by Davis Bunn
“And that’s not working. So we’re going to take a different course. There are some really famous actresses who shine brightest on their first take.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Emma. I’ve been watching you, and I think that’s part of who you are. So before you come downstairs from now on, you and I will run through your lines.”
“I’ll help,” Jennie called.
“See? There are a whole host of people here who want you to shine. No, don’t you dare cry. You’ll mess up all that work she’s doing on your face.”
“You’re mean.”
“Tell me about it.” Danny knelt and drew a circle around where Emma stood, big enough to include the canvas chair. He rose and asked the cosmetician, “Are we about done here?”
“Sounds to me like an order.”
“You were listening. Good.”
“You’re right, hon. Mean as they come.” The cosmetician sprayed Emma’s hair and whispered, “Just knock him out for me, will you?”
Danny waited until Emma was focused intently on him. There was a visceral connection between them now. Danny saw his own hollow core echoed there in her young gaze. It hurt him doubly, sharing this sense of absence. He shook himself mentally and pointed at the chalk line. “This is you. Emma Sturgis. You are locked inside this circle. Every time you feel like Emma starts to resurface, you return here.”
“I don’t get it.”
“You will. Remember what I said upstairs?”
She scrunched her face. “I’m acting from the lines in. Or something like that.”
“Precisely that. And it ends now. We both know it’s not taking you where we all want you to go.”
“So . . .”
“Now we’re going to change things around. No, Emma. Don’t look at Greg. From this point on, it’s just you and me.”
“And whoever I’m acting with, right?”
“No, because Emma is not going to be out there at all.” Danny saw the realization register and liked how it added to her intensity. “First things first. Behind the camera, outside the lights, it’s just you and me. Any question, you ask me. Any concern, you discuss it with me. Tell me you understand.”
“Yes, Danny.”
“Okay. Good.” He turned to Greg. “Where’s her mark?”
Wordlessly Greg walked over and stood at a point midway between the reception desk and the first line of sofas. “She enters from the kitchen and stops here.”
Danny turned back. “You and I are going to start a new rhythm. We’ll come downstairs and run through the scene together. Not the lines. You have the lines down pat. That’s never been the issue.”
“But I keep flubbing them.”
“The issue is not the lines,” Danny repeated. “What’s bothering you is how you don’t own them. You’re speaking something Annie wrote and not living them.” He pointed at the circle. “All those problems are here. Inside this circle where Emma stays. What we’re going to do now is build a new you. The character who lives outside this circle. Out there in the lights. Ready?”
“I think . . . Yes.”
Something caught his attention. A brief shift in the space beyond his field of vision. A change in the unseen winds. Danny looked over just in time to see Megan enter the front doors. The pain was so intense he almost lost it. The control, the focus, the young woman who trusted him to make things right. He breathed deep, then again.
When he was ready, he turned back to Emma and said, “Now close your eyes.”
The set was astonishingly silent. A good film crew developed the ability to turn off every possible source of sound, even breathe quietly, when the cameras rolled. During a take, all their collective energy was focused on the actors and the set. They were bound together like that now.
Danny said, “I want you to think of a secret that has recently rocked your world. Something you haven’t told anybody. But you know it’s had a major impact on who you are.” He gave that a beat. “Now open your eyes. Do you have that in mind?”
She looked at him and nodded.
“Okay. Now I want you to look out there where the lights are brightest. Out there, it’s only your character. So what I want you to do now is take your secret and change it. Make it into her secret. Something that has rocked her world. Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now close your eyes and make it happen.” Danny waited through a half-dozen heartbeats. When Emma reopened her eyes, he walked over and stood beside her mark. “As you exit the circle, you leave Emma behind. Once you leave that circle, everything about who you are stays in there. You make this transition by thinking about the new secret. The one that is hers, that forms your link. Your job is to be your character. When we start shooting, your character will enter through the kitchen doors and come over and stop here. By the time you hit this mark, the change is complete.”
She watched him. They all did. Careful, cautious, focused. The energy was intoxicating.
Danny went on, “Every day, before we start shooting the next scene, we’re going to build another segment of this bridge between the you inside Emma’s circle and the new you. Each scene only has time for one emotion. There is room for just one secret thread. So before each scene, you and I are going to do an exercise like this one. Gradually you’ll build a new emotional state, one to replace everything that you’re about to leave inside Emma’s circle. You’re creating a new tapestry of emotions and the past. The lines you speak will be a natural outflow from this new you.”
In his peripheral vision, Danny saw Annie cover her mouth with both hands. Greg reached over and draped one arm over her shoulders.
“Do you need to run through your Emma secret again?” Danny asked.
“No.” Her voice sounded stronger now. More certain. “I know it.”
“Good. So close your eyes. Think about your character. There is a secret she carries. Something she’s only just discovered. Something she’s never told anybody. But it has rocked her world. Your world.” Danny gave that a long beat. “When you’re ready, open your eyes, take a firm grip on the secret thread that you use to weave the new you. Then step outside the circle and go make a movie.”
42
MEGAN’S NEXT FOUR DAYS were a blur of frenetic action. Danny’s plan was working. Everybody on the set remained almost afraid to say anything, even think that they might have turned the corner. But with each take, every passing hour, and all the new dawns, the certainty grew. Emma made mistakes. A lot of them. But the flavor of a real story grew into something very real.
They were making movie magic.
Since their confrontation in Megan’s drive, she had not spoken directly with Danny. Her work brought her into the hotel every day, but she dealt exclusively with Robin. It had become clear in the manner of movie osmosis that she and Danny had argued. People knew. Anyone with half a brain could see the wounded looks the two of them shared. But the clock pushed them all so hard, everyone silently accepted it and moved on.
The third day after their driveway confrontation, Greg pulled Megan aside to report that Rick and Annie and the soundman had all been contacted by their agents and offered hugely lucrative new gigs starting immediately, but only if they broke off their work for Greg. The offers had come through K&K, who claimed the new project was a feature film financed by Chinese money.
Greg went on, “Annie wouldn’t dream of walking away. The others . . .” He rocked his hand from side to side. “Probably not. Since you’ve got them tied up with contracts, they had no choice but to refuse.”
“Interesting,” was all she said. But what she thought was, First the carrot, now the stick.
The story Annie had written was centered upon reality. When she heard this, Megan took the structure to CBC’s legal team. After two days of discussion and argument and gentle pressure, the Chambers attorneys finally agreed that the marketing division could trumpet the film’s new logo: Based on true events.
Throughout this entire period, La
wrence Abbott had continued to sow poisonous rumors wherever possible.
Rand Bethany’s first big assist was to bypass Lawrence entirely and go straight to the company’s sales team. The ad execs did backflips over the news that they actually had a product to fill the Valentine’s Day primetime vacuum, then again when they heard about the true-events logo. Audience preferences were cyclical, and just then true-to-life was a big selling point. According to Rand, Lawrence actually punched a hole in his side wall when he heard the news.
The following Monday, Megan and Lane Pritchard arrived at CBC’s headquarters. Rand had arranged a meeting with the heads of ad sales and program marketing. They presented a rough edit of what could potentially become the film’s first trailer. The sixty-second spot included two brief glimpses of Emma’s performance at the Soho Club. Her music formed the background for the entire piece. Alex supplied the spoken overview. The final climactic shot was of Jennie’s unscripted departure from the restaurant, arm over Emma’s shoulders.
As Lane put it afterward, they’d succeeded in creating the first-ever silent thermonuclear explosion.
Megan left the Chambers executive building with Rand Bethany. They crossed Wilshire and walked up Beverly Drive, passing some of the most expensive shops on earth, and entered a bistro-style restaurant called simply The Farm. Rand was well known there, which meant they snagged one of the six outside tables.
As they were seated, Megan’s phone rang. She checked the readout and said, “It’s our bookkeeper, Emma’s mother.”
“No problem.”
“I won’t be long.” Megan touched the screen. “Hi, Robin.”
“Two men just left my home. They’re private investigators from Los Angeles.”
Rand saw the change to Megan’s features and demanded, “What’s wrong?”
Megan held up one finger. She said into the phone, “Please tell me you got their names and badge numbers.”
“Of course.”
“Wait, I need pad and pen.” She reached for her purse, but Rand was faster. “Okay, go ahead.”
Robin read them off. “They’re with Blackwater and Associates. I called after they left and confirmed that. Do you need their office address?”
“No.” Megan felt her pulse accelerate. Three types of PIs worked the greater Los Angeles area. The largest segment by far was the bottom-feeders, low-rent private detectives who trolled for the salacious and the rotten. Next up the ladder were former police officers and their associates. Megan’s former firm had kept two of these on retainer. The third group was by far the smallest, an elite order of six high-end firms that specialized in intelligence gathering, corporate espionage, and guarding the rich and famous. Blackwater was a boutique company that focused exclusively on servicing the Hollywood studios.
She did not have any idea what this meant, nor did it really matter. She could sense her prey coming into view. Almost. “What did they want?”
“They told me I should be extremely worried, letting Danny Byrd anywhere near my daughter.”
Megan’s heart rate sped up faster still. “Give it to me word for word.”
“They said they were building a case of fraud and financial misconduct against Danny, and in the process they had uncovered evidence so troubling their client ordered them to warn me.”
“Did they say who their client was?”
“No. I asked them four times. They refused point-blank.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“They asked where Emma was at that very moment. They made it sound like she was in immediate danger. They asked if I could be absolutely certain she was being properly supervised, and how I could be so sure she was safe. They even suggested I was a bad mother, leaving her on set.”
Megan’s note taking became so jerky she could not fit the words into the lines of Rand’s notebook. “Which one accused you?”
“Both. They were a tag team. They didn’t say anything outright.”
“I understand.”
“And they sounded rehearsed. Like they had practiced their lines before they showed up.”
Megan set down the pen and closed her eyes. Running through the elements. Looking for the unseen. It was how she prepared for a case. Allowing the puzzle to take shape in the dark recesses beyond conscious thought. When she was ready, she opened her eyes again. She liked how Rand watched her, the purple streak and the overly styled clothes masking a bright and determined young woman. She liked how Robin waited in silence, granting her time to move through the high grass. Hunting. She liked how she could claim her concern was simply in service of a client. Even when she knew it was not true, for the moment she could place her turbulent emotions and her painful yearnings to one side. Almost.
When she was ready, Megan asked Robin, “Anything else?”
“As they were leaving, they made a casual reference to the case they were building against Danny. Like it was an offhand comment.”
“They were avoiding any hint of libel,” Megan explained. “What did they say?”
“That you got Danny off on a technicality. They said it worked in a criminal case. But their client was going to bring civil charges and make them stick.”
“I wish they’d try,” Megan said. “I’d have them for lunch.”
“Danny is lucky to have you in his corner.”
“I don’t need to tell you all this is bogus, do I?”
“Of course not,” Robin said. “What’s going on?”
“Motive. We need to know why this is happening.”
“What can I do to help?”
Megan hesitated, then said, “My gut is telling me it’s tied to the hotel.”
Robin went quiet. “I am specifically ordered not to talk about that.”
“Which is why I need you to call Sol Feinnes. Tell him exactly what you told me. Tell him I think all this is somehow connected and it’s time to reveal everything he knows.”
After Robin cut the connection, Megan shut her eyes and compressed the phone between her hands. She felt as though the day was whispering secrets, but they remained just beyond her ability to hear and understand. She heard Rand order them coffees, the voices coming from a far distance.
The confidentiality surrounding the ownership of Thrashers Ridge, Danny’s trial, the film project that almost didn’t happen, the involvement of Legend Partners, and now this—a scripted warning passed to Robin, one that was clearly nothing but a lie. All of it connected by threads Megan could not identify. Yet. But she knew the links existed. She was certain of it. Danny’s only hope of safety lay in her identifying . . .
Danny.
Megan opened her eyes.
Rand waited until the waitress returned with their coffees to ask, “Will you tell me what just happened?”
“Yes,” Megan said. The setting was not ideal, but the time had come. “But first I need to bring in Lane.”
Rand looked worried. “I could move to another table.”
“No. I want you both to hear this together.” When Lane’s assistant answered, Megan said, “This is Megan Pierce. I have a problem. Can I please take a few minutes of—”
“Certainly, Ms. Pierce. Lane said to put you right through.”
The young man’s response was enough to have Rand looking for her escape button. “Really, it’s no—”
“Rand. Stay. It’s time.”
That was all Megan had time to say, because Lane came on and demanded, “What’s up?”
Megan laid the phone on the table and gestured for Rand to lean in close. When she hesitated, Megan reached across the table and drew her forward until their heads almost touched. She said to the phone, “I’m here with Rand Bethany from CBC. I want to lay something out. Give you both a chance to draw your own conclusions.”
“Shoot.”
When Megan finished relating the conversation with Robin, all Lane said was, “Fascinating.”
Rand pushed her untouched latte to one side, totally into the conversation now. “I have to ask you
about Danny Byrd.”
Hearing his name like that should not have hurt Megan like it did. “Danny is squeaky clean.”
“It’s a valid concern,” Lane said. “You’re absolutely sure about that?”
“I checked. Extensively.” Megan related the search she had done for Pei-Lun Zhang. “Danny Byrd is one of a kind.”
Rand said, “Sounds like a guy on the rise.”
“He should be,” Megan replied. “If he can catch a break.”
Rand nodded slowly. This close, the banked-up fatigue and tension that formed the LA imprint was evident. “You think Legend is involved? That’s why you asked me to check?”
“I have no real evidence,” Megan replied. “But my gut says yes.”
Rand continued to nod. “Larry found out I was asking questions.”
Lane said, “Larry Abbott?”
“He called me in. Demanded to know why I was asking about Legend. I said the name had come up in relation to the project I was handling. He threatened me with firing. Said nothing would save me, not Danny and his team, not Lane Pritchard, nothing.”
Megan said, “I’m so sorry. I should never have asked—”
Rand waved it away. “I’m tired of being afraid of Larry.”
Lane said, “All right. Where are you now?”
“The Farm on Beverly.”
“Stay there. Don’t move. Have a meal. This could take a while.”
When Lane cut the connection, Rand asked, “What just happened?”
For the first time that day, Megan had a sense of absolute rightness. “Things just got kicked up to a new level.”
43
MONDAY AFTERNOON Danny walked the path around the lake. He was accompanied by seven others, all the crew who were not laying the groundwork for that evening’s shoot. Toward sunset they were filming a crucial location scene. Annie walked alongside Greg, their heads together as Annie shaped the next scene in the air between them. The story had solidified now. She was coming up with two new scenes each day, sometimes three. Her writing was now approaching the climactic third act. During rehearsals and meals, sometimes in breaks between takes, she and Greg gathered so he could do the initial read-through and supply comments, like now. Annie was in her element, her face perpetually wreathed with an adrenaline glow so strong her feet scarcely touched the path.