"Kris Soma and Marla Rosenfeld."
The choreographer, Scilla, raised her hand and beckoned two student extras.
"They really are bombshells," Ronald muttered to himself. "The extras in this crew are top-tier."
Kris had wavy golden hair and green eyes, while Marla had shoulder-length brown hair and piercing blue eyes. Both possessed figures that seemed designed for the cover of a surfing magazine.
Their appearance was perfect. "But can they dance?" Ronald asked.
Scilla clicked play on her portable cassette player. A familiar bassline thumped out.
"I got chills, they're multiplyin' / And I'm losin' control..."
It was the smash hit from Grease: "You're the One That I Want."
The two girls launched into the routine. Hair flying, hips shaking, they attacked the beat with an infectious energy that made you want to jump up and join them.
Suddenly, Kris and Marla flanked Ronald, hooking his arms and pulling him into the dance.
The scent of coconut shampoo rushed into Ronald's brain. Caught up in the moment and perhaps the adrenaline of directing, Ronald didn't resist. He spun 360 degrees, imitating John Travolta, while Kris and Marla clapped and cheered.
Realizing the entire crew was watching, Ronald laughed and held up his hands. "Okay, okay! You're hired! I'll give you both solo shots."
Scilla beamed. Her suggestion had been adopted, which meant her resume just got a little shinier.
Ronald knew his limits. He had exhausted the "premonitions" from his dream. Now, he had to rely on the expertise of his crew. If a professional like Scilla said something would work, he listened. When the crew felt heard, they worked faster.
"Thank you, Ronald!" The girls squealed, grabbing his arms again.
"Don't thank me," Ronald said, gently disengaging. "Thank Scilla. She knew you were photogenic."
Ronald turned back to the camera, his brief moment as a dance star over. He was just a temporary fix. Once the boss arrived, he'd go back to fetching coffee.
"Action!"
Since the final song rights hadn't been cleared yet, they were shooting MOS (without sound recording). The playback of Grease blasted through the speakers to keep the rhythm.
The two beauties twisted and swayed, the camera pushing in for close-ups of their energy and smiles.
"Cut!" Ronald yelled. "That's a wrap for this setup. Extras, take ten. Props, start prepping for the next scene."
Usually, the crew would scatter. But this time, silence hung over the quad. Everyone was looking past Ronald.
Clap... clap... clap....
Slow applause broke the silence.
Ronald turned around. Standing near the edge of the set were a man and a woman.
It was Roger Corman, the King of the B-Movies, and his executive assistant, Gale Anne Hurd. Both were smiling.
"Very well shot," Corman said, his voice calm and professorial. "Excellent blocking. And the casting was... inspired."
Roger Corman was a tall man with neatly combed hair and gold-rimmed glasses. He looked more like a university dean teaching English Literature than the man responsible for Death Race 2000 and Piranha.
But his resume was pure pulp: horror, sci-fi, teen rebellion, girls, and explosions. He made "exploitation films"—movies that exploited current trends for maximum profit on minimum budget.
Beside him stood Gale Anne Hurd. She was petite, with a sharp bob cut, but her eyes were razor-sharp. She looked like a doll, but everyone at New World knew she was the shark in the tank.
"You dance pretty well, too," Gale teased.
"Mr. Corman. Gale. Hello," Ronald stammered. "We just finished the morning's pages. Mr. Cundey is checking the gate. I... I hope the footage is usable."
"My dear Ronald, don't be modest," Corman said, walking over to shake his hand. "We've been watching for ten minutes. I'm satisfied. In fact, I'm surprised. You're moving faster than seasoned directors."
Dean Cundey was instructing the AC to "check the gate", removing the lens to ensure no hair or dust had settled in the aperture, which would ruin the take.
"Clear!" the AC shouted.
Cundey walked over. "Roger. You saw it. The kid did good."
"Are all the shots usable?" Corman asked.
"I think so. We'll process the dailies tonight."
"Good." Corman nodded. "Ronald, Jim, Dean... and Gale. Let's step into my 'office'."
The group walked to the Principal's office. Gale pulled Jim aside to prep coffee for everyone and closed the door.
Corman sat behind the desk, folding his hands. The air in the room shifted instantly from celebratory to serious.
"This stays in this room," Corman said quietly. "Allen Arkush partied too hard. He's dehydrated and exhausted. He needs 24 hours in the hospital. Joe Dante... is at the Hollywood police station."
Ronald and Dean Cundey froze.
"Joe's in jail?" Ronald whispered.
"No," Corman corrected. "He's being questioned. Last night, the Ramones got rowdy. Dee Dee Ramone got into a street fight and put someone in the hospital. The police found Dee Dee with Allen and Joe. They took Joe in to sort out the statement. Allen collapsed from the stress and whatever else was in his system."
Corman tapped the desk rhythmically. "I will tell the press that Allen collapsed from overwork. And Joe went to bail out Dee Dee. That's the story."
He fixed his gaze on Ronald. "I'm telling you this because you arranged the transport. We need a consistent narrative. And secondly... I've seen your work. The quality is good. The speed is excellent. So, you will continue directing this afternoon."
"I'm... still filming?" Ronald felt a wave of panic. His "dream footage" was used up. He was flying blind now. "Mr. Corman, can't you stay and supervise?"
Corman laughed dryly. "Kid, I am the President of New World Pictures. We have twelve films in production. Five are shooting right now. I don't have time to babysit."
"Alright," Ronald said, forcing a smile. "With Mr. Cundey's help, I think we'll be fine."
"Excellent. You're talented and responsible. Usually, it takes two or three years to train a director here. Did you know Allen and Joe cut trailers for me for four years before I let them touch a camera?"
Corman leaned back. "In '76, they bet me they could shoot a movie for $60,000 using stock footage from my old films. That was Hollywood Boulevard. It made money. That's why they're here. I give opportunities to those who save me money."
"I'm telling you this," Corman continued, "because giving the chair to a PA is rare. It's only happened twice before. Don't make me regret it."
"Thank you for the trust," Ronald said, genuinely humbled.
"Although you are only a temporary director, I will ensure you get the appropriate respect."
Knock, knock...
"Come in," Corman called.
Gale and Jim entered with instant coffee.
"Perfect," Corman said, standing up. "Gale will announce the situation to the crew. Allen and Joe will return the day after tomorrow. Until then, Ronald is the Acting Director."
He picked up his coffee cup and beckoned Ronald. "Ronald, walk with me. We have details to discuss."
Corman paused at the door, turning back to the room.
"Oh, right. Don't forget to turn off the lights when you leave," he said, pointing to the switch.
As Corman exited, Ronald saw Gale roll her eyes at Jim and mouth: "Stingy old man!"
Authors Note:-
That's chapter 10....
Let's go...
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