The Last Don - Mario Puzo [47]
Claudia understood. “I’ll never take advantage of that offer,” she said. “And if you have trouble with a script, you can call me. Free advice but you have to pay my deal price if I have to write.” Telling him that professionally he would need her more than she would need him. Which of course was not true but told him that she had her own faith in her talent. They parted friends.
On the Pacific Coast Highway, traffic was slow. Claudia looked to her left to see the sparkling ocean and marveled at how few people were on the beach. How different from Long Island, where she had visited when she was younger. Above her head she could see the hang gliders sailing just over the power lines and onto the beach. On her right side she saw a crowd around a sound truck and huge cameras. Somebody was shooting a movie. How she loved the Pacific Coast Highway. And how Ernest Vail had hated it. He said driving on that highway was like catching a ferry to Hell. . . .
Claudia De Lena first met Vail when she was hired to work on the movie script of his bestselling novel. She had always loved his books, his sentences were so graceful, they flowed into each other like musical notes. He understood life and the tragedies of character. He had a novelty of invention that always delighted her as fairy stories had enchanted her in her childhood. So she had been thrilled to meet him. But the reality of Ernest Vail was another thing entirely.
Vail was then in his early fifties. His physical presence had none of the grace of his prose. He was short and heavy and had a bald spot that he didn’t bother to hide. He may have understood and loved the characters in his books, but he was totally ignorant of the niceties of everyday life. This was perhaps one of his charms, his childlike innocence. It was only when she got to know him better that Claudia discovered that beneath this innocence was an offbeat intelligence that could be enjoyed. He could be witty as a child is unconsciously witty, and he had a child’s fragile egotism.
Ernest Vail seemed to be the happiest man in the world at that breakfast at the Polo Lounge. His novels had earned him a solid critical reputation and good but unimportant money. Then this latest book had broken through and become an enormous bestseller and was now being made into a movie by LoddStone Studios. Vail had written the script, and now Bobby Bantz and Skippy Deere were telling him how wonderful it was. And to Claudia’s astonishment, Vail was swallowing their praise like some starlet headed for the casting couch. What the hell did Vail think Claudia was doing at this meeting? What dismayed her was that this was the same Bantz and Deere who had the day before told her that the script was a “piece of shit.” Not being cruel or even pejorative. A Piece of Shit was simply something that didn’t quite work.
Claudia was not put off by Vail’s homeliness, after all she herself had been homely until she blossomed into handsomeness under the surgeon’s knife. She was even somewhat charmed by his credulity and his enthusiasm.
Bantz said, “Ernest, we’re bringing in Claudia to help you. She’s a great technician, the best in the business, and she’ll make it a real movie. I smell a big hit. And remember—you have ten percent of the net.”
Claudia could see Vail swallow the hook. The poor bastard didn’t even know that 10 percent of the net was 10 percent of nothing.
Vail seemed to be genuinely grateful for help. He said, “Sure, I can learn from her. Writing scripts is a lot more fun than writing books but it’s new to me.”
Skippy Deere said reassuringly, “Ernest, you have a natural flair. You can get a lot of work out here. And you can get rich on this picture, especially if it’s a hit and especially if it wins the Academy.”
Claudia studied the men. Two pricks and a dope, not an unusual trio in Hollywood. But then she had not been any smarter. Hadn’t Skippy Deere screwed her, literally and figuratively? Yet she couldn’t help admiring