Fool Me Twice (11 page)

“Because it would be the right thing for you to do.”

“You’re out of line, Jesse.”

Jesse didn’t say anything.

“What’s with this guy,” Silver said to Reagan.

Reagan shrugged.

“We’re done here,” Silver said, standing.

Jesse remained seated.

“I said we’re done.”

“If I have to, I’m prepared to scream bloody murder all the way to the Supreme Court.”

“What in the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Richard Cassidy is one of your biggest campaign contributors. If you don’t recuse yourself, you’ll be creating one hell of an ethical dilemma for yourself.”

“You’re questioning my integrity?”

“Come off it, Aaron. Appoint Marty to stand in your stead and get the fuck out of the way.”

Silver didn’t say anything.

“And while you’re at it, take Judge Green with you.”

“You’re off your rocker, Jesse, you know that,” Silver said.

“Everyone knows you two are joined at the hip. She’s your go-to judge. Get her to recuse herself, too. Don’t stink this up, Aaron.”

“You are one piece of business coming in here and talking to me this way.”

“So you’ll do it?”

Silver was silent. He swiveled his chair around and stared out the window for a while.

Jesse glanced at Reagan, who briefly made eye contact with him before looking away.

“All right,” Silver said, his back still turned to Jesse.

“Wise choice,” Jesse said, standing.

“Get the fuck out of here, Jesse,” Silver said.

Jesse said nothing as he left.

—

S
o tomorrow you start shooting,” Jesse said. “Are you nervous?”

“Opening-night jitters,” Frankie said.

“What could go wrong?”

“Most likely nothing.”

“So what are you nervous about?”

“Comes with the territory.”

They were sitting on Jesse’s porch, having just eaten an extra-large meatball, garlic, and onion pizza, which they washed down with Sam Adams ale.

The sun was bouncing its last rays of the day off the restless waters of the bay. Crickets had begun to chirp their night songs. The fall air was brisk, absent humidity. It smelled of the sea and the encroaching chill of winter.

They were sitting together on Jesse’s love seat, separated only by Mildred Memory, who had insinuated herself between them.

“This is nice,” Frankie said. “Almost makes me forget why I’m here.”

“The reason you’re here is to overeat, suffer unspeakable bouts of lassitude, then recover in time to engage in super-human feats of gymnastic-style lovemaking.”

“I knew that.”

“What time tomorrow do you start?”

“First shot should be off by six-thirty.”

“In the morning?”

She looked up at him.

He looked at his watch.

“My God,” he said. “We’d better speed through this lassitude part.”

“If only there hadn’t been meatballs,” she said.

“It’s always something.”

She looked up at him. She inadvertently dislodged Mildred when she put her arms around Jesse’s neck and pulled him to her.

“This is great fun,” she said just before she kissed him.

  32  

T
he first day of shooting generally sets the tone for the entire movie.

Everyone on the set takes special note of how well the director interacts with the actors, the cinematographer, the crew, and the staff. The quality of that communication sends out signals as to whether or not the production will prove to be smooth sailing or rough going.

“If the fish stinks from the head,” Frankie said, “people will smell it almost immediately.”

Standing alongside Carter Hansen and a handful of other local dignitaries who were also watching the proceedings, Jesse realized anew how tedious the process of filmmaking actually was.

Frankie had described what was taking place as a tracking shot. The camera was mounted on a wheeled dolly that was pulled rapidly backward along a specially constructed section of what resembled train track. The moving dolly would precede the action, allowing the camera to photograph the scene from in front of it, all the while moving rapidly apace with it.

They were rehearsing the first scene. A young camera assistant stood beside the dolly mount and placed the clapper board directly in front of the camera. It displayed the title of the film, the name of the director, the scene number, and the time of day.

“
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.

—

R
yan 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  

P
ortia 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?”

Jesse sighed.

“Now, if you’ll please step away from my car,” she said.

Jesse did.

She got into it. She lowered her window.

“Thanks for your time,” she said. “I know how valuable it is.”

She gunned the engine, pulled out, and sped away.

  34  

C
row noticed the man the moment he and Marisol stepped outside of Daisy’s, where they had gone for a quick supper.

It was just after nine o’clock on a chilly weeknight, and the restaurant crowd had thinned considerably. Marisol’s driver was parked in front, waiting for them.

The man was standing across the street, along with four others, all of them in their thirties, all drinking beer from cans. The man was wearing a porkpie hat, loose jeans, and a wiseguy expression on his pockmarked face. When he spotted Marisol, he grinned broadly and headed in her direction.

“Hey, look,” he said to his friends. “It’s a real live movie star.”

Crow motioned for Marisol to stand behind him.

The man approached them, followed closely by his four companions. He stopped just shy of where Crow was standing.

“Move over, old man,” he said. “I wanna get me a good look at this here movie star.”

Crow didn’t say anything.

He was totally calm.

The man moved a couple of steps closer.

“What are you, hard of hearing,” he said. “Get the fuck out of my way.”

With barely a glance at him, Crow hit the man with the edge of his right hand, above the upper lip and just below his nose.

The man screamed.

He went down, doubled up on the ground, his face buried in his hands.

Crow’s move was so explosive that before the others could even react, he had a gun in his hand, pointed at them.

“Please don’t tempt me,” Crow said.

The man in the porkpie hat lay on the ground, moaning. The others stopped dead in their tracks.

Crow took Marisol’s hand and guided her to the waiting vehicle. He helped her inside.

He took one last look at the five men and then got in the car.