About Face by James Calder Page B

genes were handed out, Rita?” Wes said. “Rod was in love with this girl. She’s vanished, and she might have double-crossed him.”
    Rita smiled at Wes. She was talking tougher than she really felt. Because of her Botticelli face and long, wavy hair, people expected only sweet words from her. She enjoyed surprising them.
    I scooted forward and logged on to my account. “Nothing yet,” I reported. “Let’s get to work, Rita.”
    Rita brought the Avid to life. I took the camera originals from a cabinet behind me and stacked them on the table. Rita cued the first tape. There was Rod, pacing and squinting as he talked about the intricacies of code writing. I’d take notes on a yellow pad while she selected shots on the Avid.
    Wes watched for a little while, then got bored with our stops, starts, and fast-forwards. He clapped me on the shoulder. “Later, Billy-boy. I’ll let you know how it goes with Silicon Glamour.”
    â€œThanks, Wes.” I waited until the door closed, then explained to Rita that he was setting up a date with one of Alissa’s coworkers.
    Rita laughed. “He’s the right man for the job.”
    We moved on through the raw footage from the past three days. I already had a structure for the picture in my mind. Thelimits on what you could do in a piece like this were always a little frustrating. Not that I hated it, but on the other hand I’d seen a documentary about the Russian army recently. It was full of very long takes, during which, through some magic, you began to feel drawn inside the subject’s interior life even though you saw only silent exterior. When we kept the camera on Rod too long, he’d start fidgeting and offer to show us a card trick.
    â€œRod
is
kind of sweet,” Rita said during one of the fidgeting shots.
    â€œWe could use this shot if we want Plush to think he’s sweet, too.”
    â€œDepends,” she answered, pulling the old wool sweater she was wearing over her head. The space was unheated and she always started an editing session with three layers. As the machines warmed the room, she’d peel down to a loose camisole. We’d been a couple once, and every so often I wondered whether we ought to get back together. “How sweet are the Plush people?”
    â€œI got a glimpse of them when they came for a meeting, but no more,” I said. “Dr. Plush seemed quite full of himself.”
    â€œIt’s his wife who runs the business side.”
    â€œNo fidgeting,” I decided.
    We moved on. I was creating a list of shots on my pad while Rita sorted them into virtual bins. A few hours later we were down to the tape we’d shot on Friday, the scenes meant to show Rod’s personal side. We watched him fumble the Frisbee in the Ultimate game. Mike trotted by, gave Rod a pat on the butt, and told him he’d get ’em next time. Rod looked at the Frisbee like it was some kind of alien saucer.
    â€œThat’s not bad,” I said. “We need a little humor.”
    â€œCan’t leave out the full-frontal nerdity,” Rita said. She skipped ahead to a shot in which several players leaped as one for a floating Frisbee. It was tipped, tipped again, and landed inthe hands of a young woman who then quickly passed it to a teammate. “Here we go. Teamwork. Striving. Grabbing for the plastic disk.”
    â€œIf they like this sort of thing, they will find this the sort of thing they like.”
    Rita chuckled. The old Abe Lincoln line was a motto we used when we created a scene that we thought was a little cheesy but knew the client would appreciate.
    â€œMike will love it,” I said. I tipped back in my chair. “Okay, I think we’ve enough to build an assembly. Will this keep you busy for the rest of the evening?”
    â€œPlenty. You can go look for Alissa.”
    â€œThanks, Rita. Mind if I check my email again?”
    She brought up her