The filmmaker broke the crew for twenty while he went off to talk to Charlotte, who was sulking on the balcony by herself smoking a cigarette.
“Hey,” Loveless said quietly.
“Hey,” she responded at equal volume without turning around.
“How’s the finger?”
Charlotte spun and gave Loveless a wry expression. “Now you ask?”
“Look, I know I’m excessive by nature. And this movie means a lot to me.”
“And you don’t think it means a lot to me?”
“You didn’t let me finish. You may be the star, but I’m the director. If the film never sees the light of day or if it bombs, you’ll still be regarded based on your performance. Which is excellent, as you already know.”
Charlotte’s eyes sparked at that.
“Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation,” the filmmaker spouted definitively. “What?”
“The movie. A mediocre sequel at best. But it starred an unknown Renee Zellweger and Matthew McConaughey. Their standout performances rocketed them to stardom.”
“Huh. Didn’t know that.”
Loveless continued. “But a director only gets one first film. Which, ninety percent of the time, is also their last film. I love writing and shooting. I don’t want to do anything else.”
Charlotte was quiet, nodding her head, sensing the filmmaker had more to say.
“You know who Ed Wood was?” Loveless asked.
“No.”
“He was this filmmaker back in the nineteen-fifties. Loved horror and sci-fi. The studios wouldn’t touch him. He made bad B films, always finding some sucker investor to put money up. Well, he made a film called “Plan 9 From Outer Space.” The day he finished it, he turned to his future wife and said with total conviction, ‘This is the film I’m going to be remembered for.’ Ed Wood was right. It made him infamous. “Plan 9” is widely regarded as the worse film ever made. I mean it’s so bad it’s good. Anyway, my point is, I’d rather be Ed Wood than Bryan T. Alexander.”
“Who’s Bryan T. Alexander?”
“Exactly.”
“What? I’m lost again.”
“He was a guy in film school with me at NYU. He and I were the two most talented guys in our class. We came out to Los Angeles together. But in the end, after two really tough years, Bryan gave up on Hollywood, moved back to Arkansas where he was from, and took over running his father's dry cleaners. Bryan always hated the family business. Now he has a string of dry cleaners and is pretty successful financially.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I’d rather be Ed Wood. I’d rather suck doing something I love than be successful at something I hate.”
Charlotte was silent for a time. “I get that.” She hesitated. “What about us?”
“I’m hoping to succeed and that the rest all falls into place. Nobody likes being with a struggling artist.”
“I don’t care about money. My ex had money. He was a douche bag.”
“What about Donovan?”
Charlotte stopped and looked at Loveless. “You jealous of him? Yeah, I guess you are. Lizzy told me what she said to you. Donovan and I aren’t blood related. He was my brother’s best friend. We hooked up for a short time in high school. Ancient history. Now we’re just friends. And that’s all. Period.”
Loveless felt relieved hearing that.
“You and I have spent a lot of time together because of the movie,” Charlotte went on. “I've kind of gotten used to that. What about after? I know you’re going to go back to Los Angeles.”
“Eventually.”
“Well I’m planning on getting off this damn mountain too. I used to love it here. It was a haven to protect my Lizzy from all the ills that can befall teenagers. But I realize those ills are everywhere. Maybe it’s time to stop hiding out and move back to LA. I could increase my income there. Plus, I don’t feel safe around here anymore.”
“I was going to ask. Are you getting phone calls?”
Charlotte’s voice lowered considerably as she answered, “Yes. Started with just hang-ups. At first I thought it was Lizzy’s friends pranking me. But then came the threats. When Donovan’s place was vandalized, I realized it was because of the movie.”
Loveless looked at the ground as he asked, “Do you believe there really are Devil worshipers on this mountain?”
“Guess that’s the million dollar question.”
“Why didn’t you tell Donovan?”
“Same reason you didn’t. I want to see this movie made.”
Matty called out from inside the house, “We’re ready.”
Before going back inside, Charlotte looked at Loveless and confided, “I just don’t want to die doing it.”
Loveless was about to follow the actress back into the house, when something below caught his eye. A silver and brown coyote sat at the edge of the woods, gazing up at the balcony. The coyote was staring right at the filmmaker. Lights from the house reflected off the animal’s eyes, giving them a blood red otherworldly tint.
“You must be looking for that ole' dog Jerry,” Loveless said with a stiff smile.
The animal must not have liked his humor. It bared its teeth, a thick growl escaping from its throat. The filmmaker went inside quickly.
It was a rare night. Rare because cast and crew had the night off from shooting. Most of the movie took place during the course of one night. Halloween night. So naturally most of the shooting had to be done at night. The crew would begin setting up for the scenes in the early evening while it was still light. If they were shooting an indoor scene they could start shooting earlier, but Loveless preferred when it was dark. There were a number of times they began shooting an interior scene early and things were moving right along. Then, when they would turn around to get coverage from the reverse angle there would always be a telltale window or balcony with glass doors in the shot, still full of daylight, to bring things to a grinding halt. Then the wait would begin for nightfall. The filmmaker hated that. He hated stopping in the middle, having to wait. It was far better to begin shooting after dark. But today, they had the night off. They had to shoot some daylight scenes - like Grace driving into town - so the cast and crew needed a turn around (eight hours of rest in between shooting days).
Loveless was putting away lights, camera equipment, props, and electrical cords from the previous night’s shooting. They had filmed at his cabin home, shooting until the wee hours of the morning. Loveless, taking pity on his crew, told them to just leave everything. He’d put it away the next day. The filmmaker ended up sleeping in most of the next day and was just getting to the equipment at nightfall. He turned on a couple of movie lights to help him see. It gave the cabin home a warm atmospheric glow.
Thirty-seven minutes later, there was a knock on the front door. Loveless answered it to find a pretty, buxom blond in her mid thirties standing on his doorstep. She had a bottle of wine in her hand and a baby strapped to her back.
“Hi. We haven’t formerly met. I’m Dorothy Flynn. We’re neighbors. I live next door.” “Oh, hi. Right. I’ve seen you smoking out on your balcony. I’m J.D.”
“My husband hates it when I smoke, J.D. He’s got the most sensitive nose in the world. Can’t stand it when the house smells even the teensy bit like smoke. So I sneak a smoke every now and then out on the balcony. I’m trying to quit,” Dorothy announced as she walked past Loveless into the house looking around at all the lighting and equipment. “I knew it. You’re filming something, J.D. I saw the lights the other night. Then again tonight.” She turned and saw the filmmaker’s stupefied expression. “I’m sorry. I’m intruding, aren’t I? I’m such a snoop.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind. We’re shooting a movie.” Loveless didn’t know quite what to make of the woman with the baby on her back.
Even as she apologized, Dorothy continued to press forward, inspecting the premises.
“That your daughter? She’s pretty.” Loveless only knew it was a girl
by the pink onesie she wore. The baby was bald except for a wisp of hair and reminded the filmmaker of the cartoon character Elmer J. Fudd.
“Oh, yeah. Thanks.” Dorothy laughed. “I almost forget she’s there sometimes. This is little Chloe. She’s one year next month. My husband Joe and I are from Philly. We wanted a simpler life for our daughter." Dorothy frowned. "Don’t know how much longer we can make it on this mountain though.”
“Why’s that?” Loveless found himself saying, thinking some sinister conspiracy was about to be revealed.
“He works construction in San Bernardino. At first, we thought commuting wouldn’t be that bad. But it’s been hell on him, going up and down that mountain everyday. This is the start of our second year. Wait until it snows. You have to put those pain in the ass chains on your tires. The roads are treacherous. Sometimes they close the highways because of mud and rock slides. And the fog, thick as hell. Have you been up here for the snow yet?”
“No,” Loveless said. The woman’s nonstop talking was making his head spin.
“Oh. This is for you,” Dorothy said, remembering the bottle of wine she was holding in her hand. It had a gift ribbon around its neck. She handed it to the filmmaker.
“Thank you.”
“If you don’t mind my asking.” Dorothy bit her lip. “What kind of movie are you making?”
“A horror film.”
“Drats!"
"Huh?"
"Sorry. I’m home alone a lot. So I get a little bored.”
Loveless still didn't understand.
Dorothy nodded, understanding his expression as she removed the baby from her back and plopped down on the couch. “I was hoping you were shooting a porno.”
Before Loveless could think of a response of any kind, the woman popped out her right breast and began feeding baby Chloe. The infant grabbed the mammary with both hands as she suckled. Dorothy smiled at Loveless sweetly.
Trying to take his mind and eyes off the woman’s D cup sized breast, the filmmaker asked, “This might not be the right moment to ask something like this, but have you ever heard about Satanic or occult practices in the backwoods up here on this mountain?”
“Only Joe when he gets a snootful. He’s Irish. So it brings the Devil right out of him.” Dorothy saw the disappointment on the filmmaker’s face. “Seriously, J.D., this is one bizarre mountain. Once you get outside Lake Arrowhead,” a pall of deep shadows fell over her face like a shroud as she leaned forward, “I wouldn’t be surprised what goes on in those woods.”
Later that night, Loveless was still thinking about what Dorothy the bored housewife had said as he drove back to Arrowhead from Crestline. He had dropped some equipment off at a house they had rented there for additional shooting. It was half the price of the Strawberry Lodge, yet the rooms would still match the look and feel. The housewife definitely had mountain fever. As far as the filmmaker was concerned, he was the one who had coined that gem of a term. He heard about people in Hawaii who got island fever and desperately needed to get off the island. Loveless never understood it though. How could you get cooped up in paradise? He could however understand mountain fever. Charlotte probably had it as well. The filmmaker could see it in both women’s eyes: they wanted the hell off the mountain.
He was contemplating this when a flashing red light appeared in his rearview mirror. “What the hell?” Loveless said to himself out loud. The police vehicle whooped only once as it pulled the filmmaker over. This was one damn isolated stretch of road, the filmmaker noted to himself with a sudden tinge of paranoia before dismissing it.
There was only one officer in the vehicle. He got out pulling up his belt with bluster. He approached Loveless with one hand on the gun in his hip holster. In the other hand was a long silver metal flashlight, which also would have made a great baton.
“License and registration please.”
The filmmaker fumbled for several seconds while producing the items as the sheriff’s deputy took a walk around the SUV. Through the semi-tinted back windows, the officer saw a box of props on the backseat. Next to this was some wardrobe for the actors.
“Not sure what I did, officer,” Loveless said holding his ID out the window.
The sheriff’s deputy took the items, looked at them, then back to the filmmaker to confirm he was the man on the driver’s license. The officer pocketed the IDs as he spat out a wad of chewing tobacco. Loveless could see that the man had teeth stained bright brown. Oddly, his two front teeth were missing. The man was clearly a backwoods hick who had probably never been off the mountain. The more the filmmaker observed the officer, the less he felt like he was dealing with a man of the law. This joker just didn’t fit the profile.
“You always go joyriding through these woods at night like you’re in the Indianapolis 500?”
“I wasn’t going fast, officer.”
“You always drive around at this time of night?”
“I was just dropping some things- ”
“Got an answer for everything, don’t you, smart-ass?” The sheriff’s deputy stepped back suddenly, shined his flashlight in the filmmaker’s eyes, unsnapped his holster and drew his gun. “STEP OUT OF THE VEHICLE, NOW!”
“What?” Loveless said in utter shock, even as he was complying with the man who had a gun pointed at his face. The filmmaker got out the car, now sensing true danger in this armed stranger.
“On your knees.”
“What?” Loveless’ internal panic was rising fast.
“I SAID, ON YOUR KNEES!”
The filmmaker sank down to his knees. He knew enough at this point to keep quiet. Maybe that would defuse the situation.
“Big city boy. Think you know things, huh? You don’t know jack shit!”
Loveless had no idea what the man was talking about.
“Come up here to our mountain and act like you’re a big shot. Like you’re running the show.” The sheriff’s deputy closed the gap and stuck the gun in the filmmaker’s face. It was beginning to feel like an execution scene straight out of a movie to Loveless. “Well you ain’t running shit now, is you?”
Loveless remained quiet. He didn’t realize the officer was expecting an answer.
“IS YOU?”
“No.”
“Got bodies buried in these hills. Stupid fuck-ups just like you.”
The filmmaker looked down, not wanting to engage the psycho officer. Loveless saw the man’s shoes. Sneakers. They weren’t even close to regulation attire for a sheriff’s deputy. It was then that the filmmaker began trembling uncontrollably.
“Stand up.”
Loveless got to his feet slowly.
“Walk.” the officer waved his gun towards the woods.
“What?” The filmmaker cried with total alarm.
“WALK,” the sheriff’s deputy said as he moved behind Loveless and gave him a swift kick in the butt to get him going. An adrenaline surge kicked in. Instinctively, the filmmaker knew this was a funeral march, that he was walking to his own execution. The sheriff’s deputy was something right out of a God damn Nicaraguan death squad.
“I’ll leave,” the filmmaker found himself blurting out. “I’ll leave this mountain right now, tonight and never come back.”
The officer spit tobacco on a tree as they passed, “Damn right you’re leaving. Only not the way you think.” The hick cop actually laughed.
They were coming to an area where the trees thinned out, walking along the edge of an embankment. Lumber jacks had cut down a number of tagged trees in the vicinity, leaving only smooth stumps. With the aid of the hick officer’s flashlight, the filmmaker could see the dark hole ahead of him, at the edge of this clearing. It was a freshly dug grave. A shovel rested next to it against a tree. This was planned. Loveless came to a dead stop about twenty feet away from the hole.
“Go on now. Keep moving,” the sheriff’s deputy kicked the filmmaker hard in the butt, shoving him forward again.
“You don’t have to do this. Please, don
’t do this,” Loveless now pleaded as he walked. The officer cackled. 'Go ahead. Laugh, shithead,' the filmmaker thought, now furious. He was already planning to run in another step or two. He’d rather be shot in the back trying to escape, than knowingly climb down into his own grave. There was no way he was going to do that. Loveless tensed, ready. Suddenly, he heard a branch snap behind him. The sheriff’s deputy had lost his footing at the edge of the embankment. The filmmaker turned to see the man sliding down the steep hill, trying to grab onto tree branches to stop his descent and keep his balance. In this scramble the man lost his flashlight.
Loveless couldn’t tell if the man still had his gun or not, but he turned and started hauling ass back in the direction of his SUV. The filmmaker jumped back out onto the road, scrambled into his truck and drove out of there as if his life depended on it. Considering the circumstances, Loveless was most likely right.
The filmmaker went straight to Charlotte’s condo and told her everything. Lizzy was asleep in her bedroom upstairs.
“What the fuck is going on?” Loveless said in an anxious low tone so as not to wake Lizzy.
“I don’t know. But if he’s got your ID, they probably have an APB out on you by now. “How do you know that?”
“Had a few run-ins with the law myself, when I was young.”
“I haven’t!”
“You’re going to have to head this off by going to the sheriff’s station first.”
“That lunatic was going to kill me! Had a grave dug for me. He’ll probably say I attacked him or something. ”
THE BLACK ALBUM: A Hollywood Horror Story Page 15