by Davis Bunn
When they returned to the hotel, Greg and Annie hunkered down in the room that Greg was turning into his office. The roadies shifted the room’s bed into the basement, brought in a long trestle table and four office chairs, and rimmed the walls with whiteboards. Gradually the boards became filled with a day-by-day shooting schedule. Danny stayed in the background, fielding calls and making arrangements. The closer they came to the first actual shoot, the more Greg would be taking charge. Once the cameras started rolling, it became Greg’s show. Danny was just another guy playing backup.
Thursday afternoon was the first time Greg worked directly with Emma. They were both nervous, but for different reasons. Annie hovered in the background, making frantic notes and skipping about while the guys set up lights, taped background mikes into place, and laid tracks for the cameras. Robin emerged now and then from her second-floor office, surveying the scene and observing her daughter, then returned to her numbers. The presence of all that quietly frantic movement only made things worse for Emma. But neither Danny nor Greg responded to her pleas for a chance to work in private.
Finally Danny called a break and led Emma back to the kitchen. But the cook and her assistants were in there, cleaning up after lunch and preparing a buffet dinner. So Danny led the young woman upstairs and into Robin’s office. The room held two chairs and a battered desk that Robin had pulled over to the window. Two new filing drawers and a second desk for Danny fronted the side wall. His desk was piled with ledgers and a stack of bill trays. He pointed Emma into the chair he normally used, then went down the hall and returned with one of Greg’s office chairs.
Emma greeted him with, “I’m just awful.”
“You’re missing the point.” Danny closed the door and seated himself. “Today isn’t about your acting. Well, it is, but . . .”
“What? Tell me! It can’t be worse than what I’m thinking.”
“Emma, they all expect you to be bad. To flub your lines. To get it totally wrong.”
“But I was so good during the first take! Everybody says so!”
“You were mimicking. You’ve seen that movie how often?”
“I don’t know.”
“Six thousand times,” Robin said quietly.
Emma glared, or tried. But she was tired and she was weak, and the internal rage had a new outlet. It was no longer necessary to flame at her mother. And both women knew it.
“This is totally different,” Danny said. “And saying the words right is less than one-tenth of the battle.”
“I’m scared of doing this in front of Jennie French.”
“I know you are. But you need to understand something. So long as you try as hard as you are right now, she won’t be upset over any mistake you might make.”
“Really?’
“Yes, Emma. Really.”
Robin asked, “What is the other nine-tenths?”
“Framing the character’s internal world,” Danny said. “You need to listen to Greg. He’ll help you with that.”
“But so much of what he’s saying is . . .”
“Conflicting. That’s why I wanted to talk with you. Greg doesn’t know who your character is yet. A lot of that depends on you. So he and Annie are trying out different directions. Seeing if they can fit you comfortably into one mold or another. Then they’ll write around this.”
Emma stared at him. Danny could see she was rocked and heard it in the smallness of her voice. “They’ll do that for me?”
“Everybody on set knows you’re giving it all you possibly can. Greg sees that you’re trying to listen, even though you’re in the process of learning a totally new language. They like this more than you can imagine. They want you to succeed, Emma. And something else.”
“What?”
Danny wasn’t sure whether he should even mention it. But he went with his gut and talked to her like he would a highly trained artist. An adult. Someone who was ready for the raw truth. “They don’t have a story.”
“What about all the lines I’m reading?”
“They have scenes. They have concepts. But they don’t have a hook.”
“I heard Annie say that word like it was dirty.”
“It’s what’s keeping us up at night. Annie is watching you, hoping you’ll connect with one emotional core or another. And then . . .”
Robin was the one who said, “They can start building the story’s heart.”
“That’s it exactly,” Danny said.
Emma asked, “So what does it really mean, ‘hook’?”
“It’s easiest to explain with an example. What’s your favorite line from a movie poster?”
She replied without hesitation, “The coast is toast.”
“See? Four words and you know it’s Armageddon for LA. A hook is why people stay locked in their seats. The core foundation of the story. Annie and Greg are desperate to find this before . . .”
“Before Jennie French shows up,” Robin finished.
“The clock is ticking,” Danny said. “Your training is one small part of a very tight race. See?”
Emma nodded. “I won’t let you down, Danny.”
“That’s my girl. Ready for round two?”
“No.”
“Good.” Danny rose to his feet. “Let’s go. Greg is waiting.”
26
FRIDAY MORNING their first star arrived.
Alex Cross was typically offhand in his greetings. He sneered at the entire team when they did not offer the bended knee. He yawned over the unfinished script. He smirked from behind his super dark Ray-Bans when introduced to Emma. While the assistant camera operator served as Alex’s stand-in, the actor retreated to a lonely corner of the front porch. Tinny music, probably hip-hop, sounded from his earbuds.
The first few takes went well enough. The problem emerged on take four, when Emma flubbed her lines. Again. Alex left the lighted front parlor, and as he stepped around Greg’s chair, he told the film director to call him when they got a real actor on set. Somebody who actually knew what she was doing.
Emma waited until Alex had exited the front door to vent. “He’s awful.”
Danny turned to the crew and said, “Why don’t you all take ten.”
Emma stood with arms crossed and face set in concrete lines. Her hair shone like a fresh new penny under the lights. “He’s gross and he smells.”
Danny could see the crew had no interest in missing a moment of this. Truth be told, he didn’t mind. When Annie walked over to shut the window between the unfolding drama and Alex’s corner chair, Danny shook his head. The actor needed to hear this.
Danny told Emma, “He’s your new dad.”
“No! He’s a total creep! Did you see what he tried to do with his hands? Ewww! Gross me out!”
Danny clamped down on his fury and the urgent desire to walk outside and hammer Alex like a bent nail. Touching Emma inappropriately sounded very much like something Alex would try. Danny breathed slowly, waiting until he was certain his rage was totally under control. He liked how Emma’s mother did not rush up and offer the unwanted comfort. Instead, Robin remained behind the camera, watching. Trusting him.
“Are you done?” Danny asked.
“No.”
“I’ll wait.”
“This could take years,” Emma replied.
“Humor. A good sign.”
“I wasn’t kidding, Danny.”
“Neither am I. Emma, to make it in this trade means dealing with the impossibles. And you need to believe me here. Alex Cross is neither the last nor the worst.”
She kicked at the leg of the sofa where she had been seated with her supposed dad. Hard.
“Alex Cross is part of the package. He is actually named in the Chambers contract. The only way this film gets made is by us using him.”
“But why?”
“I can’t say for certain, but I think I know. And I’ll tell you, once you’re ready to listen.”
Emma stopped kicking the sofa leg and released the
grip on her middle. She offered him a fraction of a nod.
“Okay. Five years ago Alex Cross was a star on the rise. Then he shot himself in the foot. He insisted on producing two films where he had a hand in writing the script. It’s a problem with a lot of people in LA. They assume writing a good screenplay is nothing more than putting words on a page. But Alex can’t write. If you don’t believe me, go see his last two films. Together they cost almost fifty million dollars to produce and made less than twenty at the box office.”
Emma continued to glare at the wooden floor, but she was listening now.
Danny went on, “So he raged against the system. He fired his agent. Sued his manager. Then he spent six spectacular months basically stoned out of his tiny mind. He was in court three times.”
“Four,” Annie corrected.
“Whatever. His booking photos became hot-ticket items on the cable entertainment shows. He was flameout of the year with some rag.”
“National Enquirer,” Annie offered. “The ugliest photo ever.”
Emma moaned. “But why is he here?”
“I’m guessing Chambers bought him for a song. Then they probably tried to put him into some project or another. Their thinking was, even if he acts badly, he’s still good for some publicity. Alex probably gave them the worst performance on record. He saw it as an act of revenge.” Danny paused long enough to offer Emma a chance to vent. When she remained silent, he continued, “Between them, Megan and Lane put the screws on the Chambers programming deputy chief, Lawrence Abbott. Larry’s idea of revenge was to dump Alex on us. Because Larry wants us to fail.”
Emma said softly, “We’re not, though, are we?”
“Not if you give us half as good as I think you can.”
“I’m going to do more than that, Danny.” She lifted her gaze. Solemn now. Determined. “I’m going to give you great.”
That was good for a hug. “That’s my girl.”
As he started across the foyer, Emma called out, “But if he ever tries to touch me like that again, he’ll lose a hand. I mean it.”
Danny walked down the porch and around the corner to where Alex sat with his feet propped on the peeling rail. He had his earbuds in, but Danny suspected he had not turned on the music. The afternoon was so quiet, he probably would have heard even if Alex had turned it down low. Which meant Alex had listened to everything that had just gone on inside. And that, Danny decided, was very good indeed.
Alex wore a pair of professionally torn jeans, seven hundred dollars at a Rodeo Drive shop. An untucked dress shirt beneath a silk suit vest. Hair an extremely styled rat’s nest. Ray-Bans dark as his expression.
Danny walked over and leaned against the porch pillar. He saw Greg and Annie step up to the other side of the window. Emma slipped in behind them. Then Robin.
All good.
Alex finally accepted that Danny would wait all day if necessary. “What a dump.”
Danny gave no sign he had even heard.
“If I’d known they were going to send me out to the sticks . . .”
“You’d what, turn down the gig?” Danny indicated the gravel drive. “So walk.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Danny shook his head. “No. I’m not like the others. I know you’re a good actor. And I think you can still salvage your career.”
“Oh, and you’re such a hotshot producer you can give me advice, is that it?”
“I’m the only producer who’s interested in giving you a chance.”
Alex snorted. “What a joke.”
Danny didn’t respond.
The silence finally got to Alex. “What?”
“Same as I told Emma. I’m waiting for you to really listen.” Danny gave that a beat, then said, “Take off your shades.”
Alex wanted to refuse. Danny could see it. Doing anything meant bowing to the will of a man he already despised. But in the end he lifted a finger and dragged them down his nose, letting them slip to where they hung around his neck. Revealing the guy’s incredible gaze, the smoky green of a pasture seen through a dawn mist.
Danny said, “I remember the thrill you gave me in your first film. Rebel Base, remember that one? I’ve probably watched it a dozen times. You are a great actor. Notice I didn’t say you were. You still are. When you let yourself give your best.”
The guy sneered. “Nice windup, ace.”
But Danny detected the hunger now, and the pain. So that was what he aimed for, ignoring the truly awful attitude. And Alex’s slightly slurred speech. And the way his gaze drifted off center.
Danny squatted on his heels, letting Alex look down on him. “I want to give you a choice. All I ask in return is honesty. Either way, I think we both win. So here’s the deal. If you want to stay on whatever it is you’re stuffing up your nose or down your throat, just say the word. We’ll write your character to reflect your decision.”
Alex stared at him. “So this daddy gig . . .”
“They were all throwaways. Discarded scenes. Practice sessions. We weren’t certain until we saw the lack of chemistry between you and Emma. Now we know. We won’t shoot any backstory. The only connection Emma will have with her late father will be in the photographs.”
A quietly hissed “yes” drifted through the window. Alex clearly heard it but pretended he hadn’t. “So my character . . .”
“Is the dead guy’s brother. A complete waste of perfectly good air. Emma’s father was a cop working undercover. You were facing jail time for possession with intent. He argued with the DA, got you a break, and in return you were setting them up with your supplier. But that night things went south, and he died. Emma’s mother, Jennie French, down deep still considers her loss to be all your fault. And you half agree with her.” Danny picked at a fleck of old varnish. “You claim the guilt is more than you can take. You hide in whatever chemical you can get your hands on. Emma tries to forgive you. Maybe she can, maybe not. Her mother despises you. Her hatred eats at her like an acid.”
Danny rose to his feet. Made a process of dusting off his jeans. “Emma’s character knows how her mother feels, and disagrees. She thinks you deserve a second chance at life and family both. She tries to forge a bond, create an atmosphere that isn’t so poisonous, even though her own bitter knowledge threatens to overwhelm her because of the wreckage you are making of your life. She sees the truth. That the reason you stay high most of the time isn’t guilt over your part in wrecking these three lives. In truth, that’s just your current best excuse. You’ll use whatever reason is closest to indulge in your next chemical cocktail.”
When Danny started to walk away, Alex dropped his feet to the floor. “Wait. That’s my choice?”
“Of course not.” Danny walked on.
“So . . . what?”
Danny reached the corner and paused long enough to look back and offer Alex some heat of his own. “It really doesn’t matter, does it. Unless you commit to staying clean for the entire shoot and behaving yourself with the crew. Especially with Emma. She deserves a lot better than what you’re giving her.”
Alex did not respond.
The heat had him now. The rage he’d been carrying since forever. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Danny said. “Why bother with building a hero? You’ve made your choice. So we’ll shoot you as you really are. The wreck who might have been great and ran away from it all. And uses women with the same careless abandon that he does his drug of the day. Who even tries his moves on a fourteen-year-old actress who will soon be a star on the rise. It should make a great story line. Who knows, it might even resurrect your career.”
27
DANNY RETREATED to the bench by the lake’s shoreline. It had become his favorite place to sit and ponder all the things he needed to do next. But not today. Now that the confrontation was over, Danny felt nauseous. He knew the rage was always there. He could not lie to himself about the scars he carried. But it shocked him how close it was to the surface, how easy it would
have been to release it.
Danny was still tempted to go back and pound the actor into the ground. He had not seen Alex actually grope Emma. But he believed the young woman’s claim. It was good he had missed it. The smoldering ashes of his rage left him utterly convinced he would have lost it.
He did not hear the approaching footsteps. When Emma sat down beside him, Danny jumped. He prided himself on being constantly aware. But here he was, so wrapped up in the might-have-beens that Emma managed to approach unnoticed.
He was trying to stow away the bitter remnants when Emma curled up beside him, pulling her legs under her in a coltish fashion. Danny found true comfort in her gift of silent thanks.
They were still seated like this three minutes later when two sets of footsteps approached. Danny turned and saw Robin and Greg walking the path toward them. Emma took their approach as her cue and rose and walked away. Danny followed her with his gaze, taking in how Robin reached out and stroked her daughter’s hair as she passed, and then how Greg smiled at her. As though he fully understood what just happened.
Robin remained where she was and said, “I have a couple of friends who would like to meet you. Locals.” When Danny didn’t respond, she went on, “These people could be really helpful, Danny. You need to do this. I wanted to introduce them earlier, but they asked me to wait until I was certain.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will. I’ve invited them for dinner. It has to be early. They . . . work nights. My place in an hour and a half. Say yes.”
Danny recognized he had no choice. “Yes, all right.”
“Good.” She turned to Greg. “You and Annie need to come too.”
“Anything for a home-cooked meal.”
“Great. Okay if I leave now and take Emma with me to get things ready?”
“If you’re sure this is important,” Danny said.
“It is, and I am. You’ll like them. A lot. And they will like you.” She flashed a rare smile, then turned and walked away.