Page 16 of Mazywood

“You got that, gang?” Mr. Sharpe said to the cast and the mothers as they huddled near him outside of the set of the burned-out row house—which looked real even though there was nothing inside except scaffolding to hold it upright, like most of the sets.

Jake’s mother called out, “Will there be actual fire?”

“Holy cow, you know me better than that, Florence,” Mr. Sharpe said, and laughed in his childlike way. “No fire. Just smoke. And they won’t be in there long. We’re shooting exteriors. We see them go in, we get the smoke going, Scout rescues them. Danny gets dragged out first.”

“What you mean… when you say… the dog is dragging them?” Mrs. Wu said. She had been born in China, so she spoke English slowly to be understood. Some of the crewmen mocked her accent, but Mrs. Wu could speak Chinese, English, and French too, so Mazelle figured she was smarter than any of them. But Mrs. Wu did not trust Scout. She did not often come close to the dog, and her eyes were always tracking him.

And Mazelle didn’t blame her, not today. Scout was staring up at Mr. Sharpe with his head bent low. In one corner of his mouth, Scout’s teeth showed when his gum quivered.

Mr. Sharpe held up a small blanket. “Danny will be sitting on one of these, and Scout will take it by the corner to pull him out. He’ll just take the bigger kids by the hand.”

Mrs. Wu nodded, although she was still frowning with concern. Mazelle thought Mr. Sharpe should be asking her if Scout could rescue the others. In the beginning, Scout had not interacted with the other cast members because he only followed Mazelle’s commands. But now Mr. Sharpe knew that Scout would do almost anything he dreamed up in his stories. Maybe Mr. Sharpe thought he was the one telling Scout what to do. Once, Mr. Lorenzo brought in a team of dog trainers to try to learn Mazelle’s secret. Most of them were stunned, but one had dismissed Mazelle and Scout as “two pack animals” with a bond. She might have been mad if it hadn’t felt so true: She and Scout were their own pack.

Mazelle rubbed Scout’s head. You’re gonna pull us out, Scout. Sometimes Scout did what he was supposed to when she forgot to think the words, like he already knew. Scout wagged his tail, but without joy. Just enough to let Mazelle know that he understood.

Mazelle raised her hand. “Can I slip down the ladder and pretend to be scared, Mr. Sharpe?” She used to play on the ladder outside of their house in Gracetown, imitating the ladder tricks she’d seen Daddy and Brother perform onstage.

Millie Sharpe answered instead. “That’s too dangerous.” She only glanced at Mazelle, her eyes skating away. Mazelle hoped she felt bad about her awful darky voice that made Mother cough hard enough to see a doctor.

“I’ve done it a million times,” Mazelle said. “Scout will catch me.”

“No, Millie’s right,” Mr. Sharpe said. “Just stick your head out the window and Scout will pull you back in. Got it?” Firm, like Daddy would say it.

Mazelle nodded, but she would do her ladder stunt the way she wanted to. Today she would please herself, pretending she was Charlie Chaplin. She shared a look with Scout: You know what to do, boy.

Mr. Sharpe yelled, “Action!”

They marched toward the charred doorway set in single file in order of height: Danny Wu first, walking on fat, unsteady legs at such a slow pace that Amelia put her hands on his shoulders to coax him to walk faster. Davie marched in after Amelia, then Stan, then Jake, with his magnifying glass and a pipe that blew bubbles. Mazy was last, with Scout trotting beside her.

“Remember—you’re going in to investigate,” Mr. Sharpe said. “This is serious business, if you want those shiny new bicycles. Stan, quit smiling, please.”

How would they all do talkies if the Sharpes had to remind them what to do? Would the new kids from vaudeville replace some of them so soon?

Millie Sharpe was waiting inside the set’s facade, a dirt floor and wooden beams propping up the wall. Rough wooden steps led to an open window. It wasn’t as tall as a window in a real two-story building, but it looked higher because they were so small. A crewman was setting up a large black machine just inside the entryway. Millie lifted Danny Wu so he would sit on the blanket waiting for him on the floor, and he didn’t fuss for a change.

“Where’s my smoke?” Mr. Sharpe called from outside, where the camera was rolling.

“Don’t be scared, but we’re starting the smoke now,” Millie Sharpe said. “It’ll be from a teeny smoke pot. Hold your breath if it makes you cough. Mazy, you’ll climb up those steps to the window, but don’t show your face outside until all the other kids are out.”

Thick gray poured from within the open doorway. Smoke swallowed them in a sheen of haze with bitter chemicals that coated Mazelle’s nose and throat. Everyone coughed, including Millie Sharpe. Danny Wu started crying, so Millie knelt close to try to calm him down.

“Is that safe?” one of the mothers asked. Mother and Daddy wouldn’t like her being in the smoke, Mazelle knew. Not one bit.

“Let’s get the baby out, quick,” Millie said. “Mazelle?”

Mazelle rubbed Scout behind his ears. “Scout—pull Danny out on the blanket,” she said. Scout snatched the blanket with sharp teeth. He hunched lower to the ground to summon more strength in his hind legs and tugged. Danny Wu was heavy despite only being three, but Scout pulled him as if he were weightless. Danny cried harder, trying to keep balanced as Scout pulled, making him rock. Mazelle hated it when Danny cried, and he cried almost every day. When the Li’l Gumshoes pictures showed in theaters, everyone laughed when Danny Wu cried.

“That’s it! Perfect!” Mr. Sharpe called from outside.

“Line up in the same order you came in,” Millie said. “Amelia, you’re next.” She didn’t flick her eyes away when she looked at Mazelle this time. “Mazy? Climb on up to the window. Remember—just stick your head out. It’s eight feet up, and we don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Mazelle’s feet would not move. Her bones felt fused in place.

“My real name is Mazelle,” she heard herself say. “Not Mazy.”

Millie Sharpe coughed, startled, pursing her lips to a tight line. Mazelle never acted up during the shoots, especially since Mother was usually watching her. But today Mother was at the doctor’s office, and it was Millie Sharpe’s fault. Scout slid to Mazelle’s side, his head low again, staring up at Millie Sharpe with angry eyes that were worse than his growling.

“Say it!” Mazelle said. “May. Zelle.”