“What’s Tami like?” Stuart asked. “Think she’s going to be cool?”
“She’s okay, I guess,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t be too needy. He didn’t have time for any of that.
“I know we had our differences on the last film,” Stuart said. “But I consider that water under the bridge. We’re in the same boat here, you and I, and we both know this one’s going to be a challenge. Sam has made it clear my job is to guarantee we stay on schedule.”
“I’m totally with ya, Stu, and Sam and I are in agreement too, and we will not go over budget. But realize we’re making a movie here, not a schedule.”
“Ooh, that hurt,” Stuart said with a hand to his heart, as if pained by the assault on his artistic integrity.
“All I’m saying is allow yourself to be flexible,” Eddie continued. “Just because something’s in your paperwork doesn’t mean—”
Eddie heard communication on the radio again and Stuart held his palm out, essentially giving Eddie “the hand” to halt him from completing his point. After a few seconds, Stuart said, “I’m on my way.” He turned to Eddie. “Can we walk and talk?”
Eddie sensed the urgency and asked, “What’s up?”
“Someone shot an arrow at the camera truck. The sheriff’s here.”
* * *
Descending the hill alongside Stuart, Eddie could see the San Bernardino County Deputy Sheriff cruiser and a Fish & Game SUV by the camera truck. A cluster of crewmembers including Sheila, Giovanni, and Don were huddled near the liftgate. As Eddie and Stuart arrived, Luther was in the midst of explaining what happened to a small-framed female officer complete with wide-brimmed hat, aviator sunglasses, and tooled, black leather gun belt perched high.
The Fish & Game officer, a potbellied and bearded guy wearing considerably fewer accessories, held an arrow in his latex-gloved hand.
“I didn’t see anybody,” Luther explained. “I thought it was a gunshot at first so I got down real low.”
“How about you?” Deputy Martinez asked Sheila.
“I wasn’t here when it happened, and I didn’t see anyone either,” she said. “After I found the arrow I pulled it out and noticed there was some sort of weird grease on the tip.”
The deputy glanced at the arrow in the game warden’s hand. He sniffed the tip and confirmed it. “Petroleum jelly. Bowhunters are known to lubricate arrowheads to make them more deadly, for deeper penetration.”
“How deadly are they?” Stuart asked.
“These modern compound bows,” the warden said, “can fire an arrow up to four hundred feet per second.”
“Which means?”
“One arrow can take down a moose.”
“Seriously? A moose?” Stuart questioned.
“The technology behind these new graphite bows, with their pulleys and cams …” he said to everyone, “they’re incredibly powerful weapons, quite deadly. And combined with the design of these newfangled broadheads …” he said, pointing the stainless steel tip. “Considerable killing power, I’m afraid.”
The deputy pulled up her belt and asked Stuart, “And you are?”
“Stuart Hardwicke, unit management, first assistant director.”
Eddie thought unit management was an odd choice of words. As always, Stuart felt the need to endorse his own authority.
“Assistant director … is that like an assistant manager?” the deputy asked.
Eddie stifled a laugh. Exactly.
“I’m in charge of the cast and crew’s safety,” Stuart said.
“Where were you when this occurred?” she questioned, all business.
“Up on set,” Stuart said, thumbing over his shoulder.
“If you’re the assistant director, then who’s the director?”
“I am, Eddie Lyons,” Eddie said and put out his hand.
“Deputy Sondra Martinez,” said Sondra with a shake. “Give me a second.” She moved around the truck, turned, and scanned the meadow beyond.
Everyone watched in silence.
The game warden asked, “Could someone have been crossed, maybe on the road up here, maybe a person cut off by one of your trucks or something? Or for some reason did somebody get angry at you guys?”
Sheila glanced to Luther who shrugged back, not me.
“I’ll ask around.” Stuart offered.
Deputy Martinez marched out into the dried weeds. With her eyes scanning the earth, Eddie assumed she was looking for footprints.
“Crazy,” Eddie said to the others. “Who would shoot an arrow at the camera truck?”
“Any of the equipment damaged?” Giovanni asked.
“I don’t think so,” Sheila replied.
“Maybe I can patch that hole,” Don the driver said, eyeing the punctured fiberglass.
Deputy Martinez returned and asked for a list of everybody in the “production company’s employ.” Stuart was quick to produce a cast and crew list from his thick binder and handed it to her.
“Everyone should be here, with contact info,” Stuart explained. “Do you need to see our permit?”
“Permit?”
“Our film permit.”
“This will do for now,” Deputy Martinez said. Then, to all, she announced, “If anyone sees anything out of the ordinary, please report it. A stranger hanging around or something a little off … anything. Trust your instincts. Nothing is too small. Is that understood?”
There were nods all around and murmurs of agreement.
“Thank you for your time,” she said. “Please be safe.”
As the crew dispersed, Deputy Martinez said to the warden, “Bag it. We’ll compare this one to the arrows from that roadside kill.”
“What roadside kill?” Eddie asked.
“A business traveler encountered arrows while he was changing a flat tire.”
“Encountered?”
“Yes. He was shot.”
“Near here?” asked Eddie.
“Up around Lake Arrowhead,” she said. Turning to Stuart, she handed him her business card. “If anyone reports anything out of the ordinary, or if you have any ideas who may have done this, please don’t hesitate to call.”
“Will do,” Stuart confirmed, stuffing the card in his breast pocket.
She eyed the trees again, “Good luck with your movie. And please, be safe.”
Eddie liked her no-nonsense style and watched as she climbed into her squad car and drove off down the hill. The game warden followed.
Eddie stuck around to wait for Don’s shuttle to drive him down the hill to Tami’s cabin. Lucky approached from behind the truck. “Excuse me, Mr. Lyons,” the bony assistant wrangler said, “do you have a minute?”
Lucky’s teeth were horribly discolored and Eddie wondered if chewing tobacco was the cause, or possibly extended meth use. He’d seen pictures of addicts on the internet, showing the decaying phases of addiction. “Please, call me ‘Eddie,’” he said.
“I was just wondering,” Lucky began, “if you’d consider snakes in your movie.”
“Snakes?” Eddie questioned, cautious.
“Yes sir. I’m told they’re not necessarily in the script—haven’t read it yet—but I brought a few along just in case. I mentioned them at the production meeting in LA.”
“You brought snakes?”
“Rescue snakes,” Lucky said, beaming. He scratched at a scab on his forearm before opening the passenger-side door of his rusty, 1960s-era Ford pickup. A glass aquarium sat in the middle of the truck’s bench seat. Empty cigarette packs cluttered the floor. “These babies were abandoned by their previous owner. I rescued them from being destroyed by the government.”
“The government?”
“The County. You know … the people at the dog pound. Animal Control. I’ve got plenty more back home. Lizards too, and piranhas.”
>
Eddie asked, “Why would you bring snakes?”
“To get them in the movie, plus keep an eye on them since they’re new,” Lucky said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Reptiles are my hobby and my snakes have been in a bunch of movies and reality TV shows. You can use ’em for free. No charge to the production whatsoever. Just give me credit, that’s all I ask. On one movie, I worked with the second unit director and filmed one of my pythons eating a mouse.”
Eddie peered into the cab to see the diamond-patterned snakes coiled in a ball within the glass aquarium. One of them moved. “What kind of snakes are these?” he asked.
“Mojave Reds,” Lucky said, then lovingly added, “the most lethal rattlesnake in North America.”
“You brought rattlesnakes?!”
“They won’t bite.”
Suddenly Jimmy came up behind them and barked, “Lucky, what the hell are you doing?”
“Showing the director my snakes,” he said.
“There’s no need for snakes in this movie,” Jimmy snapped. “Leave the man alone.”
“I was just—”
“I know what you were doing,” Jimmy barked. “Why the hell did you bring those fucking things anyway? Nobody wants your snakes. They’ll scare the horses.”
“I had to.”
“That’s bullshit. Get them the hell out of here.”
“Okay, then, no big deal,” Lucky said, relenting.
Eddie could see Lucky was hurt and said, “Thanks, Lucky, but I really don’t see a need for snakes in the movie. It’s a family film. It’s for TV.”
“Yes, sir, I understand, but it’s also a Western. If you wanted some extra danger somewhere you could always—”
“The man doesn’t want your damn snakes!” Jimmy snapped.
Lucky nodded, gently closed the door of the pickup. “Okay, no snakes then.”
After the dejected Lucky slinked off, Jimmy confided with Eddie, “Sorry about that. Lucky is crazy about his snakes and reptiles.”
“Everyone’s got a passion,” Eddie said.
“Yeah maybe … but those things give me the creeps. He could have brought harmless garden snakes, but no, instead he carts around rattlesnakes and brags to everyone about how lethal they are.”
“How lethal are they?”
“I don’t know. He says the baby snakes are the worst.”
“How’s that?”
“Something about releasing too much venom when they bite, shooting their entire wad. It’s especially weird at feeding time.”
“What do they eat?”
“Live mice. He brought those too. Look, I’m sorry. I’ll make sure he gets those things out of here.”
“Don’t leave them in the hotel. I won’t be able to sleep if I think there are snakes slinking around inside the Gold Strike.”
Jimmy laughed. “We’ll keep the things locked up in his truck. They can’t overheat because they’re snakes, right?”
The shuttle van pulled up and Don stuck his head out the window. “You ready, chief?” he asked Eddie.
A welcome distraction, Eddie excused himself.
“I’ll take care of it,” Jimmy promised before returning to the horses.
Don drove Eddie down the hill and dropped him off outside Tami’s cabin. Don said, “Cell phones don’t work up here either, so when you want to be picked up, there’s a landline in the house. Give the production office a ring and I’ll come get ya.”
Eddie thanked him and got out. Don lit a cigarette then drove off before Eddie approached the house and knocked on the door.
Tami’s stylist Diane answered with, “Hey.” She wore tight blue jeans and a beaded Native American–styled top which showed off her toned, muscular arms. He could see she was fit, figured she must work out regularly. Her hair was wet and slicked back, evidence of a recent shower.
“Diane,” he said.
She sized him up and said, “Hey.”
“Nice digs.”
“Yeah,” she said nonchalant.
He thought of how freaked out she was back at the Gold Strike with all the taxidermy on the walls. This place felt modern and she appeared at ease.
“Come on in,” she said.
He followed her through the foyer, past an antique grandfather clock perched on the landing, and into the kitchen where Tami, Connie, and Bonnie were thumbing through an oversized black-leather artist portfolio. He recognized it from the production meeting back in Los Angeles.
“Eddie, thank you for coming,” Tami said, giving him a light hug. “Prestress bonding is always a good idea, don’t you agree? I hope you’re hungry.”
“Thank you for having me.” Tami was wearing another one of her casual yet expensive-looking outfits. This one featured hand-stitched floral patterns and reminded him of something the young ingénue would wear in a Bollywood musical. Always in a unique getup; if nothing else, Tami had style.
“We were just going over Diane’s book,” Tami said. “Come take a look.”
Eddie joined them. It was a photo series of models in a country house setting. They posed near a barn, at a pump well, and around an old rusty tractor. The fashion trended toward hippie-chick, but there was disco style in there too. Some of it bordered on semierotic.
Diane explained her inspiration. “I went for seventies glam juxtaposed against the traditional Sadie Hawkins tradition,” she said. “Considering the seventies was the peak of the sexual revolution, I worked toward unbridled freedom and combined it with the down-home comfort of a Sadie Hawkins’ Day dance, with its acceptable gender swap, the country girl taking charge and asking the boy out on the date for a change.”
“Love the boots,” Bonnie said.
Eddie felt obliged to compliment and said, “These images are great. I can smell the apple pie cooling in the farmhouse kitchen window.”
“Thank you,” Diane said stroking her wet hair. “Coming from a big-time director, I’m flattered.”
Eddie was about to say he was not a big-time director, not by any stretch, but Tami asked what he’d like to drink. To be polite he said, “Whatever you’re having.” She chose a Perrier and poured him a glass over ice. He would have much preferred an adult beverage but since nobody else was drinking, Eddie figured, When in Rome. The bubbly effervescence tasted bitter and tickled his nose.
As Connie and Bonnie finished preparing the main course, which Eddie learned was eggplant couscous, Diane put her portfolio away and Tami and Eddie had a seat on the couch in the living room. The tasteful interior was Western-themed with Native American art and bronze sculptures of bucking broncos. Tami explained that Connie and Bonnie had been with her on a number of projects. Diane had just joined her team as a consultant to help establish Tami’s new “brand.”
Eddie recalled Sam complaining about having to employ Tami’s expensive entourage. He secretly wished Sam would drop in and add a dash of testosterone to the gathering, hopefully with a bottle of wine.
After what seemed like an eternity, dinner was served. It was clear a lot of time was spent on the presentation of the meal. The main entrée was artistically stacked with a colorful accent sauce and shaved herbs had been sprinkled over the plate. Low fat and healthy no doubt, maybe even vegan and gluten free. Eddie didn’t know but could only assume. After sampling it, Eddie wished more effort had gone into the taste of it all. The conversation revolved around Animal Stance, Tami’s nonprofit rescue effort, and her promotion of habitat protection and conservation. Eddie was bored.
After dinner, Tami’s team cleared the plates and went to work on dessert. This left Tami and Eddie sitting at the table alone. Bonnie changed the dinner music to an opera.
“There’s been something I wanted to talk to you about,” Tami said. She looked at him with complete seriousness. It was as if she was waiting all this time to drop b
ad news and had orchestrated the others to give them privacy.
“Yes?” Eddie said and wondered where this was going.
“Before you were involved in this project, when I was working with Chris Sanderson developing the novel into a screenplay, Carver Entertainment agreed to produce, and we were thrilled. But Sam insisted we cut a scene. I agreed at the time but the more I think about it the more I feel that was a grave mistake. I regret that I made that compromise because I feel the scene is so crucial now. The audience really needs to understand why my character is so passionate about her cause.”
“Hmm,” Eddie responded, encouraging her to continue with, “go on.”
“Chris and I planned to speak with Sam about it,” Tami said, “and convince him we need to put the scene back in, but then Chris, as you know, had a scheduling conflict and, well …”
“I see,” Eddie said. “What’s the scene?”
“It’s a flashback, when my character is back in Boston, really a defining moment for her.”
A flashback? Boston?
“It’s a rainy night,” she continued, “and I’m with my mother, in our coach, and we’re on the way to the opera, Puccini’s Tosca,” she said.
Mother? There’s no mother in the script. A coach? What movie is she talking about?
“We’re passing over Boston’s cobblestone streets, the scene illuminated by flickering gas lamps, the sound of plodding hooves echoing in the damp streets. We round a corner and come across a building on fire, an old garment factory, a sweatshop. Its workers are pathetically fighting the flames with buckets of water.”
Fire and rain? That means hiring special effects technicians. Sweatshop workers? I can barely get ten background extras for tomorrow.
Tami went on with, “My mother barks to our driver to turn the carriage around, but I see a small figure huddled on a stoop. It’s a young girl, face blackened with soot.” Eddie could see Tami paused in what seemed like a well-timed, calculated play for dramatic effect.
“How young?” Eddie asked, just to say something and fill the gap.
“Seven or eight, a peasant girl, scrawny and malnourished.”
You’ve got to be kidding.
Tami continued. “So I jump out, stomp through the mud, ruining my lace evening gown. I use my shawl to wipe her face. The girl can hardly talk, barely able to breathe. Her lungs have been scorched by the ungodly smoke. I ask her where her parents are. She points to the burning building. I ask what school she goes to, hoping to find someone to help her. She tells me she’s never been to school, that she lives and works in the sweatshop. It’s all she’s ever known. Don’t you get it? Much like the children in the mining town, this girl has been exploited, her childhood and life robbed by pure greed.”
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