A Knife to Remember

the movie,“ Jane said, handing around the cookie plate again just above Willard’s reach. “The people who contracted with us for our backyards didn’t tell us anything. What’s the story?“
    “As it happens, I sort of know. I don’t usually even see a script because I don’t need to, but this one’s based on a book I read and really liked a couple years ago. The working title is The Chicago Fire, but the marketing dweebs will rename it. Probably Secret Flames or something. We’re moving fast. Only five days on this location, including setup. The rest of the film was done in studios and these scenes will wrap it up. If they’re following the book, there should be two parts that happen here. The big scene with the refugees from the fire setting up a sort of camp and then another segment many years after the fire when the heroine comes back, having inherited the land where she was once a penniless, singed widow. It was really a great story. The first part, of course, involves mobs of extras—all doing their best to hurt themselves and come whining to me,“ she added with a martyred look.
    “Who’s going to be in it?“ Shelley asked. “Lynette Harwell is the lead.“
    “Lynette Harwell? I thought she was dead!“ Jane exclaimed. “She won that Best Actress award for Day of Love and then dropped out of sight.“
    “Not entirely,“ Maisie said. “You just haven’t been watching grade-B movies since then. She’s starred in such memorable films as Killer Women of the Andes, Horror Nite, and something I swear was called Wasted Efforts, which was truly a wasted effort. There must have been another ten or twelve, but I’m glad to say I’ve forgotten the names. Real doggy films. But I don’t believe she’s made any movies for the last five years or so.“
    “Why? What happened to her?“ Jane asked. “I saw Day of Love a half dozen times—I just rented it from the video store a month ago, in fact—and she was fantastic. Was that great performance just a fluke, or what?“
    “No, she’s good. She just made real poor choices because she was greedy. I think she figured she could overcome the roles, like Michael Caine does. Nobody holds it against him that he makes terrible movies. He still gets chances to make good ones, too. But karma must have been against Lynette. She probably did a couple dreadful movies and nobody gave her the opportunity to do another good one. Then, too, there’s the bad luck thing—“
    “Bad luck? What do you mean?“ Shelley asked.
    “Well, she’s been on troubled sets where there were accidents, thefts, illnesses, financial problems. I was on one of those films. None of the bad things had anything to do with her, as far as I know, but people in this business are fanatically superstitious. If somebody gets the reputation for bringing bad luck to a set, it’s damn hard for them to get work.“
    “Is that why she hasn’t worked lately?“
    “I don’t know. I heard a rumor that she was carted off to a loony bin for some kind of intensive therapy. Probably drugs. But it might not be true at all. Maybe her manager just decided it was trendier to be in rehab than simply unemployed and put the rumor out himself.“
    “Then how did she get this job?“ Jane asked.
    “I have no idea. There’s a lot of speculation about it. Most of it pretty rude. But this one may well be the role that revives her career. I’ve watched some of the dailies and she’s doing a fantastic job. One day last week she did a scene that even had the grips wiping their eyes. It’s astonishing.”
    Jane was reveling in the conversation. All this inside poop on the famous was like having “Entertainment Tonight“ broadcast live from her living room.
    But Shelley had the perplexed look of a woman who was trying to drag something out of deep storage at the furthermost recesses of her brain. “Wasn’t she from around here?“ she asked. “It seems to me that I knew somebody who knew somebody who knew... no, it was her brother. He used to live in the next suburb over. I think he was deaf and went to work for a school district down south.“
    “Why, yes. I know who you mean,“ Maisie exclaimed. “I remember her brother. He used to do her makeup, but got out of the business to teach the deaf. So they lived around here?“
    “I’m pretty sure they did. I’m remembering an article in the Sunday supplement years ago when she won the Oscar. It said she was a ‘home town girl’ who started