The Winner's Game(45)

By the time we’ve got it down, word spreads that the director is nowhere to be found. When he finally shows up—almost thirty minutes late—he looks frazzled. Without wasting any time he barks out a few orders and crosses the street to a chair on the opposite sidewalk. He grabs a megaphone to get everyone’s attention. “Listen up! Quiet on the set! We’re running way behind today, and we’re renting this street by the hour, so I need this to go smooth, like a baby’s butt. Raise your hand if you don’t understand?” He doesn’t wait for anyone to respond. “Good. I’m told the cameras and mics are hot, so let’s do this, people. This is the easiest sequence in the whole movie. If we need more than one take, I’ll be extremely disappointed. More than two, and there’ll be some explaining to do, because I’ve got to get out to the other shoot on the beach. Word is that the wind is picking up and the pirate ship is ready to sail.”

Upon hearing the word “pirate,” Mom, Bree, and I all look at each other and then turn around in unison to stare at Cade. Mom even raises a finger in warning.

I’m pretty sure he sees us, but he hardly notices us, if that makes sense. I can practically see his mind working, trying to figure out how to get the director to take him to the beach to be a pirate in the other scene.

In the middle of my thoughts, I faintly hear the word, “Action!”

As rehearsed, we begin moving toward the center of the scene. A few seconds later, the front door of the tiny jail swings outward, and a tall Italian-looking guy with straight dark hair comes running out, just as a gray jeep comes screeching up the street. I know I’m supposed to be looking ahead, but an unexpected movement behind me draws my attention to the rear.

I turn just in time to see Cade bolting from his fake parents.

Compelled by his inner pirate, he runs at full speed toward the escapee, screaming like a banshee. Without slowing, he rushes right past me. There’s nothing any of us can do but gasp and watch. Holding his plastic ice-cream cone as a sword, he bears down on the actor. Distracted by Cade’s fearsome approach, the poor actor stops dead in his tracks on the sidewalk, right next to the getaway car. “I’ll run ye through like a pig!” Cade screams. “And send ye to the depths of Davy Jones’ Locker!” He presses the ice-cream cone to the man’s stomach and furrows his brow menacingly.

If I’m being honest, my brother’s acting is brilliant. Should the cast and crew start clapping, I wouldn’t be at all surprised. But instead of clapping, there is a terrible silence for several awkward moments. Then the actor grimaces, looks around in bewilderment, and asks, “Uhh…did they add that to the script?”

More silence follows.

I look to my right to see the director approaching from the other side of the street. When he reaches Cade, he just stands there, looming, for several breaths. I can’t read him very well. He’s either very impressed by my brother’s impromptu performance or he’s having an aneurism. One of his arms is tucked beneath the other; the free hand is covering his mouth. With his mouth thus covered, the words he eventually speaks come out even more garbled than Grandma Grace’s. “Gid ab my sut.”

“What?” Cade asks, lowering his ice-cream weapon.

The director slowly drops both hands to his side, then bends to Cade’s level and points down the street in the direction of the bay. “Get…off…my…set!” Without another word he turns and paces back to his chair.

Before I know it, Mom is taking Cade by the arm. “Let’s go,” she hisses.

“Wait!” shouts Bree. “Do we have to go too?”

“Shut up!” I hiss quietly, hoping not to draw attention.

Then the megaphone blares again. “Anyone who is here with that kid is hereby excused. Quickly, please. Thank you.”

Mom is dragging Cade by the shirtsleeve. When Pirate Boy looks over his shoulder, Bree’s face is bright red. If her eyes were guns, I’m sure Cade would be dead, because they are zeroed in on him with lethal precision. “I hate you,” she mouths.

I’m upset too, but I know we can’t just stand there doing nothing. Everyone is staring at us, waiting for us to leave. I grab Bree’s hand and tug her along behind Mom and Cade.

Several blocks away, just before we reach the Walrus, Jody comes running up from behind, breathing hard. “Talk about a show-stopping performance,” she says between gasps. “Nice job, kid.” She lifts a hand to give Cade a high five.

“Really?” says Mom curtly. “Did you not see what he did back there?”