Chapter One #2
It helped, of course, that he was gorgeous.
One of those rare directors more handsome than most movie stars.
James Dean hair, Monty Clift smile, eyes a cool Paul Newman blue that he pretended to downplay by wearing glasses with thick black frames.
Like always, he was dressed in his standard uniform of khakis, crisp white oxford shirt, and neckerchief the same color as his eyes.
A pretentious look, to be sure, but on him, it worked.
As did his style of directing, which involved totally immersing his actors in the world of the movie they were making.
“Method directing,” he called it. And while one or two actors had complained about the intensity of a Ronan Peters shoot, even they conceded that their performances were better because of it.
“Yes,” I said, surprised I could summon even a single word in his presence.
“You’re nervous.”
Even though it was a statement and not a question, I found myself answering with a nod. No point in denying the obvious.
“Don’t be,” Ronan said. “The reason you weren’t given any pages is to eliminate the potential for script leaks. Call me paranoid, but I don’t want anyone knowing any details about this movie until I’m ready to reveal them.”
“Is that why you’re looking for an unknown?”
Ronan arched a brow, seemingly impressed by the question.
“It’s one reason, yes. Another is because movie stars come with expectations.
Audiences see them and immediately assume what kind of character they’re playing, if they’re a hero or a villain, if they’ll die or live happily ever after.
With this role, I don’t want any of that. I want someone new. A discovery.”
He smiled then. A warm, patient smile that created butterflies in my chest.
“I’m sure you’ve heard that my way of working is unorthodox,” he said. “So don’t even think of this as an audition. I’d like it to be more of a conversation. Just you and me getting to know each other. Does that sound good to you, Marin?”
“It does,” I said, although I have never felt comfortable in my own skin. That’s one of the reasons I’ve always wanted to be an actress. So I could be someone other than my plain, boring self, if only for a little while.
Still, Ronan looked at me like I was the world’s most interesting woman. Leaning forward, he switched on the camcorder and said, “Where did you grow up?”
“Pennsylvania.”
“What was your childhood like?” Ronan’s voice was gentle to the point of soothing. Within seconds, my nerves were gone, making me feel comfortable enough to provide an honest answer.
“Lonely.”
“No siblings?”
I didn’t have a quick answer for that one. To say no would have been a lie. As would saying yes. I ended up splitting the difference with a simple, nonexplanatory “Just me.”
“I’m also an only child,” Ronan said, a misunderstanding that I was all too happy not to correct. “But I always wanted an older brother or sister. Was it the same way with you?”
I gave a small nod, even though I had an older sister. One who was never there except for the times when I didn’t want to see her.
“Growing up, I longed to have another person in the house,” I said. “Someone capable of distracting my parents away from me.”
“Interesting,” Ronan said, sounding like he genuinely meant it. “Most children crave their parents’ attention. Why did you want the opposite?”
“Because I was their sole focus, which was great when I was little, torture when it became clear I wasn’t the daughter they wanted or expected.”
That’s another reason I went into acting.
The only time I ever felt like my parents approved of me was when I got cast in a high school production of The Sound of Music my senior year.
I wasn’t Maria. That was never in the cards for mousy little me.
No, I was Louisa, the von Trapp child with the fewest lines, no solo, and zero personality.
Still, on the drive home after opening night, my father looked at me in the rearview mirror and said, “You did good, Mare.”
I’ve been chasing that high ever since.
“What do you think they wanted?” Ronan asked.
“Someone prettier,” I said. “Someone smarter and more popular and more outgoing. Someone like—”
I snapped my mouth shut before I could finish the sentence.
My sister.
I couldn’t believe I’d almost mentioned Molly. To a world-famous director, no less. I reversed course, trying to cover the abrupt pause. “Someone without an overactive imagination.”
“In my opinion, having a vivid imagination is a good thing,” Ronan said.
“That’s why we’re holding these auditions at the last minute, as I’m sure you’ve heard.
The original actress who was cast suffered from a lack of imagination.
And seeing how I’m making a horror movie, which I’m sure you also know, I need someone who has the opposite problem. ”
He peered at me, more attentive than ever. “Tell me a story. A ghost story. Something scary. Something…dreadful.”
My heart rattled against my rib cage, anxious yet also oddly overjoyed. Because I happened to know a ghost story.
A scary one.
At least it was to me.
Also scary was the fact that I had never shared it with anyone.
It was too personal to be told around a Girl Scout campfire or in the wee hours of a beer-soaked Halloween party.
Yet in that audition room with Ronan, with both the casting director and the camera trained on me having faded to nothingness, it felt appropriate. It felt, in fact, like serendipity.
“A long time ago,” I began, “when I was just a little girl, I saw a ghost.”
Thirty minutes later, I emerged onto a hot, crowded street, blinking against the bright August sun.
I couldn’t believe the things I’d said during the audition, if it even was an audition.
It had truly felt, as Ronan suggested, like a conversation.
One of those rare, fleeting moments in which two strangers are completely honest with each other, likely because they know their paths will never cross again.
I certainly never expected to see Ronan Peters again. Not after that.
Yet two hours later, Veronica called, her voice thick with disbelief. “Marin, you got the part.”
I shrieked with joy right there on the sidewalk.
It continued as Veronica detailed the contract.
I’d be paid a hundred thousand dollars for six weeks’ work.
One week of rehearsal, five weeks of filming.
But it was more than just the money that had me squealing.
It was the fact that I was about to become a working actress.
One with a SAG card and a screen credit to my name and the potential for more.
“There’s one catch,” Veronica said. “They need you in Vermont on Monday.”
I let out a shocked huff. It was Friday.
Now, after two days of costume fittings and hair and makeup tests and requesting a leave of absence from my job at the restaurant, I am here, about to be whisked off to an island in the middle of a lake in Middle-of-Nowhere, Vermont.
The whole time, I’ve been trying to keep my expectations in check.
I have yet to see a script, which I’ve been told is because Ronan wanted to revise it to fit me better.
That he can do this in a single weekend makes me assume the part is small.
Likely minuscule. Someone who isn’t seen past the first act.
That would explain the unusual casting process.
Ronan probably took one look, found me appropriately old-timey, and in a fit of desperation decided to cast me.
But looming in the background is the tantalizing idea that this could be, if not my big break, at least the start of one.
It’s a movie, after all. Helmed by the hottest director in Hollywood and starring the greatest actress of her generation.
No matter the part, this is a film that could get me noticed, leading to bigger, better roles.
Thinking about that now doubles the nervous weight in my legs, making me all but hobble into the boat.
Loretta has already climbed inside and now sits next to Pete, frantically tapping out a text on her phone. Before stepping aboard, I check my own phone. There’s a text from Veronica wishing me luck, plus another one from a number I don’t recognize.
are you marin keane?
Yes, I reply. Who is this?
the woman you replaced
I suck in a mouthful of lake air, surprised. Why is the actress who had the role before me now sending me a text?
I tap out two words that I hope will appease her: I’m sorry
Three dots appear on the screen, rippling ominously until a response appears: that’s not why i’m doing this
Then why did you contact me?
From the boat, Loretta says, “You ready to go? Ronan just texted. He’s thrilled you’ve arrived and is eager to get started.”
“Sorry,” I say before shoving the phone back into my pocket and stepping into the boat.
Once seated behind Pete, I flash Loretta a wide smile, hoping it hides my unease.
There’s nothing overtly worrisome about the woman’s texts.
For all I know, she could be congratulating me on getting the part and saying that there are no hard feelings.
Yet I can’t shake the sense that’s not at all why she texted.
Pete pushes the boat away from the dock, sending us adrift for a moment before bringing the engine to life.
Soon we’re skidding over the lake, heading straight toward an island that, oddly, never appears to get closer.
It remains the same size on the horizon, leading me to think the place is bigger than I first assumed.
There are certainly no new details to see.
It continues to be a dark void surrounded by pristine water.
“How far away is the island?” I ask Pete.
He nods toward the horizon. “Two miles.”
Farther than I thought, even though I looked up Lake Faraday on Google Maps before being picked up this morning. The satellite view showed a long, skinny triangle of water that reminded me of a knife blade slicing through northwestern Vermont, stabbing toward Canada.