In Scarlett’s spare room, Angie focused on the graph she’d created on the whiteboard, a dry erase marker in one hand and a bottle of lime seltzer in the other. Since first filling it in, she’d continued adding names, titles, dates, any new information she accrued, including a list of movies the studio had put out over the past twenty years and every actress who had a leading or significant supporting role. She highlighted entries so she could trace the career trajectories of each actress to see if she could spot any patterns. The burning question—aside from what had happened to Scarlett—was whether the actresses ever worked again at the studio, and if not, was it because they had not given in to Charles’s sexual demands?
She had an IMDbPro account at work but she couldn’t risk researching contact info at the office, so she’d paid to create her own account at home, paranoia winning out, and was adding that info on a different chart, just to keep some of it separate for clarity’s sake. Once she started figuring out some kind of method to the DreamWeaver madness, she hoped to find a through line that would lead her right to Scarlett.
She checked the printout from work and wrote another name on the board.
Naomi England*, lead, Serious Intentions, 2014, Oscar nomination, supporting actor
Angie looked her up on IMDbPro. After her one film at DreamWeaver, it seemed she had gone to Israel, where, according to her bio, she held dual citizenship, and ended up starring in a long-running TV series there. She also showed up in films and series in France, Sweden, and elsewhere in Europe.
Angie stepped back to assess her color-coded list. Gray and pink and green and orange and asterisks and arrows and circles. There was so much going on, it read like static. She knew there was something there, but she didn’t know yet what it all meant. She hoped Jango would find something that would help frame the jigsaw pieces she’d scraped together.
Hungry, she took the lime seltzer and went to the kitchen to throw leftover mushroom pizza in the microwave. While she waited, she opened Spotify, hit shuffle on a random playlist, and moments later, strains from Judy Garland’s iconic performance of “Get Happy” came from every speaker in every room in the house.
When Angie had visited Scarlett two years before, her sister had shared with her some unpleasant Hollywood lore including the grotesque way Garland had been fed uppers and downers as a teenager at MGM, leading to a lifetime of addiction. She continued to have extraordinary success on TV, the big screen, and the concert stage, but those pills ultimately led to her death at just forty-seven.
Shirley Temple married at seventeen to escape the advances of various men at the studios she worked for, and then carved an entirely different path for herself. Natalie Wood said she was brutally raped at sixteen by a major Hollywood star, but her mother told her to keep it quiet so as not to imperil her career. Hitchcock and his obsession with icy blondes led him to proposition Tippi Hedren when they were shooting Marnie, a movie where he called for a rape scene to be shot as explicitly as possible.
Angie could still hear Scarlett’s voice with that uncharacteristic edge, and thought about all the women making their way in Hollywood since the industry began a hundred years ago. Some naive, some not, but all looking for work and a career in the movies where men headed the studios, directed and produced the movies, and ran the talent agencies. She wandered back to her whiteboard with her rubbery pizza and gazed at the names and DreamWeaver movie titles.
Melanie McClintock, lead, A Crystal Conspiracy, 2011
Melanie McClintock, supporting, The Days and Nights of Fergal O’Grady, 2012, Oscar nomination, supporting actor
She didn’t win and didn’t work for the studio again. Angie pulled up her profile on IMDb. Currently she only got the occasional TV gig.
Lisa Ann Jackson, supporting, The Bird with the Purple Plumage, 2008
Lisa Ann Jackson, supporting, Let Them Eat Cake, 2011
Angie had never heard of her. She did a Google search and found she was living in Santa Fe but had no acting credits after 2011.
Maria Cortez, supporting, Time Benders, 2006
Maria Cortez, lead, A Distant Pier, 2013
Maria Cortez, supporting, Back When My Dad Drove a Buick, 2016
A big name a decade ago, Cortez vanished from the public eye for a time and now only periodically showed up in indie films.
Patricia Bartlett, lead, The Lie, 2004
Patricia Bartlett, supporting, Generation Why, 2006
Patricia Bartlett, supporting, Until September, 2007, Oscar nomination, supporting actor
Patricia Bartlett, lead, Statue in the Rain, 2015, Oscar nomination, best actor
According to what Angie read online, despite still getting cast, her off-screen antics often got her into trouble and her roles were not as high profile as they had been. Angie wondered how she was recovering from her accident and made a mental note to reach out. She had been so kind to her the night of the Oscars, despite her blow up at the restaurant the day she got hit.
Diane D’Arcy, lead, Antigone’s Sister, 2012
Diane D’Arcy, lead, Summerstorm, 2016
D’Arcy was still working but mostly on Lifetime and Law & Order.
Mia Louise Tanner, supporting, Way Station, 2017
Smart, quirky, and beautiful with a reputation for going her own way, Tanner had moved to New York, where she worked in theater and did voice-over work.
So far, the only former DreamWeaver actor Angie had managed to talk to was Audra Atkins, who’d moved to Northern California. She had found Audra’s marriage announcement online and tracked down her husband, a tech entrepreneur in San Jose, via email. Audra had emailed her back, much to Angie’s surprise, and then called.
“My husband never liked me working there,” Audra had explained. “I’m happy to tell you what happened, but I’ll only do it over the phone. I don’t trust putting anything in writing.”
“I understand. Plausible deniability should the shit hit the fan.”
“Oh, it already did that. Basically, Ben, that’s my husband, heard things about Charles right after I did Denim Blues and didn’t want me to work there again. Not that I had the choice.”
“What did he hear?” Angie felt a flicker of trepidation.
“What we all heard. That Charles was mercurial and prone to angry outbursts. That his ego was huge, and he demanded complete control over his studio as if he were some sort of feudal lord, handing out roles and jobs in exchange for allegiance and other things. Oh, and then there were the trips. He and a bunch of DreamWeaver bigwigs would book these resort trips to the islands or Aspen, and the starlet du jour would get an invitation. Naturally, it was expected that you’d be Charles’s bedmate on the trip. And if you complied, and he wasn’t annoyed or bored with you by the end of it, you could expect a plum part in the next best project the studio developed.”
Angie remembered the picture she’d seen on Oscar night of Tanya and Charles and a handful of glamorous people at a swanky ski resort. “How did your husband hear about all this?”
“Ben works in tech, and a lot of rich people in tech like to party with Hollywood types, actors and the like. He knows people who’ve been to parties and on trips and have seen Charles in action.”
“I see. If you don’t mind my asking, did anything bad happen to you at DreamWeaver? Any bad experiences? I’m trying to figure out why actors who worked there never went back.”
“Well, when I first worked at the studio, I had a small part, so Charles didn’t really take note of me. Plus, DreamWeaver wasn’t as huge a deal as it is now, so he was working himself into the ground and probably couldn’t afford as much free time to hang around sets and figure out how to indulge his fantasies. But when I was in Denim Blues, in a supporting role, I got a message one day that none other than Charles Weaver himself wanted to see me. Well, I’m not stupid. It was an okay part, but it wasn’t Lady Macbeth. I knew he wasn’t calling me in to congratulate me on my epic performance.
“Anyway, I get to the little office Charles has on set. We were on location, shooting in the desert for a few days, and it’s crazy hot and he’s in shorts and sandals, which is fine, and he tells me that he knows I’ve worked hard, wants to give me a bigger role in his next film.
“So, I’m like, ‘Yeah, that would be great,’” Audra recalled. “Then he says he wants me to audition right there and then. And he would set up the scene for me, but I would improvise the lines with him. He says he wants to see how I handle myself, where I can go when I’m not bound by a script—some bullshit like that. And I kid you not, he hands me a robe and says, ‘Put this on, and, please, nothing underneath, I need to see some authenticity here.’
“And I’m dumbstruck. Like, how dense do I look? So I say to him, ‘Mr. Weaver, if you want me to audition, you’ll have to get in touch with my agent and he can set something up.’ And I flew out of there and back to my trailer. I call Ben—we were dating at the time. He goes ballistic. Says I’m never to work at DreamWeaver again.
“Well, that wasn’t really an issue, because I didn’t get called in for anything after that, at DreamWeaver or anywhere else,” Audra concluded.
“Wow,” Angie breathed.
“Hell, I got lucky. He could have locked the door and attacked me. He’s a big guy.”
I don’t think Scarlett was so lucky.
“It hurt to leave LA, but Ben and I got married and moved to Menlo Park for his work. I do theater up here. I’m okay with how everything turned out.” But she didn’t sound okay with it. “Who knows, maybe someday I’ll get back to film work or a series . . . It’s a crapshoot—the industry. It can be an inhospitable place for women, and some just get a lot of bad breaks.” Angie didn’t know if Audra was including herself in that. “And, listen, I’m sorry about your sister.” Then her voice hardened. “If you find out that sonofabitch had anything to do with her death, you nail him to a cross. And I just might help. Call me back anytime.”
Angie was lying on the floor, going over the conversation in her mind as she looked at the whiteboard, but she couldn’t keep her eyes open. I need to get to bed. I can start again tomorrow. But the next thing she knew, she was jolted awake by her phone.
“Hello,” she answered, her voice thick with sleep.
“Did I wake you?”
Angie sat upright as if she’d gotten an electric shock. Charles! Why did she pick up without checking the number?
“Is everything all right?” She scrambled to her feet and ran downstairs to the front door to make sure it was bolted shut.
“Well, let me apologize,” he purred into her ear. “I’m not that far from you, and I just wondered if I could talk you into meeting me for a drink. But I don’t want to drag you out of bed. No man in his right mind would want to persuade a woman like you out of bed.” He laughed lightly.
She ignored the innuendo as she checked the back sliding doors. “No, it’s fine. I haven’t quite turned in for the night yet.”
Is he here? Would he try to get in? She broke into a sweat as she snapped off the kitchen light and surveyed the small bank of screens that monitored the property. They showed nothing unusual. Skulking to the foyer, she peeked out at the drive, toward the street. She saw nothing amiss but that didn’t quite allay her fears. If he tried to come on the property, he’d trip a motion-sensor light. I can call security. Or the police.
“Angie. Are you still there?”
“Yeah. Yes. Of course. I’m just not feeling that great.”
“Well, it doesn’t sound like a good night for drinks then, but I won’t take no for an answer forever.” And I can’t put you off forever. Not if I want to catch you. “Maybe this weekend? I would love to grab a glass of wine.”
“That works.”
“Glad to hear that, Angie.” His tone had grown a bit sharper. “I’ll be in touch.” He hung up before she had a chance to say goodbye.
She went into the living room and lay down on the couch, pulling one of Scarlett’s soft throws over her. It was chilly, and all she wanted to do was sleep and forget the world. Just for a night. The cool night and the warm blanket were cozy and she easily drifted off to sleep.
She was a kid again, sitting between Scarlett and Scott in the back of their parents’ old Land Rover on their way to the beach. Scarlett was to her left, and every time Angie looked over at her, she’d laugh, then turn her head to the window. When she glanced right, at Scott, he’d look at her and smile, then go back to staring straight ahead. The car was flooded with light and music was playing. She couldn’t see her parents, but they must have been in front, navigating the family’s path. The music got louder. Scarlett started to sing along. Scott chimed in. Angie tried to sing, but she didn’t recognize the song. She tried to ask her sister and brother for help, but they couldn’t hear her. They sang louder and louder. Soon the music was so loud, it filled the entire car. The Land Rover was going very fast then, hurtling down the road, faster and faster, as the light got brighter and brighter and the music grew louder and louder. Angie couldn’t see the road anymore. The car felt like it had lost contact with the roadway. It was flying through the air in a sea of light. She could hear Scarlett, but when she turned to look, she was gone. Same with Scott. Angie started to scream. “Where are we going? Where are we going!”
She woke suddenly, gasping. A dream about Scarlett, again! She was always there and then suddenly vanishing from reach. Angie tried to ward off her growing panic by rocking gently. Breathe in, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. What was that music that was playing in the Land Rover? She couldn’t quite dredge up the tune. But then she abruptly stopped swaying. She was really hearing music. Now
She sat up. It was unmistakable. Classical music, some sort of symphony. Outside. Charles? He’s here? She wrapped the throw tightly around her and got up to peep through the spyglass in the front door. A white convertible was just pulling away, and in the dark of the night, she couldn’t see the driver’s face.
The light over the porch was on, meaning someone had walked up to the front door, triggering the sensor. The vehicle was gone, but she didn’t know how safe it was to open the door. Or if there was even reason to.
She turned the lock and slowly creaked the door open.
And there, on the Bienvenue! welcome mat, was a single red rose.