“See what?” Sheila said.
“That driver guy. After we all got off he turned the van around and lit up.”
“Really?”
“I saw the flame of his lighter,” Diane said with a look of bewilderment. “Amazing. Didn’t he listen to us?”
Luther offered, “The dude probably can’t help himself. He’s hooked.”
Sheila said, “He needs to get nicotine gum, or something, that’s what I did.”
“What a bastard,” Diane said before she marched off to open Tami’s trailer.
As Sheila watched her go, she noted how quickly Diane had shifted from the elation of seeing a baby deer to pure anger. But Diane had a good point. She was clearly not afraid to speak her mind.
As Luther swung open the cargo door, he asked Sheila, “So what’s the first shot?”
Chapter
EIGHTEEN
At 5:45 a.m. Tom Birch was the first actor in the chair. He’d gone to bed early and gotten a good night’s sleep, a strategy to stave off the flu, and it had worked. Although his joints still felt a little achy, he was definitely feeling better.
Karen and Linda, the joined-at-the-hip makeup, hair, and wardrobe team, worked on him in tandem. Karen had applied a light foundation and was powdering his face while Linda steamed the wrinkles out of Tom’s suit. A melancholy, old-time blues recording of Bessie Smith filled the trailer. An Italian coffee machine supplied Tom a frothy latte far superior to the common Folgers drip available from the battered, stainless steel urn on the side of the catering wagon. Tom had been on enough productions to know that on day one everyone pulls out the stops. Try getting steamed milk on day ten. Not a chance.
“When’s Tami due?” he asked.
Although he had spoken to Tami yesterday morning, Tom was a little concerned he had not seen her since arriving, even though he knew she was not staying at the hotel. Tom was working on what to say to her—how to gracefully thank her again for recommending him for the role. On Tami’s TV series, Tom had expertly fine-tuned the skill of pouring on the charm, and Tami lapped it up.
“We’re not working on Tami.” Karen said, matter-of-fact. “She’s got her own people.”
Tom picked up a bit of resentment in her tone. “Who?” he asked.
“A stylist, Diana or Diane,” Karen said. “And Bonnie and Connie.”
“They’ve got their own makeup trailer,” Linda added. “The big one.”
Tom suppressed a smile.
“Know them?” Karen asked.
“Yes.” He was not surprised that Tami brought Connie and Bonnie along. Obviously they too knew how to play Tami, how to keep her fragile ego propped up to bank on continuous employment from project to project. “I’ve worked with Bonnie and Connie before,” he confessed, glad to have a couple of familiar faces around. “We were on Tami’s series together.”
There was a rap on the door.
“Come in,” Linda said.
“Stepping,” Eddie said before opening the door and climbing the retractable stairs.
“Thank you, Eddie. I haven’t heard that term in a while,” Karen said.
Eddie entered. “Tom … Eddie Lyons,” he said, extending his hand to shake. “I’m thrilled to have you on board.”
“Thank you,” Tom said, and got up from the chair. To Karen he asked, “Stepping? What’s that mean?”
Karen said, “A term to alert the makeup crew to expect the bump and vibration that comes with stepping onto the trailer, in the event I’m working on you with an eye pencil or something.”
“Oh, I get it. Never heard that one.” Then to Eddie, Tom said, “I’m looking forward to working with you.” Tom had tried to introduce himself earlier in the hotel lobby, but Eddie was in hushed conversation with some producer type. Tom had sensed it wasn’t the best time to make his acquaintance so he’d decided to be patient and wait. He did, however, pick up on a few heated phrases between Eddie and the producer including, “Tami wants what? Boston? An opera?” And then a stifled, “She’s fucking nuts.” He planned to clue Tami in about this interchange—the disrespectful tone and insolence he’d witnessed, the jabs spoken behind her back. Or maybe he could somehow leverage the information to his advantage. He’d figure it out.
“Excellent work in The Opposition,” Eddie said. “That’s a great movie. I’m a big fan of your work.”
“Thank you,” Tom said, standing tall. He liked the fact that Eddie mentioned one of his more obscure titles instead of the half-dozen studio pictures Tom had landed small parts in. The Opposition was an independent film that premiered at Sundance and got favorable reviews. Tom had a sizable role. It suggested Eddie knew his work and had not simply looked up his credits on the internet.
Even though he knew it was a total long shot, Tom asked Eddie if, by chance, he’d caught him in what Tom considered his best work ever, Shakespeare’s Richard III on the stage in Cincinnati. He realized the chances Eddie would have seen the play were slim to none, but asked anyway so Eddie would know he was a Shakespearean actor in case he’d missed it on his résumé. Eddie said he’d never been to Ohio. As they made small talk, Tom realized this was the opportune time to ask about something that had been on his mind.
“Take a seat,” Tom said, motioning to Karen’s stool. “I had a thought I wanted to talk to you about.” Tom sat back in his makeup chair. He sensed Eddie hesitate before he pulled the metal stool over and obliged. Tom started in with, “I’ve been meaning to speak with you about my hat.”
“Your hat?”
“Bartholomew’s hat,” he said, incorporating his character’s name. Tom snapped his fingers. There was no response, so he snapped again.
Linda appeared perplexed for a second but then nodded to herself, spun on her heels, and retrieved the cowboy hat from the rack. She gave it to Tom and he delicately placed it on his head.
“After careful consideration,” Tom said, “I’ve decided that my character should wear this hat. I feel it … defines him, of sorts.” Tom looked into the mirror. He really liked the way it looked. “And Linda agrees,” he added. In the mirror he could see Linda and Eddie exchange a look. Linda shook her head no and shrugged.
“Excuse me,” Karen said holding up her coffee mug, “but caffeine takes priority at this hour. I’m off for a refill. Anyone?” Nobody acknowledged her so she weaved her way out of the trailer. After the door slammed, there was a brief moment of silence and Tom could tell Eddie was not receptive.
“I don’t know,” Eddie said, “it seems to me that hat’s more of a ranch hand sorta look, not really something the town merchant would wear.”
Tom nodded to himself, tilting his head as if taking a moment to actually consider Eddie’s opinion. But he’d already made up his mind and said, “I respectfully disagree.”
“You don’t think it’s too informal?” Eddie asked.
“No. I feel it’s a stoic choice. Gives my character a certain command of things.”
“What do you think, Linda?” Eddie said.
“You guys decide,” she said, “I’ve got other hats if you want to see them.”
Tom could see Eddie was asking Linda for a “nay” vote, so he said, “I’ve seen the other hats and they’re not right. This one’s perfect.”
“Well, if you really, really insist,” Eddie said, “but my main concern with you wearing a wide-brimmed hat is your eyes.” With that Eddie stood to go.
“My eyes?”
“Yeah,” Eddie said, turning back, “we’re lighting this film with broad strokes, top light and dramatic. I’m afraid the hat will shadow your eyes in darkness, and I think it’s really important we see them. The audience needs to witness your character’s transformation because Bartholomew is her trusted ally at first but then later, as you know, betrays her. It would be a shame to miss those subtle moments.”
“I hadn’t
thought of that,” Linda said.
Eddie gave her a nod.
Tom considered Eddie’s logic. “Why can’t you just light me differently?” he asked.
“Because it wouldn’t match the rest of the scenes and might feel like you’re in a different movie.”
In his mind’s eye, Tom had already envisioned his character wearing this hat. He hadn’t thought about the technical issues. Tom looked in the mirror again. Damn, he really liked it, and it did an effective job at masking his baldness, akin to country star Dwight Yoakam.
He didn’t want to give in, but Eddie had a good point. Shit. “What if I wear it outdoors where there’s plenty of light bouncing up into my face, and then I take it off when I step inside?”
“Well … in that case you’re playing those interior scenes hat in hand. That’s a bit submissive, don’t you think?”
Tom didn’t like the idea of his character fidgeting with the brim of the hat either. Damn it. He tried to recall the continuous scenes in the script where he crossed in and out of the general store. A loud knock sounded and the door swung open. Stuart poked his head inside.
“Eddie, there you are,” he said. “Excuse me, but we need you on set.”
“Right-o,” Eddie said, then to Tom. “I don’t think that hat is in your best interest, but I like that you’re coming to me with ideas. Keep it up. I’m an open door, and all ears.”
“Thanks,” Tom said, removing the hat, not satisfied. After Eddie stepped out, he looked into the mirror again.
Now that Tom had met the director, he wasn’t sure he liked him.
* * *
An hour later, sitting inside his narrow dressing room adjacent to the honey-wagon, Tom was dressed in wardrobe and going over his lines. Connie appeared at the stairs. “Good morning, Tom.”
“Connie. Fancy seeing you here.”
“Go figure,” she said, adjusting her Ray-Ban sunglasses against the glare of the early morning sun. “Tami asked to see you.”
Finally, he thought. “How’s she doing?”
“Okay, I guess.”
As Tom followed Connie to Tami’s makeup trailer, he said, “I hear you’re all staying in a mountain cabin somewhere around here.”
“That’s right,” she said.
“How is it?”
“Nice, but no TV so I can’t watch my shows.”
Tom wasn’t sure if she meant the TV shows she’d worked on or the shows she regularly viewed. He said, “You’re welcome to come down to the hotel. We’ve got TV there.”
“We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“All that taxidermy shit. Tami would freak.”
Tom hadn’t thought of that. “So that’s why you’re not staying at the Gold Strike?”
“We decided it best for Tami not to see that creepy place.”
They approached Tami’s makeup and hair trailer, and once Tom entered it was clear these digs were far superior to Karen and Linda’s workspace. Tami greeted him with a peck on the cheek. Bonnie saluted with “Aloha,” then busied herself with an assortment of brushes and powders on the counter. The third member of Tami’s vanity team stepped up and introduced herself. “I’m Diane, nice to meet you.”
“Nice meeting you as well,” he said, considering Diane the most attractive of the three—tall, athletic, and perky. He sat in the chair next to Tami, reached out to lightly touch her arm and said, “We’re fortunately again blessed with another opportunity to work together.”
“Yes, indeed,” Tami said, clenching his hand.
They made small talk about how beautiful the setting was, about a few of the other cast members, and then the subject of the director came up.
“Have you worked with him before?” Tom asked.
“I haven’t.”
“I understand this project is your labor of love and heard that Chris Sanderson was your first choice.”
“He was, but Chris had another commitment. I have confidence we’re in good hands with Eddie,” she said.
Tom was on the brink of telling her about Eddie’s hushed conversation he had overheard but a radio squawked with a voice asking for rehearsal on set.
Connie asked Tom if he could leave so they could begin putting Tami through “the works.”
He’d have to tell Tami about the disparaging words exchanged later. Tom made a gracious exit.
Since Tom was scheduled in the very first shot, less than an hour later he was standing on his mark, paper tape on the wood floor. The shot was his reaction from the window of the general store as Tami’s stagecoach arrived in town. In the scene he would notice the arrival of Tami, the new schoolteacher, but she would not see him. Tom wished they had already shot Tami’s angle so he knew what to react to. There was no actual stagecoach for him, only a C-stand with a piece of yellow tape on it for his eye line. Tom decided it best to play the moment subtle. He trusted the audience would fill in the rest.
After two takes Eddie said, “Great, but can you give me a little more curiosity?”
Tom resented Eddie’s direction. Doesn’t he know anything?
Less than half an hour later, the camera and lights were set for the master shot of the next scene—Tami’s character, Elizabeth, as she makes Bartholomew’s acquaintance in the general store. Stuart summoned Tami through the radio but was told she was not ready. Tom witnessed a fair amount of anxiety between Eddie and Stuart until finally, twenty minutes later, Tami reported to set, flanked by Connie, Bonnie, and Diane. She wore a striking vintage white-lace dress. Since this scene directly followed the scene introducing Tami’s character in the film, he figured the angelic white was by design.
After Stuart and Tami spoke quietly for a moment, she took her place on set.
Eddie introduced Tami to Giovanni. She was clearly charmed by his accent. Giovanni introduced Tami to Sheila. They shook hands. After more introductions Tom and Tami ran a rehearsal. Eddie was satisfied and Stuart called for “last looks,” prompting Tami’s team to jump in and buzz around her with last-minute adjustments to hair, makeup, and wardrobe.
“Thank you, ladies,” Stuart said, “but now we’ve got to go.”
The vanity team paid no attention to Stuart, as if they hadn’t heard his order at all. They continued to work on Tami until Stuart drove them off with his clipboard, “Thank you, ladies, thank you very much. Very good, but we’ve got to shoot now.”
“Are you ready?” Eddie calmly asked Tami.
She nodded, yes.
“Roll sound,” Stuart barked.
“Speed,” a voice sounded from somewhere off-set, in the soundman territory beyond the lights and stands.
Tom saw Sheila hit the switch. They were rolling.
“Scene eleven, take one,” Luther said as he held a slate up, clapped it down lightly, then ducked down beside camera.
“Action,” Eddie called out.
Busying himself with the ledger on the counter, Tom could hear Tami enter the store. Take time with this moment, he reminded himself and waited until she was on her mark before looking up.
“Good morning, madam,” he said, removing the prop bifocals perched on his nose, “How can I help you?”
A high-pitched shriek distracted him. It sounded like an animal of some kind. This broke Tom’s concentration. He looked to Eddie standing beside camera.
“Cut,” Eddie said.
“Sorry,” Tom apologized, realizing he should have stayed in the scene and not looked to camera.
But Tami had also broken scene, her hand covering her mouth. “Oh, my God,” she said aloud, eyes wide.
“What the hell was that?” Stuart howled over the radio.
A painful whinny followed before a panicked voice came back, “A horse is down! A horse is down!”
Chapter
NINETEEN
Sheila
remained beside camera as the cast and crew rushed outside. This was her conditioned response. Experienced camerapersons are trained to never step away from the lens. Her responsibility was to protect the most delicate and expensive piece of equipment on set. Sheila took pride in the fact that neither lens nor camera had ever been dropped or damaged on her watch. Only after the room had been cleared did she finally lock down the tripod and drape a mini space-blanket over the camera to protect it from dust.
Once finished, Sheila stepped outside to see what was going on. Down the hill, by the horse trailer, she could see Patches hobbling. The horse attempted to steady itself but its front leg was clearly broken—bent back grotesquely, hoof dangling.
Jimmy was trying to pull the animal down by its reins but it reared back, fighting him. Lucky tried to help.
“Oh, my God,” Tami said, horrified. She turned away and buried her face in Tom’s shoulder.
Jimmy was able to wrestle Patches’ head back at an angle and the horse finally relented. It fell to its side with guttural-sounding effort but continued to kick with its hind legs. Eddie, Giovanni, and a couple of grips from the crew were already down there helping Jimmy keep Patches down.
“What happened?” Stuart barked over the radio.
“Don’t know,” a voice came back.
To the cast and crew standing near, Stuart said, “Okay everyone, take five. Please do not go far. We’ll get help for the horse.” With that he marched down the hill to join the others.
A worried Diane paced near Sheila, eyes glued on the horse below. She said, “I hear you, I know, I know,” loud enough so that Sheila thought she was talking to her.
Sheila asked, “Excuse me, did you say something?”
“No,” Diane said, clearly shaken. She gave Sheila a shrug then joined Tami, Bonnie, and Connie. They huddled together and whispered between themselves before moving down the hill. They gave the prone horse a wide berth before ducking into their trailer.
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