By Richard Noyes and Pamela Robertson
Preamble: Billie Travis, a student at the University of Houston and part-time film researcher meets her boss, Preston Powell, a noted Hollywood director.
They met for the first time at Joe’s in Chicago. “I’ll be at the bar at seven,” Preston said. “You know what I look like, right? What do you look like?”
“I’ll be wearing an orange bow in my hair.”
“In that case, I’ll wear a white carnation.”
Preston conversed with a woman at the bar. Billie tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, I’m Billie Travis.”
He looked her up and down, said “Hello there,” drained his drink and said goodbye to the newfound acquaintance.
“Table’s ready. Let’s go eat.” On the way, he added, “I ate at Joe’s in Miami Beach and the one in Vegas, never here. I like these restaurants with waiters in tuxes and entrees under thirty dollars.”
After getting situated in a quiet booth, Preston asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why didn’t I tell you what?”
“I pictured you as thin-lipped and granny glasses, and you’re a really attractive girl, woman.”
“First off, I don’t consider myself ‘really attractive.’ And second, what was I supposed to do, call you up and say, ‘Just wanted to give you a heads-up, Preston, I’m really attractive?’ ”
“Is that any way to talk to your boss at the first meeting?”
Sweet smile, “It’s a shame you’re not wearing a ring so I could kiss it.”
“Well, you could, um, I think we’re gonna get along, my stacked little charmer. Okay, what you got in that briefcase for me? How do you rent a car? You’ve got to be twenty-five. You don’t look old enough to get your license.” Water, rolls and butter arrived.
“Couple of guys in the optics lab made me one for a price, even with the hologram. You probably saw it on my expense account last fall under miscellaneous.”
“I don’t usually check those, but I will from now on. I’m sure you can hang paper with the best of them. So what did you do all day? First, what should we order?”
“Shrimp cocktail, Joe’s Famous Scallops and a glass of water.”
“Scallops good here? How do you know that? I always get a steak.”
“Don’t forget, Preston, I’m a researcher. We know these things.”
The waiter greeted them. “Order for both of us, Billie. I also want a drink you can see through, but don’t make it water.”
The waiter asked, “Same as at the bar, vodka martini, rocks, twist?” Preston nodded.
After he got the order and left, Preston said, “That’s a good waiter. Now, what happened at City Hall? Never shot here before.”
“I’d heard,” Billie said, “that they supported filmmaking for the economy, but didn’t expect the kind of reception I got. Mayor even stuck his head in the meeting.”
“What’s he like?
“With his reputation, City that works and all that, I thought he’d be a big guy, but he’s fairly small, but strong, all business: ‘How do you do. When do you want to start shooting? People, give this young lady what she needs.’ He looks you in the eye, good handshake. I got everything we need. They’ll pay for police, even have mounted police, clear the park and ponds, zoo. Let me show you.”
“Will you marry me, Billie?”
“Why, Preston, I’m speechless, except to say who we kidding? You could be marrying me off, walking me down the aisle. You’re as old as my father.”
“Just when I was beginning to like you.”
Billie brought an iPad out of her briefcase. Preston said, “Jesus, what’s this, high-tech week? Did I pay for that, too?” The shrimp arrived. “Anyway, wait on that until after we eat. I need to fill you in on other projects.”
When they finished dinner and agreed on how good it was, Billie had coffee and Preston the same, except, as he told the waiter, “I’d like a stick of Irish whiskey in it, Jameson’s. And a slice of key lime pie, two forks.” Billie raised an eyebrow. “I promise you, Billie, it’s the best key lime pie, maybe dessert you ever had.”
They dueled with forks, squabbled about who ate the most, and Billie said that she loved the pie and was now on a sugar high. Then she pulled up Google maps on the iPad to show Preston some of the locations. “The cigarette boat leaves the lake and fits under the low overpass on Lake Shore Drive, goes into Diversey Harbor there . . . the police boat chasing can’t make it under . . . Chicago skyline looming in the background . . . right here for the drop. For the next chase, here’s a pond, see . . . right across a street from the harbor, then . . . uh . . . wait, oh, down to the zoo. Maybe use animals barking, possibly sea lions, cut in, like Hitch’s scene in the second ‘The Man Who Knew Too Much.’ You know the taxidermist shop with all the oddballs crashing into the stuffed, but this time we just shoot the live . . .” “Wait, Billie, I’m overloaded. And how does the cigarette boat cross the street?”
They’re laughing now. “Just like the chicken crossed the road. The caffeine and sugar wound me up. Why don’t you come up there tomorrow with me? We can walk the whole thing in half an hour, forty-five minutes.” “Early flight, I have to be in New York for a meeting and lunch with a potential backer. You can handle it, storyboard for the screenwriter on that little machine you seem to be master of. But, you could come back to my hotel room, and we can finish the discussion tonight.”
“I have to admit, Preston, you’re a hunky sex symbol, but I need to be up early tomorrow and will have to pass. So you’ll just have to go back to your lonely room and wank.”
Billie had a late afternoon flight the next day. She saw in the Tribune that the Cubs were at home for a day game, hurried through her remaining research, drove to Wrigley, parked in a lot and lined up at a ticket window. “Bleachers sold out. Want a single box seat, sweetheart, behind the Cubs’ dugout, eighty-five bucks?” Preston had handed her a bonus check the night before¾what the hell.
She looked out at the bleachers and thought of the long-ago days with Dad, Gia and Granny. What fun Gia was. Must have moved, not in the book, maybe I can get to D.C. sometime and ask around. Never found a friend like her again. Billie bought a hot dog from a vendor, and after the first bite she thought of Humphrey Bogart’s quote: ‘A hot dog at the ballpark is better than a steak at the Ritz.’
Some of the Cubs’ players craned their necks over the dugout, looked toward her and waved. Billie swiveled around wondering who they were looking at. When they came in after the first inning, several players smiled in her direction. Again Billie turned to find out who they recognized. A woman in the row behind tapped her shoulder. “They’re looking at you, sweetie.”
Billie loved being back in the Friendly Confines¾the big, manual scoreboard; the elevated trains beyond the outfield fence; the sea of green patched with the blue Cubs’ caps the fans wore as devotion to their ‘lovable losers;’ the ivy on the outfield wall; having a seat so close to the action. Must get to Fenway Park some day, supposed to have the same feeling.
A high foul ball bounced off the dugout roof just out of the third baseman’s reach. Butter-fingered fans fumbled it back onto the roof, and it rolled off into the dugout. A player tossed it back over his head. Billie saw it coming in her direction, and because she was taller than a few others who reached for it, she caught it, held it over her head and pivoted once. When Billie sat and looked around, a boy about nine a few seats down on her right wearing his baseball glove gazed at her with big, soft eyes. Give the kid the ball. And she did.
After many hits and runs, the Cubs and Reds were tied in the fifth inning, and Billie had to leave for O’Hare and catch her flight to Houston. She wanted to stay for the seventh-inning stretch and the singing of ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame’ and then the rocking ‘Go, Cubs, Go’ after the game if they won. How Gia and I danced in the aisles, pumped our arms and belted out that one.
Billie had chatted with the fans around her, including the little boy’s parents, and said goodbye. Climbing to the top of the stands to catch one last glimpse, she spotted a mid-teens girl alone among the standing-room-only crowd and approached her. “Want a box seat? I have to leave.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not, go and have fun.”
Billie admired the statue of the great Cubs’ shortstop Ernie Banks as she walked up Clark Street toward Waveland Avenue and the lot her rental was in. I’d love working on a baseball movie someday. As Billie reached the corner, the crowd inside Wrigley roared and she looked down Waveland to see the baseball hit the street and bounce high. A pack of kids scrambled for the home run ball. Soon a tall, slim girl, maybe ten or eleven, long, black hair parted in the middle, paraded around with a bright smile, baseball held triumphantly high in one hand. Gia.
Near the end of the spring term Preston called. “Billie, I need you out here full-time once school’s out. Several West Coast ideas I need researched fast. A woman on my team’s got a Murphy bed until you find your own place. Come September you can take courses at USC or UCLA.”
A few weeks later Billie finished the school year and flew from Houston to St. Louis. Her dad, Will Travis, drove over from Cairo to meet her. They went home and talked and laughed until they cried for three days before he drove her back to St. Louis for the flight to L.A.
NOTE: This story was adapted and excerpted from Larceny of Love, a provocative print and eBook novel that traces the interwoven careers of three men in jeopardy (one of whom is a professional pitcher who suffers from sudden, extreme, unexplained career-threatening wildness) and the unforgettable women in their lives.
“Whenever dramatic storytelling about people you like is created around business, sports and film, I'm a happy reader. I'm sure you will be as well.” –Kevin Marcus, Sotheby Vice President
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