Fool Me Twice

42

The second week of filming was devoted entirely to night work.

The crew had been called for the late afternoon and had completed their prep by sunset. Now they waited for darkness to fall.

At magic hour, those final moments of the good natural light of day, the cast and crew were on set, blocking the scene they were about to shoot. The scene took place on the back porch of the cottage.

As night began its slow descent, bringing with it wisps of cloud and a hint of fog, the director rehearsed the actors, placing them in the various positions that the scene required.

The cinematographer stood alongside the director, noting the actors’ movements during the rehearsal.

A camera assistant placed different-colored strips of masking tape on the floor, to indicate the marks the individual actors would need to hit during the scene.

Other crew members delivered props to the set, hung and focused lights, and laid dolly track for the smooth movement of the camera mount. Wardrobe personnel carried costumes and accessories.

Craft service employees brought trays of sandwiches and beverages to a specially laid table located within easy access of the set. Bowls filled with fruit and plates full of cakes and cookies were already on the table. As were jars filled with candy. This allowed members of the cast and crew to grab a snack or a drink without having to venture far from the action.

A group of extras stood at the ready, waiting to be selected by one of the assistant directors for inclusion in the background activity of the scene. Extras were hired by the day, depending on the dictates of the screenplay.

As this was a night shoot, the number of extras was held to a minimum. On this night, only eight of them were in attendance. Later in the evening, when the action moved to the front of the house, they would be called on to appear either on the street or in passing vehicles. As of now, they were gathered near the set, watching the proceedings.

Unnoticed by cast and crew in his beard and wig was Ryan Rooney. He had left the commandeered cottage at nightfall, emboldened by the pipeful of Shabu he had smoked.

He felt great. He felt strong. He was ready.

He walked with purpose to the set. In the organized chaos of working in partial darkness, nobody paid him any mind.

He stood within sight of Marisol, but for all intents and purposes, he was invisible.

—

Ryan watched as the director finished blocking the scene.

He saw Marisol being accompanied to the makeup trailer by a large man who appeared to be Native American. The man seemed fit, and his movements were lithe and economical. Ryan presumed he was either her assistant or her bodyguard. Or both.

He waited.

She emerged from the makeup truck in the company of the Indian and went to her personal trailer, which was parked a few feet from the set.

He waited.

She soon emerged, in costume and full makeup, ready for work. The Indian led her to the set and the nearby row of canvas-backed director’s chairs. One of them had her name embroidered on it.

Marisol sat in her chair and was soon joined by another woman, who Ryan recognized as Frankie Greenberg, whom he remembered from Tomorrow We Love.

She sat down next to Marisol, a leather-bound script in her hand.

It was dark, and when Frankie opened her script and turned to a specific page, she held a flashlight over it. Marisol studied the page, the two women chatting quietly.

Ryan noticed Marisol signaling to the Indian, pointing to Frankie’s script and shrugging her shoulders as if to suggest that she wanted her own copy.

The Indian nodded his understanding and stepped over to Marisol’s nearby trailer.

He stopped for a moment before going inside. He looked around. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he opened the door to the trailer and went inside.

Ryan pulled the .38 from his pocket and quickly moved to where the two women were sitting.

Marisol looked up as he approached, no recognition in her eyes. Then she knew.

“Oh my God,” she said.

That was when Ryan shot her.

Frankie stood and started toward him.

That was when he shot her.

Ryan immediately put the gun in his pocket and walked into the darkness.

Unnoticed amid the chaos that followed, he headed for his Prius.

He opened the garage door and got into the car. He removed his wig and placed it under the seat. He engaged the hybrid’s silent battery and drove slowly down the driveway.

He turned onto Lakeside Drive, then onto Fisherman’s Road.

Then he vanished into the night.