by Tom Lowe
TWENTY-THREE
Even with his attorney at his side, Craig Blake wasn’t prepared for what he was about to receive. They left the sheriff’s office, walking into a bright wash of sunlight, moving down a pathway next to the building, the sulfur smell of well water irrigating philodendrons, to where a half-dozen TV news cameras were aimed and ready. Reporters, producers, camera and sound operators formed a pack, a semi-circle around Blake and his attorney, Warren Harris, as the men tried to walk from the sheriff’s office compound to their cars in the parking lot.
The first reporter, a slender woman, hair worn up, asked, “Craig, what would you like to say? People are curious about the death of your girlfriend, Michelle Martin … what comments do you have?”
Harris lifted his hand up, palm out. “We don’t have any comment at this time except for the very obvious one … my client, Craig Blake, had absolutely nothing to do with the murder of Michelle Martin. Police do not have a shred of physical evidence pointing toward him. Now, if you will excuse us.” They resumed a faster stride toward the parking lot under a barrage of questions from reporters.
“Craig,” said a tall, perspiring man in a sports coat and khaki pants. “When was the last time you saw Michelle?”
Blake and Harris ignored the question.
Another reporter—a man with a shaved head, asked, “What’s your take on the mermaid costume? We heard that Michelle was auditioning for a part in the movie. Did she discuss that with you?”
They kept walking, the herd of journalists following like a pack of wolves sensing blood on the horizon. “Was Michelle a good swimmer?” shouted a radio reporter.
“Did you have an issue with her being cast in the movie?” asked a cable news producer.
“What’s your theory, Craig? Did Michelle have any enemies?”
They walked faster, Harris staying by Blake’s side until Blake got in his BMW, locked the door, and started the engine. “Please, you’re blocking my way,” Harris said, as he moved around the news crews and headed for his black Mercedes S-Class Coupe parked in a handicapped space.
• • •
“Listen up! Mermen to the left and those auditioning to be mermaids form two lines,” shouted a member of the movie’s casting staff, a woman not much older than the girls in line. Savannah Nelson smiled and followed her directions. She knew the Central Florida Aquatic Center well. She had competed here in high school swim meets. Today, though, she felt like she couldn’t compete with so many of the other beautiful girls who entered the building with hopes of scoring a role in the movie, Atlantis.
“I wonder if there’s a chance we can audition for some speaking roles, too?” asked a blonde girl in her late teens to her friend, a teen with long, strawberry-colored hair hanging to the center of her back. Savannah thought the girl had a strong resemblance to Ariel from the animated movie, The Little Mermaid.
The girl with the red hair said, “I heard there are three speaking roles for mermaids. The rest are supposed to be all non-speaking extras.”
The queue lines inched forward, slowly moving toward the casting tables near one of the six swimming pools. There were three lines—two filled with teenage girls and young women. One line was staggered with teenage boys and men in their early twenties, vying for parts as mermen. Savannah thought one of the boys was cute.
She looked away, taking a deep breath, the faint odor of chlorine in the enclosed arena with plexiglass roofs. She watched the people standing in the lines. Some had hopes to become movie stars. Others just wanted to get a small part in a movie that was going to be filmed in Florida. All of the applicants were good swimmers. It was required for the job when the cameras rolled, and dozens of mermaids and a few mermen were to be in the background scenes.
Many of the aspiring actors came with headshots and acting resumes. Savannah didn’t. She had no real acting experience, except a small role she had in a high school production of the play, Our Town. But she was a quick learner and thought she could certainly handle the job as an extra. And since the water was her second home, thanks to her mother, she felt comfortable in the environment. But she didn’t know how comfortable she’d be working around people from Hollywood and wearing a skimpy mermaid’s costume on a movie set. I’ll get through it, she thought. After all, that’s what acting is all about. Pretending to be someone you’re not.
TWENTY-FOUR
The swimming pool for the cast was closed to anyone not affiliated with the production of the movie. The production company changed locations, moving the mermaid and mermen auditions from an easily accessible outdoor pool to a large indoor pool at a private aquatic center they were now leasing. The facility was near Orlando, and two Olympic champions had trained here through the years. When Savannah parked earlier, she noticed that private security patrolled the perimeter of the building and the parking lot.
“Okay, listen up, please,” said another production assistant, a tanned woman in her mid-thirties. She wore black jeans and a white polo shirt with the words Film Crew on the back. She stood in front of the lines where the applicants waited with wide-eyed awe. “We have seating behind these casting tables to my right. After you speak with people at the tables, please head to the five dressing rooms to the left. You can change into your swimsuits there. Then come back and take seats in those chairs near the far wall. We’ll call up each actor as soon as possible. Any questions?”
A brunette in her late teens raised her hand. “Yes, where are the restrooms?”
The production assistant smiled. “To the left, a little beyond the lighted sign with the word administration on it. Anyone else?” She scanned the hopeful faces. “Good. We’ll get through this as quickly as possible so we can move on to the call-backs.”
The hopefuls talked among themselves, as the lines slowly moved up to the tables. The excitement was palpable, each actor wishing the others well and lots of “good luck” and “break a leg” comments coming from the ranks of the contenders.
The casting director, Sebastian Gunter, stood to the far side of the pool near three people, two women and a man. One woman in her early forties was the first assistant director. The other woman—older, was one of the executive producers. The man, Doctor Howard Ward, early fifties, was a consultant to the production. Ward was one of the most renowned marine biologists in the nation. He was a tenured professor in South Florida, a man who developed extensive field research from a ten-year program known as the Bottlenose Dolphin Project. Ward served as a consultant for some of the largest marine theme parks in the world. He had a narrow face and a neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard. His wide, catlike eyes seemed to take in the entire facility, as if he was gazing at the horizon over the ocean.
Sebastian Gunter tapped the keys on his iPad for a moment and then turned to Ward. “We really appreciate you spending some time with us.”
“Glad to be here. It’s not what I normally do, however, I could use the diversion from working with dolphins and sharks to working with people … at least for a little while.” He chuckled, his gaze shifting from Gunter to the executive producer.
Gunter said, “I want you to meet a couple of people. Our art director, Jonathan Lloyd, is fabulous. He brings it all to the set, actually way before we get to a physical set, spending weeks designing just about everything you see on screen that’s not being worn by the actors.”
“Sounds like a big job.”
“It is. Jonathan’s a staunch perfectionist when it comes to details and getting the look right and real.” Gunter motioned toward four people—two men and two women who were standing to the left of a diving board. “Jonathan is the man with the neat moustache, wearing a black T-shirt and dark jeans. He’s talking with the director of Atlantis, Miles Venuti. The two women with them … the blonde is the director’s assistant, and the other is one of the production coordinators. Oh, look, they’re coming our way. This is a great opportunity, I hope, for you to hear the director’s vision.”
Miles Venuti walked
at a fast gait, long strides, arms swinging by his side, eyes scanning members of the production team and the extras standing in line. The people with him rushed to keep up with his fast pace. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept well, short black and white stubble on his haggard face, dark smudges beneath his eyes, wrinkled denim shirt worn outside his jeans, boat shoes with no socks. He nodded to Gunter and said, “We need to speed up the auditions. We’re running behind.” Venuti cut his eyes across the pool to the dozens of extras speaking with the casting staff. He watched a few of the girls as they returned from the makeshift dressing rooms wearing swimsuits, their names written on nametags and pinned to the suits.
Gunter cleared his throat. “No, problem. I’ll double the effort and get through the casting as quickly as possible. Miles, I wanted you and Jonathan to meet Doctor Howard Ward. Howard holds a Ph.D. in marine biology and, as you know, is a research scientist by profession. He’s one of our consultants. His dolphin research project continues to give the world an insight into the mind and habits of bottlenose dolphins.”
They shook hands, Venuti pursing his lips, Lloyd clutching an iPad, smiling as his brow wrinkled. Lloyd said, “We’re using a few prosthetic mermaid tails in some of the scenes. We can adjust and manipulate the tails to closely reflect the movement dolphins use in the water. I want the swimming of our mermaids to look as good, if not better, than that of dolphins. This is where I will rely on your expertise, Doctor Ward.”
Ward nodded. “Please, call me Howard. Delighted to do what I can to make it as authentic as possible. It’ll be hard to beat the agility of a dolphin, though.”
“We’ll strive to reach that bar.”
The director, Miles Venuti, looked at Ward and said, “I’m delighted you could join us, Howard. Dolphins have always fascinated me. We hear so many stories about them … their keen intelligence, playfulness and communication skills. As I’m sure you know, we are incorporating real dolphins into the storyline for Atlantis. Those scenes will be shot down in the Florida Keys within the next couple of months. I hope you can return and join us for that as well.”
Ward nodded. “I look forward to it.”
“As director, I concur with Jonathan … what we strive to achieve is authenticity in the way we can adapt the swimming motion of the dolphins to that of the actors playing mermaids and those in the mermen costumes, too. I think dolphins can teach us something when it comes to that … maybe even more.” He grinned and looked at some of the extras. “I hear dolphins are quite amorous in their pods and beyond.”
Ward nodded. “Yes, they can be at times.”
“Interesting. We’ll talk further. In the meantime, welcome aboard.”
The director started to walk away. Something caught his eye. He watched one of the women in a swimsuit come from the dressing room, a bounce to her walk. The sunlight through the glass roof made it look like her dark auburn hair had fiery shards of glass running through it. The director gestured to Gunter. “The girl in the cobalt blue swimsuit … the one with the long auburn hair. Even from this distance, I can tell she will photograph well. She looks vaguely familiar. Find out who she is … and before I go to my next meeting, I want to see if she can swim like a dolphin.”
Gunter nodded. “I’ll go speak with her.
• • •
Savannah looked up just as she was about to sit down. She watched a man quickly walking in her direction. He glanced at a gold watch on his wrist, holding an iPad in the other hand. Just by the way he walked, she knew he was someone important.
And she knew he was coming for her.
TWENTY-FIVE
Savannah wasn’t sure whether she should remain seated or stand as the man approached. She continued sitting, smiling and watching him come closer. He returned the smile and said, “Thank you for attending today’s audition. My name is Sebastian Gunter, and I’m the casting director. Who are you?”
“Savannah Nelson. Pleased to meet you.” She tried not to laugh, biting her lower lip.
Gunter angled his head. “Is something funny?”
“I’m sorry … it’s just your name.”
“What about my name do you find humorous?”
“Oh, it’s a fine name. I really like it. Sebastian reminds me of one of the characters in the movie, The Little Mermaid … it was the name of the crab.”
Gunter wasn’t sure how to respond. He glanced at the director across the pool, turned back to Savannah and nodded. “It was my grandfather’s name on my mother’s side. Please, stand up, if you will.”
“Okay.” Savannah stood, aware that many of the other girls were watching her.
“Do you have a role in mind that you’d like to audition for … anything specific?”
She looked down at the paper given to her by one of the casting staff members. It listed the names of the roles available for extras and a few of the speaking parts that hadn’t been cast. “I’d love to audition for a speaking role, but I’m happy to be an extra mermaid in the background, if that’s what’s left.”
Gunter nodded. “What’s available is exactly what you see on the sheet you’re holding.”
“Okay. Then I’d like to try for a speaking part, if I can. I know those parts pay more. I’m in college and can really use the money.”
“How is your ability to swim. Some of these roles will demand a lot of swimming skills and stamina in the water.”
“I’ve been swimming all my life.” Savannah gestured to the pool. “I swam competitive meets in here during my last two years of high school.”
“So, you’re very familiar with the pool and the surroundings here?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
“Okay. The first part of your audition will be to swim. Are you ready?”
“You mean now … right now?”
“Yes. No better time than the present. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, of course. Okay, are you looking for any particular swimming style and where do you want me to swim to … across the pool?”
“Yes.” He motioned toward the director and the others at the far end of the pool. “Swim toward them and then back here.”
“Okay. You mind if I go off the board? It’ll give me the speed I need to do the first lap underwater.”
Gunter arched his eyebrows. “You can do that underwater?”
“Yes.”
“Then, by all means, go off the board if you’d like.” Gunter started to walk away, then turned back to Savannah. “How’s your form from a high dive?”
“Good.”
“Begin there first before moving to the low board.”
“No problem.” Savannah set the paper in her chair, walked thirty feet to the head of the pool and climbed the high diving board. At the top of the ladder, she stepped onto the board and stood there. Everyone in the arena was looking up at her. The murmur of conversations came to a complete silence. Without hesitation, Savannah moved to the end of the board and sprung off it in a flawless airborne dive, her body cutting through the surface of the water like a knife.
“Wow,” said one of the teenage boys auditioning for a role as a merman. He looked at his friend and gave the thumbs up. “That girl’s Aquawoman.”
Savannah moved to the lower platform, making a rip entry into the pool. She swam underwater the length of the pool, the excitement of the spectator’s collective voices barely audible beneath the water. Savannah swam harder. When she reached the end of the pool, she surfaced and caught her breath, taking three deep inhalations. She glanced up at a half dozen faces. There were nods and smiles. The man that the casting director said was the movie director, simply stared at her like he was admiring a trained seal. She locked eyes with him for a second before using her feet to kick off the wall of the pool, swimming back to the other end. She swam with a combination of strokes, then finished by kicking like a dolphin, her body lithe and arching in and out of the water.
“Amazing,” mumbled the director, watching her complete the swim. He glanced
over at Howard Ward and said, “She might be the best mermaid we cast. She swims like she was trained by dolphins.” He eyed one of the production assistants. “Tell Sebastian to hire her.” He looked at his watch. “I have a conference call with the studio in nine minutes.”
• • •
Brent Randall wanted to be a cinematographer. In the meantime, one of his jobs on set was to take photos of every actor hired as extras. Randall was a tall man. Early thirties with an impish face, as if a cartoon artist had sketched his animated eyes and eyebrows. He took each hired extra into a room with two lights on stands aimed at a soft gray background. “You’re next,” he said to Savannah as she finished her conversation with Sebastian Gunter, Gunter walking away, speaking into a walkie-talkie.
Savannah turned toward Randall, smiling when she saw his big, friendly face. “Next for what?” she asked.
“For your photo. We take them of all new hires. Helps us keep things straight. Once you’re on set and in costume, depending on how many scenes you’re in, you’ll have a photographer taking more pics. Part of the moviemaking biz is keeping continuity in those scenes that require it.”
“What do you mean?”
Randall cocked his head, as if he wasn’t quite sure he heard the question correctly. “Continuity is making sure the clothes, costumes, hair, et cetera, all match between takes or sometimes between matching scenes.”
“Oh. I guess that would be important.”
Randall’s jaw slightly dropped. “Come with me. We’ll take your picture and get your information to HR.”
Savannah followed him from the pool area to an office with the lights on stands, a camera on a tripod and a desk with a computer near the center of it. “Do you want me to stand against the wall?” she asked.
“You learn quickly. Yes.”
She followed his direction, and he focused the camera. He took one picture. “Smile and look directly into the camera. You’re naturally photogenic. I can see why they cast you so quickly. I watched the director, Miles … he has a good eye for talent and beauty.”
