Scream Test: An unforgettable and gripping psychological thriller

by Mark Gillespie

  What the hell was Klein doing in there?

  When she had everything, Jami backed away towards the door, wrapping her fingers around the rusty, copper-tinged handle.

  “Good luck Ellie. Just relax and be yourself. Remember that he liked you enough to give you his number and invite you here today. That means he saw something special in you. Okay? Just be yourself. Be that same girl.”

  As Jami opened the door, Ellie felt the walls closing in.

  “I’ll try.”

  “It was great to meet you. Hope I’ll be seeing more of you in the future.”

  “I hope so too,” Ellie said.

  She waved as Klein’s PA backpedaled through the open doorway and into the hall. Jami offered one last smile before pushing the door back over with her shoulder. It slammed shut.

  Ellie’s body shook. It was as if an Arctic wind had swept through the room.

  She closed her eyes. The Shadow Man was pinning her down in the black and white movie inside her head. He was the weight of a truck on top of her. Laughing. Spitting. Punching. She opened her eyes and the Shadow Man was gone, but there was someone in the bathroom.

  “Be out in a second!” a man’s voice called out.

  This is a bad place, said a voice in Ellie’s head. Bad things happen here. But there was something else inside Ellie and it was the familiar voice of a friend. That voice told her in a soft voice to stay put.

  We have work to do.

  The faucet stopped running. Ellie heard thunderous footsteps approaching the door. The loud groan of a man who sounded like he’d just climbed out of bed on a cold morning.

  He’s coming. This is where it begins.

  4

  Grady Klein walked out of the bathroom with a big smile on his grizzly bear face. When he saw Ellie, he spread his arms out wide like he was greeting an old friend. He had quite the wingspan.

  “Ellie Ferguson! How you doing pal?”

  He grabbed her and pulled her into a big hug that knocked the wind out of Ellie. Felt like she was having an out of body experience, watching events unfold from the ceiling.

  Klein let go and stepped back. As he looked at her, he was nodding in approval. “You look great. Not quite as dolled up as you were in Toronto that night, huh?”

  “No,” Ellie said, remembering the amount of effort she’d put into her clothes and appearance at TIFF. “Not quite.”

  “This is good,” Klein said, looking her t-shirt, jeans and sneakers combo over. “This is great. I like casual.”

  Klein was casually dressed himself in a navy Ralph Lauren polo shirt and creased jeans that could have come from the same thrift store as Jami’s wardrobe. He was a big man with an expanding belly that strained against the waistband of his jeans. Nonetheless, there was still plenty of muscle on the man’s arms and he reminded Ellie of an aging wrestler who was long past his prime, but still strong, still capable of getting the job done.

  Grady Klein. Ellie couldn’t believe that he was standing right there in front of her. That he’d just grabbed her and hugged her like that. This wasn’t like meeting him at the premiere last year. She was alone with the starmaker, or as the tabloids liked to call him, the starfucker. Ellie didn’t want to admit it, not even in the privacy of her own thoughts, but she was slightly in awe of this man. Was that so wrong? Small town girl from the outskirts of Toronto bags a meeting with the most successful movie producer in the world. Didn’t that sound like a fairytale? She was in his hotel room and there was a camera set up, all ready to go.

  We’ve got work to do.

  But no, Ellie thought. Wait. Look. A screen test. This is a real screen test.

  A screen test with Grady Klein, a man who commanded power and influence in Hollywood like few others. Filmmakers kissed his ass on a daily basis because here was a guy who could get their movies greenlit and provide extensive media attention and all the other perks associated with a Klein movie. It was no secret that Klein was aggressive in treating the Oscars like a political campaign. His movies, his stars, his people, they all had to win the top prizes. As awards season closed in, he would force his leading men and women to do a blitzkrieg of press and publicity, working them to the point of exhaustion but that was okay because Klein’s movies and stars had won a lot of gold statuettes over the past two decades. Pressure, pressure, pressure. Reward. He was a temperamental maverick from the east coast who got shit done, plain and simple. Equal parts talented and controversial.

  “Jami’s gone?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Ellie said, glancing at the door. Her voice sounded small. Almost childlike. “She just left a minute ago.”

  Klein was looking at the door too. “Busy girl. No thanks to me, I guess. But she’s a helluva good at her job and good thing too because she’s my mom’s cousin’s daughter or something like that. It’d be awkward as hell if I had to fire her.”

  He turned his attention back to Ellie.

  “It’s great to meet you. Again.” His smile was an awkward grimace. It was like he’d seen pictures of other people smiling in a book and was trying to imitate the expression.

  He offered his hand, as if the bear hug hadn’t been enough.

  “Likewise,” Ellie said, responding to the offer. Klein’s skin was surprisingly soft, at odds with his rugged wrestler appearance. Felt like it had been smoothed down with sandpaper.

  She sensed a lot of nervous energy in front of her. It was pouring out of the hulking producer like steam from a kettle. Glancing this way, that way, this way again. Ellie wondered if Klein had been at the white powder while she’d been talking to Jami. That would explain why he’d been in the bathroom so long.

  Klein walked past Ellie and made his way over to the window. He leaned against the ledge, glancing down towards the parade of traffic on Sunset Boulevard. Ellie could hear him breathing. Sounded like he’d just climbed five sets of stairs.

  “Great view,” he said, turning back to her. “Huh?”

  Ellie didn’t get it. What was out there? Skyscrapers and roads?

  Klein pushed away from the ledge and walked back into the center of the room.

  “I’m only kidding,” he said, as if reading her mind. “I’m sorry we’re in such a shitty room this morning. It’s a standard double, can you believe that? People really pay for this crap? Usually, I can access a bungalow on short notice but this place is packed out right now and Jami had to hustle her ass off to get this for a few hours. I just need somewhere quiet to look over a script that I’ve got in mind for you. But next time you come out we’ll be in the bungalow, I guarantee it. And not just any bungalow either – we’ll be in Bungalow 3, that’s the one where Tommy Moreno blew his brains out in ’85. That’s where everyone wants to stay when they visit the Lux. Sick, huh?”

  “The room’s fine,” Ellie said. Like she actually gave a shit. But she could tell that Klein was going through the old routine and that it was important to him. I-can-get-whatever-I-want-if-I-really-want-it.

  “I also wanted to say thanks for calling today, Ellie. When you cornered me in Toronto that night and told me you were coming to LA, I knew I’d be seeing you again. That look in your eyes. That was the look of someone who meant what they said. It’s kind of a rarity nowadays, you know?”

  “I appreciate you making time for me Mr. Klein,” Ellie said.

  “Grady. Call me Grady.”

  “Yeah, well. I didn’t think this was going to happen so soon, Grady.”

  Klein nodded. He made a ridiculous amount of noise clearing his throat, then glanced at the futuristic stainless-steel watch on his wrist.

  “Busy day today sweetheart. I’m buying Johnny Kent lunch at the Hilton to try and convince him to star in the same movie I want you for. He’d be a great fit for the lead – totally different to anything else he’s ever done in his career and that’s Oscar bait. He’s got the chops to pull it off too. As for you Ellie, there’s a role in here that I think you’d be perfect for. That’s why you’re here and I guarantee
it’ll do amazing things for your career because Klein Productions are investing a lot of resources into this next project. We’re pushing for a September release next year, which means we gotta get our asses in gear and start the wheels turning. You know?”

  He spoke fast, machine-gunning out the words.

  Johnny Kent? Ellie tried not to look too excited. She was doing her best to concentrate on what Klein was saying as if the thought of putting her, a complete unknown, in a movie with the biggest star in the world was no biggie.

  “Sounds good,” she said, standing tall and stiff. Her fingers were interlocked to the point of discomfort. “What’s the movie?”

  “That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, isn’t it sweetheart? And you’ll find out in a minute, I swear. Now I don’t mean to be rude and leave you on your own Ellie, but I’m going to have to go back in the bathroom and grab a quick shower before lunch with Johnny. Sorry, I’m still feeling kinda gross after the flight from London yesterday.”

  Ellie flinched. She thought for a second that Klein was about to ask her to join him. To step under the hot water, pick up the brush and start scrubbing his back.

  “Uhh, yeah sure. Do what you have to do.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I’m not going to leave you empty handed,” Klein said, grinning. “You got some reading to do while I’m in there making myself look presentable.”

  “Okay.”

  Still looking pleased with himself, Klein walked over to the queen-sized bed, lifted up the top pillow and pulled out a bound script along with a few stapled sheets of A4 paper.

  “Ta-da!”

  He approached Ellie with the script and notes in hand.

  “To answer your question,” he said. “It’s a psychological horror movie. Dark thriller, suspense, that kind of thing. The genre doesn’t matter. Who wrote it, that’s what matters. You see Ellie, what I’m holding in my hand right here is...DRUMROLL.”

  Ellie wondered if Klein wanted her to make a drumroll noise. She decided against it.

  “What I’m holding,” Klein said, creeping forward, “is an early hand typed draft of the next Bob Tucci movie.”

  Ellie’s jaw dropped. “Bob Tucci?”

  Klein’s face was still a big flashy grin. It was the same grin that Ellie had seen at least a hundred times on YouTube clips where he was strutting down the red carpet at premieres and awards ceremonies worldwide. Only now, in real life, it was so much bigger.

  “And like I said Ellie, there’s a part in this Tucci script that’s perfect for you. When you called Jami today, that was fate and I made the connection immediately. I’m telling you – I’m a big believer in that sort of thing. The stars aligning and yadda-yadda. You’re here for a reason. This is a part that’ll get you noticed. I’ll make sure you get noticed and in about a year or two, Ellie Ferguson will be the hottest property in town. Hotter than the goddamn sun. I know a star when I see one and I see one in front of me right now. That’s why you’re here. We’re going to make sweet beautiful magic together.”

  Ellie could barely hear him talk over the sound of the blood thundering through her veins. “That’s a Bob Tucci script?”

  “Better,” Klein said. “It’s a brand new Tucci script. Only a handful of people have seen this. I got two copies in here and there’s about three more, tops. Only a few people on this planet know it even exists. You’re one of them.”

  Ellie nodded. She wanted to rip the script out of his hand and devour it. Bob Tucci was the last great American auteur as far as Ellie was concerned and to be even considered for a role in one of his movies, no matter how big or small, was like hitting the jackpot. Better. It was immortality.

  “Wow,” she said. “I’m sure there are a lot of actors in this town who’d love to get their hands on that.”

  “You’re damn right they would,” Klein said, lowering his voice for the first time since he’d stepped out of the bathroom. “This is the holy grail for every working actor on the planet. And I’m giving it to you.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Ellie said. “Thank you.”

  “I’ve earmarked you for the role of Sally,” Klein said, briefly thumbing through the first few pages. The script was easily two hundred plus pages. An epic.

  Klein offered her the script. Ellie took it, her hand shaking.

  This was better than gold.

  “So there you have it,” Klein said, giving her a playful tap on the shoulder as he walked to the bathroom door. He switched on the light and Ellie heard the exhaust fan humming in the background. Sounded like it was on the verge of breaking down.

  “I’ll go for my shower and you take a seat at the desk, on the bed, wherever you’re comfortable. Okay? Drink your coffee and look through the script. Tell me what you think, both about the non-linear narrative structure and about your character. I want your input, Ellie.”

  Ellie felt dizzy.

  Tucci. Fucking Tucci.

  “Thanks Grady.”

  She watched as Klein began to close the bathroom door over. He did it slowly, watching her through the gap.

  November 11th, 2009

  Miss Cranston wasn’t impressed.

  The look on the teacher’s face said it all. Tight-lipped, her normally expressive eyes unmoved by what she was hearing. And on occasion, much to Ellie’s irritation, the woman looked plain old bored.

  All this despite the fact that Ellie and Cassandra had just stood in front of class and delivered a first-rate true crime presentation about the 1954 murders of Nicole and Deirdre West. That wasn’t good enough for Cranston? Or any of their asshole classmates? Didn’t matter that the crime was connected to the local area? Nope, not good enough. Nope, didn’t matter. Ellie and Cassandra had done everything right. They’d gathered the facts and delivered them with clarity. They’d used a meticulous PowerPoint presentation that had taken months to put together and looked outstanding by anyone’s standards. They’d crammed as much as they could into the allocated thirty minutes, which was nowhere near long enough to do the story justice.

  And somehow, both class and teacher were bored?

  The fuckers.

  Ellie, for her part, felt like she could have talked for another five hours without a break. There was so much to get through.

  The girls had taken it in turns to speak about Nicole’s early life in Ohio and about her journey to Hollywood at the tender age of four with her mother and manager, Deirdre. It was a fascinating journey. Apparently, prior to Nicole’s birth in St. Ann’s Hospital in Columbus on March 25th, 1937 at 5.05am (a rainy Thursday morning), a fortune-teller in Cleveland had convinced the twenty-five-year-old Deirdre that her first-born child, who would be a girl, was destined for great things. The old gypsy sat across the table from Deirdre, took her hands, squeezed tight and spoke in an exotic whisper of a voice, telling the wide-eyed young woman that people would sit up and take notice of her daughter and that one day, the girl’s voice would be heard all over the world. But Deirdre had to be patient. It would take many years for that voice to be heard. Patience, the gypsy repeated.

  Nicole was born the following year and two other children, Stacey and John, weren’t far behind. Deirdre, who’d tried and failed to be a successful actress in New York prior to the Great Depression, had never forgotten the gypsy woman’s words. And with those words swirling around her mind twenty-four seven, Deirdre’s lust for fame and wealth had gotten the better of her. Nicole was four when she, along with her mother, took the bus from Ohio to California, leaving Stacey and John behind with their bewildered dad.

  The travelers had little on them – fifty dollars in cash, two suitcases and an unwavering sense of fate.

  Ellie and Cassandra had dropped in short clips of Nicole’s early films. They figured it would be a good idea, seeing as how most of the kids in their class had serious ADD. Break up the talk with movie clips. Cute kid roles, as many as they could fit in there. How could they
not love her? Nicole was the pretty little girl who made the adults laugh. She was the cheeky imp who talked to animals. There was a Christmas movie, My Friend Santa Claus, where she’d played the tiniest of elves who, along with some clean-cut American kids, helped Santa Claus rediscover the true meaning of Christmas.

  Ellie thought the whole presentation flowed smoothly. Like a dream. She’d been awake all night, worrying about it. She’d been sick that morning. But it had gone great. They discussed how Nicole had blossomed from child star into a beautiful young woman, transitioning into young adult roles with great success.

  “The future looked bright,” Cassandra had said. “So bright. And then…”

  Yawns.

  Actual fucking yawns that Ellie could hear like foghorns. Yawns that some deaf old biddy on the other side of Lake Ontario could hear. Some of the girls, including Jane Harris (aka bitch tits) and Adana Keita (aka Asian Gollum with hair), were talking to one another throughout the presentation. Making little effort to keep the noise down, despite Miss Cranston telling them to zip it on several occasions. Ellie noticed early on how this was zapping the life out of Cassandra, whose energy had clearly begun to wane. Her voice was fading to a whisper. Her shoulders slumped. Ellie’s best friend was breaking beside her and that meant she had to soldier on with double the effort. And she did. She spoke louder. She had this habit of stretching to her full height in order to be taken seriously and she did it now.

  It was a turning into a one-girl show.

  Nicole and Deirdre’s murder dominated the second half of the presentation. Even this fucking tragedy didn’t rouse their zombie classmates. Ellie was livid but she managed to hold it together for Nicole’s sake. Get the words out. On the other hand, Cassandra’s spirits continued to flag, so much so that Ellie felt like she was standing next to a deflating rubber doll.

  She hated the people in her class. Every single last one of them. They were just dumb, immature kids, so removed from the horrors of the world that they were incapable of grasping what Ellie was trying to tell them. But she pressed on and as it became apparent that the crowd couldn’t be won over, Ellie swore she’d remember every one of them when it came to their presentations. In particular, she’d remember Johnny Rogers sitting three rows back. The toad-faced prick kept looking at the clock and yawning.