Death of a Blue Movie Star (Rune 2)

And Danny Traub had looked to the side--into the eyes of his portable audience--and delivered his line about really, truly, loving Shelly Lowe.

He was stationary when he offered this, but he didn't stay still for long. As he talked about Shelly he bounced up, radiating energy, and rocked on

his feet, swinging his arms back and forth. He dropped into the chair again and continued to shift positions and stretch out until he was nearly horizontal, then swung his legs over the arm.

"I was, the word that comes to mind is, devastated. I mean, like, fucking devastated about what happened. She and me were best buddies on the set. I'm not saying we didn't disagree--we both have strong personalities. But we were a team, we were. An example, always better if you have examples. Now, it's cheapest and most efficient to shoot direct to video."

"Betacam or Ikegami running one-inch tape through an Ampex."

Traub grinned and pointed Rune out to the audience. "Do we have a sharp kid or what? Yessir, ladies and gentlemen." Back to Rune. "Anyway, Shelly wanted to shoot on thirty-five millimeter fucking film. I mean, forget it. Your budget is ten thousand for the whole flick. How can you spend eight on film and processing alone--and even that's Jewing down the price at one of the labs. Then forget about postproduction.... Well, finally I get Shelly to agree no thirty-five millimeter. But right away she starts up on sixteen millimeter. It looks better, so can I argue? ... Anyway, that was typical. Creative disputes, you know. But we respected each other."

"Who won? About the film, I mean?"

"I always win. Well, most of the time. A couple films we shot on sixteen. 'Course that was the one that got the AAAF Picture of the Year Award." He pointed to an Oscarlike statue on his mantel.

"What does a producer do exactly?"

"Hey, this kid is just like Mike Wallace--question, question, question.... Okay, a producer in this business? He tries out the actresses. Hey, just kidding. I do what all producers do. I finance a film, hire the cast and crew, contract with a postpro house. The business side, you know. I happen to direct some too. I'm pretty good at it."

"Can I tape you talking about Shelly?"

The smile flickered for a moment before it returned. "Tape? Me? I don't know."

"Or maybe you could recommend somebody else. I just need to talk to somebody who's pretty high up in the business. Somebody successful. So if you know anybody ..."

Rune thought this was way too obvious but Traub snagged the bait greedily.

"Okay? She wonders if I've been successful.... I've done fucking astronomical. I've got a Ferrari sitting not thirty feet away from us right this moment. In my own garage. In New York. My own fucking garage."

"Wow."

"Wow,' she says. Yeah, wow. I own this town house and I could eat in any restaurant in Manhattan every night of the year, I wanted to. I own--not a share--I own a house in Killington. You like to ski? No? I could teach you."

"You own Lame Duck?"

"A controlling percentage. There are some other people involved."

"The Mafia?" Rune asked.

The smile stayed on Danny Traub's face. He said slowly, "You don't want to say that. Let's just say they're silent partners."

"You think they might have anything to do with the bombing?"

Again the fake smile. "Some calls were made. Some questions were asked. Nobody from ... over the river, let's say, had anything to do with it. That information's gold."

She supposed that meant Brooklyn or New Jersey, headquarters of organized crime.

"So, yeah, I'll talk to you. I'll tell you my whole life story. I've been in the business for about eight, nine years. I started as a cameraman, and I did my share of acting too. You wanta see some tapes?"

"That's okay. I--"

"I'll give you one to take home."

A blonde woman--maybe last night's entertainment--appeared, groggy and sniffling. She was dressed in a red silk jumpsuit, unzipped to the navel. Traub raised his fingers as if he were signaling a waiter. The woman hesitated, then walked toward them, combing her long hair--it tumbled to her mid-back--with her fingers. Rune stared at the hair, a platinum-gold color. Neither God nor Nature could take credit for a shade like that.

Traub said to Rune, "So what would you like? Coke? I mean the real thing, of course." He held up a saltshaker. Rune shook her head.

The audience heard: "She's a Puritan. Oh, my God." Traub glanced back at Rune. "Scotch?"