Tribesmen (7 page)

“No English,” Tito mimicked back and smiled. “She won’t need English. There we go, we’ve got two actresses. I bet this little peach will take her top off, too.” Tito indicated the makeup girl who was still smiling, no idea what he was saying. “Add them to our newest leading man,” the old man drilled a finger into Jacque’s chest, “and you’ve got a movie.”

“No,” Jacque said. No humor or familiarity, just flat refusal.

“Yes. Look around. You see any cannibals? You see anyone who can even pass for a cannibal?” Tito asked. His impish smile looked to Cynthia like his body smelled: ripe with decay. Every time you thought he couldn’t get any slimier, he said something even more odious. The man was a pig and a bigot.

The thought of a pig made Cynthia’s eyes wander to the wrecked hut and the dead boar, but the body was gone.

“I direct,” Tito continued, raising his voice and snapping her attention away from the missing swine. “Denny works the camera. What is it that you do, Jacque? It looks to me like you eat pretty girls for dinner.”

Cynthia noticed Tito wasn’t dropping articles of speech anymore. The demented little old man’s English was as strong as he wanted it to be in any given situation. Jacque was right: the man was a huckster, but a good one.

“You can’t make me do anything,” Jacque said.

“You’re right,” Tito said, patting his suit jacket pocket.
Did he just touch his gun on purpose?

“Are you threatening me?” Jacque didn’t miss the implication either.

“Only with the fact that if you don’t help, there will be no movie,” Tito dipped into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. “And no paycheck. Actors get paid more. You do know that, right? And of course, you’d still be receiving your writing credit.”

“Because I’m working with you for the valuable screen credit,” Jacque said under his breath. “Fine. Let’s do it.”

Tito spoke something in Italian to Daria, who responded: “Momento” and walked over to the biggest crate. She picked out some of the long strands of wood wool they had used as packing material, and then fished around in her makeup kit.

Approaching Jacque, she spoke in Italian, sounding embarrassed. He laughed and said something back that caused her to go red in the face.

Jacque began to unbutton his shirt. “She’s going to paint me so I look like one of Tito’s ‘savages,’” he said to Cynthia.

“You don’t have to do this,” Cynthia said.

Jacque folded his shirt and handed it to her. His muscles weren’t huge, but they were well-defined, and his unblemished dark skin glistened in the sun. A shirtless Jacque was not an unpleasant sight. She would go to see this movie.

Daria approached him with a paintbrush and then lowered it. She said something else that Cynthia couldn’t understand and reached for his belt, starting to undo it before he intervened.

Jacque laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it,” he said in English for Cynthia’s benefit, pushing Daria’s hand away. Daria shrugged and went at him with the paint brush.

The Italian girl drew brilliant pastel green lines down his chest and arms, then switched to a smaller brush and did some detail work in bright red.

“I look like I belong to the same tribe as Santa Claus,” he said. It was true: he looked ridiculous and not the least bit scary.

After considering how she could improve the situation for a moment, Cynthia approached one of the huts and tore off a bit of tree bark. The bark was light and spongy, covered in green bits of lichen, and was used as roofing shingles by the locals. She punched two eyeholes with her thumbs and tied a string of the packing material to both sides.

“Here put this on, you can hide your face and stay in good standing with the NAACP,” Cynthia said, handing him the impromptu tribal mask. “Plus, it reads better.”

Tito nodded his approval and Jacque slipped on the mask.

“We should get all we can while we have the camera already set up. Can you think of a scene that would involve the two of you in the village?” Denny asked Jacque, then glanced back at Tito.

“Don’t forget to include the makup girl,” Tito said. “Naked.”

“Well, Cynthia plays a photojournalist who is investigating a series of disappearances on a resort beach. In the beginning of the film, she learns that a primitive tribe is boating over from a nearby island—thought deserted—and they’re abducting pretty young tourist girls. She travels to the island with the help of her dashing and handsome guide, Umberto’s character,” Jacque said, his voice self-serious before catching himself: “Honestly, it’s an absolute classic.”

Tito shaded his eyes with one hand and looked up at the sun. “And? The scene right now?”

“Well, you can have Daria here play one of the abducted tourists. The cannibal I play can be bringing her back to camp and begin making dinner preparations while the rest of the tribe is off in the jungle chasing Umberto’s character,” Jaque said as Daria tucked handfuls of the packing material into the waistband of his underwear, transforming it into a passable grass skirt. “Cynthia’s character can be following us, snapping pictures and looking for a way to free Daria.”

“Perfect. One more thing, though,” Tito said. He went down on one knee in front of the fire pit. The motion was so alien to his bulky frame that the old man looked like he was going to topple over into the mud.

After sifting through the last few embers of the fire, Tito spit into his palms and rubbed the ash over his hands. Rising, he came up behind Daria and began smudging her face with deep black marks from the ash and dirt. The girl recoiled and screeched in Italian. Tito just laughed and apologized.

“Scusi. Mi scusi…”

Cynthia didn’t know anything about Italian intonation, but he didn’t sound sincere.

Turning to the rest of the crew, Tito made a big show that he was entering director mode. He rubbed his temples, framed shots with his fingers, and barked out blocking decisions and marks to the actors, all while chain smoking and switching between three languages. His theatrics may have looked self-indulgent, but so were the motions of most famous composers, and they were still respected.

When he was finished, Cynthia had a strong grip on the geography of the set-up, what she and the rest of the cast were supposed to be doing and when. Why were the assholes always so talented?

Chapter 11

Denny

“Action,” Tito screamed from somewhere beyond.

The director’s voice was in another world from the one Denny allowed himself to inhabit. Tito was in the world outside the frame. Tito had made the decision to let Denny go handheld for the shot. It would be a greater strain on the actors, but would allow them to shoot more footage more quickly if they could pull it off in one take.

The movie they were ripping off,
Cannibal Fury Atrocity
or whatever it was called, had been shot in the style of a faux-documentary. Both Jacque and Tito had agreed that they would take a more traditional approach to the subject matter, but a few extended shots with the camera resting on Denny’s shoulder wouldn’t hurt them.

Denny had been so high when he first saw
Halloween
last year that the film’s point-of-view shots had wheedled their way into his subconscious and kept him awake for three days straight (well, it was either John Carpenter or the speed). He wanted to use the camera in his arms to replicate that feeling right now.

He was feeling strong and sharp: no Steadicam, no problem. Maybe if he pulled this off they could even restructure the film so that this could be the opening sequence.

Through the viewfinder, in front of the jungle landscape, he watched his own name materialize in the credits. Director of Photography Dennis Roth.
No, no time for daydreams of glory. Time to work
, he told himself.

Tito had suggested that they begin the shot out in the jungle, with Denny and the camera following Jacque, who had the makeup girl slung over one shoulder, and then dropping back to reveal that Cynthia’s photojournalist was following both of them and snapping pictures. When they reached the tall grass, Denny crouched low so that the camera lens was right up against the stalks, pushing the grass out of the way with the lens as he inched forward.

“Now!
Destare
,” Tito yelled from a few yards behind the camera. He was telling the makeup girl to wake up as they entered the clearing before the village. The shot had begun with Daria unconscious, remaining motionless while carried by Jacque. She lifted her smudged face to the camera, remaining careful not to make eye contact with the lens and beating against Jacque’s back with her fist. Good.

Her hits were actually connecting and Denny could hear the wet smack and see the ripples in his flesh as Jacque strained his muscles to hold her up. It was a shame that they weren’t rolling sound, because that sound effect would be impossible to recreate on a soundstage. It was beautiful. Even if they botched the rest of the take, they could use this footage.

Denny slowed his steps, allowing Jacque to pull away from the camera as they entered the village. Trying to keep his breaths steady, Denny exhaled and panned the camera over to reveal Cynthia sneaking out of the tall grass.

“Take a picture, darling,” Tito said and the actress leveled her prop camera to her eye and clicked the shutter.

Finding her and putting her on screen may end up being Tito Bronze’s only lasting contribution to cinema. She was beautiful and the camera loved her. Denny could feel the pure power of her exotic presence as the sound of the frames whirring by pressed against his ear. The camera was heavy. His body was covered in sweat but he didn’t dare let a single tremor reach his hands. He would complete this shot if it killed him.

Cynthia stepped into the clearing and Denny panned again: forming a two shot with Jacque in the background and Cynthia in the fore. Ducking low to the ground, Cynthia continued toward the camp, snapping twigs and leaves. She mimed stealth but did not achieve it. Denny made sure not to catch her feet in the frame; it would ruin the illusion if you saw that she was clearly making noise.

“Scream,” Tito said, but Daria couldn’t understand him. Denny heard Jacque mumble something in Italian from beneath his mask, and the girl let out a yell, ropes of spittle flying from her mouth.

“Put her in front of the fire,” Tito said from Denny’s left side, still keeping his distance so his shadow did not enter the frame. Denny felt a sharp bubble of pain move in his stomach and heard an accompanying grumble.
Ignore it
, he told himself, and tightened his grip on the camera.

Jacque set Daria down in a puff of dirt and dust, not trying to hurt her, but not looking overly concerned with her safety either. That was good: indifference would read better on the screen.

“Now rip her top off,” Tito said. Jacque’s muscles immediately tensed in response; Tito had plucked at his spinal column as if it were a guitar string. “Do it now. Careful not to get her bra in the first go.”

Daria looked up at her attacker. Her puzzlement at Jacque’s hesitation didn’t ruin the scene. It enhanced it, gave it depth of character.

Denny’s stomach gave his nervous system another quick jab so painful that he almost dipped the camera.
Shit
, he thought,
I’m going to fuck all this up because I didn’t boil my water
. He clenched his teeth until the roots sung against the pressure. He kept the focus steady.

Jacque finally snapped out of it, giving himself over to the part and howling under his mask that he was sorry before gripping onto Daria’s blouse. The first jerk of his hand sent two large buttons flying into the fire at his feet.

Daria’s screaming changed. The part was real for her now, and her surprise would pay big dividends when they reviewed the footage in the editing room. Denny realized that Tito had told his other two actors much more about the scene than he translated into Italian for the girl. He had deliberately kept her unaware of what was going to happen.

Daria fought back against Jacque, smacking his forearms with open palms before attempting to claw at his chest.

“Keep going,” Denny heard himself say aloud. He would probably catch shit from Tito for directing, but it didn’t matter because this was gold. A snake of pain crawled along his lower intestine, but it didn’t matter. The frenzy was upon him now and he was using the thrill of sensation to keep himself in the game.

Jacque batted her hands away and hooked a finger around one bra strap. “I’m sorry,” he said again as he tugged the brassiere free. Her breasts were large, with prominent tan lines drawn across her olive flesh that left her nipples pleasantly pale. The camera loved them almost as much as it loved Cynthia’s face.

Denny did a quick rack focus to make Cynthia’s expression crystal clear. Repulsion and fear were etched across her pretty face. The emotions were authentic. Denny doubted that she was that good an actor.

Denny opened up the focus to bring the whole grotesque tableau into an even clarity. Tito would yell cut soon, but Denny didn’t want to stop.

Denny nearly dropped the camera when he caught a glimpse of Umberto walking out of the jungle between the two huts in the background.
He’ll ruin everything!