Reunion in LA (3)
Jake tried to recall the actor's face or the movie's plot, but it wasn't easy.
Most of them were obscure actors, and the films themselves were ones he'd never seen.
Soon, filming wrapped up, and the set began to dismantle.
The sofa, used as a prop, was loaded onto a truck and hauled off to storage.
Time passed, and eventually, a man came and took the sofa away.
"Hmm..."
It was intriguing as a movie prop from an unfamiliar film, but ultimately ambiguous.
Not from a famous movie, and the sofa itself was just too damn big compared to the others.
'Shipping this thing's gonna cost extra.'
Regretfully, he moved on to the next piece of furniture.
This one was a high-end oak desk, heavy and solid. Touching it and focusing brought hazy memories.
A man sat at the desk, scribbling with a pen in a World War II-era uniform. Cameras surrounded him...
'Prop again.'
Sure enough, the set designer had worked in Hollywood.
The nearby chair, dresser, wardrobe—all movie props.
He checked each one just in case, but most held little value. They weren't easy to sell right away, and transport and storage were the real headaches.
'Alright, skip all the big furniture. Start with the small stuff.'
He shifted direction toward the paintings.
Starting with the framed pieces leaning against the wall.
The first was a landscape in 19th-century style, but closer inspection revealed sloppy flaws.
'Replica.'
A mock-up made for a movie set. Worthless beyond decoration.
The others were similar. They looked convincing from afar, but up close, always fakes.
His brisk pace halted at one painting.
"Huh? This one..."
A small oil painting, 30x40 centimeters, depicting a harbor scene.
Rough brushstrokes, dark tones. No mere replica or prop.
The canvas looked aged, the wooden frame and nails old-school.
Carefully touching it and focusing...
'Original from the 1950s.'
A faint signature in the corner: [R. Miller, 1953]
"R. Miller..."
Not a name he knew, probably a local artist. Still, a 1950s original—worth at least $200-300.
"Marking this one."
He carefully set the painting aside. Finally, a first candidate worth buying.
'...No way everything here's a bust, right?'
An uneasy thought crept in, but he shook it off and kept checking paintings.
The movie prop warehouse was packed with art of all sizes, mostly replicas or set pieces.
After about ten more, his steps stopped again.
40x50 centimeters. Abstract.
Bold reds, blues, yellows blended dynamically, vibrant energy in the free brushwork.
"Whoa, this one's..."
The vibe was distinctly different. A real artwork, not amateur.
First, the signature: [Tony Berlant, 1967]
From Leonard's book?
Tilting his head, he pulled out his phone and searched.
Results flooded in.
'Tony Berlant (1935-2003). LA abstract expressionist. Active 1960s-70s. Beat generation artist. Key figure in LA art scene.'
Lots of info. Auction records too.
'Tony Berlant, 1965, 50x60cm, 2019 auction $3,200''Tony Berlant, 1968, 40x50cm, 2021 auction $2,800''Tony Berlant, 1966, 45x55cm, 2023 auction $3,500'
Higher than expected. His heart raced.
This one matched the sizes. 1967 piece—probably $2,500-3,000.
'Seems authentic, but to be sure...'
Carefully touching the corner and focusing.
"Perfect, definite authentic."
Jackpot. A grin broke out.
Carefully placed it next to the R. Miller. Second candidate secured.
He finished the paintings—those two were it.
Next, stacked boxes on the other side.
"Alright, let's see."
Dusty boxes, opened one by one.
First: old books, scripts, storyboards, production notes. Interesting, but niche market—tough to sell without a famous film tie-in.
'Demand's low unless it's a blockbuster. Market's too narrow.'
More boxes: costume props from every era. Clothes, hats, gloves, ties spilling out.
Then, a heavy box in the corner. Something gleamed inside.
"Hm?"
Dusty, but silverware.
Silver candlesticks, plates, fork and knife sets...
Pulled out a candlestick—heavy, not cheap prop. Bottom engraving: 'Sterling 925'
Real silver!
Checked weight, hallmarks, surface finish meticulously, as learned.
"Owner must've totally forgotten about this stash..."
Emptied the box: pair of candlesticks, 4 plates, 12 fork/knife sets, 2 small trays, 8 napkin rings. All sterling.
'Total silver value alone... at least $500. As antiques, $800-1,000.'
"Marking this too."
Marked the box, moved it with the paintings to the entrance.
Already over $3,500 profit minimum.
'Came to the right place.'
Grinning, he tackled the rest. No time to rest—with this much, it was war.
About three hours later.
Nearly everything in the warehouse checked.
Skills sharpened—speed picked up distinguishing junk from keepers.
Besides the two paintings and silver, three more scores.
First: late-19th-century 'Bronze Horse Sculpture' by French sculptor Pierre Morrel. Similar sold at auction for $1,100.
Second: lucky vintage camera case. Multiple old cameras inside—working Leica M3 worth $800-1,200; RolleiFlex 2.8F, Hasselblad 500C, Nikon F together $2,000-2,500.
Third: 1925 Art Deco table lamp. Comps $500-800.
'Today's haul alone tops $7,000.'
Back aching from hauling, but mood sky-high. Worth every sweat for this payoff.
"Phew, last ones."
Big wooden crates in the corner—saved for last, toughest. Locks open, thankfully.
Creeeak—
Slowly lifted the lid, brushed dust, peered in.
Cloth-covered something—chair shape.
"Hmm."
Unwrapped: aged 1960s chair. Streamlined plastic shell, metal legs.
Familiar. Eames style. Mid-century modern.
Real or prop? Heart pounding, flipped it carefully. Markings on bottom:
'Herman Miller'
'Designed by Charles & Ray Eames'
Herman Miller made. Eames design.
Quick condition check: minor scratches, solid structure. No cracks in plastic.
'Whoa, what's this worth?'
Searched online. Prices varied wildly by condition, color, rarity.
Standard colors: $300-600.
Rare colors: $800-1,200.
Bright orange—uncommon.
'At least $800.'
Carefully added to the pile by the entrance. Growing stack.
"Whew... killing me."
Sigh escaped. But nearly done.
Checked the rest of the wooden crates—no gems. Many rotted from long storage humidity.
Then, smallest wooden box in the farthest corner caught his eye.
Opened: cloth-covered item.
Odd shape. Long rod-like thing poking out.
'What's that?'
Curiosity piqued. Approached slowly, peeled cloth carefully.
Heart skipped.
"What the hell..."
Metal arm.
No—a robot arm.
Shoulder to fingertips. Chrome-plated metal. Intricate joints. Fully articulated fingers.
'No way.'
A famous movie flashed in mind. Blockbuster from the 80s-90s: fighting a robot from the future.
Unthinkingly, he reached tentatively for the robot arm.