by R. T. Jordan
As a Broadway dance choreographer turned director of music videos, Adam Berg was used to handling difficult personalities. He had survived Betty Buckley in New York, Lil’ Kim’s street thug entourage in Brooklyn, and even Joss Stone’s bombastic management and publicity team in the UK. Although he wasn’t naïve enough to expect feature film directing to be a walk in the park, he thought he had the creative and diplomatic skills to handle Hollywood. Wrong.
From the moment he knocked on Sedra’s trailer door and popped his head in to wish her well, his already waking nightmare of working on Detention Rules! was ratcheted up to the power of ten. In Sedra Stone he found the subject for behind-the-scenes showbiz horror stories to repeat at cocktail parties.
Adam smiled brightly as he stepped inside Sedra’s trailer with his ubiquitous assistant Judith Long following behind him. His British accent clipped through the air as he introduced himself. “I was a huge fan of ‘Monarchy,’” Adam lied, having been in Pampers when the show first aired, and he held out his hand in vain for her to shake.
Sedra looked up and barely acknowledged the filmmaker’s presence. She offered a tight obliging half smile as she closed the computer notebook.
“You’ll excel in the role of Catharine,” Adam continued, feeling an instant dislike for the woman who emitted a palpable caustic vibration. “Dana has keen instincts,” he continued. “I admit that I sort of fought her all the way on the script changes she demanded…er, requested. But I confess she was spot-on about making her grandmother less apple pie and more toxic medical science waste dump.”
Sedra gave him a weak smile.
“The new dialogue is smashing and funny as all hell,” the director enthused. “Don’t you think so? Can’t wait to hear you deliver those wacky lines.”
“I’ve read better lines painted on the street,” Sedra deadpanned.
Adam laughed out loud until he suddenly realized that Sedra wasn’t smiling and that her remarks were not meant to be a joke. He took a deep breath and settled into an uncomfortable snicker. He looked over his shoulder at his assistant who was of little use to him outside his bed. And now, when he needed her loyalty he found that rather than coming to his rescue she pretended to be searching for something within a stack of papers on her clipboard.
“Lines on the street,” Adam repeated and smiled nervously. “Very funny. You should do stand up at The Improv,” he faked another laugh. He cleared his throat and simply said. “Indeed. Well.”
The trailer was suddenly plunged into torpid silence.
“Um, is there something you’d like to discuss with me?” Adam eventually continued. “Perhaps you think the script needs to be tweaked? Although we begin shooting in twenty minutes, if there’s anything…”
Tweak this, Sedra said to herself as she imagined being in bed with Adam. He may have been the person in charge, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t also be a playmate. Her eyes made an obvious tour of the twenty-something-year-old director. From the logo on his Detention Rules! baseball cap to his tight Coldplay T-shirt, through which he boasted a torso of gym-packed muscles, down to his baggy blue jeans and Adidas tennis shoes, Sedra approved of his appearance.
Then she looked at the director’s assistant who stared defiantly back at her; one gold-digging, man-hungry woman to another. Unspoken rules of engagement—in which there are no rules—were instantly established. Individually, both women were secure in the trust that in any showdown, she alone would be the victor. One held the seductive power of youth. The other held the equally magnetic sexual power of cunning and experience.
“I try to run an amiable set,” Adam continued. “I want my cast and crew to be content. Simply let me know if you need or want…”
“Never mind,” Sedra interrupted, picking up her script and finally turning on a camera-ready smile. “I’m really delighted to be in your debut feature.”
Adam grinned and Sedra shot another look at his assistant that said, “Score one for the visiting team, honey.”
Then Sedra returned her attention to Adam. “Don’t worry your sexy English muffins,” she cooed. “At least you’re not pretending to be creating art. Detention Rules! will be a lovely teen date movie. The audience won’t be paying any attention to Sedra Stone, or to your wide angles, master shots, editing, or musical score. They’ll only be thinking about screwing after the end credits crawl. It’s a fact of life.”
Adam had only known Sedra Stone for a total of two and a half minutes, yet he already wanted to be rid of her. “I’m not worried about the success of my film,” Adam assured Sedra. “Your presence on screen will elevate the genre.”
“Shall we report to wardrobe?” Sedra finally said, exuding warmth that seemed to come over her as unexpectedly as light after a power failure. She continued, “I feel like being on the strong arm of the man in charge.” She and the assistant exchanged last looks of forewarning.
“You’re from England?” Sedra asked, as she followed Adam out of her trailer and intentionally missed the step and fell into his rescuing embrace.
“Nah. Jersey City,” Adam said, helping Sedra to steady herself.
“I would have believed Brit, or Aussie.”
“You, too.”
“Affectation,” Adam’s assistant muttered loud enough for the star to turn around and give her a withering stare.
Meanwhile, in makeup trailer #1, Dana Pointer was being powdered and sprayed and tweezed and creamed. Next door, in makeup trailer #2, Missie Miller was undergoing the same treatment, but with an added spritz. Both were trying to memorize lines from the new pages of script dialogue. As a result of Dana’s insistence that Sedra’s role be expanded and rewritten, they were scrambling to forget their original lines and learn the new material.
One of the major changes in the script had Catharine advising her granddaughter on how to deal with best friends who steal their lovers. In the back story, Catharine is far from the best source of advice for taking care of jilted lovers because she’s recently been released from prison and is on parole after being jailed for twenty years for what she did to Grampa Tommy when she caught him having an affair with her closest friend. The jury in her trial had quickly convicted Catharine based on her lack of remorse, and her on-the-record Martha Stewart–like remark that “Cuisinarts can be as practical in the bedroom as they are in the kitchen.” (In the original script, Catharine tries to comfort Dana’s broken heart with a cup of Chamomile tea and a Duncan-Heinz double Dutch chocolate fudge brownie fresh from her oven.)
Twelve days before, the principal cast had filmed the old breakdown scene so many times that the assistant director lost count of the number of takes. With each new number on the clapboard, Dana had found something to criticize in the other performers’ work, and insisted they shoot it again and again.
Eventually, late in the evening, and far into IATSE union overtime pay for the crew, Dana again halted the action and shouted, “Cut! Cut! Cut!” She glared at the director and ranted, “Why are you doing this to me? Why aren’t you directing these cretins? This Trixie person is forgetting her lines!” She turned and poked a finger into Trixie’s chest and warned, “This is the last picture you’ll ever make old-timer. I’ll personally see to it.” She then pivoted and pointed to Missie and Jack. “She’s hogging the scene, and he’s gotta put his shirt back on otherwise the audience won’t be looking at me! And, hello, but his character would never go for the so-called good girl. He wants to have sex with me…er, my character! Why am I the only one who gets this? Why must everything depend on me?”
Silence had fallen over the school gymnasium-turned-soundstage as the cast and crew held their respective breaths. They were too amused by the egomaniacal actress trying to castrate Adam Berg. The producer, too, had simply stopped in his tracks and stared at Dana as though she were a cat coughing up a fur ball onto a brand new expensive silk shirt, a sight at which he could not avoid gaping in horror.
Many among the seasoned crew had worked with real talent�
��Jon Voight, Meryl Streep, and Cliff Robertson—and knew how generous true stars could be. They were artists who thought only of the work and a job well done, who had nothing to prove and thus had no need to show off their power by obliterating those around them. On the other hand, the same grips and stagehands had also worked on movies with Whoopie Goldberg, Lindsay Lohan, and Rob Schneider. All would attest that like Dana, they were nothing more than insecure despots who should be on their knees thanking the gods for having squeezed fame and fortune from beneath the thin layer of their minor talents.
During Dana’s diatribe, director Berg decided he’d had enough for one day. It was ten forty-five and he gave the assistant director the sign to clear the set for the night. He sent his weary cast and crew home with a reminder that the morning call time was six o’clock.
Dana stormed off the set and disappeared into the night. Missie was last seen heading toward her trailer. Jack threatened to telephone his agent to report how intolerable the working environment had become. A dejected Trixie, after being publicly humiliated, scuttled to her trailer—and died.
“That was then. This is now,” Dana sighed smugly, sitting in her make-up chair and remembering that night when she proved that she wielded enough star power to close down the production. She now tried to concentrate on her lines and fought misgivings about making Sedra’s role larger. She read the pages aloud while under a hair dryer. “I’m still the school slut,” she smiled with satisfaction as she read the scene and turned the page. “Everybody loves a tramp, and I’m really no different than any other teen who needs to satisfy her raging hormones. Insert song.” She realized that she’d read the stage direction and then crossed out the two words with her red pen.
Suddenly, even from under the hood of the noisy hair dryer, Dana could hear Missie Miller scream from the trailer next door. “No way! My part’s been chopped all to hell!” The voice of Missie was clear. “Someone’s gonna die! Dana!” she screamed. “I swear I’m gonna kill you and Sedra, too!
Just then, the ring tone of Dana’s cell phone played the first bars of the television theme music to “Tales from the Crypt.” Dana looked at her phone and found Missie’s name and number on the caller ID. She smiled and let the call go to voice mail. Looking at the makeup artist, Dana said, “Wait’ll she finds out that the writer has made her character pregnant…with twins!”
Chapter 9
“Take twenty-seven.” The voice of the bleary-eyed assistant director was as somnambulant as a caller in a Bingo parlor. The morning, which had begun with a varnish of euphoria and camaraderie over the cast and crew, had evaporated into an afternoon of Armageddon, starting at the top with the stars, and quickly funneling all the way down the food chain to the craft service workers. Now it was dusk, and although director Berg and his principal players had been working the entire day, they had yet to commit one scene from the Detention Rules! script to film.
With stand-ins doing all but speaking the lines of dialogue, the pivotal scene in the movie had been blocked and reblocked, and the lighting was set and reset, per the whims of Sedra telling Dana what she—not director Berg—thought was best. Now, the cameras were ready to roll again, but when the cast was called from their respective trailers to report to the set only Missie Miller and Jack Wesley showed up. Sedra sent word via production assistants that she and Dana were unhappy with the director of photography’s camera angles, as well as the costume designer’s wardrobe. Most especially, they were disgusted with the ludicrous dialogue they were required to recite. “This guy’s writing for Lynn Redgrave, not for a teen like Dana, for Christ sake!” Sedra told the PA. Therefore, in solidarity, until changes were made, she and Dana would be too ill to work.
Adam Berg, known for being a safe harbor in a storm, finally snapped. He called his producer, who called Dana and Sedra’s agent, J. J. Norton, who telephoned Sedra Stone in her trailer and screamed, “Get your finally working ass onto that set. Has been!”
Within minutes the older star and the younger star were back together in the school’s gymnasium. Dana, however, was just as petulant as she had been before J. J.’s call. Out-for-blood, she angrily attacked the director with a mother-lode of venom. She insisted that the screenwriter be summoned to fix the script again.
“We don’t have time,” Adam Berg began to calmly debate the issue. “You’ll follow my direction and stand on your marks. Then you’ll speak the lines as written. Or else…”
With an imperious look Dana stepped forward. Her body language dared him to continue.
“Or else I’ll be forced to bring you up on SAG charges,” Berg accepted her challenge.
Dana looked at Sedra, who gave her a quick nod as if to prompt her to rehearsed action. Furious that she had been publicly upbraided in the condescending tone in which Berg was dismissing her, Dana dug in her heels. Standing before the entire cast and crew she took aim. “Okay, Mr. Big Shot first-time feature film director,” she sneered. “Right now, in front of all these people, tell me who is your star?”
A deafening silence fell on the set, but Berg did not flinch. “Well?” Dana provoked him further, trying to bully Berg into a fight. “Whose name is above the title of this film?”
Missie stepped forward. “Excuse me,” she interrupted, “but my name is next to yours. Stop wasting Mr. Berg’s and everybody else’s precious time.”
Dana ignored her costar and continued her diatribe against the director. “Who can’t you do without at this late stage in the production?” Dana folded her arms across her chest. “Does the crew have to reset the lights again? Damn right they do. Do you have to reblock the scene to show off my best side? Without question. Does the costume witch have to find something more suitable for Sedra Stone to wear? Until you answer yes to all of the above, Sedra says we’ll be in our trailers.” And then she linked arms with Sedra and turned to leave the set.
The usually unflappable Adam Berg was now nearly apoplectic. He stood in dumbfounded anger and watched the two actresses retreat. Then he mimicked Dana loudly enough for her and everybody else to clearly hear. “‘Sedra says, ‘go fetch.’ Sedra says, ‘roll over and play dead.’ Sedra says…”
Dana and Sedra both stopped at the door and turned around. “Is that some sort of threat?” Dana asked, feigning amusement.
“A prophecy,” Adam smiled evilly.
“Kiss my prophetic butt,” Dana said, mocking Adam’s baneful smile. Then she pushed open the door and began to leave. When Sedra did not move Dana whined, “Let’s go!”
“Um, you run along, dear,” Sedra encouraged. “I’ll be with you shortly.”
In a huff, Dana was gone.
Berg shook his head. “It was bad enough with the great and powerful Dana Pointer trying to run my set by herself,” he said to the rest of the cast and crew. “Now she’s got a master manipulator teaching her how to fine tune her diva skills.” He cocked his head toward Sedra.
“She has a lot to learn,” Sedra said apologetically. “Now, if you’ll simply consider a few changes to the script here and there….” She stopped herself. “No, you’re in charge, and I’m simply a little cog in your big creative wheel. I certainly didn’t mean to overstep my bounds. I apologize.” Sedra hung her head in shame. “While you’re resetting the lights, I’ll be in my trailer,” Sedra said before exiting the building.
The delays in filming had been mounting even before Trixie’s death; however, director Berg was biting his nails and trying to figure out a way to replace the aging star Sedra Stone. But he was boxed in. How, he asked himself, could he replace Sedra this late in the production? Polly Pepper immediately came to mind. She had made it clear, however, that she was otherwise engaged. Even if he managed to get rid of Sedra through a buy-out of her contract, Dana still had casting approval. It was a no-win situation. Adam Berg was defeated. He had no choice but to make the changes demanded by his teen star and her nefarious mentor.
Missie sidled up to Adam and casually patted him on the back. “You
could always have them electrocuted,” she whispered and smiled at Adam and his assistant. Missie pointed to the floor. “Gee. With all these cables and wires and voltage boxes, there’s a tragic accident waiting to happen. I’m kidding, of course.” Under her breath she added, “Sort of.”
“Trust me. I’ve considered that—and a dozen other possible scenarios,” Berg smiled conspiratorially. He sighed. “Those two no talent bitches aren’t worth facing LAPD homicide charges for and ending my career. Of course when the film is ready for release we’ll all do the press junket publicity stuff and tell ‘Access Hollywood’ how much we loved working with each other.”
“I know the drill,” Missie laughed. “We’ll smile and say that Dana’s a generous and talented actor. And that Sedra’s nothing like her reptilian reputation. She’s a saint and we can’t wait to work with her again.”
Adam and Missie shared a snicker. “That’s the business of show,” Berg said.
“And people buy all the lies we sell,” Missie agreed. “Dana and Sedra will get what they deserve,” she said. “It’s karma. And you’ll have the pleasure of watching their careers die.”
Director Berg faced his young star. “You’re the only human being on this production,” he said. “As a special prize, you should be dating Jack Wesley. He’s really a nice kid. And he’s going to be the next Matt Damon.”
Missie blushed. “He’s definitely nice looking,” she said.
“He’s got a killer bod!” Judith pointed out, trying to ease Missie away from her meal ticket.
Missie looked at Judith. “But I’m not his type. He’s with…. Never mind. Plus I think Sedra has her delusional sights on him. When I was coming to the set I saw him leaving her trailer and buttoning his shirt.”
“Good grief,” Berg sighed. “Next thing you know, she’ll be teaching him how to castrate a director.”
Just then, the assistant director called out, “Stand-ins! On set, please!” Activity on the set went into overdrive as the technicians began to reset the lighting and reblock the scene with the stand-ins substituting for the actors. “I’d better help out,” Judith said, and left to join the crew.
