“Hey,” Silas said, “I know them.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Aunt Zoe muttered. She suddenly sounded very, very tired, as if she wanted to crawl underneath the car and go to sleep.
“Who are they?” asked Nick.
Six people stood across the street—four men and two women, ranging in age from late teens to Really Old. (“Really Old” was about as specific as Nick could get if a person was older than his parents.) A few wore shorts and T-shirts; the others looked to be sporting homemade superhero costumes. One of the women appeared to be dressed as some kind of pirate cat.
Silas raised a hand and began pointing at each of the protestors.
“There’s Stellan Something, Casey Something—Stellan and Casey are brothers. Rude Batman Fan, Smelly Spider-Man Fan, Anime Girl. Oh, and look, a lady dressed as Captain Bloodwhiskers, from the Japanese cartoon Hamburger Cloud Rainbow Police.”
“Huh?” Aunt Zoe said.
“Customers,” said DeMarco. “From Hero Worship Incorporated.”
“The local comic book shop,” Tesla explained. “Silas’s dad owns it.”
“Great. Just great,” said Aunt Zoe.
“If they’re comic book fans, why do they hate Metalman?” Nick asked Silas.
“They don’t, as far as I know,” Silas said. “In fact, the Something brothers love him. He’s their favorite superhero. They’ve offered my dad, like, a thousand bucks for the Metalman statue in front of his store.”
“So, it’s weird that they’d protest a Metalman movie,” Tesla said, “and it’s weird that they’d know one was filming in town. DeMarco told us it was a big secret.”
Aunt Zoe sighed.
“It is a big secret. We’ve been telling people we’re here shooting Santa Claus vs. the Zombies.”
“Oooh! Good title!” Silas said.
“But it’s no surprise that word got out,” Aunt Zoe continued. She jerked her chin at the protestors. “Or that they’re here. There’s the Internet, after all. Oh, well. Time to face the music. Come on.” She started walking toward the gap between the fences and sawhorses, where the security guard was standing.
“You should probably leave that in the car,” Tesla said to Silas, who was struggling with his box of props.
“If I leave it in the car, I can’t show it to Cash!”
“Sure you can. You can come back and get it once you’ve set up a meeting with him. Till then, you don’t want to be lugging it all over the place, like some kind of …”
Tesla tried to remember what the people were called who ran around movie sets doing all the grunt work. She knew they had a specific title—she’d read it once in a news article—but the word just wouldn’t come to her.
So she just said “flunky.”
“Wellllll … I guess you’re right,” Silas said. He looked down at the animatronic arm sticking out of the box.
“Don’t worry. You’ll meet Cash,” Silas said to the arm. “I promise.”
He slid the box onto the backseat.
“Thanks,” DeMarco whispered to Tesla.
As Aunt Zoe led everyone toward the set, the protestors began chanting louder than ever.
“We’re comics fans, through and through!” the one dressed as Captain Bloodwhiskers called out.
“And Damon Wilder will not do!” the other protestors chanted back.
“Damon Wilder’s going to be the new Metalman,” DeMarco explained to Tesla. “My sisters are nuts about him because he once guest-starred on The Witches of Greenwich Village, on the Disney Channel. But mostly he’s done boring movies where people just sit around and talk. Like The Wisdom of the Trembling Butterfly. I watched five minutes of that on the Film Channel because I thought it was a martial arts movie. Boy, did it stink. I think the whole story happens in a coffeehouse.”
“One-two-three-four-five!” yelled Captain Bloodwhiskers.
“Casting Damon Wilder’s jive!”
“Six-seven-eight-nine-ten!”
“Fire him and start again!”
“They may be nuts,” DeMarco admitted, “but they do good chants.”
“What do they have against Damon Wilder?” said Nick.
Tesla shrugged.
Aunt Zoe threw them a grim look.
“You two don’t spend a lot of time on the Internet, do you?”
Before Nick could admit that, in fact, he’d been spending way too much time on the Internet lately but still didn’t know what was going on, the protestors finally recognized Silas.
“For shame!” the one he’d called Casey Something shouted at him.
“Traitor!” shouted Casey’s brother, Stellan Something.
“You stink, Kuskie!” roared Rude Batman Fan.
“They’re just jealous,” Silas said, and he gave a jaunty wave as Aunt Zoe walked him and the others past the protestors, around the sawhorses and traffic cones, and onto the set.
Aunt Zoe paused to consult with the security guard and a woman standing next to him.
“When did they show up?” she said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder.
“About ten minutes ago,” the guard said.
“There’s been another leak,” the woman added. She was a twenty-something and wore a baseball cap and a grungy T-shirt printed with the words ASK ME ABOUT MY SCREENPLAY.
“Obviously,” Aunt Zoe said with a sigh. “And today was going so well, too …”
The protestors launched into another round of “Hey! Yo! Whadaya know?”
“Leak?” Tesla said.
Uh-oh, thought Nick.
During the drive to the movie set, he’d decided that Tesla was right. He was dealing with their parents’ disappearance by obsessing about it. But he also knew that Tesla had her own way of distracting herself from the situation: by poking her nose into every problem she could find. Or at least that’s how Nick saw it. And he could tell by the tone of her voice that she was shifting into nose-poking mode.
Fortunately (again, as Nick saw it), no one reacted to Tesla’s question.
“Let ’em yell all they want,” Aunt Zoe said to the guard. “We aren’t doing any dialogue scenes this afternoon anyway, so it won’t make any difference.” She turned to the woman. “Tell them I’m headed to introduce my guests to Cash. Oh, and my sister will be here soon with my nieces, so just give me a call when they arrive.”
There was a shrill, high-pitched squeal behind Aunt Zoe.
“Did you actually just say ‘squee’?” DeMarco whispered to Silas.
Silas just grinned maniacally and rubbed his hands together.
The turtleneck woman nodded at Aunt Zoe; then she snatched a walkie-talkie clipped to her belt and started talking fast into it.
“Zoe Helms has landed and is flushing guests. She’s on her way to Video Village.”
“Come on,” Aunt Zoe said, and she led the kids away from the protestors.
“Landed?” asked Tesla.
“Flushing guests?” asked Nick.
“Video Village?” asked DeMarco.
“Squee!” said Silas.
Aunt Zoe guided them around one of the big semitrailers lining the blocked-off street.
“That’s all just industry slang,” she explained. “ ‘Landed’ means I’ve arrived. ‘Flushing’ means I’m moving someone or something across the set. And ‘Video Village’ is where the camera department sets up monitors, so the D.P. and the director and producers can watch what’s being shot.”
“The T.P.?” asked Nick.
Aunt Zoe chuckled.
“Sorry. More slang. The D.P. is the director of photography. He or she is in charge of the camera department and the overall look of the movie.”
“And what was that lady back there, with the security guard?” Tesla said.
“Abby? Oh, she’s a P.A. Production assistant.”
“That’s what I was trying to think of! Production assistant!” Tesla said. “The flunkies!”
Aunt Zoe threw her a look that was half amused, half h
orrified.
“I wouldn’t say that too loudly if I were you,” she said, keeping her own voice low. “There are P.A.s everywhere.”
The group stepped around the end of the trailer, and Tesla could see how true that was.
Ringed around them were big trailers, small trailers, food tables, picnic tables, burly guys lugging equipment, zombies eating doughnuts (zombies eating doughnuts?), and, weaving through it all, a small army of male and female P.A.s, most clad in shorts and colorful shirts and either talking into walkie-talkies or listening intently to someone who was.
Naturally, Silas squeed again.
“Please, stop doing that,” DeMarco told him.
“Welcome to Hollywood, kids,” Aunt Zoe said. “Or, at least, as close to Hollywood as Half Moon Bay is ever going to get. This way.”
The group got some curious stares as they passed the trailers and tables and burly guys and zombies, but not many. Everyone was way too busy to take much interest in the field trip Aunt Zoe seemed to be leading.
“I’ll eventually need to get you set passes from the production office,” Aunt Zoe said. “But for now it’s okay, so long as you stick close to me.”
They walked briskly through the hustle and bustle and around another trailer. “And here we are! Our main location today: the Veranda!”
Aunt Zoe spread her arms wide. Before them was what had been Half Moon Bay’s dilapidated, long-abandoned movie theater. No longer was the box office boarded up or the doors chained shut or the lobby dusty and bare. Now, everything sparkled, everything shined. When yet another P.A. burst through the doors and hurried outside talking brusquely into her walkie-talkie, the smell of fresh-popped popcorn wafted outside.
The usual message on the marquee—CLOS D, set in faded, crooked letters—had been replaced with STREETRACE 5: THE SPEED YOU NEED.
“Ha!” said Silas, pointing up at the sign. “That’s an old Cash Ashkinos movie! Get it?”
“Never mind that, dude!” said DeMarco. “That’s Cash Ashkinos!”
He pointed out a tall, lanky man wearing cowboy boots, aviator sunglasses, black jeans, and a tight, blindingly white T-shirt. His long, craggy face was covered with carefully trimmed hair that was too short to be a beard yet too thick to be considered whiskers or stubble. It looked like strips of brown moss that had been pasted to his cheeks and chin.
“Whoa, you’re right,” Silas said. “It’s him.” Silas’s voice faded to a whisper, as if he was afraid of breaking a magical spell. “It’s really him.”
Ashkinos was about twenty yards away, talking to another man in what Tesla guessed was “Video Village.” The two of them were surrounded by tall, canvas-backed director chairs, and as they spoke they peered into a bank of video monitors stacked in front of them.
“So, now we can have our meeting?” Silas said. “I mean—now we meet Cash?”
Aunt Zoe shook her head.
“Not yet. It looks like he’s planning the next camera setup with our visual effects supervisor. They should be about to shoot a scene where a theater full of zombified townspeople rush out and attack Metalman.”
“Damon Wilder will be here?”
“No, he’s done for the day. The Metalman in this scene can be computer generated. We’ll add it in postproduction.”
“ ‘We’ll add it in postproduction’?” repeated a disbelieving Silas. “That’s not how Cash Ashkinos shoots an action movie. He works with real people, real props, real danger.”
“This is a different kind of action movie, Silas,” Aunt Zoe said with a shrug. “A really expensive one,” she added under her breath.
“That boy’s right, Zoe,” said a deep, booming voice behind them. “Why use a computer-generated hero when you’ve got the real thing right here?”
Everyone turned to see a towering, armor-clad man clanking directly toward them. He was encased in blue and silver metal from his toes to his jutting chin, but his head was bare, revealing a squared jaw, rugged cheekbones, and perfectly styled blond hair. He carried a gleaming helmet under one arm and smiled confidently as he strode toward Zoe and the kids.
“Metalman!” Silas said, clapping his hands in delight.
And it was Metalman. Or a man in a Metalman costume, anyway.
But Aunt Zoe was less than delighted.
“Kill me now,” she said, groaning in dismay.
Only Nick and Tesla seemed to hear Aunt Zoe’s groan or notice the look of horror on her face. Everyone else in their tour group was too excited by the sudden arrival of an honest-to-goodness star.
Silas and DeMarco didn’t squee, but they did stare in wide-eyed surprise. The armor-covered man tromping toward them was The Stupefying Metalman’s lead actor, Damon Wilder.
Tesla nudged her brother and nodded at some of the crew members milling about. They looked as surprised to see him as everyone else did. But they also looked a lot less pleased.
“Step aside, citizens,” Wilder said, parting the kids with a sweep of his free arm. “I have work to do.”
And with that, he marched past, nodding to Zoe, and headed for Video Village.
When Cash Ashkinos noticed the actor coming in his direction, he clenched his jaw and pressed a hand to his forehead, as if he’d just been hit by an instantaneous migraine.
“Cry havoc,” Wilder intoned gravely as he stomped up to Ashkinos. “And let slip the circuits of war!”
“That doesn’t sound like Metalman,” Silas said.
“It’s Shakespeare,” Nick said. “Except for the ‘circuits’ part.”
“That’s the problem,” Aunt Zoe sighed.
“What do you mean?” Tesla asked.
Aunt Zoe sucked in a long, deep breath.
“Sorry. Duty calls,” she said. “You guys wait here. I’ll be back.”
With obvious reluctance, Zoe headed for Video Village, where Ashkinos was talking to Wilder in a low tone.
“But I’m here!” Wilder broke in, making no effort to keep his voice low. “I can confront the zomboids!”
Ashkinos started murmuring again to Wilder, and when Aunt Zoe reached them, she joined in.
“A computer-generated Metalman? We’ll add it in post?” Wilder was yelling at them. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this! I thought you were the director who did everything for real!”
“Yeah,” Silas said to DeMarco. “That’s what I thought.”
DeMarco shrugged. “You know I’m big into stunts, but it’s probably hard to do a flying half-robot superhero for real.”
Tesla noticed that a little cluster of P.A.s had gathered around, lingering to eavesdrop on the argument.
“What’s that all about?” she asked the nearest P.A., a man with a shaved head and dark sunglasses. He opened his mouth to answer.
But then he shut it.
“No comment,” said one of the other P.A.s.
“What’s what all about?” said another.
Suddenly P.A.s were flying off in all directions.
Several threw quick, fearful looks over their shoulders in the direction of another man who’d just walked up. He had curly brown hair and a round, tanned face, a twisted smirk settling on his lips. In one hand he carried a paper bag, into which he kept dipping to shove some kind of crunchy chips in his mouth.
“What’s it all about?” he said to Tesla. “Great acting, that’s what.”
He spoke loudly, as if Tesla were a ninety-year-old woman with bad hearing. Tesla wondered why, until she realized that his words were meant to be overheard.
“Jack Wiltrout, everybody!” Wilder called to the newcomer. “Jack! Come here and back me up!”
Jack gave the kids a wink and a smarmy smile. “You might want to get my autograph later,” he said. “It’s gonna be worth something one day.”
He paused to chew on some chips. Then he walked off toward Wilder.
As the man drew closer, Wilder turned back to Ashkinos and Aunt Zoe, who were standing shoulder to shoulder facing him, frowning.
; “Jack’s written some dynamite new dialogue for this scene,” Wilder said. “Listen to this. The zomboids come running out of the movie theater screaming and wailing, and when I see them I say: ‘How ironic. I, a man of unfeeling metal, must save these souls who are caught between life and death. And yet I remain neither wholly man nor wholly machine, neither live nor dead. My soul forever trapped in an existential limbo.’ ”
Wilder pressed his palm against his forehead as he finished the last line, holding that position for a few seconds. Then he dropped his arm and turned to Ashkinos, saying, “Annnd scene!”
“What kind of limbo?” asked Silas. “Does he mean the Lifeless Limbo of Dimension L, where Metalman fought the Unliving Limbo Legion?”
“I don’t think so,” said DeMarco.
Meanwhile, Jack Wiltrout joined the conversation over in Video Village.
“Metalman’s internal conflict about his raison d’être is central to the character,” he was saying. “The fanboys’ll eat it up.” He noticed some crumbs on his shirt and quickly brushed them to the ground.
Aunt Zoe and Ashkinos threw each other looks that made it plain they didn’t think anyone would find that idea appetizing.
“If we shoot this scene with you, Damon,” Ashkinos said, his voice low and soothing, “I think we should just stick to the script.”
With a clang, Wilder slapped his metal-covered hands together.
“Perfect! Let’s roll, then!” he said, clearly choosing to ignore the “if” that had begun Ashkinos’s last sentence. “Makeup! Props!”
Crew members began to approach, reluctantly, carrying various cosmetics paraphernalia.
“Why do you need makeup?” Ashkinos asked. “You’re going to be wearing your helmet in this scene.”
“I think I should take it off before I speak,” Wilder replied. “I mean, you do want the audience to know it’s me, right? Otherwise, you could just use a special effect.”
Ashkinos simply glowered at the actor. A moment later, he glanced toward the crew and gave them a curt nod. A man stepped up and took the helmet from Wilder while a woman swooped in and began patting his face with what looked like a small sponge.
“Just a little mattifying powder across the cheeks, Barbara,” the actor said. “My skin doesn’t need much help in natural light.”
Nick and Tesla's Special Effects Spectacular Page 3
