“What kind of business are they in?”
“Let’s just say they’re in the hospitality business.”
“Mob?”
“I can’t say for sure, but I have suspicions.”
“Why’s that?”
“By the way they handled themselves, and the questions they asked.”
“Money laundering?” Eddie asked him, hushed even though they were alone in the room.
“Likely. I’ve never seen so much cash in my life, but that’s how they prefer to do business. You’ve got to keep this under wraps. Nobody knows except you. Not even Mike.”
“I promise.”
“You’ll meet them tomorrow. They’re coming by the set, the two brothers. They’re out here looking at some commercial property in Orange County.”
“When?”
“Don’t know. They’re driving up from Newport Beach, so whenever they get here. You’ve got to help me give them the ole dog and pony show, then we’ll send them on their way.”
“It’s not the first time I’ve had investors come around,” Eddie said to assure Sam he was fine with it. “I’ll make sure they feel welcome.”
“If we can put this one in the can without too many surprises they’ll do all right by their investment, once I get the license fee from the network and shore up a home video deal. Then eventually, say a year from now, if I’m lucky, I’ll see my end from foreign sales. I suspect Tami’s name still has value overseas. And Westerns are back in style, so …”
“And what if you’re not lucky?”
“Then I’m broke.”
“Wow,” Eddie said. “Really?”
Sam nodded, sipped.
“How do you do it?” Eddie asked.
“Do what?”
“Take such risks?”
“It’s like this,” Sam explained, “you’ve got to charge the net. You can’t wait at the baseline and play it safe, not if you’re going to win. It’s all about timing, and angles,” Sam swung his wrist as if he held a tennis racket. “In life, it’s about winning … game, set, and match.”
“Without risk there’s no gain,” Eddie said.
“That’s right, my friend. Besides, I’ve got no choice in the matter. My ex-wives … they’ll skin me alive if they don’t get their alimony checks. It’s like they’re in collusion. Greedy bitches.”
Eddie laughed and said, “No love lost there.”
“Love means nothing in tennis,” Sam said, matter-of-fact.
Eddie toasted him and sipped his scotch.
Chapter
TWENTY-ONE
Tom stood in the general store the following morning waiting to do his scene.
Tami was not on set yet, and he had a pretty good idea why. He suspected the conversation they had earlier that morning had started something. At call time, Tom had visited Tami’s trailer to enlist her support for the cowboy hat Eddie wouldn’t allow him to wear. He’d thought long and hard about it while looking into the mirror in his hotel room that morning. He didn’t care if his face was in shadow in some of the scenes. It would serve to make Bartholomew more mysterious. That could be a good thing. His intention was to get Tami to veto Eddie’s decision so he’d get his way. And besides, the director of photography could make a little compromise in the way he lit the film. Add another lamp, what’s the big deal? He put the hat on to show her but Tami wasn’t sure, so she deferred to Diane, her stylist. When Diane shot it down, Tom was disappointed but tried his best not to show it. What does she know?
They invited him to stay for a cup of chamomile tea, and, warming his hands around the cup, Tom enlightened Tami to the conversation he’d overheard between Eddie and Sam the other day. In a lowered voice, but not so low that Bonnie, Connie, and Diane couldn’t hear, he said it was his impression that Eddie and Sam were “disrespectful.” He could see Tami was growing indignant and added, “It was clear to me they have no intention of granting your wish, whatever it is.”
This infuriated Tami.
Now the entire cast, crew, and background artists waited as Eddie, Sam, and Tami held another “emergency meeting” in her trailer. Tom figured he’d be getting his overtime. Nice.
Meanwhile, Giovanni used the extra time to set additional backlight. The art department fussed with set dressing. Connie, Bonnie, and Diane, not in the closed-door meeting, tied up the grips, requesting they build a shaded space for Tami’s chair near the set.
Stuart spent the entire time on his radio trying to track down Jimmy the wrangler. Jimmy was seen the night before in the hotel bar and had not reported at call time. Lucky, the assistant wrangler, hadn’t seen him either and now was working single-handed.
While he was waiting, Tom checked out the assistant camera chick. He thought she had a sexy tomboy thing working in her favor and liked the snug fit of her fleece top. He snuck looks from time to time, and was intrigued by the way her pullover hugged the curvature of her breasts. His imagination got the best of him.
“How far are we behind schedule, anyway?” Tom asked, pretending he was concerned.
Sheila pulled a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of her black jeans, consulted it and said, “According to the call sheet, about a half day unless they decide to cut a few scenes.”
Tom knew that wasn’t going to happen. Tami’s character was in most of the scenes and she’d insist they all be included. “Tom,” he said, introducing himself with his hand out.
“Sheila,” she said, offering hers.
“Sheila? Like from that Buddy Holly song?” he said.
“Tommy Roe song, actually, but it sounds like a Buddy Holly tune. A lot of people mistake it.”
“I remember … something about a ponytail? Goes My Little Sheila.”
“That’s the one,” she said with an exhale. “A one-hit wonder.”
“Don’t the Australians—”
“Yeah, yeah. Sheila is slang for girl down under. My father was from Melbourne. Apparently he had a sense of humor.”
“Apparently?”
“Never knew him.”
Daddy issues. Tom had slept with enough women from fractured homes to see the pattern. He entertained a brief fantasy that she’d be subservient in the bedroom before he strategized how to best compliment her and keep the conversation going. He caught her eye and said, “I like the name Sheila. It’s cool and unique. Very hip.”
“Thanks,” she said and turned away, busying herself with the camera.
Tom figured he’d planted the seed and would work on her later.
Moments later he noticed a black Land Rover pull into base camp. Two men in their fifties emerged, both wearing suits. They appeared out of place among the pine trees, more fitting for the boardroom or Fifth Avenue. Sam emerged from Tami’s trailer and greeted them. They chatted for a moment and Sam led them up to set.
Sam was giving them a tour, pointing out the sets, equipment, and props. They stood at the perimeter nodding their heads and Stuart joined them. Both men were overly tan and wore fine leather loafers which Tom considered impractical footwear for the rugged mountain terrain. Sam led them closer and made introductions to Giovanni. Tom was next.
“Tom, meet our executive producer team, Anton and Fritz.”
Tom offered his hand, “Nice to meet you.” From their accents, Tom could tell they were either Russian or from somewhere in Eastern Europe. A little rough around the edges, Tom assumed they were new money.
Sam informed, “Tom plays Bartholomew, the proprietor of the general store,” motioning to the set. “He’s the bad guy.”
“Not bad … simply misunderstood,” Tom said, stoic, making a joke.
The humor went over their heads. Fritz instead said to Tom, “I’ve seen you in movies, no?”
“Yes,” he said, liking that he had been recognized by a stranger. Before he could say
anything more, the two men exchanged words in some sort of Slavic-sounding language.
“Let me introduce you to our star, Tami,” Sam said before he led them down to base camp.
Tom figured by the way they were dressed and the way Sam treated them they were the film’s financiers. Russians investing in Hollywood? he thought. Isn’t it supposed to be the Chinese these days? To Tom, they certainly looked like they could afford the overtime he planned to milk.
All this waiting around … the longer the better.
After Sam knocked on the door of Tami’s trailer, the men entered. Eddie emerged and returned to set. He and Stuart spoke aside in hushed tones but Tom overheard that Tami was coming. Things appeared to be back on track.
Diane broke the silence with, “What the fuck?!”
Tom turned to see her holding a cigarette butt. She displayed it for all to see with, “Whose is this?”
Nobody responded.
Diane turned to Stuart and said, “Who are you going to fire for smoking up here, bub? Or was all that a bunch of bull?”
Put on the spot, Stuart asked all assembled, “Okay, who was smoking up here on set?” Silence followed so he continued, “Let me make this clear. If you are caught smoking anywhere outside of the designated areas then pack your bags. No exceptions.” To Diane, motioning to the cigarette butt, Stuart said, “Give me that.”
“Why?”
“I’ll compare it to the brand people smoke.”
She sniffed it. “Whose? Don’s?”
“Maybe it’s not from us.”
She handed it over, said, “You do that, Sherlock Holmes.”
“Can you check on Tami please? We’re falling behind schedule.”
Diane did not budge.
“Here she comes,” Eddie said.
Sam and the two financiers escorted Tami up to set. Tami gave Tom a knowing nod. Without asking, he knew she’d gotten her way. Hopefully, whatever it was, it all penciled out in his favor. After final touches from hair and makeup, Tami was ready and the scene got underway.
Tami had fire in her, he could see. Tom played off her vibrant energy.
After the scene in the general store was shot, with much time spent on Tami’s close-up, they moved on to complete the scene when Tami’s character arrives by stagecoach, the scene that had been partially shot the day before.
The transportation guys brought up the vintage wagon. Lucky, with the help of a production assistant who had some riding experience, hooked two horses to the carriage. Tom could see Lucky was dressed in wardrobe and learned he would be the driver of the coach. Because the tattoos up his neck were clearly visible, the frazzled wardrobe girls had to scramble for a solution. Finally, they came up with a kerchief to tie around his neck.
Potbellied Don was also in costume and would, apparently, ride shotgun. Tom thought they both looked ridiculous but figured it made sense. You wouldn’t expect a background extra to know how to drive a stagecoach. They cleared a path for the wagon to loop around and reset for multiple takes.
When the camera was ready, Tom was instructed to stand on his mark, by a sandbag set on the splintered planks of the wooden sidewalk. The angle would tie him into an over-the-shoulder shot. He could see Sam standing next to the financiers watching it all unfold. They seemed especially intrigued by the stagecoach and horses.
Stuart called for Tami. Her handlers were careful to not allow the white lace of her dress to drag in the dirt. Diane was especially attentive, making last-minute adjustments, and Tom could see Tami grow impatient with her fidgeting. “Enough!” Tami snapped, short-tempered. Tom saw that Diane was hurt. She stayed back and let the others do the final primping.
The grips, Paul and John, placed apple boxes as temporary steps so Tami could climb into the coach. After brief instructions from Eddie, Stuart said, “People, we have to go,” clearly trying to move it all along. Stuart opened the stagecoach door for her. Tami climbed the boxes and slipped inside.
There was a blood-curdling scream.
Tami jumped out in a panic. The actress stumbled face-first into the dirt, her pure white dress smeared in blood. “There’s a man in there!” she screeched.
Tom was closest. He jumped in to help Tami to her feet and saw Jimmy, the wrangler who cared for the horses, lying on the stagecoach floor. An arrow stuck out of his bloody, mangled eye.
Chapter
TWENTY-TWO
Sheila couldn’t take her eyes off Jimmy. She thought it was so strange the arrow pierced the center of his hand, as if it was a stigmata wound, then continued into his eye. The shaft of the arrow propped his hand up as if the bloody corpse was waving to her. It gave her the chills.
As grotesque as it was, she couldn’t look away.
Stuart shouted, “Okay, people, don’t panic! Please wait down at base camp until further notice!” More than half the cast and crew had already dispersed, but Sheila, Luther, and Giovanni stood near the camera.
“Let’s break everything down and pack up,” Sheila suggested.
“Not yet,” Giovanni said.
“Why not?”
“Wrap is not my call.”
“I’m not saying we wrap,” Sheila said. “I say we break the camera, put the lenses away.”
“I’ll let you know. Do nothing.”
Sheila could tell Giovanni was shaken.
Luther, on the other hand, was enraged. “Somebody killed that dude!” he growled, stating the obvious.
“Jimmy’s hand up like that, pierced by the arrow,” Sheila said, “it’s so weird.”
“Maybe he was trying to pull it out,” Giovanni ventured.
Sheila said, “It’s as if the arrow went through his hand first then continued into his face.”
The three shared a look.
“It’s like …” she continued, “Jimmy saw it coming. He was holding up his hand in defense.”
“Like this?” Giovanni demonstrated with his left hand out in front of him.
“He was pleading for his life,” Sheila pointed out.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Luther said, looking out to the trees.
They headed down the hill, reached base camp and joined the others. Sam was clearly distraught. He and the Russians spoke among themselves before all three of them climbed into the Land Rover and sped away.
Luther began telling those assembled about how an arrow had pierced the camera truck the day before. This prompted a nervous murmur from the crew and suspicious looks out to the trees. Many took cover in the crevices the trucks and trailers offered. Tami and her team had found shelter inside her custom trailer but refused to open the door.
Deputy Sondra Martinez soon arrived, her squad car sliding to a stop in a plume of dust far worse than Luther’s from the other day. Sheila couldn’t believe she was stupid enough not to shut the doors of the camera truck, but it was understandable considering the circumstances.
Deputy Martinez got out and Sheila jumped down from the tailgate to direct her. “Up there,” Sheila said, pointing to the stagecoach up the hill.
Martinez marched up to join Eddie, Stuart, and Lucky standing near the stagecoach. Sheila watched Martinez reach inside and assumed she must be checking Jimmy’s pulse. Next she took out an iPhone and photographed the body, occasionally batting flies away.
Tami emerged from her trailer, cleaned up and out of the bloodied wardrobe. She and her entourage were just in time as Don drove over in the passenger van. Diane opened the door and they were the first to climb in.
Deputy Martinez saw this and came running down. “Hold up,” she shouted. Eddie, Stuart, and Lucky followed. “Everybody stays here. Out! Out of the van!” barked the deputy.
“I’m diabetic, I need my insulin,” Tami pleaded from inside the van.
“I said get out,” the deputy ordered.
D
iane stepped out and came to Tami’s defense, “But you don’t understand, she’s—”
“Nobody goes anywhere until I say so! Out of the van, ladies, now.”
Sheila could see Tami didn’t like being told what to do as the actress and her entourage reluctantly complied. The deputy turned to the cast and crew and asked, “Does anyone have gum, candy, or something we can give her?”
Paul produced beef jerky from his pocket, “I’ve got buffalo jerky.”
“I’ll be fine,” Tami said meekly.
“You sure? I’ve got plenty,” offered Paul, taking a bite himself.
“I’ll manage, thank you.”
“There are Red Vines on the craft service table,” Stuart announced, snapping his fingers as if to prompt someone, anyone other than himself, to immediately run for them. Nobody did.
“I don’t eat licorice. I’ll be fine,” Tami said.
“You’ve got to eat something,” Deputy Martinez demanded. “I can’t have a diabetic seizure complicating things.”
“I assure you, I’ll be fine, thank you,” Tami said.
“If you get light-headed you’ve got to let me know.”
Tami nodded moments before the squalid plastic tub of Red Vines was brought to her. The container of red twists was as common as bottled water and found on every craft service table. When Sheila had first started working on movies she’d often indulge in a few strands from time to time but stopped once she came to the realization that practically everybody from the crew sifts their grubby hands through that plastic container—grips, electrics, extras, production assistants—probably not the cleanest dispenser on earth.
“Come on,” Deputy Martinez urged.
Tami hesitated at first, but then reached in and dug out a flimsy strand. She held it up for the officer’s benefit.
Martinez waited.
Tami bit and chewed.
Satisfied, Deputy Martinez turned to all and asked, “Who was in the vehicle I passed on the way up here?”
Stuart said, “That was our executive producer and some of our financiers.”
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