W
e found Frank wearing a different set of earphones, the red ones he’d been given earlier looped around his neck like a collar, in imitation of other crew members. He was standing next to the soundman, who had commandeered one of the cubicles for his equipment and himself. He was close to my age, gray and slope-shouldered, practically an anachronism on a set where the next-oldest person was probably in his or her forties. He leaned back in an office chair behind an array of decks with as many dials, buttons, and meters as he would have if he were sitting in an airplane cockpit. A cardboard sign, taped to the back of one of the components, said CLIFF’S cave—keep OUT!
“Now, you listen to me, kid,” Cliff said to Frank. “Experience means never having to move. If you know what you’re doing, you don’t have to see what’s going on. You can hear everything and make adjustments from this seat without ever having to get up. Look at this.”
Frank leaned closer so he could see the dials to which Cliff pointed.
“I hand-massage the sound,” Cliff said. “It goes through my ears and into my hands.” He reached out a gnarled finger and twirled a dial. “Hear the difference?”
Frank nodded. “What’s that banging sound? It sounds like bowling balls.”
“I can’t see her, but this is what I’m thinking: They put the microphone on her collar and she’s wearing some kind of necklace. Every time she turns her head, the beads click together and that’s what you get.”
“Wow! They’re loud.”
Cliff turned down the volume. “Now, you go around the corner and see what she’s wearing. Then come back and tell me if I’m not right.”
Frank took off the earphones, handed them to Cliff, and put his red ones back on. He rounded the corner of the cubicle intent on his task.
“Slow down, sport,” Grady said as Frank passed us. “And tie your laces or you’ll trip.”
“No, I won’t,” Frank called back.
“Sharp little guy,” Cliff said to us when we introduced ourselves. “Might just make a good soundman one day.”
We heard an enormous crash, followed by a scream.
Cliff shuddered. “That’s not a good sound,” he said, but he didn’t get up.
Grady and I glanced at each other and ran in the direction Frank had gone. He was kneeling on the floor, an enormous light lying next to him, its glass bulb in shards scattered on the carpet. Several other light stands had toppled over, making it difficult to reach him.
“You little brat! What are you doing here? See what you’ve done. Get out! Get out! Get out!”
Grady jumped over the poles to reach his son. “Are you all right?” he asked, helping Frank to his feet.
Frank nodded, but his face was ashen. “My earphones,” he said, picking them up where they had fallen. “Are they broken?”
“Never mind your earphones,” Grady said. “How did this happen?”
Frank pulled the earphones around his neck. “I don’t know, Dad.”
Betsy was standing in the doorway of an office. Behind her, Anne Tripper sat at a long counter that looked as if it were part of a newsroom. Clocks on the wall were set to four different time zones. A bank of television monitors tuned to CNN and MSNBC was off to one side.
Betsy was fuming. “You, there. Look what he did. This is a professional set. He doesn’t belong here. Those lights will cost us thousands.” Her voice rose as she vented her fury on Frank. “What were you thinking, you clumsy idiot? Didn’t you see the lights? This is expensive equipment. Where are your brains?”
“Don’t talk to him that way,” I said. “He’s only a child.”
“A child has no business being here, especially not a stupid one who doesn’t look where he’s going.”
“Now, just a minute,” I said, getting angry. “It’s not necessary to call him names.”
Grady shook his head. “Please, Aunt Jess.” He looked at Betsy. “I’m really sorry, Betsy. He didn’t mean it.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it. What are we supposed to do now?” she said, chopping off each word.
“Calm down, Betsy,” Howerstein said. “Leave the kid alone.”
“Leave him alone? He’s created a disaster. I promised our client we’d come in under budget. We’re on a tight schedule here, and he’s just set us back hours, maybe days.”
“No, he hasn’t,” Howerstein said. “We have other lights.” He tried to put his arm around her shoulder, but she shrugged him off.
“And what are you all staring at? Standing there with your mouths gaping open. Get in here and fix this,” she raged at crew members who’d stood frozen in place while she yelled at Frank.
Six people jumped forward and began righting the light stands, and picking up the slivers of glass. No one said anything. When a path had been cleared, I stepped around the crew to Frank and Grady’s side.
“Is he injured, Grady?” I asked.
Frank hung on Grady’s arm. “Dad, I didn’t do it,” he said, his eyes filling with tears. “I promise. I was just standing here.”
“It’s okay, son. We’ll pay for any damage.”
“You better believe you’ll pay for the damage,” Betsy said.
“No! It’s not fair. I didn’t do anything,” Frank said, the tears rolling down his cheeks.
“You must have done something, son. How else did the lights fall down?”
“I don’t know, but it wasn’t me. I swear.”
“He’s lying,” Betsy yelled. “Who told you that you could bring him here?”
“You did,” Grady said, his face getting red. “And my son is not a liar. If Frank said he didn’t do anything, he didn’t.”
“Oh, come off it. Next you’ll be telling me kids never lie. I have another leg. You wanna pull that one?”
“Grady, let’s get him out of here,” I said softly. “We need to make sure he’s not hurt.”
“You’re just trying to get out of paying for this.” Betsy’s voice was nearing hysteria. “But you won’t get away with it. I’ll take you to court.”
“Betsy, shut up.” Kevin Prendergast stepped forward and grabbed her arm.
“Let go of me,” she screeched, wresting her arm away. “I’m not the one who ruined this shoot.”
Prendergast signaled to Dan Howerstein, and Howerstein whispered to another man, who called out, “Lunch break. Be back at oh one thirty.”
The crew hastily melted away, leaving only a few of us behind.
“We can do another day, no?” Antonio said, clearly unnerved by Betsy’s breakdown.
“No!” Betsy said, trying to tamp down her anger. “We cannot. We have a schedule to keep. Every second costs us money. Your money.”
“But I pay everything already,” Antonio said, waving his hands back and forth. “No more. I don’t give any more.”
“What did you say?” Howerstein yelled. He glared at Betsy.
Kevin forced Betsy to turn toward him and spoke to her in low tones I couldn’t hear.
“Don’t tell me to calm down,” she said, shaking him off. “I know what it takes to get this done better than you do. . . . Don’t threaten me, Kevin. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even be here. I know all your secrets. Do you want me to start talking to Antonio?”
“What?” Antonio said. “What should you talk to me on?”
“Shut up or you’re out the door,” Kevin ground out, pushing Betsy to get her to move away.
“Oh, really? I’d like to see you try it. And I know what your little girlfriend is up to. Do you?”
In the office behind them, Anne Tripper sat serenely on her set. She was flipping through a magazine with one hand, while the beringed fingers of her other hand toyed with a strand of large beads. Her legs were crossed, and she casually bounced one foot up and down, the pointed toe of her patent leather shoe catching the light. She seemed to be unaware of or uninterested in the scene outside in the corridor, but she must have heard what happened. Did I detect a slight smile on her lips?
I leaned over Frank and put a hand lightly on his shoulder. He winced and I pulled my hand away. “Did one of those stands hit you and knock you down, Frank?”
He sniffled and shook his head. “I’m all right, Aunt Jessica,” he said. “I didn’t do anything.” There was a hitch to his voice and I knew he was trying not to cry anymore. “You believe me, don’t you, Dad?”
“Of course I believe you, sport, but I think it’s time to leave.”
“Nooo. It’s not fair. I’m being punished and I didn’t do anything.”
“You’re not being punished,” I said. I felt terrible that Frank had been yelled at, and that Grady felt they had to leave, but I also wasn’t happy that Grady and I had let Frank wander freely, only to get into trouble. As mature as he may be for a nine-year-old, he’s still only nine. And most important, Betsy was right. He didn’t belong there; a production is no place for a child. There are so many potential places where someone can get hurt, even for an adult accustomed to the fast pace and knowledgeable about all the equipment. For a boy who is quick and curious, it takes only one misstep to set a dangerous chain of events in motion. Add to that the high-strung nerves of the agency creative director. I agreed with Grady. They should leave.
“The kid can stay.” The speaker was Akmanian, the director. He was sitting on his canvas chair, a Starbucks cup in his hand. “It’s my set. I say who gets to stay and who has to go, not her.”
“That’s very nice of you,” Grady said, “but I think we’ve seen enough for one day.”
“Please, Dad, please. I want to stay.”
“We can’t take a chance, sport. I don’t want to have to watch you every second.”
“But I didn’t knock down those lights.”
“He’s telling the truth,” Akmanian said.
“What are you saying?” I asked.
“I saw one of the PAs clip the big stand,” he said, cutting the air with his hand. “They went down like dominoes.”
“See, Dad? See? We can stay now.”
“Why didn’t you say anything when Betsy was yelling at Frank?” I said, feeling my anger rise again.
“She was full into her tirade,” Akmanian said, tipping his cup back to get the last drops of coffee. “I figured she wouldn’t listen anyway. She certainly is entertaining when she’s in a rant, isn’t she?”
“Not when you’re the nine-year-old victim of it,” I said.
“You’re okay, boy, aren’t you?”
Frank knuckled away the tears from his eyes and nodded at the director.
Grady sighed. “Thank goodness I’m not working for her.”
“Oh, yeah. We all say that,” said Akmanian. “She’s quite the drama queen. That’s why I make sure the money’s in the bank before I work with her.” He glanced at his watch. “We should be ready for you by two this afternoon,” he said, looking at me. “Got your role memorized? If you do, you’re the only one.”
“I know all my lines,” I said with a sigh. “However, I have a problem with two of them. I’d like them changed, but I don’t want to set off another outburst.”
“Give me the Fletcher script,” he said to the production assistant sitting next to him.
She had anticipated the request and had pulled it from the pile of papers in her lap. She put the script in his hand.
Akmanian cocked his head at her and smiled. “I’ve got two words for you, kid.” He paused. “Light and sweet.” He handed her his coffee cup.
The PA, who’d sat up straight in her seat expecting praise, collapsed like a punctured balloon. Her face paled, then flooded with color.
“Don’t take me so seriously,” the director said to her. “We’ll keep you for the next shoot.” He tapped her on the head with my script.
Akmanian read over the lines with me and I showed him the problem areas. We agreed on alternative language, and he said he’d take responsibility for making the changes.
“I’ll tell her it was awkwardly worded,” he said. “That should send her into a tailspin.” He laughed.
“Please. I don’t think my heart can take any more excitement today.”
“Tell her I wrote it,” Frank piped up, joining in on the joke.
“Don’t be fresh, sport,” Grady said, but he was hard put not to smile.
Dave Fitzpatrick escorted us to where lunch was being served. Three buffets had been set up in a series of rooms on the first floor. Luckily we managed to avoid seeing Betsy. We filled our plates and found seats next to Cookie and Jimbo, who were sitting with Antonio Tedeschi.
Cookie ruffled Frank’s hair. “Heard about your little tiff this morning. We both heard the lioness roar today. You okay?”
Frank nodded vigorously as he stuffed a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth.
“Betsy’s got more snap than a mousetrap,” she said to me in a low voice, looking over to see if her manager was listening. “Ah thought Jimbo was ’bout to bust a gut when she turned that harsh tongue on me. He was that mad. I think he still is, but he’s holdin’ it in. They’re gonna try to fit us in later, but if not, we gotta come back tomorrow to finish the shoot. Ah think I should know my lines by then.” She winked at me.
Antonio got up to leave and came around the table to apologize for Betsy’s behavior. “I am sorry for the . . . the—” He strove to find the right word, finally settling on, “She was not so nice to you.” He pressed Cookie’s hand. “And to you.” He looked at Frank. “She has the brilliant ideas but is not such a diplomat. No?”
“Ah wouldn’t recommend the UN use her in the Middle East,” Cookie said.
“Still. Very smart, very creative, very passionate about her work,” Antonio said.
“Can’t argue with that,” Cookie said.
Antonio pressed his lips together and shook his head. “But perhaps I shouldn’t go with her,” he said softly. “Maybe not such a good idea.”
“Go where?” I asked.
“You can go anywhere you like with her,” Cookie said. “Just keep her away from me.”
“Yes, of course.” Antonio forced a smile, bent forward in a brief bow, and walked away, a worried expression on his face.
Before we finished lunch, several crew members stopped at our table to ask after Frank, who was delighted by all the attention. He recounted the tale of the light stands falling around him, embellishing a bit each time he told the story, but was careful not to say anything about the tongue-lashing he received from the angry agency creative director.