Page 57 of All That Glitters
“Yes, Ms. Zales,” Justin puffed, adjusting his grip.
Lauren stared through the wrought-iron gate at the chaotic scene within. A group of rough-looking men in various states of dishevel moved around what could only loosely be called a film set — meaning, there was a camera, lights, and some equipment. The rest of it made even the most disorganized, low-budget student film seem like a masterclass in film production.
“I thought you said there was a movie filming here,” she said.
“There is,” Justin insisted, finally setting the camera down and gesturing toward the motley crew. “Those are the guys filming it. The ex-cons I told you about.”
Lauren surveyed the scene in disbelief. A man was chiseling something into a tombstone. Another was arranging dismembered mannequin parts in a display that would disturb any reasonable therapist. A third was napping against a tree, a half-empty bottle of something that definitely wasn’t water clutched in his hand.
“That’s a movie set?” Her tone suggested she’d seen more professional operations in kindergarten finger-painting classes.
As if on cue, Carl’s battered pickup truck rumbled past them in a thick cloud of smoke that made Lauren step back with a grimace, fanning the smoke from her face. The decrepit vehicle turned onto the cemetery grass, heading deeper into the chaos, its tires leaving fresh ruts in the already abused lawn.
The truck parked on the lawn with a final, shuddering cough that sounded like its last automotive breath. Carl and Roy hopped down from the cab, while Jethro handed them a cardboard box from the truck bed. Inside it were what looked like lumpy, red, elongated water balloons.
Craig strolled over. “You boys get the makeup effects?” he asked, eyeing the box.
“Yep. Got ‘em right here,” Carl said, proudly holding up one of the ketchup-filled condoms for inspection. “Also picked up a bunch of slingshots to shoot ‘em with.”
He reached into his back pocket and produced a handful of plastic slingshots, the kind sold in dollar stores to kids whose parents didn’t value household windows.
Just then, Lauren and Justin walked up, with the cautious hesitation of explorers who just stumbled across a tribal village in a remote jungle. Lauren flashed her press badge.
“Hi, I’m Lauren Zales, with Hollywood Gossip,” she said, her professional smile firmly in place. “Is there someone I could speak with about this... thing... you’re doing here?” She gestured vaguely around them.
Craig squinted at her, recognition dawning in his eyes. “Ain’t you the show that’s always got that skinny blonde girl wreckin’ her cars?”
“Yes,” Lauren said, slightly taken aback by this unexpected recognition. Her show’s coverage of Frenchie Marriot’s vehicular misadventures was apparently reaching a wider demographic than she’d realized. “You’ve seen us?”
“Hell, yeah,” Craig chuckled. “What’s the matter with them folks? Ain’t they never learnt how ta drive? My nine-year-old niece got better car control, and she’s only ever driven them arcade games.”
“That’s a good question,” Lauren said, sidestepping his critique. After all, celebrity car wrecks paid a significant portion of her salary. “Would you have time for an interview?”
He looked around at the bustling disorganization, clearly torn between the opportunity for publicity and his responsibilities as director. His eyes landed on Tony, who sat on the steps of a trailer texting someone. Most likely, that klutzy friend of his he was always sending photos of the shoot to.
“Don’t have no time myself,” he said. “But if you catch the writer, Tony, betcha he’s got some time for you folks. He’s the fella sittin’ over there by the trailer, texting his not-girlfriend in San Diego.”
Craig had called it right. Tony was, in fact, sending Debbie yet another text of the film production’s misadventures. He’d been sending her daily updates since he arrived in LA, complete with behind-the-scenes photos of this masterclass on how not to make a movie. She would be coming up that weekend, and he couldn’t wait to show her around the set and what little ofthe city he’d had a chance to explore. He made her promise not to break anything if he took her to Beverly Hills, to which she responded instantly with three frowny-face emojis. He chuckled as he attached a photo of the headless mannequin and hit the send button.
“Hi. Is your name Tony?” came a woman’s voice.
Tony looked up to see Lauren and Justin approaching, the lanky boy lugging a camera that had to weigh as much as him.
“Yeah,” Tony said.
She extended a hand as she stepped up. “Lauren Zales, Hollywood Gossip. The man over there in the flannel shirt said you might have time for an interview.”
Across the set, Todd and Kevin wandered over to where Craig, Carl, and Roy were examining their new ketchup-laden special effects with the interest of boys admiring a really cool frog collection.
“You guys get the slingshots?” Todd asked.
“Yep. Got ‘em right here,” Carl said, handing Todd a brand-new slingshot with neon green plastic and a red rubber band. “Five for a dollar at the Dollar Tree. Manager gave us a funny look, but didn’t say nothin’.”
“So how’s this thing supposed to work?” Kevin asked.
“Lemme see one of them condoms,” Todd said. Roy handed him one of the squishy red projectiles.
“Careful with them things,” Roy warned. “They’s loaded.”
