The remaining cast and crew dispersed, and Sheila found herself the last one standing up on set. She felt sorry for the animal, and sick from the incident. She knew it would be considerably longer than five minutes before everyone was back.
Sheila returned to the camera and sat on the seat of the dolly. Instinctively, she pulled out her iPhone to check for messages before remembering there was no cell phone reception. The last of Roland’s texts were from last night. She’d caught up and read them all this morning before she got on the shuttle. Who knew if he was still texting her? She wondered how long he’d keep trying to contact her to apologize, and wondered what he’d say. She was curious to know what he was doing at that moment. Is he with Lisa? She thought back to times when the three of them were together, cooking in the kitchen, hanging out, and tried to remember if there were romantic signals between them that she did not pick up on. She wondered who made the first move. She was pretty sure it was Roland, but who knew? He had one hell of a libido.
Alone, sitting next to the camera, she felt incredibly vulnerable. There was nothing in her life now, no family, no boyfriend, and hardly any friends. All she had was her career, and that was going nowhere fast. She thought about moving back to North Carolina but realized there was nothing for her there. Besides, that would be admitting failure. Sheila reminded herself she needed to stay strong. There’s light at the end of the tunnel, I just can’t see it yet.
She hated that there was no cell phone reception because she wanted to finally return Roland’s texts to lash out but it would have to wait until the end of the day. He knew her mom had just died. He knew she needed him now more than ever. How could he be so cold?
Why does heartbreak have to hurt so much?
Alone, Sheila allowed tears to flow. She couldn’t let anyone from the crew see her, but there wasn’t anyone around and nobody was coming back anytime soon. This was a safe place. Nobody would ever know. It reminded her of that movie Broadcast News when Holly Hunter snuck private moments to cry all by herself, then got back to her frantic life. Sheila let herself weep, got it out of her system, and afterward felt better.
Over an hour later, Stuart was able to assemble everyone except Tami back to set. Sheila learned that Patches had gotten spooked and somehow broke his leg while coming out of the horse trailer. Stuart made an announcement that a veterinarian was tending to the animal and that, “everything was going to be fine.”
Sheila was in earshot when Eddie pulled Stuart aside. “Don’t sugarcoat it,” Eddie said. “They’re going to have to put the horse down.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve seen plenty of horses break down. With the front leg like that …” Eddie said, shaking his head.
“What makes you the expert?” Stuart said, annoyance in his tone.
“I’ve been to the track enough to know when a horse can be saved and when it needs to be euthanized.”
“But it’s not a racehorse. It doesn’t need to run.”
“Doesn’t matter. The animal would go crazy from the pain, and a host of other problems would likely follow.”
“Like what?” Stuart asked.
“Infection. I’m not an expert, but if the vet decides to put it down … it’s the right thing to do.”
“So killing the horse is the right thing?” Stuart said, cynical.
“If you don’t believe me, ask the vet.”
Twenty minutes later Tami still had not reported to set. After much conversing on the radio, Sam Carver arrived and held a brief conference with Eddie, Giovanni, and Stuart. Then Stuart announced to all that Tami would not be working for the rest of the day. Sheila could see Eddie took this hard.
The remainder of the workday was spent shooting a handful of short scenes and pieces of scenes in and around the Western town. Since Jimmy and Lucky were tied up with Patches, no horses were available for the background. Giovanni’s solution was to shoot with long lenses so the audience wouldn’t miss them. Wide lenses show off more of the location, but a long lens features the subjects up close while the background falls out of focus. Sheila was tasked with keeping focus, never easy using long lenses. She hoped she’d nailed it but wasn’t sure.
To Stuart’s dismay, Eddie was right. Sheila watched the veterinarian, a middle-aged woman dressed in a polo shirt and khakis, pull out an oversized hypodermic needle from a leather pouch and approach the horse. After a few minutes, it stopped breathing and she covered the carcass with a tarp.
Jimmy the wrangler stood aside, devastated.
Sheila felt incredibly sad. There had been so much death in her life, first her mother, and now this. Lunch was served, but she didn’t feel like eating.
They went back to work and later that afternoon an old black truck arrived. Men in jumpsuits piled out. Sheila was expecting a large animal ambulance of some kind, something white and official looking. Instead a sign on the side of the greasy truck read Tri-County Rendering and, upon closer inspection, in smaller letters, By-Product Processing. The men hooked the carcass to a winch. It slowly pulled the limp horse through the dust, up a ramp, and into the truck. Black diesel smoke spewed from the truck’s exhaust before it drove away.
With the grisly image of the lifeless horse being dragged through the dirt ingrained in her brain, Sheila had a hard time concentrating. She blew a shot and they had to reset to do another take, her fault. Sheila felt horrible and apologized. It seemed everybody was off their game.
At wrap, Sam returned and summoned Eddie, Giovanni, and Stuart for another meeting. Sheila could sense thick tension as they all piled into Don’s van for the drive down the hill. Then, with help from Luther, she put everything away, locked the camera truck, and caught the shuttle back to the Gold Strike.
The buffet dinner was a somber affair. Jimmy had clearly been drinking. He grew emotional as he explained what had happened. “Patches’ hoof got caught in the space between the trailer and the ramp,” he said, “then she panicked, didn’t understand.”
He clearly loved the horse. Sheila felt sorry for him.
After dinner, most moved to the hotel bar or sat around the lobby with their noses in cell phones or laptops, but Sheila went to her room and took a hot shower. Afterward, wrapped in a Gold Strike terry-cloth robe, she finally gave in. It was time to return Roland’s call.
“Hey,” she said, cautious.
“Did you get my voice mails and texts?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you respond?”
She said nothing.
“Sheila … I’m sorry. Let me expl—”
“How could you?”
“I don’t know. It just happened. I don’t love Lisa, I love you.”
“Bullshit!” she said. “If you loved me you wouldn’t be fucking her.”
There was a pause before he said, “It’s not what you think.”
“What should I think, Roland? She’s my roommate.”
“I don’t know.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“When you were in North Carolina I ran into her one night.”
“Where?”
“The Third Street Promenade.”
“In a bar?”
“Misfit. It was random. I’d forgotten my leather jacket at your place so we went back to get it. It just sort of happened,” he said.
“You made it happen.”
He said nothing.
“And you kept going back,” she accused.
“Her idea.”
“You agreed.”
More silence.
“How many times?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Tell me how many more times.”
“Does it matter?”
“I hate you,” she said and hung up on him. He called back but she didn’t answer, put her phone on silent
. She thought about calling Lisa and screaming at the bitch, asking her why she stabbed her in the back, but decided it was best not to engage. Fuck her.
She turned on the TV to take her mind off it all and eventually fell asleep.
In her dream she was sitting in the makeup trailer and looking at herself in the mirror. She felt an increasing tightness in her chest, couldn’t breathe, and the color of her skin was rapidly changing. It was just like what she’d witnessed when her mother’s life slipped away—her skin transforming from living flesh-tone to a lifeless, ashen gray.
She awoke and for a moment didn’t know where she was, then remembered that she was in a hotel room, on a shoot. She went into the bathroom and turned on the light. In the mirror she could see she wasn’t dying, at least not tonight, but she thought she looked old and haggard. No wonder why he left me. Lisa is prettier than me. She checked her phone. There were texts, ones he’d sent after she’d hung up—“Call me, I’m sorry”—plus a voice mail. She couldn’t forgive him. It was over, and she knew it. Why did it have to hurt so much?
Sheila set the alarm on her phone, pulled down the covers, and crawled into bed. Onward, she willed herself. No turning back. She imagined what Roland was doing, whether he’d go to Lisa and spend the night. Would they talk about her? Probably. She tried to force herself to think of something else. She wondered where those men had taken the dead horse.
Chapter
TWENTY
Eddie, after the disastrous first day, was focused on one thing only—getting his drink on. But he knew he had business to attend to first. Immediately after wrap he’d joined Stuart, Giovanni, and Sam for an emergency production meeting. In Carver’s hotel suite, Sam dropped the bomb and explained, “Tami’s agent doesn’t think she can work tomorrow.” Sam then asked Stuart to see if it was possible to “adjust the schedule in the event Tami, in her fragile state of mind,” as he facetiously phrased it, “needs more than a day to collect herself.”
“The trouble is,” Stuart said, “Tami’s in almost every scene. If she doesn’t work tomorrow, or the next day, we’re boned.”
“Boned?” Sam questioned.
“It wouldn’t be good.”
The urge for a drink was so strong and Eddie had a hard time concentrating. He envisioned the mini vodka bottles waiting in the drawer of his room, calling his name. No, maybe he’d go for the single malt scotch. The “brown” would certainly put him in the right place, the warm and safe environment he yearned for.
Sam said, “Eddie, you’ve got to talk to Tami. Make her promise to work tomorrow. Can you do that?”
“Now?”
“Yes, go see her.”
The brown would have to wait.
* * *
As Diane answered the door, Eddie could see she’d been crying, eyes red, mascara slightly smeared. “Hey, Diane. You all right?”
She gave him a nod but he could tell she was covering up.
“Tami here?” he asked.
“Come in.” She led him through the foyer and said, “That was so cruel.”
“A horrible accident,” Eddie said.
“That poor horse’s leg bent back like that,” Diane said. “And then to kill … they didn’t have to do that,” she said with resentment, “they could have saved her. You could have insisted. You’re the director.”
Eddie said nothing.
They entered the living room. Tami was on the phone.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” Connie asked.
“No, thank you,” Eddie said, figuring it would be bad form to ask for what he really wanted.
“My director’s here,” Tami said into the phone, “Let me call you back.” She hung up. Clearly flustered, the receiver fell out of the cradle and she fumbled with it before placing it back on its stand. “We’re all so shaken,” she said. “That poor horse.”
“Tragic,” Eddie said. “Are you all right?”
“Hardly.”
He sat next to her on the couch.
“Why did they have to kill her?” Diane asked.
“That was more than just a fracture, it was a snapped leg,” he explained. “The horse would never be able to stand again. The wound would likely become infected and Patches would suffer a painful, horrible death. As majestic and powerful as horses are with all that muscle, they are also quite delicate.”
“You know a lot about them?” Diane asked cynically.
“Some. I know from horse racing,” he said.
“Horse racing?” she questioned with a tone of disdain.
“I’ve been to the track a few times. Some of my colleagues have owned racehorses and I know a few trainers.”
Disapprovingly, Diane snorted and crossed her arms.
“We’re all so crushed,” Tami said. “That was my agent, Bernie, on the phone. We’ve been discussing it,” she said, her eyes becoming glassy, “and I don’t know if I can …”
“Tami, it’s crucial that we press on. We can’t let this unfortunate incident stop us from making your wonderful movie.”
“I’m an emotional wreck,” she said, tears welling.
“I understand, but I sense you’re also very strong.”
“I’m not that strong. I’m extremely sensitive, especially when it comes to animals.”
“If this were the Old West, what would your character do?”
Tami paused to consider.
“She wouldn’t give up,” Eddie continued. “She’d dust herself off and press on.”
“Have you spoken to Sam about our Boston scene, and how important that is to me?”
He knew he couldn’t be honest at that moment. Eddie said, “Yes, and we’re looking into how we can include it in our schedule. It will have to be shot back in town. Universal has a brownstone street on their backlot that will pass for old Boston. I’m thinking we shoot there one night.” Eddie knew Sam had no intention of including that scene, but this was not the time to deliver the bad news.
“Universal?” she said, hopeful.
“Yes.”
Tami nodded and looked around to the others for support. They all shared silent nods before Tami dropped her head, rubbed her temples, and only after a deep, dramatic sigh announced, “You’re right. We shall press on.”
“It’s the right thing to do,” Eddie said.
“I want to dedicate the film to that pony.”
“Excuse me?”
“Like they do for cast and crew that pass away during a production, you know, you’ve seen it, a title card at the end. The very first card before the final credits roll, and then maybe with a picture of Patches. Can we do that? And plug my nonprofit?”
“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” said Eddie. Now he really needed a drink.
“If you can promise me that …”
Eddie stood. He could not promise anything but instead bellowed, “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse,” for Tami’s benefit.
Tami applauded and said, “Yes, yes. Shakespeare.”
“Excuse me, but I have much to do tonight. Can I expect to see you at call time?” he asked Tami, then turned to the others, “All of you?”
The women looked to Tami.
She gave them a nod. “We’ll be there,” Tami said. “With bells on.”
* * *
“Thank God,” Sam said, relieved when Eddie returned with the good news. “Let’s celebrate.” He grabbed the room service menu. “I’ll have them bring up a bottle of champagne.”
Eddie’s mind was already set on scotch, not wimpy-ass champagne. “I have an idea,” he suggested, “I’ve got a bottle of single malt in my room. What do you say I get that and save you the expense of room service?”
“It’s no big deal.”
“Sure, but we deserve a proper dram, sir. It’s what men drink. Scotch whiskey. And the w
ay they mark up room service around here …” Eddie said, having a pretty good idea Sam would choose the less expensive option.
“That’s why I like you, Eddie. Not only can you calm the nerves of our crazy actress but you’re always thinking about how to save the production a buck.”
“My aesthetic is all about economy.”
“Get the whiskey.”
By the time Eddie retrieved the bottle and returned to Sam’s suite, Mike had brought up paper plates of spaghetti from the buffet and filled the ice bucket. Eddie poured for Sam, himself, and Mike. With things back on track, Eddie could finally relax. He took a seat in the armchair and sipped. They ate pasta and over-buttered garlic bread and washed it down with twelve-year-old scotch.
After receiving a text message on his phone, Mike excused himself, “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
“His girlfriend,” Sam said after Mike was gone. “To be in our early twenties again, my friend, chasing tail … those were the days.”
Eddie remembered seeing Sam’s sultry brunette receptionist in the hotel lobby on the coach snuggled close to Mike and figured she was his girlfriend. “He’s a good kid,” Eddie said.
“Yeah, but he’s still got a lot to learn.”
They poured another and Eddie told him about Tami’s request to dedicate the film to the dead horse.
“She is truly insane,” Sam said, scratching the back of his head.
“I think we should play it like we plan on shooting this Boston scene, as a pickup back in town after principal photography, just to appease her for now.”
Sam shook his head and said, “It’s not in the budget, and I can’t ask for more.”
Eddie remembered the cash payment he delivered to the casting director, then asked, “Where’s the money coming from, anyway?”
Sam got up and plopped fresh ice cubes into his glass. “This goes no further, understand?”
“Of course.”
“Between you and me, the investors are a pair of guys I met when I was at the US Open in New York. They had box seats next to me in Arthur Ashe Stadium and we immediately hit it off. When they learned what I did for a living, they sparked to the idea of investing in Hollywood.”
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