The Trouble on Highway One

by Anne McClane

  Now it was Lacey’s turn to stare like she didn’t understand. Is he talking about movie sets, or is he talking about the other thing?

  She decided to take a chance. “When?” she asked.

  “When?” he repeated.

  “Yes. When should I ask you the things I need to know?”

  “When you’re ready,” he answered. His headset crackled, and he hooked the earpiece back in. He walked off without another word or glance.

  “What if I’m ready now?” she said under her breath.

  Is he implying I’m not ready?

  Lacey returned to her desk, stewing over Eli’s words, and wondering if she’d get any sleep at all in the hours ahead.

  8

  Lacey was curious when Kevin Horner’s “guest” appeared at the studio the next day. Kevin signaled Marco, who called a break. He moved toward his guest, Allison, and gave her a tour of the set. Allison was a pale-skinned, leggy, strawberry blonde with a model-perfect face. She wore flats; with any sort of heel, she would have towered over Kevin.

  Lacey, fighting fatigue after a sum total of three hours of sleep, found it hard to focus on anything she did. She watched Allison glide around the set, warmly engaging everyone she met, and assumed that she was like Kevin: an up-and-comer. She envied Allison’s apparent ease.

  Kandace tried to insinuate herself, placing herself in conspicuous locations, trying to insert herself in the round of introductions. Lacey did the opposite, retreating to a far abandoned corner of the set. The only disadvantage to that action was that she couldn’t tell whether Kevin and Allison managed to skip Kandace.

  Later, Lacey nearly collided with the couple on their way to lunch break.

  “Nola girl!” he said. “I was looking for you earlier. Allison, this is Lacey, the one from New Orleans I was telling you about.”

  He was telling her about me? Why?

  Lacey extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Allison.”

  Allison grasped both hands around Lacey’s. “Lacey! It’s great to meet you, too! Kevin told me all about how you made him feel like a native New Orleanian.”

  Interesting. I wonder how I did that?

  The three chatted for several moments, Allison saying how she’d been to Mardi Gras once a few years ago, when she was an undergrad, how much she loved it, and how she’d been wanting to go back for Jazz Fest.

  Lacey had been positive Allison was an actress, but it wasn’t until later that afternoon that Lacey found out Allison’s vocation.

  Allison had been sitting in a corner of the set, brows furrowed, reading glasses on, tablet in her lap. She called out to Lacey as she passed, possibly looking for a distraction. Lacey politely inquired about what she was reading, and when Allison rattled off something about “phase variations in vector controls”—her ears started buzzing and everything sounded hazy, but she took note. Allison was no actress, she was a graduate student in public health.

  Lacey couldn’t linger, and she didn’t feel comfortable enough to ask just how on earth Allison had met Kevin Horner, but she was impressed. Allison seemed like she could fit in anywhere—a fashion week runway or a laboratory. She made Lacey think of Barbie.

  Feeling more than just a little intimidated, Lacey was relieved when Eli appeared at her elbow. Lacey figured that must be a first.

  “Lacey, I need your help with something,” he said.

  “Me?” Lacey asked.

  Eli stared at her, his floating eye tracking right.

  “Yeah, sure,” she said. “It was nice talking with you, Allison.”

  Allison gave Lacey a megawatt smile. “No, Lacey, stay. Eli, you don’t really need her, do you? I’m having fun with her.”

  Eli’s face became all sharp and angry angles for a split second. And returned to its normal, placid demeanor just as quickly.

  Lacey went lightheaded, and she couldn’t make sense of the interaction between Allison and Eli. She grabbed the back of her neck, wanting to make sure her head was still attached.

  “Don’t you want to hang out, Lacey?”

  Yes, I do, don’t I? Lacey opened her mouth to tell Eli she was staying when his voice cut through her thoughts. Lacey, you are needed. Now. Follow me.

  Lacey shook her head, disoriented, but Eli’s voice was like a bucket of cold water over her scalp. She was at work. She worked for Eli. Everyone seemed to work for Eli.

  She glanced at Allison as she left, detecting a slight notching down of her warmth and definitely a chill between Eli and Allison.

  “Where are we going, Eli?” Lacey asked as she hustled to keep up with him. She wanted to ask him more—especially about Allison.

  When he didn’t answer, she figured it was not the time to barrage Eli with questions. But there was one she needed to ask.

  “I’m asking because I need to check some figures and possibly re-run some reports. I don’t have to do it right away, but if we’re going to take a while . . . ”

  “This will not interfere with your other work,” he said, interrupting her. He didn’t slow down.

  “Okay, then.” Lacey decided to shut up.

  Eli led her into an edit bay.

  “Sit here,” he said, pointing to a like-new loveseat set back from a row of huge flat screen monitors.

  Lacey silently did as she was told.

  Eli pulled a rolling chair up to the row of monitors and slid out a keyboard. He started tapping and images from various recently-shot scenes cascaded down the screen in dizzying array. Lacey felt motion-sick and turned her head to look at a blank wall.

  “Pay attention,” Eli said.

  She stopped herself from saying, “I can’t.” She willed her gaze back to the screen. Mercifully, the images had slowed. Eli settled on the scene with the horse. The green screen was gone, replaced with a sylvan background, an enchanted meadow straight from a fairytale. A blank, negative, horn-shaped space sat atop the horse’s head.

  Eli clicked some buttons, and a cartoonish, spiraled horn filled the space. Punched some more buttons, and it disappeared. Again, and a more realistic horn appeared, but it looked pasted on the image.

  “Are you watching?” Eli asked.

  “Yes,” Lacey said. Feeling feisty, she asked, “Do you want me to learn CGI?”

  Eli ignored her question. “Do you know what the difference is between this . . . ” The cartoon horn appeared again on the monitor directly before him, “ . . . and this?”

  The monitor adjacent blazed to life. The mare was there with the sylvan background, just like on the other screen, but on this one she had a perfect, spiraled bone emerging from her skull, coming to a perfect point in the upper left corner of the screen. She raised her forelegs in slow motion, and her mane bristled in an unseen breeze, the sun reflecting off the glistening horn.

  “One is moving and the other is not?” she said. It seemed obvious.

  “No,” Eli said without turning around.

  “Well, there’s a lot different, Eli,” she said, drawing out the “i” sound in his name. “What are you going for?”

  “Think completion,” he said.

  Her brain started to hum. Suddenly, she knew he was trying to illustrate some aspect of her gift, but she couldn’t see the connection yet. “The one on the right is finished, the work is finished. The one in front of you isn’t. There’s still work to be done.”

  “That’s right,” he said, finally spinning around in his chair. He looked at her with his one good eye.

  “And to be more specific, there’s a difference of about ten hours between the two.”

  “You did that work?” Lacey asked, imagining Eli planted in place for ten hours, taking no breaks. It wasn’t hard to picture.

  “No, not all of it,” he answered. “But I want you to understand that you’re seeing the result of the work, witho
ut witnessing the hours of effort it took to produce it.”

  “Yes,” she said. “But isn’t that how it’s supposed to work? Isn’t that why we’re all here? No one wants to spend two hours watching someone do the monotonous behind-the-scenes work on a movie. They want to spend two hours watching the results of that work.”

  “You will need to maintain awareness of that time and effort,” Eli said, his left eye still looking straight at her.

  Lacey considered her next words. Simplest seemed best.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because time and healing co-exist. They’re symbiotic. The human body needs time to heal. If the injury or the illness is too severe, if it outweighs the amount of time available, time’s up. So to speak.”

  Lacey processed his words. She thought of Mr. LaSalle—Nathan’s father-in-law—and the gunshot wound in his stomach. “Is there something I can do about that?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Yes,” he said. “At least, to a certain degree. That’s why you need to develop a deep appreciation for time. For how much you’re able to bridge over, and how much is insurmountable, even for you.”

  “So I can control time?” Lacey asked. “Can I change the past or the future?”

  Lacey lowered her voice as someone entered the far side of the bay.

  Hopefully, they think I’m talking about a movie role.

  Eli shook his head, exasperated. “No. I’m trying to help you with insight into your particular gift,” he emphasized. “You don’t have magical control over one of the fundamental elements of the universe.”

  Lacey’s head hurt.

  “Remember to be present,” Eli said, standing. “The here and now is the only time we can affect. Any of us.”

  “Wait, Eli. I’m not sure I get this. Yet. Maybe I will, with time.” She couldn’t help smirking. Eli shook his head again.

  “No, wait, please. I do have a real question, about something I might have recently figured out.”

  Eli tilted his head, waiting for her next words.

  “So, my power needs a catalyst, right? There needs to be someone close by that needs healing, in order for my ability to rise, so to speak. Right?”

  Eli rested his chin on his hand, looking like “The Thinker” statue. He nodded slightly. “You came to that conclusion on your own?”

  Lacey became defensive. “Well, yes, it just makes sense, because I haven’t been able to get that feeling, that heat, just thinking about it. And, there was Hans, the Gaffer . . . ”

  “He’s a Grip,” Eli corrected.

  “Ugh! Okay, Hans, the Grip, had an injury on his hand, and . . . ”

  “You healed it.”

  Lacey crossed her arms across her chest, defiant. “Well, yes.”

  The side of Eli’s face turned up, that expression Lacey interpreted as his version of a smile. “Then, your power must require a catalyst in order to manifest. In other words, you cannot ‘conjure’ it unbidden. Good work.”

  Lacey unfolded her arms and stopped herself from throwing them up in the air.

  Eli walked toward the guy at the far end of the bay. “You’re free to go,” he said with his back to her. “And Lacey? Stay away from that woman. You have more important work to do.”

  Kevin Horner is a delight to watch, Lacey thought. At least that makes the time go by faster.

  She had to wait for him to finish shooting a scene, she wasn’t exactly sure why, but Kandace had been adamant about it. Lacey had tried to concentrate really hard when Kandace was talking to her and make her words speed up so she would finish and walk away in fast motion.

  So she couldn’t control time. But maybe what Eli was talking about was that she had to be sure not to waste time when someone needed healing. That her uncertainty could make the difference. She hadn’t hesitated with anyone yet, or at least she didn’t think she had. For as bad as she felt about Lawrence LaSalle dying, she didn’t think hesitation had anything to do with it. She had run to his side as soon as she was able.

  And maybe Eli didn’t want her to waste time with Allison. But she still didn’t know what his reaction was all about. Calling Allison “that woman.” Eli was cryptic by nature, but showed a clear dislike for Allison that was exceedingly un-cryptic.

  She wasn’t ready to give up daydreaming about controlling time. Not just yet. It would be most convenient, if she could speed up everything around her in the studio, and slow things down back at the rental for Ambrose, she might not need to worry so much about him being alone. He had access to the yard, and had always been so self-sufficient, but Lacey worried that the cross-country drive and time on his own had taken a toll on him. He did seem to be enjoying the Central Coast’s more temperate summer, though.

  You’re not being present, she heard a voice in her head.

  Screw you, she answered in kind. I can worry about my lovely, big-hearted, protective dog if I want.

  She tried to focus on the scene being shot. Kevin Horner delivered the wooden dialogue with just enough of a wink to charm the audience into thinking it might be better than it was. Lesser performers might let a twinge of resentment show, or worse yet, try to convince themselves that the role really wasn’t as bad as it read in the script. Not Kevin Horner. He used his particular magic to transform this TV movie into something Lacey might actually want to watch. It made her look forward to seeing the movie he shot in New Orleans. It was slated to premiere on Lifetime next month.

  “I don’t care what the world thinks of Sinead,” he said in character. “And I don’t care what Sinead thinks of the world. I care about Sinead, and that’s the heart of the matter.”

  “Cut!” Marco yelled.

  The way Kevin said the name Sinead, she imagined a million viewers wishing he would say their name that way. But what was that line even supposed to mean?

  Suddenly, Kevin Horner broke out into song, Don Henley’s “The Heart of the Matter,” a spot-on imitation of the voice and eighties-style inflections. He lampooned around the stage, putting his hand on Hans’s shoulder as he tried to unrig something, moving on to someone else when Hans wouldn’t play along.

  He scanned the sparse audience assembled off the soundstage, and zeroed in on Lacey.

  “Even if, even if, you don’t love me anymore,” he sang, pointing at her.

  Lacey laughed and played along, mouthing a silent “Me?” and turned around, confirming there was no one behind her.

  Turning her head forward again, she caught Allison standing off in a corridor directly to her right, arms folded. She detected a scowl on her face, but didn’t want to linger to find out for sure.

  Oops, Lacey thought. I hope she knows Kevin and I are just friends. And really, barely that.

  Lacey imagined her reaction if she saw Trevor flirting with someone in his audience. Her look would be similar, she was sure.

  I’ll have to make a conscious effort to not let that happen, Lacey thought. That’s a bad look.

  Eli’s comment seemed less off-the-mark now. She thought about her earlier exchange with Allison, and something seemed really wrong about it. Lacey had thought she wasn’t thinking clearly at the time, due to fatigue. But she was still fatigued, and now she could tell that something wasn’t right about it. It was almost like Allison had cast a spell.

  I definitely don’t want to go up against a jealous witch. Literally.

  Kevin Horner’s song had run its course, and the set was finally breaking. Kevin jumped off stage and sauntered toward Allison. Lacey turned in the opposite direction, intending to find Kandace. She would get the plan for tomorrow and then race home.

  Eli intercepted her before she reached Kandace.

  “Bring your dog with you to work tomorrow,” he said.

  Lacey wasn’t sure she heard him right. “Ambrose?” she asked.

  Eli glared and waited a beat. “
Do you have another dog?” he asked. Something like a smile appeared on his face.

  “How did . . . ” Lacey began to say, then stopped herself. Eli was doing his Professor X thing. A more practical concern needed attention. “I’d like to, but Kandace has told me I can’t. Liability or something.”

  “I have already spoken to Kandace Swade about it. She is expecting to see your dog here tomorrow.”

  “Really? Does he get to be in the movie?” She was punchy and trying to be lighthearted, but she still entertained the thought. Lacey imagined the small audience the movie was likely to garner falling in love with Ambrose. Then she’d have to answer fan mail, choose his next roles—become his manager.

  Eli sighed. “No, we don’t need him for a scene. Will it be a problem for you to bring him tomorrow?”

  “No, of course not. It will be nice to have him around.”

  “Good.” Eli walked off. Lacey couldn’t tell if he was speaking into his headset or shaking his head.

  9

  Edgard, Louisiana

  One autumn in the mid-twentieth century

  Birdie wasn’t sure she liked being called Birdie anymore. Morris McIntyre had called her “bird legs” for as long as she could remember. Her legs were a little on the thin side, but she figured that was the way God had made her, so there was no point in wishing for something different.

  Morris had turned from a scrawny kid to a pretty big youth just this past year. “Strapping,” Momma called him. She wondered if he was as big as Ronnie. She couldn’t believe it had been five years since she had seen Ronnie. So much had happened. Old age had finally gotten Léon. Ronnie had written Birdie a letter that made her feel better. He said that “Léon would have never made it as far as he did without her help.” Only they knew the full story of what had happened that day. Though Birdie reckoned Momma knew a lot more than she let on.