known since she was a child, greeted her by name. He immediately directed her to the second floor, where Brad was filming in the back conference room.
She waited outside in the quiet hallway before she heard Brad call “Cut!” Then she knocked and went in. There was no crowd of extras on hand for this scene, just Jennie with her makeup box, Mike Thornton with his camera, Luke Mayfield handling sound, Barry Seymour for lighting and George Gonzales keeping an eye on continuity. The only two actors in the room were those playing the oil-company exec and the senator, Harry Grayson and Blane Pica. And Jimmy Smith was standing on the sidelines, observing.
Despite the unexpected interruption in his planned shooting schedule, Brad was going with the flow. He beckoned her over as she entered. She waved to the others and walked toward him. Brad immediately invited her to watch the footage he’d just shot.
She looked into the camera as he replayed the latest scene. Afterward she looked over at Harry and Blane, and smiled. “Great stuff. Do you two sound scuzzy or what?”
“Thanks,” Blane said, accepting the compliment with a pleased nod. He was from New York, and had been a couple of years ahead of Charlie and Brad at Tulane. He was heavyset, though a lot of his weight was muscle, and he was slightly balding, making him a perfect movie villain. Harry, on the other hand, was older, a seasoned actor Brad had met when working on a music video in New Orleans for a major producer. He was thin and wiry, with a sharp face that usually wore a pleasant smile unless the part called for something else. When he chose to, he could do grim and threatening very well.
The scene Brad had just shot came before the one he’d finished the other night, when the two men had been chasing her, ready to kill her because she’d discovered their plans.
“They only look good because of the great lighting,” Barry said teasingly. The actors only rolled their eyes.
“Yeah, right. Everyone goes to see a movie for the great lighting,” Jennie said drily.
“Actually, sometimes they do. They just don’t know it,” Barry said. “Lighting can be everything.”
Brad cleared his throat. “Movies really belong to the director. All film buffs know that.”
“Go ahead and delude yourself,” Mike teased. “Real aficionados know the cameraman is everything.”
“Think what you want. I know what really matters,” Luke said, waving one hand dismissively. “Ever since the ‘talkies,’ sound has been the heart and soul of a film.”
“I don’t even pretend people come to see who the makeup artist was,” Jennie said.
“Or the prop master,” George put in. “But if you want my opinion, I say we stop this ridiculous conversation and head out for something to eat—and a beer.”
“But I just got here to help,” Charlie said.
“Too late. You can help us choose a restaurant,” George said. “What’s the cool place to see and be seen in St. Francisville these days? Or, even better, relax and have a great, hassle-free meal?”
Charlie thought of Mrs. Mama’s, a local café tucked away on a side street, where they could order some of the best shrimp and grits she’d had anywhere. “I know just the place,” she said.
Twenty minutes later they were seated, and a waitress was hurrying over to them. Charlie was looking at her menu when she realized the waitress was standing behind her, waiting for her drink order.
“What will you have, honey? Beer? Iced tea?”
Charlie turned and started to speak, and then she gasped softly and said, “Nancy? Nancy Deauville?”
It was the same woman who, ten years ago, had directed the action on the night Charlie was tied to a tombstone.
Like everyone involved with that horror show, Nancy had apologized. She and Charlie had even managed to act cordial for the rest of the year; then Nancy had graduated, and Charlie hadn’t seen her since.
“Charlie, great to see you here,” Nancy said. She seemed a little anxious and a little shy.
As if she meant what she was saying.
Charlie nodded. “Good to see you, too.” She meant it herself. Time had gone by; they were no longer teenagers.
Nancy nodded. “I hear you’re a movie star now.”
“Hardly. Just a working actress. How about you? How is everything?”
Nancy smiled, but Charlie thought it looked a little forced. “I married Todd Camp. The quarterback. We have two kids.”
“Congratulations.”
“Twins.”
“Great.”
“Sometimes,” Nancy said, then shrugged. “Sometimes when Todd is working at the garage all day, I bring the kids here with me, and sometimes they even behave. But I love them. Anyway, I’m so happy for you. You always wanted to act.”
“Well, thanks. I’m not exactly a fixture on the red carpet, though, you know?”
“You’re doing what you want to do, and that’s what counts.”
“Thanks. Hey, how’s Sherry doing? You two were so close. Is she still around, too?”
“Sherry got married and moved to New Jersey.”
“That’s nice.”
“New Jersey? After here? I don’t know. But she has a family, became an LPN.”
“So. Twins,” Charlie said into the awkward silence that followed Nancy’s updates. “No kids for me yet, but one day, I hope.”
“I’m sure it will happen for you. As for me, I just hope for a vacation one of these days. Anyway, what can I get you?”
“Iced tea and gumbo, please.”
“You got it,” Nancy said, and moved on.
She and Jimmy chatted for a minute, and then Jimmy looked down the table at Charlie and mouthed, “Didn’t know she was working here.”
Charlie shrugged. It had been ten years since that awful night, and it was a relief to discover she didn’t really care what had happened to Nancy and the rest of them.
Once Nancy left, they chatted companionably as they waited for their food; they were almost evenly split between gumbo and shrimp and grits, breaking along pretty much the same lines for iced tea vs. frosty beers. For a few minutes the talk revolved around how to film the upcoming confrontation between Charlie and an oil baron. Brad wanted a live location, but Luke was worried about getting the clean sound that he believed the scene warranted. And then, because it couldn’t be ignored forever, the subject of the dead man, Farrell Hickory, finally came up. They were all a little spooked because he was the second reenactor to be killed.
“And we all knew them both,” Jimmy said.
Charlie turned to look at him. “We did?” she
