Swimming to Catalina (Stone Barrington 4)

“Hello?”

“Stone Barrington?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Bobby Routon; I’m doing the costumes for Out of Court.”

“Right; how are you?”

“Harried. Listen, the wardrobe department at Centurion isn’t up to dressing this lawyer you’re playing—not on short notice, anyway, so we’ve got to get you some duds.”

“Okay.”

“Whose suits and shirts do you normally wear?”

“Ralph Lauren’s suits, Purple Label, when I can afford them, and Turnbull and Asser shirts.”

“Yeah, they’ve got the shirts at Neiman’s. What about size?”

“I’m a perfect 42 long in a suit; they only have to fix the trouser bottoms.”

“What size shirt?”

“16. The T and A sleeve lengths are all the same.”

“Shoe size?”

“10 D.”

“Got it. I’ll have some stuff for a fitting when you get to the studio at eleven. You’re furnishing your own underwear, and remember, you might get hit by a streetcar, so don’t embarrass your mother.”

Stone laughed. “See you at eleven.” He hung up. “Jesus,” he said aloud, “I guess I’m not in Kansas anymore.”

10

Stone arrived at Centurion Studios, and this time the guard at the gate had his name. He was given a parking pass marked VIP and directed to Stage Twelve. Following his route of the day before, he found his way to the huge building and slipped the Mercedes convertible into a VIP-reserved spot. A young man in his early twenties was standing at the stage door.

“Stone Barrington?”

“That’s me.”

“I’m Tim Corbin, assistant production manager; I’ll get you oriented, then I’ll take you to wardrobe and makeup. Follow me.” He led the way around a corner into a street between soundstages, dug a key out of his pocket, and unlocked a medium-sized recreational vehicle. “This is number twenty-one; it’s yours for the duration.”

Stone followed Corbin inside. There was a living room, a bedroom, a kitchenette, a toilet, and a small room with a desk, a phone, and a fax machine. The refrigerator was stocked with mineral water, juices, and fruit. “Very nice,” he said.

“It’s a cut above what a featured player usually gets,” Corbin said. “You been sleeping with the director?”

“He’s not my type.”

“This is where you’ll hang out when they’re not using you. Unless you’re told different, you’re expected to be on the lot from eight A.M. until six P.M., and if you haven’t been told to be on the set, this is where they’ll always look for you. You’ve got a phone line and a fax machine with its own line. By the way, the keys are in the ignition, but don’t ever ever crank it up and move it; that’s a Teamster’s job, and we don’t want to annoy the Teamsters, do we?”

“Certainly not.”

“You’re going to find that a lot of stuff on the set gets done by union guys, so don’t ever move any furniture, or even a prop, unless it’s called for in a scene, okay?”

“Okay.”