down the main road between towering sound stages.
Eventually, Peter pulled the car over and Alan helped her out of the back seat. A group of men dressed as American Indians walked toward them. One of them pulled a box of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to the chief. They greeted Alan with waves of their hands and thick Brooklyn accents as they passed.
Elizabeth giggled.
“Totally inaccurate,” Simon said. “Apache headdress and Chumash markings. Ridiculous.”
“And awesome,” Elizabeth said. “This isn't a museum; this is the movies.”
Peter brought a small basket of carnations around to Alan, who chose one and slipped it into his lapel buttonhole. “Shall we?” He checked his watch. “I have to be at the bridge at 3 p.m. That leaves us an hour or so for a cook's tour.”
“Wonderful!”
Alan grinned, extended his hand and gestured for her to walk with him.
The studio was a city within a city. It covered multiple city blocks and the back lot spread out over acre upon acre. It was complete with it's own power plant and fire department. There were laundry facilities, multiple commissaries, housing, offices and even a school.
“It's a bit like a mad kingdom,” Alan said. “A court where you can curry favor or lose it just as easily. There are jesters to entertain you and fools to tell you truths you'd rather not hear. Intrigue and secrets. Waste and want. Usurpers and honest men. It's a place where incompetence and genius are equally rewarded. Where the more lies you tell, the truer they become. It's false and vain and magic. This, my darling, is the movies. And I love it more than my very soul.”
There was something about the way he said it that almost made her believe him. Maybe it was true in a way. She lost that train of thought when Alan called out to someone who bounded toward them and Elizabeth's mouth went dry.
Alan shook hands with the man and turned to introduce her. “Elizabeth Cross, I'd like you to meet, Cary Grant. No relation. He's a young star on his way up. Going to go damn far if I'm any judge.”
After the words Cary Grant, the rest of what Alan said barely registered. She was drooling. She was pretty sure she was drooling. Oh my god, she wanted to crawl inside that cleft in his chin and never come out and he was talking to her.
“Hello,” he said with that Cary Grant voice of his, although it was a bit boyish. He shook her hand brightly and grinned at Simon who grunted in response.
“Don't tell me Roth pried you out of Paramount already?” Alan asked.
Grant flashed a smile and laughed. Elizabeth's knees wobbled a little. She was probably still drooling but resisted the urge to feel her chin. All she could do was stare.
“Not yet,” he said. “Although, I think I'd rather be here than there.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Alan said. “Good seeing you.”
Cary nodded and gave Elizabeth another smile. “Nice meeting you.”
And with that, he was gone and her hand was still tingling. Alan laughed and waved a hand in front of her face. She finally snapped out of it.
“Oh, yes,” Alan said. “He's going to do all right.” He took Elizabeth's arm. “Do you need smelling salts?”
Elizabeth giggled nervously. “No. I'm fine. It was just…” She looked after him and then back to Simon who was impatiently waiting for her explanation. She offered him a weak smile, which he did not return. She spun around and pointed at a building. “So that's the laundry…”
Alan wrapped her arm through his and led her to a nondescript door that said: Publicity Dept. “Very important, people. They paint the posters and create all of the advertising for a picture. There was an unfortunate mishap at a Christmas party that resulted in, well, a less than flattering painting of me adorning Sunset Blvd. You must continuously grease the wheels, as it were.”
He let go of her arm and she and Simon stood in the doorway of a large office/workspace where several
Eventually, Peter pulled the car over and Alan helped her out of the back seat. A group of men dressed as American Indians walked toward them. One of them pulled a box of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to the chief. They greeted Alan with waves of their hands and thick Brooklyn accents as they passed.
Elizabeth giggled.
“Totally inaccurate,” Simon said. “Apache headdress and Chumash markings. Ridiculous.”
“And awesome,” Elizabeth said. “This isn't a museum; this is the movies.”
Peter brought a small basket of carnations around to Alan, who chose one and slipped it into his lapel buttonhole. “Shall we?” He checked his watch. “I have to be at the bridge at 3 p.m. That leaves us an hour or so for a cook's tour.”
“Wonderful!”
Alan grinned, extended his hand and gestured for her to walk with him.
The studio was a city within a city. It covered multiple city blocks and the back lot spread out over acre upon acre. It was complete with it's own power plant and fire department. There were laundry facilities, multiple commissaries, housing, offices and even a school.
“It's a bit like a mad kingdom,” Alan said. “A court where you can curry favor or lose it just as easily. There are jesters to entertain you and fools to tell you truths you'd rather not hear. Intrigue and secrets. Waste and want. Usurpers and honest men. It's a place where incompetence and genius are equally rewarded. Where the more lies you tell, the truer they become. It's false and vain and magic. This, my darling, is the movies. And I love it more than my very soul.”
There was something about the way he said it that almost made her believe him. Maybe it was true in a way. She lost that train of thought when Alan called out to someone who bounded toward them and Elizabeth's mouth went dry.
Alan shook hands with the man and turned to introduce her. “Elizabeth Cross, I'd like you to meet, Cary Grant. No relation. He's a young star on his way up. Going to go damn far if I'm any judge.”
After the words Cary Grant, the rest of what Alan said barely registered. She was drooling. She was pretty sure she was drooling. Oh my god, she wanted to crawl inside that cleft in his chin and never come out and he was talking to her.
“Hello,” he said with that Cary Grant voice of his, although it was a bit boyish. He shook her hand brightly and grinned at Simon who grunted in response.
“Don't tell me Roth pried you out of Paramount already?” Alan asked.
Grant flashed a smile and laughed. Elizabeth's knees wobbled a little. She was probably still drooling but resisted the urge to feel her chin. All she could do was stare.
“Not yet,” he said. “Although, I think I'd rather be here than there.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Alan said. “Good seeing you.”
Cary nodded and gave Elizabeth another smile. “Nice meeting you.”
And with that, he was gone and her hand was still tingling. Alan laughed and waved a hand in front of her face. She finally snapped out of it.
“Oh, yes,” Alan said. “He's going to do all right.” He took Elizabeth's arm. “Do you need smelling salts?”
Elizabeth giggled nervously. “No. I'm fine. It was just…” She looked after him and then back to Simon who was impatiently waiting for her explanation. She offered him a weak smile, which he did not return. She spun around and pointed at a building. “So that's the laundry…”
Alan wrapped her arm through his and led her to a nondescript door that said: Publicity Dept. “Very important, people. They paint the posters and create all of the advertising for a picture. There was an unfortunate mishap at a Christmas party that resulted in, well, a less than flattering painting of me adorning Sunset Blvd. You must continuously grease the wheels, as it were.”
He let go of her arm and she and Simon stood in the doorway of a large office/workspace where several
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