Lights! Camera! Puzzles!

by Parnell Hall

  Cora considered. “I suppose asking him is too straightforward.”

  31

  It didn’t happen. The producer took off as soon as they started filming Fred. His deadpan may have made for a great scene, but it made for boring close-ups. Two takes and Howard B. Prescott had had enough. That left no one else to ask but the dead gofer girl, who was even less responsive.

  Even Cora found the filming boring. Luckily, Angela had given her that wonderful advice about shooting the master. Since they had already shot the master for the scenes they intended to film, nothing would be a surprise.

  Cora snuck off and went home.

  32

  Next morning they were filming outside the Copacabana, and layers and layers of movie magic were involved. In the first place, they were shooting day for night. It was a night scene shot during the day, the effect created by lighting, camera settings, and other such sleights of hand Cora didn’t quite comprehend.

  They were also shooting west for east, an easier concept. The Copacabana, after several moves, had finally reopened in its current location on West 47th Street. When Cora and Melvin used to frequent it, it was on East 60th. The simple insertion of a street sign, and voila, instant period piece.

  Melvin grabbed Cora the minute she showed up on the set. “How come you’re hanging out with Angela all the time?”

  “What’s that got to do with you?”

  “If you’re giving her tips on how to play her character, Sandy’s gonna be pissed. Sandy doesn’t want her taking direction from anyone but him.”

  “Too bad. From what I understand, she’s getting most of her direction from your book.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not telling her how to act. I couldn’t begin to. She’s giving a whole new interpretation of me I never would have thought of. In case you haven’t noticed, she’s good. You’re lucky you got her. So is Sandy, and the performance he’s getting out of her is between him and her. I’m not directing any of the actors. I wouldn’t know how.”

  Cora patted him on the cheek. “Trust me, I’m not helping anyone.”

  The problem was it showed. The scene between Fred and Angela didn’t work. In this scene, Fred had lines. He wasn’t good at saying them, which gave Angela nothing to counter.

  “You’ll get it in the take,” Sandy said. “You put down your scripts, we’ll roll camera, and you’ll get it in the take.”

  They didn’t. Everything Fred did right the day before, he did wrong today. Lines that should have been throwaways he proclaimed as if he were playing King Lear.

  Sandy showed the patience of a saint, which probably had more to do with the fact that he had attracted a few reporters and a local TV crew to watch the filming.

  There was no hiding the result. The scene was a disaster, and finally Fred pulled Sandy aside and whispered in his ear.

  “No, you may not!” Sandy exploded, and stormed off the set.

  The first A.D. followed him, and returned minutes later with an announcement. “Okay, everyone, we’re going to break early and pick it up after lunch.”

  “When is lunch?” one of the electricians said.

  “Huh?”

  “We’re breaking early. Is lunch early?”

  “Lunch is at the usual time.”

  Angela sidled up to Cora. “Don’t give Fred notes.”

  “No kidding,” Cora said. “I think that’s what he asked.”

  “I know that’s what he asked. I was close enough to hear the word Cora. Even if I hadn’t been you can tell where the guy’s head’s at. He’s desperate. He’s playing a character and he hasn’t got a clue.”

  Fred indeed looked lost. People were edging away from him as if he had the plague. It was not lost on anyone that his performance was the cause of the delay and the director’s ire.

  A gofer girl took pity on him and said, “Why don’t you wait in your trailer, Mr. Roberts?”

  Fred looked like his world was collapsing. “I don’t have a trailer.”

  “The actors’ trailer. There’s no other featured players working today. You can wait there.”

  Sandy came striding back. He turned his wrath on the gofer girl. “What are you telling him?”

  “To wait in his trailer in case you want to talk to him.”

  “I do want to talk to him. See we’re not disturbed.”

  Sandy headed Fred off in the direction of the actors’ trailer. He lowered his voice and said to the gofer girl, “Get Howard and Chuck down here,” before setting off after him.

  Sandy was in the trailer about five minutes. During that time, Howard B. Prescott drove up and bullied some cop into watching his car. Chuck arrived in a taxi.

  Sandy ignored them when he came out, and marched straight up to Cora. “What’d you tell Fred?”

  “I didn’t tell him anything?”

  “Yesterday. What did you tell him yesterday?”

  “He asked me how Melvin would react.”

  “And you said, go ask Sandy, that’s his department.”

  “No, I told him what I’d observed in my many years of marriage.”

  “And now he thinks you’re the director. He can’t play the scene unless you tell him what to do. He’s alone in his trailer. No one’s going in his trailer. He’s going to sit there with his script and try to figure out his part.”

  Sandy pointed to the gofer girl. “You there. What’s your name?”

  “Melinda Fisher.”

  “That trailer’s off limits. Make the actors use the other trailer. And that goes for Angela too. If she wants to see Fred, you send her to me.”

  “Really?”

  “Didn’t I just say so?”

  Sandy spun around. “Howard. Chuck. In my trailer. Cora and Melvin too.”

  “In your trailer?” the Second A.D. said.

  “Not the actors.” Sandy jerked his thumb. “The damn associate producers.”

  Sandy’s trailer was like Angela’s, only more of a mess.

  “Move papers off things. Sit down,” Sandy said. “We don’t have much time. What’s it cost us to fire Fred?”

  Howard frowned. “You want to fire Fred?”

  “I have to fire Fred. He’s terrible, and now he thinks our associate producer is the only one who can give him direction. He’s got to go. The only question is how much will it cost?”

  “We’re insured, aren’t we?” Howard said.

  “We’re insured if we fire him for cause,” the production manager said. “What’s the cause?”

  “He stinks,” Sandy said. “He’s a lousy actor. Isn’t that cause?”

  “It’s a gray area.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. Incompetence isn’t grounds for termination?”

  “It’s hard to prove.”

  “They can look at the damn dailies!” Sandy said.

  “What if we fire him without cause?” Howard said.

  “Then our insurance won’t pay for anything,” Chuck said. “We’re stuck for any scenes we have to reshoot.”

  “We have to fire him now,” Sandy said. “You all see that, don’t you?”

  “I didn’t see the filming,” Howard said.

  “And I hope you never will. It’s embarrassing.”

  Sandy whipped out his cell phone. “What time is it?”

  Watches and cell phones were consulted. The general consensus was a quarter to eleven.

  “Okay, we’ve made the decision, and we’re informing the actor in a prompt and responsible manner.” Sandy punched in a number. “Fred. Sandy. Look. I know you need help. I’m going to help you. We’re all going to help you. Stay put. We’ll be right over.”

  “We’re going to him?” the producer said. Clearly summarily summoning an actor was more in his experience.

  “I don’t want him bumping into anyone on the way. Come on.”

  “All of us?” Howard said.

  “I thought we were all agreed. A united front.”

  “I’m happy to be united. I just do
n’t want to be liable.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake. Chuck, you got his contract?”

  “No, I don’t have his contract. It’s back at the office.”

  “Call ’em up, have ’em fax a copy. Howard’s nervous.”

  For Cora’s money, Sandy was as nervous as anyone, but accusing the producer of it was one way of staking his claim.

  The script supervisor called the office, and the production secretary faxed over a copy of the contract.

  Sandy grabbed for it, but Chuck beat him to it. “This is my department. Here we go. Termination. The director may, at his sole discretion, terminate this contract for any reason whatsoever. The actor may file a grievance with SAG, should the union feel one is appropriate. The actor may, at his own discretion, sue for wrongful termination. In the event of an adverse ruling, the union will bear no share of the costs, and his legal expenses will be his and his alone.”

  “There,” Sandy said. “Perfectly straightforward, and a pretty strong incentive not to sue. Can we go now?”

  The producer relented. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  They all trooped out of the trailer.

  The gofer girl was waiting outside.

  Sandy scowled. “Damn it. Why aren’t you watching the door?”

  “Fred said a group’s coming over. I know you didn’t want that.”

  “Idiot. That’s us! Get back on the door. Don’t let anyone else in.”

  The gofer, placed in an impossible situation, looked like she was about to cry. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  She turned and ran back to the trailer.

  Sandy and his entourage trouped along behind. Up the street, they could see the gofer pull open the door to the trailer and go inside.

  A blood curdling scream froze them in their tracks.

  The gofer, her face white as snow, stumbled out of the trailer and collapsed, sobbing, on the sidewalk.

  “Stay back!” Sandy said. “I don’t know what happened, but we should all stay back.”

  “Yeah, right,” Cora said. She made for the trailer, jerking a gun out of her purse.

  Cora pounded up the step and in the door.

  Fred Roberts hung by a bathrobe sash from the ceiling fan. Cora was amazed the fan was strong enough to support his weight. It occurred to her he was thin, no doubt as a result of years of keeping in shape to land the part.

  Unlucky there.

  33

  Sergeant Crowley was in his element. A murder on the movie set, and a bunch of arrogant Hollywood types to boss around. Cora couldn’t help thinking it sort of made up for the producer telling the cop to watch his car.

  Sandy Delfin was not in his element, and could not believe he was about to lose a whole day of shooting. “I don’t think you understand what it costs to keep a movie crew here doing nothing.”

  “They’re suspects.”

  “How can they possibly be suspects?”

  “Someone killed him.”

  “That’s a shame, but it shouldn’t cost me money.”

  “Don’t you have insurance?”

  “I have insurance and I have a completion bond. I couldn’t film without it. Now, how long are you going to hold me up?”

  “If all goes well, you might be filming tomorrow, but don’t count on it.”

  Sandy and Crowley were arguing in the street outside Fred’s trailer. Crime scene ribbons were everywhere, and the movie cops were keeping back the crowd which had quadrupled in the last hour. Other cops were riding herd over the crew, who were being held inside an impromptu pen in the street. Crowley had avoided a riot by making sure that penned-in area included the coffee cart.

  Homicide detectives swarmed over the trailer, taking pictures and fingerprints and doing things homicide detectives do.

  Fred had been taken down, the medical examiner had pronounced him dead, and the body had been carted away to the morgue for autopsy.

  Cora was perched on the fender of Crowley’s car, observing the proceedings. That probably wasn’t kosher, but Crowley didn’t care. He wanted her there.

  “So,” Crowley said. “You found the body.”

  Sandy pointed at Cora. “She found the body. I was on the sidewalk advising everyone to stay out of the trailer when she barged in and found him.”

  “You think she should have just let him hang?”

  “I didn’t know he was hanging. I didn’t know anything except the ditsy production assistant screamed. It could have meant anything. Like he realized he was being fired and threw up.”

  “He was being fired?”

  “That’s where we were going.”

  “To fire him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “He couldn’t act. He was killing the film.”

  “So someone killed him.”

  “I assure you it wasn’t cause and effect. Firing him would have been quite sufficient.”

  “When’s the last time you saw him alive?”

  “When he was in front of the camera, ruining my picture.”

  “What happened then?”

  “It wasn’t working, so I broke for lunch.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “Back to his trailer. Actually, I saw him in his trailer. I went to talk to him to see if there was any way to salvage the situation.”

  “I take it there wasn’t?”

  “You got that right.” Sandy pointed at Cora. “And it’s all her fault. She gave him a note on his scene yesterday, and screwed everything up.”

  “If you were going to fire him, why talk to him?”

  “To see if he’d listen to reason. He flipped out on the set and thought only she could help him. I figured he’d realize he was being ridiculous.”

  “Did he?”

  “No. He still wanted to see her. I said, fine, wait here. I posted a gofer on the trailer to make sure the guy stayed put, and had my assistant call the production team in.”

  “Gofer?”

  “Production assistant. The one who screamed. They’re called gofers. I posted her on the trailer and told her not to let anyone in. I didn’t want him talking to anyone.”

  “That was after you talked to him?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And she was watching the trailer?”

  “She was supposed to. She came to get me. She wasn’t supposed to do that.”

  “Why did she come to get you?”

  “He told her people were coming to see him. I told her not to let anyone, so she wanted to warn me.”

  “But she was on the door of the trailer from the time you told her right up until she came to tell you?”

  “She was supposed to be. You’ll have to ask her.”

  “I’m confused.”

  “Join the club.”

  Crowley ignored the remark. “Why did he think people were coming to see him?”

  “I called him and told him.”

  “Why?”

  “To make sure he’d be there.”

  “You’d already told him to stay.”

  “Yeah, and I told the gofer to keep him there. But if he decided to leave I don’t know how she was going to stop him.”

  “When did you call him?”

  “As soon as we decided. We had a production meeting in my trailer. We decided to fire him. When we agreed on that, I called him and told him to sit tight and we’d be right over.”

  “When was that?”

  “A quarter to eleven.”

  “How are you so sure?”

  “I asked what time it was and everybody checked.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “I wanted it on record that at that point we had all agreed to fire him. That whatever consequences his firing led to it was a mutual decision. If you worked in movies, you’d understand.”

  “I’m not sure I would. You called him, he answered the phone, you went over and found him dead?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You see my problem?” Crowley sa
id.

  “No,” Sandy wailed. “I’m obsessed with my own.”

  “You call him on the phone, you say you’re coming over, you go over and he’s dead. How can that possibly happen? Someone killed him, and rigged the noose, and hung him from the fan, and got out of there before you guys walked half a block. How could he do all that and no one saw him?”

  “I don’t know. I’m hassled. I’m not thinking straight. Give me a break.”

  Crowley frowned and exhaled noisily. “All right. Stick around. I’ll be talking to you again.”

  34

  crowley flipped his notebook shut and strolled over to Cora. “So. You hear all that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Whaddya think?”

  “He’s an arrogant son of a bitch. If you can pin it on him, I’d be pleased.”

  “Whoa,” Crowley said. “Just because he doesn’t want you talking to his actors?”

  “I gave the guy one note. He took it and got applause. Mr. Auteur gave him a zillion notes, and he got fired. Can you blame me if I resent him a little?”

  “Yes. He’s directing your movie. Unless you seriously think they’re going to fire him and bring you in as director, you’ve got every reason to wish him well.”

  “Yes, and the actor is dead, and the point is moot. But I hate these people, you know what I mean?”

  “I understand.”

  “Anyway, he couldn’t have done it. I’m his alibi witness.”

  “You were at the meeting?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Was it pretty much as he described?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “He was a lot more pushy and arrogant. To hear him tell it, you’d think he was a saint.”

  “Who was in the meeting?”

  “The producer. The director. The script supervisor. The production manager. Me. And Melvin.”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s plenty. You crowd a group like that into one of those trailers, it’s a little close.”

  “Were you there the whole time?”

  “That’s right. I was there when Sandy blew up on the set.”

  “He blew up? Not the actor?”

  “He had a temper tantrum and walked off. Maybe other people saw it differently.”

  “So he stormed off the set. What happened then?”