Carver’s Dog

Actors, if they are skilled at their craft, can create drama out of thin air, can conjure theatrics out of the ordinary and mundane. Like fetching a car from behind a gated compound.

The Van Nuys soundstage where we shot today is in a bad neighborhood; a lot of small industrial parks but the surrounding residential streets are gang territory. The stage parking lot only holds six vehicles so street parking is mandatory for everyone, cast and crew alike, to accommodate craft services vehicles, the grip and lighting truck, and the production manager’s vehicle.

Lou, our lead actor, was apparently determined not to park his beautiful red truck on the gang-ridden street so arrangements were made for him to use the gated parking lot belonging to the anonymous brown warehouse across the street.

8:10 PM. Production wraps for the day. Lou, who lives across the street from the hotel I’m residing at in Studio City, offers me a lift. We crossed the dimly-lit street crisscrossed with shadows of evil gangbanging intent hanging over our heads and we stopped at the gate keypad. Lou punched in the code.

“8787 Star,” Lou said to me over his shoulder. “That’s the code. If that gate starts to close.”

The motor that churns the gate chain rolled into action with a shudder and when there was enough space for Lou to pass through, be darted into the parking lot and began jogging to his Jeep. He called out over his shoulder to me as he picked up his pace: “8787 STAR! If the gate starts to close!”

He jerked open the door, slamming it behind him as he leaped into the driver’s seat. The engine turned over in a mad rush, the headlights flared, and Lou kicked the Jeep into gear.

The gate began to close. I ran to the gate keypad. The Jeep was rapidly approaching but the margin for escape from the lot was decreasing with every creak of the gate’s closing.

8787 STAR

I had to get Lou out of there. Hadn’t he expressed that urgency by asserting, not once but twice, that it was imperative for me to remember the gate code?

The gate halted in mid-slide and wavered, as if making up its mind what to do, and then, slowly it began to open once more as the headlights of the Jeep grazed my eyes.

Previously in Return To L.A., Briefly: Mailander, Shannon and Markland