Read Online Hollywood Hills by Joseph Wambaugh - Free Book Online
Authors: Joseph Wambaugh
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the West?"
The director had dead-stared him for a moment and said, "Just say 'Up against the wall' and let it go at that. So okay, Officer ... whatever your name is, let's try to get it right in one take and move the fuck on!"
Nate figured he must've gotten it right in one take. Either that or the little putz simply had had enough of him, because he growled, "Cut," two seconds after Nate delivered the line. Then he said, "Print it."
Nate was out of costume and on his way within the hour. If he could do it over again, he'd do or say whatever was asked of him without comment. It had been so hard to get work even as a day player that he hadn't done anything lately except take jobs as an extra a few times a year. And at age thirty-eight, time was surely of the essence.
Remembering his humiliation at the hands of that director caused him to get up and find the business card of Rudy Ressler. He opened his cell and dialed the number.
A young man answered, saying, "Rudy Ressler's office."
"This is Officer Nate Weiss, LAPD," he said. "Mr. Ressler asked me to call."
The young man said, "Just a moment," and put Nate on hold. Nate almost gave up, but after nearly five minutes, the directo r c ame on the line and said, "Officer Weiss. I'm glad to hear from you!"
"You asked me to call you, Mr. Ressler," Nate said.
"I certainly did," Rudy Ressler said. "I owe you. Let's do lunch today. How about two o'clock?"
"You don't owe me anything," Nate said, disappointed. He'd hoped for more than lunch from this man.
"I certainly do," the director said. "And I'd like to discuss the possibility of you reading for me. I'll be starting a movie for cable a few months after I get back from Europe."
A job! That perked him up, and Nate said, "I'd love to have--do lunch with you. I don't have to go on duty till five fifteen. Where and what time?"
After they finished talking, Nate got dressed. He started to put on a Tommy Hilfiger jersey but decided instead to wear a red tapered Polo shirt to reveal his biceps in case the part was for a buff-looking guy. And then he had to settle on gray cargo pants from Banana Republic because they were the only pair he had that was clean other than jeans. He figured the cargos would be okay because he wanted to look younger. He wondered if he should tell Rudy Ressler that gray temples were very premature in his family and offer to dye them dark if the director preferred. He hated to think about the fortieth birthday about to befall him in just eighteen months.
Nate showered and got to feeling upbeat because this was the first night he'd be working with Hollywood Station's new arrival, Snuffy Salcedo. Of course, all cops were notorious gossips, and a police station secret was as hard to keep as a first marriage, but Snuffy was surely in a class of his own. Hollywood Nate figured he'd get an earful about the chief and Snuffy's life among all the police brass and the drones at City Hall. But for now, Nate had big game to hunt.
At 1:50 P . M ., Hollywood Nate pulled into the parking lot of a hot restaurant in west Hollywood. It was one of the new Italian places he'd read about that charged exorbitant prices to paint the food on the plate. They featured bite-size morsels of "imaginative" pasta and unrecognizable tidbits of sea creatures that wouldn't fill the belly of the baby opossums that raided the trash cans near Nate's apartment in North Hollywood. But he wasn't there for the food.
He spotted Rudy Ressler sitting at a patio table shaded by potted palms with an attractive woman who Nate figured was probably Ressler's age, though she looked younger. Nate understood the magic that was performed every day in the offices of plastic surgeons and dermatologists who almost outnumbered Realtors on the west side of Los Angeles. She was dressed for summer in a champagne-colored button-front sleeveless linen dress, and her highlighted chestnut hair was cupped just below her tiny ears.
Next to her was a younger man about
The director had dead-stared him for a moment and said, "Just say 'Up against the wall' and let it go at that. So okay, Officer ... whatever your name is, let's try to get it right in one take and move the fuck on!"
Nate figured he must've gotten it right in one take. Either that or the little putz simply had had enough of him, because he growled, "Cut," two seconds after Nate delivered the line. Then he said, "Print it."
Nate was out of costume and on his way within the hour. If he could do it over again, he'd do or say whatever was asked of him without comment. It had been so hard to get work even as a day player that he hadn't done anything lately except take jobs as an extra a few times a year. And at age thirty-eight, time was surely of the essence.
Remembering his humiliation at the hands of that director caused him to get up and find the business card of Rudy Ressler. He opened his cell and dialed the number.
A young man answered, saying, "Rudy Ressler's office."
"This is Officer Nate Weiss, LAPD," he said. "Mr. Ressler asked me to call."
The young man said, "Just a moment," and put Nate on hold. Nate almost gave up, but after nearly five minutes, the directo r c ame on the line and said, "Officer Weiss. I'm glad to hear from you!"
"You asked me to call you, Mr. Ressler," Nate said.
"I certainly did," Rudy Ressler said. "I owe you. Let's do lunch today. How about two o'clock?"
"You don't owe me anything," Nate said, disappointed. He'd hoped for more than lunch from this man.
"I certainly do," the director said. "And I'd like to discuss the possibility of you reading for me. I'll be starting a movie for cable a few months after I get back from Europe."
A job! That perked him up, and Nate said, "I'd love to have--do lunch with you. I don't have to go on duty till five fifteen. Where and what time?"
After they finished talking, Nate got dressed. He started to put on a Tommy Hilfiger jersey but decided instead to wear a red tapered Polo shirt to reveal his biceps in case the part was for a buff-looking guy. And then he had to settle on gray cargo pants from Banana Republic because they were the only pair he had that was clean other than jeans. He figured the cargos would be okay because he wanted to look younger. He wondered if he should tell Rudy Ressler that gray temples were very premature in his family and offer to dye them dark if the director preferred. He hated to think about the fortieth birthday about to befall him in just eighteen months.
Nate showered and got to feeling upbeat because this was the first night he'd be working with Hollywood Station's new arrival, Snuffy Salcedo. Of course, all cops were notorious gossips, and a police station secret was as hard to keep as a first marriage, but Snuffy was surely in a class of his own. Hollywood Nate figured he'd get an earful about the chief and Snuffy's life among all the police brass and the drones at City Hall. But for now, Nate had big game to hunt.
At 1:50 P . M ., Hollywood Nate pulled into the parking lot of a hot restaurant in west Hollywood. It was one of the new Italian places he'd read about that charged exorbitant prices to paint the food on the plate. They featured bite-size morsels of "imaginative" pasta and unrecognizable tidbits of sea creatures that wouldn't fill the belly of the baby opossums that raided the trash cans near Nate's apartment in North Hollywood. But he wasn't there for the food.
He spotted Rudy Ressler sitting at a patio table shaded by potted palms with an attractive woman who Nate figured was probably Ressler's age, though she looked younger. Nate understood the magic that was performed every day in the offices of plastic surgeons and dermatologists who almost outnumbered Realtors on the west side of Los Angeles. She was dressed for summer in a champagne-colored button-front sleeveless linen dress, and her highlighted chestnut hair was cupped just below her tiny ears.
Next to her was a younger man about
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