Chapter 3
The Shooting
"Goddammit Murrey, you don't have to be some kind of mind reader to know I'm getting pretty uptight about this picture! Just what the merry hell is that bastard doing at the studio, anyway? You sit on your ass and tell me he hasn't shot a single foot of film in the month he's been here!"
Angrily, Mason bit down on the stub of his cigar and exhaled furiously, filling the Bentley's passenger compartment with a heavy pall of blue-gray smoke.
Mason's chauffeur gagged, feeling as though he were driving through a steadily worsening fog. He rubbed tears from the corners of each eye, narrowly missing an oncoming Rolls. Warily he eased the big Bentley around a slow moving van, then guided it uneasily into New Compton Street.
The chauffeur was taking his employer; Murrey, and Steve Dane to the rented studio at Elstree, but the man privately doubted if they would make it unless Mr. Mason permitted him to open a window and let some of the accumulated cigar smoke escape. Like most habitual smokers, Mason didn't find his constant exhalations troublesome at all. And despite the fact that it was a warm, healthful spring morning, he insisted that every window be wound up tight....
"Why not give him a chance Mr. Mason?"
Karl urged. "He needs time to settle in...he doesn't work like most directors--. "
"Shit, you can say that one more time!" Mason sneered. "Why, if I was paying him on a week-by-week basis we'd go broke before this damned movie was halfway finished!"
He scowled, then broke off the argument in order to lean forward and give the chauffeur's shoulder a fierce and authoritative poke.
"Buddy boy, you can quit coughing and concentrate on driving," he snarled. "You nearly had us through the foyer of the Casino cinema then!"
"Please forgive me, Mr. Mason," the driver wheezed. "If I could just open the side window a fraction--. "
"Well, you might remember that the window goes open when I want it open, and then I'll tell you about it! You think I want all those goddamn germs and all that goddamn dirt in the car?" Mason champed on his cigar and blew a cloud of smoke past the chauffeur's ear. "It's unhealthy! The air in London stinks, especially around this goddamn area!"
"Certainly sir." The chauffeur slowed for the round-about at Cambridge Circus, holding his breath as long as possible and dreading the moment when he would be forced to inhale again. He waited until his boss was deep in argument, then discreetly pressed his foot on the accelerator, letting the sleek black Bentley gather speed as it moved down the Tottenham Court Road and into the relatively traffic-free streets which would take them across London to the fresh air of Hertfordshire. Then, maybe, he could catch up on his breathing again....
"Fleur just has to warm up, A. M., " Karl persuaded. "He likes to get to know the people he's going to work with, establish personal relationships. You can't rush genius, but I'm sure the results will--. "
"I just can't figure out why I let you talk me into this!" Mason grumbled. "I must have been crazy-or maybe you put something in my coffee!"
Mason belched and stared at Murrey accusingly.
"You know, I wouldn't put it past you at that," he said thoughtfully. "Have you got something going with this character Fleur? Are you and him trying to screw me up over this movie?"
"Oh, my God, no!" Karl hastened to stifle Mason's half-serious suspicions. "I'm as anxious as you are for him to get started. You know that A. M."
"Well, maybe." Mason still sounded dubious but he lapsed into a moody silence. The Bentley was soon traveling through North London, past the neat rows of semi-detached suburban houses and out into the less populated urban districts. Before long they were leaving the built-up areas altogether, speeding along the dual carriageway of the Watford By-Pass.
Mason rolled his cigar pensively from one corner of his mouth to the other, staring sightlessly at the green fields and outlying farms as they whizzed past in a meaningless blur. Finally, he turned to
Murrey again.
"Now tell me one more time," he demanded. "What's he planning to shoot first? The interiors or the location scenes?"
"To the best of my understanding, it's one week in the studio," Karl repeated. "Followed by a few days-he didn't specify exactly how long-around the West End of London. Then back to the studio for another week and--. "
"Well, this is costing me money!" Mason exclaimed. "Don't forget: I have to pay for the use of the studio, whether that American jerk uses it or not! Why the hell can't he be like any other director and shoot all the location scenes in one go-and the interiors later...then match 'em up in the cutting room?"
"The boy likes to shoot in sequence," Karl explained, not quite understanding how he managed to control his rising impatience.
This was the fifth time he had given Mason a rundown on Fleur's schedule. He knew that A. M. was too astute a businessman to have forgotten the details. His employer merely wanted to hear them all over again so that he could rant and rave about the waste of time and money involved....
"Sequence, shit!" Mason spat. "When you've got a clear, spelled-out script like Steve's you don't need a goddamn schedule!"
He reached across and patted the timid scriptwriter's knee with a gesture that was almost affectionate. Almost, but not quite. Al Mason had learned not to pamper his employees with too great a show of fondness.
"Well, anyhow," he continued briskly, reverting to the old subject of Fleur's long delay in commencing work. "I'm going to give him a piece of my mind this morning, Karl! He'll start shooting today-understand? I've waited long enough!"
Karl noted the use of his Christian name, signaling to him that Mason had shifted his antagonism towards the American director. But this time he didn't feel very comforted by his "reprieve."
"I sure hope you aren't going to be too hard on him, A. M., " he began nervously. "He's a very temperamental young man, you know, and--. "
"And you better believe I'm a very temperamental old man!" Mason thundered.
The gasping, purple-faced chauffeur jumped in his seat as the words boomed almost in his ear. Trembling, he managed to correct the slight swerve and keep the Bentley on an even course. He glanced anxiously at the sign-posts which were flashing by. A quarter of a mile more; then they would turn off the by-pass and take the secondary road which would lead them to the Elstree studios. Thank God, he prayed fervently. Another ten minutes or so and he would be, temporarily, free of Mason's rasping voice and stifling cigar smoke....
"You heard what I said, and you heard it good!" Mason threatened. "I'm going to insist that he starts the cameras rolling this afternoon. And that's final!"
The costly limousine rode smoothly down the uneven surface of the secondary road-the minor bumps cushioned by suspension-and as Mason nodded vigorously (more to himself than to Murrey or Dane), Karl tried to derive a little pleasure from the fresh greenery which was beginning to grow from the hedges and nearby fields. They couldn't smell the zestful spring air, but at least Mason didn't insist on curtaining his car windows....
The renowned Elstree Studios, a long-established and world famous venue for British film, extended for many acres. Its rambling territory stretched back from the road in a collection of modern, shiny office blocks and ramshackle buildings which housed the studios themselves.
You could see enormous expanses of uncultivated ground which looked as if it had fallen into disuse but which was, in reality, a setting for many outdoor scenes in films which were made at the studio. By a clever and judicious use of back-cloths and skeleton buildings, a township could be simulated which would fool all but the most discriminating audiences.
The huge location was surrounded with a high wire fence: and it was patrolled regularly, since avid film fans frequently tried to gain entrance to the studios and catch glimpses of their celluloid idols. On the other side of the road down which the Bentley was traveling, beautiful detached houses lay among splendidly ornate gardens; rented out to visiting movie stars at truly exorbitant weekly rentals....
The chauffeur gave an audible sigh of relief and turned the car into the main entrance-way. They stopped at the check-point, and a uniformed, elderly commissionaire came out of his control box to scrutinize them.
The man's grizzled, short-sighted face peered into the cigar-clogged car and Mason elbowed Steve Dane, motioning him to wind down the window a fraction.
Now the old man beamed with pleasure as he recognized the old film mogul, sitting between the two younger men.
"I say, it's Mr. Mason!" he exclaimed, his voice breaking with age and delight. "Such a treat to see you, Sir! Why, I can remember back in the good old days when you came through every day. There was always a Mason picture shooting at Elstree then...."
Sadly he shook his head. "I always tell the new people, Mr. Mason-nowadays they've got gimmicks, bigger budgets, all sorts of different things to help 'em. But they still can't produce films like you used to, Mr. Mason. They just don't make pictures like that any more!"
With sudden snarl, Mason prodded at the driver to continue. The Bentley glided forward, leaving the aged and nostalgic gate attendant talking to himself. They swept past a collection of small outer offices, then turned right and pulled up beside the grand, double-door entrance with "Elstree Studios" emblazoned across its top in huge, curving letters.
The trio climbed out of the car and the chauffeur took a great lungful of fresh air. Mason led the way into the foyer, nodded briefly to the pretty young receptionist and stopped into the elevator with a purposeful expression on his face. A few seconds later, they were on the fourth floor where Studio 24 was situated: the studio Mason had hired for the duration of shooting.
He glared at the unlit red sign above the door, staring at it for a few moments as if he half-expected that it might light up and read:
"Positively No Admittance. Shooting in Progress."
Nothing happened, and Mason pushed the door open-making Karl catch it on his arm to prevent it from slamming in his face. Rather sheepishly, he and Steve Dane followed their employer into the towering studio.
The studio would have loomed even more impressively without the incredible array of arc-lights, cameras, camera-trolleys, chairs, tables, half-completed sets and backcloths which left scarcely any room to move about. Equipment was everywhere. Thick black cables snaked across the floor, following some crazy pattern all their own; disappearing behind walls, emerging again, trailing up walls to again lose themselves in parts of the complex film apparatus...then run suspended across the entire width of the studio before coming down again.
The complete effect gave the impression of a monstrous, insane spider's web in which the few human beings to be seen were dwarfed and held, or so it appeared, trapped in the elaborate network.
"Get me Fleur right now!" Mason snapped at Karl. "Tell him I want to see him in my office-I'll be waiting: and I don't expect to be kept waiting-you understand?"
He glowered at the scene which confronted him (and noting that none of the arc lamps were lit and that there was no sign of the usual bustle of activity in the studio), Mason stalked away to his private office in the suite of rooms which was always, by long-standing-tradition, reserved for him when he rented the studio.
Now Dane stood uneasily at the edge of the confusion, Karl hurried off in search of Demis Fleur; thinking to himself that this movie was going to cost him more ulcers than all the other pictures he had ever worked on....
The huge glass-fronted door bore no inscription. It was used by any of the producers who happened to be filming at any given time: and Mason turned the handle with a renewed feeling of indignation. The fact that he had never been quite powerful enough to own his personal studio nagged at him. He had always clung to his independence, despite several offers (in the past, that is) from the major production companies to join them. But so far total success had eluded him. And it was galling to think that he had to depend on the efforts of a hippie like Demis Fleur to raise him to the pinnacles of his profession.
Mason slammed the door behind him. And then his mouth dropped open in shock.
There in front of him, making not the slightest attempt to conceal themselves or show any sign of embarrassment, was Fleur himself-and a practically nude girl!
The clothing the girl wore amounted to nearly nothing. She might just as well have been naked. Facing towards Mason as he entered the room, she wore a gold medallion around her neck and a pair of black, hip-length tights. The tights were pulled up so securely-and were made of such a thin material-that almost nothing was concealed. He could see the very definite shape of her sex: a firm indent between two faint bulges where her cunt-lips protruded beneath the clinging garment. And although her breasts were bare, one full-blooded nipple was concealed behind the round coin of the medallion. The silver chain which held it had been twisted slightly so that the piece was draped across one particularly full and uplifted breast; uplifted, because Demis Fleur himself was supporting the large globe under the palm of one hand!
"Well, hello there!"
Fleur waved his free hand in greeting, gently and fractionally raising the girl's tit until the gold coin slipped off the orb and revealed her other, greatly enlarged nipple.
Fleur favored the breast with an affectionate squeeze, moving his hand upwards and cupping it for a moment. Then he strolled casually towards
Mason and, before the film magnate could react, shook hands with him.
The slender, white hand which Fleur offered was still warm from its contact with the girl's nude body-and Mason, whose eyes were staring hypnotically at her lightly veiled charms, returned the American's clasp without thinking.
"I imagine you know Miss Keene, of course?" Fleur smiled. "Our beautiful star! Sure, you only met for a second or two, didn't you-in your office, when you approved my using her. Well, now's your chance to see a little more of the superb and very sexy Roxie!
"By the way," Fleur remarked. "What brings you down here? I thought you were going to take care of the office while we got on with creating the biggest movie success England has ever known?"
Whatever sarcasm there was in Fleur's voice escaped Mason completely. He hardly heard what was being said to him, in any case. His mouth gaped open like a fish as he tried to comprehend the enormity of what his director was doing...seducing his leading lady in his, Mason's office!
"Goddammit, I demand an exclamation, Fleur!" he spluttered at last. "What the devil do you think you're up to? I hired you to make a movie for me-not make love to the actresses on my time!"
Fleur frowned. Mason couldn't see what expression was in his eyes (the bastard was still affecting those bloody, stupid, mirror glasses), but he knew that his own eyes were almost popping with rage.
"Come off it, come off it right now! What is this making love jazz?" Fleur said, as if the idea hadn't even crossed his mind. "Making love, did you say?"
"That's right, you bastard! What is this anyway? Some goddamned confidence trick? You and that other bastard-Murrey-plotting together to ruin me? I want you out of here, Fleur!"
Mason's voice was raised to screaming pitch, his stocky frame quivering with righteous indignation.
"The hell you're making a movie for me! You're turning my studio into a goddamned brothel! Out-and sue me if you like! I'll--. "
"You can cool it right there, baby!"
Fleur was holding up both hands in a gesture of supplication. And for the very first time in his life, Allen Mason did cool it! He stopped in mid-sentence, his jaw hanging open. He closed his mouth, blinked rapidly, and realized to his very great surprise, that he was going to listen to what Fleur had to say.
"For you I've got three points...." Fleur said crisply. He ticked them off on his long, very white fingers. "One: I promised to complete this movie by a certain date, and I fully intend to keep that promise.
"Secondly: I told you to stay away from the studio while I'm working. That was written into my contract. And that leads me straight into point number three.
"Thirdly: I am at work! As Miss Keene will be pleased to confirm, we were not making love-I was guiding her through a very delicate, very erotic scene which we are preparing to shoot this evening!"
Now he took a menacing step towards Mason, and before he could stop himself, the normally aggressive mogul backed away.
"And just for your private information, Mr. Mason, I have been very busy these past weeks shooting location scenes. Your producer is unaware of this fact-because I filmed these scenes out of working hours-on my own time, you dig?
"And for your added information, I had in my hand a camera. A hand-held camera, doing the photography with my personal cameraman, filming Roxie's first arrival and first impressions of London. I am now preparing to shoot her first seduction scene--.
"This had better be the last time I'm ever asked to give you an explanation of what I'm doing. I'll deliver the goods-you stay out of my hair! Now beat it!"
This tirade was delivered in a soft, almost gentle tone of voice. Mason gulped and turned tail; leaving the office hurriedly and going back to close the door behind him.
Mason almost bumped head-on into Karl Murrey who was coming towards him with a worried look on his face.
"Dammit, I can't find him anywhere, Mr. Mason," the producer began. "Nobody seems to-
Mason merely grabbed his arm and steered him rapidly towards the exit.
"Why is it I found him without any trouble and sorted everything out?" he snapped. "I told that young punk where to get off, Murrey-I don't think we'll have any more trouble with him. He knows I mean business...."
Karl shot his employer a curious look as they marched out of the studio. There was something very peculiar about Mason's expression, something definitely odd about his manner. He would have given a great deal to know what had really transpired between Mason and Fleur.
Karl had a hunch that in signing the American to make their movie they had grabbed a tiger by the tail! What he didn't know, was that this tiger could change his stripes!