The Waterfront

"Picture's up!"

The announcement got everyone's attention. I had no idea what it meant but it meant something to the film crew. They either returned to their workstations or found a comfortable out-of-the-way spot to spend the next few minutes waiting for someone to yell, 'Cut!'.

It was another beautiful day in Southport, slightly overcast to filter the light and make it better for photography. I was on my way to Fishy Fishy, a popular seafood restaurant located in the yacht basin.

Just for today, the restaurant was no longer Fishy Fishy. It was instead, the production site for the filming of The Waterfront, a new Netflix original television series.

But this post isn't about the television series at all. It's about my lifelong love of film and the people involved in making cene-magic, including actors, directors, screenwriters, and the hundreds of other people whose names may or may not be listed when the credits roll.

"Rolling!" called the production assistants and it suddenly became very quiet on the set. All activity ceased. If anyone spoke it was in whispers. 

From my vantage point near the docks, I could see extras loading crab crates onto a fishing boat. I wasn't able to see the named actors but the action I was watching on the docks was being monitored on laptops by production assistants in the dining area. 

"Cut!" someone yelled and the command was immediately echoed around the set. Activity resumed where it left off.

"Popsicle?" asked a young woman who had shimmered up to me unnoticed. She was handing out the frozen fruit concoctions to crew members enduring a hot and humid morning on location. And now she was offering one to me.

"Oh, no, thank you," I said. "But I appreciate the offer." 

"You're not a crew member are you?" she said.

I admitted that I was not. I'm sure you're surprised by my honesty. It's a blatant violation of my normal method of operation, which, as you well know, is stout denial. But consider this: she was obviously a member of the crew and she knew the answer to her question before asking. 

I've found that in cases where the charge can be proven in court against you, the judge may go easy on you if you enter a simple plea of guilty. I hoped it would prove true this time.

"I came here hoping to video some of the behind-the-scenes action," I said with the most ingratiating smile I could muster. "It's something I do," I said. "Southport is a busy spot for movie and television productions and I like to chase the film crews hoping for juicy tidbits to post on social media."

She nodded as though she'd heard it all before. 

"You don't plan to video any of the actors while they're performing their roles, do you?"

"I'd like to speak to my lawyer," I said. She nodded knowingly.

"Follow me," she said and my heart sank just a little because at that very moment Princess Amy began her rant. I knew you'd get caught, I knew it, I knew it. Now they'll take your name and a photo and you won't be allowed on a film location ever again. 

Amy simply can't get too much drama. She sometimes gets so animated that she becomes dizzy and starts spinning round and round. But you probably knew that about her already.

But hold on. I've crossed the white lines and run into the ditch again. I meant to explain how I came to be here in Southport in the first place.

Driving into Southport this morning I expected my plans for the day to encounter obstacles. I knew that roads were closed in the vicinity of the yacht basin and I knew the directors like to keep traffic and tourists far away from the action to prevent disruptions. 

But I was excited for the opportunity to video in an area so open as the fishing fleet. Film locations are usually closed off and difficult to watch but when located in a marina, half the site is wide open. I felt this would be my best chance to get clear shots of the film crew going about their jobs.  

As mentioned above, roads were closed in the vicinity of the production site, so I walked the last few blocks to the yacht basin. I was immediately disappointed. Two policemen were in front of the makeshift studio to prevent gawkers from loitering around the set. 

I realized that diversion, subterfuge, and misdirection were called for in situations like these. I decided to execute the end-around pattern. The first attempt, around the seafood restaurant, offered no options that didn't involve swimming. I reversed direction and went to the far end of the yacht basin.

Looking back toward the crew's location, I saw a tourist couple walking my way. "Did the policemen give you a hard time when you walked through?" I asked.

"They're keeping people moving," he said and then she said, "And they don't allow photos."

"Do they allow people on the deck where the crew are working?" I asked but I didn't get an answer. A production assistant materialized from a nearby doorway and said, "Can you move farther down the lane, please? Your conversation is disrupting our rehearsal. And, no, you can't take photos."

Well, what could I do? Sometimes the choice is easy only because it's the only choice. The last resort it's called in some circles. My last resort was something my graduate lab manager in college told me about getting into the lab to see the new electron microscope. 

"Just walk into the lab as though you belong there," he said.

I took a deep breath, shook out the willies, and walked straight across the parking lot behind the two policemen. I stepped up onto the deck with all the crew members. I nodded to the two production assistants guarding the entrance and strode into the crew area as though I were an associate producer. No one paid any attention.

I walked straight to the railing overlooking the yacht basin, near the spot where the extras were lined up waiting to be escorted to their on-camera positions.

"Picture's up!" someone yelled and that's where you came into this story. You will remember that a production assistant offered me a popsicle and after determining that I wasn't a member of the crew, she asked me to follow her.

What was I to do? I followed. I noticed that the wire in her ear led to a receiver on her belt. The name 'Vee' was written there. I assumed it was a name. A reasonable thing to assume you think? Leave a comment.

Vee stopped for a second to whisper to someone named Jeri--her name was on her receiver too. Jeri nodded after giving me a quick glance, and then, to my surprise, Vee didn't escort me off the site. Instead, she led me to an empty table near the one with all the laptops. 

"Here's the deal," she said. "You sit here. Everyone saw me bring you over here so no one's going to ask questions as long as you're quiet and don't call attention to yourself."

"Act as though I belong here," I said.

"That's right," she said. "You can take photos if you want but when you hear someone yell, 'picture's up', put the phone down. No more photos until you hear someone yell, 'cut'. Got it?"

"Got it."

She turned to walk away but stopped, turned around, and came back to my table.

"Here," she said giving me a bottle of water. "You'll need it if you're going to hang out in this heat."

"Thanks."

"When you hear PAs call, 'picture's up', you can call it too," she said. You'll also hear them say, 'rolling' and 'cut'. You can repeat those too but be sure to call it as soon as you hear it. If you're late, you'll get some strange looks. OK?"

"Absolutely," I said and before she could turn away I added, "Thank you for allowing me to hang out. This is going to be a day I'll always remember and it'll give me stories to tell for as long as anyone will listen." 

She smiled and as she walked away, she said, "I know. Enjoy!" 

"Rolling!" yelled a production assistant. 

"Rolling," I yelled along with everyone else. Life is good when the Universe is on your side.

Love A Good Mystery

This morning was another of those near perfect Camelot style mornings in late summer. I was particulary bucked having come off an evening in Southport mingling with the crew on the set of The Waterfront, the newest movie production to be set in that jewel of the Carolina coast.

 

When Irv arrived at Egret Coffee Bar and Dance Club, I was reading a book Ms. Wonder had recommended.  She said it would 'do me good'. 

She was on a river tour getting photos for her next art show and I was to meet her at the docks in a couple of hours. I knew she'd expect me to have started the thing by then.

"What'cha reading?" asked the Islander.

"It's a little thing Wonder recommended," I said.

"Trying to improve you," he said. "You could use a little improvement."

I closed the book and was about to respond to that crack about needing improvement. But I gave it a second thought and decided that he was probably right.

Irv turned the book around to better see the cover. "Until the End of Time," he said. "A subject broad and deep. Any good?"

"Is it good?" I said "It's like this."

But I stopped in mid-sentence because I'd suddenly had one of those ideas that pop up, seemingly out of nowhere, like the demon king in a Thai water opera.

"I can't give you a better example of what this book is like than by reading a random passage from the book. Listen to this," I said and I opened the book and began to read.

"An essential factor, too, is that there wasn't a single, isolated evolutionary flip-book. Every cell division in every organism occupying every nook and cranny of the planet contributed to the Darwinian narrative. Some of these storylines fizzled. Most added nothing new to the ongoing plot. But some provided unexpected twists that would develop into their own evolutionary flip-book."

I closed the book and sipped my coffee because I thought it might add a bit of gravitas to the occassion. You, of course, might have a different opinion and if you do, please leave a comment.

"I'm sure the author is perfect correct," I said, "but it's a bit heavy to spring on a guy with a morning head."

On hearing those words, his expression turned quizzical and I had the strange feeling that he'd given the next question a lot of thought and had wanted to ask it for a while. I don't know why I had that feeling. Just a passing fancy, you think?

"Why you?" he said. "I mean why does she try to mold you?"

"It's no mystery," I said. "She sees promise in me. She wants to bring me up to her level mentally. She does her best too, but I'm more of a physical operator than mental, if you follow me."

"I understand perfectly," he said. "I've always said that the difference in your mental and physical makeup is that  physically, you have substance."

"And you're wrong about it not being a mystery," he said. "Everyone agrees that trying to improve you is contrary to her normally astute and insightful manner."

"There is no mystery!" I said and I said it with feeling. "She believes in me because I try hard to please. And who the hell do you mean when you say everyone?"

His brow furrowed once more as though he were deep in thought but I didn't fall for it. He's never been more than ankle-deep in thought as long as I've known him.

"Hmmm," he said, "no I don't think it's because you try hard but I do love a good mystery and I'm going to analyze the thing further until I find the solution." 

"For the last time, there is no mystery!"

Irv opened his mouth to reply but what he actually said was, "Oh, here she is now."

And despite my doubts that even a woman with her powers could materialize on Castle Street when she was supposed to be on the Riverwalk, Irv was right. There she was.

I wanted to ask how she did it. She makes a habit of shimmering in and out of places. That's where the real mystery lies, if you ask me. But before I could ask, she glanced at the book and her face suddenly took on the look of a vegetarian who had just been served a leg of lamb.

"I read your manuscript on the boat," she said, "and you haven't even started the book I suggested for you."

"I don't understand you," I said. "How can you say I haven't started it. Here it is and you can see by the bookmark that I've read the first several chapters."

"What's the title of that book," she said.

"Until the End of Time," I said holding the book up for her to see.

"And which book did I recommend?" she said.

I looked at the book again as if I expected to find the answer to her question on the cover.

"Not Until the End of Time?" I said.

"I recommended, From Here to Eternity," she said.

Once more I looked at the book in my hands.

"They're close," I said. "A mistake anyone could have made."

"You see," said Irv, "an intriguing mystery. I'm going to enjoy working on this one but it's plain to see that if it's to be solved I'll need the help of all the others."

Something Fresh

The sunshine of a fair summer morning fell graciously on Wilmawood. All along the downtown business district its heartening warmth infused traffic and pedestrians alike with a live and let-live mood. A light, carefree morning.

Bus drivers courteously eased out into traffic when pulling away from the curb. Policemen whistled happy tunes as they patrolled their beats. Dogs pranced ahead of their humans greeting all the passersby with a friendly tail wag.

Of all the spots in Wilmawood, that rise from Riverwalk to the heights of mid-town, none are more deserving of being described as a downtown Camelot.

At precisely nine o'clock the door of 601 Castle Street opened and the Claudia and Lupe duo steeped into Egret Coffee Bar and Dance Club. They were there to meet me.

"Lupe," I said getting right down to it without so much as one word of preamble, I've finally opened that gate and stepped out onto the yellow brick road. I'm on my way to the Emerald City. Nothing can stop me now."

"Watch out for flying monkeys," she said.

"Pay no attention to monkeys," I said, "nor torpedoes for that matter. It's full speed ahead for me."

There was a moment of silence when I expected a reply. I decided to fill it.

"My mom lived in the Emerald City for a while," I said.

"Don't get sidetracked," Lupe said. "Why are you so happy?"

I'm an optimist, Lupe," I said. "Always have been."

"Not really," she said.

"The older I get, the more I agree with Shakespeare about it always being darkest before the storm."

"The dawn," she said.

"I'm sorry," I said, "what did you say?"

"It's darkest before the dawn," she said. "And it wasn't Shakespeare."

"There's always a silver lining," I said. "and whatever you lose on the backswing, you make up on the followthrough."

"I couldn't say," she said.

"No matter, my friend," I said. "The point is that yesterday I was a mug expecting to get it in the neck and today I'm walking on the clouds and sitting on a rainbow and I'm singing while the sunbeams light up the sky."

"I have no idea what you're going on about," she said.

Did I mention that Claudia was with us? She was. I looked at her to get her thoughts.

"Don't look at me," she said.

"Doesn't matter," I said. "I've taken my problem to a higher power and that H.P. has come up with a plan."

"He's talking about Ms. Wonder," Lupe told Claudia.

"What a woman," I said. "What a brain. It must be all the fish she eats. Omega 3 oils and whatnot."

"Possibly," said Claudia.

"It's wild-caught Alaskan chinook," I said.

"I doubt it's the fish," said Lupe.

"You may be right," I said. "I remember her saying once that her mother thought she was a bright child. Perhaps she's just one of the gifted few."

"What about the Emerald City?" said Claudia.

"Yeah," said Lupe.

"Hang onto your hats, girls," I said. "I'm going to publish The Circular Journey in book form."

"Wait a sec," said Lupe. "I thought it was going to be adapted for the stage."

"And don't call us, girls," said Claudia.

"Is that it?" said Lupe. "A book."

"Yes, a book," I said. "And before we get our knickers in a wad, perhaps I should open the curtains and let you get a look of the man working the machinery."

"Not just any book. It's my book. The off-broadway boys want me to make changes and wholesale changes at that. But I'm not that kind of writer. I don't have any particular message that I'm trying to broadcast to the world.

"I just like creating a world where I feel safe and entertained. I'm still plugging away at it and haven't run into any messages yet. It looks as though unless I'm suddenly struck with a spiritual mission, humanity will remain a message short.

"Still, despite our ups and downs--I'm speaking of the two of you--we've somehow become pals. I see you as cute and funny, even though Lupe has a hot temper and a short fuse. And you two agree that I'm looney to the eyebrows. It all works out. Everything's nice and matey."

They looked at each other and then beamed a great big grin of agreement at me.

"Good," I said. "Let's keep it that way."

Streaming Universe

"You're in such a sour mood. What's happened to you anyway? You had so much promise when you were younger and we expected much, much more from you. Didn't we Claudia? Genome, did your mom drop you on your head as a child?"

Claudia didn't look up from her phone, but she did snicker, and not in a flattering way.

The snarky comment came from Lupe, but you probably guessed that. I'd come to Native Grounds this Friday morning needing a quick pick-me-up but found Lupe here instead. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. She may offer only a half-dose of whatever it is she brings to the table, but she's always there for me. Something to be said for that.

"My mother did drop me on my head as a child," I said, "and it's not funny. Think what might have happened."

"That's what I'm thinking of, and I'm convinced that whatever might have happened did happen."

"Oh, shut up," I said but with the velvet glove because I didn't really want to offend. "Let me tell you why I'm so bent."

"Do," she said. 

"I recently went to Ocean Isle, to the memorial sand dunes, to give the Universe a piece of my mind."

"The memorial sand dunes," Lupe explained for Claudia, "is what he calls the spot on the beach where he talks to the Universe and all the souls who've passed through the veil."

I waited patiently for Claudia's response. She first glanced in my direction and then at Lupe. She offered a sort of eyebrow-lifting hint of a shrug and then went back to the phone.

"You, stooge," Lupe said to me. "You thought you'd get tough with the Universe, didn't you, and I bet it didn't work, did it?"

"Stooge is right," I said. "Believe me, Lupe, I want to believe all that guff about the Universe watching my back and looking out for my best interests. I really do. I've tried. But it doesn't work for me."

"You misunderstand me," she said. "I didn't mean stooge as in someone who always becomes the butt of practical jokes."

"You don't?"

"I mean stooge as in one of the Three Stooges. Someone who, no matter how hard he tries, always looks silly in the end."

"A comedy ensemble from the 1940's," Lupe explained to Claudia who had looked up from her phone with a furrowed brow and a sideways glance at me. You do the translation.

I mused on her words because if you remember the recent post mentioned above, I gave it my best in Ocean Isle but my best just wasn't good enough. If you missed the post, you can find it by searching The Circular Journey for A Day of Reckoning.

"The Universe has been watching over you all your life," Lupe said to me.

"She hasn't done a very good job," I said.

"Are you completely looney?" she said. "Forget that, not a question. Of course, you're looney. Looney to the eyebrows, if I remember the full diagnosis.

"Lupe!" I said. "Rally around you, little geezer. You're supposed to be on my side."

"Look, Genome, you're not a bad guy. I'd say most people like you, just in small doses, right Claudia?"

Claudia didn't respond. Apparently, something big was trending on TikTok.

"That's right," Lupe continued. "You've had a fantastic life. You have wonderful stories that people love to hear. Even Claudia and I love to hear your stories, and we're the last people you'd expect to appreciate your antics."

Claudia looked up from her phone and looked directly at me with a crooked smile and nodded at me. It was a tiny nod. Barely perceptible but I got the message.

I was having a hard time taking it all in. I've heard about the limited bandwidth the mind has for processing information but this was information overload on a massive scale.

"You see, all those wonderful things that happened to you weren't the results of your plans or your actions. No, they occurred serendipitously."

"Stop right there," I said. "I know what you're going to say. I've said it myself when trying to convince myself that there's hope in the future. But believe me, you little half-measure, it's all random, accidents. Nothing more."

"You don't know what I'm going to say," she said. "Consider the earwig on the lanai this morning."

"How do you know about the earwig?" I said.

"What's an earwig?" said Claudia, finally a part of the conversation.

"Why did that earwig live to tell the story?" asked Lupe.

"Because I chose to let it live another day. Live and let live is my motto."

"I'll bet that earwig is telling its buddies the story right now. The friends are probably saying, You should be grateful that the Universe is looking out for you today. But the earwig is objecting. It's not the Universe, he's saying. "It's just random accidental events. I was lucky that's all."

"Now, I ask you," she said to me. "Was it just an accident that the earwig is still alive?"

"No," I said. "He survived because I decided to let him go. It was an intentional gift of kindness."

Lupe didn't respond right away. She watched my face in silence giving her words time to sink in for full effect. At least, that's my take on it. You may see it differently.

"Here's the deal, Genome. Consciousness. There's only one. It's Universal. The Universe desires physical experience. If you want my opinion, our brains are tuned into one or more channels where we get subtle suggestions and a little nudging. It's like tuning a radio."

"It's a box where people listen to music and talk shows," she said to Claudia.

"I know what a radio is," said Claudia.

"Bottom line," said Lupe. "The Universe has been looking out for you since you were fetal." Then as an afterthought, she added, "There's a chance you may still be."

"Fetal?" I said. "Are you calling me fetal?"

"Did I say that out loud?" she said.

"Fetal?" I said again because I didn't fully understand her point and was trying to hide the fact by appearing to be offended. Don't knock it. It may be a new concept to you but it seems to work for many.

"You'd think," Lupe said to Claudia, "that just having Ms. Wonder in your life would be enough to convince a person that they've been given a special ride."

Claudia put the phone down. She looked directly into my eyes as if to avoid any chance of misunderstanding. Then she nodded knowingly and that nod spoke volumes.

Make It So

The day began in the usual way. Up early with words to write, as if words could make right the muddle of the heart. Oh, sorry. I've jumped the rails. Came close to writing poetry there for a second. 

Good thing I caught myself in time. I sometimes think I can get away with it just one last time but then it always snags me. One is all it takes as the man said.

As I was saying, nothing unusual about the start of the morning. But that's a recurring theme with me, isn't it? There's never a warning about things to come. 

What I should have said at the beginning of this post is that I'd just gotten off the phone when Ms. Wonder came into my little corner of the world.

"Was that you're agent on the phone just now?" she said.

"It was," I said still in wonder of it all.

"Well, what's the news?" she said. "I can tell by that look on your face that something's up? You look like, the heroine of Israel? What's her name?"

"You're thinking of Jael," I said. "the wife of Heber. Do I look that happy?"

"You do," she said, "but I don't remember what she did exactly."

"She hammered a tent stake into the head of Israel's enemy while he was sleeping on her couch," I explained.

Hearing my words, her brow wrinkled and her eyes looked just a little worried.

"Let's pass over all that," she said. "Just tell me what your agent said."

"You're not going to believe it," I said.

"Don't tell me they're still talking about adapting your blog for the stage," she said.

"Nothing to do with that old gag," I said. "You see it's like this."

And then I told her the whole story about the Baptist deacon in Charlotte who found his daughter reading my blog and decided to read a few random posts to make sure it was up to snuff. He didn't like it. He spoke to his pastor who phoned the Wilma News. 

"Oh no!" she said.

"Apparently the religion columnist reviewed my blog in the current edition. He described my work using adjectives that I find harsh and reactionary and Fox News worthy.”

"Genome!" she said. "This is terrible. What will you do?"

"I suppose an honorable man like myself should write the columnist and thank him. You see since the article came out, The Circular Journey has received more followers than the previous all-time total."

"Ohhhhh," she said.

"Yes," I said. "My agent called to let me know that a couple of studios are considering bringing the blog to a larger audience."

"Larger audience?"

"That's right," I said. "A Wilmawood production."

"Genome?" she said.

"Yes?" I said.

“You’ll lose your anonymity.”

“You mean people will know my true identity. Yes I see. Something to consider for sure. Still, it’s not like I’m in the witness protection program.”

“Aren’t you? But never mind that. My question is can we do the same for my art?"

"All things are possible for those who believe," I said and I thought it pretty cool. Still do. Quotable I think.

“Let’s generate some scandalous scuttlebutt about your art.”

“Data,” she said, “engage!”