CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR - Ex-Stuntman

 This is Chapter 24 of Lanterns of Babylon. If you would like to read the story from the beginning, please click on the pink tabs above.     
 Solomon Branch’s Stunt Ranch-1979. The caramel-brown horse reared up on her hind legs at Judd’s signal.

“Okay Choosy, who do you love?” The horse neighed enthusiastically as she nodded her head, and nuzzled Judd on the shoulder. He pulled out a sugar cube and fed it to her. “Good girl.”

The young people sitting on the corral applauded. Judd addressed them while Jerry took the horse back to the barn.

“So you see kids, a stuntman’s job isn’t just jumping off tall buildings. You might be asked to work with stunt animals like Choosy there.” Judd motioned to the departing horse. “Now Choosy’s well trained, but even well trained animals can be dangerous. I know a guy who was doing a very similar gag like what you just saw with the barrel jump. The horse came down wrong and the stuntman not only broke his leg, but he caught a hoof in the face.” The class of aspiring stunt men and women moaned. “He was lucky. He just got a shattered nose and broken jaw. He could have had his skull crushed.”

“Yuk,” said a young woman in the group. 

Judd nodded solemnly. “That’s right. Yuk. Now I’m going to put you in the good hands of Jerry who will show you how to lasso a runaway bull.”

The group applauded once more as Judd limped from the corral. His back was killing him. These days even minimal movement was a major irritant. He hoped that Solomon had some of those pain pills left. 

“Pretty good,” said a voice. Judd looked up to see Goldie leaning against a covered wagon.

“Hey lady, what are you doing way out here?”

“Just got back from Chicago. I was casting a TV spot for “Quaker Oats”.”

“Sounds yummy. Follow me to the chow hall and I’ll buy you a burger.” He noticed the script in her hand. “What’s that?” She handed it to him. On the cover was the title, “The Teacher” by Paul Morgan. “If this isn’t my life story, I’m not interested,” he joked.

“It’s about our Savior.”

“Your Savior,” he corrected gently. Goldie ignored the rebuke as he thumbed through it. “Haven’t they done a couple of movies on this already?”

“Probably a couple of thousand,” she replied. “But it’s always worth re-telling.”

 He gave her a sly smile. “You don’t want me to play God, do you?” 

She returned her own sly smile. “No, but the part of Judas is open.”

 He looked uncertain. “He’s a bad guy, isn’t he.”

“Let’s just say you wouldn’t confuse him with Roy Rogers.”

“So what can I do for you love?”

“I was wondering if you could get this script to Josh Smythe.”

“Josh Smythe? I don’t know.”

“Haven’t you worked with him?”

“We did a movie down in the Bahamas a few years back. And we did one in San Francisco. He always wanted to do his own stunts. The man is a nut.”

“So he knows you.”

“Everybody knows me. I’m sure Josh would remember me, but we weren’t drinking buddies or anything. I could send it to his agent.”

“We already tried that. His agent refused to look at the script, because of the subject matter.”

“Can you blame him? It’s religious. That stuff isn’t selling too much these days.”

“Please Judd?” 

Judd stopped and leaned on the hitching post in front of the chow hall. He made the pretense of deep thought, but he was really gearing himself up to take the three steep steps that led into the eatery. Solomon had made the steps purposely high and steep to keep his stuntmen in condition. Judd had too much pride to use the ramp.

“Hmm. Maybe I could get this script to him. I don’t have his number, but I do have Mickey Yulin’s. Mickey could get it to him.”

“That would be great. I really appreciate it. Josh Smythe is the Howard Hughes of movie stars. Even Cory Stilling failed getting this to him.” Judd took her hand and led her up the steps, wincing with each stab of pain. 

He disguised his discomfort with a question. “How do you like your burger?”

“You know I like it well done with plenty of mustard.”

“Just testing,” he said through gritted teeth. He held the door for her and they entered the air-conditioned chow hall.

Anna found Senta in the lunch line after she’d gotten in from the prison library.

“Senta, did you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“Kayla’s dead. They found her in her cell. She OD’d.”

The old Senta would have cried out in triumph, thrusting her fist in the air defiantly. Now, she felt an overwhelming loss and sadness for the soul that was Kayla’s. As if reading her thoughts, Anna said, “There’s nothing you could have done to save her.” 

Senta was taken back by this. “I didn’t realize you’re a mind reader, Anna.” 

Anna smiled sadly. “It’s in God’s hands, Senta. He knows how she became who she was and what choices she made. We are familiar with the chain of sins she forged in life, but who knows? Maybe God used her to help someone else.” 

Senta stared at Anna as she took her tray to the long lunch table. “I’ll say this for you, Anna, you always get me to see things in a different light.”

They sat at the table and bowed their heads, each giving a silent blessing. Senta raised her head first and waited for Anna to finish her prayer. She worried about her friend. Anna was a model prisoner, but she was in jail for life. She was ineligible for parole. Anna raised her head and picked up a corn muffin. “I’ve always wondered what they put in these things.” The prison baked some sort of mustard substance into the muffins. Senta found it unappealing, but Anna seemed to like them.

“I don’t know, but you can have mine. I think it might be snot.”

“Ugh. On the other hand, it’s pretty good snot,” smiled Anna. Senta put her corn muffin on Anna’s metal tray. They ate in silence, each in their own world. “So you’re up for parole in a few months. How do you feel? You think they’ll let you out?” 

Senta swallowed a mouthful of beans before she answered. “I have no idea.”

“Good. That’s the way you should think. I’ve seen gals in here make parole their first time out and they were hard cases. Then I’ve seen some really sweet ones who cause no trouble, get denied time and again.”

“I hear you, sister,” said Senta. “I’ve seen it all before. Expect the unexpected.”

Senta wanted out badly, yet she was at peace. If God wanted her to remain in prison, she knew it was for a purpose. She prayed for the strength to accept the board’s decision if they chose to deny her parole. 

Anna grasped her hand. “Don’t worry my dear. God won’t give you too much to bare, no matter what happens.” It seemed that Anna was reading her mind again.

Josh read “The Teacher” through for a second time.

“Yes,” he said to himself. He put the script down that Mickey Yulin had sent him and went straight to the phone. His excitement was mounting as he realized he hadn’t felt this way for a long time. Mickey’s phone rang, but no one answered. Mickey’s answering machine did not pick up the call. This was unusual. He hung up the phone and dialed George, who was Mickey’s assistant. He caught George at dinner.

“Hey Josh, long time, no see.”

“Hi George. I hope I didn’t disturb you. I’m trying to get a hold of Mickey.”

“He’s in Palm Springs with the new wife. They’re trying out one of those spas that put mud all over you and slices of zucchini over your eyes.”

“Do you know the name of the spa?”

“No, but he sometimes stays at Sinatra’s place.”

“Thanks George.” 

Josh tracked Mickey to a place called The Oasis. “Hey Mickey, its Josh. I got that script you sent me.”  Mickey’s voice shuddered and shook as he spoke. Josh had caught him in the middle of a massage.

“Good, how was it?”

“I think I found the role I’ve been looking for. The part of Jesus would be a challenge. Is he a man? Is he God? And the character shows a wide range of emotions.”

“Sounds intriguing. I liked Max Von Sydow’s portrayal in “The Greatest Story Ever Told”, but you could bring even more dimension to the part.”

“Right, Mickey. I mean, what other challenge is there, but to play God.  I just need to know…when do we start?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the shoot. What’s your schedule?”

“I’m not shooting this script, Josh.”

“If you’re not, then who is?”

“I have no idea. You know Judd Wagner?”

“Yeah, I know Judd.”

“He sent me the script to send to you. I didn’t read it, but Judd always had a good feel for these things.”

“Have you got his number, Mick?”

“Call George, he’s got it.”

“Thanks, Mick.”

When Josh tracked Bretherd Hamon down, he was not concerned about the small budget and working for scale. Money was one thing he didn’t need. He needed a role that pricked his imagination, and the role of Jesus was it. What’s more, the script was superb, gripping. The dialogue did not sound stilted, which was the usual pitfall for such a piece.

“Who is directing this, Mr. Hamon?”

“Paul Morgan is the writer/director. The budget is small, so I can’t afford some of the directors you’ve worked with, but I’ve seen Paul’s work and I assure you he knows the subject well.” 

He’s inexperienced, thought Josh. That was okay too. An inexperienced director would give him more leeway. Hamon continued.

“Paul has directed several productions at the Loaves and Fishes theatre down in the Christian Quarter.” Josh had heard of the theatre group. He’d seen an article in the Times about Cory Stilling and how she’d turned the warehouse district into an arts and entertainment center. Even though she wasn’t doing much acting, he still kept up with her.

 He was so busy thinking of Cory, he missed what Bretherd Hamon was saying. “I’m sorry Mr. Hamon, what was that?”

“I said Paul Morgan may be inexperienced, but he is a Biblical scholar. I’m sure you can see that in the script.”

“That’s good Bret…can I call you Bret?”

“Everybody does, son.”

“It’s good that the writer knows the subject. He will be a fountain of information for me. I like to do deep research on the roles I play.”

“Then you’ve got a lot of research ahead of you. Jesus is as broad a subject as Roman history or The Civil War. I would like to meet with you and Paul so we could discuss “The Teacher” thoroughly.”

“Great Bret. You name the time and place.”

After he hung up, Josh drove to the nearest bookstore and bought a Bible.

The rocky hill sloped down into the brown water of the Pecos River. George Tobin had set up his camera on the west bank and was discussing the shot with his light man.

“Let me see a cluster of people over by the large rock!” Paul shouted. He was having to yell over the activity of the “movie set”. He looked at Janie Lambert and nodded at the riverbank full of extras and equipment. “Isn’t this great?” 

Janie fanned herself with her straw hat. “You might be enjoying this, but I’m burning up.”

“I just need a few more snapshots, then you can go over and rest in the shade.”

Janie was working as a continuity person. She was taking snapshots of the actors’ positions on the hill so Paul would know where to put them after they broke for lunch. Paul pointed to an extra in a blue tunic. “Bobby, move over to the bush. Keep your hands to your side.” Bobby did so. “Great. Now let me have Josh’s stand-in.”

“I’m ready,” Josh called out. Everyone watched the star that was walking from the wardrobe trailer. His hair had not been this long since the 70’s. His beard and costume had a startling effect. He looked very much like many pictures of the way Christ had been portrayed throughout the ages. Paul met him near the riverbank.

“We really don’t need you for lighting the scene, Josh. You need to go back to the dressing room and rest.” 

Josh waved him off. “I don’t mind, Paul. The real Jesus would have been sweating along with the others out in the desert.”

 Paul thought about it. “You’re right. But I’m going to have Cheryl dab you off and keep you cool until we’re ready. We can’t afford your getting sunstroke or something that the real Jesus would not have gotten.”

“Where do you want me?” Josh asked. 

Paul pointed up the hill at two extras. “Stand behind those two guys next to the large rock. On my cue, you will emerge from between them and slowly make your way down to Steve.” Paul gestured to Steve who was lounging under an umbrella on the west bank. He was playing John the Baptist, and Cheryl, the make up person was working on his fake beard.

“Sounds good,” said Josh as he walked up the hill to take his position.

Paul was grateful for Josh’s cooperation and professionalism. He didn’t know what to expect when he met the big star at a restaurant in Beverly Hills. He had heard that Josh Smythe was difficult to work with. He didn’t throw temper tantrums on a set, but he drove directors crazy with his method acting. Josh had an obsession of “being” the character. Of course being Jesus was harder than being a drug addict.

He appreciated Josh’s research and the way he threw himself into the role. He was like a sponge, soaking up all he could about Christ, the apostles and the history of those times. By the time they had met at the restaurant, Josh amazed Paul with his recitation of the Sermon on the Mount.

“I don’t even include the entire sermon in the script,” Paul said.

 Josh shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. It’s a great speech. It helps me get into the character.”

By their first read through of the script, Josh knew all of his lines. This was unusual since most actors learned only those lines they were shooting for a given day. They held some rough rehearsals at the theatre, and Paul was stunned at how Josh seemed to create a Christ-like figure. Steve was so blown away, he had to take a break. 

He got Paul alone in the green room as the cast took a break. “Paul, is it just my imagination, or was someone shining a light on Josh’s face when we were blocking that scene?”

“I know, I know. He seems to have this…this inner spirit.”

“If the camera can catch that…” Steve shook his head. He couldn’t finish his sentence.

Paul was also pleased with how Josh handled the conditions. Here was an actor who was used to a large dressing room and luxury hotels. When the cast and crew moved into the Granger University dorm, Dean Wyatt offered Josh a room in the guest house hotel on campus. Josh insisted on rooming with Steve in the freshman dorm. The only demands Josh had made so far were to have an ice chest of bottled water near him at all times.

George Tobin had finished lighting the scene and called over to Paul. “We’re ready, Paul.”

Janie got up from under her umbrella and marked her sheet, which had the scene and take numbers and running time of the scene.

 Paul turned to the cast and crew. “Okay people, we’re ready. Everybody get into position.”

 Steve called from under his umbrella. “Am I needed for this, Paul?”

“Not in this shot. Keep cool.”

Paul wished he had a bullhorn or megaphone, but he cupped his hands over his mouth to be heard. “This is the first time the audience will see the adult Jesus. Remember your blocking and attitude. You are all focused on John the Baptist, standing in the river. Jesus will walk out from behind our two guys and head down to the riverbank. Keep your eyes forward. Do not look at him.”

The scene went smoothly and Paul got a second take for safety’s sake. “Good work everybody, let’s break for lunch!”

Senta sat in her cell, reading her New Testament. She turned to the part about the apostle Paul’s imprisonment. She empathized closely with Paul, not because he was in prison, but because he had become a believer after a life of cruelty to Christians.

“14768, out!” Senta looked up at the guard, Claresa. Funny. Claresa hadn’t called her by her number in years. The large, black woman was a no nonsense type, but fair. Her face was always a blank wall, and it took a while for Senta to learn Claresa’s body language. Right now, Claresa was all business, as she stood erect by the cell door. “Warden wants to see you.” Senta felt her stomach drop. The parole board had made a decision on her hearing. The fading scar on her neck itched. She rubbed it as she stood up.

“Do I need to bring anything with me?”

 Claresa stared at Senta’s bare feet. “Put your shoes on.”

Senta was led through several corridors and up some stairs. The only time she had been in the warden’s office was when she first arrived. The warden herself laid down some general rules and told her and the other two girls who had come in with her that “if they kept their noses clean, they’d be okay”. She remembered that meeting and at the time thought, “easier said than done”. Of course back then, she’d been an addict full of hate.

Claresa gave Senta over to another guard, a man who put their prisoner in handcuffs. When the guard saw her surprised expression, he spoke to Senta. “It’s standard procedure. All prisoners must be contained when they go to the warden’s office.”

They got on the elevator, and Senta felt sweat on her upper lip. She wanted to wipe if off, but was afraid to make any movement. She didn’t know this guard and didn’t want to cause trouble.

For the umpteenth time, she said the prayer to herself. It had become a mantra. Dear God, you know I want my freedom more than anything. If I make parole, I will do all I can to be a good steward for Thee. But if it is not Thy will that I be released, then I pray to be a good steward for Thee within the walls of this prison. This will be Thy field of which I will labor. It is in Jesus’ name that I pray to Thee. Amen”

The elevator door opened, and the guard let Senta out first. She hesitated in the long hallway and the guard pushed her firmly to the left. “This way. They moved the warden’s office last year.”

In the hallway were pictures of previous wardens. Most of them looked harder than most of the inmates. The first nine wardens had been men. The rest were female. Only warden James (1957-1963) had a pleasant smile on her face. The current warden, Elizabeth Blaylock had been James’ successor. Her picture showed a stern woman with half a smile that could turn cruel to friendly, depending on her mood.

Senta was taken through a metal door with a plexi-glass window and found herself in the warden’s outer office. A trustee was filing papers and the warden’s assistant sat at a desk, typing a hundred words a minute. The assistant looked up at Senta and the guard. She pointed to a grey metal chair in the corner.

“Have a seat right there.”

Senta sat and watched the activity in the office. A young man who looked like a lawyer sat opposite her with a briefcase on his lap. Their eyes met for a moment, then they both looked away. She smelled stale coffee and noticed a piece of cardboard under one of the front legs of the desk to keep it level.

A radio was playing in the room. It was tuned to a San Diego station that played music from Mexico twenty-four hours a day. Senta looked down at her cuffed hands. For the first time she’d been in detox, her hands were trembling.

“Bergstrom, 14768!” Senta looked up. Had the assistant shouted at her or were her senses magnifying everything? The assistant was looking down at some paperwork as she spoke. “You can go in now.”

 The guard pulled Senta up by her arm. “Let’s go.”

Warden Blaylock sat at her desk, going over a file. Senta saw her prison photo that was attached to the inside of the file. The warden looked up and gave her that enigmatic smile. Would it turn cruel or friendly? She pointed to the lone chair that was in front of her desk. “Take a chair.” Senta sat. She noticed that the guard closed the door and stationed himself behind Senta. She could hear the guard breathing.

Warden Blaylock was taking her time looking through the file. Senta nervously wiggled her foot. A drop of sweat dribbled down behind her ear although the AC unit was humming along. Senta wanted to scream. Just tell me! Do I get out or stay?! Blaylock pressed the intercom. “Marie? Get me the file on 14768.” Senta wanted to tell the woman that her folder was right there on the desk. She swallowed her frustration and watched Blaylock study the folder. Then it hit her. Senta was a Christian. There was no frustration to swallow. She prayed silently for God to forgive her of her feelings and lack of faith. I know that Thou art with me. A feeling of calm came over her. She was no longer on edge.

The assistant brought in a thinner folder. She put it on the desk and quickly exited. The warden took some papers from the thinner file and attached them to the folder with her picture. Warden Blaylock looked up at Senta. “You really haven’t been here that long.” It was a statement, more than a question. 

“Yes ma’am.”

 Blaylock went back to the file, slowly turning the pages as her eyes scanned them. “A lot of time in the box.” Yes, isolation. When she first arrived, Senta had spent a lot of time in isolation. “You went to the Bin.” Yes, she had gotten clean. The warden wasn’t really looking for Senta to react, she was merely stating fact. She hit the intercom. “Marie, bring in your recording book.” Senta could hear stirring in the outer office. The assistant re-entered with a thick manual. She had a notary stamp. “Bergstrom, Senta, number 14768.”

She looked up at Senta. The warden’s shoulders sagged under her pressed suit. Did she look…sympathetic? Not a good sign, but Senta was ready for anything. She had Jesus taking the pressure off of her.

“I’m sorry Bergstrom, but the state requires that I ask you this question. Marie will you record Bergstrom’s response?” Marie stood with her form, the pen poised, ready. Senta held her breath. The warden continued. “No matter what a particular ruling is, or what the board decides, be it release or parole denied, it is my duty to ask you…do you feel that you are truly rehabilitated?” She had been asked the same question by the board. 

With as much sincerity as she could muster, Senta uttered… “Yes, I do.” Upon hearing her own voice, she thought she sounded wooden, hollow. The assistant was signing an affidavit and stamping it. She held it in front of Senta and handed her a pen.

It was hard to write her name in cuffs, but Senta scrawled her name on the paper. The assistant gave the paper to the warden, who attached it to the thick file. She motioned to the guard. “Take 14768 back to her cell.” Senta’s heart stopped. Her legs felt rubbery as she stood. It was okay. This was God’s will. God, who loved and protected her. She’d be okay. Then, the warden gave a smile, not too cruel, not too friendly. “Help her collect her belongings. In the meantime we will process your paperwork Ms. Bergstrom. You are a free woman.” The assistant and guard caught Senta as she fell forward in a faint.