Excerpt: Act Naturally

“Get me a dragon.”
“What kind of dragon?”
“What kind do you think?” Harold Creighton glared at the young man fidgeting in front of him, chewed on his cigar. “The kind that breathes fire... devastates villages... terrorizes young maidens... What am I paying you for, Fenwick? You’re in charge of special effects, so go and make me a dragon.”
“How big?”
Creighton scanned the ceiling, contemplating his next statement. “How big? How big do you think... Oh, jeez, I don’t know. You’re the expert.”
Clarence Fenwick took two steps back, and it seemed as if he wanted to bow low to the director of a low-budget fantasy-adventure movie called ‘The Pit of Hell’. Harold Creighton was the writer, the producer, and the director of this sorry excuse for a movie, and his one claim to fame was a forgettable feature called ‘Teen Monsters from Mars,’ a film that didn’t even show up on any critic’s radar screen.
Fenwick found the office atmosphere stifling, and he prayed to whatever gods were watching that this meeting would be over soon. Creighton’s office was hardly big enough to turn around in, let alone hold a meaningful conversation. Because he knew that Creighton ran the show, he stood there, and let him ramble on about his movie, how this one would be the one to put him in the same leage as Steven Spielberg and Martin Scorcese and the rest of the big-shots. There was just one word that came to Fenwick’s mind.
“I want you to think about it,” Creighton babbled on. “I’m giving you three days to come up with a dragon that’ll make the audience pee their pants.”
With the budget we have for this movie, Fenwick thought, I’d be lucky to come up with a flying turtle.
The Honda Civic was waiting for him in the employee parking lot. As he unlocked the door he saw one of the stars of the movie, the one cast to play the Maiden in Distress walk toward him. ‘Star’ was perhaps the wrong word. Benita Corovelli was an unknown when Creighton plucked her off the street, and tested her for the part. She had been hired more for her looks than her talents, which wouldn’t even fill a teaspoon. Fenwick, and the rest of the crew, knew Benita was sleeping with the writer/producer/director, and no doubt she would sleep with anyone who could get her to the top of the acting profession.
“Hello, Clarence,” she said. Her voice was soft and airy. Fenwick didn’t like that because it sounded as if at any moment she might ask him to make love to her.
He winced, scrunched up his face, as he turned his head away from her. When he turned back to face her, he had a smile plastered on his face, a smile he was going to wipe off as soon as she left. “Hi, Benita. Are you and Cal studying the script?” Cal Torrence was the star of the movie, the Prince Charming who would fight the evil dragon and rescue the fair princess. Fair princess? Fenwick suppressed a chuckle. Benita Corovelli’s background was Italian, and her dark hair and swarthy complexion was a long way from anyone mistaking her for a fair princess.
“We’re just taking a break,” she said. “As a matter of fact I’m on my way to have some lunch. There’s a restaurant about ten minutes walk from here.”
“How’s it going?”
“Don’t let anyone tell you it’s a breeze being an actor,” she said. He could detect the slight Italian accent; if it had been any heavier, Creighton would probably have dubbed her voice. “Would you like to have lunch with me?”
“No... I don’t think so,” he said. “I have to come up with a dragon.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard. You can do all that CGI stuff, can’t you?”
“We’re not talking Star Wars here, Benita. The budget for this movie could fit in my wallet.”
“We all have to start somewhere,” she said, but he could see that she, like most of the cast and crew on this movie, would rather be anywhere else but working for Harold Creighton.
He watched her as she headed down the street. Mmm, not bad looking, he had to admit that. She’d be a good lay, if Creighton didn’t have his grubby paws all over her. Maybe if she ever got tired of Mr. Bigshot...
He decided to talk a walk. Walking helped him think. He didn’t know how it would help him come up with a dragon, but if nothing else, he would get in a bit of exercise.
He found himself on Chestnut Street, a quiet residential neighborhood. It was May, late spring, and people were mowing lawns, and washing cars, and chatting across fences. It was the kind of day that made you glad you were alive. Deep in the back of his mind Fenwick was thinking of that song from ‘Oklahoma’, something about a beautiful morning...
He picked up a couple of couple of donuts and a coffee at a nearby donut shop. He knew it wasn’t what anyone would call lunch, but he wasn’t really that hungry. The time spent in Creighton’s office had curbed his appetite to the point where even the thought of two donuts didn’t appeal to him.
He bought a newspaper from a box that featured all four of the city’s papers. He chose the ‘Guardian’ because it was more detailed in the way it handled the international news, the national news, the local news, the opinions, the sports. Even the weather rated almost a full page.
He leafed through the paper. He wasn’t particularly interested in reading it; it was just a tool to help him kill the time. As he turned the pages headlines leaped out at him, begging to be read. He ignored the pleas, skipped past the business section, the comics, the sports...
When he reached the last page, and was ready to bite into the last bit of his donut, he noticed a headline that seemed to practically take him by the throat and throttle him. He picked up his mug of coffee and poised it in front of his mouth.
Of course, he thought. Of course! That is absolutely it. I won’t even have to bother with any CGI’s.