All That Lies Within (20 page)

Rebecca closed the folder on the lectern. As she turned to leave, she watched a student break down a Go-Pro video camera on a tripod in the corner of the room. “What’s that for?”

“YouTube.”

“You’re taping my lecture for posterity and uploading it to YouTube?”

“Yeah. Been taping them for a while. Haven’t you noticed before now? It’s part of a college Excellence in Education program we’re putting together.”

“Don’t you need my permission for something like that?”

“Um. The department head and Old Chapel signed off on it.”

“The administration gave you permission to use my image?”

“Yeah.” The student rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “You’re down with it, right?”

“Do I have a choice? I guess if it’s okay with them, it’s okay with me. Just make sure you get my good side.”

“Which side is that?”

“I’ll leave that up to you.”

As she walked away, she muttered, “YouTube.” She spent a second fantasizing that Dara would somehow see one of the lectures and want to talk to her about it.
Yeah, right. Keep dreaming.
 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Okay. Dara, Sam, one more time. Sam, this time I want to see the rawness of the emotions. You just buried your wife. You’re all alone without a plan, just sitting on this park bench, trying to keep it together. Dara, you spot him and you’re intrigued, wondering what his story is. At first, you sit down on the bench across from him. Then, you simply can’t resist. So you get up and move next to him.” The director motioned to the “B” camera. “I want you in tight on Sam, so close we’re looking at the red in his bloodshot eyes. Places, everyone!”

Dara’s body vibrated with tension. She slid her jaw from side to side to ease the pain from clenching her teeth. This was the twelfth take and none of them yet had been worth a damn. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that her co-star was struggling with the contacts he had to wear to get his eyes to look sufficiently bloodshot.
Poor guy.
She liked Sam Rutledge. He was a great actor with a well-deserved reputation as a hard worker and a professional. He showed up on time, knew his lines, and never complained.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Sam smiled at Dara. “These buggers suck, but I’ll get through it. Thank God I don’t have to spend the whole movie wearing them.”

“Tell you what. How about we nail it in this take so you can get the heck out of those things.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

In the end, they shot another eight takes before the director yelled, “Cut! And print it.”

Dara leaned back and said a silent thank you to the universe.

Audrey Eaton, the first assistant director on the film, yelled out, “That’s a wrap for today, folks. We’re going into turnaround.”

Since Dara didn’t have a watch on and they were inside on a sound stage, she was surprised at the pronouncement. Going into turnaround meant that they were getting close to being within eight hours of when the crew had to be back on set. Contractually, if they didn’t get at least eight hours off, the studio would have to pay more than time-and-a-half to anyone the rule applied to. Despite the fact that this was a big-budget production, no one wanted to waste money on a turnaround violation.

“Damn. That was a long day,” Sam said, as he and Dara walked off the set.

“No kidding.”

“What do you think we’ll be shooting tomorrow?”

Dara shrugged. “My guess is unless George magically falls in love with today’s dailies, it’ll be more of the same in the morning.”

Sam groaned. “Another day of those blasted contacts. Please, God, let George and the studio love the dailies.”

Dara laughed. “Good luck with that, but I’m happy to pray with you. A girl can sit on a bench for only so long before her ass gets flat.”

Sam conspicuously checked out Dara’s butt. “Nope. It’s still round.”

Because Dara knew Sam was happily married and not the least bit lecherous, she played along. “Well, thank God for that. For a second there, I was worried.”

“Glad I could help ease your mind, though having to do the research was a hardship.”

They reached Dara’s trailer. “Uh-huh. Say goodnight, Sam.”

“Good night, Sam.” He winked. “See you too early in the morning, Dara.”

“You got that right.” She climbed the steps and entered the trailer—her home away from home during the three months it would take to shoot the film. As she started to change out of her costume and into her street clothes, the exhaustion set in, followed closely by the depression. They’d been filming for a week, and it wasn’t going well. She wished she could see the dailies. She hoped they were better than the takes felt.

But that was never going to happen. Traditionally, actors never got to see what had been captured on film that day, because directors worried that seeing them would affect the actor’s work.

Dara grabbed her jacket and purse on the way out the door. A good soak in the Jacuzzi would do her a world of good. The call sheet for tomorrow’s shoot should arrive by e-mail in another couple of hours, but she imagined that it would be much like today’s—a 5:15 a.m. date with the makeup chair.   

“Rebecca Minton, please.”

“Speaking.” Rebecca shifted the phone so that she could continue organizing the papers on her desk and transferring them to her briefcase.

“My name is Randolph Curtain. I’m a movie producer.”

Rebecca stopped what she was doing. “How can I help you?”

“I’m producing a new movie. It’s based on a Constance Darrow novel,
On the Wings of Angels
.”

The room spun, and Rebecca reached out for her chair, barely sliding into it before her legs gave out. Dara’s movie.

“Are you there, Ms. Minton?”

“I’m here.”

“Anyway, it’s come to my attention that you are the top Darrow scholar, and we’re in need of some help.”

“What kind of help, exactly?”

“How do you feel about coming to Hollywood to meet with me and Director George Nelson?”

“I don’t—”

“It’s Friday. If you can get on a very early flight tomorrow morning, you’d be here in time for lunch. Of course, we’d make all the arrangements. We can have a car pick you up at your home and drive you to Logan. There’s a 7:20 a.m. American Airlines flight that gets you into LAX at around 11:00 a.m. We’ll have another driver pick you up and bring you to our offices. We’ll put you up for the night at the Beverly Hills Hotel and get you back on a flight on Sunday so you’ll be right on time for your Monday morning class. What do you say?”

Rebecca’s head was spinning.

“Ms. Minton? Are you still with me?”

“Yes. I’m just trying to wrap my brain around this. What is it you think I can do for you?”

“We’d really rather discuss it in person, Ms. Minton. So, can I schedule a driver to come get you? We realize this is very short notice, but, heh, it’s Hollywood, after all, and this is how we roll.”

Did he really just say that
? “I guess there’s no harm in meeting with you.”
It’s not like I had anything planned for the weekend.

“Excellent! I’ll have my assistant call you in just a few minutes with all the arrangements. Look forward to meeting you in person. See you tomorrow.”

The line went dead, and Rebecca sat for long seconds still holding the phone to her ear. What had she just agreed to?

Even though she’d had only three hours sleep, Rebecca was too nervous to nap on the plane, and by the time she arrived in Los Angeles, she was running on pure adrenaline.

Before exiting security, she stopped in the bathroom to check her lipstick and hair. Eyeing herself critically in the full-length mirror, she wished she’d worn the purple blouse instead of the red.
Red is a power color. It tells them you won’t be trifled with.
Rebecca snorted. She didn’t even know why she was here, how could she assume that she needed to look tough?

When she arrived in baggage claim, she saw the official-looking driver holding up a sign with her name on it. Since she didn’t have anything but an overnight bag, he relieved her of that and escorted her to the car—a nice, shiny black limousine.
Good to know the movie has a big budget.
Or maybe this was simply that legendary Hollywood excess she’d read so much about.

In the car, she allowed herself to daydream that she and Dara were riding together, heading out on the town, or to a gala.

“We’re here, Miss.”

“Oh.” They drove through the security gate on the Warner Brothers lot and past a series of large warehouse-like buildings that Rebecca assumed were sound stages. A few turns later, they were outside a building that resembled a bungalow. The driver put the car in park and came around to open the door for her.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Miss. Enjoy your stay.”

When the driver stepped away, a second man stood waiting for her.

“Ms. Minton, I’m Randolph Curtain. We spoke on the phone. Welcome to 722 Films.”

He was a little man, far smaller than Rebecca had envisioned. She shook his hand. “Please, call me Rebecca.”

“Right this way.” He led her into the bungalow, which was surprisingly roomy on the inside. “We’re in the conference room.”

The room was jam-packed with technology. There was a large-screen television on one wall and speakers mounted in every corner. On a long oval table sat six iPads, two laptops, five conference speakers, and a telephone console.

Sitting at the table were three people, two men and one woman. They were in the middle of a spirited discussion when Randolph and Rebecca walked in.

“Everybody, this is Professor Rebecca Minton, the  foremost scholar on the author Constance Darrow and her work.”

Rebecca blushed. “I don’t know—”

“We’ve seen some of your lectures, Professor. Very impressive.” The woman nodded in Rebecca’s direction.

Something that had been niggling at Rebecca’s brain shoved its way to the forefront. “Can I ask how you all know about my lectures and my scholarship on Ms. Darrow’s work? I mean, I’m not exactly a household name.”

“It’s fair to say we had an inside track,” Randolph said from his position standing next to her.

“What does that mean?”

“The student who has been taping your lectures is my son.”

The young man who was doing the college Excellence in Education project.
So that’s why I’m here?
Rebecca frowned as the picture started to take shape. “Jeffrey is your son?”

“He is,” Randolph said proudly. “When I spoke to him last week, he went on and on about your course. It was all he talked about. When I told him about the movie, he could hardly contain himself.”

“I’m here because your son likes my course?” Rebecca felt the edges of anger creep in. If this guy thought she would give his son a better grade because he was some hotshot Hollywood producer, he was badly mistaken.

“No, Ms. Minton,” the balding man at the other end of the room said. “You’re here because we’re in a heap of trouble and we need your expertise.”

“And you are?”

The man laughed. “I’m George Nelson, the director of this mess.” He stood up and came around the table to shake her hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m not sure what you’re looking for and what it is you think I can do.”

“Here’s the situation,” the other man said. “By the way, I’m Eric Jordan, the other executive producer on this project.”

Rebecca turned to the woman.

“Oh, I’m Audrey Eaton, the first assistant director.”

“Nice to meet you all,” Rebecca said.

“Come in all the way and sit down.” Randolph motioned her to a nearby chair.

“As I started to say,” Eric said, “we’ve been shooting for a little more than a week now. The dailies look horrible.”

“The dailies?” Rebecca asked.

“Every night the director, the editor, and someone from the studio, meaning us producers, review the footage shot that day,” Randolph said.

“And what we’ve seen up until this point is very concerning,” Eric added. “We’re spending a lot of money on this movie, and we need it to be box office gold.”