by Ian Bull
Right away Carl phoned and got Dr. Hassan out of bed to attend to their injuries. Then he called Nicole to come and help comfort Cherie and take her to her place. They both got to the house within ten minutes to treat and soothe the patients.
The inside of the house was trashed. The four guys upended every shelf and dumped out every drawer. It was hard to see the kitchen floor between all the utensils and broken dishes strewn everywhere. In the bedrooms, they’d ripped down the curtains and sliced up the mattresses. My bag was ripped up and cut to shreds. All I have are the clothes I’m wearing, my wallet, and my one camera that I took on the sailboat.
We had four problems: two dead guys on the balcony and two angry living ones tied up in the street. We dragged the two corpses down the stairs and lifted them into the back of Carl’s pickup truck. Their two friends fought so hard that we duct taped their ankles and wrists and then heaved them into the truck bed as well. We drove to The Screw Pump and laid the dead bodies in the freezer and let the living guys sit on the floor. Carl forced me to drink a glass of water and eat a mango, which I did while standing in the freezer. Now it’s Friday morning, and I’m still standing here waiting for the police to arrive, staring at two dead men on the freezer floor.
It’s surreal yet familiar.
I whisper a prayer I learned in catechism at St. Cecilia’s back in San Francisco growing up:
“Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace.”
I walk out of the freezer and Carl latches the door behind me.
The two bad guys sit on the floor tied up and blindfolded. I tip their heads back and give them water just like I did with prisoners of war back in Afghanistan. It’s what you do while you wait.
The police arrive; four Bahamian constables in two police cars from Clarence Town. Three of them are young cops in their twenties, wearing blue pants and white short-sleeved shirts with gold badges, which makes them look more like school crossing guards than cops. They stare wide-eyed at the bad guys on the floor. The chief constable is in his fifties, with white flecks in his curly black hair. He seems more irritated than shocked.
“It’s a fine mess, Mr. Webb,” the chief constable says. “Real muddy trouble.”
“Sorry, Chief Andrew,” Carl says.
“Any of you seen any of these guys before?” the chief asks.
“No, but I bet somebody in the boat harbor has,” his first constable says.
“Don’t go there. Whoever sent them already knows,” Chief Andrew says. He walks over to the two men sitting on the floor. “Either of you want to tell me your story?” he asks.
Neither of them reacts, even though the chief talks right in their ears.
A car drives up and Carl peeks outside. It’s Nicole driving Cherie. Carl starts to step out and the chief constable motions for one of his men to go out with him.
“Can I have a moment alone with her?” Carl asks.
“You’re in custody, Mr. Webb. You’re lucky I even let you outside.”
I look out the window. A dozen people stand in the narrow street and watch as Carl and the constable walk over to the car.
Cherie gets out and weeps. Carl whispers to her and moves close. When he tries to put his arms around her, she pushes him away and hits him in the chest. It does no harm, but Carl still jerks back in surprise. She hisses something, then gets back in the car and Nicole drives away. Carl watches until the car rounds the corner and then he and the first constable come back inside.
“Can we do this then?” Carl asks.
The police chief nods at his three constables. Two of them lift the bad guys off the floor, un-tape their ankles and take off their blindfolds and steer them outside and into the first squad car. One constable gets behind the wheel and locks the doors, and the other comes back inside.
The crowd outside steps a foot closer to the squad car and stares, but stays silent.
Carl puts his wrists behind his back and Chief Andrew puts handcuffs on him too.
“What are you looking at? Turn around, you’re going in, too,” Carl snarls at me.
The last young constable turns me around and takes my wrists. I feel the cool metal click tight against my bones and skin. Chief Andrew and his constables escort us outside for our walk of shame through the crowd, and help us tilt our heads down as we slide into the backseat of the second squad car.
The doors close and the people press closer, peering in at me. I make eye contact with two faces from Tuesday, the day I arrived—Marcus, the fishing boat captain, and the taxi driver.
Chief Andrew tells two constables to stay behind. “You guard the bar, don’t let anyone in,” he says to the youngest cop, then turns to the other officer. “You go back down to Mr. Webb’s house and do the same. I’ll call you both later.”
Chief Andrew slides into the driver’s seat and honks at the constable driving the squad car with the two bad guys. The cars inch through the crowd and then head up the street and out of town. We turn left on the island’s one main road—The Queen’s Highway—and head north toward the main police station in Clarence Town.
Carl stares out the window at the blue water of the Bahama Bank. He shifts, probably trying to get blood to flow to his hands behind his back. He must know I’m looking at him, but he won’t turn my way.
I look out the window on my side. Green scrub brush flies past, and in the distance is the blue Atlantic Ocean. This narrow island is a vivid green strip growing out of bright white rock, under a blue sky filled with white clouds, surrounded by clear water that stretches to deep azure on the distant horizon. It’s paradise, but on the other side of the glass, in a parallel universe that’s impossible to reach.
Without sunglasses, the bright sun makes me blink. My clothes are filthy and a layer of white dust covers my skin. I close my eyes and lean back against the warm headrest. I need to shower and to sleep, but there’ll be plenty of time for that in jail.
The car stops and forces my eyes open. We aren’t in Clarence Town. We are alone in a white semicircle of dusty rock off the main road, sheltered by mango and sea grape trees and a circle of short palms. We are at the end of a private driveway, at a building site for homes that were never started.
Chief Andrew gets out and opens the back door and helps Carl out, then takes off his handcuffs. Carl rubs his wrists and puts on his sunglasses, and they whisper in front of the car for a good five minutes. Finally Chief Andrew gestures with his palms up, as if asking Carl something. Carl glances back at me...then nods.
Chief Andrew walks over, opens the door, helps me out and takes my cuffs off.
“You have two days. Then I come looking,” he says, then slides into the car and drives away.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Follow me,” Carl says, turning and walking into the trees.
I run to catch up. We cross over several cement slabs as we push through the trees. The path weaves through the brush and then bursts into the open to reveal cliffs that encircle a sheltered cove. It’s a stretch of rock that arcs in a half circle, fifty feet above deep water. In the middle of the cove is a fishing boat anchored to two mooring buoys.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Ready for what?”
“To go to Elysian Cay,” he answers, then jumps off the cliff.
I watch him fall two seconds and plunge into the blue water and send up a jet of white spray. He surfaces, and swims toward the fishing boat.
“Come on! We’re in a hurry!” he shouts.
I jump. I feel the air rush past my chest and then I hit the warm cleansing water.
Chapter 26
Julia Day 9: Friday Afternoon
The crew is not happy. For three shoot days they’ve been on schedule, on budget and doing excellent work, yet they just got news that they must pick up the pace. It happened right after Rolando got that phone call and Xander poked him in the chest.
Xander told the line producer to redo the s
chedule and now Walker is handing out the updated call sheets to the crew, and people are crumpling their papers and tossing them on the veranda. This is bad for all of us, especially me.
“We make the impossible look easy,” I hear one grip say. “That’s our problem.”
Somehow that phone call and the photos in the manila envelope are causing this, but the crew suspects that Xander is just trying to save a dime because they’ve lived it before on other shoots. The producer sees the scenes are going smoothly, so he pushes the production to go faster. If they shave a day off the schedule, it’s a big savings, even if the producer must pay overtime.
The crew hates it. They don’t need the overtime pay that badly. They’re already killing themselves, and this was one of the few afternoons where the schedule was going to finish early so people could go swimming and snorkeling, which is half the reason some of them came. Now they get a two-hour break before starting the scenes slated for day four. They’ll end up doing two days of work in one eighteen hour day.
Walker approaches with my new schedule, which Rolando intercepts and takes from him, and Walker just rolls his eyes and walks away. Rolando examines it and hands it to me.
“Thank you,” I say, trying to soften him.
Rolando stares. He’s not buying my act for a second. He squints his shark eyes at me, which makes my skin feel like insects are crawling all over it.
I look at my call sheet. My schedule doesn’t change that much. I have two more scenes with Trevor and Bernard, which means I work until 6:00 p.m. tonight. Then both my day three and my day four will be done. My co-stars have to work until midnight, however, to get their new work schedule completed.
I must get out of my wet swimsuit, clean off the oil, salt and sand, get my hair and makeup done again and then put on a dress, all in an hour.
“No more delays. You must move fast,” Rolando says.
Rolando and Diego escort me upstairs where I shower and put on a fresh robe, and then rush down so I’m back in the chair and ready for Richard to make me up and give my hair a blowout. Yet I’m the only one who moves fast, it seems. Everyone else is in slow motion.
As Richard works on me, waiters set up tables of food for the crew. It’s a working meal. Sandwiches, fruit, chips, cookies and junk food that we can grab on the run while setting lights and gear. A real meal will come in a few hours.
It’s a kind gesture from Rebecca; she knows food might soften this blow, but the crew is already rebelling. Empty soda cans, blue Betrayed in Paradise water canisters and half-eaten sandwiches on paper plates are strewn everywhere, and when the wind blows away the napkins, no one chases them down.
A film crew is not like a disciplined army platoon. It’s more like a pirate ship that will mutiny if they feel they’re being cheated. They suspect greed, and I can hear them muttering.
“I turned down a union gig for this…”
“That’s why we have unions, brother. I can get this abuse at home…”
“So much for a day off. I haven’t even dipped my toe in the water…”
“I thought I would snorkel at least once. The only time I even walked on the beach was lugging gear…”
“Betrayed in paradise is fucking right. I don’t even get to keep the cheap ass metal water bottle…”
Their discontent may work to my advantage. Then I get lucky—Rolando’s cell phone vibrates. He answers quickly, mutters a response, hangs up and yells for Diego. Diego rushes up, Rolando whispers to him and points at me and then leaves.
Diego glares at me to let me know he means business, but I feel only lightness. I am free to look where I wish, think what I wish and perhaps even speak to someone for longer than ten seconds without worrying about the Skunk reading my thoughts.
They light and prep my big confrontation scene. My “husband” and I will sit at a cafe table on the veranda, and my ex-boyfriend Mike Nomad will appear and throw down a police dossier that proves my husband is a killer. I will look through the dossier with bemusement, but as I turn the pages, my face must fill with horror as I learn the truth about who my husband really is.
Then Nicholas my husband will demand the dossier, and when Mike refuses, Nicholas will pull out a gun. Mike will fight him and knock the gun from his hand. I must grab the loose gun and aim it at my husband, but I won’t be able to shoot him. Nicholas will grab the dossier and flee, but not before stabbing Mike Nomad in the back with his stiletto knife.
It’s a complicated action scene, with a book, a gun, a knife, a fight scene and stage blood. On a big movie, this usually takes a day to pull off. We must do it in two hours.
While the grumbling grows, I stay in my chair and pretend to go over my lines. What I am really doing is studying the set, the people and the environment.
“Look how calm our star is, as beautiful as ever.” It’s Bernard and Trevor, ready and in costume for our big confrontation. Bernard flirts, while Trevor poses like the hunk he is.
“You’re terrible. Flirting got you into trouble earlier today,” I say to Bernard.
“I love taking chances,” shrugs Bernard, who then nudges Trevor. “You’d take that chance, wouldn’t you?”
“With Mr. Constantinou watching?” he asks. “No thanks.”
Diego stares at us with the angry disgust of a high school outsider. All he sees are two actors flirting with me.
“Why don’t you boys pursue someone you can actually catch? There are other pretty girls here you know,” I say.
“Like who?” Bernard asks.
“Like my friend Trishelle.”
“Trishelle? Who is she?”
“The tall curvy brunette? I think she’s the publicist,” Trevor says. “She was taking photos of our scenes yesterday.”
“She was taking photos yesterday?” I ask. “I never even saw her.”
“I have spoken to everyone here and I remember no Trishelle,” Bernard says.
I lean in to him. “Just go find her. She’s worth it,” I whisper.
Bernard smiles and wags his finger at me. “Now I understand. Since you can’t have fun, you like playing matchmaker.”
“And I know she’ll adore you. Just tell her that I sent you with a big ‘thumbs-up’ and she’ll know it’s from me.”
“Of course,” he says, stroking my arm. “Thank you.”
Trevor stands to the side. When Bernard touches me, he can’t help rolling his eyes.
“But you must be a gentleman. No breaking hearts on my movie. Understand?” I say and wag my finger back at him.
Bernard grins, thrilled that I’ve given him an on-set reputation.
Just then the tall prop master walks up with her red wagon rolling behind her. Diego stops her just as he has seen Rolando do, then escorts her the last ten feet to us.
“What’s your name?” I ask, offering my hand. “I haven’t met you.”
“Renee,” she answers. “And I have your props for you.” She pulls out a fake police dossier and hands it over. Inside are just random photos and newspaper articles and blank pages—no pictures of Bernard as evil Nicholas.
“Sorry, that’s the best I could do with the pushed schedule,” she says.
“It’s okay. I can pretend that terrible things are written here.”
She reaches into her wagon and pulls out the prop pistol, the prop stiletto knife, and the bag of prop blood to be taped to Trevor’s back and puts them on the table.
“You are good,” Trevor says, picking up the bag of blood.
“Where do you keep all your wonderful toys?” I ask.
“There’s a gardener’s shed at the edge of the veranda. That’s my little workshop.”
And this is where she keeps the two sets of swim fins—one for me and one for Trishelle.
Xander and Rolando return, followed by Nathan and David. Xander scowls like an angry dad, while Rolando has a snarl on his face that makes me suspect Xander just yelled at him again. Nathan and David trail behind them with wide eyes like confused chi
ldren unsure of what’s really going on.
When Nathan sees Bernard and me, his back straightens and he becomes a director again. “You can both sit down,” he says, and he guides Bernard and me into two chairs at the table. He then guides Trevor to a spot behind my chair, over my left shoulder.
“Your first mark will be here,” he tells Trevor. “In the wide shot you come up and slide the dossier into her hands, but over her shoulders. Move close so we don’t have to pull focus.”
He walks over to video village as his crew makes their final adjustments. Anthony tweaks the lens on the camera while Sammie runs his measuring tape to my eyes.
Rolando pulls Diego aside, which gives me space to operate. I smile at Xander and he steps closer. “I heard you’ve been a trooper, darling.”
“Trying to be. I want to impress you, after all,” I say, and wink at him.
“Everyone settle, let’s do a take!” yells Walker.
Xander leaves us to join Nathan and David in video village. Rolando follows Xander and isn’t looking at me, so I make my move. I cover my microphone and whisper to Bernard.
“Find Trishelle and come to my balcony tonight.”
“But it will be the middle of the night,” he says back.
“And oh so illicit,” I whisper. “So be careful. Be there at two a.m.”
Bernard grins, he is thrilled to join my conspiracy.
“Let’s get ‘er done!” I say out loud, with my best country accent.
“Done and done!” Sammie repeats. A laugh runs through the crowd.
The crew still likes me, and they will work hard for me as long as I work hard too. When I glance over at Xander in video village, his face shows that he appreciates it.
Chapter 27
Steven Day 9: Friday Afternoon
I’m seasick after motoring through the swells for two hours. I’m working with my head down moving ice chests with food, unrolling sleeping bags, setting up fishing rods and putting sardine bait on ice. It’s all for show; if we get stopped we have to appear like we’re on a fishing trip. The smell of diesel and rotting fish is a bad mix, and when you add in the rolling deck under my feet, it throws my stomach off-kilter. Being nervous doesn’t help.
