Indecent Exposure (5 page)

"Cliff, we may have a serious and somewhat alarming situation on our hands here. I've spoken with Miss Fitzsimmons at Wells Fargo Bank, but before we discuss what to do, I want you to hear the basic facts directly from her. She felt it was appropriate if she told you directly as the primary party rather than relay it t
hrough me." Kahaner dialed Lorie
Fitzsimmons's direct number and Cliff picked up the extension.

"
This is Bud Kahaner again, Lorie
. Mr. Robertson has just
arrived in town and is here wit
h me. Would you be good enough to repeat the things you told me a while ago?"

"Certainly."

"The check appears to have been brought in last September tenth," Kahaner said, "and approved for cashing by the person whose initials appear on the front and back of the check."

"That's righ
t, it was approved by Mr. Lipshe
r, Joe Lipsher, the head of our entertainment industry division."

"And it was cashed?"

"Yes, it was exchanged for ten thousand dollars in American Express traveler's checks." "And who cashed it?"

"Mr. David
Begelman
, the president of Columbia Picture
s. He apparently told Mr. Lipshe
r at the time that he was about to leave on a trip and would be traveling with Mr. Robertson."

"Thank you, Lorie."

Robertson and
Kahaner
hung up and stared at each other. Cliff was too shocked to speak.

"Let's review what we know, Cliff," Kahaner said. "We know the following things for sure: You never received this money and obviously were not owed it. Yet a check obviously was made out to you and cashed. We have it right here in front of us.
Begelman
's story about the young man—the 'mystery is solved' story—obviously was a lie. Begelman almost certainly forged your signature and cashed the check himself, and bought traveler's checks in his own name.
I
guess there's still a slight possibility of an innocent explanation, no matter how bizarre, but that appears extremely unlikely. We have to face the fact that David
Begelman
almost certainly used your name to embezzle ten thousand dollars from Columbia Pictures. It's possible that this is just the tip of an iceberg. You just may be sitting on a hydrogen bomb."

"What do
I
do now?"

"I think you should seek legal counsel. It's possible that you could just let it go and nothing more would come of it. But suppose something surfaces through another channel. Suppose somebody else catches
Begelman
stealing, and they investigate and trace this transaction back to you. If you haven't reported it, or at least gotten legal advice, it's going to look like either you actually got the money or were covering up for
Begelman
."

Robertson and
Kahaner
discussed lawyers and decided Cliff should not use the attorney who normally handled his movie
and television contracts, Gunthe
r Schiff. Schiff, who had practiced law in the Hollywood community for a quarter of a century, had long been friendly with David Begelman, and Cliff felt that Schiff might feel awkward in a sensitive criminal inquiry that pitted him against Begelman. Instead,
Cliff chose to call Seth Hufste
dler, the senior partner of a distinguished Los Angeles law firm which did relatively little entertainment w
ork but handled a number of nonentertainme
nt matters for the Robertson family.* Nervous and agitated, Robertson phoned Hufstedler from Kahaner's office and ex
plained the situation. Hufstedle
r asked Robertson to come to his office immediately. Another taxi was called, and Cliff and a confused, restless Heather Robertson headed several miles down the Hollywood Freeway to the Crocker Bank Plaza in downtown Los Angeles and the twenty-second floor suite of Beardsley, Hufstedler & Kemble.

The legal community in downtown Los Angeles differed sharply in appearance and atmosphere from its counterpart across town in Beverly Hills and Century City. The downtown firms served mainly banks and big corporations and functioned with the unspoken but firm conviction that they actually
practiced law
while their show business brethren merely made and unmade deals between childish people engaged in childish endeavors. While that was a considerable exaggeration, the contrasting tones of the two communities suggested at a minimum different styles. In Beverly Hills law offices, one saw open collars and gold baubles,
Record World
and
Daily Variety,
and bright—sometimes garish—decor. The chatter tended to be loud, urgent, and constant. Downtown, there were ties, three-piece suits.
The Wall Street Journal,
bland motifs and subdued, well-modulated conversations.

Seth Hufstedler, a former president of the California and Los Angeles County bar associations, was a slim, unassuming man in his middle fifties with white hair and a small beard and mustache. He spoke with a quiet resonance and his manner was calm, precise, and unemotional. After h
earing Robertson's story, Hufste
dler said he would report the matter to law enforcement authorities immediately. Cliff made clear that he did not want to spearhead any prosecution of David
Begelman
but would be willing to testify if the authorities began a legal proceedi
ng. That seemed reasonable to Se
th. Cliff remarked that he hoped he wouldn't have to interrupt his trip to New Zealand.

*
Seth Hufs
tcdler's wife. Shirley Hufstedler
was a federal appeals court jud
ge in Lo
s Angeles and later was name
d U.S. Secretary of Education by
President Jimmy Carter
.

"Where are you staying?" "The Bel-Air Hotel."

"If I were you I wouldn't stay in a hote
l," Hufstedler said. "Not to ove
rdramatizc this, but we have no way of knowing at this point how big this is, who else may be involved, or where it all may lead. Begelman knows you've raised questions. Until we have a better handle on the dimensions, and until we put it in the proper law enforcement channels, you probably should stay away from public places in this community where you'll be recognized."

"Well, I guess I'll have to call some friends and sec what I can arrange. There aren't that many people here that I'm really close to."

"I'd stay away from people in the industry as much as possible."

Coming from Seth Hufstedle
r, perhaps the calmest man Robertson knew, the admonition to lie low worried him almost as much as the revelation of
Begelman
's crime. He walked out to the reception area where Heather was waiting.

"Gee, Daddy,
when are
we going to the hotel?"

"Honey, what was the name of your friend who went to Disneyland with us a couple of months ago? Do you have her phone number?"

Heather produced the number from a tiny address book. She and the other youngster had been classmates—and had become close friends—when Heather had attended school in Los Angeles during the filming of
Washington: Behind Closed Doors.
The friend was one of four daughters of a film editor and the family lived in a modest old home in Central Hollywood. Robertson got the man on the phone and explained that the hotel had misplaced his reservation. He was having difficulty reaching other friends, he said, and wondered if he and Heather could stay overnight. If the idea that a famous film actor could not get a hotel room in Los Angeles strained the man's credulity, he didn't show it, and welcomed the Robertsons warmly.

It was late afternoon by th
e time Cliff and Heather left Seth Hufste
dler's office. The lawyer consulted his law partner, Samuel Williams, who was then serving as president of the Los Angeles Police Commission, a civilian oversight body. Williams telephoned the assistant chief of police, who sent to Scth
Hufstedler
's office the captain in command of the police department's bunco-forgery division and the lieutenant in charge of the specialized forgery unit. After hearing Hufstedler's account of the forgery, the captain said that the LAPD probably would have to refer the case to the police departments in Burbank, where Columbia Pictures was located, and in Beverly Hills, where the forgery itself apparently had occurred.

Cliff telephoned Dina in Illinois and told her the news, but he made only a few other calls and did not leave the house in Hollywood until it was time to go to the airport on Thursday morning. Although he kept up an amiable front—sitting in the living room reading, or playing with the girls, or just staring out the window into the hazy sunshine—he felt an upsetting mixture of worry, disbelief, resentment, and confusion. He felt like a fugitive, a spy in hiding, a witness in protective custody. "Tip of the iceberg" were the words Bud Kahaner had used. "Hydrogen bomb." Cliff conjured up notions of high crime and hit men. But that's silly, isn't it? Why me? Why did
Begelman
have to pick
my
name to forge?

Cliff mused a lot about David that day. What gall it must have taken to forge a check in as blatant a manner as this one had been forged! But perhaps he shouldn't be so shocked. Cliff had never particularly liked David, even when they were client and agent. They had different personalities, different backgrounds, different values. And since the episode that had come to be known as the
Red Baron
affair. Cliff actually had thoroughly despised and distrusted David.

The Red Baron
had been a genuine fiasco.

Shortly after the success of
Cha
rly.
Cliff had received a number of lucrative film offers but had declined them all because he wanted to write, direct, and star in a film centering on one of his hobbies— old airplanes. He had been approached by a man from Ireland who owned several World War I fighter planes in excellent condition. Cliff had persuaded Cinerama Incorporated, the company that had distributed
Charly,
to put up $150,000 to enable him to go to Ireland and film some aerial combat sequences. David Begelman had negotiated the deal on Cliffs behalf, and Cliff had written a treatment f
or a script tentatively titled
I
Shot Down the Red Baron. I Think.
As Cliff understood the arrangement, if Cinerama liked the combat footage, it would finance the rest of the movie. If not. Cliff would have the option of reimbursing Cinerama its $150,000 and owning the project himself.

By the lime the filming in Ireland was completed several months later. Cinerama was in financial difficulty, chose not to proceed with the movie, and demanded that Cliff refund its money immediately. Cliff claimed that while he had an option to buy the film, he had no obligation to buy it. He promised, however, to try to obtain financing for the film from another company and reimburse Cinerama when and if he was able to do so. The argument dragged on, and to Cliffs consternation, David Begelman sided with Cinerama. Begelman even went so far as voluntarily to swear out an affidavit saying that Cliff indeed had an obligation to repay the money to Cinerama immediately. Robertson was enraged.

"David,
I
want you to keep this straight and honest, this whole relationship, and
I
don't want you leading anybody down the garden path, and
I
don't want you in any way to indicate other than the truth. . . ." Cliff had warned Begelman at the time.

Robertson and
Begelman
had disputes, as well, over David's agent's commission from
Charly
and over other issues. The agent-client relationship was terminated, and subsequently Cinerama used David Begelman's affidavit against Robertson as the basis for suing Cliff for the
Red Baron
money. Defending himself in a sworn deposition, Robertson called
Begelman
a liar. "It was more and more apparent to me that something wasn't right in the dialogue between Begelman and Cinerama," Cliff testified.
"I
had the feeling that
I
was gradually being sandbagged.
...
I
felt
I
had been completely subverted by my own agent in my moment of despair, anguish, and shock" (when Cinerama claimed Cliff owed the money).

After a year of bitter wrangling, Robertson reluctantly agreed to pay Cinerama 52
5,000 plus an additional $25,000
if the
Red Baron
picture ever was made. The suit thereby was settled, but Robertson never forgave
Begelman
. They didn't speak again until an inconsequential meeting on another topic a few years later. Cliff thought David might take that opportunity to express at least a little regret over the
Red Baron
episode.
Begelman
not only failed to mention the incident but was so unabashedly friendly that Cliff later remarked to Dina that he had been appalled at David's insensitivity. There had been one or two other brief encounters. David had even stopped Cliff on the beach at the Cannes Film Festival in May 1976, to compliment him on
Obsession.
The next time they had spoken, however, was two weeks ago Saturday when
Begelman
had telephoned to assure Cliff he would "clarify" the $10,000 "misunderstanding" and then had invited Cliff to lunch. Now, David stood revealed as a forger, an embezzler, and again, a liar of staggering proportions.