Charming Grace (39 page)

“I’m trying to work with them to improve the movie. To make it a tribute to Harp.”

Marvin shook the script. “You call this a tribute? This turns him into a goddamned joke!”

“I know, Marvin. And I’m trying to—”

“Hey, mate,” Lowe put in, frowning. “Lay off the lady, okay? We know the script stinks, but we’re trying to fix things.”

Marvin ignored him and kept scalding me with a stare. “Grace Bagshaw Vance, if you don’t stop this damned movie then you’re not fit to carry Harp’s name.”

Boone stepped in front of me. “Whoa,” he said. Very quietly, nothing flashy, and yes, it was old-fashioned macho behavior and infringed on my authority as a self-determining adult woman, and so forth and so on, but he did it, anyway, and I admit I was grateful for the reprieve. “Mr. Constraint,” he said in a low, deadly tone, “Grace isn’t to blame for any of this mess, and she’s doing the best she can to take care of her husband’s good name. Now, either you do the job she
paid
you to do, or I’ll make sure the chef up here serves ‘Snake Sushi’ on the menu tonight.”

Both Lowe and I sucked in our breath. Marvin stared at Boone for a long, tense minute, scorching him with an intensity that nearly glowed. He searched Boone’s face, his eyes, then flickered his gaze away, as if listening to silent whispers. For all I knew, Marvin’s voices were telling him to take his snake and run. But then something shifted in Marvin’s expression. Some conclusion came to him. An instinct. A message. The feisty anger drained away. Marvin sat back with a look of somber wisdom. “I’m bein’ told by my angels,” he said quietly, “to do what you say.” He paused. “Because Harp knows his wife is safe with you, and you’re right.”

Marvin turned his back to us, picked up the script, and began to read it aloud.

I sat down, tired and sad, in a chair.

Boone came over and stood beside me. “Gracie—”

“He’s right. If I don’t stop this film, I’m not fit to carry Harp’s name.”

“Gracie, don’t—”

“Noleene!” Stone yelled.

The Sundial was now full of crew members, extras (who would pose as restaurant patrons during the scene) and tons of film equipment. Stone was in his usual directorial tyrant mood, fidgeting with lighting and camera angles and yelling orders to the crew. “Noleene,” he yelled again. “What are you doing over there in that dark corner? You practicing to be a Cajun vampire or something? Kanda’s on her way up with the girls and Arnold Schwarzen-porker.”

Boone nodded. “Comin’.” To me he said quietly, “I have to go take care of the pig.”

“I’ll watch the snake. And Marvin. Don’t worry.”

“The only one I’m worried about is
you
.”

I shook my head. After he disappeared in the direction of the Sundial’s glass elevators I got up dully. Marvin was still dutifully reading script lines as Lowe listened intently. I checked Joe’s box inside the Senterra Productions tote bag, heard a reassuring hiss, then wandered through the chaos of the movie set.

Diamond lurked at the main bar. “Well, if it isn’t our little beauty queen,” she said.

Considering my mood, I could have cheerfully thrown her out a window. I debated turning Joe loose in her dressing room, but I couldn’t do that to an innocent snake. I stared at Diamond. “Bite me.” Sometimes the shorthand of obscenity is worth a thousand words.

She snorted and returned to pumping a pair of thirty-pound barbells. Apparently Siam Patton needed to look muscular and sweaty for every scene, even a lunch at the Sundial. I headed back to the table to visit with Joe.

“Grace!” Abbie waylaid me. She teetered toward me in strappy, mile-high black heels that made my bunions ache just looking at them. Then it dawned on me: Abbie was dressed as
me
—per Stone’s instructions to the wardrobe people. In addition to the tippy-toe footwear, she wore a short, tight, breast-popping black dress. I looked from it to my tailored beige suit, then back at Abbie. “Let me guess. In this scene, I’m doing lunch with my husband, then going straight to the opening of an S & M nightclub.”

Abbie ignored the comment. She waved Stone’s daily script notes.

“Grace, would Harp ever have said to you —” she paused to consult the notes, then “—would Harp ever had said, ‘Honey, a man’s got to do what a mans’s got to do, so just do it.’”

“No. He didn’t talk in
Nike
slogans.”

“He does now.” Abbie moaned. “I think Stone signed a product placement agreement with the company.”

I groaned silently. “Is there more bad news?”

She nodded. “Did you ever tell him, ‘Look out over this city, Harp. The city lights are shining just for us. Please be careful chasing the Turn-key Bomber. Because our lives don’t matter a hill of beans in this crazy world, and if you die you’ll regret it—maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, and for the rest of your life.’”

I held my head. “Stone’s selling track shoes
and
ripping off
Casablanca
.”

Abbie shook the script at me. “What can we do?”

I took her by the shoulders. “I don’t know yet, but I’m working on it. You and Lowe have to be ready to help me. To take a stand.”

“Oh, I can’t be involved. I can’t! Please, I don’t want to upset Stone. When directors yell at me I break out in hives.”

“Abbie, this is serious business. My husband’s reputation, and your career—”

Someone screamed.

Abbie and I whipped around. A young make-up artist stood on a chair, pointing toward the floor. She’d opened Joe’s camo-covered cage thinking it was some kind of manly make-up kit belonging to one of the extras. Joe, set free, was now taking the most direct route toward a cluster of potted palms. The route happened to go through a crowd of crew members who were sorting cables. Nearby was a crowd of extras waiting to pretend to eat lunch while the scene was filmed. They included a number of well-dressed, elderly women from the Dahlonega Garden Club.

Cables, crew, and gardening seniors went in every direction.

Joe didn’t even pause to hiss at the chaos.

He made it to the palms.

But not before he went right between Diamond’s feet.

“The snake wasn’t hurt. The snake was returned to its owner. Mr. Senterra personally assured the owner that ‘Joe’ was just an innocent victim of a misunderstanding. Furthermore, Mr. Senterra is buying Joe the Snake a year’s supply of mice. No, the rumors that Diamond Senterra ‘panicked’ and knocked down several elderly extras are not true. She was attempting to rescue the extras by pushing them out of the snake’s path. She and Mr. Senterra want everyone to know that no extras and no snake were harmed in the making of this film.”

So spoke one of Stone’s PR flacks to the local, national, and international media. After all, it’s not every day that the fire department, the police, and the zoo are called to a movie set at the same time.

The National Enquirer
summed it up best.

Snake Slithers And Diamond Jumps On Old Folks.

‘Out of the way, Grandma!”

“Noleene, why did you let that damned snake in the restaurant in the first place?” Stone yelled. He slung sweat, barbells, and a plastic bottle of Evian water across the backyard at Casa Senterra.

I didn’t waste my breath reminding him I was the one who nearly got bitten when I nabbed Joe from under the wine steward’s desk, or that I was the one who calmed Marvin down, since Marvin was ready to open a big can of mountain whup-ass on everybody in sight. Or that Grace had crawled under that wine steward’s desk after me, to save me from Joe and Joe from the sushi chef. What a woman.

“Diamond was already leapfrogging the old ladies,” I told Stone. “Not much point in shuttin’ the barn door after the horse’s already loose.”

“Barns? Horses?
What?
”

“Look, Marvin and the snake were a package deal. Lowe needed Marvin to coach him on his mountain accent. No Marvin—no accent. I let the snake in because
no
snake meant
no
Marvin. I did it for the good of the movie.”

Stone pondered that, then exhaled in disgust. “All right, but
no more snakes
! Listen, every time you get around Grace, something happens to my movie.
Stay away from her.
Do I make myself clear?”

After a long, ugly moment of silence, I nodded. Stone didn’t notice that the summer air around me had turned to ice. He hoisted a barbell. “For your information, this latest mess has
screwed
my plans for the boa constrictor scene. Sis says she can’t take another snake encounter. She
hates
snakes. The old man used to throw little yard snakes at her for fun. So I promised her I’d can the boa. Holy canola, Noleene. I don’t want any more bad publicity.
And no more senior citizens ending up in the emergency room.
And no more interference from Grace.
Capice?
”

Muttering, Stone strode into the house. I counted to a hundred, in French, took some deep breaths, then looked up into the oak trees. “Did you get that part about ‘no boa constrictor scene,’
poteet
?” I called to Brian.

The branches wiggled.

“Stone told Boone to keep you away from snakes,” Brian reported in his usual breathless, garbled fashion. “And to keep himself away from
you
! Because bad things happen when you’re around, Stone says! And. . .and yesterday, when me and Grandma were at the dime store, I heard some camera people from the movie saying that you always get Boone to help you cause trouble, and that he’s gonna get fired for real over it! I don’t want Boone to get fired! I like him!”

I hugged Brian. “I’m not going to let anything bad happen to him, I promise you.”

And I promised myself.

I stood outside the door to Boone’s motel room, hidden by the blue-pink light just before dawn. The simple, two-story motel sat on one of the highest hilltops in Dahlonega, with a view of the mountains to the north. They rose in dark purple hummocks along the horizon. I took a deep breath of fresh, warm air, then knocked. When Boone opened the door his hair was still damp from the shower, and he smelled of good soap and shaving cream. A faded Saints t-shirt and soft gray jogging shorts didn’t leave any secrets about the fine shape of the male body inside them, or that male body’s surprised reaction to me.