by Sandi Scott
Ever curious, Georgie strained to hear what the medics were saying but it was impossible to make out their conversation. Two words circulated quickly through the growing crowd outside the trailer, though, “No pulse!”
Chapter 4
The sun started to set early in Chicago at this time of year. The entire movie set was being covered by late afternoon shadows. One by one the huge lights rigged up by special electricians began to light up the entire encampment until the area was lit up as brightly as noon.
“I can’t believe he’s dead.”
Georgie and Aleta overheard these words being mumbled over and over while they quietly meandered around the set grounds.
Cassandra must have completely forgotten about the two WNND prize-winners. Georgie had seen her not once, but four times, stomping past with her hand pressed to her ear as she talked a mile-a-minute into her headphones, alternating with a cellphone and a walkie-talkie.
Georgie was sure the news had probably spread from the Midwest to La La Land that the executive producer, Jason Hobbs—the money behind such blockbusters as The Iceberg, Full Moon and See You Next Wednesday—was dead.
“Should we go home?” Aleta asked. “Do you think they are going to do any more filming tonight?”
“Well, I’d like to ask a few people about their opinions on his death,” Georgie stated and looked around while licking the powdered sugar from the double chocolate brownies off her fingers.
“You aren’t really thinking about getting involved in this, are you?” Aleta cautioned. “These people are from California, also known as the land of the fruits and nuts. You know they aren’t going to be too impressed with a pet portrait painter from Chicago nosing around.”
“You say that like we aren’t cool enough to ask a couple questions,” Georgie huffed, adjusting her blouse as if she were offended. “These people aren’t any different from us. We’re cool—totally cool.”
Aleta looked at her sister as if she had sprouted a third eye in the middle of her head.
“Trust me, these people want to talk as badly as we want to listen. I’ll prove it to you.” Georgie brushed the crumbs from the front of her blouse as sidled up to a group of three men in blue jeans and t-shirts. They stopped whispering and looked down at her.
“Hello, gentlemen,” she cleared her throat, “my sister and I won these passes to see a real movie being filmed.” She waved the badge she wore around her neck. “My sister is afflicted with polydactylism. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of it, but it is a rare condition that results in her having extra digits on her feet. She actually has twelve toes.”
All three men gasped and looked sympathetically over at Aleta.
“She’s very self-conscious about it even though they are covered by her special therapeutic shoes. Would it be too much to ask for me to get her picture with you guys as real movie-makers? It would do wonders for her self-esteem.”
The men looked at each other, then over to Aleta, who waved, innocently unaware of her sister’s elaborate story.
“Sure,” one fellow with a wild beard and black-rimmed glasses agreed. “We’d be delighted.” He looked to his associates who all nodded as they tried not to chortle at what they’d just heard.
“That would be great. Thanks so much,” Georgie gushed as she hustled them over to Aleta, posing them around her like it was a prom picture. Georgie introduced the men to her sister, getting all their names as they posed happily with the polydactyl. The man with the beard and glasses, who was called Max, even leaned close to Aleta, giving her a quick peck on the cheek for the camera.
"Thank you so much, guys," Georgie smiled kindly. "We heard there was an accident. Is everyone okay?" Aleta watched her sister, oblivious to the story she had concocted and shared with the movie crew.
"The producer died," Max mumbled. "Heart attack."
“Really?” Georgie put her hand to her cheek. “My goodness, you never know when your day will come. Will you have to stop filming?”
"Probably for tonight, but we'll be back at it for sure tomorrow morning. It'll take a little more than the death of the producer to stop shooting," he chuckled looking at his associates who nodded their heads in agreement.
“Really?” Georgie squinted as if her eyesight were failing her. “What is a producer?”
The three men chuckled at Georgie. They saw her exactly the way she wanted—an innocent, naïve older lady who was smitten with the glamour and excitement of the movie business.
"The producer is the guy who pays for a movie to be made," Max stated. "Jason Hobbs was the main financial investor in this film."
“Well, if he’s dead, won’t the money disappear?” Georgie asked. “He can’t fill out a check if he’s not breathing, right?”
“He’s already put the money down,” one of the other men said. He had a seriously receding hairline and a potbelly. “We’ll get paid.”
“Hmmm. So ... will you go to the funeral?” Aleta asked.
All three men started to laugh.
“Guys like him wouldn’t even let us use the same bathroom as they did. Why would we ever go to mourn their leaving this planet?” Potbelly chuckled.
“Right,” Max added. “Besides, there will always be another Jason Hobbs. Hollywood is filled with them. There is no shortage of guys looking for places to put their money in the hopes of making more.”
“Well, thanks, guys,” Georgie patted Max’s arm gently. “Good luck with the rest of the filming.”
The three men nodded but Georgie noticed they were hesitant to walk away. She arched her eyebrows and looked up at Max.
“Is there something we can do for you?” Georgie asked quietly.
"Well, the guys and I were wondering if your sister would mind showing us her feet," he looked over his shoulder at his co-workers then back at Georgie. "We've never seen anyone with polydactylism."
Georgie wanted to start laughing, but instead she sadly shook her head.
“I’m sorry, she’d think you were making fun of her.” Georgie put her hand to her chest. “I can’t put her on the spot like that.”
“I totally understand,” Max insisted, “but we wouldn’t do that at all.”
“You know, if we were spending a little more time here she might warm up to the idea, but we only have passes for one day. That’s really not enough time for her to warm up to anyone.”
“Well, we can totally get you guys passes onto the set for tomorrow.”
“Really? Won’t you get in trouble?” Georgie asked.
"Not at all," Max fanned his hand in front of him. "It isn't like we have a ton of groupies and fans swarming the set way out here. No one will even know you're not supposed to be here. I'll get you each another badge and I'll leave it with Jerry, the security guard. Just carry a clipboard and you'll blend right in."
“You are so nice, Max. I think Aleta would find that a completely acceptable trade. May I have your cell number so I can call you and let you know when we’ve arrived?”
“Sure Georgie,” he rattled off ten digits, “no one will even notice you and, if anyone asks, just tell them you are extras.”
Georgie shook Max’s hand just as she heard a familiar throat clearing behind her. It seemed to be aimed at her. When she peeked around, she almost jumped out of her skin because Detective Stan Toon, her ex-husband, was standing there.
“See you tomorrow, Max. Thanks again,” Georgie patted his hand before she turned around to talk to Stan.
“What was that all about?” Stan asked. “You know I never like seeing you talking to other men.”
“Please. Those boys are young enough to be our sons,” Georgie put her hands on her hips. “Besides, you know me, Stan, I always preferred older, mature men. That was part of the reason our marriage didn’t work—you lacked the maturity part!”
“Ouch, it’s not enough you showed up on the scene before me, you gotta kick me while I’m down?” Stan rubbed his stomach as if Georgie had really hurt him.
“I’m sorry, honey,” She led him a few steps to where Aleta was waiting, "but I don't think you'll need to spend too much time here. Some producer died of a heart attack. No foul play."
"Hi, Stan, it's so nice to see you," Aleta gave her ex-brother-in-law a hug. Stan Toon and Georgie had been married long enough to have three children who were now grown and able to realize that their parents were better off as friends than husband and wife. "Georgie, what were you talking about with those boys? My ears were burning."
“Yes, well, I told them about your two extra toes. They were willing to give us set passes for tomorrow if you’d show them your feet,” Georgie looked at her sister as if she had just informed her that she had a doctor’s appointment at nine o’clock. Her face remained serious and unflinching.
“What?” Aleta snapped.
“Do you have two extra toes?” Stan asked seriously.
“Of course, I don’t,” Aleta looked at Stan, “and I’m not showing anyone my feet. Only weirdoes would want to see a woman with twelve toes, anyway.”
“Exactly, I knew you wouldn’t. Your polydactylism is embarrassing and gives you anxiety, so I just told them, ‘Sorry, guys, but she just isn’t comfortable showing you her feet, but thanks for the passes.’”
“They are going to throw us off the lot,” Aleta complained, looking at Stan who was trying not to laugh.
"Well, they aren't going to be doing any more work today," Stan added. "I've got to ask a few questions. Georgie, would you be interested in having a cup of coffee with me when I'm done? I've got Folgers at my place. Maybe a glass of Drambuie on the side?"
“No.”
“Think it over.”
“Okay . . . no,” Georgie looked at her sister and rolled her eyes. “Aleta, let’s go to the Craft Service tables and see what we can take home. In my opinion, we deserve to come here again tomorrow because we didn’t get to observe a full day’s filming due to ... um ... death making a cameo appearance.”
“I think so too,” Aleta agreed. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll get to see Dustin Stetson!”
The twins said goodbye to Stan and headed toward the Craft Service tables. There were still mounds of food spread out, making it look as if the work was going to continue long into the night.
"I can make plenty of room in my purse," Georgie muttered as she pulled her wallet, date book, car keys, and a pack of gum out of the bright orange satchel bag where they normally lived and set them on the table. Half the pastries fit neatly in her bag, so she covered them snugly with a couple of napkins.
"I'm so glad I found you ladies," Cassandra said breathlessly as she juggled half a dozen electronic devices at once in her hands. "I'm so sorry things went sideways."
“Things happen,” Georgie soothed.
"Thanks for understanding." Just then Cassandra's phone began to beep. Without another word, she turned to take it in private.
“Let’s get out of here,” Aleta tugged at her sister’s sleeve. Georgie nodded.
They found Pablo sitting where they had parked him, except now there were a handful of black and white police cars and Stan’s unmarked car parked in the grass, too.
“Well, that really was fun,” Aleta sighed while she watched the road get busier as they drove back into Chicago.
“Yeah, and you thought those people wouldn’t tell us any information. Midwesterners aren’t savvy enough for the brilliance of the West Coast. Hooey is what I say to you.”
“You lied to them and told them I had funny feet just to get a second day’s passes. That’s hardly proving we are savvy. It proves we’re big liars,” Aleta lectured.
“You’re saying we. I take that as a ‘yes’ that you will be accompanying me tomorrow?”
“Of course, I’m coming tomorrow. Dustin might be there.”
Just then Georgie’s phone began to ring in her pocket. She pulled it out and handed it to Aleta.
“Hello?” Aleta answered for her sister. Georgie could hear the woman on the other end of the line. It was Cassandra from the movie set.
“You left your wallet at one of the Craft Service tables.”
"I'm such a bubble-head," Aleta said, as she pretended to be her sister. "You know, I hate to admit this but I forgot to take my pills for my chronic rhinotillexomania, one of the side effects of that is forgetfulness."
Aleta smirked at her sister while holding the cell phone slightly out of her desperate reach, meanwhile gesturing that Georgie should pay attention to the road.
“What is rhinotillexomania? Well, it’s slightly embarrassing but it is obsessive nose-picking. Some people compulsively wash their hands. We all have our quirks.” Aleta shrugged innocently and giggled, looking over at a fuming Georgie.
“Can I come get it tonight? Absolutely. I’m just going to drop off my sister at her house and I’ll be back to pick it up,” Georgie agreed, nodding her head at Aleta.
Aleta wrapped up the phone conversation then handed Georgie her phone.
“Rhinotillexomania? How long have you been waiting to use that word?” Georgie demanded to know.
“Don’t criticize me, Miss Polydactylism.”
Both ladies laughed until Georgie pulled into Aleta’s driveway to drop her off.
Before she could catch her breath, Georgie was on her way back to Skokie and the movie set to retrieve her wallet. She remembered taking it out of her purse to make room for the sweets.
"Maybe I should have waited until morning," Georgie muttered to herself as she pulled down the gravel road that led to the secluded filming area. The landscape looked totally different with the sun dipped below the horizon. Instead of a peaceful farmstead, the area looked like a creepy secluded place where killer scarecrows and deranged hillbillies might roam looking for road kill for dinner.
Finally, she saw the bright lights of the set. Pulling the car to a stop, she shut off the engine and quickly headed toward where she remembered the Craft Service trailer to be.
Many of the lights inside the set had been turned off. There were some people still roaming around like carnies breaking down a carnival at the end of the summer season.
Georgie managed to quietly walk to the Craft Service trailer without being noticed. The young woman who had been working with Lorelei was still there cleaning up. Georgie asked her about her wallet, but before she finished her sentence the woman handed her the pocketbook.
“Thank you so much,” Georgie smiled.
“No problem,” the young lady said without much fuss before turning back to finish what she was doing.
Georgie stuffed the wallet in her pocket next to her phone then began walking slowly back to her car. How odd that there was no real emotion being shown by anyone working. In fact, everything looked like business as usual: No tears, no sad faces, nothing.
“People grieve differently,” Georgie mused, her lips pulled down in thought. “People from California do things differently than we do here. This might be what downright suicidal looks like for people on the west coast. What do I know?”
Stan’s men had roped off the huge trailer. They would have to keep that pristine until the report from the coroner's office confirmed it was a heart attack.
"Kind of weird for a guy who was thin and boney to have a ‘grabber’," she continued talking aloud. "Stress. He probably ate vegan, ran twenty miles every day, had a therapist, and practiced yoga, but, in the end, he couldn't outrun the stress. That's why I don't worry about anything. Nope. Whatever kills me, it won't be stress. Nope, nothing that crazy.”
As Georgie walked past the trailer, she realized there were half a dozen more behind it set up like a bunch of train cars that had derailed. Each had a light illuminated on the inside, except for one. Georgie could hear voices and held her breath trying to tiptoe through the grass.
“I don’t care. His heart attack was perfect timing—” Georgie recognized the voice as that of the director, Robbie, “—and let’s face it, he got what he deserved. The guy was a jerk to everyone.
Just because he backed my work didn’t give him the right to walk all over me.”
Georgie quietly slipped into the shadows and made her way back to her car.
Even though she knew the EMTs had tried to revive him while calling it a heart attack, Georgie wondered if everything was as it seemed. For someone who had put so much money into the movie, the guy didn’t seem to have many friends on the set.
“But then, Robbie was no prince charming either,” she said to Pablo as he sputtered to life and slipped smoothly into first gear. “Maybe tomorrow’s visit will seem different in the light of day.”
Before she could drive away, a tall figure came running toward her—her new friend Max.
“I’m glad I caught you,” he panted, as Georgie rolled down her window.
Chapter 5
“Closed for the day? Why?” Aleta pouted as she poured a coffee for Georgie and watched as Bodhi, Georgie’s Pug dog, made himself comfortable on Aleta’s couch. In a matter of seconds, Freckles, Aleta’s cat, was snuggled up next to him.
“Max said they were observing a day of mourning. The news spread through the place after we left.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you went back for your wallet,” Aleta tried to smile.
“I know you wanted to see if Dustin Stetson would be there. I’m sorry.”
Aleta shrugged.
“Well, since that adventure has been squashed, what are your plans for the day?”
“I’ll probably just get to work on the Friedman’s painting. I’ll need to get the canvas prepped and make a schedule to get it finished and maybe I’ll go to the art supply store. I’m running out of Alizarin Crimson and Titanium White. You can never have too much Titanium White—”
“You’re going to pump Stan for information,” Aleta interrupted this list of fascinating activities without ceremony.
“Yup, that’s about right. See you later,” Georgie snapped, leaving her steaming cup of coffee, but stealing the chocolate filled croissant Aleta had put on a dish in front of her.