“Yeah,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”
He pushed her behind and went out the door first, leaping over the steps to the hard dry ground. He let out a grunt from the pain that ran up his leg from the gunshot wound there. He turned to put out his hand and just had the tips of Heddy’s fingers in his palm when he realized she was pointing her gun at his heart. “Aw, Heddy...” he said. “Aw, hell, Heddy...”
“You never should have gone to see about that woman in there, Crow. You never should have kept the money secret from me.”
She pulled the trigger and the blast hit him in the center of his chest, knocking him back onto his heels where he staggered to remain upright. He thought the sky had opened because now lightning crackled and thunder filled his body from all sides. They were shooting at him from the trees, dancing him against his will away from Heddy. He twitched and jerked with each shot that entered his body, turning round and round like a wind-up toy. He screamed in agony and called out over and over, “HeddyHeddyHeddyHEDDY...!”
But she was gone, already out of his field of vision, suffering the same pain as he somewhere on her own away from him.
Dying hurt worse than he could have imagined. It was a shitty thing to happen to a guy.
#
THE gunshots peppered Heddy’s entire front from neck to groin, sending her sprawling back onto the steps, her head lying in the open doorway.
Jay had frozen where he’d landed on the ground, shocked at Heddy’s shooting of Crow, and then mesmerized further when the shots opened from the trees that sent Crow flopping around like a downed bird. He turned back just in time to see Heddy take her first shots to the chest and then he was all motion, moving up the steps again, trying to stop what was happening by shielding her, but by the time he reached the top step she had fallen back and he was the one taking the gunfire now, stray shots meant for Heddy that bore into his back like hot drills, knocking his breath from him, knocking his life from him, knocking the world off its axis. He stumbled. He noticed the gunfire had halted again and an eerie silence filled his ears with white noise. He stared down at Heddy’s dead face before he dropped to his knees, understanding pain, understanding death, and rolled off the wooden steps to the ground, all the world turning to black.
#
FRANK stood from behind his desk and put out his cigarette butt in the overflowing ashtray. Ashes were knocked onto the desktop. He pushed aside the ashtray and raked the ashes into his hand. He said to Emily as he dropped the ashes into the trash can at the side of the desk, “I’m sorry about your father.”
Emily glanced down at her hands. She still had the rock she’d taken from the ground behind the police car. It was this nice man who had stepped into the open and, grabbing her, took her to the ground and safety. She rolled the stone over and rubbed it carefully as if it might eventually glow with magic. There was a ruby vein in the stone running through the brown that reminded her of blood.
“I’m sorry too,” she said. “He was only bad for a little while.”
The psychologist cleared his throat and moved to her chair. He held out his hand to help her rise. “I’ll have someone take you back to the hospital to see about your mother.”
“Thank you.”
“Emily?”
“Uh huh?” She slipped the rock into the pocket of her shorts.
“I think you saved your mother’s life.”
Emily started to shake her head, but she stopped. She didn’t know if it was true but it was okay that he said it. None of it mattered now. “She’s going to be all right.”
“And so are you.”
She looked up into the kindly face and smiled a little sad smile. “Yes, I will. I’ll be fine now.”
“And Emily?”
“Yessir?”
“Thanks for staying so long to tell me how it happened. We couldn’t make it out, a cop’s family held hostage that long. It would have remained a mystery without your help to get at the truth of it.”
“You don’t have to tell the newspapers, do you? About Daddy and all?”
“No, I won’t tell them. It’s for my files and no one gets to see those.”
“Good.” She walked to the door and opened it, looking back over her shoulder, pausing.
“What is it?” He asked. “Have you forgotten something?”
“No, I was just checking.” She smiled and pointed to her head. “Just checking.”
Frank smiled back, thinking That’s some kid, what a great kid that is, and she really reads minds too. Christ.
Emily listened to those last thoughts, committed them to memory, then shut the door behind her and went with the police lady who was to drive her to the hospital.
She never looked back. She never had to. Mr. Hawkins knew everything finally so she didn’t have to live with it anymore. He knew the whole story, the terrible secrets, and all the sad deaths. She had given it away, the way you do when you have a best friend you can tell everything to. Those days on their trip south were all his now and she was free at last to start life new again. Her mother would take her back home to North Carolina. They’d return home safely in an airplane. Maybe at home, where accidental chaos hardly ever reared its head and life was very seldom a thing to fear, they’d be safe again.
Safe, she thought happily. Just like they said in baseball—home safe.
THE END
Unidentified
by
Billie Sue Mosiman
Copyright 2011 by Billie Sue Mosiman
Previously published in hardcover as FINAL CUT by Five Star in the USA and as PURE AND UNCUT by Headline in England.
Question by interviewer on America Online bulletin board service: "Do you believe that cinema, the way it is defined now, has reached its full potential?"
Oliver Stone: "Not at all. Much more is coming. We have mixed media for now. I feel that 3-D media is on the way."
1
"ME: This part's a career maker and the movie's gonna go through the roof!
MOVIE STAR: Tell me about the part."
Julia Phillips, You'll Never Eat Lunch In This Town Again
They were asked to meet on the soundstage at ten o'clock Monday night. The gathering of actors and actresses, film crew, grips, makeup artists, wardrobe and lighting technicians stood milling around uneasily in small groups, talking in hushed voices.
Along with the rest of them, Georgie waited for Cambridge Hill, Hollywood's double Academy Award-winning director, to appear from his office at the back of the set. Cam was to tell the others what the movie was about. No one knew except the powerhouse agents who handled all the hottest properties. Oh, Georgie knew sort of what it was about, though he hadn't seen the script. He had to do the camera work. He couldn' tbe left out in the cold completely.
However, the agents had read the script. Film deals didn't fly unless the agents knew for sure the property wouldn't embarrass their clients. But unlike other deals before this movie, Georgie found out the agents were sworn to secrecy. Cambridge was offering more than they could comfortably turn down.
They knew how to zip their lips. This time money didn't talk. It shut the hell up.
Olivia Nyad, fresh from the wrap party for the closing of her last film, seemed the most agitated. Georgie watched her chain smoke, fascinated how one person could stand to suck in that much pollution without a break. She had filled two small clear glass ashtrays with scarlet lipstick-smeared butts. She hadn't spoken to a soul the entire half hour they had all been waiting. If anyone had asked the others present why they did not chat with Ms. Nyad, they would have said that she kept herself apart, inviolate. They might have said that she was a true star of the old school, unapproachable even to her colleagues. They would have been right.
Georgie glanced over at Marilyn Lori-Street, a comer and an exceptionally talented actress who had not really been given a chance in any film of worth. The kid smiled blissfully. She sat on a high stool, slim legs crossed to show off enough thigh to turn ha
lf the men on the set into jellyrolls. Georgie thought he shouldn't stare, but just couldn't help himself. He'd never get a chance with her, but it didn't hurt to fantasize.
Robyn LaRosa, the movie's producer and principal bankroller, stood talking quietly with one of the other cameramen, Sean Parker. Robyn stood five foot three only because she wore spiked-heel black leather boots. She could have been a fashion model for Elle or Vogue, except for her height, Georgie thought. The white bodysuit clung to all the right curves and revealed a good cleavage unsupported by any wonder bra. Her hair was a sleek red helmet cut above the ear on one side and below it on the other.
No one dared ask her about the script. She might look like a trendy gal with cream puff pastry between her ears, but it was well known she possessed the temperament of a rogue elephant.
Catherine Rivers, Cambridge's assistant director, sat cross-legged on the floor with an actor no one but Georgie recognized, Jerry Line, and another actor everyone knew, the great Jackie Landry. It was Jackie who had been cast for lead opposite Olivia. Catherine and the two men were throwing craps using a square of cardboard as a wall.
Every time Catherine crapped out she cried in a girlish voice and touched one or the other of the men on their crossed legs.
Georgie wished he could join in games like that, but crew didn't often get so chummy with the stars. At least Georgie didn't. He was too quiet, too retiring. He was, God help him, too much of a techie nerd to be given much notice by creative types.
Now it was edging into a forty-five minute wait and Olivia deliberately knocked her latest ashtray to the floor from where it had been perched on a dolly cart used for hauling around scenery.
When heads turned at the crash of glass, Georgie started. He watched her smile sweetly before she said in her famous, low-from-the-diaphragm voice, "I'm trashing this joint if Cam isn't out here in thirty seconds. Who the hell does he think he is?"
Cambridge Hill took that moment to open his office door although he couldn't have heard Olivia's threat. Yellow light spilled across the ominous darkness and he strode through it toward where they stood assembled on the raised platform stage. Georgie took a deep breath. It was about time. Nerves were stretched to the breaking point.
"Here comes the prick now," Olivia said to no one in particular, but not so loudly her words would carry to the man heading her way.
Catherine and the two actors came to their feet, dusting off their hands on their clothes. Jerry pocketed the pair of red Vegas dice; Jackie dropped the cardboard.
"Thank you for coming," Cambridge said, stepping onto the stage. He did not apologize for the late hour or the wait.
Under his right arm he carried a half-dozen bound scripts. In his left hand he held a sheaf of documents. It was this hand that caught everyone's attention. Georgie thought Cam might as well have been carrying a boa constrictor. They had all heard a rumor that this film was going to be under wraps for the duration. Could the papers he carried be rules and regulations they must follow during filming? Why else make them meet in this cavernous warehouse of a soundstage at this time of night when no one was on the lot except the security guards? He had done it before, on his last film.
Nothing surprised Georgie about Cam. He was a legend and entirely unpredictable. Some called him a genius.
Cam plopped the scripts down on a metal folding chair. He pointed to them. "These hold the first scene we're going to shoot. Those of you who will work with me on this project get one before you leave tonight."
"It's not the whole script? You're not going to give us the whole script?" Olivia blinked rapidly behind the pall of cigarette smoke. She looked as if she had just been told her agent had died, her mansion in Beverly Hills had caught fire, and her two Maltese dogs had been fed sushi crawling with salmonella bacteria.
Cambridge turned to her with a flourish. He was as dramatic a figure as anyone who stepped before a camera and enjoyed a reputation that put many of the old Hollywood moguls to shame. His black hair, receding now, but still full on the sides and back, looked as if he'd been combing his hands through it for hours. There was a shadowy day's growth of dark beard stubble on his cheeks and chin. His gray eyes settled on Olivia, piercing her the way arrows pierce a painted target.
"Baby," he said, voice like dry gravel, "it's not even a sure thing yet you'll get the first scene."
Wow, thought Georgie. Cam loves the dangerous edge.
"What is this, Cam? I don't work on pictures without seeing the script." Olivia, not easily surprised and very rarely spoken to that way, looked pissed he'd gotten to her. She dropped the cigarette butt to the stage floor and ground it beneath her shoe.
"Your agent's seen it. You'll have to trust him." Cambridge turned to the others gathered into a close knot in the center floor area. He held up the hand with the papers in it and shook them so that the pages flapped noisily. "No one's getting those scripts on that chair until you sign this nondisclosure form."
A few in the film crew muttered, but the actors looked nonplussed. They'd seen in the trades how Cam had demanded the actors and crew sign affidavits pledging secrecy on his last picture.
Cam continued, "I want anyone working with me on this to sign on the dotted line. Crew, gaffers, light directors, everyone. You're not going to get an opportunity to run off and show it to your attorneys because I've already struck deals with the agents concerned. They know what's good for you, so listen to them. Try to pry out of them the whole story plot and it's cause for dismissal. You sign tonight or you're off the film."
"Cut out the dramatics, Cam, and tell us what the nondisclosure says and why we should want to sign it." Olivia had the clout, her star shining the brightest in the Hollywood sky. She said what everyone wanted to say, but didn't have the guts to whisper aloud.
"It says you'll get the script scene by scene before it's shot. No one except Robyn, who's already seen the entire thing, of course, gets the whole script. As I mentioned, the agents involved have read over a copy and returned it. They approve. The nondisclosure also says that Robyn's production company and I will personally bring suit against anyone in this room who lets any part of the script leak to the media. Or if any of you tell your lovers, your spouses, mommas, daddies, or your hairdressers what's going on here on the closed set.
"In other words this script better not get past this room. If it does I will not only fire you and fine you, I'll prosecute your squirrelly ass." He paused and glared, eyebrows knitting together. "And you know I'll do it. This form says you agree to these terms."
"I'm not doing it." Olivia grabbed her small green alligator clutch and turned to leave the stage. Georgie knew she had read about Cam's last movie and contract deal. That one said nothing about prosecution; she knew that too. She was pulling a power play. She liked living on the edge, just like Cam.
"You know how much money you're turning down, right? Your agent told you?" Cambridge called to her back.
She turned and narrowed her eyes. Those dark, exotic, chilling eyes. "You know I don't need the money."
"What about a second Oscar? It's been almost a decade since your first. You're fading fast, Olivia."
Oh, good one, Georgie thought. Now why don't you kick her while she's down.
"Screw you, too, Cam." She paused a beat, not really giving in to the anger yet. "You're guaranteeing me an Oscar?"
Cambridge nodded. Then he said, "I'm playing you against type, Olivia. This film will go down in history. You'll be remembered forever for this part. In this film. In my film."
"I guess you want to cast me as a prostitute or something. Or maybe a space queen on Planet Zytoid. Is that it?"
"You've always played a heroine, Olivia. This time you'll excel in the role of a villain."
"Absolutely not. I positively refuse!"
Cambridge broke from where he stood holding the forms in both hands. This abrupt action startled not only Georgie, but everyone watching. Cam was across the space separating him from Olivia so fast several of th
e silent bystanders watching this interaction between two strong personalities gasped aloud.
When he reached Olivia where she stood her ground, challenging him, he tucked the papers under his arm and began to gesture to her in typical Italian street fashion. His voice changed and he was Al Pacino shouting at the top of his voice, "You wanna fuck with me? Huh, is that what you want? You wanna fuck with me?"
Olivia's face transformed with sudden spirited laughter. Everyone, including Georgie, joined her, startled by the inexplicable change in face, voice, and body Cambridge was able to bring about. It was as if Pacino had manifested himself in this harried-looking, potbellied, decadent director. Georgie had never seen him do that before. It was something new, something he must have practiced for a while.
"Jesus, Cam, that's good. You do that better than Pacino does that," Olivia said.
Cambridge grinned, showing the spaces between his big square teeth. "I haven't told you the best news of all yet. Stick around!"
He returned to his spot before the group and stared at each of them in turn as he spoke. "What I am about to say now is privileged information. If one of you breathes a word of this and it gets out, your ass is mine and you know I'm not kidding. You'll never work again, not only on my pictures, but anybody's. You think I don't have the clout?" He paused, shot a glance at Olivia, daring her to interrupt. "You think the agents in this town have the power and I don't? Well, let me clue you in on a little secret. I have all the top agencies behind me on this. If I can't ruin you, they will. So believe me when I say I am not kidding!"
A shudder ran through the group. Georgie reacted to a chill running up his own back. Agents did have the power to put any one of them out of business permanently. If Cam had the agents on his side, he had the power, no question.
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