by Ian Bull
“Slower…stare hard like you can’t quite see them fighting,” the director says. Julia immediately moves her head slower, her face tortured by an imaginary scene in her mind.
I look at her two escorts, one on each side. They haven’t left her since she came out of her room. Closer to me is the last bodyguard from the Palm Beach dock, the other Latin looking guy. He’s tall and thin, while Angry Poker is stocky and short. This guy I’ll call the Thin Poker.
The Thin Poker, the Watcher, Angry Poker, the Jamaican, Arnold the Austrian, and the French Smoker. All six. There is only one missing. Her other escort turns and scans the crew from behind his dark glasses—it’s Caballero. He’s tall, powerfully built, with that dark hair sweeping off his forehead with the lock of white. He stares at Julia with a detached desire that is so easy to read—he wants to walk five feet, grab her by the throat and strangle her.
Then he looks right at me, and I look down. He felt that he was being watched. They’re expecting visitors, so they’re looking for something out of the ordinary.
Their antennae are up, and so are mine. I can feel it.
I pretend to do something with the power cable while dipping my head further behind the coffee dispenser. I don’t have to look; I can tell that Caballero is looking at me, and if I look up and make eye contact it will all be over. I need the chaos to start again soon.
“Cut,” Constantinou says.
“Cut,” I hear the director say louder.
“Cut!” yells the AD and the crew are suddenly moving, voices rising, crossing back and forth as he finishes his sentence. The AD keeps yelling. “That’s the last exterior, so strike the outside! Next is interior night Scene 28 with Risa Baker and Mike Nomad!”
A guy wearing a L’Oreal T-shirt, a pink baseball hat with a brush behind his ear moves through the mix with a tall folding director’s chair under one arm and a long mirror under the other. I glide toward him and take the mirror while already speaking.
“Where to?” I ask him.
“Back inside. I can touch up her makeup in her bathroom,” he says. “I haven’t seen you. Did you just get here too?”
“Kind of,” I say under my breath.
I use the mirror to hide myself and I follow him back inside the main entrance to the villa again. I don’t look up the main staircase, but someone shouts.
“Hey! You in the blue shirt!” the Angry Poker shouts.
I walk under the staircase and out of his sight and then lean his mirror against the wall. I walk farther down the hall, turn into the kitchen, go past the cooks and out the back door, then weave through the garbage bins and reach the end of the villa on the south side. It’s a six-foot drop down to the limestone rock below. I vault over the wall and land softly, then head into the trees and run. I take off my T-shirt and jam it into my shorts so they see no flashes of blue in the trees. I dart back and forth, staying low.
There are voices behind me.
I’m running full speed now, but I’m not scared. I’m back in my element, doing what I do best. I feel myself already disappearing, and in twenty minutes I’ll be back in my dark camos and completely invisible.
Chapter 34
Julia Day 10: Saturday Evening
We are working on the last shot of the day and I’m exhausted. I worked fifteen hours today after getting only three hours of sleep, with fifteen hours of work yesterday.
A film set gets ugly sometimes, especially after endless hours of shooting. A couple of the crew guys have been farting the conch fritters they had for lunch and I’ve got body odor like a hockey player after a playoff game.
“We’re still rolling, everyone,” Walker says.
I am in a tight sexy tank top that pushes out my boobs. It seems they think a good boob shot is crucial when you’re shooting a scene in which the sexy heroine is working on a computer.
“Lean forward again, Julia?” Nathan asks.
It’s hard to make this scene dramatic—all I’m doing is typing and staring at the screen, trying to look confused, afraid and then outraged. But if I’m wearing something tight and my bare skin is glistening as my bosom dangles over the keyboard, they find the shots a lot more interesting.
“And…cut. We got it,” Nathan says.
“That was the last shot for the day everyone, and a wrap for most of you!” shouts Walker, and a cheer goes up from the crowd. “There’s a party on the patio, but then it’s an early night. The Petrokolus leaves for Miami at 6:30 a.m., and we want everyone on board.”
“Julia, you coming to the party?” Sammie asks, who’s been next to me for the entire shoot.
I feel Rolando fall into place beside me. Xander stands in the doorway, filling the entire frame. He nods and smiles and taps at his watch. It’s time to prep for my next performance.
“I can’t. Tomorrow’s my biggest day,” I say, and a moan goes through the crowd. “But I’ll see you all on the next one.”
“Can we clap out our trooper?” Walker asks. The crew claps in unison for me for a good twenty seconds, and then we’re done. People smile at me as they break down gear and walk away. They already have their minds set on going home. A crew can get close fast on a film set, but when it’s over they drift apart just as fast. It’s been great but it’s time to go, so it’s too late to get personal.
Walker shouts over the low hum of voices. “Everyone! Turn in your aluminum water bottles to Rebecca outside, who will make you sign when she gets them back—otherwise you can’t get on the boat tomorrow! She’s serious!”
Everyone snickers, but complies. Every shoot has its weird eccentricities, and this is one of them. Walker comes over to me and hands me my water bottle, which I don’t remember losing.
“Don’t forget yours,” he says. “I want you to get out of here too.”
“Thank you, Walker,” I say. I want to ask him if he accomplished my request. Somewhere deep inside the villa is Trishelle, and he either reached her or he didn’t, but with Rolando standing right there, all he can do is smile. Then I do detect an ever so slight nod of the head.
“Like I always say, I’ll miss you,” he finally says.
“And I’ll miss you too,”
He turns to Rolando. “You, however, I will not miss,” he says, and walks away.
“Time to go upstairs,” Rolando says. He points for me to go to the door.
We cross the patio, and the crew falls silent as their eyes follow me. I turn left into the villa’s main entrance and head up the staircase. I don’t hear their low chatter start until I get to my room. If they’re talking about me, it will only last a few minutes. Soon the wine will flow and all will be forgotten.
Diego is at my door sporting his usual frown. I’m too exhausted to care and I walk past him into the room, which has been rearranged for tomorrow’s final shoot. The bed is pushed to the side, the credenza is gone, and the gear is all in place. The second camera is already on the fluid head dolly with fresh digital cards and batteries. All they have to do is turn on the lights, power up the camera, focus and shoot.
Diego and Rolando enter behind me and look around.
“Can I have a little privacy please?” I ask.
“Mr. Constantinou said to be ready in an hour,” Rolando says and turns to leave.
“And don’t touch anything,” Diego says, tossing in his own comment before closing the door behind him.
I yank back the duvet cover and the lingerie I left this morning is still there.
Chapter 35
Steven Day 11: Sunday
It’s midnight and the island is quiet. Whatever party was going on ended an hour ago and people have drifted back to their rooms. Most of the lights are off. The tough guys searched for me for only an hour after I escaped the film set. It was easy to lose them, and now five of them wander around the exterior, staring into the blackness of the trees.
They wave flashlights as they scan the trees for me, which just makes it easier for me to spot them. The French Smoker and the Watc
her monitor the patio, while the Austrian and the Jamaican pace back and forth on the beach. The Angry Poker is probably indoors. I move to the back of the villa, which is where the Thin Poker is patrolling. He’s like a metronome—twenty paces one way, twenty paces back. He’s so predictable that he’s the best way in.
I wait until he is at the far end of the road leading to the back side of the villa before I climb the wall. I take two steps, grab the handle posts to the cargo container that holds the desalination unit, and climb fast. I get on top without a noise and quickly lie flat. I see the Thin Poker turn around right at twenty paces and then head back, but he looks out at the trees and not up at me. I wait as he walks his twenty paces back, turns and heads out again.
On the wall in front of me is the metal tube that exits the villa’s main electrical box and flows up to the second floor. That pipe holds fragile electrical wiring, but the outside is sturdy enough to climb. I wait until the Thin Poker is ten paces away, then I channel my inner Spiderman, dart across the top of the container and jump out into empty space. I land on the wall with my toes on either side of the tube and hold on, then climb fast until I reach a window. I get my feet on the ledge and push myself up so I can reach a back balcony to one of the rooms. Four wooden posts rise up from the balcony and support a pergola with beams criss-crossed with flowers. I grab the posts, swing my legs up, walk across a beam and scamper onto the roof.
It took me less than a minute to climb up and I’m winded, but after a minute of deep breaths I’m calm again. I lie down and wait, half expecting a gun click next to my ear, but I hear nothing. This is what I’m good at—climbing, running, hiding and photographing. Rifles? Those I lose. I wonder what my second career could be with this skill set. I’m like a professional squirrel.
I click my GPS twice. I need Carl to respond so I know that he’s heading back my way. I’ve been checking in every hour, but I haven’t heard any clicks from him in over three hours. If he’s circling he may be coming in and out of range. If I don’t hear a response soon there’s no point in going on, since there’s no way off the island.
Then I hear it—two clicks back. He’s good. He must have dodged the bad guys. Good for you, Carl. In three hours he’ll be exactly where he dropped me off, at 3:00 a.m.
I have an hour to rest, and I lie back on the roof and stare up into the Milky Way.
It was strange watching Julia working on the film set today. She was like a magnet, drawing all eyes to her. No one could look away, which is why no one on the crew noticed me.
Caballero had noticed me, though. Why didn’t he just cross the patio and grab me from behind the coffee dispenser? The work on the movie was more important than catching me—at least at that moment. Why?
I need to rest. I close my eyes, but I don’t think I’ll sleep.
Chapter 36
Julia Day 11: Sunday
I shower and put on my lingerie and then lie on the bed and wait, staring at the camera and lights less than five feet away. Having my bedroom transformed into a set is so bizarre it sets me on edge, but I am exhausted and soon fall asleep.
Xander walks in well after midnight. The noise of him coming through the door shoots adrenaline into my bloodstream, and I bolt awake and jump off the bed. Hiding my fear, I rush to him like a little girl greeting her long lost daddy.
“Why did you make me wait so long?” I ask, and kiss him on the lips.
“We’ve had some unexpected challenges to our little production, but they’ve just been handled,” he says, holding my face in his hands. He stares into my eyes as if he’s looking for an apology. When I smile, he holds my head tighter and I don’t know if he wants to crush my skull like a melon or kiss me.
“We have a good movie, don’t we?” I ask.
“Yes, I think we do.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t trust you sooner,” I say.
“You have all night to make it up to me,” he says. He sits on the bed and pats the mattress, gesturing for me to come sit next to him.
I sit at his side and await his instructions. He strokes my hair. I stroke his arm with a light touch.
“I want you to put clothes on over this lingerie. Blue jeans and a white shirt.”
“Why?” I ask.
“That was what you were wearing the last time we made love…or almost made love, and then you left,” he says.
I don’t dare ask why. I pull jeans out of the bottom drawer, and take a white shirt off a hanger. He pops a blue pill and sips water. I have only about ten minutes before that kicks in. I pull the jeans over my hips, then button up the white shirt.
I sit down again. He leans in and kisses me, and we fall back on the bed. We stare at each other as he strokes my breasts through my bra, and his likes and dislikes come flooding back to me. He likes to play peek-a-boo with my flesh, stroking me through my clothes and then having my breasts and nipples slowly emerge. Then he pinches me until it hurts.
He strokes me between my legs. He is being purposely rough and the denim hurts. I want to recoil but I don’t dare, so I lean into him and arch against his body. Copying him, I reach down and touch him between his legs and feel the stirrings of his erection. I try to imagine myself in another place but it’s not working.
He sits up, perhaps sensing my discomfort. “I want you to dance for me,” he says, and motions for me to stand.
I toss back my hair and smile. “I need music.”
“You’re an actress. Imagine the music.”
I close my eyes and dance, touching my breasts and sliding my hands between my legs.
“This is what we should have done that last night together,” he says.
I sway my hips back and forth and run my hands through my hair, then throw my head back to show him that I’m getting excited.
“Strip for me,” he says. “That’s what you were supposed to do next.”
I get it now. He wants to erase the memory of me leaving him that afternoon and create this new one. The better I am at erasing and creating, the less he may hurt me.
I take off the white shirt and toss it to the side, then unzip my jeans and pull them half way down my hips. I turn and undulate my backside for him as I step out of each leg. With just my bra and panties on now, I pull one bra strap down, moan a bit, and then pull down the other. I lean forward and hold my breasts with the bra cups.
“Tonight we’re together again. You were wrong to leave,” he says.
“I know that now,” I say, and I drop the bra completely, showing him my breasts. I cup them and stroke my nipples while looking into his eyes.
“I want you to touch me like this,” I lie.
I can’t feel my legs under me and my stomach churns. Depression and nausea hit me in waves, like it must for the millions of women every day who must pretend passion for men in order to survive.
Xander stands up straight, takes a vial out of his pocket, snaps off the lid and pops another blue pill. “I want to recreate this moment a million times tonight.”
“So do I,” I whisper. That’s a million moments of pain he’s been imagining.
“First, I want you to blow me while I sit on the edge of the bed,” he says.
“Perfect,” I say.
He comes around the bed, grabs me by the nipples and pulls me close. I put my arms around his neck and kiss him hard on the lips, forcing them open with my tongue. I stroke between his legs and feel him harden—and stop.
“I need to get some lubricant.”
“What?” he asks as his face darkens.
“I’m too dry. It’s from the work and the weather. I’m dehydrated. I want to put my lubricant in now,” I explain pulling away, then stop at the bathroom door. “You have your blue friend, I have my pink friend.”
“You’re coming out, aren’t you?” he asks.
“I’m on the second floor with just lingerie on! Yes, I’m coming out, you silly.”
I close the bathroom door, grab a towel and throw up into it. I wipe my mouth and lo
ok at myself in the mirror.
My blue aluminum water bottle is on the bathroom counter in front of me, left over from the shoot. I pick it up and it’s still full, so I twist off the lid to drink—and something hard and smooth slides into my mouth. I gag and spit it out in the sink. It’s two lipstick tops taped together with gaffer’s tape.
“Are you okay?” Xander asks through the door.
“I’m just putting on lipstick for you and I dropped it. I’ll be right out,” I say.
I peel off the tape and pull apart the two tops, and inside is a long rolled up piece of paper, which I unfurl on the bathroom countertop. It’s a note from Trishelle.
I know everything. I told you once you were a fool not to sleep with him. Now you are a fool if you do. If you’re doing it for me, I’ll never forgive you. By the time you read this, I will already be outside. We can make it.
I smile. She knows me. I’d rather die trying to get away than submit to him, and if she’s up for it, then so am I.
I yank off my panties, grab my black bikini off the towel rack and change into it fast, then pull on my bathrobe and cinch it tight. I then reach under the sink and grab my sheet ladder, tie one end to the pipe under the sink, step into the tub, open the window, and toss the other end out. I grab the shower head with two hands, lift my legs up and get my butt on the ledge, and then grab at the window sill. The metal window edge digs into my thighs, but I grab the rope and I’m out.
I reach out to the banyan tree in front of me and grab my canvas satchel off the tree branch where it’s been hanging for the last week. Inside are the few supplies I gathered—a man’s jacket, some shoes, a hat, the gaffer’s tape, some candy bars and water. It’s not nearly enough for what we need to accomplish, but it will have to do.
