Read Online A Shot to Die For by Libby Fischer Hellmann - Free Book Online
Authors: Libby Fischer Hellmann
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we’re going to be taping is in here.”
“I’ll need extra crew.”
“And a tux.”
“Me?” In all the years I’ve known Mac I’ve never even seen him wear a tie, although he insists he wore one to his wedding. “I’m just the hired help.”
“You ever notice what the waiters wear in a joint like this?”
He took the camera off sticks. “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, I gotta wear a tux in this one?”
“It’s in the budget.”
He muttered as he packed up the camera. Something along the lines of “can’t believe it…in this day and age.”
“Here’s looking at you, kid.” I sailed out of the room.
***
Before going home, Mac and I stopped at the bar in the lobby, a large space with a view of the pool and lots of comfortable chairs, sofas, and love seats. Years ago the area had been part of the pool, one of those glamorous indoor-outdoor combinations with a bar at the shallow end and ornamental bathing beauties on the side. The post-Hefner owners, though, had reclaimed the space for more conservative—but probably more lucrative—activities.
I sipped a Chardonnay. “You check out the bunny hill yet?” This was a manmade ski hill at the back of the property, not to be confused with other Bunny appurtenances.
“This morning.” Mac picked up his beer. “You know what would be really cool?”
“What?”
“To rig up one of their gondolas for a traveling shot up the hill. You think you could arrange it?”
Arranging things is what a producer does. I pictured a slow tracking shot up the hill from the camera’s POV. “It’s a great idea. Except for the obvious.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s June. There’s no snow. Unless Hank can do something in post.”
“Change the shot from summer to winter?” Mac shook his head. “He might be able to put a few patches of snow in the foreground. But the whole scene? You’ve still got leaves, grass, flowers.…” He took a swig of beer. “Tricky.”
“Well, let’s think about it. Speaking of tricks, I’ve been playing around with an idea.” I leaned forward. “We have what—over a dozen locations in the show? I mean, between the airstrip, the spa, the bunny hill, the condos, this place is a world unto itself.”
“Right.”
“So that’s what we do. Create a world. Make the video a 3D map.” I cupped my hands. “We start off with an abstract shape. A continent…a country. Who knows? But it’s really the Lodge.”
“The Land of Lodge?” Mac put in.
I ignored him. “Then, each time we zero in on a location, we do an effect that takes us into the scene. And then another to get us out.”
“How about a yellow brick road?”
I didn’t respond.
“It could work,” Mac admitted. “As long as it doesn’t look cluttered.”
“We’ll be restrained.” I motioned with my hands. “Elegant but rustic.”
“Get kind of a yin yang thing going?”
“Either that or bring in the Munchkins.”
Mac shot me a look.
I peered out at the swimming pool, admiring the planters of annuals and how nicely the colors contrasted with the blue water, when I felt someone’s gaze on my back. I turned around. Two cocktail waitresses in faux tuxedos were working the room. One was blond, the other brunette. The blonde had been serving us, but it was the brunette, waiting for her order at the side of the bar, who was watching me. When the blonde came back to the bar, they talked. A brief nod passed between them.
It was still early, and the only other customers in the bar were a group of Japanese tourists swilling pop and a well-dressed woman with a disappointed expression, as though she’d ended up in the wrong resort. The brunette picked up her tray, skirted the Asians, and headed toward us.
She was petite and pretty, with waifish looks that might not age so gracefully. Her youth—she couldn’t have been more than twenty-five—helped mitigate the fact that her eyeliner was too thick, her rouge too red, and
“I’ll need extra crew.”
“And a tux.”
“Me?” In all the years I’ve known Mac I’ve never even seen him wear a tie, although he insists he wore one to his wedding. “I’m just the hired help.”
“You ever notice what the waiters wear in a joint like this?”
He took the camera off sticks. “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, I gotta wear a tux in this one?”
“It’s in the budget.”
He muttered as he packed up the camera. Something along the lines of “can’t believe it…in this day and age.”
“Here’s looking at you, kid.” I sailed out of the room.
***
Before going home, Mac and I stopped at the bar in the lobby, a large space with a view of the pool and lots of comfortable chairs, sofas, and love seats. Years ago the area had been part of the pool, one of those glamorous indoor-outdoor combinations with a bar at the shallow end and ornamental bathing beauties on the side. The post-Hefner owners, though, had reclaimed the space for more conservative—but probably more lucrative—activities.
I sipped a Chardonnay. “You check out the bunny hill yet?” This was a manmade ski hill at the back of the property, not to be confused with other Bunny appurtenances.
“This morning.” Mac picked up his beer. “You know what would be really cool?”
“What?”
“To rig up one of their gondolas for a traveling shot up the hill. You think you could arrange it?”
Arranging things is what a producer does. I pictured a slow tracking shot up the hill from the camera’s POV. “It’s a great idea. Except for the obvious.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s June. There’s no snow. Unless Hank can do something in post.”
“Change the shot from summer to winter?” Mac shook his head. “He might be able to put a few patches of snow in the foreground. But the whole scene? You’ve still got leaves, grass, flowers.…” He took a swig of beer. “Tricky.”
“Well, let’s think about it. Speaking of tricks, I’ve been playing around with an idea.” I leaned forward. “We have what—over a dozen locations in the show? I mean, between the airstrip, the spa, the bunny hill, the condos, this place is a world unto itself.”
“Right.”
“So that’s what we do. Create a world. Make the video a 3D map.” I cupped my hands. “We start off with an abstract shape. A continent…a country. Who knows? But it’s really the Lodge.”
“The Land of Lodge?” Mac put in.
I ignored him. “Then, each time we zero in on a location, we do an effect that takes us into the scene. And then another to get us out.”
“How about a yellow brick road?”
I didn’t respond.
“It could work,” Mac admitted. “As long as it doesn’t look cluttered.”
“We’ll be restrained.” I motioned with my hands. “Elegant but rustic.”
“Get kind of a yin yang thing going?”
“Either that or bring in the Munchkins.”
Mac shot me a look.
I peered out at the swimming pool, admiring the planters of annuals and how nicely the colors contrasted with the blue water, when I felt someone’s gaze on my back. I turned around. Two cocktail waitresses in faux tuxedos were working the room. One was blond, the other brunette. The blonde had been serving us, but it was the brunette, waiting for her order at the side of the bar, who was watching me. When the blonde came back to the bar, they talked. A brief nod passed between them.
It was still early, and the only other customers in the bar were a group of Japanese tourists swilling pop and a well-dressed woman with a disappointed expression, as though she’d ended up in the wrong resort. The brunette picked up her tray, skirted the Asians, and headed toward us.
She was petite and pretty, with waifish looks that might not age so gracefully. Her youth—she couldn’t have been more than twenty-five—helped mitigate the fact that her eyeliner was too thick, her rouge too red, and
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