Lulu. Was she the owner of the bar?”
He nodded but otherwise didn’t directly respond to my question, other than saying, “Pearl’s like the rest of us, we’ve all mellowed with age.”
What he said brought my love-dad to mind. I asked him if he ever met him.
Leo turned and regarded me for a moment. His smile was gone. He shook his head but didn’t say anything. It was a bit strange and I wondered if there was an unspoken message in the way he acted.
The silence between us lasted for a few moments before Bernie pushed his big nose up from the back seat, his way of telling me that he wanted some air. After I opened the window a couple of inches, we spent a few minutes chatting about my dog before arriving at Bernstein Studios.
I was surprised when Lou Bernstein came out of a back office and met with us after we’d checked in with a receptionist. The studio owner was a big man, probably in his late sixties, with thinning white hair and a belly that tumbled over his belt buckle.
After introductions, he told us about the studio as we walked to his office. “My daddy, God rest his soul, built this place brick by brick back in the 1950’s. In its heyday every sound stage was active. It was still thriving when I took over in the late seventies. Everything’s changed in the last couple of decades. Lots of states and other countries are now offering tax credits and production incentives if movies are shot in their territories. We lose jobs, while other places reap the benefit of hundreds of millions of dollars pumped into their economies.”
We turned a corner into a small cluttered office as Bernstein added, “I’ll be lucky if I can stay afloat over the next five years. If I had any sense I’d sell everything and retire.”
“Why don’t you?” I asked.
The studio owner’s jowly face lit up. “I love movies.”
After chatting for a few minutes, Leo took over, explaining about the Bruce Reeder murder, and asking him if anyone ever had any conflict with him when he worked at the studio.
“Didn’t we talk about this once, a couple of years back?”
Leo nodded. “You have a good memory.”
“Bruce was a good guy who got along with everybody.” He smiled. “That’s probably what I told you before.”
“Could someone have been jealous of his work, maybe making things difficult for him?” I asked.
“Well, you never know what goes on behind the scenes, but if there were problems with anyone I never heard about it.”
“What about in his personal life?” Leo asked. “We know he was gay.”
“As I remember, he came out just before his marriage ended. One thing about movie people is they have different standards, even back then. No one thought it was a big deal.”
“Any conflict with boyfriends, maybe someone jealous of a relationship he was involved in?”
We got a headshake before I asked him about the annual photographs. “Would you have the group photos taken during the years Mr. Reeder was employed at the studio?”
“Of course.” He picked up his phone and asked. “What years did he work here?” I told him and in a moment he had a secretary on the line, asking her to bring the photos in question. While we waited, he told us about the tradition. “Daddy always said it was important to document the past because people forget things. He wanted a picture of everyone who worked here, even if you were a clerk or a janitor.”
After a ten minute wait, the secretary brought us photographs from 2003 through 2005, the years that Bruce Reeder had been with the studio. The photos had been taken at the entrance to the studio with the arched sign announcing Bernstein Studios overhead. Each of the three photos looked like a couple hundred people had posed for the pictures.
“I can probably find Bruce…” Bernstein went through the photographs and in a moment had identified the location of our victim in each picture. It looked like Reeder was standing near the same people in two of the
He nodded but otherwise didn’t directly respond to my question, other than saying, “Pearl’s like the rest of us, we’ve all mellowed with age.”
What he said brought my love-dad to mind. I asked him if he ever met him.
Leo turned and regarded me for a moment. His smile was gone. He shook his head but didn’t say anything. It was a bit strange and I wondered if there was an unspoken message in the way he acted.
The silence between us lasted for a few moments before Bernie pushed his big nose up from the back seat, his way of telling me that he wanted some air. After I opened the window a couple of inches, we spent a few minutes chatting about my dog before arriving at Bernstein Studios.
I was surprised when Lou Bernstein came out of a back office and met with us after we’d checked in with a receptionist. The studio owner was a big man, probably in his late sixties, with thinning white hair and a belly that tumbled over his belt buckle.
After introductions, he told us about the studio as we walked to his office. “My daddy, God rest his soul, built this place brick by brick back in the 1950’s. In its heyday every sound stage was active. It was still thriving when I took over in the late seventies. Everything’s changed in the last couple of decades. Lots of states and other countries are now offering tax credits and production incentives if movies are shot in their territories. We lose jobs, while other places reap the benefit of hundreds of millions of dollars pumped into their economies.”
We turned a corner into a small cluttered office as Bernstein added, “I’ll be lucky if I can stay afloat over the next five years. If I had any sense I’d sell everything and retire.”
“Why don’t you?” I asked.
The studio owner’s jowly face lit up. “I love movies.”
After chatting for a few minutes, Leo took over, explaining about the Bruce Reeder murder, and asking him if anyone ever had any conflict with him when he worked at the studio.
“Didn’t we talk about this once, a couple of years back?”
Leo nodded. “You have a good memory.”
“Bruce was a good guy who got along with everybody.” He smiled. “That’s probably what I told you before.”
“Could someone have been jealous of his work, maybe making things difficult for him?” I asked.
“Well, you never know what goes on behind the scenes, but if there were problems with anyone I never heard about it.”
“What about in his personal life?” Leo asked. “We know he was gay.”
“As I remember, he came out just before his marriage ended. One thing about movie people is they have different standards, even back then. No one thought it was a big deal.”
“Any conflict with boyfriends, maybe someone jealous of a relationship he was involved in?”
We got a headshake before I asked him about the annual photographs. “Would you have the group photos taken during the years Mr. Reeder was employed at the studio?”
“Of course.” He picked up his phone and asked. “What years did he work here?” I told him and in a moment he had a secretary on the line, asking her to bring the photos in question. While we waited, he told us about the tradition. “Daddy always said it was important to document the past because people forget things. He wanted a picture of everyone who worked here, even if you were a clerk or a janitor.”
After a ten minute wait, the secretary brought us photographs from 2003 through 2005, the years that Bruce Reeder had been with the studio. The photos had been taken at the entrance to the studio with the arched sign announcing Bernstein Studios overhead. Each of the three photos looked like a couple hundred people had posed for the pictures.
“I can probably find Bruce…” Bernstein went through the photographs and in a moment had identified the location of our victim in each picture. It looked like Reeder was standing near the same people in two of the
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