The Body in the Cast ff-5

by Katherine Hall Page

  Faith was looking through the pass-through again. It was time to clear the plates from the main course. The unpleasantness had apparently been swept under the thick Oriental rug and everyone was talking to his or her neighbor. Cornelia's unmistakable voice rose above the others. She was expounding on the influence of Hegel on Sergei Eisenstein to Cappy Camson across the table. "The triadic process is so obvious in Ivan the Terrible," she said. "Thesis, antithesis, synthesis—it's positively riveting." Cappy nodded amiably. He had moved his chair closer to Evelyn's. Sandra WIlson had left the table—the powder room? Faith felt as if she was watching a play or a movie. The next act was about to begin. Marta stood up and took Caresse's empty seat beside Max, placing herself between him and the two producers. Faith was sure she was not misinterpreting either the ironic glance Marta gave Cornelia in passing or the intent of Ms. Haree to act as a buffer between her director and producers.

  The Parisian chocolates had been placed on the table and Max thanked Cornelia. "I know the Stuyvesant touch." She colored almost prettily and looked about to note her rival's reaction, but Sandra had still not returned. Faith was waiting for a signal from Alan to serve the sorbets—a trio of apricot, Granny Smith, and black currant. She opened the hatch a little farther. Cappy and Evelyn were deep in conversation. Max, protected from the demands of his producers by Marta's bulk, cast his eye absently around the room. His gaze came to rest on Evelyn at the opposite end of the table. He watched her for a moment, then spoke to Nils, next to him.

  “Nils, I haven't seen Evelyn all evening. Trade places, won't you? I want to hold her gorgeous hand, and you can tell Cappy about the town hall scene for the hundredth time, so maybe he'll get it right.”

  Faith couldn't see Evelyn's face, but Cappy did not seem overly thrilled with the change in seating or the director's caustic remark. The actress got up and moved next to Max. He greeted her with a kiss and whispered something in her ear. Then he threw one arm around her shoulders and left it there.

  Alan Morris had also been absent from the room, and upon entering, he came directly to the kitchen. "It's time!" he announced. "I'll need this young manhere to help me with the cake, and perhaps you'd like to cut it, Faith. The meal has been superb and I know Max will want to thank you.”

  Faith was a little puzzled. Niki was right, this really must be some cake. She went to get a knife, then followed Alan and Scott out of the kitchen. Tricia started the sorbet. The glasses for red wine were removed and replaced with flutes filled with more champagne. A moment later, the table was startled into silence at the sound of music. Solemn music. Religious music. Chants from the Bay Psalm Book. Then Alan and Scott wheeled a dolly in with an enormous cardboard cake on it. Slowly, the top lifted off and Sandra Wilson dressed as Hester Prynne in period clothes emerged, her head bowed and her hands clasped together at her waist. A huge scarlet letter was pinned to her breast. She stood demurely as the music continued. Everyone smiled politely. Suddenly, with one swift motion, she knocked the sides of the cake down, tore the letter from her dress, flung it at Max, and proceeded to execute a very professional striptease as the taped music changed to one of the sexiest renditions of "Happy Birthday" anyone had ever heard since Marilyn Monroe sang it to JFK. The room exploded in applause and laughter.

  Then as it became apparent that Miss WIlson intended to go for broke, the reactions changed. Faith found herself spellbound. The contrast of Hester's chaste undergarments and Sandra's explicit performance was both funny and a turn-on. Scott was grinning from ear to ear, as were the other men. Kit Murphy was chanting, "Go, Hester, go." Max himself shouted, "Yeah, baby!" every once in a while. Marta sat with a neutral smile; Cornelia openly scowled and reached for a chocolate. It was difficult to read Evelyn's expres- sion. She seemed to have drawn the curtains. Annoyance? Pity? Sandra was getting close to the end. It was hard not to be impressed by the woman's great body, and Faith resolved to increase her own work-outs once the shoot was over. Alan moved out of the shadows and handed Sandra two lighted sparklers. She was down to a red G-string and two red pasties in the shape of A's.

  Definitely not your ordinary Aleford dinner party.

  Sandra wriggled over to Max, said a final happy birthday, and planted one on him—a long one. He emerged breathless and laughing again. Her red lipstick was smeared all over his mouth. He grabbed her for a repeat. Alan placed a conventional cake with candles before the director, gloating over the success of his surprise.

  “Alan, you old son of a bitch, you!" Max remonstrated jokingly.

  “Make a wish, Max." It was Marta.

  He blew out the candles and Faith served the cake. The sorbet had melted into pools of purple, orange, and pale green.

  The next day on the set, Faith felt as though the night before had been a dream.

  Alan had obviously been waiting for the truck and as soon as she got out, he asked her to set up a table with plenty of coffee and snacks at the bottom of the meadow near the woods.

  “We're shooting a test of the forest scene today," he said, literally rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "With Sandra standing in for 'Evelyn." He didn't say anything about the party.

  Cornelia followed at his heels. In this case, Faith did not expect accolades, or even a comment. She assumed Cornelia would prefer to forget the whole night. What Sandra had placed on Max's plate made Faith's fellow alum's chocolates look like last year's Halloween candy.

  “Max wants a couple of cans of Jolt cola. I assume you've got some," she demanded.

  Faith always stocked plenty of this supercaffeinated drink on shoots.

  “Is that all he wants—nothing to eat?"

  “Yes, he's ..

  Faith finished for her. "A little hung over?"

  “Absolutely not," Cornelia retorted. "He's just not very hungry after all that heavy food you prepared. I wasn't hungry myself this morning."

  “Does anyone else want anything? Cappy, Evelyn?"

  “Lady Evelyn has just fired her hairdresser—again. When I saw her, she was yelling for someone to give her a shampoo, so I doubt she needs food, and I haven't seen Cappy. Just get me the soda. Please”

  Cornelia adjusted her coat and shook her hair back, like a dog that's come in out of the rain. She obviously felt much better.

  “Must be going. So much to do to stay on track. We're shooting the forest scene today. The weather is perfect, Max says:' She was gone abruptly before Faith could say, "Have a nice day.”

  Not that the day was nice. Max's idea of perfect weather seemed to run to overcast gray skies. But in this instance, he was staying close to Hawthorne. Faith remembered the forest scene well. She'd gone over it again after Cornelia's description of Hester and Dimmesdale's roll in the moss. The day was "chill and somber." What sunshine was around retreated before Hester's steps, and her precocious child, Pearl, remarked that the sunshine must not love her mother. It was a sensual scene in the book, but they had kept their clothes on. Faith wondered how all this was going to be handled.

  She went back to the tent to help with the unloading and asked Pix if she would take charge of getting the table set up near the woods. She told Pix and Niki about Cornelia's request for Jolt cola.

  “We'd better have a lot of the stuff handy," Niki said. "You should have seen how much booze they put away, Pix. And I wouldn't be surprised if the esteemed director is tired, besides being hung over. From the way he was looking at Evelyn, he definitely had plans for after the company left.”

  It was also the way Cappy had been looking at Evelyn, Faith remembered. The dress had been sensational and when she'd stood up to move to Max's side, Cappy, who could have just about anybody he wanted in Hollywood—or anywhere else, for that matter—had been positively drooling. Who says clothes don't make the woman? Faith repeated one of her favorite adages to herself with the vaguely uncomfortable feeling she'd be editing an almanac soon.

  Pix was back almost immediately for another urn of coffee. "Everyone is freezing despite the lights an
d portable heaters. Especially Cappy and Sandra! This is going to be some movie! They're writhing around on some sort of astromoss next to the brook, stark naked. I saw them when I went to tell Alan the table was set up. They must have body makeup on, because they look perfect. Or maybe they are perfect." Pix had come to terms with her cellulite years before, yet she still found it hard when someone else appeared not to have any."And they're shiny. The sweat of passion. Faith, you have to sneak up and see this.”

  So Max was going for nudity. A was going to be an X.

  For a moment, Faith held back. It was without question prurient interest, but then she couldn't resist. It wasn't so much to see the scene as to see the scene—how everyone else was reacting and what they were doing. If she got caught, she could say she had to discuss something with Alan. What a convenient person he was, always around when anyone needed him. Always around. It occurred to her that she had no sense of what he was like, except as the fixer. Was he content to play second banana to Max on into the sunset, or did he aspire to a directorship himself? Cornelia seemed to hold him in some contempt. A location scout. Faith was sure there was a whole lot more to the man.

  She started up the path and circled around back of the lights to a grove of trees overlooking the brook. Sandra, wearing a ratty old fake fur coat, was sitting in a chair, waiting for the next shot. Cappy was in a Ralph Lauren duffel, talking on a cellular phone. Max was standing still, looking at them. Evelyn was nowhere in sight. Caresse was arguing with her mother. "I'm not in the scene again until later. Why do I have to stand around watching this gross stuff?" Max tuned in to their conversation.

  “By all means, go back to your trailer and we'll call you. We may not even get to it today, so there's no need for you to stay out here in the cold.”

  Caresse had the surprising decency to thank him, and her mother beamed as they left.

  They got ready to start up again and when the clap board came down, the action really did start. The minister in his jeans and Hester in her filmy white dress sat motionless on the green carpet. Hester spoke: "We have done nothing wrong. Before God or anyone else." It was obviously Reed's deathless prose, not Hawthorne's.

  Dimmesdale took her hand. "But I must leave. You know that”

  Hester nodded and stood up. "You will not go alone. I will make you very happy." At the word happy, she reached to her shoulders, undid some fastenings, and her dress dropped to the ground, taking the scarlet letter with it. Faith was so transfixed by the moment that she almost forgot to stay hidden behind the trees. Sandra in her body makeup looked like a goddess—Aphrodite. The whole crew seemed to be holding a collective breath. The forest was completely silent. Not even a breeze swayed in the trees whose bare branches were beginning to swell slightly with buds.

  Faith looked at Max. He was in his Chillingworth makeup and costume. There was a smile on his face and he was nodding; then as Dimmesdale removed his clothes and drew Hester down to the ground, Max looked irritated. He seemed about to stop the scene, but didn't. It could be that it wasn't going the way he wanted. Or it could be that he was staying in character.

  For some reason known to the director, Marta Haree as Mistress Hibbins was positioned on the other side of the brook in her bright gypsylike clothes. She was beckoning to them, slowly waving her arms. As the two began to make love, she called out triumphantly, "I will see you in the forest tonight!”

  The rest of the players looked merely interested, or, in the case of Alan Morris, entranced.

  “Cut!" Max screamed.

  Five

  Yet, if death be in this cup, I bid thee think again, ere thou beholdest me quaff it.

  It is not easy for an individual to creep about the forest on little cat—or more aptly, squirrel—feet when hitting two hundred pounds on the scale represents some weight loss. Therefore, it was only a matter of moments before Faith identified the creeper as Alden Spaulding. His efforts to escape detection by hiding in a grove of slender birches was ludicrous. She walked rapidly to his side, greeting him heartily, not from any desire for his company, but rather to find out what he was up to.

  “Alden! Out for a stroll? You didn't pick the best day for it.”

  He seemed flustered and was hastily trying to fit something into the pocket of his overcoat at her approach. He closed the flap and kept his pudgy hand over the object from the outside. It made a bulge that was difficult to identify. What on earth was the man doing?

  "Harumph"—Faith had never actually heard anyone say this and was delighted—"Mrs. Fairchild. Yes, I am out to get some air. Often walk this way. It's conservation land, you know. Open to everyone." He glared at her.

  Faith was enjoying herself. It was nice to watch him squirm for a change. She knew, of course, why he was there, and she tried to push aside the thought that it was also why she was there. Somehow Alden had found out about the nude shots, or he'd gotten lucky. Whichever, this particular conservation tract was far from Alden's house. He would have had to drive. Getting some air, indeed.

  "I would have thought you'd favor Simond's Woods. Isn't the entrance at the end of your road?"

  "Sometimes people like a change." He had regained his composure, and nastiness. "Take the election, for example. Come March twenty-sixth, you'll see some big changes in town. Now, good day. My regards to the Reverend." He stomped off in the direction of the main road, where he must have left his car.

  "Good-bye," Faith called after him. "Interesting running into you." Nothing would induce her to say nice. And it had been interesting.

  Alden Spaulding creeping about the woods. Alden Spaulding, the creep! He had made certain feeble, off-color suggestions to her when she'd first arrived in Ale-ford, before he knew she was married to his minister. And he was one of those men who always stand too close to women. Faith invariably took a step backward when he came near her.

  She retraced her steps back through the woods. No, Alden was no latter-day Thoreau. The mysterious object was probably a pair of high-powered binoculars. All the better to see you with .. .

  Pix and Niki were both waiting at the table. No one else was around and apparently Max hadn't called a break yet.

  “So?" they asked in unison.

  “As the lady with the golden retrievers said, `This is going to be some movie,' " Faith concurred.

  “Maybe I can get a peek," Niki said. "There isn't much of Cappy unknown to his adoring public after those ads, but the real thing is something else again." She rolled her eyes. "Mama wants to see those buns!”

  Faith burst out laughing. Niki was always falling in and out of love. Her latest was getting an MBA at the Harvard Business School, but Niki had cheerfully assured them he was the type you didn't bring home—much, much too eligible. "In my family," she'd said, "what you do is invite the guys with tattoos who had five o'clock shadows in third grade; then when you finally have someone you want, they're so relieved, they'll welcome anyone who's even related to someone with a job”

  Niki continued to enthuse about the film. "One of the crew just told us that this afternoon they're going to shoot from a helicopter. The idea is to go slowly from a closeup of the lovers to a panorama of the whole countryside.”

  Faith didn't recall a shot like it from Max Reed's other films and it could be very effective—the camera virtually rising into the sky over Hester and Dimmesdale until they disappeared in an extra-long shot of the bleak New England landscape. The helicopter was already big news in Aleford.

  “This must be why they're shooting with Evelyn's stand-in this morning. Checking the lighting, positions.”

  Pix and Niki started to giggle. "Can't practice those positions too much:' Niki gasped.

  “You two are impossible! Pix, what would Sam say?"

  “Which one Husband would be thrilled; daughter would say—no, make that would go—`Oh, Mother.' This seems to be the extent of her conversational repertoire lately—at least with me”

  Faith wasn't looking forward to either of her children's adolescen
ce, although the Miller teens appeared fine, even fun, to a nonfamilial eye. She changed the subject. She had almost let Alden the nature lover slip from her thoughts.

  “I wish we could use this somehow in the campaign," Pix said after Faith described her chance encounter, "but I can't think how." The campaign was constantly in mind.

  “What a lech! It's disgusting. The man must be sixty at least!" Niki exclaimed.

  “His age is not the disgusting part, you ignorant child," Faith was quick to retort. So forward-thinking in everything else, Niki and her cohort aped all their predecessors and ran headlong into the "anyone over thirty" roadblock.

  “I know, I know," Niki conceded, "but would you want to go to bed with him? Probably has drawers stuffed with inflatable party pals."

  “To borrow an expression of Ben's, Yuck" Faith recoiled.

  She and Niki left Pix to return to the final lunch preparations.

  “Why are they shooting with Evelyn's stand-in and not Cappy's?" Faith wondered aloud. "He must have one."

  “You've got me," Niki said.

  “Unless Cappy wanted to do it." Sandra's striptease the night before might have been too tantalizing to resist. Or maybe Cappy just wanted to rehearse—a rehearsal falling into the category of "It's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it.”

  The crew seemed even more wired than usual. The medallions of pork with winter vegetables and pans of spanakopeta, a Greek spinach and feta cheese phyllo dough pie, disappeared in record time. No one lingered over coffee and dessert. It was obvious that today's shoot was proving more energizing than any amount of Jolt cola. The principals all ate in their trailers and their trays, too, came back early. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to get back to work.

  Alan Morris motioned to Faith. He had come to lunch later and was one of the last ones in the tent. She sat down across from him. He was scraping the last bit of the spinach pie from his plate.

  “There's plenty more. Would you like me to get you another piece?" Faith asked.