ONCE HE STARTED REALLY LOOKING for Barbara Eshel, she wasn’t hard to find. Flash. Pop. Excited whoops. Starlets and has-beens and maybe even a few people who actually were someone were preening before the precious lens of her Graflex. He stood and watched for a while, amused but disappointed. She’d been wrong when she’d said people would ignore her once she’d told them she was a writer. For she’d somehow managed to convince them that she was that most precious and dangerous Hollywood commodity, the showbiz journalist.
“And who, pray, is this handsome man over here?” she announced when she finally noticed Clark. “Why, it’s none other than genius writer Daniel Lamotte, who has just sold his latest feelie script for a rumored five figures.”
He had to put his glasses back on and grin and pose like all the rest of the idiots before she finally agreed to be dragged away to the car.
“This stuff is brilliant, Dan. It’s absolute dynamite. I’ve already got enough for fifteen editions of LA Truth!”
“My name’s not Dan.” The Delahaye’s carpets were awash and fresh rain was coming in through the broken window as he drove. “And I didn’t think your paper was that kind of trash sheet.”
“Hell, Clark. Whatever you’ve been up to this evening hasn’t done much for your mood.”
“It hasn’t. But it is some story.”
“Well, I think I’m starting to get a proper handle on this whole thing…”
She instructed him to take a detour down Western Avenue toward Inglewood, then east along Manchester toward South Park. The only time he’d been around here lately was to listen to the nigger music at Topsy’s Night Club, but apparently this was also where LA Truth had its base. He was still thinking of that conversation with Peg as the wipers thwacked and Barbara Eshel talked.
“… It makes every kind of sense when you think about it. Kisberg, right—he and his Wall Street backers are the ones who’ve made the real money out of the feelies. How convenient that was, to push the old LA studios into bankruptcy and take over with another new technology they couldn’t afford just when the Depression was at its worst. And now they can fill people’s heads with whatever they want. Sure, it’s not all trash, but the bias is plain. That huge re-make of Birth of a Nation featuring as the guys in white the good ol’ Klu Klux Clan. All those stirring tales of the good ol’ South. Even the classic stuff. The way that when they do Dickens it’s Oliver Twist with bad old Jewboy Fagin. And when it’s Shakespeare it’s The Merchant of Venice. And White Legion—my God, what a production that was! And now there’s all these nice Germans. These people can convince anybody of anything they want just as long as they keep them entertained. They’ll be telling us next that dinosaurs are Old Testament dragons.”
“You obviously go to the feelies a lot more than I do.”
“But can’t you see what I’m saying? No wonder the Liberty League are successful. No wonder Herbert Kisberg’s going for president. I mean, the Republicans are bad enough. It’s left here, by the way. And watch that pothole.”
“Sure.” The Delahaye gave a splashing lurch.
“And now they’ve got your—I mean Daniel Lamotte’s—feelie biopic nicely lined up as an extra bit of publicity.”
“All it would take,” he muttered, “is for Lars Bechmeir himself to put in an appearance tomorrow night at the Biltmore rally. Kisberg would pretty much have the whole country sewn up.”
“Right! I mean, people are relieved it’s going to be him that gets the ticket. Can you believe that? Instead of that creep in Chicago who looks too much like a gangster. And that oily twerp Pickens—no one’s ever forgotten the way he lashed out at that woman. Or it could be—hold on, Clark, what were you just saying about Lars Bechmeir?”
“I saw him.”
“Saw who?”
“Who do you think? Kisberg himself took me to see the guy. He was just in this room hidden away from the party with a couple of nurses. He’s an invalid. Apparently he’s been holed up somewhere quiet all these years, down in Orange County. But now they plan to wheel him out tomorrow night at the Biltmore and maybe get him to mouth a few words. And hey, it’s the ultimate Liberty League endorsement.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. Shit. The guy’s barely there and I can’t see him being around for much longer. I guess that’s why they’re planning on using him now… And why they were so keen on Dan’s script. If Timmy Townsend’s to be believed, they’re even planning on squeezing an interview with Daniel Lamotte into the live coverage on Star Talk.”
“But that’s brilliant! You’ve got a chance to denounce the Liberty League in front of fifty million listeners. You know, great writer stands up for real liberty and—”
“For God’s sake Barbara—you’re sounding like Timmy Townsend in reverse. No. Definitely no. And who exactly am I supposed to denounce, and for doing what?”
“We’ve another whole day to find that out. And you’d better slow down. Here comes another pothole… and you’ve gone and missed the turn.”