Wyatt nodded. “Yes, Grandma. But you can change your name and even your nose, but you’re still the same person, and it looks like he hasn’t changed all that much.”
Danika swiveled around in her chair. “I had no idea. . . .”
“And how did you find out all this information?” Greta asked Wyatt.
“We don’t reveal our sources and methods at the Desert Flowers Detective Agency,” Wyatt snorted.
“I see,” Greta said, grinning. “Well, you’ve done a very thorough job. I am duly impressed.”
“This is why they’re here,” Danika said. “To key us in to this kind of information. And now that we know, I do not feel safe having Chase Ehrens on my set . . . I mean, our set.”
Greta nodded apprehensively. Firing the male lead this deep into the shoot wasn’t a decision she was keen to make. But Danika was the bigger name, the one carrying the picture, a big reason the movie got green-lit in the first place. And so she had to respect her opinion. “Hal is on his way out here from Bel Air. Let me call him in the car and bring him up to speed.” Greta turned and started out of the room, stopping next to Wyatt and smiling down at him. “Nice work, Scooby-Doo.”
She left.
Wyatt glanced around the room, aghast. “Did she just compare me to a dog?”
Violet rushed over and hugged him. “I’m so proud of you!”
Wyatt squirmed in her grip. “Grandma, please. Let’s try to maintain a little professionalism in front of the client.”
Danika burst out laughing. “You are too cute, Wyatt.”
Wyatt’s face lit up. Although he had tried so hard to give off an air of nonchalance, this hot older girl with millions of Instagram followers had just called him “cute” and that was something he just could not simply ignore.
Poppy stood up. “I’m in the next scene so I better report to hair and makeup.”
“I’ll stay here and escort Danika to the set when they’re ready for her,” Matt said.
Violet put her arm around her grandson. “I’ll drive Wyatt back to school. I told the principal’s office I was signing him out for a doctor’s appointment.”
“Violet Hogan, you lied?” Poppy gasped.
“I know, isn’t it terrible? Look what this line of work is doing to me!”
And then she quickly ushered Wyatt out.
When Poppy reported to the hair and makeup department, which had been set up in one of the smaller resort rooms, the altercation between Chase Ehrens and Matt Flowers was still the only topic anyone wanted to talk about. Poppy smiled to herself when the women and gay men who were busily applying eyeliner on the actors and rubbing globs of gel through their hair debated who was sexier, Chase or Matt, with most agreeing Matt won hands down.
By the time they had finished with Poppy, and Timothy showed up to make sure she reported to the pool area set, Poppy got her first look at Hal Greenwood in the flesh. And there was a lot of flesh to take in because he had to be tipping the scale at over three hundred pounds. She had seen him on TV, mostly when watching Oscar ceremonies where his films usually won Best Picture. Poppy thought he might be a bit more appealing in person, but he wasn’t. He was just as sweaty and piggish with pasty white, pockmarked skin and beady, busy eyes that you didn’t really want to make contact with. His short, stout frame was stuffed inside an expensive suit, but with his protruding gut, there was no way he could button the jacket.
At the moment, he was deep in conference with his wing woman Greta. Poppy assumed Greta was bringing Hal up to speed on the Chase Ehrens situation.
Chase was oblivious to all of this, and at the moment was doing push-ups near the bar, shirtless, arm muscles straining as his hands pressed down on the floor, his perfectly round butt rising and falling.
Trent, the director, was huddling with his German cinematographer, and it appeared as if they were close to shooting when Danika and Matt finally wandered in together.
Poppy noticed Danika’s google-eyed gaze as she looked at Matt, and wondered if this was a good thing that the client appeared to be so besotted by him.
Finally, Hal broke away from Greta and hustled over near the pool where he could address everyone, stopping briefly to ask Poppy, “Are you the new broad playing Nomi?”
“Yes, Poppy Harmon.”
He looked right through her and then turned away.
Poppy assumed Hal had no reason to waste his time on a wide swath of the female population, presumably those over twenty-five years old. She had read in countless articles that Hal Greenwood was a pig. And he did nothing now to dispel that notion. Being called a “broad” by the dashing helicopter stunt pilot Roy Heller had been mildly titillating. Being called a “broad” by Hal Greenwood, not so much.
Hal snatched a handkerchief from his back pocket to wipe the perspiration off his brow. “It’s damn hot out here in the desert! I’m melting! How do people live like this?”
No one answered, assuming his question was rhetorical.
“I’m serious! It must be horrible in the summer!”
“It’s a dry heat,” Poppy found herself saying. “People don’t normally sweat so much out here.” She refrained from mentioning that the extra bulk he was carrying around might explain all the perspiration he was sopping up from his face.
Hal ignored her. “So let me spell it out for you, people! I’m shutting down production for the day!”
This suddenly got Trent’s attention and he ditched his cinematographer to race over to Hal. “Whatever for?”
“We’re making some changes and I need some time before we’re ready to move forward again.”
“I don’t understand,” Trent said, gobsmacked.
“You don’t have to,” Hal literally spit out. “This is my film and I decide what’s best.”
“But I’m the director!” Trent protested.
“You know, France did the Hollywood industry no favors coming up with the auteur theory, making directors believe they’re
