UNIDENTIFIED

  Unidentified

  By Billie Sue Mosiman

  Copyright 2011 by Billie Sue Mosiman

  Previously published in print as FINAL CUT in the USA and as PURE AND UNCUT in England.

  LICENSE NOTES:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  OTHER TITLES BY BILLIE SUE MOSIMAN:

  NOVELS:

  Banished

  Bad Trip South

  Damaged

  Wireman

  Gold Rush Dream

  Horror Tales

  Horror Tales 2

  From a High Window, A Travel Memoir

  VAMPIRE NATIONS CHRONICLES:

  Legions of the Dark

  Rise of the Legend

  Hunter of the Dead

  Question by interviewer on America Online bulletin board service: "Do you believe that cinema, the way it is defined now, has reached its full potential?"

  Oliver Stone: "Not at all. Much more is coming. We have mixed media for now. I feel that 3-D media is on the way."

  1

  "ME: This part's a career maker and the movie's gonna go through the roof!

  MOVIE STAR: Tell me about the part."

  Julia Phillips, You'll Never Eat Lunch In This Town Again

  They were asked to meet on the soundstage at ten o'clock Monday night. The gathering of actors and actresses, film crew, grips, makeup artists, wardrobe and lighting technicians stood milling around uneasily in small groups, talking in hushed voices.

  Along with the rest of them, Georgie waited for Cambridge Hill, Hollywood's double Academy Award-winning director, to appear from his office at the back of the set. Cam was to tell the others what the movie was about. No one knew except the powerhouse agents who handled all the hottest properties. Oh, Georgie knew sort of what it was about, though he hadn't seen the script. He had to do the camera work. He couldn' tbe left out in the cold completely.

  However, the agents had read the script. Film deals didn't fly unless the agents knew for sure the property wouldn't embarrass their clients. But unlike other deals before this movie, Georgie found out the agents were sworn to secrecy. Cambridge was offering more than they could comfortably turn down.

  They knew how to zip their lips. This time money didn't talk. It shut the hell up.

  Olivia Nyad, fresh from the wrap party for the closing of her last film, seemed the most agitated. Georgie watched her chain smoke, fascinated how one person could stand to suck in that much pollution without a break. She had filled two small clear glass ashtrays with scarlet lipstick-smeared butts. She hadn't spoken to a soul the entire half hour they had all been waiting. If anyone had asked the others present why they did not chat with Ms. Nyad, they would have said that she kept herself apart, inviolate. They might have said that she was a true star of the old school, unapproachable even to her colleagues. They would have been right.

  Georgie glanced over at Marilyn Lori-Street, a comer and an exceptionally talented actress who had not really been given a chance in any film of worth. The kid smiled blissfully. She sat on a high stool, slim legs crossed to show off enough thigh to turn half the men on the set into jellyrolls. Georgie thought he shouldn't stare, but just couldn't help himself. He'd never get a chance with her, but it didn't hurt to fantasize.

  Robyn LaRosa, the movie's producer and principal bankroller, stood talking quietly with one of the other cameramen, Sean Parker. Robyn stood five foot three only because she wore spiked-heel black leather boots. She could have been a fashion model for Elle or Vogue, except for her height, Georgie thought. The white bodysuit clung to all the right curves and revealed a good cleavage unsupported by any wonder bra. Her hair was a sleek red helmet cut above the ear on one side and below it on the other.

  No one dared ask her about the script. She might look like a trendy gal with cream puff pastry between her ears, but it was well known she possessed the temperament of a rogue elephant.

  Catherine Rivers, Cambridge's assistant director, sat cross-legged on the floor with an actor no one but Georgie recognized, Jerry Line, and another actor everyone knew, the great Jackie Landry. It was Jackie who had been cast for lead opposite Olivia. Catherine and the two men were throwing craps using a square of cardboard as a wall.

  Every time Catherine crapped out she cried in a girlish voice and touched one or the other of the men on their crossed legs.

  Georgie wished he could join in games like that, but crew didn't often get so chummy with the stars. At least Georgie didn't. He was too quiet, too retiring. He was, God help him, too much of a techie nerd to be given much notice by creative types.

  Now it was edging into a forty-five minute wait and Olivia deliberately knocked her latest ashtray to the floor from where it had been perched on a dolly cart used for hauling around scenery.

  When heads turned at the crash of glass, Georgie started. He watched her smile sweetly before she said in her famous, low-from-the-diaphragm voice, "I'm trashing this joint if Cam isn't out here in thirty seconds. Who the hell does he think he is?"

  Cambridge Hill took that moment to open his office door although he couldn't have heard Olivia's threat. Yellow light spilled across the ominous darkness and he strode through it toward where they stood assembled on the raised platform stage. Georgie took a deep breath. It was about time. Nerves were stretched to the breaking point.

  "Here comes the prick now," Olivia said to no one in particular, but not so loudly her words would carry to the man heading her way.

  Catherine and the two actors came to their feet, dusting off their hands on their clothes. Jerry pocketed the pair of red Vegas dice; Jackie dropped the cardboard.

  "Thank you for coming," Cambridge said, stepping onto the stage. He did not apologize for the late hour or the wait.

  Under his right arm he carried a half-dozen bound scripts. In his left hand he held a sheaf of documents. It was this hand that caught everyone's attention. Georgie thought Cam might as well have been carrying a boa constrictor. They had all heard a rumor that this film was going to be under wraps for the duration. Could the papers he carried be rules and regulations they must follow during filming? Why else make them meet in this cavernous warehouse of a soundstage at this time of night when no one was on the lot except the security guards? He had done it before, on his last film.

  Nothing surprised Georgie about Cam. He was a legend and entirely unpredictable. Some called him a genius.

  Cam plopped the scripts down on a metal folding chair. He pointed to them. "These hold the first scene we're going to shoot. Those of you who will work with me on this project get one before you leave tonight."

  "It's not the whole script? You're not going to give us the whole script?" Olivia blinked rapidly behind the pall of cigarette smoke. She looked as if she had just been told her agent had died, her mansion in Beverly Hills had caught fire, and her two Maltese dogs had been fed sushi crawling with salmonella bacteria.

  Cambridge turned to her with a flourish. He was as dramatic a figure as anyone who stepped before a camera and enjoyed a reputation that put many of the old Hollywood moguls to shame. His black hair, receding now, but still full on the sides and back, looked as if he'd been combing his hands through it for hours. There was a shadowy day's growth of dark beard stubble on his cheeks and chin. His gray eyes settled on Olivia, piercing her the way arrows pierce a painted target.

&nbs
p; "Baby," he said, voice like dry gravel, "it's not even a sure thing yet you'll get the first scene."

  Wow, thought Georgie. Cam loves the dangerous edge.

  "What is this, Cam? I don't work on pictures without seeing the script." Olivia, not easily surprised and very rarely spoken to that way, looked pissed he'd gotten to her. She dropped the cigarette butt to the stage floor and ground it beneath her shoe.

  "Your agent's seen it. You'll have to trust him." Cambridge turned to the others gathered into a close knot in the center floor area. He held up the hand with the papers in it and shook them so that the pages flapped noisily. "No one's getting those scripts on that chair until you sign this nondisclosure form."

  A few in the film crew muttered, but the actors looked nonplussed. They'd seen in the trades how Cam had demanded the actors and crew sign affidavits pledging secrecy on his last picture.

  Cam continued, "I want anyone working with me on this to sign on the dotted line. Crew, gaffers, light directors, everyone. You're not going to get an opportunity to run off and show it to your attorneys because I've already struck deals with the agents concerned. They know what's good for you, so listen to them. Try to pry out of them the whole story plot and it's cause for dismissal. You sign tonight or you're off the film."

  "Cut out the dramatics, Cam, and tell us what the nondisclosure says and why we should want to sign it." Olivia had the clout, her star shining the brightest in the Hollywood sky. She said what everyone wanted to say, but didn't have the guts to whisper aloud.

  "It says you'll get the script scene by scene before it's shot. No one except Robyn, who's already seen the entire thing, of course, gets the whole script. As I mentioned, the agents involved have read over a copy and returned it. They approve. The nondisclosure also says that Robyn's production company and I will personally bring suit against anyone in this room who lets any part of the script leak to the media. Or if any of you tell your lovers, your spouses, mommas, daddies, or your hairdressers what's going on here on the closed set.

  "In other words this script better not get past this room. If it does I will not only fire you and fine you, I'll prosecute your squirrelly ass." He paused and glared, eyebrows knitting together. "And you know I'll do it. This form says you agree to these terms."

  "I'm not doing it." Olivia grabbed her small green alligator clutch and turned to leave the stage. Georgie knew she had read about Cam's last movie and contract deal. That one said nothing about prosecution; she knew that too. She was pulling a power play. She liked living on the edge, just like Cam.

  "You know how much money you're turning down, right? Your agent told you?" Cambridge called to her back.

  She turned and narrowed her eyes. Those dark, exotic, chilling eyes. "You know I don't need the money."

  "What about a second Oscar? It's been almost a decade since your first. You're fading fast, Olivia."

  Oh, good one, Georgie thought. Now why don't you kick her while she's down.

  "Screw you, too, Cam." She paused a beat, not really giving in to the anger yet. "You're guaranteeing me an Oscar?"

  Cambridge nodded. Then he said, "I'm playing you against type, Olivia. This film will go down in history. You'll be remembered forever for this part. In this film. In my film."

  "I guess you want to cast me as a prostitute or something. Or maybe a space queen on Planet Zytoid. Is that it?"

  "You've always played a heroine, Olivia. This time you'll excel in the role of a villain."

  "Absolutely not. I positively refuse!"

  Cambridge broke from where he stood holding the forms in both hands. This abrupt action startled not only Georgie, but everyone watching. Cam was across the space separating him from Olivia so fast several of the silent bystanders watching this interaction between two strong personalities gasped aloud.

  When he reached Olivia where she stood her ground, challenging him, he tucked the papers under his arm and began to gesture to her in typical Italian street fashion. His voice changed and he was Al Pacino shouting at the top of his voice, "You wanna fuck with me? Huh, is that what you want? You wanna fuck with me?"

  Olivia's face transformed with sudden spirited laughter. Everyone, including Georgie, joined her, startled by the inexplicable change in face, voice, and body Cambridge was able to bring about. It was as if Pacino had manifested himself in this harried-looking, potbellied, decadent director. Georgie had never seen him do that before. It was something new, something he must have practiced for a while.

  "Jesus, Cam, that's good. You do that better than Pacino does that," Olivia said.

  Cambridge grinned, showing the spaces between his big square teeth. "I haven't told you the best news of all yet. Stick around!"

  He returned to his spot before the group and stared at each of them in turn as he spoke. "What I am about to say now is privileged information. If one of you breathes a word of this and it gets out, your ass is mine and you know I'm not kidding. You'll never work again, not only on my pictures, but anybody's. You think I don't have the clout?" He paused, shot a glance at Olivia, daring her to interrupt. "You think the agents in this town have the power and I don't? Well, let me clue you in on a little secret. I have all the top agencies behind me on this. If I can't ruin you, they will. So believe me when I say I am not kidding!"

  A shudder ran through the group. Georgie reacted to a chill running up his own back. Agents did have the power to put any one of them out of business permanently. If Cam had the agents on his side, he had the power, no question.

  "Come over here, Georgie." Cam gestured for him to come forward.

  Georgie sauntered forward, knowing all eyes followed his passage. His leggy frame was encased in jeans so worn they had holes in the knees and seat. The latter wouldn't have been so noticeable if he hadn't been wearing flaming red shorts, but that wasn't something he cared about, what people thought of him personally. He cared about Cam. About this picture. That's all he cared about.

  "Tell them," Cambridge said.

  Georgie cleared his throat. He liked handling the camera; he wasn't all that fond of being the centerpiece in a group this way. He tugged on his jeans in an "aw shucks" way, felt stupid as a shit-eating puppy, and finally grinned. "We've bought the patent to a new film process. This will be the first major film of its kind, at least for distribution to theater. Have any of you been to Vegas, seen the 3-D wraparound shots at the Mirage? Or checked out the virtual reality rides at Disney World?"

  A few heads bobbed, a few "Yeahs" were muttered.

  "Have any of you been to a theater where there's a dome with semi-reclining seats?"

  Olivia interrupted, "It's going to be 3-D? Without the glasses? Good God. A gimmick film."

  "No gimmick. The story carries this one," Cambridge said, dismissing Georgie with a slight jerk of his head. Georgie moved out of the limelight, relieved to drift to the edge of the group.

  Cam continued, "3-D, yeah, in a manner of speaking. But without the aid of those dumb-ass red and green cardboard glasses. And it won't be shown at just the one theater. At least one theater in every metropolitan city in this country is already being outfitted with hydraulic platforms and seat-belted seats for the audiences. Two years ago they tried out interactive films on laser discs in seventy theaters nationwide. We all know how those tickets sold like gangbusters. Those same theaters, plus the new ones built since then, will show this film. I've got studio backing on this. It's . . . needless to say, a big outlay of investment monies." He glanced over at Robyn and back again. "Screens are being expanded to wrap around the peripheral vision and heightened for overhead projected images. This film will be the first of its kind to reach mass audiences. The studio thinks it'll pay off. Robyn's partners think it will, too."

  Georgie saw Olivia move past Cam to the metal folding chair. She looked tightly controlled, all erect shoulders, stone-faced with determination. She picked up one of the scripts bound in a green metallic folder and flipped over the cover.

  Uh oh, Ge
orgie thought. Here it comes, turn on the fan. Turn on a big industrial-size monster fan.

  Olivia looked up at Cambridge. She spoke with a furious edge to her voice. "Pure and Uncut? Are you kidding me? This is a joke, I take it. Sounds like a film about cocaine." Cam just grinned.

  Jackie Landry followed suit, taking up one of the scripts and looking at the title. He frowned, which only made him look even more handsome. He had been called the younger version of Redford and Georgie saw the resemblance. He had the same blond, wholesome, sexy good looks women swooned over. "Pure and Uncut. I like it," he said. Behind him Marilyn and Jerry snatched up copies.

  "You want me to play a killer, am I getting this straight, Cam?"

  Cambridge ignored Olivia and began handing out the nondisclosure forms to the film crew. "Pens are in my office if you don't have one on you."

  "Cam! Talk to me, goddamn it. This is about a woman named Krystal and she's a killer? Have I got this story line scoped?"

  "You got it, baby." He continued handing around the papers.

  "You're gonna waste a new 3-D process on a slasher movie?" Olivia couldn't raise her voice any higher without hitting a screech.

  "It's not a slasher movie. It's a suspense film. Ten leagues and a hundred million dollars beyond slasher junk, Olivia. The lead's a stalker. Think Basic Instinct, but hotter and better."

  "Now I know you've sincerely lost your mind. I never thought I'd see the day. You've made films that rocked this town on its ear. But now you come up with this tripe? I'm not believing it."