On June 23, 2011, I began writing a novel about a woman who starts a film company to trick actors into killing the man responsible for the deaths of her husband and children.
CHAPTER 1
Mrs. H read many books about killers. In one of them the writer described the kinds of objects the killer inserted into the grown woman when she was a child: umbrella, knife, bird. In another book a writer introduced a killer who murdered a woman by fucking her with razors.
Mrs. H's plan was simpler. Since she knew the kind of women he liked she just needed to hire an actor to murder the current whore and seduce him. She'd write the script and, taking her cue from a horror movie, instruct the actor to wear a helmet cam.
As far as the actor would know, she was participating in a movie that relied on improv based on specific cues that each individual actor received. If asked, she planned to explain that it was a new approach with the aim of making the movie feel more real than rehearsed. For $10,000, she didn't expect the actor to sleuth, especially if she made the whole thing appear legit.
Toward that end, she registered a new name in a different state, set up an independent movie company, rented offices and equipment, created fake credentials with movie credits, hired student employees, and posted a casting call in the state he was in. The second floor office she used was small but included a reception area and a larger room with a table and chairs on one side, a block of space in the center, and, on the other side, a large screen, bulletin board and camera.
"You're doing a great job, Marise," she said, "Remember to keep the door locked until 2p."
"Will do, Mrs. H!"
Marise was a good choice. A second year business student at the community college, she took classes at night, then went home to her husband and kids. With the demands of home and work, she didn't have the time or interest to learn more about Fly Rize or her employer, who always dressed well and liked to be called Mrs. H.
Mrs. H smiled and went into her office, which was catty corner, smaller and just past the bathroom. Though she had received many head shots in the last few days, she looked at one in particular. Young and blonde, the actor had blue eyes and a seductive quality about her face that invited long gazes; Mrs. H hoped she looked as appealing in person.
At 2p Marise unlocked and opened the front door to usher standing actors in, then showed them to the table and chairs. After a few minutes she returned with a pile of small square sheets that asked for name, contact information, interests (acting, extras, promotions), and availability.
About 15 minutes later Mrs. H entered with Mari. By that time there were actors on the chairs and others in a upside down L shaped line extending from the table. Mrs. H looked around the room until she found the woman from the photograph. Just from a quick glance she knew she was the one.
"Welcome," Mrs. H said, smiling, "I'm Mrs. H and I started Fly Rize because I have a vision for making movies that rely more on the actors than writers to carry a story. How many of you are familiar with improv?"
As Mrs. H anticipated, only a few raised their hands. Pointing to a young man, she asked him to share what he knew.
"Well, basically," he said, "an improv actor makes up lines based on what other people say or do."
"Yes," she said, "An unscripted performance based on specific cues. What my company aims to do is give greater control to the actors we hire based on their interpretations of what our movies call for. While improv isn't new, our approach is. As an actor in our movies, you'll receive scripts one scene at a time, with information only on the location, the names of other characters, and your motivation. We will make decisions about the next scene based on how the previous scene is played out. In other words, you will have a direct impact on the direction our movies take. Any questions?"
Many actors nodded in understanding, some scrunched their faces, and others just looked bored. When Mrs. H caught eyes with an actor who had short curly hair and freckles, she smiled in encouragement. The actor tentatively raised her hand.
"You have a question?" Mrs. H asked.
"Um, I was wondering how would we know if we were doing it right? Like, will there be a director? What if we're not sure how to do a scene?"
"That was a good question. You'll have the opportunity before each scene to talk with me. However, it's really going to be up to you to decide what happens in the scene. At Fly Rize we're looking for actors who are able to work independently and can make characters come to life with little direction. Today Marise will take body shots from the front and sides, hand you pieces of paper as would happen in a real movie, and film your performances. We'll contact you in a week if we're interested in hiring you. Thank you for visiting us, and good luck."
When Mrs. H left, Marise took over. She pulled out a digital camera from her pocket and called the first person. Handing the man a piece of paper with a number identifier on it, she asked him to print his name and phone number.
When he finished, she pointed in front of the screen and said, "Stand here facing me with the sign in front. Smile. Where are you from?"
"Los Angeles," Jeremy said.
"Turn sideways. What brought you to Seattle?"
"I'm a film student. I want to be a director one day."
"That's nice. Thank you."
Handing him a different sheet of paper, Marise said, "When I'm done with the photographs, you'll be filmed based on your interpretation of this scene."
He nodded and walked off. Marise continued photographing until she was done. After she had the video camera ready for filming, she dimmed the lights and called Jeremy back.
Pointing to the ledge on the far left side of the screen, she said, "Place your sign there, turn and face the video camera, then say your name and begin the scene," she instructed.
For his scene, Jeremy had been asked to assume the role of a police officer who felt angst about telling his best friend John that his wife Christy had been killed in a car accident. Starting from the left side, he shuffled his feet forward, his hand behind his neck.
Taking a deep breath, he pretended to wipe sweat from his face before pantomining knocking on a door. He squeezed his hands inside his pockets and waited a second before imagining that his father had answered the door.
For a moment holding in air, he shakily said, "Hi, John. Um, we have to talk. Can I come inside?"
He waited a moment, as if listening to John's response. Then he stepped through the imaginary door and walked to the far right. Kneeling down with his back against the wall as if he were sitting on a chair or sofa, he turned his head as if John had walked past him and sat on another chair or sofa facing the window.
"I don't know how to tell you this," Jeremy said, his eyes watering, "I've been racking my brain since I drove down here, but, um -"
He paused, pulling on his collar, then continued, "Julie was in a car accident. I'm so sorry, but she's dead, man."
He let the tears fall then, standing up. Walking to the right and moving his body so he was facing the video camera, he kneeled down again as if sitting next to John.
"She was a good woman," he said, twisting his fingers, "Whatever you need, just let me know, okay? I'm here for you."
"And cut!" Marise said, "That was good, Jeremy. You're welcome to stay if you want, but we'll let you know in a week if we want to hire you. Thank you."
"Actually, I do have to be somewhere," he said, "I hope I get called back. Later."
When Marise finished filming the last actor, she popped the video out, turned off the video camera, took the signs from the ledge and put the information sheets on top, switched the lights off, and locked the door. Knocking on Mrs. H's door, she opened it, smiled at Mrs. H and put the stack on her desk.
"How'd it go today?" Mrs. H asked.
"It went well. I'm always surprised at how they can do that."
"Do what?"
"Take little information and make it come alive."
"Yes, that is exciting. What time is your class tonight?"
"Six. Is it okay if I leave now?"
Mrs. H nodded, turning to review what she'd typed. Hurrying out, Marise grabbed her books and purse from her desk and left.
Once satisfied that her e-mail conveyed exactly what she wanted, she sent it. Turning to the stack on her desk, she picked up the DVD, walked to the TV, popped it in the player and pressed play.
Returning to her chair with the remote control, she raised the volume, then pressed fast forward until she found her. Rewinding just a few minutes before she appeared on the screen, Mrs. H leaned forward with interest and pressed stop, then play.
"Hi! I'm Laura," she said, her smile bright and showing perfect white teeth.
Frowning suddenly, Laura glanced behind her, positioning her body into a running position and, as she started moving, tripped, then ripped out a scream as she clutched her knee. Crying as she tried to slide backwards, she looked up as if seeing someone near the window.
"No," she moaned, "Please."
Feeling around the floor her left hand clutched at something heavy because she had to use her right hand to grab it. The determination on her face was evident through the pain as she swung whatever it was she had in her hands about midway up the air before she stopped, struggling to hold on to it. She must've lost control of the situation because suddenly she was falling on her back with her hands raised.
"No!" she screamed.
She clutched her stomach then, with her hands holding on to something, but just as quickly they were at her throat, her body now facing left toward the camera. Her eyes took on a glazed cast as she inhaled one last breath and stilled her entire body for several seconds until the next actor came on the screen.
"Wow," Mrs. H whispered.
She rewound Laura's performance again and again, pausing at times to walk up to the screen and trace the woman's face with her fingers. At 8:30p she shut everything down and left for home.
Living just outside of town, it took her about 45 minutes to drive home. Tired she went inside, put her satchel on the coffee table, turned on the TV and laid down on the couch, her eyes closing the moment her head touched the pillow.
Waking up at around 2a she went into the kitchen to make some tea. When she returned with the warm cup in her hands, she set it on the table, her eyes settling on the photo propped in the center with candles on both sides. Striking a match she lit the candles.
She looked happy in the photo next to her husband Tom, their arms around their two older children (six and nine), Kirk and Trina, with the youngest (four), Penny, sitting on top of both their legs. Her hair was thick and full on her shoulders, pinned back on one side with the large rose clip Tom bought her for their tenth year anniversary.
Tom had been caught the moment he'd started laughing at her joke. Kirk and Trina had faced the photographer with open smiles, while Penny had her head tilted to her with complete adoration. As Mrs. H continued staring at the photo, a tear wet the side of her face, her tea cooling on the table.
She stayed that way until the sun began to clear the room. Then she turned off the TV, went to the guest room and showered. Nine months since the car crash, and she still couldn't face going upstairs.
"Get it together," she told herself in the mirror, applying the last of the makeup and tying her hair in a loose bun.
Drinking the tea she rinsed it out and returned to work. This time she reviewed the entire DVD, making notes of weaknesses and strengths.
