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Authors: Katherine Hall Page

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Maxwell Reed was also known for his obsession with security on the set. Often the actors themselves didn't know the name or plot of the movie they were shooting until it was released. He'd broken with custom this time and let it be known he was making a modern reinterpretation of Nathaniel Hawthorne's
Scarlet Letter.
The name of the picture was A. He'd also hired two actors who'd never appeared in any of his films previously but who were box-office magic. Over Ty Nants and Evians at the Polo Lounge, heads were nodding just perceptibly—Max was desperate indeed. If he pulled it off, the same nods could later be translated as “I told you so.”
The first ringer was Caleb “Cappy” Camson, star of the phenomenally successful TV series “1-800-555-1212” when he was a teenager, later making a graceful transition to films. His
tanned, well-developed physique, thick, dark, always slightly touseled curls, and deep brown eyes with the requisite gold flecks guaranteed any movie in which he was cast at least initially large audiences. Cappy had been in the business long enough to know his limitations and ventured from romantic comedy only for a comic romance. But nobody turned down the chance to work with Max Reed—not even Cappy. He'd modified the curls and agreed to less flattering makeup in order to play the role of the tormented young minister, Arthur Dimmesdale.
Max's other orthodox move was to cast Caresse Carroll as Pearl, Hester Prynne's daughter. Eight-year-old Caresse would be playing a major role; it could be a stretch, but Caresse was a pro down to her toenails. At age four, she'd nagged her mother, Jacqueline, into auditioning her for commercials. “I can do that,” she'd said, and hadn't looked back. She was the child of choice for a whole string of space alien and horror movies. “It may not be art, but I'm working,” she told her mother at six. Currently, the trades labeled her “America's Sweetheart for the Nineties” after her gutsy portrayal of a little girl who saves the family split-level after her parents lose their auto-plant jobs by forming a recycling company that ends up employing most of the town. Caresse didn't have Shirley Temple's dimples or curly hair. In fact, her features were a bit odd—straight, silken white-blond hair and large aquamarine eyes that Caresse was able to fill with tears, flash with fear, or twinkle with delight depending on the script. But it was her smile that was instantly recognizable to millions of Americans. Warm, engaging, it was the kind of smile that, well, gosh darn it, made you just have to smile right back. An eminently bankable smile.
Casting her as Pearl months before, Max planned to use Caresse's pale luminescence to personify the name. The child was a metaphor, he told Caresse and her mother, for the essential innocence of Hester Prynne's act, a jewel beyond price to be worn proudly at her mother's breast, next to the scarlet
letter of her supposed shame. Hester herself was Everywoman and Pearl, Everychild. Jacqueline and Caresse nodded solemnly when he'd related this to them in his office early in the fall. Neither had the faintest idea what he was talking about, yet, whatever it was, they both had no doubt Caresse could do it.
Max knew Caresse was older than Hawthorne's Pearl, but audiences might find it hard to believe a three-year-old could discourse as eloquently as he'd planned on the meaning of life and existence of God. The director had told his assistant, Alan, that Hawthorne's book was a canvas—a masterpiece—to which they would essentially be adding brushstrokes, such as increasing Pearl's age.
Sitting silently in a chair next to Max since the Carrolls' arrival was Evelyn O'Clair, who would, of course, play the role of Hester Prynne. Max had cast himself as Chillingworth, the older husband who returns after a long absence to find his wife the outcast of the community for the adulterous conception of a child. The director had felt a little awkward explaining all this to Caresse. He wasn't used to children, although he would have to be, since Evelyn was about to give birth, fortunately well before the picture started.
Caresse was getting bored with the meeting. It was a pretty cheesy office, no bar or any evidence of snacks—not even an entertainment system. Just a big desk, a couple of chairs, a couch, and walls that must have been newly painted, since the smell of the stark white paint filled the air. The only thing hanging on them so far was a large calendar. He had a window, though, and a basket of fruit.
Her mother had been the one who was hot to do the movie and was being totally spastic about how lucky Caresse was to work with Maxwell Reed. Caresse herself wasn't so sure about the project. To begin with, the script sucked, a real downer. She'd even tried reading the book but couldn't get past the first page. Her taste in literature ran more to
Sweet Valley High,
but she knew it wouldn't make a major motion picture. She tried to quell the feeling that accepting this role might not have been
the best career move by concentrating on the fact that she would be acting with big names for a big name. Caresse looked over at her mother, who was gazing at the director with open adoration. Caresse felt sorry for her. She needed a man. Caresse wouldn't be surprised if the last time Jacqueline had had sex was when she'd conceived her daughter—with whom, Caresse didn't know. It was the one thing Mom would never discuss.
But definitely Jacqueline wasn't getting any. Not that Caresse was anxious for some old fart to enter their lives and start telling her what to do. She'd trained her mother to know her place, and truthfully, Mom didn't really understand the Business.
Enough was enough. Caresse Carroll turned on her famous smile, tossed her shining hair away from her face, and interrupted Max's convoluted explanation. “Don't worry, Mr. Reed, I know all this stuff. See you in March.”
“Call me Max,” he replied, and the meeting came to an end.
Evelyn had not said a word—not even
good-bye.
Crime is for the iron-nerved
…
Until the call went out for extras, Aleford wasn't sure what it thought about having all these movie people around. There was some surprise at finding neighbors who had affected an attitude of only mild interest now camped out so as to be first in line. But this place had been resolutely claimed by one of the most uninterested of all, Millicent Revere McKinley.
“Maybe she needs the money. The pay is astonishing,” related Pix, who had rushed to Have Faith's kitchens to report the news.
“Sure, like Imelda needed shoes,” Faith retorted. “She just wants to be where the action is, like most of the rest of Aleford, and the greater Boston area, from what I hear.”
“Well, how often does a movie get made in our own backyards? I'd try out myself, except I get stage fright painting scenery.”
“Why don't you reconsider my offer? Then you'd be on the set every day behind the scenes.”
“But, Faith, how could I possibly work for you? You know what I'm like in the kitchen.”
Pix's family was used to having emergency microwaved frozen dinners whenever something inexplicable happened to the tuna-noodle or hamburger casseroles that composed the normal Miller bill of fare.
“I keep telling you. You wouldn't have to do any cooking. In fact, I wouldn't let you do any cooking. I have other people to help me, most especially Niki.” She waved toward her assistant, who was covering a stack of paper-thin sheets of phyllo dough with a damp towel to keep them from drying out while she spread melted butter lavishly over the one in front of her. “What I need you for is that steel-trap mind of yours—bookkeeping, ordering, counting forks and napkins.”
Pix's face was contorted by a mixture of emotions: Could she? Should she? Would she? She fidgeted about on her long, shapely legs. Pix was an attractive woman with short brown hair, but she tended to downplay her natural gifts with drooping skirts and ancient pullovers.
“I'll think about it,” she promised.
“No,” Faith said with surprising firmness, “You've been saying this to me for months. You've talked to Sam, talked to the kids, probably even talked to the dogs.” Besides Mark, a college freshman, Samantha, a junior in high school, and sixth-grader Danny, the Miller household included a large number of golden retrievers. “I'll give you until tomorrow morning, and if I don't have an answer, I'll have to start advertising the position. We start the movie job in less than two weeks.”
“Okay,” Pix agreed.
“Okay what? Okay you'll give me an answer or okay you'll do it?”
“Okay I'll do it,” Pix mumbled bravely.
After Pix left, Niki asked Faith, “What do you think made her agree? I've been pretty sure she wouldn't after going back and forth all this time. Do you think it's the chance to be on the set?”
“Maybe, but I should have been tougher weeks ago. She's wanted to do it all along. I think she's been afraid of messing up—and when you work for a friend, that's a pretty scary thought. Anyway, she'll be fine, and deep down—I hope—knows it.”
Niki put a generous spoonful of the walnut pesto and ricotta filling she'd made at the top of a strip of the dough before deftly folding it like a flag. They were restocking the freezer with several varieties of phyllo triangles for hors d'oeuvres.
“I'm glad Pix is going to be here. She reminds me of the room mother I had in third grade.”
“She probably
was
the room mother,” Faith said. “I don't think there's a town in this area code and beyond that doesn't know to call Pix Miller when they need a volunteer. She's still running the preschool PTA, and her youngest will be shaving soon. Much as I admire what she does, and thank God she'll keep on doing it, I'm going to like handing her a paycheck.”
“Mrs. MacDonald!”
“Mrs. MacDonald what?”
“That was the name of my room mother. I used to elbow other kids out of the way so I could hold her hand on field trips, and I would put myself to sleep at night dreaming about being one of her freckle-faced kids. She used to make great devil's food cakes.” Niki's normally sharply contoured face softened as a wistful smile crossed her lips.
What was it about Massachusetts, Faith wondered, that caused its adult population to wax nostalgic about their childhoods at the drop of a beanie? She'd never noticed this tendency in New York—except maybe in someone who'd grown up in the Bronx.
“I'm not saying she might not have been swayed by the movie job. We're talking about Pix now, Niki, not your sainted Mrs. MacDonald.”
“Who wouldn't? I'm pretty excited myself. Cappy Camson. Close your eyes and think of him in those Calvin Klein ads.” Niki's sharp edge returned.
“I can do it with my eyes wide open.” Faith laughed.
“He wouldn't have been my choice to play the minister, especially a Puritan. I don't remember the book much except for Hester and her red letter, but wasn't Dimmesdale sort of a nerd?”
“That's how I'd recalled him, too, but I reread the book when I heard about the movie, and it's not a bad role for Camson. Maybe he's a little too healthy-looking, but he should be able to portray a man torn between passion and conscience. And Dimmesdale was described as handsome—even the same color hair and eyes as Camson has. I wonder how Reed's going to interpret the character. He has to create something different to keep people from expecting Cappy to get the girl.”
“Chillingworth was the villain, right? Wasn't he a minister, too? Maybe I have him confused with Dimmesdale.”
“You do. He was a doctor, well versed also in the ancient arts of alchemy.” Faith rubbed her hands together, leaned over the simmering stockpot on the stove, and looked wicked in what she judged to be a fair approximation of the doctor at his cauldron of henbane and the like. “He arrives in Boston on the same day the Puritans have put Hester and her baby on the scaffold for show-and-tell, only she won't reveal the name of the father. Chillingworth joins the crowd and indicates that she shouldn't recognize him, which she already had instantly because of his ugly face and the fact he had one shoulder higher than the other. He was much older than she was, and she had married him back in England after her parents died because she had no one else to turn to and he had some sort of mesmerizing effect on her. Except she did tell him she didn't love him. After that, he decided they would emigrate, and he sent her on ahead. But then he was shipwrecked, captured by Indians, and whatever else could delay someone in those days before car phones, leaving her on her own for two years. She and Arthur Dimmesdale fell in love. The rest you know.”
Faith took a tray covered with the phyllo triangles and put it in the freezer. When she returned, Niki picked up where they had left off.
“It's coming back to me. Roger Chillingworth moves in with the Reverend, right? And sucks his blood or something-and in the end, Dimmesdale is so eaten up with guilt, he tells all.”
“Sort of. Roger Chillingworth moves in with the minister to try to cure the illness we all know is not the common cold, but remorse and shame. The doctor's convinced the young man is hiding something, which he is. Meanwhile, Roger also haunts Hester, who makes a fair living doing exquisite needlework, and tells her his mission in life is to discover the man who has cuckolded him. If she warns her lover, Chillingworth will kill him or worse when he does find out. Hester ends up keeping more secrets than the chemists at Coca-Cola, since she, of course, still loves Arthur. But she is not at all ashamed of what they've done. It was a pure act before God, and her fellow townspeople are the ones with the problem. Maxwell Reed may very well be onto something. It really is a very modern story. Hester manages to convince Dimmesdale she's right, or maybe his flesh is weak, and they decide to run away together, except Chillingworth discovers what ship they're sailing on, and the minister realizes he has to confess to everyone. He literally bares his bosom, revealing, some of the crowd swears, the letter A branded in his flesh, and thus escapes his tormentor, Chillingworth. He dies in Hester's arms.”
“I can't wait to see the movie. If it's anywhere near as good as your synopsis, it's Oscar time.”
Still in the mood, Faith mused, “It does offer a director like Maxwell Reed a lot. Hester is a great character. Hawthorne suggests that as an outcast, Hester derives from the scarlet letter some strange power to see what people are truly like, as opposed to how they present themselves. But it's also a curse—she sees evil everywhere, like the husband in Hawthorne's short story ‘Young Goodman Brown.'” Faith was having fun. American Literature 101 was coming back in full force. “Then there's Pearl, trading insults at the age of three with the goody-two-shoes village children and exploring theological issues with her mom. And the governor's sister. I forget her name, but she's later executed as a witch, Hawthorne tells us. She keeps
asking Hester and Dimmesdale to go dance in the forest with her. Marta Haree is playing the role and she should be terrific.”
“I read in
Parade
magazine that she's into fortune-telling and tarot cards. Maybe that's why Max picked her.”
“She's been in almost all his movies, but this casting does seem particularly apt. Caresse Carroll is a little old for Pearl and she doesn't look anything like the description in the book—the scarlet letter come to life—but Reed must have his reasons,” Faith mused.
“I'll have to read the book this time, not just the Cliffs Notes. Sorry,” Niki said, correctly interpreting Faith's expression of disapproval, “we weren't all English majors in the making, and as I remember, it was assigned just when we were busiest at the bakery—the week before Greek Easter.”
“It's not as though it was a long book, Niki, like
Love Story
or one of your other favorites.”
“Can it, boss.”
Niki liked working for Faith.
 
Two weeks later, the staff of Have Faith climbed into the canteen truck Faith had rented for the duration of the shoot. The movie crew took a break in the middle of the morning, and the truck was filled with a variety of hot and cold drinks, several kinds of muffins, fresh fruit, and bagels with various spreads. Later, lunch would be served, also on location, but inside a heated tent. The crew would return to the Marriott for dinner, where Alan Morris had arranged for Max to watch the dailies. Faith would provide dinner only if they were doing a night shoot.
In addition, the caterers were responsible for the craft services table, which would be kept stocked round the clock with essential snacks such as pretzels, M & M's, fruit, granola bars, Twinkies, soft drinks, and oceans of coffee. This would be set up permanently in the barn in case of inclement weather. Pix had agreed that keeping it supplied would be something she could handle. “I just have to think what I put in the kids' lunch
boxes—the days I'm a good mother and thinking nutritionally and the days when the bad mother throws in a Ring-Ding because the bus is at the door.”
 
As Faith ran over all the plans the night before, she told Tom it was a job that posed a unique challenge, even though it was a relatively small shoot.
“How so?”
“Well, most of the crew is pure California by way of Manhattan, so this means they know what pastrami is supposed to taste like, but they're still going to want their sprouts—plus, there will be macrobiotic types who want only sprouts. Then the people they've hired locally aren't going to want either. They think ‘low-fat' is some sort of Madison Avenue gimmick to sell things that don't taste very good.”
“Which is partly true,” Tom interrupted. “The cheese spread we had last week at the Millers' that Pix was so excited about, because it was so good for us, tasted like wallpaper paste—not that I've sampled that delicacy myself. Although there was a boy in my first-grade class who ate paste. You know that thick, gloppy white kind. The teacher had a big jar of it. I wonder what happened to him. Probably won a Nobel Prize.”

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