Chapter Five: The Caterpillar and the Stars
Travis was on the way to Malibu, with the sunroof open on the Mercedes, to scout a location for the upcoming shoot for New York Pictures. He had shot the property before, but he wanted to take another look at it to see if it would work for the scene he had in mind. He drove along the Pacific Coast Highway, with the blue ocean on his left and the steep hills of the Palisades on his right. There were a few surfers riding the waves, and seagulls flying overhead. In the valley, it was easy to forget that Los Angeles lay on the coast, and he rolled down the windows so that he could sample the sea air. Just past a seafood restaurant, where Sunset Boulevard met the beach, he pulled over to the side of the road. He figured he had better check in with Howard before he headed up into the canyons, where the cell phone reception was nothing more than a crackle.
“Billy Dallas called,” Howard said, “Did you agree to use The Caterpillar in next month’s show? New York will be pissed.”
“Howard, no. We have a slate of girl-girl productions for their new line. Unless The Caterpillar can unscrew his penis and transform himself into a female, he’s not qualified for the role….”
“Well, you’d better talk to Billy Dallas. He called to ask for call times.”
Travis was mystified as to what The Caterpillar was brewing. He had influenced the producer to cast Tiffany West, putting the actress into play, without giving him any inkling as to why. After the meeting with Klaus, he was entitled to a nod of favor, but Travis could not believe that The Caterpillar would ever exert so much energy in single pursuit of one woman, even one of Tiffany’s splendor.
The producer hung up on the production manager and called the agent.
“How did the lunch go the other day?” Billy asked, by way of exchanging pleasantries.
“The Caterpillar was his delightful self.”
“Well, he wants something in return….”
“I can’t, Billy, even if I wanted to…I’m doing an all-girl slate, and besides, New York would never agree….”
“No, no,” the agent interrupted, “He doesn’t want a role. It’s something else. You’d better talk to him. Come on in this afternoon. I’ll make sure he’s here.”
Travis pulled back into the stream of traffic, drove along the Pacific Coast Highway for another hundred yards, and turned off up a winding road that threaded its way into the canyons. There was a hairpin curve where it was easy to skid off the pavement, especially on a dark night after a long day of shooting. A production assistant had gone right over the cliff once, and survived a wreck, which was fortunate because he was liable for the production equipment that flew off the back of his truck.
Travis made a quick tour of the property. There were a few improvements to the facilities, and he was relieved to see that the roads were not muddy. The property caretaker was a lanky old cowboy who lived in a cabin on the bluff with his white-haired wife. They were both swingers, and nudists, and one drawback to the locations was that the senior couple sometimes showered outside in full view of the crew while they were shooting. There were cabins of different sizes and woods and a Western saloon, but Travis was mostly interested in the roads where he could stage a scene with some vehicles. They were planning to a do a hitch-hiking sequence with Traci, a well-worn porno chestnut that had even longer legs than the performer.
He confirmed the dates with the caretaker, then carefully made his way back down the hill, and even more carefully, around the hairpin bend, and drove all the way through the Palisades towards Santa Monica, where the Pacific Coast Highway became the 10 Freeway, and took the long, less treacherous way around back to the valley.
The Caterpillar was at the bottom of the steps leading to the headquarters of Global Models Management. It was prudent to have a private discussion on the sidewalk rather than in Billy’s busy office.
“I don’t have a part for you,” said the producer, “Unless you recently became a lesbian.”
“That’s not what it’s about,” said The Caterpillar, “I just want to come to the set. I want to bring a guest. Ryder Mackenzie from The Vipers.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“He’s a big porno addict. He wants to watch. He’s a fan of yours.”
Travis knew when he was not being told the full story. “What’s the catch?”
“He wants to go out with Tiffany.”
“I got to get him a date with Tiffany?” The producer experienced a vague feeling that he was treading into gray legal territory.
“Don’t worry.” The Caterpillar gave his cherubic smile. “I already took care of it.”
The plan was for Ryder to come to the set to watch Tiffany perform in Stray Cats, the first release of New York Pictures new all-girl line. She did not want the encounter to look pre-arranged, which would make her feel like an escort, and the porn star did not want to tarnish her spotless reputation. They would have their initial meeting in the green room, and see how things went between them. The Caterpillar would act as chaperone. Travis did not see any harm in this arrangement, but, in any event, there was not really much he could to do halt it. It was not unusual for guests to come to the stage, and it was an impressive place to hold meetings, if one wanted to impress people.
Tiffany arrived in the morning–within her thirty minutes of grace–already wearing makeup, and the skimpiest outfit that the law would allow in a convertible. Although Ryder was not scheduled to show up until later in the day, she was not taking any chances. She wanted to make sure that the rock star would see her at her best. This was not good news for the production company.
She kept the entire crew in a state of terror from the first moment.
Even before she had her coffee, she charged into the production office, with Coochie growling in the crook of her arm. Howard thought that he was going to get bitten, although it was not certain by which creature. “Morning, Tiffany.”
“You’re a bald-headed, twisted freak, Howard,” she snapped, “Where is Travis Lazar?”
“He’s on set with the art department. He wasn’t happy with the decorations.”
“Well, I’m telling you, and you can tell him, I’ve got to be out by six o’ clock. Latest. I have plans.”
“I can’t guarantee anything, Tiffany….” Howard raised his hands, partly in a show of surrender, and partly to defend himself in the event that she decided to strike him.
“Rearrange the fucking schedule. At six, I walk.”
She started down the hallway, as Tommy was coming from the other direction on the way to get a piece of equipment from the truck.
“You’d better make sure I look like a million dollars today,” she warned the electrician.
Tommy turned to walk backward down the hallway as he stammered a reply. “I’ll do what I can…eye light…rims…but lighting can only do so much…the rest is up to the gods….”
Tiffany, whose sculpted beauty owed less to the handiwork of any deity in the clouds than to plastic surgeons in Beverly Hills, glared at the electrician in response to his ramblings. “I need douche!” she yelled down the hallway at nobody in particular.
She made her entrance into the make-up room, where Maria took one look at the star, and made an immediate exit out of the make-room to find Travis on the set. He was supervising the movement of two production assistants and an armoire, which had been incorrectly positioned, although he had not yet decided the ideal placement for the piece of furniture.
“What do you want me to do, Travis?” asked Maria, “Tiffany is already made-up.”
“How does she look?”
“Like she’s performing in a circus act. All she needs is a red nose and clown feet.”
“All right, clean her up….”
Maria resigned herself to the task. “The only thing I can do is scrub everything off and start again. And I don’t know how long that’s going to take…And before she said hello, Tiffany already informed me that we are on a deadline….”
Everyone on the set was aware of the imminent guest, but Ryder Mackenzie was not the only visitor.
The Caterpillar himself showed up midway through the day, fortuitously right before the crew broke for lunch. Maria, Tommy and Jack were already lining up in the green room, with their plates in their hands, although Howard had not yet made the break official.
“Crew eats first,” Maria reminded the visitor.
“Oh, no, go ahead. I’m not hungry.” The Caterpillar surveyed the hot trays on the lunch table. “What are you guys having, anyway?”
“Lasagna,” said Jack, peeling back the aluminum foil.
Everybody was relieved it was not El Porno Loco.
Howard came into the green room. “All right, we’re on lunch.” They had spent the morning on dialog scenes, and there was still a heavy load on the schedule, which would never be finished by six p.m. “Everybody eat quickly.”
“Well, maybe, just a taste.” The Caterpillar agreed to join the meal for the sake of sociability. The news that The Caterpillar had arrived made its way back to the make-up room, where Tiffany was keeping an eye on Coochie. She left the dog unattended, and made a grand entry into the green room that was wasted on the crew since Ryder Mackenzie was still not on the premises.
“Don’t worry.” The Caterpillar smiled with a mouthful of lasagna. “He’s coming later. He’s doing a music video all week. They’re on location.”
Tiffany offered The Caterpillar a smoldering look in reply, filled up a bowl of salad, and went back to the confines of the make-up room to eat.
She had to go back into the chair for Maria to touch up her make-up after lunch, a time-consuming process that depleted a precious thirty minutes of the little time that was remaining.
At three p.m., there was still no sign of the rock star, and Tiffany had still not shot her sex scene. Howard’s life was further complicated when Officers Fleet and Plimsoll from the Los Angeles Fire Department marched into the production office.
“Another spot check?” The production manager could not remember where he had placed the permit.
“Don’t worry,” said Fleet, “We know you’re good.”
“We just came to say hello,” said Plimsoll.
“We did a spot check on Miles Flannigan’s set. We heard that The Caterpillar is here. Is that true?”
“Is there any way we could meet him?” asked Plimsoll, his face as red as Christmas.
“I’ve met him before,” Fleet said proudly, “But James here….”
“We call each other James….”
Howard breathed a sigh. “No problem. He’s in the green room. Check the craft service table. Just look for the donuts.”
“Oh, we know how to find donuts.” Plimsoll turned to the door.
Their mood enlivened, the two firefighters left Howard alone in the office, and discovered The Caterpillar snoring lightly on the sofa in the green room. He woke when they came in, blinked twice, smiled beatifically, and was happy to have his photograph taken with Plimsoll, and sign an autograph with a risqué note to Plimsoll’s wife.
Tommy, who had been staking out the parking lot so that he would know exactly when the fire department left, reported that The Caterpillar had another guest waiting outside. It was still not Ryder, but this time, Beppo the Bear.
Because of the conditions of his parole, and recent history with the Organized Crime Task Force, the acting president of Majestic Movies preferred not to set foot inside the building. The Cadillac served as an adequate conference room, where Beppo and The Caterpillar had a twenty-minute meeting, in regard to a comedy club in Toledo.
Travis came out to pay his respects, although he could not converse for long because he was struggling to complete the workload before Tiffany’s fuse led to dynamite, a situation that Beppo understood and pitied.
“Any news from the Germans?” asked the acting President of Majestic Movies.
Howard figured that, with time allocated for lighting, they would have to finish all the dialog in an hour, and be ready to start Tiffany’s sex scene with Summer Rainfall at about five p.m. That would give them an hour to do the sex scene, and have her wrapped by six. Just after five, they finally got out of the bedroom set, and began lighting the jail set, which was where the scene with Tiffany and Summer was supposed to take place, if they ever got there.
“If we get started quickly, we might be able to buy some time,” he said, when Travis came into the production office between scenes.
“Howard, I’m going to shoot what I want,” said the director, “No matter how long it takes. It’s not Tiffany’s schedule.”
“She is going to walk out at six,” Howard said, “She’s done it before. Then what do we do?”
“Where is she parked?” asked Travis.
“Not in a fire zone, that’s all I know.”
“All right, when your runner comes back from picking up extra hygienic supplies, have him park behind her so that she can’t get out.”
Howard felt his stomach churning, but he knew that Travis was right. He went outside into the parking lot to make sure that her car was blocked in so that she could not drive off before her work was completed. He was surprised to see Tommy sitting on the tailgate of the truck, rifling through a collection of colored gels used to tint the
Lights. “Are you lit in there?” demanded the production manager.
“Shit! Are you waiting on me?”
“Come on, Tommy. I’ve got to get Tiffany out of here in an hour.”
“Well, maybe you should tell your actress. She’s been in the bathroom for twenty minutes. I came out here because I had to go behind the truck to take a leak.”
Howard went back down the hallway, and was about to knock on the door of the bathroom, when Tiffany emerged wearing a chiffon robe.
“Are you ready?” he asked nervously, “I think they’re ready for you on stage.”
“Yes.” She showed no sign of urgency. “I had to douche. I just have to get dressed and put on lotion.”
He walked back to the make-up room with her. Getting dressed and putting on lotion took another twenty minutes, but Tiffany, who had nominated the deadline, showed great patience and deliberation.
He stood in the doorway, doing his best to hurry her along, when Travis came down the hallway to see what was the delay. “She’s coming….” Howard said, trying to anticipate the producer.
“I will be right there, Travis.” Tiffany came out of the make-up room, and went left down the hallway towards the exit, rather than right towards the stage. “I just want to have a cigarette first.”
Travis, Howard, Maria and Summer decided that they had better follow her down the hallway, in case–upon stepping into the parking lot–she wanted to drive away. Of course, she would not be able to drive away, if that were her intent, because, acting upon instructions, Howard had succeeded in blocking in her car. He dreaded how Tiffany was going to react.
Going down the hallway, they passed the green room, where the Caterpillar joined the procession. “Where’s everybody going?” he asked.
“Tiffany is going to have a cigarette,” said Howard, “And we’re all following her.”
They all came out into the parking lot, and the sun had already set. As Tiffany lit up her cigarette, a long white limousine turned through the gates of the complex. Ryder Mackenzie had arrived. She took one puff of her cigarette, and flicked it to ground. “Okay.” She turned on her heel, and swept back into the building. “I’m ready for my scene now.”
The rendezvous between Tiffany and Ryder could not have been more successful. The rock star was tall, lean, and marked with tattoos, with stringy blonde hair, and a sensual sneer, and he dressed in tight pants, and shirts that exposed his pale chest, and made him everything a porn star could desire. He watched her perform with Summer, standing quietly in the shadows at the back of the set beside The Caterpillar, with a look of profound concentration. Everyone gave of their best abilities, especially Tiffany, who vamped for the camera, and who peppered the director with professional questions
as to her motivation. After the scene, they all went into the green room to say hello.
“Dude.” The rock star shook hands with the producer. “You’re my idol. You make the coolest movies. I’ve been jacking off to your stuff for years.”
Travis thanked him for the compliment, but he withdrew his hand. “It’s very kind of you to say so.”
“Ryder.” The Caterpillar made the formal introduction. “This is Tiffany.” They shook hands politely, laughed and then they hugged like old lovers.
“Hey, I really wanted to meet you,” Ryder said to Tiffany, “Thanks to him.”
With more skepticism than gratitude, Tiffany said to The Caterpillar, “Yeah, thanks.”
“I told you I’d set it up,” The Caterpillar said.
“You sure did,” affirmed Ryder.
“So, we okay about that thing?” The Caterpillar checked, “That thing we talked about.”
“Yeah, no sweat,” said Ryder, “Come by tomorrow.”
“Hold on, hold on…” Travis was sensitive to being left out of any deal, which might have occurred on his watch. “What thing?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing,” said The Caterpillar, “Ryder’s going to put me in his music video.”
“New song,” said Ryder, slipping his arm around Tiffany, “You guys ready?”
Howard came in from the production office, with a clipboard. “She’s wrapped.”
The production manager handed Tiffany an envelope with her check and peeled a fax off the clipboard, which he handed to Travis. It was from Klaus confirming the deal with Majestic Movies. Lunch with The Caterpillar had done the trick.
For once, the day had a happy ending. All the pressure from Tiffany had spurred them to get out at a reasonable hour, so the crew was pleased. Travis was going to get his money. Tiffany and Ryder were a match made in heaven. And The Caterpillar had got himself a mainstream role.
They all went outside again to see Tiffany, Ryder and The Caterpillar get into the white limousine.
Their destination was Hollywood–in the flash of the paparazzi–where they all belonged, famous for music and for flesh. The moon rose above them, and as the stretch limousine cruised out of the parking lot, and the stars headed out into the night, The Caterpillar had one final suggestion.
“Hey, anybody hungry?”