by Stuart Woods
“All the best stories are,” she said.
“Well, first of all, I’m not on the run from the law, or from anybody else, for that matter.”
“That’s good to know,” she said. “Then why the fake name and the mustache?”
“The mustache is because I don’t want to be recognized.”
“A lot of good that did you,” she laughed.
“So far, you’re the only one who’s twigged,” Teddy said. “I saw two other people on the lot today who’ve worked around me, and they didn’t.”
“I have a good eye for faces and bodies,” Sally said, “especially when it’s an attractive man. Does this have something to do with Dan Waters or Dax Baxter?”
“Let’s just say it has nothing to do with Dan Waters,” Teddy said. “As for Dax Baxter, I never laid eyes on him until today.”
“That’s not the same as not hating his guts—almost everybody does.”
“Then why do they work for him?”
“He runs a smooth production, he doesn’t yell at anybody or create big scenes—ones that aren’t in the script. The money’s above average, if he likes your work, and the perks are nice, like the trailers for casts and the saloon set that’s also cast and crew canteen. If he’s aware that you’re doing good work, you’ll find a nice little bonus in your final paycheck.”
“Then what is it about him that so puts people’s teeth on edge?”
“He seems to want to be disliked. I don’t know why.”
“The man’s a bully,” Teddy said, “I can tell you that much.”
“I guess a lot of people sense that. Mind you, if there’s any bullying to be done, that’s taken care of by Heckel and Jeckel.”
Teddy laughed. “Dan calls them something else.”
“My advice is to stick with Hank and Joe.”
“Have they ever actually hurt anybody who gave Dax a hard time?”
“People have disappeared from shoots and turned up later in the local hospital—people who were stealing from Dax, that sort of thing.”
“So, Dax doesn’t bother with the cops or the sheriff?”
Sally shook her head slowly. “I think Dax is the kind of guy who thinks a broken nose or maybe a couple of ribs makes a better point than a night in the pokey.”
“Okay, I’ll do my best not to make Dax mad.”
“Always a good way to go,” Sally said. “I mean, Dax is big enough and, I guess, mean enough to handle that sort of thing himself, but if he did that, he could end up in jail, and that’s not good for business. If somebody displeases him, they just disappear from the set for the rest of the shoot. Everybody notices they’ve gone, and they always turn up later, maybe with a slightly different face, or some new dental work.”
They both took big bites of their food and were quiet while they chewed. The waiter came and refreshed their glasses.
“There’s a story going around the shoot,” Sally said, “that Dax’s wife killed somebody in a traffic accident, and that Dax got it hushed up.”
“I heard that from Dan today,” Teddy said.
“Does your being here have anything to do with that?”
“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,” he replied.
“You’ve already told me a bunch of lies about your name and your background, and it’s part of my job to check out people who may have inflated their résumés.”
“As you have seen, I have deflated, not inflated, my résumé, in order not to call undue attention to myself. It was nothing personal, and I’d appreciate your letting it slide. After all, being exposed might mean a visit from Heckel and Jeckel, and you wouldn’t want to put me into a hospital bed, would you?”
“Well, not a hospital bed,” she said with a little leer.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should. As a rule, I don’t believe in paying men compliments—they tend to go to their heads.”
“I can’t deny that,” Teddy said. “Come on, what’s it going to take to keep you quiet and me healthy?”
“How about oral sex?”
Teddy broke up, and dropped his fork. A waiter appeared with a clean one.
“How often?” he managed to say.
“Often, but it doesn’t have to be just oral—you can mix it up, if you want to.”
“I think I’d enjoy mixing it up,” Teddy said.
“So would I.”
“I must say, this is a new kind of blackmail.”
“I’m glad you like the idea.”
“I like it very much,” Teddy said. “When do we start?”
“Let’s skip dessert,” Sally replied.
9
SHORTLY AFTER SUNRISE, Stone and Ed Eagle, on horseback, walked slowly along a trail through the trees above Ed’s house.
“Susannah noticed your bed wasn’t slept in last night,” Ed said with a wry smile.
“Is sleeping in one’s own bed a requirement in the Eagles’ household?”
“Not at all. She was just amused, and so was I. We wondered how long it would take Ana to get you into the sack.”
“Well, Ana didn’t meet with a lot of resistance,” Stone replied. “I’ve been seeing somebody in New York, but it has sort of petered out—so to speak.”
“That tends to happen with Ana, too,” Eagle said. “She wears them out pretty quickly.”
“This is the first time we’ve ever ridden together, Ed, and the first time I’ve used Western tack in years.”
“Ah, a change of subject,” Ed said. “Western gives you something to hang on to when a rattlesnake spooks your mount.”
“Is that why we’re out here? Rattlesnake hunting?”
“We’re out here because I want to talk to you about Teddy Fay, or whatever he’s calling himself this week. Billy Barnett?”
“That was last week,” Stone said. “This week it’s Ted Shirley, and he got a job on Dax Baxter’s movie.”
“Whatever,” Ed said. “I’m just worried that Teddy is going to off the guy, and if he does, I’d like to be separated from him by a good distance.”
“Isn’t Tesuque far enough away?”
“I guess. I also didn’t want Susannah to hear us talking about him.”
“Are you afraid her tender nature would be bruised?”
“Stone, I’m afraid Susannah would hold Teddy’s hat while he beat Baxter to death with a baseball bat.”
Stone laughed. “Sometimes I forget what a tough nut Susannah can be. Now that I think of it, I know of two men she’s shot.”
“But not without good cause,” Ed said, “and not illegally. I don’t expect Teddy would do such a thing without good cause, but I’m not so sure about the legal part.”
“I can understand your concern, Ed, but what I know about Teddy makes me think that he’s a very careful man. He wouldn’t have been on the loose for as long as he was, if he weren’t careful.”
“He reminds me of somebody out of the Old West,” Ed said, “except he’s not a Westerner.”
“That’s not an outrageous comparison,” Stone agreed.
“What do you think he’s up to, if it’s not murder?”
“Justice, I should think.”
“And how would Teddy define justice?”
“That’s a tricky question, and one I wouldn’t hazard a guess on.”
“If he’s thinking about wrecking that movie production, then we have a different problem altogether,” Ed said. “There’s a chunk of state money tied up in that shoot, because of a bill that I had a lot to do with getting through the legislature, not to mention the reputation of Santa Fe as hospitable to the film community. If something terrible happened, film production could dry up around here, and a lot of locals would be thrown out of work.”
“You want me to have a word with
Teddy?”
“While you’re here I’d appreciate it if you’d stay as far away from him as you can. You’re known locally as a friend of mine.”
“Then what do you want me to do?”
“Shit, if I knew that I’d do it myself.”
“Do you know anybody connected with the film commission or the production?”
“Sure I do. You think I oughta sidle up to somebody at a dinner and say, ‘Hey, if anything awful happens on that Baxter shoot, let me know and I’ll see what I can do about it’?”
“I guess that would be none too subtle,” Stone admitted.
“I guess not.”
“So what do you plan to do, Ed?”
“Well, our little early-morning conversation has cleared that up for me,” Ed said. “I think the best thing I can do is nothing, and that’s something I’m not very good at.”
“There’s nothing like clarity of mind, is there?”
• • •
DOWN IN TESUQUE the first rays of sun through the blinds woke Teddy. There was a bare arm thrown across his chest, a leg over his own, and a head on his shoulder, and he had no feeling in the fingers on one hand. He kissed the head on the forehead.
“Oh, God,” she muttered, “not again—I’ll expire.”
“To the best of my recollection,” he said, “it was you who jumped me.”
“Three times,” she said. “You up for a fourth?”
“If we attempt that, we’re going to be late for work, and I, for one, don’t want to call attention to myself—or, for that matter, to you.” He retrieved his arm and massaged the fingers.
“There could be talk,” she admitted.
“Can I scramble you some eggs?”
“No, I can’t show up to work in these clothes, so I’ll make myself some coffee at home while I shower and beat you to the set. Don’t you dare get there before me.”
“I’ll restrain myself,” Teddy said.
“I’m going to have to remember not to call you Billy,” she said, sitting up in bed and searching for her underwear. She found her thong and got into it.
“If you make that mistake, I’ll have to ignore you.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” she asked, hooking her bra. She stepped into her jeans, pulled them up, then lay back on the bed and sucked in her belly so she could zip them.
“Well done,” Teddy said.
“Well practiced,” she replied, pulling on her sweater, then tugging at her boots. She picked up her jacket and looked around. “I think that’s everything I came with, except my virtue.”
“I’ll take good care of it,” Teddy said, accepting a goodbye kiss.
“How about I fix you some dinner at my house tonight?”
“A man’s gotta eat.”
“I expect Dan Waters will have found somebody to screw by now,” she said. “Shall I ask them to join us?”
“As long as they don’t stay too late.”
“Bring a change of clothes,” she said. “It’ll save you having to drive back to Tesuque before work tomorrow.”
“You think of everything.”
“We’ve got four setups to get through today,” she said. “We’re likely to be a little tired by six o’clock. I wouldn’t want you to drive home drunk and exhausted.”
“Tonight,” he said, “can we begin at the count of four? I don’t think I could survive starting all over.”
“We’ll work something out,” she said, then ran for the door. He heard her Jeep start and gravel scatter.
10
THEY SPENT THE MORNING rehearsing a single-camera, single-take shot in the saloon with a Steadicam, which stabilized the camera during movement. When they were ready to go, Dax Baxter called the director, the assistant director, and the cinematographer over to him, and they stood, their backs to the camera, while Baxter pointed out a couple of things.
Teddy walked between them and the camera and, after being sure that no one was watching him, drew a knuckle across the lens as he passed the equipment.
“Let’s shoot it,” Baxter said, and everyone assumed their positions. The plan was: the Steadicam would pick up the protagonist as he dismounted his horse in front of the saloon, then follow him inside as he fended off swings from several people, returned some punches, and, finally, outdrew two men and shot them both. The take lasted about fifty seconds, and the director yelled, “Cut! Print! Absolutely perfect!”
“Let’s look at it,” Baxter said, and the group huddled around a monitor and watched the take.
The cameraman spoke up. “What’s that smudge across the screen?” he asked.
“I don’t see it,” Baxter said.
“Neither do I,” echoed the director.
“Watch it again,” the cameraman said, and they all did.
“I see it,” the director said. “Shit! Doesn’t anybody know how to clean a lens around here?”
“I cleaned it about three minutes before the take,” an assistant said.
“There it is,” the cameraman said, inspecting the lens. “We’ll have to do another take.”
There ensued a comedy of errors as they screwed up take after take, and they finally got it right on the eighth.
“Anybody know what those retakes cost me?” Baxter asked nobody in particular.
Nobody in particular answered.
“All for a dirty lens?” he added, unnecessarily.
“It won’t happen again, Dax,” the cameraman said, glaring at his assistant, who could only look at the floor.
“Break for lunch!” the assistant director said.
It was quiet around the chuck wagons while everyone ate.
Teddy enjoyed his burger and tried to look glum, like everybody else.
Sally sidled up to him with her plate and sat down beside him. “What happened in there this morning?” she asked. “Everybody looks like death warmed over.”
“Somebody screwed up on a perfect first take of an extended shot, and it took seven more to get it right.”
“What was the problem?”
“A smudged lens.”
“Does our cinematographer still have a job?”
“It was just one of those things, I think, nobody’s fault,” Teddy replied.
“Everything is somebody’s fault,” she said, “and it’s easy to see Dax is pissed off.”
“That’s life,” Teddy said.
“Don’t you ever say that to Dax.”
“I wouldn’t.”
• • •
THAT AFTERNOON, another three scenes required multiple takes, and for no good reason. Teddy walked past Baxter’s double-wide and heard the male star yelling, “What the fuck is wrong with this production? I don’t appreciate having to do everything half a dozen times because of some fuckup! I had expected better of you, Dax.”
“Jake, we just had a bad day,” Baxter replied soothingly. “It happens sometimes, in spite of everybody’s best efforts.”
“Well, it better stop happening,” the actor said. “I signed up to do one movie, not seven or eight. I’ll have trouble sleeping tonight, and that’s not good for the production.”
“I’ll send the nurse over with some Ambien,” Dax said.
• • •
THAT EVENING, at Sally’s house up in the hills, the four of them met for dinner. Dan had brought the makeup artist’s assistant, Mara, who seemed bright as well as pretty.
Dan raised his glass. “To fewer days like today,” he said.
“Hear, hear,” Teddy said.
“Did you notice that Dax ordered the cameraman to stop moving the camera during scenes? He had to throw away the storyboards for practically every one.”
“Everybody was pretty rattled,” Mara said. “I could hardly get the cast to hold still for makeup, they w
ere all so fidgety.”
“Dax was worse than fidgety,” Sally said. “He was practically volcanic. I heard our leading man, our Jake, nearly walked.”
“That would scare Dax shitless,” Dan said. “He hates to be in a position where he’s not perfectly in control. He had to pay Jake Preston more than his usual fee, because Jake thought the part was beneath him.”
Sally grilled steaks and baked potatoes, and Teddy had picked up an especially good cabernet. Everybody relaxed after the first bottle, and they began to have a good time. Then Dan’s cell phone went off.
Dan looked at it. “It’s Dax. I’m going to have to take this.” He grabbed the phone, walked across the room, and flopped down on the sofa. “Yes, Dax?” For the next ten minutes Dan sat and gave monosyllabic answers to nearly every question. Finally he was able to hang up and come back to the table.
“It’s worse than we thought,” he said. “He wasn’t able to get Jake to say he would continue, so he’s been on the phone all evening with agents, trying to scare up a new leading man, just in case. In the end, he had to pay Darth Kramer half a salary just to stand by, if Jake walks.”
“Well, doing nothing for half a star’s salary ain’t too bad,” Sally said.
“I’ve never heard of anything like that,” Teddy said. “I mean, in the old days, when the studio was king, they’d have half a dozen actors under contract who could step up in a case like that.”
“Them days is gone,” Dan said.
• • •
AFTER DINNER, the girls did the dishes while Teddy and Dan sat on the front porch with a brandy and gazed down at the lights of Santa Fe.
“What do you think is going to happen, Dan?” Teddy asked.
“Well, we’ve got two possibilities,” Dan replied. “One, things will continue to go badly, and Jake Preston, who has a loose grip on reality anyway, will get on his jet and go home to L.A., then we’ll start the production over with Darth Kramer in the part. On the other hand, things could smooth out, Jake could calm down, and we’d add a day or two to the shoot, because he’d demand a lot of vanity retakes and close-ups, knowing that Dax was worried. I’m not sure which would be worse for us.”
