“A Taste of Arsenic, scene one, rehearsal,” the assistant shouted. Then he slammed the top of the clapper board onto its base.
“Action,” called the director.
Marisol burst through the front door of a large office building, then stopped. She looked around. She reached into her purse and pulled out a cell phone. She looked at it, then she looked up. A thought registered in her eyes. She walked hurriedly toward a car that was parked in front of the building. When she reached it, she opened the driver’s-side door and got in.
The director yelled, “Cut.”
“That’s a cut,” the assistant director called out. “Reset. Everyone back to first positions.”
People returned to their original places and prepared for another take.
While this was going on, Jesse spotted Crow approaching Marisol, accompanied by a little girl, who looked to be about seven or eight, and an older woman, most likely the girl’s mother.
He watched as Crow introduced the girl to Marisol, who stood beside her while the mother photographed the two of them together. The child, all smiles, shook hands with Marisol, then she and her mother hurried away.
After a few moments, Jesse saw Marisol turn to Crow in a rage. Everyone present could hear what she was saying.
“How dare you bring strangers to me when I’m acting,” Marisol said to him. “You ruined the shot.”
“The child played hooky in order to see you,” Crow said.
“She destroyed my concentration.”
“Well, if it makes any difference, you have a fan for life.”
“Tell her to get in line.”
Marisol stormed away in the direction of her motor home.
She turned back to Crow.
“That was truly stupid,” she said. “Never again. Don’t ever interrupt me like that again. You hear me?”
Crow didn’t say anything.
“Do you understand?”
He nodded.
She stepped inside the motor home and slammed the door behind her.
Everyone on the set pretended that what they had just witnessed hadn’t occurred. They turned their attention elsewhere and went on with their work.
Frankie Greenberg made her way toward Marisol’s trailer, stopping only to have a word with Crow.
“I’m sorry,” she said to him. “First day is always the toughest. Can you forgive her?”
He grunted.
“Please,” Frankie said. “I promise to make it up to you.”
Then she turned and walked quickly to the motor home. She knocked on the door and went inside.
Jesse meandered over to where Crow was standing.
“That went well,” he said.
Crow didn’t say anything.
“Kid freaked her out,” Jesse said.
“Nah. She was looking for an excuse.”
“An excuse?”
“To remind people that she’s the star.”
“She needed to do that?”
“You can lay odds that no one will forget what just went down, and they’ll pussyfoot around her for the rest of the shoot.”
“So why did she storm off?”
“For effect.”
“You mean she wasn’t upset?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“She does everything for effect.”
“Isn’t that a cynical opinion,” Jesse said.
“Cynicism is what floats my boat.”
“So you’re not thinking of quitting.”
Crow looked at him.
“What, and give up show business,” he said.
—
Ryan Rooney left the cabin in the late afternoon and drove to Paradise. It was easy to find the convoy of movie vehicles in such a small town.
Arriving at the end of the day, amid the hubbub of wrap time, would more easily allow him to accomplish what he intended to do. He parked and headed for the base camp.
Ryan watched as the various departments packed up their equipment and began loading it into their respective vehicles. Everybody was on the move, which gave him his opening.
Unrecognizable in a blond wig, dark glasses, and full beard, Ryan headed for the three-banger that housed the assistant directors’ cubicle.
A three-banger is a twenty-foot trailer that has been subdivided into three separate rooms. In addition to the ADs’ office, it also housed a holding section for the extras and an individual dressing room for a member of the supporting cast.
As he expected, no one was in the ADs’ section.
At wrap, each of the assistant directors is busy with the distribution of the call sheets and maps for the next day’s shoot, as well as providing information about where the various departments could watch the screening of the rushes, the raw footage of that day’s work.
Ryan slipped inside the trailer and quickly gathered copies of all the production schedules and contact sheets. The schedules detailed every day’s workload and its location. The contact sheets listed the local addresses of everyone connected with the movie.
He also grabbed a copy of the script.
No one noticed him. And then he was gone.
He stopped at a Star Time Grocery and bought himself a frozen pizza and a six-pack of Rolling Rock. He splurged and also bought a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream.
Then he returned to the cabin.
33
Portia Cassidy emerged from the Paradise Mall loaded with packages, heading for her car, where she was surprised to find Jesse Stone. He was leaning against the right-front fender of his cruiser, which was parked beside her BMW roadster. His face was turned to the sun.
Portia loaded her packages into the BMW without acknowledging him.
“I’m working on my tan,” Jesse said.
“Why? Surely there must be any number of adolescent miscreants you could be dogging,” Portia said.
“You know what I’m sorry about?”
“Should I care?”
“I’m sorry we got off to such a bad start.”
“Spare me.”
“No. I mean it. You see, I think we might have some common ground.”
Portia now stood beside the car, facing him.
“I’m going to regret asking, aren’t I,” she said.
Jesse looked at her.
“I think Courtney could use our help,” he said.
“Our help.”
“That’s funny. Your husband said the same thing. Is it so outlandish to think that I might want to help get to the bottom of what’s causing her to behave as she is.”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes, it’s outlandish.”
“Come on, Portia. You believe I’m an overzealous policeman, and I believe you’re a vindictive mother. Okay. So be it. But can’t we both step out of character for a moment and just talk to each other?”
Portia didn’t say anything.
“We’ve both got a problem here. Mine is dealing with an unrepentant lawbreaker with issues. Yours is trying to get to the bottom of your daughter’s behavior.”
“That’s how you perceive this?”
“Yes.”
“Look,” she said. “Even if I were to appreciate your point of view, which I don’t, by the way, I would still maintain that what’s happening with Courtney is none of your business. You don’t know her. You don’t know us. You don’t know anything. So for the sake of this conversation, allow me to advise you to, how shall I put it, stay the fuck out of it.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“Well, I do.”
“It doesn’t have to be like this.”
“Once again you’re wrong. Listen to me, Jesse. I’ll say this once and then we’re going to act like it never happened. We are the Cassidys. We don’t seek your opinion as to how we live our lives or conduct our family business. We buy and sell you. You don’t count. Do I make myself clear?”