been called in to attend to the baby, who is having convulsions, mimicking Hester's own frenzied state.' Alan put his cup down and put his thumbs together to frame the picture he was seeing in his mind. 'Man and wife. They stare at each other for a moment. Later, we'll superimpose a shot of them in the same positions back in England—a younger Hester reluctantly wedding Chillingworth. Then the whole thing will turn like a kaleidoscope and we're back in the present, the baby screaming.'
“I remember the scene,' Faith said. 'Chillingworth gives Hester some medicine to give to the baby, then hands her a dose of noxious herbs for herself.'
“And she has to decide if she trusts him enough to drink it.' Alan took a large swallow of coffee. 'It's a great moment. We're going to shoot first to check the lighting, using the stand-ins, so you can come in and watch if you like.'
“I'd love to,' answered Faith. Then she added, 'It's been fascinating watching the progress of the film.' Maybe if she showed an active interest, he'd let her stick around even more.
“You'd better be careful. This business can get in your blood. Look at me. I was headed for medicine when I met Max, had finished my first year of medical school. Of course, I'd always been addicted to films and the theater—from both sides 6f the footlights. I picked up some rave reviews for college performances.
You never know where life may lead you. Anyway, enough profundities. It'll be about ten minutes. I'll call you.' Alan finished his coffee and left.
Faith made another pot and decided she didn't have time to check on lunch preparations. Tom kept telling her she was going to have to learn to delegate more, and maybe he was right. She had in New York, but her staff had been with her a long time. Still, Niki knew what she was doing and they had steered away from anything remotely resembling black bean soup. Today there was pasta—penne with a choice of two kinds of sauce—a spicy linguica sausage with tomatoes and yellow peppers or a broccoli pesto. They'd also made a variety of tortas, the usual salad bar, breads, and rare roast beef for the meat eaters. She rapped the wooden table and said a silent prayer to Escoffier in defiance of both reason and her spouse's oft-repeated ridicule of such shibboleths. But such practices had worked so far—everyone on this shoot liked the food, as they had on every other one she'd catered. She'd known excellent companies that had been fired merely because one of the stars didn't like the choices one day or a fanatic had detected white sugar in the granola. Maybe she should run over to the tent just for a second.
Alan Morris stuck his head in the door. 'We're ready to start,' he said, then disappeared.
Faith took off her apron, went into the dining room, and found a place in the corner, well out of the way.
Nils and Max were silently pacing on opposite sides of the set, then at some unspoken signal, both men met and gave a nod to start.
Sandra was in full makeup, wearing a duplicate of Evelyn's gauzy costume, but the Totally Hair Barbie look of the other night was back to lank locks. She looked tired and not a little pathetic. Max's stand-in took his place by her side.
“Let's try it, people,' Alan called. 'Stand by.”
Faith had assumed there wouldn't be any dialogue, since they were interested only in the lighting; however, she supposed Max wanted to see how the whole thing played—like the forest scene. The filming started and Chillingworth handed a pewter cup to Hester Prynne.
“Drink it! It may be less soothing than a sinless conscience. That I cannot give thee. But it will calm the swell and heaving of thy passion, like oil thrown on the waves of a tempestuous sea.”
Sandra took the beaker reluctantly. Faith didn't blame her. Her husband's words might seem reassuring on the surface, yet his tone was that of one bent on revenge.
The lighting was extraordinary. A few seconds ago, Sandra had looked pale and wan. Now she appeared bathed in a sensuous, rosy luminescence, bosom heaving with conflicting emotions. Chillingworth reached over and slowly traced the letter at her breast, circling close to her nipple, clearly visible through the fabric. She flinched at his touch, then stood up, took a step toward him, raised the cup to quaff the draft in one swallow, and .. .
“Cut! Cut!'
“Cool 'em.”
Sandra put the cup on the wooden mantelpiece and blinked. She was back and she didn't even have a glass slipper as a souvenir.
“It's fabulous.' Nils executed a little jig. 'Following the montage, the scene will continue to seem like adream sequence, even in the present. Pure genius, Max.”
Max was smiling like the Cheshire cat. 'Yeah,' he said, drawing the word out, 'I think it's going to fly:' Alan rushed over. 'I'll get Evelyn. I assume you want to shoot now.'
“You assume right.' They bent their heads together in further conversation for some minutes; then Max walked over to Sandra, who was sitting down in the chair, and said, 'That was beautiful, honey. Evelyn couldn't have done it any better herself.”
Faith looked uneasily over her shoulder to be sure the lady in question wasn't about to walk in on this, but she was nowhere in sight. It had been a powerful scene, and for a few seconds, Faith had completely forgotten where she was, where they all were. It was Hester's jail cell hundreds of years ago. She began to fully appreciate what this movie could be—Max's masterpiece.
The director left the room to hasten things along. Faith, still caught up in the moment, stayed where she was. Five minutes later, Max was back, but without Cappy and Evelyn. He went over to Sandra, who had remained seated, and bent down to speak to her. He straightened immediately and beckoned to the other PA. 'Cornelia, Sandra isn't feeling very well. I think we'd better call a doctor.”
Faith moved to the center of the room. Max had shifted to one side and Sandra was completely visible. Her face had assumed a bluish cast and her eyes were terrified. She appeared to be having trouble getting her breath, taking rapid, shallow gulps of air. She tried to speak, but no words came out. She began to cough, then that stopped abruptly and she brought her hand to her throat, as if trying to force the words out and air in.
Faith ran over to her and felt for her pulse. It was hard to find.
“Don't call a doctor,' she shouted to Cornelia. 'Call the fire department; they'll bring an ambulance.”
Sandra's face felt as cold as the weather outside, despite the warmth the lights and people had created in the room. Her eyes closed and she would have toppled from the chair had Faith not caught the young woman. Faith sat on the floor, Sandra cradled on her lap. She seemed to weigh less than Ben. One hand clutched the pewter cup she had placed on the mantel a few moments ago. It was empty.
Faith shouted one final instruction. 'And call the police. The state police, too.”
Had the town of Aleford replaced its ancient cruiser, Charley MacIsaac would not have lost precious time changing a tire on his way to the Pingree house and would have been there to warn Detective Lieutenant John Dunne of the Massachusetts State Police that it was likely he would encounter his old friend Mrs. Fairchild once again. As it was, Dunne walked onto the movie set and confronted Faith center stage, not merely with a finger in the pie but up to her elbows—with her arms around the victim.
Sandra Wilson was not dead, yet Faith had known immediately something other than fatigue had to be responsible for the woman's pronounced symptoms. One of the crew had brought a blanket and reached for the empty cup that had fallen from Sandra's hand as he was covering her.
“Don't touch it—please!' Faith 'said. The man had looked mildly surprised and drawn back his hand. Time had stopped, but Faith's mind was racing. fthere had been something in the cup, it might be best to try to get Sandra to vomit. But with some poisons, this was the worst course of action, doubling their effect. Poison—she was using the word.
Sandra's breathing was shallow and slow. Her chest, incongruously clad in Hester's flimsy costume, barely moved. The scarlet letter that had looked so sensual a few minutes ago was now a mere piece of brightly colored cloth.
Faith kept her fingers on the woman's pulse. Her wrist felt limp and flaccid; her body draped across Faith like one of Amy's soft dolls.
At first, the room had been as still as the figure drawing every eye, then Max cried out, 'Shouldn't we be doing something? CPR, for God's sake!”
Faith had decided they better try it, even if it did cause the girl to throw up. Then they heard the ambulance siren.
“Let's wait,' she said. 'The EMTs will know what to do”
