“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
The sound of Harvey’s flat, nasal voice was like a needle scratching across a record. We turned to see Harvey walking from the piazza steps toward us. He wore tight black jeans, a white T-shirt, and designer high-tops. A sweater was draped over his shoulders, its sleeves tight in a knot on his chest. His face didn’t glow in the darkness like everyone else’s, so I assumed he had a tan beneath his spiky bleached blond hair. He looked like a cross between an eighties New Wave band member and an ad for J.Crew.
“Yes, she is,” Jack said, draping his arm around me and pulling me close.
I kept a casual smile on my face if only to prove to myself that I could act like an intelligent, mature woman when in close proximity to Jack, who had just said something nice about me—even though it was in jest.
Harvey stopped in front of us, a disdainful look on his face. “I meant the car. I had it sent from California so I’d have the freedom to drive myself.” He frowned. “Since your daughter nearly killed me, I’ve had lots of trust issues with other people driving me. I hope that little menace of yours is off the streets.”
Jack’s muscles tensed. He started to take a step forward but I held him back. Reminding myself that we needed to be nice, I refrained from poking Harvey in the chest while I spoke. “If you’re referring to Nola, you scared and intimidated her so much after the accident that she swears she’s never getting behind the wheel of another car as long as she lives.”
“I’m sure the world is thankful,” Harvey said dismissively. “So,” he said, looking over at the piazza and the steady stream of people moving lights and wires and boxes from the truck to the front door, “is this what you expected?”
Jack frowned. “Actually, no. I assumed it would be a little more . . . contained.”
Harvey rolled his eyes. “It is. But even though your ridiculous contract demands we limit the filming to just three main areas, we still need a crew and lights and a way to generate electricity so this pile of lumber doesn’t go up like a bonfire. The option of staying in a hotel is still on the table, you know.”
Jack and I exchanged glances as a young woman approached with a clipboard for Harvey. After giving it a cursory glance, he signed it and returned to our conversation. I didn’t like the smile on Harvey’s face, and when I glanced at Jack, I could tell that he didn’t, either.
“Those ‘technical difficulties’ last December,” Harvey said, making air quotes with his fingers, “cost me and the other producers a lot of time and money. We don’t like to lose money. So we’ve had to make drastic changes to keep us on schedule and budget.”
Jack’s hand, still resting on my shoulder, squeezed me and I had a sinking feeling that whatever Harvey was about to tell us we wouldn’t like. “What sort of drastic changes?” Jack asked, an “I can play nice” smile sitting uncomfortably on his face.
“For starters, we’re going to begin with the contemporary story frame so that we’ve worked out all the kinks before the big stars arrive to film the historic parts with Robert and Louisa Vanderhorst and Joseph Longo. The costuming alone will cost us a fortune, so we’ve had to do a little editing.”
I felt Jack flinch. Marc’s book had already strayed so far from reality that it hardly resembled the story it was based on. And Jack didn’t know the half of it. “What kind of editing?” Jack asked, his mouth barely moving so it could stay in a smile.
“We’ve hired younger unknowns to portray the two of you. We figured our younger audience would want actors they could relate to, and their lower pay grade helps my bottom line.”
“What about Katherine Heigl and Rob Lowe?” I asked. Despite my refusing to allow myself to be starstruck, the fact that two Hollywood stars would be gracing my home had definitely gone to my head.
“They’ll be here eventually. That’s why we want to start filming the contemporary parts of the movie first to get any technical kinks worked out.” He looked pointedly at me, then turned his attention to Jack. “Now that you have skin in the game, we’re hoping everything here goes smoothly and finishes in a timely manner without any of the earlier ‘technical difficulties.’?” He again made air quotes.
“That’s the drastic change?” Jack asked, some of the tension leaving his body. “Saving money isn’t drastic. I’d imagine for a movie production it would be necessary.”
Harvey grinned, the newly fallen darkness an appropriate backdrop for his white capped teeth. “I wasn’t done. We’re also adding more sex—lots of sex. Sex sells, and it’s all about the bottom line.”
I felt a little queasy. I’d read the book and that had been explicit enough. I wondered if Harvey might be after an R rating. Or worse. I figured now was as good a time as any to appeal to his better nature. Or, since he apparently lacked one, his sense of honor and decency. I imagined my own thoughts sending me eye rolls.
I took a deep breath and said, “You know, Harvey, in real life, Louisa Vanderhorst and Joseph Longo didn’t have an affair like Marc’s book alludes to. Louisa and her husband were madly in love. She wouldn’t have betrayed him or abandoned their son.”
His grin didn’t fade. “Like I said, sex sells—”
“But this isn’t a sexy story,” Jack interrupted. “It would take a person completely lacking in intelligence and vision to think it is.” Jack’s Mr. Nice Guy smile had melded into something almost menacing.