TALES FROM THE BARSTOOL
By: Clint Lien

“Alive and Dangerous”
Part II

It was not in the car - nor the kitchen, the bottom of the stairs, under the sofa or behind the toilet.

At first I was simply dumbfounded. There was no chance it had been stolen. My friend's home was rich with far more appetizing booty than my briefcase. He has original Frazzeta artwork on the walls, a DVD collection filled with rare Academy screeners and baseball cards from the early sixties - all in plain view and all still in plain view. This was a real mystery!

After forty-five minutes of walking up and down the stairs and back and forth to the car, the cancerous thought began to grow - the briefcase really was gone, along with all the tapes. The ramifications were staggering. I woke my friend and informed him of the loss. Being a director himself he understood the severity of the disappearance. He immediately set to searching the house with me.

I heard him shout from downstairs. "Hey, come look at this."

By the tone in his voice I knew he'd found the missing case. Relief surged through my veins. Where could I possibly have left it? I'd scoured that place! I ran downstairs - joy in every step. My friend was standing in front of his TV, staring down at it. "What?" I said. He pointed. Beneath the TV was a noticeable gap in the components stack. His $50 DVD player from Wal-Mart was missing. The cables hung out like the guts of a land mine victim. He'd been robbed - we'd been robbed. My joy was instantly replaced by the cold, sick knowledge that one of the worst things ever to happen to me was about to unfold.

We called the police. A few hours later a couple of nice fellows showed up and made it clear that it was exceedingly unlikely they'd ever be able to find anything. They also added that the criminals likely knew the house. Thanks for coming.

So my friend pulls out his rolodex and starts calling everyone he knows, trying to find a lead. A futile, foolish endeavor, I thought, but didn't say anything. It was good to have someone doing something. I decided drinking was a better option and set to. Good thing the thieves hadn't hit the liquor cabinet.

After the police were gone and my friend was locked in his room with the phone to his ear, I began to come to terms with the fact that I'd have to start making some phone calls myself. That was going to be the worst part. This was going to be a big blow to a lot of people and I was to blame. I was going to take it on the chin and spots far lower. I'd have to call the producer first. He was a friend and not a mean spirited person but this would be devastating news. He hadn't just put all his eggs in one basket for this band; he'd put the chicken in there as well. He'd discovered Taxe in a small club in LA and recognized their talent immediately. He'd managed to work some kind of a nice deal with one of the larger record companies, but one of the provisions was that he had to supply a video to go with the first single. That video was now in the hands of thieves. No matter how I tried to turn it over I could not see a way for us to reshoot that video. Insurance would cover about half of the costs. Half would not cut it. Even if we could find the necessary funds the band was currently en-route to the airport where they were scheduled to fly back to Europe. They were returning to promote their first CD and the video - the missing video. The producer would be devastated and understandably so - but worse than telling him would be telling the band.

When I first agreed to direct the video one of the biggest trepidations I had was working with six young future rock stars. I'd checked out their web site and had seen their pictures. They were a long haired, good looking group of boys. They looked like rock stars and I suspected they would act like rock stars. I would learn that I was right and wrong. They did act like rock stars, but a nicer group of six young men I never met. I was sure that at least one of them would question me on the set and attempt to take over the director's chair. It didn't happen. These guys played hard and did all the things you'd expect of a hard rock band, but they also worked hard. They were always there to help and never once made things difficult for me. When not filming the boys would sit around and entertain the cast and crew with their guitars and shenanigans. I really came to like those fellows and telling them I'd lost their debut video was going to be the toughest thing I'd ever had to do.

As the hours had slipped by the various and sundry horrors of this loss would filter into my mind and strike a note of pain. My nearly full journal was in the case, as was my new laptop with everything I'd ever written in my life on it. There was a DVD case with 25 disks in it - including the third season of the X-Files. Nail after nail of pain was driven into my heart. I imagined how it'd be going home and facing my family and friends. "How did the shoot go?" "Great, except I lost all the footage and I'm now a pariah in Hollywood. I'm looking forward to honing my dry walling skills over the coming years."

I decided my first call would be to the cameraman, Chris. Chris had become my right hand in the shoot and it was clear his skills were going to make me look good. Chris would be a good warm up. He'd commiserate with me rather than blame me. I always take the coward's path where possible. He came right over and drank with me.

Next I called the producer. He was mad. He took no pleasure in saying "I told you so," but repeated it several times. In the end he was a gentleman and agreed that we would put our minds together and try to figure out how to fix this. He would tell the band. I was relieved. Again the coward's path was made available to me.

The most important call was made. The next call was to Pink Dot. More alcohol was needed.

It was now six o'clock and my friend had been in his room most of the day making his own calls. I heard him running down the stairs. He charged into the living room with an announcement, "I just spoke with someone who knows someone who might be able to find the guys who robbed the house!" I told him he was a good boy for trying and to join Chris and me for a drink. Pink Dot had arrived ten minutes earlier and we were good for the night. He sat down and poured himself a stiff one.

The phone rang. I answered it.
"My name is Jose, and I think I know who jacked your house."
I was speechless.

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