Tribesmen by Adam Cesare

responded: “Momento” and walked over to the biggest crate. She picked out some of the long strands of wood wool they had used as packing material, and then fished around in her makeup kit.
    Approaching Jacque, she spoke in Italian, sounding embarrassed. He laughed and said something back that caused her to go red in the face.
    Jacque began to unbutton his shirt. “She’s going to paint me so I look like one of Tito’s ‘savages,’” he said to Cynthia.
    “You don’t have to do this,” Cynthia said.
    Jacque folded his shirt and handed it to her. His muscles weren’t huge, but they were well-defined, and his unblemished dark skin glistened in the sun. A shirtless Jacque was not an unpleasant sight. She would go to see this movie.
    Daria approached him with a paintbrush and then lowered it. She said something else that Cynthia couldn’t understand and reached for his belt, starting to undo it before he intervened.
    Jacque laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it,” he said in English for Cynthia’s benefit, pushing Daria’s hand away. Daria shrugged and went at him with the paint brush.
    The Italian girl drew brilliant pastel green lines down his chest and arms, then switched to a smaller brush and did some detail work in bright red.
    “I look like I belong to the same tribe as Santa Claus,” he said. It was true: he looked ridiculous and not the least bit scary.
    After considering how she could improve the situation for a moment, Cynthia approached one of the huts and tore off a bit of tree bark. The bark was light and spongy, covered in green bits of lichen, and was used as roofing shingles by the locals. She punched two eyeholes with her thumbs and tied a string of the packing material to both sides.
    “Here put this on, you can hide your face and stay in good standing with the NAACP,” Cynthia said, handing him the impromptu tribal mask. “Plus, it reads better.”
    Tito nodded his approval and Jacque slipped on the mask.
    “We should get all we can while we have the camera already set up. Can you think of a scene that would involve the two of you in the village?” Denny asked Jacque, then glanced back at Tito.
    “Don’t forget to include the makup girl,” Tito said. “Naked.”
    “Well, Cynthia plays a photojournalist who is investigating a series of disappearances on a resort beach. In the beginning of the film, she learns that a primitive tribe is boating over from a nearby island—thought deserted—and they’re abducting pretty young tourist girls. She travels to the island with the help of her dashing and handsome guide, Umberto’s character,” Jacque said, his voice self-serious before catching himself: “Honestly, it’s an absolute classic.”
    Tito shaded his eyes with one hand and looked up at the sun. “And? The scene right now?”
    “Well, you can have Daria here play one of the abducted tourists. The cannibal I play can be bringing her back to camp and begin making dinner preparations while the rest of the tribe is off in the jungle chasing Umberto’s character,” Jaque said as Daria tucked handfuls of the packing material into the waistband of his underwear, transforming it into a passable grass skirt. “Cynthia’s character can be following us, snapping pictures and looking for a way to free Daria.”
    “Perfect. One more thing, though,” Tito said. He went down on one knee in front of the fire pit. The motion was so alien to his bulky frame that the old man looked like he was going to topple over into the mud.
    After sifting through the last few embers of the fire, Tito spit into his palms and rubbed the ash over his hands. Rising, he came up behind Daria and began smudging her face with deep black marks from the ash and dirt. The girl recoiled and screeched in Italian. Tito just laughed and apologized.
    “Scusi. Mi scusi…”
    Cynthia didn’t know anything about Italian intonation, but he didn’t sound sincere.
    Turning to the rest of the crew, Tito made a big