“Michael,” Carolyn said, “we’ve got to get back to the set.”
“I thought you were done for the day,” Michael said, glowering.
“Change of direction.” Carolyn stared out the shop’s window, visions of her nightmare—Dodger looming over her as she typed—came to mind. Despite that he’d let her go for the day, she knew his temper.
“Everything all right?” Berniece asked.
“It’s just this movie,” Carolyn replied. “Jonathan Dodger—”
Berniece smacked the table. “You in the picture? The one they’re filming here in Salem?”
Carolyn turned and pointed to the fallen sign. “I noticed you’re closing early because of it. How come?” She’d been on enough sets to know if they were filming there, a crew would have visited well ahead of time to prepare the area.
Proudly, Berniece shoved her chest out. “You’re looking at a genuine film consultant.”
“Really? For Witches of Salem? You’re involved?” Carolyn asked.
“Yeah, that’s the movie. The only one being filmed in Salem…far as I know.”
“Huh. What a coincidence.”
“I didn’t think you believed in coincidences.” Michael raised an eyebrow.
“What!” Berniece shouted. “You an actress?”
Carolyn nodded to Berniece.
“I got me an actress right here in my store!” Berniece stood and smiled. “Are you a real actress, like ’Lizabeth Montgomery, or just an extra?”
“I’m playing Marigold, the witch from the world beneath Salem.”
“Beneath Salem?” Michael said, knowing nothing about the film’s story.
“Hot damn!” Berniece shuffled back a step. “I know that part from the script. Julia Hartfield gave us a copy the other day. Me and my friend, Becky, we gonna be Wiccan consultants.”
“Wiccan consultants? What would one of those do?” Michael asked.
“Wicca is the religion of the witches.” Berniece stepped closer to Carolyn by the bookshelves. “We use the forces of nature to help alter reality.” She winked. “But for the movie, we just there as spiritual advisors. Their feng shui consultants are too busy in some big production back in Hollywood. You in the movie, too?” she asked Michael.
“No, I’m just here for moral support.”
“Ain’t that nice. Well, it’s nice to meet such fine Hollywood types as yourselves. You filming at the Willows, right?” Berniece sauntered to the center of the small store.
“Yes,” Carolyn replied.
Berniece bent with a sigh, picked up the sign, and went to the front door. “Let me give you a lift. I’m heading over there, meeting Becky. We’re signing some papers to start our first official day.”
“If it’s not too much trouble. I’d appreciate it,” Carolyn said.
Berniece hung the sign in the window. “Just give me one minute. I’ll get my keys, and we can fire up my old tank-a-thunder. It ain’t no fancy limo, like you’re probably used to, but it’ll get us there.”
Carolyn laid a hand over her heart. “Oh, you’re a lifesaver.”
“Hold on.” Berniece lumbered to the register.
“Oh, my bag.” Carolyn remembered her purse in the back room and went off to get it. When she returned, Michael and Berniece stood under the transom by the open door.
“All set?” Berniece stepped aside.
“I am.” Carolyn opened her purse to throw in her phone, and in it found a tarot card. “Oh, look. This must’ve fallen from the table.” She took it out. Her head jerked back, and with a shaking hand, she gave the Death card to Bernie.
“Dear God and baby Jesus!” Michael shouted, pushed Berniece out of the way, and ran out.
Berniece fell against the doorjamb, and clutched a hand to her chest, keys clanging.
A few minutes later, driving in Berniece’s rusted blue Buick, with its exhaust in need of obvious repair, Berniece shouted to be heard over the car’s clatter. To Carolyn, sitting shotgun, and Michael in the rear, she yelled, “You’re not gonna die!” She put her blinker on and pulled onto Derby. The car backfired. “Well, you are. We are all gonna die. The Death card just means change.” The muffler softened as she let up on the gas. “It signifies a good phase…to let go of the past and make way for the better, toward a more fulfilling life. Death teaches us to let go of the old and move on.” She winked at Carolyn. “Now is a good time to throw out any baggage that might be getting in your way.”
God Is In the Details
At the Salem Willows, a park named for a bastion of weeping willow trees along the harbor, Rebecca left her red Hyundai a few car lengths behind Berniece’s Buick. A cool afternoon sea breeze chased off any humidity, keeping it locked back in the center of town.
Rebecca pulled a sweater from her trunk and put it on, as she wandered her way up Fort Avenue.
Donning a hat and sunglasses, Rebecca hoped—now parted from the Korean vehicle she despised—someone might mistake her for a celebrity.
In front of her lay a grassy field strewn with trucks, trailers, and other filmmaking contraptions—all seeming very Hollywood. A bubble of excitement rose in her belly. I’m part of a real movie.
Adjacent to a bank of mobile homes, several police officers meandered about the soccer-field-now-parking lot and fronted yellow wooden barriers, providing little protection from a clamoring crowd.
“Shit, witches,” Rebecca muttered, recognizing some from Loni Hodge’s coven, and recalling the email she’d gotten suggesting the group meet there to disrupt filming.
Across the street from where Rebecca had parked, she met up with Berniece and Julia, in an air-conditioned RV alongside Dead Horse Beach.
After signing papers, Julia explained while only the first day of filming, “thanks to the fucking witches” they were “woefully behind schedule.”
Following direction, Rebecca and Berniece, with their orange-fluorescent vests marked “Crew,” exited the RV to appease the crowds.
“I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do.” Rebecca snapped the vest’s plastic belt around her waist. “And this suit isn’t very becoming.”
Berniece shoved her vest into her back pocket and let it dangle.
“You’re not going to wear it?”
Berniece gazed at Rebecca. “You think I can fit into that?”
Rebecca took out the piece of paper Julia had given her. “Carolyn Sohier…you met her?” She flipped the description of Marigold, Carolyn’s role, over. “I’m supposed to meet with her and give her real-witch details to help improve the character.”
“Nice gal.”
Several yards away, Julia tore out of the RV, bouncing down its metal steps and the door shut behind her.
Berniece snubbed her nose at the blonde.
“Bernie!” Rebecca said. “Our first day on the set and you’re going to get us fired.”
“She can’t see me. ’Sides, I don’t like that good-for-nothing bimbo.”
“Well, rein it in,” Rebecca said. “For a little while, anyway.”
Commotion along the harbor piqued their interest, and they meandered toward it. Ahead, Jonathan Dodger directed a scene.
Berniece pointed out Carolyn, wearing a black conical hat—cameraman circling her. “I’m telling you. She’s something special. I got a feeling ’bout her.”
“Hmm. Well, I’ll be meeting her soon enough.” Rebecca glanced at her watch.
After an hour, observing take after take, they grew weary. The police kept the protesters in the back of the lot, but their chanting infiltrated, and—according to the crew—rendered the audio useless. The tension grew high.
Berniece leaned on a wooden horse. “And they fuss ’bout making movies? This is tiring.”
Behind her, a woman, with a crop of blonde hair piled high, and an overweight teenage boy by her side, approached. “Pardon,” the woman said, “my son here is a big fan of Carolyn Sohier.”
Sheepishly, the boy looked down at the ground.
>
“We listen to her CD over and over!” the mother shouted over the clamoring. “We just think the world of her. I saw her perform in Boston several years back, and I turned Timmy here on to her.” She put her arm on her son’s shoulders. “And ever since, he’s been a fan, too. My girlfriends and I were just floored by her show.” She held her hands out in emphasis.
Berniece, having moved off the sawhorse, said, “I ain’t never heard her sing. She that good?”
The boy nodded and smiled timidly. He clutched a CD jewel case, worn and cracked with age. “I was too young to go to the concert.” He beamed. “I think it’s awful what happened to her on the VTV Awards. But this movie will make her an even bigger star. I know it. Don’t you think?”
Something about him touched Rebecca. “Yes…Yes, it will.” She sensed a need to acquaint him with Carolyn but didn’t know why she felt as such, or even how she’d go about arranging a meeting.
“I wondered,” the mother went on, “if it would be possible to get her autograph. It would mean so—”
Stepping in front of Berniece, Julia appeared. “GET BACK!” she shouted to the woman and child.
Flummoxed, the mother took her son by the hand. “I…I…We were just—”
“You heard me,” Julia reiterated. “Move it! This is a closed set.”
With son firmly in hand, the mother darted off. The top of her blonde hair faded into the mob.
“That’s how you do it.” Julia jotted onto her clipboard. “You have to be forceful.” She walked off.
“They were fans of Carolyn’s,” Rebecca said.
“Yeah, right.” A hint of fat showed under Julia’s T-shirt, cinched by the back strap of her bra, and Rebecca smirked.
Berniece stepped forward. “You don’t have to be such a—”
Rebecca hooked Berniece’s shoulder.
“Bitch,” Berniece finished, but Julia had disappeared into the encroaching protesters.
A woman screamed.
Berniece and Rebecca turned.
“Cry like you mean it!” said Jonathan Dodger to Carolyn.
Carolyn threw her witch hat to the ground. “I did! I am.” She grimaced and pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose.
“Bullshit!” the director yelled. “You’re an actress. Act!”
Rebecca and Berniece moved closer and stopped inches from a monitor next to the set.
Carolyn took her witch hat back from a prop girl. “Thank you,” Carolyn said, and then looked at Jonathan. “It just doesn’t make sense to, literally, cry at the drop of a hat, is all I’m saying. Is this a comedy or a thriller? The concept is quite silly. I can’t find the motiva—”
“Enough!” Jonathan got up from his black chair—Dodger stitched in white thread across its back.
Carolyn winced at his approach and stepped back.
As he took his New York Yankees cap off and threw the hat to the ground, Berniece tripped over a cord and fumbled onto the set.
“Bernie!” Rebecca held out a hand, but her friend ignored her help.
Jonathan backed off and took in Berniece. “And who the hell are you?”
She brushed her sleeves and stood tall. “I’m Berniece Fagar, your witch consultant slash guru.” She put a hand on her hip and paced the cordoned area. “I got an awful vibe ’round here.” She pivoted and pointed a finger to Dodger. “You violating the law of threefold.”
Jonathan Dodger stood unfazed. “The law of threefold.”
“Karma’s a bitch.” She wriggled her nose—with a little help from her hand—like in Bewitched.
Chuckling, Rebecca practically heard the magical sound effect she knew played in her friend’s head.
Dodger lifted a hand loosely, palm up. “Actors, witches…you’re all a pain in the ass.” He spun around. “For the love of God, it’s a fucking hat.” He reached down and picked up his Yankees’ cap. “You’d think I’m asking these people to turn water into wine.”
Alone in Carolyn’s trailer, Rebecca settled at a small table and waited for the actress. Three hours later, dusk grew near.
Out the window, Rebecca watched what looked like small railroad tracks being placed onto the grass, and a camera being fitted to a dolly.
When Carolyn finally entered, Rebecca rose and started forward, but stopped when Carolyn sat down on the floor, by the bathroom, and began to cry.
Unsure what to do, Rebecca waited and edged back. She doesn’t know I’m here.
In between sobs, Carolyn wiped her nose and rocked.
Finally, Rebecca moved into the light filtering in through the window by the sink. “Um, Ms. Sohier?”
Carolyn flinched and cleared her throat. “Oh, I didn’t realize…” She started to get up.
“No, no, don’t bother.”
“I didn’t know you were here already.”
Rebecca went to her, knelt and offered a clean tissue from the sleeve of her sweater. “I’m Rebecca Farney, your…your advisor.” What else should she call herself?
Carolyn forced a smile. “Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just a little emotional. Acting does that to me.”
“Then I don’t think you need any inspiration from me,” Rebecca said. “I thought you were great. I saw you from the monitors.”
Shouts from protesters, while muffled inside the trailer, intensified.
Rebecca smiled. “I could never act like you. They want us to be extras in some crowd scenes. I don’t think I can even do that.”
Carolyn wiped her eyes. “Oh, you’ll be great.”
“I’m not an actress. We’re just doing this because of the witch thing.”
“We?” Carolyn asked and wiped her nose with the tissue.
“Me and my friend. We’re real witches…or at least want to be.”
“Oh.” A bit of concern flitted across Carolyn’s face.
“Don’t worry. We’re good witches.” Rebecca laughed nervously.
Carolyn hugged her knees. “Well, at least I have some positive energy with me.”
“You have a lot!” Rebecca said and leaned against the bathroom door beside Carolyn. “I can tell.”
The performer’s striking features—brown eyes, sharp nose, strong jawline, and flawless skin—were revealed despite the witch costume. “You can, huh?” Carolyn smiled sparkling white teeth.
“Yup, even Bernie said so.”
“Oh, Bernie. I know Berniece.” Carolyn pulled off her black wig, revealing a lion’s mane of thick brown hair.
“She told me she met you at the shop.”
They sat for a time, listening to the torrent of protesters nearing. Rebecca recalled the email distribution calling for more to join after working hours.
Carolyn eyed the window. “All this fuss.” She shook her head. “He’s making a mockery of their…your…religion. I feel ashamed to be a part of it.” She paused. “Do you believe in spirits?”
Not sure of Carolyn’s intent, Rebecca fidgeted, unsnapping the belt to the vest she still wore. “Of course I believe. Don’t you?”
Silence fell for a few seconds, until Carolyn broke it. “I don’t know.” She faced Rebecca. “When I was a kid, I used to believe.”
“Why has that changed?”
Carolyn shrugged. “I’m not sure.” A smile came to her face. “I used to dream that my father—he was a bordering-on-famous guitarist who died of a drug overdose in the sixties—I’d dream that he would come back to see me.”
“Oh?”
“He died when I was three.” Carolyn wiped a spot from her wardrobe. “I don’t really remember him, me being so young and all. I used to sing myself to sleep looking at a picture of him on my nightstand.” She chuckled. “I hoped he’d appear in my dreams.”
“He didn’t?”
Carolyn shook her head. “No…never.”
Rebecca rested her chin on her knees. “Well, maybe he just wasn’t ready.” She had to offer some comfort.
Carolyn gave her a quizzical look and leaned back against the wall.
“Sometimes, spirits are shy. Or they’re working on other stuff and aren’t ready to visit. Others need help connecting and find guidance through mediums and healers.” Rebecca cleared her throat, not knowing where it all came from, but she continued. “You need to welcome them. Did you ever ask him to appear?”
“Well, I don’t know if I ever out-and-out asked him.” Carolyn stared at the trailer’s door, as if lost in thought.
“Maybe he didn’t know.” Rebecca breathed audibly. “Wishing to some nebulous being versus asking a specific entity are two entirely different things.” She’d read it in one of the books at Bernie’s store.
An hour later, and still on the floor, the girls continued their conversation—from spirits to fortune-telling and, finally, to Carolyn’s profession.
“Wow, you really do get into your characters,” Rebecca said, in response to Carolyn sharing details about a role she’d played Off-Broadway.
“When right, the character just possesses me.”
“The mask method? That’s what you call it?”
“One of many techniques I’ve learned.” Carolyn played with the hem of her dress, her hoop earring resting on her jaw. “Yet, after all those years of acting lessons, I still find winging it the best.”
“A woman and her son, fans of yours, were hanging around—”
“What did you say?”
“Two fans of yours were outside a couple hours ago.”
“Fans?” Carolyn’s eyes widened.
“Yes, fans. You do have them, you know.”
Carolyn smiled, shaking her head. “Go on.”
“Well, they wanted to get an autograph. I wanted to let them on the set but that bitch Julia, with tits so perky you could hang Christmas ornaments off them, kicked them out.”
They laughed.
Outside, a light flashed on, its rays coming through the window and onto the kitchen table. The blinds cast horizontal slices across Carolyn’s face.
Rebecca noted the elegance in Carolyn’s appearance. “They’re still filming?”
“It’s going to be a long night,” Carolyn said, when the trailer’s door burst open.
The women jumped. Rebecca’s elbow smacked the wall.
Summerwind Magick: Making Witches of Salem Page 7
