Rough Cut

by Brian Pinkerton

  Stegman had cleaned up and dressed up. He wore a crisp, white shirt, fashionable dark slacks, and spotless new shoes. He had shaved off the patchy goatee and neatly pinned the ponytail behind his head. He looked sane...even handsome.

  Harry’s fingernails dug deep into his palms. Several times he started to speak, but he couldn’t find words to express the cacophony in his mind. Stegman and Rachel together created a horribly wrong, impossible image, a Photoshop creation, perhaps, but not a moment in real life...

  “Could we have another glass for our friend?” asked Rachel, and the waiter said, “Certainly.”

  The waiter filled three glasses with bubbly.

  Rachel lifted up her glass. “A toast.”

  Stegman lifted his glass. “To a new star.”

  Harry didn’t touch his glass. He wiped a hand across the air. “Hold on. Hold everything. Wait.”

  Rachel and Stegman stared back at him.

  “Somebody...please explain what’s going on,” said Harry.

  Rachel looked at Harry, puzzled. “What’s to explain? I answered an ad in Backstage. It was for a movie. Marcus is the director. I had an audition on Monday.”

  “And she passed with flying colors,” said Marcus, beaming. “She was perfect, Harry. I cast her the next day.”

  “What movie?” said Harry, nearly breathless. “What role?”

  Stegman sighed. “Harry, you know about my new movie. I told you all about it. How soon you forget. It’s a tribute to horror films. It’s about the ultimate, obsessed horror fan who kills people in character as his favorite horror film killers. I’m going to pay homage to all the greats, the classics of the twentieth century. And Rachel —she will be in a scene that honors the greatest of the greats. A little film called Psycho.”

  “Yes,” said Rachel. “We’re going to recreate the shower sequence, one of the most famous movie scenes of all time.”

  “No,” said Harry, very quietly at first, but then his voice kept rising and tightening. “No. No. NO!”

  Rachel looked shocked.

  Stegman feigned shock. “Comrade, what has gotten into you?”

  “I’m not your comrade.” Harry stood up and faced Rachel, addressing her forcefully. “You will not make a movie with this man.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” said Harry. “Because...because his movies are crap.”

  “Harry!” said Rachel, stunned.

  “Dear me,” said Stegman. He put down the champagne glass. “Rachel, I feared this would happen...”

  “Harry, this is your friend,” said Rachel.

  Stegman’s face saddened, a hurt puppy dog expression.

  “But friends can still harbor rivalries. I fear that Harry’s hostilities stem from professional jealousy. That’s OK. I admire a competitive spirit. We all want to be the best. We all want to hire the best actors and actresses. We all want to make the very best movie possible.”

  “That’s not it,” said Harry, but he was stuck because the real reason could never see the light of day.

  “We should be supportive of each other and promote our genre. There is nothing to be gained from being adversaries,” said Stegman. “Harry, I have always treated you with the highest admiration and respect. I would do anything for you. Say, that reminds me. Did you get my package?”

  “Package?”

  “Sure. The other night. A great big package. Rather roundish. I had it delivered to your house. Did you like it?”

  “What are you —“ Then Harry realized: Wiggins. He exclaimed, “I don’t want anymore ‘presents’ from you!”

  Stegman turned his attention to Rachel. He turned on the charm full power. “Rachel is vibrant and beautiful and one heck of an actress. I’m sure there is plenty of her to go around, isn’t there Rachel?”

  “Harry, I still want to do a movie with you too,” she said. “It’s not about doing a movie with me,” said Harry. “It’s about not doing a movie with him.” “This is how you treat your old friend from film school?” she asked.

  “Friend? Film school?”

  Stegman shook his head sadly. “Perhaps I should go.”

  “No,” said Rachel. “Please join us.”

  “No,” said Harry. “Please leave.”

  “Harry,” said Rachel.

  “You’re intruding on our dinner,” Harry told Stegman. “I want you to leave now. Get out of here before I have you thrown out. I’m serious. Get out. Now!”

  Stegman turned to face Rachel. “I’m so sorry. This is all so...unnecessary. Perhaps it’s just not in the cards for us to work together. A missed opportunity. Oh well. Maybe some other time. Enjoy your dinner.”

  He gave Harry a hard look. “Goodbye, Harry.” Then he left.

  Harry watched him go. He didn’t sit back down until Stegman had left the restaurant.

  Rachel was livid.

  “What’s the matter with you?” she said in a tone harsher than Harry had ever heard from her before.

  “Believe me, you do not want to work with that man.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re better than him.”

  She fell back against her chair in disbelief. “What does that mean?”

  “He makes...cheap little horror movies.”

  “That’s what you do!”

  “Right. And remember when you turned me down, you said it wasn’t the vehicle you were looking for.”

  “That was then; this is now,” she told him. “Low-budget horror movies are all the rage, thanks to you. You made them a hot property. They’re popular like never before, and I want to be part of the action.”

  “It’s a bad way to launch a career.”

  “It wouldn’t kill me to do this film, Harry.”

  Harry swallowed hard.

  “It’s just one short, simple scene,” she said.

  “Right. The shower scene from Psycho. I hate to tell you, but it’s already been done before, and it’s been done very well, I might add. What’s the point? Where’s he going to film it? In his house?”

  “The Stardust Motel.”

  “Stardust Motel? That place went out of business and closed down weeks ago.”

  “So he’s renting the space. He probably got a good deal.”

  “If he’s even asking permission.”

  “This conversation is ridiculous.”

  “His movie is ridiculous. I’m telling you, Rachel, honestly, from the heart, don’t do this movie.”

  She studied him. “You really are jealous, aren’t you? Just like in the car tonight, talking about Nigel Howard. All this jealousy is not healthy, Harry.”

  “I’m not jealous about Marcus Stegman.” “Then why are you so adamant that I not work with him? I really resent being told who I can and can’t work for.”

  The appetizers arrived. Neither one of them glanced at the food. Harry felt sick to his stomach. “Let’s just drop this,” he said.

  “No. I’m not going to ‘just drop it.’ You’ve been acting weird all week, and I think I deserve an explanation.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss. Can we forget this?”

  “No, we can’t.” She stood up and snatched her purse. “I’ve had enough of this. I’m leaving.” “Where are you going?’ “I’m going home,” said Rachel, and she left the booth. Harry quickly got up to follow. He caught up with her just outside the restaurant’s entrance. “Rachel—“

  She spun around to look at him. “What.”

  “Please. It’s very important that you stay away from Marcus Stegman.”

  “God!” she said. “Is that all you’re concerned about? That I might act in his movie?”

  “Promise me you won’t be in his movie.”

  She nodded. “All right. All right. Fine. I won’t be in his movie. But here’s another declaration: this relationship is over.”

  She turned from him and headed down the sidewalk, weaving past the valet parking attendants. Harry followed.

  “Rachel —”
<
br />   “I don’t want to go out with you anymore, Harry,” she said, not looking back at him. “Let’s face it, we’re not having fun. Why don’t we just break up now, cleanly, OK?”

  “Rachel, that’s not what I want.”

  “It’s what I want. I’m sorry, Harry.”

  “Rachel,” he called after her. “You don’t understand!”

  She stopped abruptly. She faced him, ice cold. “I don’t understand? Then explain it to me. Now.”

  She looked hard at Harry. He shrunk back. “I can’t,” he said.

  “Fine. Then it’s over.”

  Rachel reached the street corner and hailed an oncoming taxicab. Within a minute, she was headed down Rodeo Drive, without him.

  Harry watched the cab vanish into the night. He couldn’t move. His entire insides felt like they were crumbling.

  42

  “How was dinner?”

  Rachel didn’t answer. She hurried past Maria and made a straight line for her bedroom.

  “Rachel, what’s wrong?”

  “N-n-nothing,” she said, but a sob escaped from her throat. Not a very convincing answer.

  Rachel entered her bedroom and slammed the door. She heard Maria call out, “What’s going on?”

  Rachel didn’t reply. She pulled off the expensive strapless dress she had bought from a boutique on Melrose Avenue and dumped it on the floor. She put on her frumpiest pajamas, the ones with the tear at the shoulder seam. Then she climbed into bed and brought the sheets up high.

  Maria knocked lightly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  Maria entered anyway. She opened the door a crack and slipped in, holding out a bag of chocolate chip cookies. “You sure?”

  “We broke up,” said Rachel, sitting up, reaching for a cookie.

  Maria came over and sat with her on the bed. “Oh no. How come?”

  “I don’t know,” Rachel sniffled. She bit into a cookie. “That’s the weird part...”

  Over the next hour, Rachel ate most of the cookies and used up all of the Kleenex. She told her roommate about the evening’s disastrous dinner date.

  “He became all possessive and jealous,” said Rachel. “It was a side of him I’ve never seen before. It scared me. There was all this weird tension. He was so adamant about me not appearing in this movie.”

  “Well screw him,” said Maria. “You have your career to think about. Who is he to tell you what to do? You don’t need somebody like that in your life. You’re independent.”

  “I can’t believe I’m crying like a 14-year-old,” said Rachel.

  “Get it all out of your system,” said Maria, “because tomorrow’s a new day. We’ll just forget this creep like he never happened, and start over.”

  “I wish it was that easy.”

  “Trust me,” said Maria. “It is.”

  Rachel slept deep into the following morning, the outside world removed by drawn shades. During scattered waking moments, she refused to look at the clock, rolled over and returned to sleep. Day, night, who cares? She had no motivation to get up and do anything.

  When Maria creaked the door open at ten-thirty, Rachel told her to go away.

  “You got flowers,” Maria responded.

  Rachel sat up and rubbed her face. “Flowers?”

  “Come see.”

  Rachel left the bedroom and stumbled into the light of the living room. A large, colorful bouquet sat on the coffee table in a vase.

  “They just arrived,” said Maria. “There’s a note. Read it. I’ll bet they’re ‘sorry flowers’ from Harry. That prick.”

  Rachel took the small, pink envelope from the table and opened it. She slid out a rectangular note.

  “What’s it say?” said Maria, trying to glance over her shoulder.

  “It’s not from Harry,” said Rachel. “It’s from Marcus Stegman.”

  Maria smiled. “Ah, a new man in your life.”

  Rachel read the note aloud, “Shine bright, my star. Looking forward to an exquisite performance. Marcus.”

  Maria slapped a hand on her chest. “God, that’s so sweet. I’ve never gotten flowers from a director. Even the ones I’ve slept with.”

  “I told Harry I wouldn’t do this movie.”

  Maria wrinkled her nose. “So what? You guys broke up. It doesn’t matter what he wants. It’s what you want.”

  Rachel put down the card and admired the flowers. “God, I’m so confused.”

  “Make the movie, if that’s what you really want to do. If you pass this up, you might never forgive yourself.”

  The phone rang.

  Maria picked it up off a table. “Hello?” She listened, then said, “Just a moment.”

  Maria passed the phone over, mouthing, “Marcus.”

  Rachel answered. “Hello?”

  The voice spoke in her ear as smooth as silk. “Hello, Ms. Stoller. It’s Marcus. I hope you are doing well this morning.”

  “Thank you for the flowers.”

  “Good, they arrived. You’re most welcome. It’s the least I could do after last night. I felt so bad you had to sit through that argument. Harry and I, we’ve had our ups and downs over the years. Sometimes, I think he just gets a little...controlling.”

  “I’ve never seen him get like that before.”

  “It’s unfortunate,” said Stegman. “You never know what’s going to set him off. But that’s not the reason I called. I have a rather urgent matter. The shooting schedule’s been moved up for your big scene. We just found out that we must tape this afternoon, rather than next week, because we’re going to lose the location.”

  “I haven’t rehearsed...”

  “You’ll be great. Rehearsal is for amateurs.”

  Rachel took a deep breath. “You want to film me, the scene, today?” She looked at Maria for a reaction.

  Maria signaled thumbs up with a vigorous nod.

  “Well...OK,” said Rachel.

  “Great. Thank you for being so flexible,” said Stegman. “You remember where we’re filming?”

  “Yes. The Stardust Motel. I know the location.”

  “Can you be there in...one hour?”

  “One hour?” said Rachel, startled.

  Maria continued to nod vigorously, thumbs still up.

  “I guess so,” said Rachel. “Sure, one hour. I’ll get dressed fast.”

  “Fabulous,” said Stegman. “I can’t wait. This will be the centerpiece of the movie. You are going to give the performance of a lifetime.”

  “I’ll try my best,” she said, almost giggling at his hyperbole.

  “See you in one hour, Ms. Stoller.”

  After Rachel hung up, Maria told her, “Way to go. You made the right choice. C’mon, girl, high five me.”

  Rachel smacked her the high five.

  Rachel showered and enjoyed the irony of showering to prepare for the filming of a shower scene. She dressed in her favorite hot pink sleeveless top and snug jeans, fully aware that it was all going to come off anyway, for the cameras.

  Freshened up, Rachel grew excited by her good fortune: handpicked to pay homage to one of the great movie moments of all time. A chance to become a part of the Psycho legacy.

  She had never expected her big break to be a shower scene, but that was fine with her. The timing was right. Might as well show off this body while it’s still trim and youthful, she thought to herself. Preserve it on film, because as soon as the flab arrives with the varicose veins, the clothes stay on.

  She realized then how badly she wanted to do this. She was going to give it her all. Harry’s cranky protests faded away. They no longer mattered. He was simply jealous.

  Maria gave Rachel one more high five as she headed out the door. “A star is born,” called out Maria.

  The word “star” resonated with Rachel as she drove down Sunset Boulevard in her MINI Cooper Convertible, top down, inviting the sunny skies in. Rachel let the wind blow her hair, accelerated the car, and propelled her
career toward stardom.

  43

  The fax machine hummed. Paul Jacobs walked over and received the latest sales report from B&B Distributors. He scanned the numbers, knowing they would be big, but they were bigger. “Amazing,” he said out loud. The success of Deadly Desires had revitalized demand for all of PJ Productions’ output. The DVDs were flying off the shelves —everything from Slash to Swamp Monster. The entire library would soon need to be repressed.

  Best of all, the sales prospects for a Deadly Desires DVD were monstrous. Paul had already entertained several offers that filled his eyeballs with dollar signs. The DVD needed to be a top priority while the property was hot. It would be the real moneymaker. The theatrical release was just a taste of the profits to come.

  Paul needed Harry to record a director’s commentary, pronto. He needed outtakes, bloopers, interviews with the cast. Harry had to get back to work and support the success. The neurotic recluse bit was wearing thin. Paul would have to get stern. After all, it was his company. It was time for Harry to face the fame.

  The phone rang. Paul picked it up. The University of Illinois wanted to hold a four-day Harry Tuttle film festival. Could Harry appear on the final night for a Q&A with the audience? They could pay $5,000 plus travel and expenses.

  The phone rang again. The latest numbers were in from overseas. Deadly Desires had moved up one slot to become the third highest grossing film of the week in Italy, edging out Adam Sandler, while holding steady at number two in Germany.

  The phone rang again and caller ID listed Rolling Stone magazine. Paul needed a break. He let voicemail grab it and heard the request, “...would like to interview Mr. Tuttle for a feature story...” Paul left his desk to get more coffee.

  Alongside the coffee maker, a small radio played. Paul filled his mug and added half-and-half from the little fridge, while listening to the day’s headlines.

  As Paul took a long sip, the newscast began discussing the latest development in the Walter Wiggins case.

  Paul leaned in to listen.

  The anchor announced, “We have new information to pass along in the Walter Wiggins murder investigation. A source close to the investigation reports that a broken wristwatch was found with the body and may have belonged to the killer. According to the source, the watch has a gold wristband and sports an engraving that says, ‘Scary Harry.’ Investigators handling the case are still —”