The Body in the Cast by Katherine Hall Page

scene? Not that Amy was much of a screamer, more of a mewer, but motherhood had taught Faith one or two things, the most important of which being that all children are innately unpredictable. It wasn’t anything to do with nature versus nurture. It was fact.
    There was a baby on the set—or rather, two. Pearl as an infant was being played by twins from Natick, pretty pink-and-white babies who were even more docile than Amy. “The mother must sedate them,” Faith told Niki, “the old ‘gin in the
milk’ trick.” Whatever the cause, little Hillary and Valerie Phillips—“‘Hill’ and ‘Valley’ we call them,” Mrs. Phillips, warming up a bottle between takes, confided to Faith—were perfect.
    Evelyn and Max’s baby was, by coincidence, exactly the same age as Hawthorne’s Pearl at the start of The Scarlet Letter— three months. But little Cordelia was installed in a lavish nursery with her own nanny at the house Max had rented for them in North Aleford. Faith wondered who had picked the baby’s name: Cordelia, King Lear’s good daughter. It would be interesting if it had been Max’s choice. Another thing to ask Corny.
    â€œYou look awfully natty for ladling out soup, sweetheart,” Tom noted as he helped Faith bundle the two kids into what seemed like thirty or forty pounds of outerwear. “Trying to land a part in the film?”
    â€œI arranged to meet Cornelia for coffee after the break. She has some free time this morning at last, though she’ll probably cancel again to impress me with how indispensable she is. It’s what I suspect she was doing last week.”
    It had not escaped Faith’s notice that what Cornelia mostly seemed to do was run around getting things for Maxwell Reed, like endless bottles of his favorite Calistoga water, cold but not chilled, and boxes of imported glacéed fruits to nibble. The other production assistant working directly for Max, Sandra Wilson, was vying with Cornelia for the title of head handmaiden, and seemed to have the edge, since she was also Evelyn O‘Clair’s stand-in. There was no way Cornelia qualified for that. Sandra was eerily like Evelyn, although the poor man’s version—no makeup; dressed in old jeans and T-shirts, except when they were checking the lighting. Then she emerged from the chrysalis costumed and cosmeticized, but still no O’Clair.
    â€œOh yes, your old school friend. I can see the two of you getting all misty over those happy golden years,” Tom said mockingly. He knew very well how eager Faith had been for those golden years to pass as she sat and gazed out the windows of her Dalton classrooms at the teeming sidewalks below, infinitely
more exciting than the Missouri Compromise. Arma, virumque, cano, or whatever else was being imparted within the walls. Cornelia had chafed at the bit, too, but mostly for the day to end so she could ride one of her beloved horses in Central Park.
    A few hours later, Faith and Cornelia, gingerly holding hot cups of strong black coffee, were walking slowly across the large field in front of the Pingree house, toward the woods. Cornelia hadn’t canceled; however, she had informed Faith sternly it would have to be a “working coffee.” She was rechecking locations for the scene where Hester waits for Dimmesdale in the woods and they decide to run off together.
    â€œHe’s a genius, pure and simple.”
    It was immediately clear that the challenge for Faith was not going to be getting Cornelia to talk about Maxwell Reed but getting her to talk about anything else.
    â€œI’ve always admired his films, yet—” Faith wasn’t allowed to finish her sentence. It could even be difficult to say anything at all, an unusual situation for Mrs. Fairchild.
    â€œThis is the third film I’ve been fortunate enough to work on, and I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.