Breaking Character

by Maggie Twain

  Well, it turns out that this place is about as authentic as it gets, a town that time and investment forgot, a rare find indeed and a true piece of American history. The cruel irony is that as soon as we’re done with Gallup, the tourists will soon flock, bring their money and ventures, and then the place will be gone forever, just like Hawthorn.

  Danny gawks at the shattered glass and beer all over the carpet. “I can’t wait until this movie’s over so I can have my best friend back. You should try, I don’t know, acting, it’s so much easier. You know, there’s no law that says you have to actually become a jackass just to convincingly play one.”

  “Tell that to my Oscar.” I enjoy watching his reaction to that, because there’s no come back and he knows it. I’m one of the greatest actors in the world, this year’s Esquire rated me the most desirable man on the planet and I’m the first actor in history to accrue a net worth of a billion dollars. Most important for now, however, is that Arthur Templeton would never take advice from a mere lieutenant and so I consider digging a hole in the dirt and burying Danny up to his head. I won’t though.

  He’s flicking through a stack of papers because, without any of the fancy modern electronics I’ve forbidden, he’s having to do things the old way. “You know, Max, after this movie, maybe I’ll see about getting you a part as a nice, friendly social worker, someone who dedicates all his free time to soup kitchens and taking care of kittens.” He settles on a particular sheet of paper and I think I know what it is. “Or better yet, maybe someone who gets bumped off in the first act.” His jest is that, as a method actor, I’d first have to undergo death in order to properly play the part. It’s a variation of an old joke I hear all the time.

  It’s a struggle for me not to laugh, which pisses me off because Templeton isn’t exactly what you’d call a guy with a sense of humor, so instead I throw an old typewriter at him. “Don’t make me fucking fire you.” It misses by too far a distance, but at least now he’ll get the idea and stop trying to get me to break character. The bastard.

  The grin’s removed from his face and he draws my attention to the sheet of paper he’s holding by flicking it with a finger. “We have problems, Arthur,” finally, he’s rightfully calling me by my character name, “after Bret’s brilliant last minute decision to relocate, we’re massively over budget.” He sighs and scratches his head beneath the hat. “You know where they’re gonna pull the money from, right?”

  I nod because I do indeed, which means I also suspect I know where this conversation’s heading. They’ll pull the money from the marketing budget, which usually runs to at least half the cost of the entire movie. If there’s less money for marketing then typically, fewer people will hear about the movie, which of course means reduced takings at the box office. It’s not just for myself that I give a damn but there’s hundreds of regular people, many with families, whose livelihoods depend on Running Dust’s success. There’s little doubt that Dangerfield’s a genius but even geniuses can get things wrong and the way he’d left it until the last minute before finally bothering to visit the set was about as stupid as it gets. But then, I guess, when at any one time you have a large harem of beautiful women and just as many movies on the go then forgetting one of those movies can sometimes be the result. Shit happens, always has, though my main problem is that I’m the one who has to deal with the aftermath of his carelessness.

  Danny sighs and takes a seat. “Look, Arthur, Dangerfield says we need some free publicity, the more the better, and I don’t need to tell you what that means.”

  I close my eyes and tip back my head. “You want me to date one of my co-stars,” I say as a matter of fact.

  He nods, “it’s either that or die on set and unfortunately, this ain’t that movie.”

  My expression remains grim, I think I’m getting the hang of this part. “The options ain’t good, Danny.” I get up from the recliner and pour a glass of bourbon, on the rocks, straight outta my own distillery, supposedly. I take a sip and it hits the mark. “Regina and I already dated, years back, and it was a shit show. Besides, she doesn’t have any parts out here in the desert, thank God, so she’s not gonna be around for any photos of us on set pretending to be close again.” Honestly, it’s for the best.

  Danny rubs his chin. “Bret says to stay away from Lola.”

  Again, I have to suppress the bark that wants to escape me. “Of course, the bastard wants her for himself, right?” I sit back down with my bourbon. “Which leaves…” I can’t even bring myself to say the name and a large painful sigh escapes me.

  “Olivia,” he says, sounding defeated, although I reckon that secretly Danny’s loving the prospect of getting one over on me for yet another outfit he hates.

  There aren’t many female parts in Running Dust, it’s about illegal bootlegging, after all, though Olivia Owens does indeed play one of Templeton’s mistresses. As expected for a Hollywood A-lister, she’s attractive and a great performer, and so far she’s even humored my insistence that I’m treated as Arthur Templeton on set. The problem is she has a reputation for being one of the most difficult people in Hollywood. I make drama for a living, having it in my own life can soon become tiresome.

  Danny can sense what I’m thinking. “Hey, it’s only for pretend, right? You don’t have to invite her to move in with you. A few rumors spread about among some friendly journalists, a couple photos leaning into each other, one or two interviews holding hands and we’ll be in the headlines in time for the premiere.”

  I let out a loud groan. Sometimes I think about dating regular women, you know, ones without all the Hollywood hang-ups, but that’s not exactly how things roll in these circles. “See it done,” I reluctantly say.

  He’s about to exit the trailer but I call him back. “What? You want me to change the whiskey too? You know, you really shouldn’t mix beer and that shit they’ve produced for the movie.”

  I grab my script from the table and flap the sheets. “Believe me, I’ve got a more pressing problem than that. More pressing than Olivia Owens, even.”

  He’s looking at me like my hair’s on fire. “What?”

  I open the script right at the start. “It’s this first scene we’re shooting tomorrow…” As with all my movies, Running Dust starts with a bang and I’m supposed to humiliate a young underling in front of a crowd of bystanders for catching him in bed with one of my mistresses.

  “What about it?” He asks.

  “I need to rehearse but I don’t want to do it with Jonny.”

  The reason for this is simple. I need the scene to look perfect first time, which means it needs to be real, visceral, and that ain’t likely to happen if I go through the motions with the actual actor involved. No, this particular scene will only look perfect if I’m kicking Jonny’s ass for real, which means I get one attempt, so if I’m to do the scene in one take then I’ll first need to rehearse it, but I can only do that with someone who’s not Jonny.

  I explain all this to Danny, even though he’s long been used to my Hollywood eccentricities, and then I tell him, “can you find some gofer from the local stage school? Maybe offer to buy his lunch if he agrees to get kicked about for a few minutes?”

  He shakes his head in exasperation. “Ma… um, Arthur, we’re in the middle of the fucking desert. You really think this two-bit, backward ass town has a fucking stage school?” He laughs. “We ain’t back in Hollywood now, you know.”

  I chuck my script across the trailer and it smacks him plum on the head. “Some local kid then, I don’t care. Just see it done!”

  Because my name was Arthur Templeton, bootlegger, gangster and philanderer.

  Three

  Mel

  “Hey, Izzy, how are you getting on with those ribs?” I ask as I set down a gigantic tub of macaroni cheese. I’ve never seen so much food in all my life and it’s a miracle that on day 1 of filming, we might, just might avoid embarrassment by pulling this thing off.

  She gives me that look again from
the corner of her eye, pretending to be pissed when secretly she’s absolutely thrilled to be involved with such a project. “Don’t you ‘hey Izzy’ me, missy, I’m still upset with you.” She flips a row of BBQ pork and smoothly transfers another set to the warmer. “I mean, when were you going to tell me?”

  I blow out air. “I was, it’s just that we’ve been busier than you can ever imagine. Two days’ notice, that’s all we had to prepare.” Telling my best friend we were providing the catering for a big-budget Hollywood movie was hardly a priority when all we were interested in was managing this thing without ruining our reputation. I give her my best apologetic look. “Poor Dot’s been run off her little feet.”

  In two days she’s had to order in a tonne of food, hardware and utensils, not to mention perfect a menu fit for movie stars. All that might sound easy enough but on top of everything there was a never-ending stream of agents calling in to make sure their client only ate eggs dropped from chickens raised in open pastures, croissants filled with a special type of jam, vegan this, vegan that, as well as coffee made from a blend with a precise arabica to robusta ratio and with beans grown in a specific region of Central America. To call some of these movie stars demanding would be an understatement and on more than one occasion, I had to sit down with my aunt just to calm her poor little nerves. Sure, after Jonah’s death she needs a distraction, but this is on some whole other level. More than anything else in the world, I want this to go well for Dot because she deserves it.

  I nudge Izzy with my hip. “I want you to know, we really appreciate your help. I’m not sure how we’d have coped without you.” Ain’t that the truth.

  It’s just me and Dot at the diner but Izzy helps out from time to time, mostly when someone’s ill or on the very rare occasion an event comes up. A movie, however? Nothing could have prepared us for this and we’re lucky for the extra pair of hands. In her daily life, Izzy’s a very content stay at home mom to two boys, her husband Kieron being the town handyman. Still, she always jumps at any extra work we have to offer and boy, the next four weeks of filming will give her a rare chance to get out of the house.

  The set builders erected a giant marquee so that the dining area’s under the shade and there are even those contraptions that spray refreshing clouds of water to cool you down. Now that three-hundred platters are arranged on large rows of tables, there’s nothing to do but wait for the rush and take a few breaths. Honestly, I’d forgotten how that feels.

  From what I can tell, filming hasn’t yet started because they’re having to remake what I’m told is an illegal distillery and still, trucks are arriving from some other town where they’d dismantled everything only to rebuild it all in Gallup. Apparently, it’s some kind of a gangster movie from back when they were running illegal liquor, hijacking trucks and burying people out in the desert. I mean great, the first and only time they make a movie in my town and it’s liable to give me nightmares.

  Izzy pours sauce over the largest vat of meatballs I’ve ever seen and stirs it all in. She frowns, “I’ve still not seen any movie stars.” That’s the truth. An infinite number of designers, carpenters, builders and other crew, but apparently all the actors are lounging back inside their luxury trailers, making obscene demands whilst drinking whiskey and learning their lines. She sounds suddenly more upbeat. “They’re saying it’s a Max Falcon movie.” After saying his name, she makes a quiet little hum to herself and has to readjust the way she’s standing. Honestly, the woman’s depraved.

  My eyes flick upwards. “Max Falcon?” The name rings a very vague bell but I can’t say I’ve ever seen one of his flicks. I can hardly be blamed. Gallup doesn’t even have a theatre.

  She turns slowly around to face me and then I feel her mitt clasping my shoulder. “No! Surely you know who I’m talking about?”

  I suck in air and shrug. “What can I say? Reading’s more my thing.”

  She doubles over in hysterics and I have to spend the next minute standing near the water cloud contraption to cool down.

  “Oh, Mel, I just love you.” Her face is beyond red and I’m beginning to regret not hiring Jimmy instead. All the broken plates and dropped food might have been worth it. “Trust me, when you see him, you’ll fall in love, just like everybody else. He’s a total god.”

  “Right,” I huff and slink back around the server just as a visitor arrives and I’m stunned to find it’s the very person I was just thinking about. “Jimmy?” I squint at him, not just that he managed to sneak past security, but more bizarrely than that, he’s wearing a lanyard that proves he’s authorized to be here. Even more intriguing, it has the word ‘VIP’ stamped in red. “Where’d you get that?” Even I don’t have a VIP pass and I’m the one responsible for feeding these people. After shaking away the surprise, I figure somebody gave him a job, after all, half the town’s employed menially on this production, Izzy’s husband Kieron included. I’m secretly ecstatic that some kind soul has given Jimmy a chance, although I’m obviously curious about what exactly his supposed role is. “Well?”

  He clutches at the lanyard and grins. “I dunno, some guy in a funny costume came by and said that if I agreed to meet with his client then he’d buy me ‘so many pancakes I’d burst’.”

  That sounded ominous and I feel my eyebrows furrow of their own accord. “Client? To do what exactly?”

  He’s torn between gaping at the food and Izzy’s breasts. “Dunno. He just told me to play along. Think he wants me in the movie.”

  “What?” I nearly drop the fries. “Jimmy, who said this?” The vat’s heavy so I place it down. “Never mind,” it’s his business and I’m sure he can handle whatever it is, maybe, “hey, if you need any help then you come and find me at once, ok?”

  He shrugs, “uh-huh.”

  My heart bleeds as he walks out the marquee and looks as though he’s lost in the crowd. I’m still keeping half an eye on him ten minutes later when he’s still standing there until finally, some smooth looking guy in braces, bowtie and period hat arrives, claps him on the shoulder and leads him towards the trailers.

  “What the heck?” The day gets stranger. I have to crane my neck to see beyond where a workman’s polishing up a Ford Cabriolet from the 30s and sure enough, there’s Jimmy being shown past a tight knot of burly security guards before walking up the three steps that lead into what has to be the largest trailer on the row.

  “You alright, doll?” Izzy enquires from close by. “You look like you need the bathroom.”

  I slap her with the back end of a serving spoon. “Whose trailer’s that?”

  “Which?”

  “Fourth from the left.”

  She shrugs. “Definitely not one of the extras.” She places her arm comfortingly around me. “Hey, relax, you’re not his mom, and you can’t spend your whole life worrying about Jim. He has to start making his own way.” Her voice softens. “Besides, it looks like the rush is about to start.” Oh, gosh, she’s right.

  It’s a help-yourself buffet with myself and Izzy serving the hot food. A line forms and everybody’s chatting as they move forward, picking up bread rolls, drinks, cold cuts, sandwiches and so much other good stuff it’s hard to believe we’re on schedule. It looks like it’s mostly the builders arriving first followed by the decorators, who I recognize because they’re all covered in paint. I dish out ladles of macaroni cheese and gradually the long rows of tables begin to fill. I’m used to dealing with customers one at a time but thanks to all our meticulous planning, I think we might just be able to handle this. The first day is always the hardest but with a bit of luck, I’ll have only good reports later for Dot.

  “Let me through, let me through, I’ve got lines to learn,” a brunette in period costume shoves her way to the front of the line, “hey, you there, move it, I haven’t got all day, I have to get back to my trailer.” One of the carpenters steps aside with a look of disgust but decides against contesting the rude woman. She’s standing in front of me now, scowling at the dishes
on offer. “Are those meatballs vegan?”

  My head jerks back. “Um, no, the mac and cheese is vegan.”

  She holds up the palm of a hand in that obnoxious way people do when they don’t want to believe what they’ve just been told. “Tell me those meatballs are vegan.”

  My eyes flick towards Izzy, subconsciously wanting support, but she’s way too busy with the ribs. “Um, I just told you, today’s vegan dish is mac and cheese.”

  For a hot moment, she can only stare at me, and there’s nothing but contempt behind those eyes. Finally, she slips a hand inside her bag, “let me call my agent … fuck, there’s no cells on set.” She steps right up to the heated food display. “Now you just listen to me … my agent called you yesterday to make sure there would be vegan meatballs. Now, let me ask you one more time. Where are my vegan meatballs?”

  I want to tell the awful woman to be careful near the food display because it’s hot but I’m getting the feeling she won’t listen anyway. As for today’s vegan dish, I was very careful to triple check the order and am certain I’m not at fault but what am I supposed to do? Because the woman who’s getting in my face is none other than Olivia Owens, at least I think it is. I hold up my hands to placate her, “I’m sorry, um, it looks like I made a mistake. Is there anything else I can get you?”

  She throws up her arms and snarls, “no, you’d probably only mess that up too,” she exchanges a look with the carpenter she pushed in front of but he just turns away, not wanting to have anything to do with someone else’s altercation and who could blame him. “Ugh, and the worst thing is this horrible little town doesn’t even have anywhere that does takeout, just that grotty little diner on Main Street. Oh, forget it, idiot, I’ll starve instead.”

  “I’m sorry,” I call after her but she’s already storming away. By now, I’m almost at the point of tears because I always quite liked Olivia.