344 - A Real Gun

"Should I call the others? Some of them might find an offer like that hard to turn down."

Nina's voice was low and rough. Bella's call had wiped out her good mood.

Evan knew which others she meant. Not every woman he'd been involved with would be as resistant to that kind of temptation as Bella.

"Don't call them."

He pointed at her, twice, without raising his hand very far.

"If someone wants to do it, you won't stop her. That goes for you too. Stop worrying about what you can't control. Keep watching the coverage and wait."

Nina knew he had seen through her. She didn't look embarrassed. She simply shrugged and went to her bedroom.

She got along with most of the women who had been involved with him. That was why she had wanted to call: to warn them against doing something they might regret.

His enemies might imagine he was hiding in Boston, absorbed in his new film. Nina thought they were overestimating how easily they could destroy his position.

Even if the damage grew beyond their control, he could spend a year or two out of the spotlight. Directing, producing, owning a film company: none of those jobs required him to remain a public personality. She doubted audiences would nurse a grudge indefinitely.

And whether the campaign could achieve even that was still uncertain. Warner had resources of its own. Knowing Evan, she expected him to wait until he had identified everyone involved, then find ways to hurt each of them without announcing what he was doing.

These days, he could pass for a respectable member of the establishment. That didn't mean he had forgotten how to fight his way up. The climb had been quick, but success hadn't made him forgiving.

Early the next morning, the production convoy left the hotel as usual. They drove to an older neighborhood where police had closed off the street.

Inside a bar in the middle of the block, the set dressers and props crew were making their final adjustments. A few days of shooting had brought everyone back into rhythm. Most of the crew had worked together before, which spared them a great deal of time getting used to one another.

"Hi, Evan. Hi, Nina."

Jennifer Connelly had no scenes that day. In jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, she looked relaxed and almost entirely unmade-up. Only a closer look revealed the makeup she was wearing.

"Hi, Jennifer."

Evan had been leaning against the bar with his arms folded, watching Guillermo rehearse the extras' movements. He turned toward her and let his gaze linger.

She leaned against the counter beside him. Noticing where his eyes had stopped, she quietly straightened her back.

"I happened to see that CBS show last night. Should I be worried? Are you really the sadist she described? Have all those women been threatened or bought off?"

She was close enough for him to catch the faint scent of her perfume.

"We were never a couple."

He pulled an ashtray toward him and lit a cigarette.

"She can say what she likes. As for what I enjoy in bed..."

He let the question hang.

For him, a private appetite was one thing; forcing someone to participate was another. What consenting adults chose to do together wasn't the same as violence or coercion. Katie's account alleged the latter, and the distinction mattered well beyond a person's reputation.

"Are those any good?"

Jennifer changed the subject, her attention shifting to his cigarette. She had no interest in making the conversation more uncomfortable.

She thought the bad publicity might give her an opening. Showing interest while everyone else was questioning him could make a better impression than approaching him when nothing was wrong.

Evan took the cigarette from his mouth and tilted his head.

"This?"

"Yep."

Seeing that nobody nearby was watching them, she lowered her head and took it between her lips, brushing his fingers with her tongue as she did.

He watched, amused, as she drew deeply.

"God, that's strong."

She coughed, then coughed again.

"These Marlboros are awful."

"Appearances can be misleading."

He caught her wrist, took the cigarette back, and put it between his lips. Her face was flushed from coughing.

"Looks tempting. Hits harder than you'd expect."

"How am I supposed to find out if I don't try it?"

Around them, the crew were moving to the edges of the bar. Shooting would begin soon. Jennifer looked up at him with an injured expression despite the irritation still catching in her throat.

"Be patient," he said, smiling. "You could start with smaller drags. Give yourself time to get used to it."

"Would you go out with me?"

She knew her face was her greatest advantage. Her softer features gave her a gentle, thoughtful look, unlike the more sharply defined beauty of many actresses around her. She had been beautiful since childhood, and she knew how to use that familiarity with being watched.

"That's as risky as what you just did with the cigarette."

Evan shook his head. She appealed to him, certainly. But he had a film to make and an unresolved mess developing in Los Angeles. He wasn't in the mood for this kind of game.

"If I hadn't risked it, how would I know how strong it was?"

She rose onto her toes and murmured the question into his ear. Without waiting for an answer, she moved to the side of the bar to watch the two leads work.

"What was she whispering?"

Nina approached, rolling her eyes. None of this surprised her.

"Boss, do I need to remind you that our problems with women could get worse?"

"Mm-hmm."

He spread his hands. Before walking over to the monitors, he added quietly:

"Don't lock the suite tonight."

Watching him go, Nina shook her head.

"Damn it. I knew it. All she had to do was make the first move."

The scene they were about to shoot would become one of The Departed's most widely shared sequences in Evan's memories of another life. Short video clips had made it familiar even to people who hadn't seen the whole film.

In the version he remembered, Leonardo DiCaprio sat at the bar opposite Nicholson, smoking. Then he picked up a glass and smashed it against the older man's head.

People had turned it into all kinds of ridiculous edits. He remembered one that replaced the glass with a hat, turning the confrontation into a visual joke about being cheated on.

"Robert. Camera ready?"

"Ready."

"Steve. Lighting?"

"Good to go."

"Wicks. You're sure that's a breakaway glass?"

"Positive. I don't want Jack coming after me when we're done."

The shoot was still young enough that resentments hadn't had much time to build. Even the three stars got along well with the crew. It made for an unusually pleasant working atmosphere.

Evan finished his checks and picked up the megaphone. Before he could start the take, Nicholson ducked out of the camera's view and hurried over to the monitors.

Ignoring the puzzled looks around him, he leaned toward the director and lowered his voice so only Evan could hear.

"Hey. What do you think of this?"

Beneath his jacket was a revolver.

Evan nearly slapped his own forehead. One look told him it was a real gun. It hadn't come from the props department. He had no idea where Nicholson had got it.

If anyone on this production thought he could get away with something like that, it was Jack. He had already worked out that Evan welcomed ideas he thought would improve a scene, and that the director was willing to indulge some of his impulses. So far, he had enjoyed their collaboration immensely.

"Brad doesn't know?" Evan asked, keeping his voice just as low.

Nicholson shook his head, looking delighted with himself.

"No. It'll be one hell of a surprise, won't it?"

"All right. Let's try to get the reveal in one take. We won't get that first reaction twice."

Thinking of the performance he might capture, Evan agreed to let him do it. The surprise, he thought, would give him something Brad couldn't quite reproduce once he knew it was coming.