Picture Perfect Read online

  "I didn't go to my father's funeral," Alex said, and I started a little at the timbre of his voice. True, there was no one else in the house at this time of night, but some things were better whispered. "Mymaman called me up and told me he was a sorry son of a bitch but that it would be the Christian thing to do."

  I closed my eyes, picturing in my mind that scene from the screenplay that you are left with, of a father lifting his son into the air. I pictured Alex sitting beside his father's hospital bed. I saw the cameras rolling as he got his second chance.

  "Course, I figured since he was the devil himself, Christian charity didn't quite apply to him. I've never even seen his goddamn grave." Alex's hands ran up and down my ribs, over places he had hurt hours before. "I'm going to direct it and co-produce," he said quietly. "This time around, I want to be the one in control."

  JACK GREEN SAT NEXT TO ME WHILE A MALE STAND- IN HIS APPROXIMATE size had cameras and lights arranged around him. He was a veteran actor who'd done everything from comedy in Marilyn Monroe vehicles to the dramatic portrayal of an alcoholic that had won him an Oscar in 1963. But he could also whistle "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" through his armpit and shuffle a deck of cards with more finesse than a Vegas dealer, and he knew how to shoot the heads off the cattails that grew in the tall Iowa grass. Next to Alex, he was my favorite person on the set.

  He was playing the role of the father, largely due to Alex's persuasion, since Jack hadn't made a film since 1975. At first, it had been fun to watch the people scurrying around on the set, unsure whether they should kowtow first to Jack, the legend, or to Alex, the god. And no one could be sure how Jack would take to direction from Alex. But after seeing the first batch of dailies, Jack had stood up and turned to Alex. "Kid," he had said, offering his hand, "by the time you get to my age, you may just be as good as me."

  Now Jack raised his eyebrows, asking me if I wanted another card. We were playing blackjack, and he was the house. "Hit me," I said, tapping the top of the book we were using as a lap table.

  Jack overturned the ten of diamonds and grinned. "Blackjack," he said. He shook his head appreciatively. "Cassie, you got more luck than a three-titted whore."

  I laughed and jumped off Alex's chair. "Don't you need to get ready or something?"

  Jack lifted his head and scanned the flurry of activity. "Well," he said, "I suppose I could try to earn my keep." He smiled and tossed me his script, which to my knowledge he hadn't cracked since he'd stepped on the set ten weeks ago, although he'd yet to miss a line. He moved off toward Alex, who was gesturing to the director of photography.

  I hadn't talked to Alex all day, although that wasn't unusual. During the weeks he'd been filmingThe Story of His Life in Iowa, Alex had been busier than I'd ever seen him. There was always a line of crew people waiting to ask his technical opinion about something; there were reporters trying to get advance press interviews; there were backers to meet with about financing. In a way, Alex thrived on the stress. His career was on the line: not only was he attempting a film in which he wouldn't be seen as a traditional romantic lead, he was directing for the first time. But all the pressure seemed to take his mind off the fact that the movie he was making and the emotions he was calling forth in front of a camera were hitting very close to home.

  Alex had insisted on filming the confrontational scene between the father and son last. He'd allowed two days of filming for it, today being the first, because he wanted to catch the scene during the gloaming, when the hills and the cornfields in the distance were purpled by the sun. I watched a makeup artist step up to Jack and dampen his back with artificial sweat, ring his neck with something that looked like dirt. He looked up from her ministrations and gave me a wink.

  "It's a good thing he's forty years older than you are," Alex said from behind me, "or I'd be jealous as hell."

  I pinned a smile on my face and turned around, not quite knowing what I would see when I met Alex's eyes. I think I was more nervous about this particular scene than he was. After all, I had just as much resting on it as he did. If it was a success, it was going to make this film a masterpiece for Alex. But it was also going to change my life.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him lightly. "Are you ready?" I asked.

  Alex stared at me for a moment, and I could see all of my fears mirrored back at me. "Areyou ?" he said gently.

  When the assistant director called for silence, and the sound tape was up to speed, I drew in my breath. Alex and Jack stood in the middle of the field leased from a local farmer. They were backed by a transplanted row of corn that was much higher than it should have been for this time of year, but that was the way the prop department had turned the reality of April into the illusion of September. The first assistant director called for action, and I watched as a mask neatly dropped over Alex's features, turning him into someone who was only vaguely familiar.

  The wind whipped across the tall grass as if it had been cued, and Jack turned his back on Alex and leaned on a shovel. I watched Alex's face mottle with anger, and heard him choke on his rage until he had to speak or be suffocated. "Turn around, goddamn you," he yelled, laying one hand on Jack's shoulder.

  As it had been rehearsed, Jack slowly pivoted toward Alex. I leaned forward, waiting for Alex's next line, but nothing came. The color drained out of Alex, and he whispered "Cut," and I knew that in Jack's face he had seen his own father.

  The crew relaxed, rewinding and repositioning while Alex shrugged and apologized to Jack. I inched closer to the scene of the action, until I was standing next to the cameraman.

  When the film began rolling again, the sun had dropped, cradled by the sky before night fell. It made a beautiful picture: the vivid resentment written across Alex's face, and Jack silhouetted by the fading light, looking more like a memory than a man.

  "You tell me what I'm supposed to do," Alex shouted, and then suddenly his voice cracked, making him sound like the teenager berated by his father in the flashbacks already filmed. During the rehearsal, Alex had had his character yell through this entire scene, hoping to provoke his father. But now his voice softened until it was a whisper. "For years I figured, the bigger the better. I kept saying this was going to be the one time you noticed." Alex's voice broke. "I wasn't even doing it for me, after a while. I was doing it foryou . But you don't give an inch, do you, Pa? What did you want from me?" Alex swallowed. "Just who the hell do you think youare ?"

  Alex reached out and grabbed Jack, another move that hadn't been rehearsed. I sucked in my breath, seeing Alex's tears, noticing the way his fingers flexed on Jack's shoulders. You couldn't be entirely sure if Alex was planning to throw Jack to the ground, or if he was clinging to him for support.

  And Jack, just as surprised by Alex's action, simply stared into his face, seeming to challenge him for a second. But then he stepped out of Alex's reach. "Nobody," he said, his scripted answer, and he turned and walked out of the range of the camera.

  I ducked out of the way as the high boom the camera was mounted on swept suddenly to the left to catch Alex in profile. He stared out at the fields of corn, seeing, I knew, a muddy bayou with clinging vines, a trap of crawfish on the porch of a rotting restaurant, his father's chiseled face--a more dissolute double of his own--the image he'd fought and, ironically, had still grown into.

  The sun slid behind the fence that at this point seemed to be supporting Alex. He closed his eyes; he bowed his head. The cameras kept whirring because no one had the presence of mind to call for a stop to the action.

  Finally Jack Green stepped forward. "Cut, goddammit," he yelled. After a second of silence, the crew burst into applause, realizing they had just seen something very rare and fine. "You better wrap that one," Jack called to Alex, "because I don't get any better."

  A few people laughed, but Alex didn't even seem to hear. He moved straight from the fence through the filling darkness, pushing past people who stood in his way. He walked right into my arms, and with everyone wa