by Linda Grimes
“Okay, this is who I’ll be tomorrow. I’m afraid, for this to work, you’ll all have to treat me like I’m the boss. Mommo, Dad—I know that will be hard for you, but try.” The grin hadn’t changed much since the owner of the aura was a child actor.
“Sure thing, Opie,” Uncle Liam said while Dad started whistling the theme from the old Andy Griffith show.
Auntie Mo linked her arm through Uncle Liam’s. “Don’t you mean Richie?” she said, referring to the teenager from Happy Days. “Careful, dear, you’re showing your age.”
“Hate to tell you, Mom, but ‘Richie’ shows your age, too,” Siobhan said, and then ducked as her mother took a swing at her.
After the chuckles died down, Billy said, “Meet back here by six”—the collective groan almost drowned him out—“yes, that’s a.m. It’s going to be a long day, but think of the reward. By which I mean a warm spot in your heart at seeing justice served, because no one’s getting paid for this. Now, go grab a few hours of shut-eye.”
“Wait,” Sinead said. “Ciel, who are you going to be? I want keep everyone straight.”
“Well, mostly I’ll be this lowly set gopher”—I displayed a slightly overweight young man—“but when the time is right, you can expect…”
I pulled up another aura, to the collective gasp of everyone except Billy.
Chapter 24
Jackson Gunn pulled his white Jag XJ convertible into the parking lot outside the warehouse. I’d been afraid he wouldn’t buy that our big-name director would be associated with a brand-new production company, but Billy had explained to him that Big Name wanted to keep his new idea under wraps until it was a done deal, and could be released with all the appropriate fanfare. Jackson didn’t seem to think there was anything odd about that.
“He’s here,” I said into my walkie-talkie.
“Okay, people,” Billy hollered. “It’s a go. Places!”
I melted into the background, wearing my nondescript gopher aura, biding my time. Nobody notices the chubby boy with the mousy brown hair and peach fuzz who’s passing around coffee.
Laura, in her guise as production assistant, met Gunn at the door, gushing about how thrilled she was to finally meet him. He accepted her effusive praise of every movie he’d ever been in (boy, she must’ve stayed up late studying his IMDb page) with a modesty I was sure he didn’t feel, all the while casting wary glances around the warehouse. He definitely had his guard up.
Billy, dressed in jeans and a plaid flannel shirt on top of Ron Howard’s aura, appeared to be in the middle of an important conversation with Liam Neeson. When he “noticed” Gunn, he glanced at his watch as if time had gotten away from him, and excused himself from Liam, who wandered over to an impromptu waiting area, made up of a sofa and several comfortable chairs, where Spike—I mean, James Marsters—Charlie Day, and Hugh Jackman were already sitting, reading over their pages. There was a fruit basket and an open box of doughnuts on a nearby table, with thermal carafes of coffee and tea, as well as an assortment of canned drinks on ice.
“Jackson,” Billy said, reaching for Gunn’s hand. “Glad you could make it. We’ll try not to take up too much of your time.”
“Happy to be here. Anxious to learn more about your secret project,” Gunn said with the smile that had women in movie theaters everywhere sliding off their seats. “So, Liam, huh? And Hugh Jackman?” He wasn’t concerned about Marsters or Day. Guess he only saw tall guys as his competition.
So far, so good. He seemed to be buying the setup.
Billy-Ron shrugged. “You know how it is. We can have favorites,” he said, strongly implying that Jackson was his, “but the bean counters want options. They think it keeps the talent costs down.”
The two of them wandered over to the set together, still chatting. I followed, two coffees in hand, and plastered an appropriately starstruck look on my face when Jackson turned to take one. He barely acknowledged my existence. Billy-Ron nodded and thanked me when he took his, as nice and unassuming as I’d always imagined the real Mr. Howard must be.
The set was dominated by an incredibly realistic replica of a moai—a thirteen-foot-tall monolithic statue of a head. Even close up, the carved and painted Styrofoam looked like ancient stone.
“This is what I see as the key scene. The script isn’t finished yet, and this set is, of course, improvised, but this will be the heart of the film, where our hero”—Billy-Ron nodded slightly toward Jackson, as if to say the role was his for the asking—“discovers the real truth about Easter Island—that the giant statues of heads were put there by aliens. Now the aliens have returned, and they are not friendly.”
Easter Island was the title we’d given our imaginary movie. Yes, I know. The bunny allusion. At least it was more serious than Billy’s first suggestion—Keister Island. Though I had to admit that allusion was pretty funny, too, Jackson being the giant ass he was.
Enter Nils, on cue, in full costume, moving with purpose. When he stopped beside us, there was menace in his crystal-blue eyes, and his nose definitely wasn’t twitching.
Gunn backed up a step. He was tall, but Nils was taller, especially with the lifts in his fake-fur-covered footwear. “I see what you mean. I have to admit, when you mentioned the rabbit monster at our meeting I was skeptical. Any other director and I wouldn’t be here. Well, maybe Spielberg.” He chuckled.
“Yeah,” Billy-Ron said. “It sounded goofy to me, too, at first. But that’s the beauty of the script. It sucks you in with the whimsy of the idea—I mean, who could be afraid of a bunny rabbit, right?—and then it gradually overwhelms you with the horror. Of course, for the real movie we’ll be enhancing everything with CGI.”
Jackson nodded. “I can see it. Kind of a departure for you, isn’t it?”
“Hey, I’ve done aliens before. This might be a little darker than Cocoon, sure. But you gotta keep growing, right?”
At an unobtrusive signal from Billy, I stepped away and texted Mom. A minute later, the door opened again. In walked Sigourney Weaver, accompanied by Rene Russo, chatting and pretending they’d run into each other in the parking lot. I ran to greet them.
Behind me, Billy-Ron was saying, “Excuse me for a second, Jack. Can’t keep the ladies waiting.”
“Of course not,” the actor said, pleased speculation at his possible cast-mates spreading over his face as Billy-Ron greeted the pair and pointed them toward the coffee station. When Scarlett Johansson and Zoe Saldana came in minutes later, the speculation grew. I hurried back to him, offering him more coffee, which he waved away.
“Quite the ambitious project,” Gunn said, speaking directly to Nils for the first time.
Nils nodded. “I’m happy to be a part of it. If things work out, this might be my big break,” he said, nailing that strange combo of humility and conceit often present in younger actors new to the Hollywood scene.
Jackson quirked a wry smile at him. “Yeah? And who’d you have to blow to get your shot?”
Without missing a beat, Nils said, “My agent.”
I almost dropped the fresh supply of coffee I was carrying. Nils obviously read a lot of Hollywood tabloids.
Jackson laughed. “Your agent knows? Ron asked me to keep things quiet until the deal was firm.”
“Your agent is more powerful than mine,” Nils said with a shrug. “He doesn’t have to listen when Mr. Howard tells him not to talk. Mine does.”
Gunn nodded, apparently satisfied with the explanation. He gave Nils one last appraising look. I hoped like hell he wasn’t smelling anything fishy. This whole thing would be a big waste of time and money if he bolted now. I started breathing again when he said, “Excuse me while I go say hi to the others.”
* * *
The rest of the morning was spent gathering footage for “Ron” to take with him to the money people. Mostly small scenes, designed to see how well the actors interacted with each other. I wouldn’t say any of their performances would win an Oscar, but they did okay. Heck, even Jacks
on, the only real professional in the bunch, fumbled some of his lines.
Billy, aware of our deadline to save Lily-Ann from her parents’ threat, kept things moving at a good clip. When I’d conveyed the Conrads’ offer to her, Lily had apparently refused it in very colorful terms. Put Rosa to shame, according to Dave. Needless to say, she wouldn’t be signing any papers, so we were under more pressure than ever to make our plan work.
One by one, as Billy-Ron finished their “chemistry tests,” he let the actors go, holding back Scarlett Johansson (pretty sure it was Sinead), Jackson, and Nils. Zoe Saldana retired to the waiting area. The rest of them went to a rented RV parked behind the warehouse. It was equipped with satellite TV and a bar, so they should be happy enough.
The big scene was set. Billy-Ron started to explain, in great detail, exactly what he wanted from each of them, then stopped himself and said, “You know what. Just wing it. I want the natural flow of emotions. Show me what you got.”
James and Devon were in place with sixteen-millimeter shoulder-mounted digital cameras at the ready. Thirty-five millimeter might have been nice—if more expensive to rent—but since it was only supposed to be test footage, we figured it wouldn’t matter. Ditto a third cameraman.
Harilla took his spot behind the moai. Jackson and Scarlett sat on a large rock near the huge head, waiting for their cue. Knowing one of his sisters would be playing Ms. Johansson, Billy had written the script to make her the lead’s daughter instead of a love interest. Jackson had said something about not being quite old enough to be Scarlett’s father, but shut up when she said, “That’s why they call it acting.”
“Okay, everyone, quiet on the set. And … action,” Billy-Ron said.
I held up the clapper board, said “Easter Island, Gunn-Johansson, The Big Goodbye, take one,” clapped it shut, and stepped out of the way.
“You have to go,” Jackson said in a serious, paternal voice. “It’s not safe here anymore.”
Scarlett stood and walked a few steps away from him, stopping at the masking-tape X on the floor. “I can’t. I won’t leave you here alone. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you.”
Not bad. Go, Sinead! I thought.
Jackson crossed to her and said, “You have to. I couldn’t live with myself if you were hurt because I dragged you along to help with my stupid research.”
“It’s not stupid. And it’s my research, too.”
“Go to your mother. Tell her I’ll come home as soon as—”
Harilla lumbered into the scene from off camera, intense light blue eyes blazing behind the facial prosthetics. Jackson pushed Scarlett behind him, blocking her from the gorilla-like gaze of the big-eared monster.
“You!” Jackson said.
Scarlett tried to push her “father” out of the way. “It’s … it’s real?”
As Nils stepped menacingly closer to the pair, something slithered out from beneath a fake shrub at the base of the statue. Several somethings, in fact. Big, squiggly somethings. Brian had successfully carried out the one duty he had other than being a background actor—releasing the wriggly reptiles hidden in the cage behind the bush.
Watching Jackson intently, I saw the precise second he became aware of the snakes. Without missing a beat, he shoved two of them aside with his foot, looked Harilla in the eye, and improvised, “Call off your pets.” He then proceeded to execute the rest of the scene flawlessly until Billy yelled, “Cut!” Never even broke a sweat.
Afraid of snakes, my ass!
It was all I could do not march right over to him, drop the dorky aura I was wearing, and confront him. He’d used me. But Billy caught my eye and gave a small shake of his head.
Time for Phase Two.
“Take five, everyone,” Billy-Ron said. “Somebody tell Zoe it’s her turn with Jackson and the snakes.”
* * *
Uncle Liam and Auntie Mo were hovering close, trying to pretend they weren’t. Looking around, I saw that everyone had wandered back in under some pretext or another (mostly going for the doughnuts). The air of expectancy around the set was intensifying. I just hoped Jackson was too focused on his performance to notice.
When Billy-Ron said, “Action!” I read off the scene and clapped the board again. As soon as Jackson and Siobhan began, I slipped behind the moai. It took twenty seconds to lose the gopher clothes (I’d counted during practice sessions with Billy). Beneath them I was already wearing what I needed. Now all I had to do was switch auras and wait.
“Go to your mother,” Jackson said, to Siobhan this time. “Tell her I’ll come home as soon as—” That was my cue.
As entrances went, mine was impressive, if I did say so myself. The color fled Jackson’s face as soon as he saw me, apparent even beneath his makeup. Sweat followed, popping out on his forehead like condensation on a cold drink.
There’s the reaction that was missing with the snakes, I thought with satisfaction.
“Angelica?” he said, his breath coming in short gasps.
“You don’t look happy to see me, Jack,” I said, mimicking his dead wife’s inflection based on the film footage of her from every TV news show I’d seen since her murder. “What’s the matter, haven’t you missed me?” I stepped toward him, arms extended for a hug, not giving him time to think.
He backed away and shook his head, opening and closing his eyes, looking as if he might topple over at any second. “That can’t be you. I killed you! I fucking shot you seven times in the back!”
And there it was. The confession we needed.
I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Maybe you’re not as good a shot as you think you are,” I said, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a flash drive. “Still looking for this, by any chance?”
His eyes zeroed in on the small device in my hand, narrowing dangerously.
Wait for it …
He lunged at me, exposing his teeth in a twisted parody of his trademark smile, growling like an enraged wolf.
Cue Nils.
Harilla dove between Jackson and me, hitting the action star low in the gut, bringing him to the floor as I jumped out of the way. Maddened, Jackson grabbed Nils by his bunny ears, trying with all his strength to throw off the big Swede. Nils clung hard, rolling with him until they crashed into the base of the moai.
The giant statue came down hard, hitting the big rock and cracking in two. I might have worried about Nils being crushed, except, you know, Styrofoam.
“Now!” Nils shouted, and rolled onto his back, Jackson on top of him.
Laura stepped in, dodging the moai pieces, and plunged a syringe into Jackson’s thigh. He struggled for a moment more. Came close to standing before his legs finally gave out and his eyes fluttered shut.
“Cut!” Billy yelled. “And that’s a wrap.”
Chapter 25
“What do we do with him now?” I asked.
Gunn was stretched out on the sofa in the waiting area, wrists neatly zip-tied together. He was still snoring, thanks to Laura’s handy needle and the swiftly acting sedative James had provided. It had bought us a few hours to make sure Jack’s “audition” was safely transferred from the cameras to a laptop Laura had supplied. We’d also taken the opportunity to add Angelica’s footage of him with Frannie to the beginning.
Billy shrugged. “We let him sleep it off for about”—he looked at his watch—“another fifteen minutes. Then we wake him up and show him our masterpiece of filmmaking. Find out if he’s ready to see reason.”
Nils, happily out of the rabbit costume, said, “If that doesn’t do the trick, you’re on your own, because I’m not putting that damn thing on again. It’s hot.”
“Thanks again, Nils,” I said. “You’re a trooper. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate your help. Isn’t that right, Billy?” I said pointedly.
Billy, himself again, grinned. “Yeah, Nils. Way to take one for the team. We can give you a copy of your big scene if you want.”
“If I ever dec
ide to change my profession to actor I’ll take you up on that,” Nils said with his own good-natured grin.
Laura had already left, claiming all she wanted to do was get her husband to the hotel ASAP. She’d made several copies of the incriminating video, which showed me only from behind, so anybody who happened to see it would think Gunn was hallucinating.
Everyone else was gone, too, assured by Billy and Nils that Gunn was well in hand. By now, they would have picked up their luggage from the hotel, and might already be at the airport.
Mom and Auntie Mo had been reluctant to leave us with a crazed killer, but eventually had been convinced the trussed-up star didn’t present much of a danger, especially with their new hero, Nils, there to guard him.
Jackson began to stir, whimpering in his drugged-out sleep.
“How are you going to explain seeing his dead wife to him?” Nils asked.
“He knows about adaptors already. It won’t be that big a shock to him to find out she was me.”
I’d gotten the energy secondhand from Billy, who’d met Angelica when he went to Jack’s Las Vegas home to set up the job. He collected auras like some people collected comic books (guilty), and had shared it with me when we were hatching our plan. It had been kind of creepy when he’d called up her aura so he could transfer the energy to me, and even more so when I’d had to hold it the requisite several minutes to make sure it took, but it had obviously had the desired effect. It was the first time I’d projected the aura of a dead person, and I hoped I never had to repeat the experience.
We were lucky Jackson had been too stunned at seeing his dead wife to put two and two together about how it could be possible—that’s what we’d been counting on, and it had worked like a dream.
“What the fuck?” Gunn’s groggy voice came from the sofa across from us. He rubbed his face with his zip-tied hands.
“And there he is,” Billy said, rising. “Nils, I’d like you to meet the internationally famous star of the silver screen, Jackson Gunn.”
Nils nodded down at Jack.
