My Dark Places - James Ellroy [157]
They filmed our segment in four days. They shot Bill and me at the El Monte Station. I re-enacted the moment at the evidence vault. I opened a plastic bag and pulled out a silk stocking.
It wasn’t the stocking. Somebody twisted up an old stocking and knotted it. I didn’t pick up a simulated sash cord. We omitted the two-ligature detail.
The director praised my performance. We shot the scene fast.
The crew was great. They were up for some laughs. The shoot played like a party in Jean Ellroy’s honor.
I met the actor who portrayed the Swarthy Man. He called me Little Jimmy. I called him Shitbird. He was lean and mean. He looked like the Identi-Kit portraits. I met the actress who portrayed my mother. I called her Mom. She called me Son. She had red hair. She looked more Hollywood than rural Wisconsin. I kidded her. I said, “Don’t go out chasing men while I’m gone this weekend.” She said, “Buzz off, Jimmy—I need some action!” Mom and Swarthy came to laugh. We got some good shtick going. Bill showed up every day. He had a total blast.
They shot the Desert Inn sequence at a sleazy cocktail lounge in Downey. The set looked anachronistic. I met the actress who portrayed the Blonde. She was skanky bar bait personified. The Swarthy Man was dressed to kill. He wore a nubby silk-jacket-and-slacks combo. My mother wore a mock-up of the dress they found her in.
They filmed the three-way dynamic. The Swarthy Man looked evil. My mother looked too healthy. The Blonde hit the right skank chord. I wanted a noir vignette. They shot a faithful expository scene.
We moved down the street to Harvey’s Broiler. I saw 20 vintage cars lined up. Harvey’s Broiler was Stan’s Drive-in. A bit actress was set to sling trays and portray Lavonne Chambers.
The Swarthy Man and my mother got in a ’55 Olds. Lavonne brought them menus. They were miked up and ready to act. The producer gave me headphones. I listened to their dialogue and some random chitchat. Swarthy made a real-life play for my mom.
They shot the murder at the real location. The crew commandeered Arroyo High School. They brought in camera trucks, sound trucks, a catering truck and a wardrobe van. Some locals strolled by. I counted 32 people at one point.
They set up arc lights. King’s Row went hallucinogenic. The ’55 Olds pulled up. A chaste murder prelude and a simulated murder occurred. I watched the prelude and the murder and the body dump 25 times. It wasn’t painful. I was a murder pro now. I was more than a victim’s son and less than a homicide detective.
They shot two scenes at my old house. They paid Geno Guevara a site fee. I met the actor who played me as a kid. He looked like me at age ten. He wore clothes like I wore on 6/22/58.
The El Monte PD blocked off Bryant and Maple. The crew dressed the street with three vintage cars. Chief Clayton showed up. Spectators gathered. A 1950s cab materialized. The director rehearsed the Ellroy kid and the cop who gave him the news.
They blocked out the arrival scene. The cab pulled up. The boy got out. The cop told him his mother was dead. Thirty or forty people watched.
They shot and reshot the scene. The word went around. I was the kid in the cab half a lifetime ago. People pointed to me. People waved.
They shot a domestic scene in my old kitchen. The kitchen was dressed up ’50s style. My mother wore a white uniform. I wore my arrival outfit. My mother called me into the kitchen and told me to eat my dinner. I crashed into a chair and ignored my food. It was wholesome TV fare. Bill said they should have shot me looking down my mother’s dress.
We broke for lunch. A catering truck arrived. A grip set up service for 20 on Geno Guevara’s front lawn. The buffet line stretched out to the street. Some local yokels grabbed plates and crashed the party.
I sat down beside a total stranger. I sent a prayer out to the redhead. I said, This is for you.
28
The party ended. I went home. Our segment was scheduled for 3/22/96.
Bill and I top-loaded our interviews. We stressed Airtek. We stressed my mother’s maiden