by Ray Succre
A quiet, Mayberry ghost-town that has been lost to the other side.
We see EMERY in his suit, spinning around in the town square, his appearance one of panic as he gasps and turns about, his walk through Marburg a nightmare that has brought him near to his wit’s end. The townsfolk approach, having surrounded him. The HAYSEED GHOST steps forward, wearing Emery’s suit.
EMERY
(panicked)
What’s… what’s wrong with all of you?! What’s happened here? No, you stay away from me! You’re all mad! You hear me?! ALL OF YOU… YOU’RE ALL MAD!
ZOOM TO:
The pilot. On the air. The beginning of the weave. Goaded with executive directives, punctures and cuts. The episode had been eye-droppered its unpleasant medicine in the way a chemist might force his beloved science on a test animal. The pilot episode was thriving for a short while, possibly enough time to gain that elusive prize of reproduction, to be honored with more life. The pilot was a threading of the needle, one that could tug each coming episode through the fabric of an audience. Viewing a potential series launch was an introduction to a timeline, an exaggeration of reality that might continue, if events allowed. On the pilot’s shoulders was the weight of impossibility, for what might come could have been anything, and the initial episode needed to support as much, to seem open as a child’s mind, effortless, yet governed by the minds of crafty adults. This was a collaboration of the ever-evolving team, but a work that needed the feel of singularity.
The first episode had to live with the premonition it would die early and face that all-too-common fade to black, a fade into nothingness. In this mode, Emery, Dozier, and Jamison had put together a hard-won, ornate structure that could be blown to bits by the merest breeze and scattered to the pecking of unknown birds. Enter failure from stage left. When a pilot went right however, when an audience approved, when the gamble came up with a good hand and the critics were bemused, and when the next day’s reviews had the air of young men who had just held hands with girls for the first time…
Chapter Fourteen
The train was but two cars, though these were more than satisfactory for the shots they needed of the interior. The first assistant director had captured a nice series of pivot shots near Mt. Hood, up in Oregon, during a vacation the week prior. He had managed to find a long train making its way out of the mountains, and he had filmed it close from his cabin’s rooftop. This had been quite smart of him, and the shots would be good material for introducing the length of the train and propelling the mountain backdrop illusion.
FADE IN:
EXT. ROCKY MOUNTAINS – LATE EVENING
A long passenger train travels through the snow-heavy mountains.
CUT TO:
Payment. After compensating Union Pacific for their permission to use those shots of their train, the establishing shot was ready for the editing block. The real work would be in developing the false interiors on a mock train. There were three main interiors that needed to be built, and these were the spots where the majority of the scenes would take place. They had secured a high-rise office for the flashback sequence, but still had yet to find an idyllic town for the end of the second act, and again, in greater detail, for the conclusion of the story.
Emery moved about on the set for the second episode of The Other Side, and though the reigns on him had been loosened somewhat, the bit was still in his mouth and he could not stray far into his own ideas without the hairs along Jamison’s arm stirring. Emery passed along the length of one of the train-cars. The production was in possession of these two cars for several more hours, but the amount of time they had with the cars was already half-depleted. The day was wearing on and they hadn’t yet set up the interiors. Soon, the cars were to be craned onto flatbeds and taken to the other side of the studio for a film being made. If Emery and Sol couldn’t get the scenes shot in the next three hours, they’d have to wait three days to try again, or pay much to shoot on the real thing down at a trainyard.
Chad Holt, the focus puller, dropped his cigarette on the concrete beside the train and snuffed it with a twist. He began toward the craft service table when Emery intercepted him.
“Chad, you find a set of keys today?”
“What kind?”
“Does it matter? Any keys.”
“No, but I’ll help you look if you need ‘em. Set keys?”
“No, personal. My car and house. You don’t need to drop what you’re doing; it’s just that I can’t find them and I’m supposed to go meet my wife and girls downtown for lunch.”
“Sorry, Em. You need a lift then?”
“No, not that. Well maybe… I’ll get back to you on that. And thank you. Right now I just want to find my damn keys.”
“Sure.”
The set was busy with footfalls and the dragging about of moods. It was a mess in the process of being made to work, of being made fit, and Bob Keith, the episode’s director, was setting up in the lead train car with the cameraman, Clint Redding. Emery approached the car and stepped around several sundry boxes of electrical gear. The Sun was out, but the approaching cloud cover was en route, and the production was hoping for those clouds to block out as much sunlight as possible. The scene was supposed to take place in the evening, not under the bright-light Sun.
Beside Bob, in the car, stood actor Hal Whitcomb, a friendly sort of man that Emery had learned also wrote, from time to time. The actor could be finicky at times, but once the camera began to roll, he was a professional and never missed a line. He had a theater history. Whitcomb was being attended to by Anna Garrison, who served as both cosmetic make-up artist and hairdresser. Anna was also proving to be a useful go-between for Whitcomb and production staff, as the actor had taken a strong liking to her. Between Emery and these four people were two grips, Nate and Ray. Only Jamison knew their full names, as they were both highly informal and prone to cracking wise, especially regarding Bob, who they had worked with in the past. At that point, Nate and Ray were trying to figure out how to remove several seats (these having a concealed fixture of bolts difficult to reach) from the train without damaging them, to make room for Bill’s cameras. At that moment, Rod Michaels was outside resetting the two cameras on thick spring-mounts, so the cameras could jostle a bit and simulate the motions of a moving train.
Production was gearing up for the shots involving Whitcomb’s character and the conductor. These particular characters, protagonist and, for the most part, an idle antagonist or guide, were integral to the episode, and much of the story pivoted on their interactions. The man contracted to play the conductor was D.B. Scott, though Mr. Scott happened to have been delayed at the Dallas Airport and was not present. It was hoped that, with aid from the Fates, the episode’s conductor was on a plane en route to Hollywood at just that moment.
Emery squeezed past the two grips.
“You guys find a set of car keys, by chance?”
“No, not that I’m aware,” Nate responded, “You see a crescent wrench by the stairs when you were climbing up?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t looking.”
The recurring scenes between wise conductor and overly-confident passenger were to compel much of the information behind the episode’s assumption, which was that, ultimately, paradise had a steep price. The premise of the story was that there was a secret stop, in Oregon, that the train made, but only just after midnight. The hitch was that a person could only get this destination marked on a ticket, causing the train to reach the hidden stop, if the person knew the place by name, and before boarding the train. The passenger had to be in on the secret. This was a coveted secret that passed hands in the business world, shared only by those most loyal and trusting of one another. It was a great gift to be told of the secret stop and given its name. The train reached this destination only after all of its normal passengers disembarked during the supposed end of the line. If one was aware, and had their ticket marked, they could stay on for the hidden stop. This secret place was somew
hat of a hedonist paradise, and much coveted. The protagonist had expended much money and used quite a few favors to have his ticket marked for the trip. He was consumed with reaching the place.
Emery made it past the grips and joined into the group of four near the forward end of the train car. Whitcomb was holding quite still as Anna dobbed his concealer on and examined his features a bit more. Emery nearly tripped over her case of materials as he approached.
“Good, he’s here. Hey Em, we got a problem with the window latch,” Bob, the director said.
“What’s the trouble?” Emery replied. Bob thumbed toward Whitcomb.
“We’ve got him sliding the window open in act two, sticking his hand out to feel the snow, right?”
“Sure.”
“But this sort of train doesn’t have windows that slide open, is the thing. They pivot inward, and there isn’t enough room for him to get a hand out. We could maybe rig something up, but we just don’t have the time.”
“I see, no.”
Bob erupted in a deep cough then, turning his head and squinting through it.
“God, this flu.”
“Still got ya?”
“Parts of me. Anyway, with the window, it’s gonna have to be on you to fix it.”
“Okay, I’ll come up with something and write it out. This train has hooks for pull-down shades, so I can maybe do something with those. I’ll have it to you shortly. Get yourself some cough medicine, Bob.”
“I’ve had a gallon of that shit, this week. I’m here, though. With screwy windows.”
“Yeah, I’ll figure it out. Maybe he opens a shade to see the snow. Closes it to sleep. Maybe sees a shadow across them. Something,” Emery thought aloud.
“That’ll work. Sooner the better, though.”
“The little things, right?” Whitcomb chimed in, trying to keep his head steady for Anna.
“Always,” Emery replied, tired, “But say, speaking of little things, have either of you found a set of keys lying around? I’m supposed to go meet my family but I can’t find my keys.”
“What kind of car you drive?” Whitcomb asked.
“Molden Roadster.”
“Oh yeah? The 5?”
“No, it’s a Roadster 4,” Emery said. Whitcomb pondered this a moment but was unable to respond, his thought abruptly lost after Anna had him turn his head to the side. That turning of the head, Whitcomb discovered, happened to give him an unexpected and quite-close view of her breasts, properly concealed though they were. He lost his thoughts and became quiet with the happenstance of being allowed to face them for a few moments, up close, without being thought a letch. Whitcomb’s imagination became thorough; this was not the sort of predicament one wasted.
“I think Carl said something about finding some keys,” Anna threw out, examining Whitcomb’s hair from above, “but then again, I don’t know... it feels like that was yesterday. Yeah, now that I think about it, I’m not certain that was today.”
“Carl?” Emery asked, not recognizing that name.
“Second assistant,” Bob interjected then, “my new guy after Ralph ran off last week. He’s baby fresh.”
“I didn’t hear about someone getting hired yet. I thought that was-”
“I picked him, Sol cleared it,” Bob said, pausing to cover his mouth as a thick cough came over him, “ugh, damn. I do hope he sticks around, though. Anyway, I figured you already knew.”
“No. I’d better go find this new guy. Thanks, Anna. Does anybody know where he is?” Anna shook her head and Bob managed a shrug.
Emery made his way back through the train car and down the steps, cautious not to trip over the gaffer’s wiring, which had slipped loose of the tape that was supposed to affix it out of the walking path. He passed one of the gaffers on his way toward the craft service table.
“Jake, have you seen a set of keys? Lost mine.”
“Naw. I’ll keep my eyes out, though,” the gaffer said.
“Thanks. Hey, your tape is loose on the stairs back there. And Nate needs a wrench, if you happen to have one on-hand. Just a crescent.”
The craft service table was a general watering hole and meeting place within the constant movement and collaboration of individuals. People frequented this table and made slight choices involving whatever seemed to have a lesser presence of flies. Gregory Polk, who served as the entirety of the lighting department, was standing near the table and talking with Chad Holt.
“You know where the second A.D. is? New guy named Carl?” Emery asked them, picking up a small round of bread and taking a bite. Chad shook his head. Gregory responded in the negative.
“Hey, anybody see Carl?” Chad called out then, loud over the entire set. This was agitating, as Emery could have done the same but had not felt like being a loudmouth while everyone was busy setting up the scene. No one responded.
“The new guy. Bob’s second?” Chad rephrased, looking about. This drew a response.
“I think I saw that guy out front talkin’ to the wardrobe lady,” a voice called out from near the rear train car. This was Warren Tult, the microphone handler. He was young and on set due to a fulfilled favor for his father, Byron, who was good friends with Bernie Dozier. Warren Tult liked a ruckus, was troublesome in the way he spread gossip, and was always nit-picking others. He handled the microphone, but had it in his head he would be more some day, and so practiced being more too often for his own good. One might deduce from the way he hovered over others and kept track of things that he was an executive in disguise. He was not. He was lesser staff and had caused a few problems over the previous week. Jamison, an actual executive, was already looking for Warren’s replacement, Bernie Dozier’s favor be damned.
“Thanks, Warren,” Emery said.
“Likes her, I’m bettin’,” Gregory said then.
“Wardrobe girl? Shit, who doesn’t?” Chad commented.
“Okay, thanks. You see some keys lying around, either of you?”
“Keys? No, I don’t think so,” Gregory said.
“I’ll ask around,” Chad volunteered.
“Oh, no no, don’t bother.”
Emery left the set and walked across the lot to where several trucks were parked. Near these were a few teamsters, a visitor or two, individuals from other productions, and a small group of various people waiting on the two open telephones, eating various tidbits they had taken from the craft service table. He located the wardrobe person, Nina Moreno, among these people. She was somewhat pinned against the side of a truck by the way a tall man stood before her. He was imposing and in a constant lean toward her. This must have been Carl, and the man was most certainly attempting to make time with her. Their heads were near enough to try a kiss, and the look on his face was as if this was about to occur. She appeared pestered, yet not unreceptive.
“Carl?” Emery inquired. The man turned his head and, seeing Emery’s approach, tilted his chin up in greeting.
“Mr. Asher, right? Shoot’s comin’ along nice, I think. Everything in order?”
“Never. And you can just call me Emery or Em; we’re not soldiers here. Listen, someone said you found a set of keys?”
“Yeah, on the floor in the john. Yours?” he asked, reaching into his pocket.
“Let’s hope.”
Carl drew the keys from his pocket and Emery sighed in relief. He had been looking for nearly twenty minutes and Beth would already be at the restaurant waiting with the girls. He did not like when work intervened with his family time, especially in those rare instances when his own ill luck caused the interference.
“Ho ho, thank you. I’ve been looking all over,” Emery said.
“We could have a drop-box or somethin’. Like if anybody finds keys or a wallet or somethin’, they put it in the box so everything’s all there.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Emery said.
“Lost and found. I’ll make one.”
“Say Carl,” Emery switched, “and by the way, it’s nice to meet y
ou, but I’m wondering who it was that talked to D.B. Scott after he landed in Dallas. Did Bob do it, or did he have Frank or you do it?”
“Frank. Scott’s plane is supposed to land at about three, and he should be here on the set by four.”
“Damn it. That’ll be more like five with how things are going. That’s later than I thought. Okay, I think we can make this work. We need to get these conductor scenes out of the way while we still have a chunk of train.”
“Hi Emery,” Nina threw in.
“Nina. Good to see you. Listen, do me a favor, Carl, and pass that along to Jamison for me.”
“Sure thing. What am I… what am I passing, exactly?”
“The time that D.B. Scott’s flight lands.”
“Oh sure, but I think Frank already did that.”
“Okay. Do it just in case, though.”
“Sure, you got it.”
Emery glanced at Nina for a moment, then back at Carl.
“And uh…” Emery said, wagging a finger between the two, “not on set, all right?” Carl looked a little floundered at this and Nina gave a slight chuckle.
“But,” Emery said to Nina, “here’s some advice. If this fellow here asks you to dinner, make sure you only accept if it’s just after the 15th of the month. That’s right after Jamison signs the checks and most guys take a girl to a nicer place if they just got paid.”
Nina raised an eyebrow at this and nodded, bemused. Carl snorted.
“Buddy, you’re killin’ me here. Jamison’s right, Asher. You ARE too smart for your own good.”
“Neh, just for his own good. And maybe yours. By the way, you got a last name?”
“Yeah, Fiedler.”
“Good, that’s what I’ll call you that if you keep calling me by my last name.”