Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
“Damn! This is real mahogany!” I slid my hand along the bar stretching the length of one wall of the saloon. “You didn’t spare any expense on a damn thing.”
“Is this real whiskey, you think?” I picked up the bottle.
Sylvie swatted my hand. “Would you put that down! Roger said not to touch anything.”
Doris looked left and right. “Don’t get us in trouble, Marge!”
I ignored them, opening it up and sniffing.
“Psht. Water. Colored water. You’d think with top-tier stars like Jackson and Colt, they could have sprung for real whiskey.
They gotta have the budget. You need authenticity to win the big awards.
Moviegoers may not be able to smell or taste the whiskey, but deep down, they’ll know. ”
Sylvie arched an eyebrow. “You didn’t know until you smelled it. Now put that down!”
I put the bottle back where I’d found it and moved over to look at more of the authentic items strewn throughout the scene. I got to the piano, but when I leaned down to tap the keys, the cover slammed shut.
I snatched my hand back just in time. “You almost got my fingers!” I spun to see the attacker, and it was Dan, his eyebrows raised in warning.
“Don’t. Touch. Anything.”
“It’s a piano. It’s literally made to be touched,” I defended.
He pointed toward a corner of the saloon with the cameras and crew all huddled together.
“Go over there. Stay behind everyone, and for the love of God… be quiet. If you cause any trouble during this scene, you’re out.
We’re over budget, behind schedule, and losing light.
We don’t have time for dozens of retakes. Understand?”
I grumbled but gave him a mock salute. We were still in our costumes, so I tipped my Stetson at the crew as we joined them.
“I just want to say”—I leaned over Roger’s shoulder as he stared at his monitor—“that Buck would actually be a natural fit for this scene.”
He didn’t look up. “You don’t even know what the scene is.”
“Hear me out. Buck would be a regular at the saloon. The madam and Buck would have an understanding—mutual respect between two women who’ve made it in a man’s world. It’s actually a very rich dynamic if you think about it.”
“Marge,” Dan said, approaching from Roger’s other side.
“Okay, just, listen to this brilliance. Tell me I’m wrong.
If the madam is supposed to be the eyes and ears of the town, she needs a bodyguard.
Someone who blends in with the shadows but could snap a man’s neck like a dry twig.
Enter Buckshot.” I framed my face with my hands.
“I’m thinking I stand by the piano, cleaning my fingernails with a knife. ”
Roger didn’t even look up. “You’re wrong.”
“I could have a toothpick.” I ignored him.
“Very menacing. A silent, toothpick-chewing sentinel ready to burst into frontier justice on a whim if any of these lily-livered, dog-faced bastards so much as touches her.” My eyes lit up.
“Oh! What if they do! Someone grabs her arm, and BAM! Buckshot draws. So fast the human eye can’t even process it.
Then she walks over and snaps his fingers one by one, his screams ripping through the air—”
“Marge,” Clarice snapped, startling me with her sudden presence.
I spun to look at her.
Her sunglasses now off, I could see the intensity of those eyes as they locked with mine. “If Buckshot so much as breathes in the direction of this scene, I will personally go through every frame she’s in and erase her from history.”
My eyes widened. “You wouldn’t. Buckshot really added to the gunfight scene. Even if you wouldn’t let me do what I think was the right direction and take the kill shot.”
“I will. Now go. Find a corner. Stay there.”
“No appreciation for the craft,” I muttered, settling my Stetson as I moved to a corner behind her and the crew. “They’re going to get to the editing room and realize they’ve got a massive Buckshot-shaped hole in their narrative.”
“I think they’ll manage, Marge,” Sylvie said. Then her eyes darted to the grand staircase at the back of the room. “Where is Alice? They’ve been back there for ages.”
Anders appeared at the top of the stairs, hurrying down so fast he almost tripped. “She’s ready. We can shoot!”
Doris squealed beside me. “Oh, this is so exciting! Alice is going to be a star!”
Toby’s voice cut through the din. “Quiet on set!”
“Set the scene!” someone called.
In moments, extras rolled in, filling the tables, picking up playing cards, nursing drinks, and settling into their roles.
“This is meant to be one continuous shot!” Anders called as he hit the bottom stairs, pausing there for a moment. “You all know your jobs. No one screw it up or we’ll need to start from the top, so no funny business!”
His eyes landed on me, and I placed my hand on my chest, mouth falling ajar.
“Colt enters the saloon. The camera follows him from there to there, then pivots. It catches the madam at the top of the stairs, follows her down, spins here, then here, and meets her back at the bar where she approaches Colt.”
He continued giving directions until he was sure everyone understood the plan, each extra and actor nodding along.
“Wait. I thought Colt died in that last scene? How is he going to show up in this one?” Doris whispered.
“Because they aren’t shot in order. It’s not like a play. The editors piece it all together.”
“Oh, that’s neat!” she said a little too loudly, calling the attention of Dan and Clarice.
We shrank beneath their glares.
“We need to be quiet now. I don’t want to get kicked out and miss this,” Sylvie scolded.
We did as she said, and the rest of the set followed suit, a stillness settling over everything.
“And… ACTION!” the director yelled.
The doors to the bar swung open, and Colt sauntered in like he owned the place. We watched as the scene unfolded just as Anders had said, the cameraman moving effortlessly through all the obstacles.
Then at the top of the saloon staircase, a door opened.
Alice stepped out.
It was all I could do not to gasp, and I wasn’t the type of woman who gasped easily.
She looked like a goddess of the frontier, a woman who owned every grain of dust in this town.
The dress was midnight blue, fitted through the bodice with beading that caught the light and threw it back in small reflections.
The neckline scooped low, and the skirt swept the floor as she began to descend.
She kept her chin held high, her elaborate upswept wig, dark curls pinned in a tower, making her look even taller than her natural height.
Alice owned the room as she stepped onto the saloon floor, and I wasn’t sure if that was her character or her. Probably both.
She reached the bar and leaned against it as she took Colt’s glass of whiskey—well, brown water—and slammed it with one swig.
She set it down, her gloved fingers spinning it slowly as she delivered her lines.
Something about the price of whiskey and the cost of a man’s soul.
Each word held her sharp, effortless wit that had Colt Stirling himself looking a little dazed.
The scene ended with her walking away, the glance over her shoulder so simple yet powerful enough to drop any man in the vicinity to their knees.
That, that was Alice.
No doubt.
As she walked away, the director yelled, “Cut!” and then the room erupted. The crew, the actors, even stone-faced Clarice clapped.
“One take! You did it in one take! I knew you were the one! You nailed it!” Clarice clapped harder.
Alice didn’t blush. She didn’t act surprised. She just inclined her head like a queen accepting her due. “Of course I nailed it,” she said, then accepted the praise of everyone around her as they reset for the next scene.
After she was fawned over by everyone in the saloon, Alice made her way to us.
“Alice, you were... you were breathtaking,” Doris breathed, covering her mouth.
“You looked like a movie star,” Sylvie added, her voice thick with genuine awe.
“Cripes, Alice! You really did look like a movie star!”
“And this dress.” Doris reached out to touch the velvet of the sleeve. “It’s so beautiful!”
Alice leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eye.
“This dress is amazing, isn’t it? And look at my breasts!
Seriously. This corset is doing the work of a team of structural engineers.
They look so perky you need to be careful I don’t take out your eyes.
” She gave them a little push up, glancing down at the cleavage spilling out.
Then she paused, her lip pulling down in a frown.
“I sure will be very sad if this is one of my last days with them before the surgery. But at least if this is their last hurrah, they will be immortalized on the silver screen for eternity.”
Everyone laughed, but I didn’t. Instead, an intrusive thought pounded its way through my defenses: When this movie comes out, will we all be there to see it? Or will there be an empty seat beside us, and I’ll be watching a ghost on the screen?
I gripped the table beside me, my legs wobbling as I tried to fight off the vision of life without her.
No. She won’t die. I won’t let her die.
“And this wig? What do you think? If I need chemo and lose my hair, is this the style for me?” Alice joked, poking at the coiled curls and bouffant she'd never be caught dead wearing in the real world.
“Honestly?” Sylvie laughed, giving Alice a little shrug. “I don’t think Alejandro would complain one bit if you waltzed in the door wearing that wig.”
“Or this dress.” She gave a little shimmy, making her breasts wiggle.
“Stop!” Doris turned pink, wafting a hand at them.
Alice just shimmied more, her bosom moving closer to Doris as she squealed.
But I couldn’t laugh. All I could see was Alice, bald and pale in a hospital bed, a far cry from the velvet-clad madam. The image was so vivid, so terrifyingly close, that my vision blurred.
Suddenly, Sylvie stopped laughing, her brow furrowing as she looked at me. “Marge? Are you alright?”
“What?” I asked, the word sticking on a lump in my throat I hadn’t noticed.