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Act One
Who Was That Masked Man?
Chapter 1
Patrick Lake glanced sideways at his stunt double and thought, I’d do me.
OK—maybe that was an inherently weird idea to have about somebody decked out to look exactly like you. And it was surely not the kind of thing that Captain Kismet, everybody’s favorite superhero, said to himself between takes. But it had been a long day.
“The trick to falling,” the stuntman said, “is knowing how to land.”
Corey’s words, however sage, were not for Patrick’s benefit: The two of them were filming behind-the-scenes content, taking turns to demonstrate the simpler stunts they had planned for Kismet 2. Footage of the pair in their matching costumes would then be cut into polished thirty-second videos and used to advertise the movie on social media later in the year, a perfectly curated glimpse behind the curtain. It was the kind of thing Patrick could usually do in his sleep. Except all he could really think about was, well…sleep. They were supposed to wrap on the movie a week ago, yet new script pages kept showing up outside his hotel room door like bad omens, and at this rate Patrick felt as though he would die in this grim little city.
“Birmingham?” he’d asked his manager, Simone, when she told him where reshoots would take place. “Like, Alabama?”
“No, thank god,” she’d replied. “It’s in England. Very cheap to film there, apparently.”
“Cheap,” it turned out, was the operative word. The famous auteur the studio had hired to direct the second installment of the newly rebooted Kismet franchise had burned through much of the movie’s budget before half the film was even in the can, leading to his rapid firing and replacement by Lucas Grant, whose résumé largely consisted of TV commercials and a Pixar short. Grant was tasked with righting the ship and getting it to port without bankrupting the studio, which meant relocating production to an old factory town where accommodating the enormous cast and crew wouldn’t cost an extra couple million dollars.
Corey executed a perfect backflip, and Patrick applauded, mugging for the camera. “Nicely done,” he said, truthfully. With his earnest eyes and back-clapping Aussie cheer, Corey was impossible to dislike, even if Patrick was occasionally thrown by their uncanny resemblance. Same sandy hair, same muscular build, even something of a likeness in the jaw. It took some getting used to. Patrick’s stand-in for the first movie had been a slightly terrifying former MMA fighter in a blond wig.
“You got what you need?” Patrick asked the videographer, who gave him a thumbs-up. “Great. Nice work, Corey. Thanks, everyone!” He began walking out of the soundstage warehouse, back to his trailer. A shower and then a nap, he thought. A nap would fix everything.
“Hey, buddy,” Hector Ramirez greeted him as he entered; he was doing sit-ups between the sofa and the coffee table. Patrick was almost always pleased to see his trainer, but right now he felt a lot like a kid who’d walked into class having forgotten to prepare for an impending exam.
“Hey, Hector,” he replied. “Did we have another session today?” They’d seen each other that morning, when they’d hit chest and back. The first time Hector had put Patrick through one of his workouts, prior to the first Kismet movie, he’d spent the entire next day feeling like he was recovering from minor surgery. Now it was…well, not easy exactly, but he gained real satisfaction from pushing his body and seeing how much stronger he could make it. Not that he was in the mood for pushing right now.
“Nah.” Hector completed his final rep and immediately launched into a set of air squats. “I was just around,” he added, barely short of breath.
“Just around.” Patrick eyed him suspiciously. “And wondering if a certain leading lady might also be…just around?”
Hector simply continued his rhythmic ascent and descent, gaze fixed on some spot to Patrick’s left. “Who?”
Patrick snorted. There was definitely only one actor in the room. Hector was cool but lost his chill when it came to Audra Kelly, Patrick’s co-star. And Patrick couldn’t really blame him. Beautiful, funny, charming—recently named “Internet’s Ultimate Girlfriend” by a men’s magazine. Some guys really went in for that kind of thing.
“She’s not here.” Patrick gathered his jacket and headphones. “Just me and Corey today. I think Kismet and Sura’s next scene isn’t until Monday.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Hector, who was doing a pretty shoddy job of hiding his disappointment. “But since we’re here,” he continued, “how about some burpees? Just for fun.”
* * *
•••••••••
When Patrick returned to the hotel forty minutes later, limbs crackling like firewood, he was more desperate for a shower than ever.
After he’d made his way out of the elevator toward his suite, Audra spotted him and waved through her open door across the hall. Patrick leaned on the door frame and stuck his head into Audra’s room. The Princess Sura to his Captain Kismet was pacing with earbuds in, talking to thin air about her beauty must-haves.
“I like to keep things simple. ChapStick, a good concealer, a tiny bit of mascara,” she said, her voice low and throaty, like she smoked a pack of cigarettes a day. Which Patrick knew for a fact to be true, although the morality clause in their contracts kept it from public knowledge. Movie stars who smoked used to be cool; now they were bad for the studio’s brand. Role models didn’t smoke, or swear, or screw. And Patrick was nothing if not a role model.
“One hair must-have…” Audra paused mid-pace, appearing to give this serious consideration. “You know, I’m such a slob,” she laughed. “I’ve been using the same drugstore shampoo since I was sixteen! Oh, and argan oil. I swear by it.”
Another pause.
“My absolute pleasure.” She smiled radiantly, as if the reporter were in the room with them. “Thanks so much. You have a great day now. Byeee…” Audra hit a button on her phone and pulled her earbuds out, sighing in exhaustion. She handed the device back to her assistant, shooed her out, and as Patrick stepped into the room to let the girl pass, Audra turned toward the bar assembled in the corner of her suite.
“That was Elle,” she said, fixing herself a vodka on the rocks. “Want to hear something funny?”
“Sure,” Patrick replied. Audra picked up a crystal tumbler and held it out to him with an inquisitive look. He smiled, shook his head, no thank you, and took a seat on the expansive sofa.
