by J. A. Pitts
“You know my work?”
Flattery was next to money when it came to power. He chuckled, despite his best effort. “Carl, my new friend,” he said, placing his arm around Carl’s shoulder and turning him to face the working stage.
“This is your canvas. You are an artist I can appreciate. You work your magic here, I will handle certain monetary transactions and see to a few glitches in the distribution channels you have found in the British Columbia area. I have connections.” He grinned, and Carl seemed to relax.
“It would be great to see Blood Brother II released in Canada.”
“Not to worry.” Frederick steered Carl toward the set, walking briskly. “Later I would love to meet your prop girl.” He smiled. Meet, eat, whichever worked out for the best. “But for now, I must meet this leading man of yours. I have heard many interesting things about him.”
Yes, Frederick thought. There was a man both vain and shallow. He could mold JJ Montgomery, guide him to stardom, and sweep the power from his shadow.
An excellent pawn in the long game.
Twenty-two
JENNIFER WAS A DOLL. SHE HUSTLED ME BACK TO THE LOCKER room and basically stripped me down and shoved me into the shower. I stood under the spray, letting the hot water run over me while my brain processed what had just happened. Either I had suffered a blow to the head when I was sparring with the twins yesterday, or I had lost my mind.
The thought that the dragon could be real, no matter my body’s reaction, just couldn’t fit inside my brain. I was under a ton of stress. People under stress see and hear strange things. That had to be it. Besides, Rolph had set me up. First he mentions the dragon at the smithy when I’m exhausted, both physically and mentally, then he messes with me here at the set. No wonder I hallucinated a dragon. I was dealing in the land of make-believe every day here on the set. Just my imagination running amok.
In the meantime, I’d have to be careful around Rolph. I didn’t like the games he was playing.
I scrubbed myself with the bar of soap Jennifer had in her shower caddy, and let the stress and anxiety flow down the drain with the suds.
When I got out, she had two large towels waiting next to some clothes. I dried off, packed the shower caddy, and examined the clothes. These were sorority sweats. I’d be spending the rest of the evening with Greek letters across my big pink ass. That wasn’t humiliating. At least it didn’t read SPANK ME.
I draped the towels over the shower rack and bundled my dirty clothes into a very tight ball. I dropped them into the washer in the costume area and walked back into Jennifer’s office. The sword lay right where I’d left it. I was surprised at the sense of relief I felt seeing that black blade.
I picked it up, comforting myself with the weight of it, and walked back to the crew.
I had to go through three doors to get to the set. No outside noise, and all that. I walked to the prop cage, slipped Gram into her case, and settled to the left of the stage where I normally watched the shooting.
Jennifer was there, watching rapt as Frederick regaled the cast and crew with his love of film, and his entrepreneurial spirit.
“He’s a shark,” Jennifer said as I stepped up to her.
“Or some other predator with large teeth,” I said.
She looked at me and smiled. “You can be very pretty, when you don’t dress down so much.”
Dress down? Hell, I was in sweats. My jeans and T-shirts were cool. And the boots I normally wore were totally kick-ass. Of course, now I was two inches shorter and padding around in my bare feet. I guess to Jennifer blond hair, bare feet, and pink sweats were hot.
“You trust him?” I asked.
She turned back to the crowd and shrugged. “You know what they say about things that seem too good to be true.”
“Yeah. You gonna read those contracts before everything is finalized?”
“Too late,” she said. I could tell she was angry about that. The clenched jaw and tight shoulders were a good clue.
“Carl is a big boy, knows his business and all that.”
“True,” she said, letting out a long-held breath. “But I have a stake in this, too.
“He’s already complimented JJ on his fine acting ability, and even winked at one of the young grips.”
“Eww,” I said. “Not Kimmie.”
Jennifer nodded. “So, shark and lecher. She’s only sixteen.”
“We’ll keep her out of his way,” I said, patting Jennifer on the shoulder. “The JJ thing, we can’t help. He’s a dumbass, no matter how big his head gets.”
This brought a laugh from Jennifer that was good to hear. Frederick stumbled a bit in his soliloquy, looking over at us with a bemused smile. Real bastard, that one, no matter my stress levels. I may have hallucinated the dragon thing, but my instincts told me he was bad news all around.
It took another twenty minutes to get things back in order and start the shoot, but things went amazingly well after that.
The goblins were all in rare form, and JJ belted out his lines like a pro. I was fairly impressed, until he swung the sword up to smite the goblins, just like Monday night. Only this time, he let go on the upswing and the sword sailed through the air, slicing through an aluminum support light and sending it shattering to the ground.
While the techs replaced the light and the grips cleaned up, I assured Carl and JJ that the sword was not sharp, and that he just didn’t know his own strength. This seemed to mollify the little pisher.
The second take went even smoother. We were up to JJ’s big line when things went wrong.
“I declare this land free from oppression,” he called out. His white sequined armor glowed, and the lighting was immaculate. He held the sword above his head and his voice rang clear and sonorous.
“I claim this, my birthright. This sword—”
Rolph, I know it was him, started forward, his goblin hand outstretched, with a mewling cry loud enough to interfere.
“—made from the shattered horn of Memphisto . . .”
JJ wound down, not sure how to proceed, so Carl called cut, and we started all over again.
By the third take, things went perfectly. So well, in fact, we wrapped the night with that scene. Carl called cut on the final take and everyone cheered. Finally, we’d beaten the fickle fates and sunk another scene.
JJ stood on the stage, holding the sword, more amazed than the rest of us. He was really good, I hated to admit. Frederick walked onto the stage and began congratulating the cast and crew, a handshake here, a high five there. I walked from the opposite direction, making a line to JJ. I needed to get the sword back in its case before too long.
“James, my good man,” Frederick bellowed, holding his arms out as if to hug the fop. “That was astounding.”
JJ lowered the sword and grinned like a little kid. It was almost cute.
“Thank you, sir,” he said.
Sir? Holy . . .
“Fine blade you have there,” Frederick said, walking up to the ferrocrete rocks and craning his neck up to JJ. “Fine indeed.”
“Thanks,” JJ said, glancing over at me. I started walking his way as fast as I could without running, or losing the sweats that didn’t quite fit.
“I’m a collector,” Frederick said, working his way over the cables, through the milling goblins, and to the ramp up the rocks. “I’d love to see it up close.”
“Um.” JJ looked between Frederick and me, unsure of whose wrath to risk. He knew what kind of bitch I could be, but Frederick Sawyer was money. “Sure, I guess,” he said, turning.
“JJ, you’ve done enough damage tonight,” I bellowed, storming up the right side of the stage. “Give me my damn sword, before you hurt the suit, you ham-fisted hack.”
Not my best work, but I was under pressure.
The word “hack” was the final bit. JJ swung around and snarled. “It’s just a piece of trash. Not unlike certain people around here.” He dropped the sword on the stage with a clang and stormed of
f, past the blinking Frederick Sawyer and straight to the smokers’ exit.
“Nice,” I yelled, bending to pick up the sword several steps ahead of Frederick. He stopped as soon as I touched the hilt, a smile slowly spreading over his face. For a moment I shuddered at that toothy grin, but I turned and stormed back down to the prop area, clutching the sword like it was the last line out of the water.
“Smooth,” Jennifer said to me as I stomped past her, my bare feet slapping on the concrete floor. “You have his attention now, that’s no mistake.”
I just kept walking, straight to the prop cage and through the door. Once Gram was nestled in its case again, I carried it with me to the back to switch my clothes into the dryer.
I locked it in the prop cage again, and began disassembling goblins. Once all the assorted pieces were stowed, and I had the stage hands putting away the extra bits, I began to calm down. He was going to touch my freaking sword. For the briefest of moments it was as if I’d stood before him naked or something, vulnerable and weak. Bastard.
Finally, we finished breaking down the set, now that we were finished with this god-awful scene, and wrapped at two in the morning. Late night, but we’d finally be on to the next scene. That was enough to put a spring in my step.
Jennifer let me know my clothes were dry, and I slipped to the back to change. I folded her sweats on top of the sword case, not daring to let it out of my sight for even a moment with him in the building.
Jennifer smiled when I tried to return the clothes. “Keep them,” she said, holding up her hands. “After a long night commando, they belong to you now.” She smiled when she said it, so I smiled back.
I liked her. Classy and hard-working. Not sure what I’d do with a pink outfit, but maybe Katie would approve. If she ever spoke to me again.
I said good-bye to the crew and gathered my stuff to head home. As I walked past the office, I saw that JJ stood in the doorway, ranting at Carl.
“Yes, I’m familiar with your differences with Ms. Beauhall,” Carl said diplomatically. “But I’m sure she’s just tired like the rest of us.”
“Jesus,” JJ barked. “Before I found out she was a dyke, I thought she must be giving it up for you, but dude. She’s a menace, and you aren’t even getting any nookie.”
At the word “dyke,” Carl turned to me, a look of shock on his face. Another Kodak moment.
I just shrugged and walked past them. I was not going to argue with the idiot, and Carl was a big boy. I’m sure Jennifer would explain it all to him. I just wanted to go home.
Of course, before I made it through the door Sawyer’s lackey stepped in front of me.
“Pardon me, miss. My name is Mr. Philips,” he said, his accent nonexistent, his manners faultless. “Mr. Sawyer would like to have a word with you about the sword you used in tonight’s theatrics.”
“Theatrics, or histrionics?” I asked with a smirk.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Mr. Philips said, nonplussed. “My employer is a man of considerable power as well as compassion. I’m sure a few moments of your time could not be so hard to share.”
“Tell your boss,” I began, but a shadow fell across my heart then. A touch on my arm sent a chill running down the back of my neck, down my spine, and into the soles of my feet.
“It’s quite all right,” Frederick said at my left ear. “I appreciate Mr. Philips’s civility and candor, but I’m capable of speaking to a pretty young woman without his assistance.”
Mr. Philips bowed, literally bowed at the waist, and stepped away from us before turning on his heel and walking around the office and out of sight.
For a moment, I saw myself following him, running after him, no less. Anything to avoid that hand on my arm.
“My dear,” he said, his voice warm and moist on my ear. “I so rarely want something as badly as I want . . .” He paused, sliding his hand up my arm to my bicep. “My, but you are a strong one,” he said, squeezing my arm.
I spun around then, fed up with his games. “Don’t you ever fucking touch me again,” I said, pushing him by the shoulder. He stumbled back a step and anger flashed on his face. “You’re scum of the worst sort,” I shouted.
Carl pushed past JJ and stumbled out of the office, sputtering. “Now, hang on a minute,” he said.
“See,” JJ said, hot on his heels. “She’s a psycho.”
I didn’t even glance at them, they were so inconsequential at that moment. All I could see was that feral look on Sawyer’s face.
“You are a bottom-feeder,” I said, feeling my courage surge upward. “You prey on the weak and the fearful. And I for one do not believe your pandering, simpering act for a moment.”
“Sarah,” Carl bellowed. “That will be quite enough.”
“No one touches me without my permission, Carl. I don’t care how much money he throws at you.”
Carl stopped next to Frederick, his mouth hanging open, like he’d never seen me before.
“And,” I said to Sawyer, “if you lay a hand on me again, I’ll give it back to you in a box.”
Before Carl could react, before JJ could add his stupid retort, and before Frederick could twist that feral grin onto his face again, I pushed past them and stormed out of the studio.
All hell broke loose behind me, but I kept on walking, the clip-clop of my boots echoing down the corridor. I slammed the fire door open and stood aside as it ricocheted back to close with a bang.
The night was clear. Stars winked down from the heavens. I leaned back against the brick building and let my breath settle for a moment. But only a moment.
I wanted to be well away from the studio before any of them thought to come after me—away from the yelling and threatening. Just to be gone before I learned who the real monsters were.
Twenty-three
I TOSSED AND TURNED THE REST OF THE NIGHT. AT FIRST I had a nightmare about a giant man-eating pink bunny.
This triggered a trip to the bathroom, a glass of water, and a quick pace of my apartment. It was a short trip. I only had the one bedroom and a living room/kitchen combo.
Once I’d slipped back to sleepland, I spent some quality time running from my family and friends as they took turns being horrified about who I’d become, or laughed at me for being such a prat.
When the weak sunlight began to slip between the blinds I knew I was done, but I fought it. The garbage truck backing up to get our Dumpster was the clincher. The incessant beeping, followed by a floor-rattling crash as the idiot operator slammed the now empty metal box down onto the parking lot, insured I wouldn’t sleep again, maybe for days.
I arrived at the smithy early, wearing my sunglasses and drinking a triple espresso mocha latte. Nothing like caffeine and sugar to kick-start your day.
I slipped Gram in the safe with my other swords, just to keep her secure for the time being.
I spent the morning making shoes to replace the ones we used over at the Circle Q. Julie quizzed me on the different techniques I was using to temper the steel, and I left out the blood of my enemy. I didn’t figure she’d find that an acceptable business model.
After I finished the shoes, she had me work on making a chain. Chains are delicate work and force you to use much more control than I used on a shoe, or one of the swords. Not that I was wild with the hammer or anything, but one of the key things she always told me was to learn to feel the metal, understand the weaknesses and strengths in every piece, every blow. She was very Zen about the whole endeavor.
She let me place the order for another ton of coal, and check if we needed more propane out in the big tank by her house. By buying gas for her place and the smithy at the same time, she got a better deal, and they split the bill for tax purposes.
I filled out several forms, made three phone calls, and was balancing a pencil on my upper lip while leaning back as far as I could go in her ergo-enriched office chair. I would have had the new record, too, if she hadn’t dropped an envelope on my head.
Some
teachers . . .
“What’s this?” I asked, sliding out of the chair, grabbing up the pencil, and sliding over to the door so she could sit down.
“How am I supposed to know?” she said, picking up my order forms. “Most people would either look at the address, or open it.”
But of course. I looked at the envelope, and there was no address, no stamps or other postal marks. Just my name, Ms. Sarah Beauhall, in thick black script.
“No address.”
“Noticed that,” Julie said with a smile. “Delivered by courier.”
I tapped the envelope against my forehead and looked at her. “Pretty odd, don’t you think?”
She initialed my order forms and set them in the to-be-filed pile on the corner of her desk.
“Oh, fine,” I said, sliding my little finger under the envelope flap and ripping it upward.
She didn’t even turn. Just tapped on the keyboard of her laptop and began entering records into her accounting program.
I peeked inside, then tilted the envelope on top of her desk.
Julie glanced over as three pieces of paper slid out: a bill of sale made out between Frederick Sawyer and Sarah Beauhall, a smaller envelope, and a check for fifty thousand dollars.
Heat flushed across my chest, a brushfire of anger. “That son of a bitch.”
“Jesus, Sarah. This is a lot of money,” Julie said, holding up the check.
I picked up the bill of sale. “He wants the sword.”
“Is that all?” she said, looking at me over her shoulder. “One sword. That’s a lot of scratch for a hunk of metal.”
“Not just any hunk of metal,” I said. This was beyond slimy.
“What’s in the other envelope?”
I opened it and pulled out a letter.
Dear Ms. Beauhall,
In the off chance the cashier’s check isn’t enough incentive, I can sweeten the pot with a recent acquisition.
Give me the sword, of your own volition, and I will add in my stake in Flight Test, Ltd.
