Hollywood Buzz by Margit Liesche

narrowed behind the thick lenses. “He’s their POW now.”
    Brody picked up the story line. “Throughout the picture, she’s an attentive nurse, devoted to the boyfriend. The boyfriend, though suffering, remains stoic. The Nazi is overpowered, but not killed, because we don’t know if his intent is evil.” Brody glanced around the table, a triumphant look on his face. He beamed warmly at Wallace. “An Allied vessel appears on the horizon. Fade out!” He looked at Chalmers. “Like the fix?”
    Chalmers shook his head slowly, with force. “Derrick, the ideas don’t send me,” he said in measured tones.
    Brody stared at him. “Let’s just accept that. It wastes time to argue, and time is what?”
    “Money, Derrick,” Chalmers replied softly. The room fell silent.
    Painfully earnest, his brow furrowed, Chalmers added, “I liked you better when you could distinguish art from business…and from feminine government influence, Derrick.” He beat the table with his knuckles. “It’s not the way I wrote it. I want my name removed from the credits.”
    Brody threw his hands up in resignation. “You know the studio will never agree.”
    Seconds ticked by in silence as he and Chalmers stared at one another impassively.
    “Let’s give it a rest for now, Russ. Miss Wallace’s views, I think, are firm.”
    “Absolutely.” Wallace panned the circle of silent faces. “Well, then, we’ve reached agreement.” Rising from her chair, she checked her watch. “And, in record time.”
    Brody stood as well. “That’s why I’m here, Wilma. You got a little problem with one of my pictures, you come see me.”
    Brody walked to his desk and consulted a large calendar. “Shooting was set to start fourteen days from now. I’ll have to do some juggling here and there.” He turned from the giant scheduler to look at Sam. “Can you get us a rewrite day after tomorrow?”
    Sam scratched the pencil eraser against the crook of his arm. “Can do.”
    Brody slapped his hand on the desktop. “That’s it. I’ll notify production we’ve got a delay.”
    Those at the table got up and moved toward the door. Brody said good-bye to Miss Wallace—she actually had a beautiful smile—then turned to Sam and me.
    “I’m flying out to March Field tomorrow morning from Santa Monica in Miss Cochran’s private plane. Orchestrating a shoot for our WASP Victory short. Would you like to come along?” I shook his hand.
    Chalmers appeared at Brody’s elbow. Ignoring me, he tugged Brody’s sleeve. “Derrick. We gotta talk.”
    Brody, startled at the urgency in his voice and perhaps taken aback at the rude interruption, glanced at Chalmers, then looked back to me. “Sorry, this will just take a moment.” Our hands were still locked together. He let go and took Chalmers’ arm, guiding him out of our earshot.
    True to Brody’s word, they huddled only for a moment.
    Chalmers shouted, “Tonight then, Derrick!” and stormed out, slamming the door.
    Brody swiped a palm over his thinning, slicked-down hair, then turned to me smiling tightly. “Count me in. Driving would cut two hours out of my day…And time, we know, is money.”

Chapter Five
    Agog over the opulence of stately homes nestled under palm trees and tucked away in lush foliage, and wondering which legendary star lived in which houses, I nearly missed Benedict Canyon Drive, the road that led to the home of the Dunns. I cut the wheel and the green roadster climbed a steep ravine. At last, nearing a dead-end, I spotted their Beverly Hills address marker.
    Downshifting, I turned the rumbling Packard up the inclined drive. At a curve near the top, the fading sun bathed the Dunns’ California Spanish-style mansion in a burnished golden glow. I slowed to admire the scene. Tall arched windows were set into a hexagonal turret, anchoring the stucco walls of a wing protruding toward me. Above the roofline, a railed observation deck ringed an open-air cupola. The sights from up there