Sedona Law 5

by Dave Daren

  She groaned. “How did our lives turn into a Christopher Guest film?”

  I laughed really hard. “I don’t know, but I’ll bet Jerry Steele’s amps definitely go to eleven.”

  She chuckled at my Spinal Tap reference.

  “I’m sure they do,” she said and rolled back over.

  “Come on,” I shook her body, “I’ll get coffee started.”

  She rose, and I made us both coffee and whispered my lines as I got ready. I hadn’t gotten a lot of chances to run lines, and there were memorization techniques for learning lines I’d forgotten from my theatre days.

  So, I grabbed the marker off the hallway message board and jotted shorthand notes.

  “What is that?” Vicki asked as she emerged, finally ready. “‘George when’? What does that mean?”

  I turned sheepishly to her. “It’s a line trick. Half of memorizing lines is memorizing the line itself, the other half is knowing where to put it. So if you make a little phrase out of the last word of your cue line, and the first word of your line, you can memorize the cue. “

  “Hmm,” she said as she peeked at the card again. “So, what’s your line here?”

  “The cue here is the civilian mob guy is worrying about King George’s army, and I interrupt him, with my line, ‘When people fear their government, there is tyranny. When the government fears the people, there is liberty.’”

  “That sounds too eloquent to be Jerry Steele,” she said with a scrunched nose.

  “I’m sure he got it off some Thomas Jefferson quote meme,” I laughed.

  She grabbed a cup of coffee and took a sip. “You want to run lines? We have a few minutes.”

  I eased myself onto the bar stool, and we spent the next half hour pounding really bad lines into our skulls.

  “I shall write to the Governor at once,” Vicki declared as she put on her best Downton Abbey voice, and I snickered. “He must know the plot of the British forces and he can save our city from destruction.”

  I chuckled as I filled in for George Washington. “Dear Martha, you must not go to the Governor. If you do, our connections to the Sons of Liberty will be revealed, and we will be executed for treason.”

  “But if they destroy our city, our home, our friends, what will there be to live for?” Vicki read.

  “You must not think this way, Martha,” I supplied.

  “But, it is true, my dear George,” she said. “For what is a country, but a way of life? What is worth dying for but one’s home?”

  We both paused as we tried to digest the line.

  “It makes sense,” I admitted, “but it just needs to be tweaked.”

  “Yeah,” she sighed, “I get why The Count hates this movie.”

  My phone buzzed with a text, and I saw it was my mother as I read her message.

  “My mother wants us to go to a gardening party,” I said.

  “You mean a garden party?” Vicki asked.

  “No,” I replied with a shake of my head. “It looks like they want help harvesting their garden.”

  “I can’t believe they’ve seen a turnaround that quick,” she mused.

  My dad had started a garden not too long ago, because he said Jimi Hendrix told him to. So, now they have a garden.

  I texted my mother back and told her we had rehearsal all day, so we wouldn’t be joining them for the gardening party.

  We grabbed our scripts and coffee and headed out to my car. We spent the twenty minute drive out to Steele Productions running our shared scenes together.

  “I oddly feel prepared for this,” I said as we exited the car.

  Steele Productions was a converted warehouse, which seemed fitting. Some shots would be filmed on location, others would be shot at a sound stage. A film studio would need enough room to fit a full set of a living room, for example, plus have enough room for cameras. Right now, the warehouse area was mainly an open concrete space, with cameras liberally scattered and studio lighting in the ceiling.

  We cut through the open set area, and into the office area where we were still doing preliminary rehearsals. Like us, everyone seemed a little more together now. It was still early enough in the day that the air conditioner sufficed, and there were even donuts and coffee on the cast table.

  Vicki and I sat down in the quiet room, and most everyone was reading their scripts. I made a cup of coffee and followed suit.

  Then Jerry entered the room, as well rested and fresh as I guessed he ever got. He rubbed his hands together.

  “Alright people,” he announced, and his voice had that gravelly quality of a morning full of coffee. “We’re going to get in a solid read through. We shouldn’t have any more problems today.”

  He rolled his eyes and grabbed a folding chair and settled in.

  “Will The Count be here?” Ken asked, as the statement begged the question.

  Jerry sighed deeply, and his body went rigid.

  “No,” he stated flatly. “‘The Count’ will not be joining us today.”

  He let the statement hang in the air, and no one wanted to be the one who asked the obvious follow up questions, and Jerry didn’t offer the answers.

  “Everyone get some coffee, donuts,” Jerry gestured toward the refreshments in the middle of the table,“and let’s take it from the top.”

  Everyone quickly flipped to the first page of the script.

  “Gretchen,” Jerry gestured toward Allison, “it’s your line.”

  “Right,” Allison started. “‘Oh, John, I’m so glad you’re finally home. I miss you when you work those long hours at the factory.’”

  I shook my head at the anachronism, and then remembered we were putting the film in the 1920’s.

  “‘I know, baby,’” Ken rea., “‘Soon when I get my military appointment from the King, we’ll get out of this small town hell hole, and we’ll move to the big city’.”

  “‘Tell me about New York again, John,’” Allison read. “‘What’s it like?’”

  “‘It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen, Gretchen,’” Ken replied. “‘Buildings that reach the sky.’”

  “‘Now you’re just lying,’” Allison laughed. “‘No building can reach the sky.’”

  “‘I tell you, it’s true,’” Ken said. “‘You’ll see. We’re just waiting for the King to sign off on the appointment, and then we will move to the Royal Province of New York.’”

  “‘I can’t wait,’” Allison sighed. “‘I hate that your military appointment has to be approved all the way in London, when all the officers here in Virginia and New York are dying for you to sign on.’”

  “‘I know, baby,’” he said. “‘It’s the price of being a loyal patriot.’”

  “‘You know they had an anti-monarchy rally today,’” Allison commented.

  “‘I hate those--” Ken stopped and turned to the Jerry. “Isn’t this supposed to be a family event? Can we drop an ‘F’ bomb?”

  “Please,” Jerry rolled his eyes “there’s nothing in this film these kids aren’t already seeing on TV.”

  “Maybe,” Ken said, “but I don’t think John would use that kind of language in front of a woman, especially his … what … fiancee, I think?”

  “He’s a soldier,” Jerry snarled. “Read it like it’s written.”

  “But,” Ken protested with a frown, “he’s not a soldier yet, and the whole premise of the movie is he never really becomes a soldier, at least not a British one. He becomes a revolutionary soldier on the fly.”

  “Thank you, Alfred,” Jerry growled. “Can you just read the script as it’s written, or do I need to replace you with someone else? Because I can. There are a hundred pretty boys in this town I can replace you with.”

  “I’m not trying to be difficult, here Jerry,” Ken said. “It’s just--”

  “I think you are,” Jerry argued.

  Suddenly, it became clear to everyone in the room that this had nothing to do with vulgarity in the script. These two guys had history.


  “Look,” Ken sighed, “I’m not putting up with your bullshit all month.”

  “Is that right?” Jerry stood at the challenge.

  “You’re going to act like a professional on the set, or I walk,” Ken said and raised his chin.

  “Ken,” Allison chided.

  “Stay out of this,” Ken told her. “You want to take this outside, Jerry? Cause if you want to take this outside--”

  “No,” Jerry spat. “We’re in the middle of a god damn rehearsal, Ken, if you haven’t noticed. You want to walk, walk. I don’t give a shit.”

  Ken slammed the script down and walked out of the room.

  “Ken,” Allison called out after him, but he ignored her.

  Allison sat staring at the doorway, holding her script, her mediocre acting skills not able to save her from the awkwardness of being dumped by her co-star, mid-scene.

  “Henry Irving,” Jerry barked at me, and I jolted to attention. “Would you read for Ken today?”

  I definitely didn’t want to get in the middle of all of this, but we had a roomful of people, and everyone’s time was being wasted, so I shrugged.

  “I don’t know if--” I said.

  “Take it from Gretchen’s line,” he interrupted and pointed to Allison.

  “‘You know they had an anti-monarch rally today,’” Allison tried again.

  I sighed long to buy time to get into character. I thought about this character of John and his motivation. He loved his country, and he wanted to serve it. But it was about to be torn apart by a civil war, and the seeds of discontent ran deep, dark, and dangerous. He was militant and ready to die for what he knew was right.

  I tried to find something to relate it to, and then applied to our modern culture wars. What if, I thought, the ongoing culture war between conservatives and liberals erupted into an actual civil war? How would people on either side feel? How would I feel?

  I thought about my place in the world to defend the law and how such a war would most definitely tear apart everything I personally stood for. I let the anger and passion well up inside of me.

  Then I turned to Allison, and I felt my gaze burn hot as I stared her down. I even noticed her squirm just a bit under my gaze.

  “I hate those fucking bastards,” I snarled the line. “Where do they get off? No government is perfect, but this is the best one this planet has ever seen. Where is their loyalty? They say they want this illusive ‘freedom’ but they don’t realize liberty requires roads, and buildings, and schools, and all of these things that have to be paid for by taxes. They don’t want to pay taxes to the Crown, but they want the King to build these roads, and take care of the poor, and keep them safe, blah, blah, blah. They sound like entitled whiny babies!”

  I slammed the script down in disgust, and the room was silent for a moment before a unanimous applause broke out.

  “That,” Jerry pointed to me, “is what we call acting.”

  Right then, The Count peeked his head in the door. Everyone looked at him, and Jerry rose.

  “Excuse me,” Jerry said. “If you guys can just go over your lines privately, I’ll be right back.”

  Jerry slipped out into the hall, and we could hear them arguing.

  “I’m sick of your bullshit, Alfred!” Jerry shouted.

  The Count’s reply was unintelligible

  “Oh, you did, did you?” Jerry replied. “I don’t need some hoity toity L.A. lawyer to … ” His words became muffled, and then Jerry came back in the room.

  He avoided eye contact with me and leaned against a chair.

  “Everybody,” he said, “we’re going to take an early break.”

  Everyone in the cast looked at him with confusion.

  “Go on,” he yelled. “Get the hell out of here. All of you.”

  With that, everyone got up and started gathering things.

  “I’m sorry,” Jerry tried. “I got a little hot. It’s not you guys at all. We’ll pick back up … it’s ten now, how about two? Yeah, we’ll break until two. Dumont and I have to work some shit out once and for all.”

  “We most certainly do,” The Count huffed behind him.

  I glanced at Vicki, and she shrugged and we walked out of the warehouse. In the parking lot, we ran into the mayor Andrea McClellan and head of the Performing Arts League Michael Knapp. The mayor had sold us our land, and Vicki had become acquaintances with her.

  Andrea tossed Vicki a preoccupied smile. Andrea was a tall slender woman in her late thirties, with frizzy dark brown hair that ran down her back. Her dad was an old rancher, and she grew up with cows and horses, so she looked more comfortable in jeans than suits. But she compromised by edging her jeans up with expensive heels and high end blouses, which made her an instant magnet for Vicki.

  “Something else in there, isn’t it?” Andrea mused to Vicki and shook her head.

  “I would say a couple crayons short of professional, for sure,” Vicki answered.

  “Yeah,” both Andrea and Michael said in unison.

  “We’re thinking of pulling the film,” Michael added.

  “I don’t think anyone would blame you,” I said as we joined their circle.

  “Jerry’s already got a check. He sent us a budget proposal, for … ” Michael scoffed. “Well, we gave him the maximum we could budget for the film, and it was only about a quarter of what he asked for.”

  “Geez,” I said. “What kind of film did he think this was going to be?”

  “I don’t know,” Andrea said, “but I don’t think I can support this in good conscience. I’m all for looking at history from a different perspective, but as an elected public official, I can’t endorse the lengths he’s taking this.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “I totally get that.”

  “Anyway,” Andrea went on, “I’m not trying to cause an uprising. Do what you feel is right But, we’ll keep in touch.”

  She clutched her keys, slipped on her shades, and then tossed us a slight smile and headed to her car. Michael got on the phone, presumably to talk to the arts league about pulling the film.

  Vicki and I sighed and headed to our car.

  “Well,” I said, “we’ve got three hours to kill. What do you want to do?”

  “I don’t know,” Vicki sighed as we got in the car. “What do you think about quitting?”

  “If the arts league pulls it, the whole thing is moot anyway,” I mused as I pulled out of the lot.

  “What do you think they would put in its place?” she asked.

  “That’s probably why they haven’t done it this far,” I said. “They don’t have a backup in place.” Then I shook my head. “I’ve about had enough of Jerry Steele. Let’s talk about that whole Netflix and chill we were supposed to do last night.”

  “Netflix and chill, huh?” Vicki smiled. “You know that has nothing to do with watching TV, right?”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked with mock offense. “We’re going to watch TV. Get your mind out of the gutter, woman.”

  We arrived home and ‘Netflix and chilled’ for the rest of the morning, and then went back to the studio. When we arrived, the studio door was locked, and everyone was standing outside.

  “We can’t get him on his phone,” Ken told us with a frown.

  Everyone else had the bright idea to call Jerry’s cell, and the studio office, so they all stood around on their phones.

  Just when Vicki and I were ready to desert this sinking rat ship, the cops showed up.

  “What the hell?” Ken echoed the sentiments of everyone standing out in the parking lot.

  Then, suddenly, The Count opened the door and let the cops in.

  “What’s going on?” I asked him.

  The Count was clearly upset. He was wringing his hands, and his eyes were darting from side to side

  “It’s Jerry,” he said. “He’s dead.”

  Chapter 3

  “What do you mean he’s dead?” Allison asked with wide eyes. “How could he be-
-”

  “I don’t know,” The Count cut her off. “I’m sorry, I just found him.”

  The cast unleashed about a thousand questions onto The Count, who looked overwhelmed.

  “What do you mean you found him?” Allison demanded. “You were with him.”

  “We had a row,” The Count admitted, “and I left the building. Then I realized I’d forgotten my script, and when I returned to retrieve it, I found him on the floor in a puddle of blood.”

  There were several groans at the openness of the statement.

  “Stop,” Allison cried out. “Just stop. Where is he? I want to see him.”

  She tried to enter the studio, but The Count stopped her.

  “Good ma’am,” he said, “I would urge you to protect the innocence of your eyes.”

  She cursed a blue streak and pushed past him, but then an officer stopped her.

  “I’m sorry ma’am,” the officer told her. “You can’t go in there. It’s a crime scene.”

  “Officer,” The Count said as he turned to the cop, “it was interesting how he was laying his head at an angle. The way he was laying suggests he could have been bludgeoned with a heavy object.”

  “Uh-huh,” the officer replied dubiously.

  “I did see a marble statue lying on the ground near him,” The Count went on. “I believe that could have been the method. Did you dust for fingerprints on the statue?”

  “Why?” the officer said. “Are we going to find yours?”

  “Mine?” The Count looked genuinely surprised. “Why would you find mine? I had nothing to do with the murder. I just found the body and called the authorities as soon as I learned of the death.”

  “Uh-huh,” the officer said with a raised eyebrow, “but you were the last person to see him, and there are about two dozen witnesses to confirm you were meeting alone with him in this office, correct?”

  “W-well,” The Count stammered, “that is correct, but I had nothing to do with it. This is all a big misunderstanding.”

  “Right,” the officer said. “We’re going to have to take you in for questioning.”

  “For questioning?” The Count echoed indignantly. “I did nothing wrong.”

  “Good,” the officer said. “Then you won’t mind talking to the detective.”