shoulder pads. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. For an instant, her outstretched hands and long fingernails threatened Max's face. There seemed no way he would avoid carrying the marks of her wrath.
She dropped her arms to her sides. 'No, I'm not going to hurt you. Not now. Chillingworth with scratch marks.' Her voice had changed completely. She was the tragic queen. Injured dignity. 'Some of us are professionals. Some of us play by the rules. What do you want, Maxie? You want to make porno flicks. Go ahead. Use her. But finish this picture first. You're filming me now.”
Max put his arms around her and spoke softly, but his words were audible. Everyone in the room remained motionless.
“Sweetheart, you're leaping to conclusions ... the wrong conclusions. You came in at the beginning, the morning takes. I only used her to get things set up for the afternoon, your takes. We're going to see those now. The real thing.”
True or not, his words seemed to have the intended effect on Evelyn, at least partially—or maybe she wanted to see her footage.
“Let's have something to eat and then see the rest,' Alan suggested. Everyone stood up gratefully and refilled their plates. Cappy Camson joined Max and Evelyn. He seemed to be adding to Max's reassurances. Faith heard someone say, 'She's just a PA.”
The lights went off again. Evelyn's chair was between Max's and Cappy's. When the rushes started, from her position directly behind them, Faith could see Evelyn was holding hands with both of them.
Faith was curious to see the contrast between the two actresses, but before the nude scenes, Alan came back to the table and whispered to her that she could go home.
“I promised not to keep you late, and this could go on for quite a while. I'll make sure the hotel locks the room.”
Faith was disappointed, yet it was clearly a dismissal. 'Thank you. We'll pick up our equipment in the morning.'
“Thank you. Everything was delicious, as usual. Good night.'
“Good night.”
On film, Evelyn was standing up, about to drop her dress. This footage included sound, and her rich inflections added to the sensuality of the scene. Sandra Wilson might have the body, but she didn't have the voice.
When Faith got into her car, her disappointment soon turned to relief. She hadn't realized how tired she was. She drove down Mall Road and turned onto Middlesex Turnpike toward Aleford. She'd be home in ten minutes, and in bed in twenty. With that comforting thought, she let her mind wander. Was there some reason Alan hadn't wanted her to stay? He'd been sitting on the other side of Max and the director had leaned over to say something to him just before Alan had come back to Faith. Was it Max's idea that Faith leave? Maybe he didn't want anyone to see the 'real' scenes until the movie was released. Or maybe he didn't want her to witness another kind of scene. Or maybe he, or Alan, simply thought it was getting late and that since they really didn't need her, she could go home.
Evelyn had certainly been ripping—or delivering a fine performance. f you were good—and she was—you could create a role to suit the occasion, then play it to the hilt. Which was it tonight, Evelyn the woman or Evelyn the actress? Holding hands with both men added an element of intrigue—and humor—to the part.
One thing was certain: Evelyn O'Clair wasn't doing Hester Prynne.
Faith pulled into her driveway, found the strength to hoist the garage door, and ten minutes later was sinking into slumber beside her almost-oblivious mate.
The next day, Thursday, whether because of the associations or because the sun was trying to break through the clouds, Max abandoned the forest scene and decided to do an interior shot. Sandra was in her jeans again, running around trying to locate a bolt of sheer drapery material that Max wanted pinned on the walls of the Pingrees' dining room, now Hester's prison cell.
Cornelia was stalking around in high dudgeon. She seemed to invite inquiry and Faith was happy to comply. The movie production was intriguing beyond all expectations.
“Sandra'—Cornelia's voice dripped with scorn—'has managed to lose an essential prop and we can't shoot, can't even arrange the lighting until she finds it.”
Faith felt sorry for the PA—from the Follies to folly, sic transit gloria mundi.
The fabric was still missing at lunchtime. Faith was back in the catering kitchens with Ben and Amy when Pix returned from her post at the craft services table.
“They finally found the fabric. It was in the barn, which seems like a strange place to put such easily soiled material. And Sandra swears she didn't, but people are pretty annoyed with her, anyway. Max decided by the time they got the room the way he wanted it, it would be too late to shoot, so he sent everybody except a few people home.'
“Did anyone say anything about Saturday?' Faith was thrilled to have the job, but she'd love a real day off. They didn't shoot on Sundays; only that was not a day of rest in the Fairchild household.
“No, not yet, but why don't you take the day, anyway? Niki and I can handle lunch with the rest of the staff.”
Faith was tempted, except too much was at stake. The Chocolax crisis was still fresh in her mind, though the birthday party's success and subsequent repasts had virtually erased it from everyone else's. She was beginning to agree it had to have been Caresse. Nothing else made sense. She'd love to have some time alone with the child to find out how she did it, but that wasn't going to happen.
“It's sweet of you, but they're not going to be filming here much longer and I think I'd better stick around.”
The following day, Faith was around even more than she had been before. They were all set up to shoot inside the house, which turned out to be providential. It was Max's favorite weather, cold and gray, but the cold was freezing cold. Shooting outside would have been cruel and unusual punishment, although unusual was not out of keeping with A. Cornelia crisply delivered a message from the assistant director asking the caterers to set up plenty of coffee, tea, and things to eat in the kitchen so people wouldn't have to go down to the barn.
The crew had redefined the Pingrees' small dining room into a surreal landscape, swathing the walls and furniture with the gauzy off-white fabric. A straw pallet had been arranged in one corner next to the cold fireplace. A period chair and cradle stood by the prisoner's resting place. Lights had been placed outside the diamond-paned windows and now they were working onthe inside, covering some of the exposed beams with what looked like aluminum foil to create the effect Max wanted. Nils was everywhere, as was Max. Cornelia, as was her habit, scurried around looking busy. Cappy had checked in—and Evelyn—then they left to take a walk.
Faith felt once again as though she was watching a play from her position in the butler's pantry, which separated the dining room from the kitchen. And in a way, she was. Setting the stage. It was fascinating. She never failed to be impressed by the magic that transformed a room with piles of equipment, drapes held in place with safety pins, and groups of people at the perimeter into an intimate, isolated, realistic moment on the screen. She knew what would follow to create the illusion—the editing, which Max had frequently declared in print was as important a process as the filming itself. 'The footage is his clay and Maxwell Reed is a master potter,' Faith had heard a film critic say on the radio.
Sandra was talking to Max now. She had a clipboard and, as usual, her entire attention was focused on the director. To be near a genius was to be a bit of a genius yourself, Faith supposed. Certainly that was what Cornelia conveyed. PAs—and the rest of Max's devoted crew—ate, drank, and lived the movie.
Faith moved back into the kitchen to check on her supplies. Everyone else was at the tent getting lunch ready.
Alan came into the room and asked for some coffee. 'Black, and I hope it's strong. Not that I need it to keep me awake. Nobody could fall asleep during this take.' He rubbed his hands together in anticipation, apparently a habit. Faith could well understand why Max kept him as his assistant on picture after picture. Alan never seemed down. His constant phrase to Max after the innumerable glitches that arose during a typical day was, 'Don't worry. Be happy. We'll handle it.' It never failed to provoke some kind of smile from the director.
“Max sees it as a pivotal scene, Hester and Roger's first meeting alone after many years. The doctor has
