Box Office Poison (Linnet Ellery) by Phillipa Bornikova Page B

eyes seemed even blacker when contrasted with his shock of silver hair. He seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place him. He was also heading for the doors leading to IMG. He held open the door and indicated for me to go ahead, displaying the kind of manners you only saw in vampires and the elderly.
    Inside it seemed like the entire firm was milling around in the reception area. Everyone was staring at us. No, correction, they were staring at the old man. He paused for an instant. The young PA from earlier edged closer and said in a breathless voice, “Mr. Campos, it’s an honor to meet you. I think No Miracle was the best movie ever made.”
    So, this was the expert witness, the world-famous director whose films had influenced Spielberg, Lucas, and Coppola. I knew from our documents that he was eighty-two years old, and hadn’t worked much in the past twenty years.
    “Well, then, you’d be an idiot. Citizen Kane was the best movie ever made,” the man said in a rumbling, gravel bass that could have doubled for the voice of God.
    The kid didn’t seem embarrassed; he just seemed dazed that he had spoken to his idol.
    “Mr. Campos, I’m Linnet Ellery, one of the arbitrators in this case. I’m heading back to the conference room if you’d like to accompany me,” I said.
    “Certainly.”
    “Can we get you anything? Coffee? Water? Soda?”
    “Water, please.”
    There was a scramble as the PA and several others went lunging for the break room. We walked in silence. Then just before the door to the conference room he said, “Nothing’s like it used to be, not the town or the industry. This is just part of the change.” And he once again held the door for me.
    *   *   *
    “They’ve been a disaster.” Campos’s words were flat and uncompromising.
    “But they are beautiful,” Sheila LeBlanc said. It was more of a statement than a question.
    “Oh, yeah, they’re gorgeous, but looks aren’t what makes an actor. Look at Bogart, Astaire, Tracy, Orson Welles, Hepburn—who was, frankly, funny looking. Those were actors . These Álfar, they’re like pretty dolls with just about as much animation.”
    There was a stir from Qwendar, and Palendar looked outraged.
    “I won’t use them in my movies, and most directors feel the same way if you get them in private.”
    I looked down at the statistics I’d compiled and stepped in before LeBlanc could pose another question. “I don’t understand, Mr. Campos. If we extrapolate from your statement, then the Álfar shouldn’t be getting cast. But they are. A lot. The statistics are here.” I held up the papers.
    David pinned Sheila with a look. “Is there going to be a long line of directors who support Mr. Campos’s view? Because if so you seem to be making Ms. Gabaldon’s case that the Álfar don’t have an advantage.”
    “We’re getting to how this is relevant,” she said. “Mr. Campos, if you would, please.”
    Campos jumped in. “They get cast because they whammy the humans when they audition. They’re not winning these parts on merit. They’re cheating. Using their magic.”
    Qwendar took to his feet. “That is gross slander, and I object.” It was declaimed more than spoken. I remembered John telling me that the Álfar all lived as if they were in an opera. Qwendar seemed to bear that out.
    David gave the ancient elf a weary look—and a vampire could pack a lot of ennui into a look. “Mr. Qwendar, this is not a courtroom, and you aren’t representing the other party, so you really can’t object to anything. Now sit down.”
    “I will report your attitude to the Council,” Qwendar said.
    “That is your prerogative,” David answered. “Though I don’t see how they have any relevance to this case.
    Barbara Gabaldon stood up. “If I may, Mr. Sullivan?” David nodded in assent. She turned to the director. “Mr. Campos, you state this as if it’s a fact, but by your own testimony you say you’ve never cast an Álfar. So how could you