A Shoot on Martha's Vineyard

by Philip R. Craig

  A grin wriggled its way onto Drew’s face. “You’ve got a lot of gall! So you’d quit, eh?”

  “Here on the Vineyard, if somebody isn’t on a job anymore, we say he got through. Nobody gets blamed; the guy didn’t quit, and he didn’t get fired, he just got through. I’ll get through working for Cassiopeia Films if your bosses don’t like the deal I just offered.”

  His grin got bigger. “You’ll just get through, eh? I like it. Stay right here. I’ll talk to some people.”

  He went away and I watched things happening for a pretty long time. We were at John and Mattie’s place, and the crew was setting up a scene by the front door.

  After a while Drew came back.

  “You’re not through yet,” he said, smiling. “Come on, I’ll show you Kate’s personal car.”

  We strolled toward a clump of parked cars parked in a meadow beside the driveway.

  “You have to do any serious arguing?” I asked.

  “I did until Kate said it was a deal. After that, it was no problem.” He pointed to twin, fair-sized house trailers parked by the barn. “That’s Kevin’s dressing room and that’s Kate’s. They had to get identical ones so neither nose would be out of joint. Kate’s in hers right now, waiting for you.”

  “I’m just her driver. I’ll wait with the car.”

  “You’re a hard case.” He laughed.

  The car was a new Ford Explorer. I was surprised, because I’d expected a Porsche or BMW or something sporty like Kevin drove. The keys were in the ignition. Maybe they didn’t have thieves in Hollywood.

  Drew shook my hand, said he was glad I was still around, and went away. I got into the Explorer and spent some time figuring how everything worked. It was the newest vehicle I’d been in for several years, including the Range Rover I’d driven for Drew. Four-by-fours are a lot plusher these days than they were when my old Land Cruiser had come off the line.

  “Hi,” said a feminine voice. The face that went with it was Kate Ballinger’s. I got out of the car, and she put her hand in mine and left it there a moment. “I’m really pleased that you’ve agreed to be my driver, Jeff,” said Kate, looking at me with her magic eyes. “I want to go everywhere on the island and see everything. Do you mind if I call you Jeff?”

  “Most people call me J.W., but Jeff’s okay.”

  Her eyes moved down over me, then came back up. “I thought maybe your wife was the only person who called you that. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

  “You won’t be intruding,” I said.

  “I have to be here all morning. After that I should be free. Would you care to have lunch with me? I thought you might know a good place for us to eat, and that afterward you could take me on a tour.”

  “I can take you wherever you want to go,” I said.

  “I’ll bet that you can, at that.” Her smile was feline. “I’ll meet you at my trailer when I’m through here.”

  “How will I know when you’re through?”

  “The guys will all stop work and start eating lunch out of boxes. Ciao.”

  “Isn’t that some kind of pug-faced dog?”

  She laughed and walked away. She had great hips, and knew it.

  Since I was getting paid for doing nothing, I watched the scene in front of the house being shot and then shot a couple more times. Kate, the heroine, and Kevin, the hero, approached the house when suddenly the door was thrown open in front of them and Martin Paisley, the actor playing Neville Black, the brains behind the caper, displayed excitement on his face and waved his arms, encouraging them to hurry. Kate and Kevin exchanged looks and hustled into the house. Obviously Martin had some important news.

  Then Jack Slade, the director, had the greensman and his assistant move a bush, and the light guys change some lights, even though the sun was bright, and shot the whole thing again.

  Then a camera was moved and there were, more adjustments, and the scene was shot a third time, which apparently was the charm, since Slade was satisfied.

  The actors’ mouths had moved, so I knew there was dialogue, but I was too far away to hear it. When I considered the time and the cost of the talent it took to shoot that one insignificant shot, I began to realize why it took so much money to make a movie, and why my new salary was really no big deal, except on principle.

  Just before one o’clock, work stopped and people went over to where the caterers had lunch boxes and soft prinks waiting. Kevin and Kate headed for their house trailers, and I followed Kate. She looked back and waved, then went into the trailer.

  I leaned on the wall beside the door, and she came back out in less time than I expected. She had new makeup on her face, and had changed into a denim shirt, ivory-colored shorts that matched her hair, and sandals. She took my arm and smiled her mystic smile. La belle dame sans merci.

  “Come on, Jeff,” she said, pulling me toward the Explorer. “I’m starving! Get me out of here before they put me back to work!”

  Eyes followed us to the parking lot. I got behind the steering wheel and she sat beside me.

  “What do you like to eat?” I asked. “High-brow, low-brow, or middle-brow?”

  “You decide. Then you can show me the island.”

  I wanted beer with my lunch, so I took her into Edgartown and found a parking place on North Water Street, up toward the Harborview. We walked back to the Navigator Room, which not only offers good food, but serves it up with Edgartown’s best view of the harbor. People looked at Kate, but couldn’t be sure it was really her because of me. I didn’t look like a bodyguard or anyone else who should have been with Kate Ballinger, so probably it wasn’t Kate Ballinger at all. But it sure looked like her.

  The Navigator Room was mobbed, but Arthur was leaning against a support post when we came in, so I took Kate over to him and said, “Arthur, do you have a table for two? For a quiet lunch?”

  Arthur recognized Kate immediately, but he had met celebrities for decades, and was unimpressed by their fame. He was, however, sympathetic to their occasional need for a tad of special consideration to compensate for the lack of privacy that is a product of that fame.

  He looked around the room. On the far side, near a window, a busboy was clearing a table. Arthur raised a forefinger, and a waitress appeared. He murmured to her and pointed a finger at me. She nodded, then turned and smiled at me.

  “Follow me, please.”

  “Thanks,” I said to Arthur.

  “You owe me a fresh bluefish,” said Arthur. “Enjoy your lunch.”

  We sat by the window and the waitress took our order: beer and a burger for me, salad and white wine for Kate. We looked out at the yacht club and the boats. I pointed out the Shirley J. swinging at her stake.

  “What a cute little boat,” said Kate.

  “Catboats are pretty, not cute,” I said.

  While she decided to let that pass, she glanced around the room, wearing her famous smile for everyone who happened to be looking toward her. A lot of people were. At other tables, I saw customers catch that smile, look again, then lean toward each other and speak, then look at her again. “I think this is where we’ll be shooting the bar scenes,” she said. “Do you come here often?”

  “Sometimes. Zee and I do most of our socializing at home alone.”

  “How nice.”

  Our drinks came and she touched her glass to mine.

  “Thank you for being my driver.”

  “Thank you for the salary. I can use it.”

  She pretended to pout. “Oh, dear. I was hoping that you were doing it for me, not just for money. I hoped that we could be friends.”

  “Maybe we can.”

  She touched my hand. “Oh, good. I don’t meet many men like you. Your wife is a lucky woman.” I used the hand to lift my glass to my mouth. “I’m the lucky one.”

  When my hand returned to the table, hers was waiting for it. “Zee is a really beautiful woman. And your little boy is so sweet! You’re right. You are a lucky man.” She paused. “She doesn�
��t mind you working for me, I hope.”

  “She doesn’t know about it yet.”

  Something changed in her. A thinly hidden feral quality appeared in her eyes and body, as though a lioness had emerged from her den and spotted her prey.

  “Ah. I hope she won’t be unhappy.”

  “Why should she be?”

  Her hooded eyes beamed at me, and I felt the power of her charm. “Oh, it’s so good to find two people as loving and trusting as you and Zee. It’s so rare these days. I never meet people like you anymore. I know we’re going to be friends!”

  Our food arrived just in time, and I scarfed mine down while she picked at hers. I waved for the bill and for once got immediate attention, just like the heroes in movies. It was clear that our waitress had been watching us. When she brought the tab, I pointed to Kate.

  “Her treat.”

  Kate looked surprised, but recovered quickly, dug our her card, and handed it to the waitress, who hurried away.

  “My treat?” she asked, leaning forward. “I thought the gentleman always paid.”

  “I’m just the chauffeur,” I said.

  She didn’t take long to think that one through. “Well, you’re a gentleman as far as I’m concerned, and in the future I’d really like to have you pay. It looks so much better, don’t you think? Then I’ll pay you back, of course.”

  “Where would you like to drive?” I asked.

  “You will pay the bills from now on, won’t you? I’ll give you the money ahead of time, if you like.”

  “I give two island tours,” I said, and described the two-wheel-drive tour and the four-wheel-drive tour. “We can do either one.”

  The waitress came back and Kate not only signed the chit but, when the awed girl requested her autograph, gave her that as well.

  “Are you telling me that you won’t even pretend to pay our bills?” Her eyes had a deep light in them. It looked like anger to me.

  I finished my beer and touched her hand with mine. “Whenever I invite you to lunch, Miss Ballinger, I’ll pick up the tab.”

  I climbed out of my chair. She looked up at me from under lowered brows, then surprised me by suddenly laughing.

  “I knew I’d like you, Jeff! Please call me Kate. I know we’re going to be friends!”

  She stood, and I followed her out to the street. Arthur waved and arched a brow as we went by.

  — 31 —

  “So she’s sure you’re going to be friends,” said Zee. “How nice.”

  “She’s sweet. I think she wanted to hold my hand.”

  “I think Kevin wants to hold more of me than that. He called again while you and Kate were off in Gay Head or wherever it was you went.”

  “It was Gay Head. We did the two-wheel-drive tour. Tomorrow she wants me to take her out to Cape Pogue. Apparently Drew has given the Chappy beaches rave reviews.”

  “She just wants you out there alone where nobody can see her jump your bones.”

  I bounced Joshua on my knee and bitty-bum-bitty-bummed a bit of the “William Tell Overture” for mood music. Joshua thought galloping was great, and grinned and drooled.

  Zee sipped her martini and smiled at her men. “While you’re out on the beach, Kevin wants to take me to lunch. The next day we’re shooting the Main Street scene, and he says he wants to talk with me about it.”

  “The Main Street scene is the one where the modern hero sees the modern girl and has a flashback to the old days when the pirate saw the pirate girl. Is that right?”

  “That’s it. In the script I walk past him, turn my head and give him a casual smile, and walk on. I don’t think there’s much for Kevin to explain.”

  “I’d lie about my motives, too, if it got me close to you.”

  “You’re already close to me. Kevin just doesn’t give up very easily. He has a concrete confidence in his charm. I thought I’d cooled his jets in California, but here he is, back at the hunt.”

  “You want me to punch his lights out?”

  “Good grief, no! Besides, he might punch your lights out. No, I think I can handle Mr. Turner without any help. The thing I’m not so sure of is if you can handle Kate Ballinger all by yourself.”

  “O ye of little faith. I’m impervious to all charms but yours.”

  “Pardon my rolling eyes. Here, have some pâté.”

  I took the cracker and ate it. Delish.

  “I think I’ll take the day off and watch when you do your scene,” I said. “In case you end up on the cutting room floor, I want to be able to testify in my memoirs that you actually did have a film career.”

  “What if Kate wants you to be her friend some more? Maybe she’ll fire you.”

  “Break my heart. Besides, if she fires me, I’ll quit. Then who’d drive her around?”

  “I’m sure she can find some man to do the job.”

  I thought Zee was right about that. “Besides,” I said, “if you’re going to be working, I’ll be taking care of Joshua. So I can’t be chauffeuring beautiful, sexy movie goddesses around, even if I want to.”

  “Which, of course, you don’t. Did I tell you I met the chief downtown? I was coming out of the A & P, and he was there talking with that new traffic cop they’ve got trying to keep the traffic jam from jamming. Guess what? Connie Berube has officially reported that Moonbeam is missing. I think it’s an historic first. She’s thrown him out of the house before, but she never asked anybody to look for him until now.”

  Joshua yawned and simultaneously wet his pants. Had that ever happened to the Lone Ranger? We went downstairs, where Zee got to work in the kitchen and I got to work on Joshua, changing him and putting him into his playpen, where he soon began to snooze in spite of his efforts not to. Later, as I stacked the last of the dishes in the drainer, Zee sidled up and put her arms around me, pressing her front against my back.

  “I don’t like other women making a play for my man.”

  “They just can’t help themselves,” I said. “You have to forgive them.”

  She gave me a sharp squeeze. “I’m serious.”

  I thought about how I felt when men ogled her. “I’ll tell her to quit tomorrow,” I said.

  She turned me around. “No. I’m your wife, but I’m not your keeper. But she’s a witch, and her spells are the man-catching kind, so be careful.” She put her arms up around my neck and pulled my lips down to hers. Her tongue was like a fire. Kate Ballinger wasn’t the only witch on the island.

  “Stay here,” I said.

  I went into the living room, picked up comatose Joshua, and put him into his bed. Then I came back into the kitchen, picked up Zee, and carried her to ours.

  The next morning I took Kate Ballinger on the four-wheel-drive tour.

  She was staying in a house owned by a famous pop singer who lived up off Lambert’s Cove Road, and as I parked the Land Cruiser and walked to the Explorer, I had occasion once again to wonder how all these famous people happened to know one another. Not many of the island’s more renowned visitors had ever asked to stay at our place, that was for sure.

  Kate was again decked out in shirt, shorts, and sandals, and this time was carrying a basket and a canvas bag.

  “Good morning, Jeff! The caterers packed us a lunch, and I brought along beach towels. What a lovely day!”

  I opened her door for her and she took the opportunity to give me a fast kiss. Then she put her gear into the Explorer and climbed in after it. I got behind the wheel and we headed for Katama.

  “The only thing wrong with this car is these damned bucket seats,” said Kate, giving me her enthralling smile. “If we were lovers, it would be really frustrating to have to sit this far apart.”

  “It’s an imperfect world.”

  “Maybe we could both sit in the backseat and you could drive with your feet.”

  I laughed at her unexpected humor, and felt some ice thaw inside of me. Uh oh.

  Kate crossed her long legs and they caught my eye. She grinned at me. She wore pa
le lipstick, and her eyelashes were long and her eyelids slightly lowered.

  “I can hardly wait to see these beaches Drew Mondry was so wild about,” she purred. “He says there are almost no people out there at all.”

  “Fishermen, mostly,” I said. “More bluefish are coming back south, and there are bass and bonito and Spanish mackerel.”

  “You’re a fisherman.”

  “I am.”

  “Are you a hunter, too?” “Not as much as I used to be.” “Are you a good shot?” “Not as good as my wife.” “Really?”

  “Really. I’m probably as good with a rifle or shotgun, but she can shoot rings around me with a pistol.”

  “How fascinating. My husband doesn’t do any of those things. He’s an executive. He plays golf and tennis. They bore me, I’m afraid.”

  “I didn’t know you had a husband.”

  “He doesn’t travel with me. He stays home and makes money.”

  “When he isn’t playing golf or tennis.” “That’s right. Could I learn to shoot? That sounds like it might be fun. Skeet. Isn’t that what they shoot?” “That’s one of the things.”

  We came to the end of the Katama Road, and I stopped beside the deputy sheriff’s pickup. He came over as I rolled down the window.

  “New truck, J.W.? You win the lottery or something?”

  “It belongs to the lady,” I said. I looked at Kate. “I hope you brought your money, because this trip is going to cost you two beach stickers, one here and one over on Chappy.”

  “You’re the most costly driver I’ve ever had!” She dazzled the deputy with her smile. “How much do you need, Officer?”

  He told her, and she gave him the money. We filled out the papers, got our sticker, and headed east. Twenty minutes later, on Wasque Point, we ran into a Trustees of Reservations patrol, and went through the process again.