More activity, this time in the parking lot, caught her attention. When she turned to get a better look, she saw that Lawrence Fremont had reappeared and was standing beside a large camera with several other people. Vehicles had been moved, leaving several open parking spaces that hadn’t been there earlier. As Phyllis watched, a Lincoln sedan similar to hers pulled into one of the spaces and stopped. The doors opened and Melissa Keller and Julie Cordell got out. They closed the car doors and walked toward the camera.
Phyllis hadn’t heard Fremont say “Action”, nor did she hear him say “Cut”, but from the way Melissa and Julie stopped and turned back to the car, she knew the director had ended the scene. Fremont walked over to them and spoke for a moment, then they got back into the car. Melissa backed out of the space as Fremont returned to the camera.
Then it all happened again, Melissa parking and the two of them getting out and walking into the park.
And again.
Phyllis frowned. She couldn’t understand why Fremont was making them do the simple little scene over and over again. As far as she’d been able to tell, it was just fine the first time. Clearly Fremont had seen something about it that he didn’t like, though.
By the fifth time they did the shot, Phyllis could tell from the body language Melissa and Julie were exhibiting that they were getting tired of it. She could see their frustration. Maybe Fremont was able to recognize that, too, because he waved them on, and after the camera was turned and set up again, he shot several more scenes of them walking in various places in the park. He made them repeat some of those as well, for no apparent reason that Phyllis could see.
Meanwhile, off to the side, Robert Harkness and Heidi Lancaster were standing around with their hands in their pockets, since the air was a little cool this morning. They talked to each other and looked bored. Phyllis decided that she wouldn’t want to be an actor. Talk about hurry up and wait . . .
After a while, Harkness got into a scene. He ran up to Melissa and threw his arms around her as “Tom” comforted “Peggy”. It was quite an emphatic embrace, more demonstrative than Sam would be in a situation like that. But things were always a little larger than life in movies, Phyllis supposed. As she watched, she could believe that Harkness’s character really cared for Melissa’s and had been worried about her. That was good acting, since the two of them didn’t like each other in real life.
Actors wearing police uniforms appeared, hurrying here and there as the camera followed them. Lawrence Fremont supervised some of those scenes, barking orders and making the actors do things over again. For other shots, Earl Thorpe appeared to be in charge, and those went more quickly and efficiently. Phyllis wondered if Fremont knew the assistant director was actually helming some of those scenes, to use the terminology she had heard Sam use. She was curious, as well, if Alan Sammons had told Thorpe to do that to speed things up, since Lawrence Fremont didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get much done today.
After a while, a slender, very attractive young woman with long dark hair pulled into a ponytail that hung down her back appeared. She wore a trenchcoat, and as soon as Phyllis saw her, she felt like she knew the woman. After a few minutes, she realized why. Although her hair was longer, the young woman resembled Isabel Largo, the Weatherford Police Department detective who had investigated the murder that actually took place here.
Fremont went over to her and spoke intensely to her. As he did, he put his hand on her arm and moved it up and down in a caressing fashion. The young woman didn’t pull away. Remembering what Thorpe had told her the night before, Phyllis took out her phone and searched the name Becca Peterson. The images that came up confirmed her guess. Becca Peterson was the actress playing the role based on Detective Largo . . . the actress who was thinking about going public with her accusations of harassment against Lawrence Fremont.
Just by looking at the two of them now, it didn’t appear that a problem existed between them, but Phyllis knew how deceptive appearances could be. Fremont seemed to be trying to be friendly, but Becca Peterson remained cool and professional. She nodded and performed the scene again the way Fremont wanted her to.
While that was going on, Earl Thorpe shot scenes that involved extras and bit part players running around and looking frightened. Eve pointed that out and said, “Those must be reaction shots for after the body’s been discovered.”
Carolyn grimaced. “It was a madhouse, all right.”
“Look,” Phyllis said, “there’s Sam and Ronnie again.”
Thorpe waved them over and spoke to them. Ronnie clapped her hands to her cheeks and opened her mouth in a wide “O” as if she were screaming. Thorpe handed her a piece of paper and pointed to something printed on it.
“They’re giving her a line,” Eve said as she leaned forward eagerly.
“She’s never expressed any interest in acting before now, as far as I know,” Phyllis said. “She seems pretty excited about it, though.”
“I just hope she doesn’t get carried away with all sorts of crazy ideas and dreams,” Carolyn said.
“Ronnie is pretty level-headed.”
“She has blue hair. And don’t forget everything that happened when she ran away from home and came all the way down here all because of some boy.”
“Well, she’s still a teenager,” Phyllis admitted. “She can be impulsive. But Sam’s her grandfather.”
“Yes, and maybe if he lives long enough, he’ll grow up one of these days, too.”
That comment irritated Phyllis a little, but she didn’t say anything. At times, Sam did display a certain amount of boyish enthusiasm that was at odds with his actual age. Maybe too much boyish enthusiasm. But that was just part of who he was and Phyllis liked that about him. He made her feel younger.
Lawrence Fremont strode up to Thorpe, Ronnie, and Sam while the assistant director was still talking to Ronnie. Rather curtly, he took the page of script out of Ronnie’s hand, pulled a pen from his shirt pocket, and emphatically crossed something out, then scribbled a replacement line and gave the page back to her. Ronnie frowned as she read it, then she looked up and spoke. Phyllis assumed she was reading the line.
Fremont shook his head and motioned for her to do it again. Ronnie did so, and this time Fremont moved closer to her and slipped his arm around her shoulders. He leaned his head over until it was almost touching hers as he spoke. He motioned animatedly with his other hand.
“Now wait just a minute . . .” Carolyn muttered.
Phyllis had the same reaction. She didn’t care for the intimate way Fremont had forced himself into Ronnie’s personal space. She put her hands on the picnic table and got ready to stand up. She didn’t want to march across the park and make a scene, but Fremont needed to back off.
Of course, she didn’t have to do a thing, she realized a moment later, because Sam was right there and moved in close on Ronnie’s other side. He had a friendly look on his face, and when he reached over and put a hand on Fremont’s arm, it was a comradely gesture, but Phyllis knew the casual grip was about to turn steely and remove the director’s arm from Ronnie’s shoulders.
Fremont didn’t let it get that far. Smoothly, he disengaged and moved back a step, then pointed to the script page in Ronnie’s hand again and put a smile on his face. The damage control worked. She smiled back at him and nodded. Fremont said something to Earl Thorpe and then walked away.
“Thank goodness,” Eve said in a relieved tone, indicating that she had been watching the incident, too. “I was afraid Sam was going to punch him.”
“Sam wouldn’t have done that,” Phyllis said. “Fremont is half his size. But he would have made sure the man left Ronnie alone.” She looked at Eve. “That could have ruined everything.”
“You mean about the movie?” Eve shook her head. “Oh, no, don’t worry about that. I’m thrilled that they’re making it, but Sam and Ronnie are more important than any movie. All of you are my friends. My family, if you get right down to it.”
�
��And we feel the same way,” Carolyn said. “Still, I’m glad it seems to have blown over.”
Phyllis was, too. Thorpe ushered Sam and Ronnie over to join some of the other extras and started setting up the camera for the shot that would include them . . . and Ronnie’s movie debut. She wondered idly if having a speaking part, even one line, meant that Ronnie would be paid more.
She was musing about that when she looked across the park and saw Lawrence Fremont again. The director had stopped and was looking intently back at the area where Ronnie and Sam were. The gaze lasted only a moment before he turned away, but while it did, Fremont’s expression was furious.
Chapter 10
With the steady stream of activity going on around them, time actually passed pretty quickly. Almost before Phyllis realized it, it was the middle of the day and time for the movie company to break for lunch. Alan Sammons came up to the picnic table where they were sitting and said, “You ladies come with me. You can eat at the craft services table.”
“Won’t that get you in trouble?” Eve asked. “That food is supposed to be for the cast and crew. We’re not members of any union.”
“There’s not a retired teachers’ union?” Sammons asked with a grin.
“Teachers have professional organizations,” Carolyn said. “It’s not exactly the same thing.”
“Yeah, well, you come on with me.” Sammons laughed. “Who’s gonna tell me no? I’m the producer!”
As they started across the park with him, Phyllis said, “I don’t mean any offense, Mr. Sammons—”
“Alan. And people who start off by saying they don’t mean any offense usually do.”
“Alan,” Phyllis said. “And I really don’t.”
“I know that. I’m just giving you the business.”
“What I was going to say,” Phyllis went on, “is that you don’t seem like what I’d think of as a movie producer. I mean, you’re . . .”
“A nice guy?” Sammons laughed again. “Believe me, I know exactly what you mean. Some guys, when they’re in such a high-pressure business, they get used to the pace and the hard-nosed attitudes they have to take, and they never really turn it off. But some of us, we come from normal backgrounds—I grew up in a small town in Kansas, for example—and we remember what it’s like to deal with regular people. This whole experience, it’s like a breath of fresh air for me. I’m glad to get out of L.A. now and then. And I’m not just talking about the pollution when I say that about fresh air.”
“We really appreciate the way you’re taking care of us and trying to make a good movie,” Eve said. “It can’t be easy, with so many different personalities to take into account. Strong personalities, at that.”
“It’s no harder than juggling chainsaws.”
They came to the craft services table, which was actually several portable tables set up and covered with food. Sandwiches, fried chicken, fruit, chips, donuts, cookies . . . nothing fancy, just food to get hard-working people through the day. Phyllis saw her pie container at the end of one table. It had a large sticky note on it warning people to keep their hands off, by order of the producer.
A large crowd was already on hand, lining up to fill paper plates with food and get plastic cups full of tea or foam cups of coffee. Sammons, Phyllis, Carolyn, and Eve got in line along with everyone else.
“When it comes to craft services,” Sammons explained, “we’re very egalitarian. A producer’s no more important than a grip or a boom mic operator. Everybody has a job to do, so everybody eats.”
“What about the extras?” Phyllis asked. She had looked around for Sam and Ronnie but didn’t see them nearby.
“We have box lunches for them. Admittedly, it’s not much. A plain sandwich, a bag of chips, and an apple. A tub of canned drinks. But it’s better than nothing.” Understanding suddenly dawned on the man’s broad face. “You’re thinking about Sam and his granddaughter. They’d be welcome here, too, but they probably don’t know to come over. I’ll send somebody to find them.”
He started looking around for some assistant to assign the task to, but before he could find anybody, Phyllis said, “Never mind. I see them. They’re headed this way.”
Sam and Ronnie weaved through the crowd toward them, each carrying a small white cardboard box. As they came up, Sammons told them, “You guys don’t have to eat that lunch if you don’t want to—”
“Shoot, no, it’s fine,” Sam said. “We’re extras, so we’ll chow down like extras, right, Ronnie?”
“Sure, I guess,” the girl said. She smiled and added, “I do have a line, though, so I’m a bit player.”
Phyllis wanted to talk to her about that, but not in the middle of this mob. She looked around, spied an empty picnic table, and pointed to it.
“Why don’t the two of you go sit over there,” she suggested, “and we’ll join you in a minute.”
“Sounds good to me,” Sam agreed.
Phyllis and the others got their food, but before they could join Sam and Ronnie, Teddy the assistant production assistant hurried up and said, “Mr. Sammons, Mr. Fremont wants to talk to you.”
Sammons rolled his eyes, but he nodded and said, “Okay, Teddy, tell him I’ll be right there.” He smiled and went on, “I’ll see you later, ladies. Enjoy the rest of the shooting.”
They carried their plates and cups over to the picnic table and sat down with Sam and Ronnie, who had the boxed lunches open. The sandwiches didn’t look that appetizing, Phyllis noted. She said, “If I had thought about it, I’d have fixed lunches for us and brought them along.”
“We won’t starve,” Sam said. “How are you likin’ it so far? Havin’ fun?”
“There’s an awful lot going on,” Carolyn said. “It’s rather difficult to keep up with.”
“We saw that conversation between you and Mr. Fremont, though,” Phyllis said to Ronnie.
The girl’s eyes dropped to the boxed lunch on the table in front of her. “Yeah, that was kind of crazy, wasn’t it?” she said with a forced note of humor in her voice. “All over one silly line in a movie script.”
“What was the line?” Eve asked.
“Well, the way it was written, I was supposed to scream a little and then yell, ‘Somebody’s been murdered!’ But Mr. Fremont changed it and wanted me to say, ‘Somebody’s dead!’ He said it was entirely different.”
“Actually, it is,” Phyllis said. “I take it this is going to be on screen right after the body is discovered?”
“Yeah, when everybody’s running around and panicking.”
Phyllis glanced at Carolyn, knew that she was remembering that day, too, and said, “At that point, we didn’t know the victim had been murdered. All anybody knew was that he was dead. It took a while before enough evidence was gathered to conclude that the death was a homicide. So technically Mr. Fremont was right.”
“That makes sense, I guess,” Ronnie said with a shrug. “It didn’t matter to me which word I yelled. All Mr. Fremont had to do was cross it out and change it. But he seemed to think that it was some sort of big deal, and that the Wilkeses had really messed up by writing it that way. They didn’t even know for sure they were going to need to write a line for me until last night.”
“And there was certainly no reason for the man to paw you that way,” Carolyn said. “I thought Phyllis was going to charge across there and slap him silly.”
Ronnie blushed, but she looked at Phyllis and said, “I’m glad you didn’t. I can take care of myself. It was bad enough that Granddad kind of pushed Mr. Fremont away.”
“I didn’t push him,” Sam said. “If I’d pushed him, he’d’ve known it.”
“Anyway, he was just making sure I understood how he wanted me to deliver the line.”
“How many ways can you shout ‘Someone’s dead’?” Carolyn wanted to know.
“He said I needed to have just the right amount of fright and panic in my voice,” Ronnie explained. “That makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“I
suppose it does,” Phyllis said, “and it’s over now, so the best thing to do is for all of us to forget about it and enjoy the rest of the day. You already shot that part, right?”
“Yep,” Sam said. “It’s in the can. You did a great job, too, didn’t you, Ronnie?”
The girl grinned. “Academy Award nomination, sure thing. Best scream by a completely amateur actress.” She paused. “I’m kind of enjoying it, though. It’s too late for me to take any drama classes in high school, but there are little theater groups around, aren’t there? Maybe I could do something like that next summer and then look into taking some real classes when I start college.”
“If that’s what you want,” Sam said.
Ronnie looked at Phyllis again. “Did you really want to slug Mr. Fremont when he started getting a little handsy?”
“I’m a lady,” Phyllis said. “I’ve never slugged anybody.”
That avoided answering the question of whether or not she had wanted to. Ronnie didn’t seem to notice that, though.
◄♦►
Once lunch was finished, everyone went back to work without any delay. Time was money, as Alan Sammons had said, and as Sam put it, “We’re burnin’ daylight. They got to have it to shoot these scenes.” He and Ronnie went down to the lake where the extras were assembling again.
Since Phyllis, Carolyn, and Eve could still see everything from this table, they stayed where they were. Phyllis watched as Earl Thorpe set up some shots and got them on film. She didn’t see Lawrence Fremont but supposed he was around somewhere.
“Mind if I join you, ladies?”
Death Bakes a Pecan Pie Page 7