair. “We’s ready to shoot our last scene! Let’s make some magic!”

Everyone hurried into position. Roy lined up the shot while Carl revved the truck’s engine, coughing a plume of exhaust over the set.

Carrie and the three nerds positioned themselves near the marble angel statue, the same one Carl and Roy had so artfully glued back together, its head still on backwards.

Steve stepped in front of them and held up the slate.

“Roll sound. Scene ninety, take one.”

CLACK!

“Action!” Craig yelled.

Carrie and the trio of nerd vampire hunters crept past the disfigured angel statue, the boys sweeping their potato cannon vampire-weapons-of-death like soldiers on patrol. Suddenly, without warning, all three nerds fell into an open grave, completely disappearing from sight.

POP! POP! POP!

The potato cannons misfired on impact, shooting stakes from the grave into the air in haphazard directions.

As if on cue, a vampire jumped out from behind the angel statue.

It was Todd, wearing a cheap Count Dracula costume and plastic fangs, but everyone pretended it was terrifying.

Carrie took a quick glance back at the grave, where the nerds were struggling to climb out without much success, then spun back to vampire-Todd and improvised.

She dove onto him, tackling him onto the grass, and jabbed her prop stake into his chest.

“OW!” Todd yelped, a bit too convincingly.

Carrie climbed to her feet, not realizing the prop stake might have been more stake than ‘prop.’

“Did you get him?” came one of the nerd’s muffled voices from the grave.

“We got him,” she said.

“YAY!” came a muffled chorus from the grave.

“And... CUT!” Craig shouted, rising from his director’s chair. “That there’s a wrap, folks! We got us a movie!”

The entire set erupted in cheers. Everyone jumped to their feet, hugging and high-fiving — everyone except for Todd. He took a bit longer climbing to his feet, the stake sticking straight out of his chest like a cartoon arrow.

Todd grabbed the stake and tried tugging it out, but it wasn’t budging.

“Dang,” he muttered to himself, staring in disbelief at the stake. “How’m I s’pose to explain this to the wife?”

Meanwhile, beneath some trees at the edge of the set, dirt flew from a hole as Elvis burrowed deep into the ground with the singular focus only a dog can possess. Roy wandered over, curious.

“Whatcha doin’ there, boy?”

Elvis looked up at him, his tail wagging, then went right back to digging with renewed vigor.

Back on set, the gang was still celebrating. Craig spotted Tony heading his way.

“Looks like we got us a picture,” Craig said, beaming with pride. They grabbed each other in a hug. “Don’t it seem like just yesterday we’s in the jail listenin’ to yer story.”

Tony was all bittersweet smiles. “It’s been a hell of a ride,” he said, clapping Craig on the shoulder. “Thanks for taking a chance on my script.”

“Thanks for lettin’ us,” Craig said, giving Tony’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. He took a deep breath. “Ain’t gonna be the same wakin’ up tomorrow and not coming out here and seein’ you all.”

Tony nodded. He was feeling the postpartum blues kicking in himself. “We need to get another one going soon.”

“Hell, yeah, we do.”

Todd wandered over with the stake still sticking out of his chest. “Someone wanna give me a hand with this here,” he said, staring down at the stake.

Craig looked at the stake lodged firmly in Todd’s sternum. “Hey, Carl,” he called over calmly, as if this was an everyday occurrence; which, knowing these guys, it probably was. “Need you to give me a hand with somethin’.”

Carl walked over and joined them. He paused when he saw the stake; but instead of looking horrified, he just shook his head.

“Holy jeez, Todd,” Carl said. “Yer wife’s gonna kill ya when she sees what ya done to yer shirt.”

“I know,” Todd said in a panic. “Just help me get this thing out and I’ll come up with somethin’.”

Craig nodded to Carl. “Grab him from behind and hold him. We’ll see if we can do it without needin’ the winch this time.”

Carl grabbed and held Todd, while Craig wrapped his hands around the stake and tugged. With a sharp yelp from Todd, the stake came out, leaving a hole the diameter of a golf ball in his chest.

Todd stared down at the hole in his chest. “Well, I’ll be damned.” He looked back at the others. “Anyone got a spare shirt I can borrow so the wife don’t find out?”

Just then, Roy’s voice called over from across the lawn — “Craig! Better take a look at this. Yer dog’s chewin’ on somethin’.”

“What is it now?” Craig grumbled as he walked over. He found Roy leaning over the hole Elvis had dug, peering into the darkness. Elvis was tugging at a thick, black cable he’d unearthed, gnawing on it like a prized bone.

“Not quite sure,” Roy said, his voice puzzled. “Looks like a power cable of some sorts.”

The view was a sweeping panorama of Los Angeles at night, a vast, glittering carpet of millions of lights under a moonless sky.

Then, in the distance, a section of the grid went dark.

Another followed. And another. A creeping, silent void was spreading across the city, extinguishing the glitter block by block. The City of Angels was going dark.