Chapter Six
SOMETIMES, THE BIGGEST news of the day happens quite suddenly. There are some people, in fact, who believe that the dramatic value of news for the press is in direct, inverse proportion to the amount of advanced notice they had that the news was happening. This is especially true in politics. And as the politicians-in-training quickly discovered, local newspapers adhere to this principle even more rigidly than the national media outlets.
During Ben’s first year in the Student Senate, the Campus party leadership conspired to bring down the financial autonomy of the largest student organization to oppose them during the last (and upcoming) elections. But even disregarding the bravery needed to pull this off, those who rose to the Academic Council’s defense were even angrier with the hidden and rushed effort that was made to ensure the bill’s passage. So, they did what anyone else could – they hastily arranged themselves for a massive protest that the campus paper called a filibuster.
The media loved the conflict, as human nature was in its most naked form in the heat of an unexpected but bitter controversy. There’s nothing quite like the unplanned development to spoil a spinster’s plots...
THE UNIVERSITY’S STUDENT union building was a modern, complex structure of meeting rooms, auditoriums, offices, a food court, and even a hotel on its upper floors. Every day, a major event is going on for at least one group of students or local residents. Two floors of the building were the epicenter of most of these activities. One floor housed the meeting rooms for student organizations and the largest auditorium. The other floor supported Student Government and the student newspaper’s on-campus offices.
On this day, nothing was different about the student union, except that everything was different. The building was filled with hundreds of students planning a never-before-attempted filibuster. Naturally, the crowd was alive with chatter, as organizers sought to create a continual line of one-minute speakers that went out the student government offices, across the floor, and down the stairwell.
“Ben, where are those petitions?” Eric Keppler asked. He was breaking into a casual conversation Ben was having with some members of the Student Senate.
“I believe they are downstairs with Josh.”
“Alright, I’m going down to get them.”
“I’ll keep a look out for Matt Nadler for you.”
“Thanks,” Eric said. He really needed to speak with Senate President Nadler prior to the meeting, before genuine chaos broke out. He wanted to press his point that the fool-hearty bill had generated too much opposition to warrant passage.
Just as he began to skip down the stairs, he lost his footing.
Within seconds, the noise level of the crowd dropped dramatically. It became hushed. No one could believe their eyes as the actor stumbled down half a flight of stairs and crumpled into a heap on the landing. Gasps came from those on the floor below, who also witnessed Eric falling.
The fall down the stairs was not in the script. “CUT! First Aid!” quickly flew out of the mouth of the director as several members of the cast and crew stepped in to assess the situation. The crowd of extras, and film techs began chattering, the volume increasingly loud and panicky. An ambulance was called. The director quickly called Mike Adams, informing him of the unfortunate news. Filming, again, ended.
MIKE WAS IN his car on his way to the Student Union when Adam called in a panic.
“I’m in my car, Adam. What’s going on?”
“I’ve got some bad news. There’s been another accident, this one far more serious than yesterday’s hazelnuts.”
A knot began forming in Mike’s stomach. “Yeah?”
“Jason Mills, our actor for the Eric Keppler character, took a fall down a stairwell. It’s pretty serious, Mike. We’ve contacted Shands Hospital.”
“I’m on my way. I should be there in less than five minutes.”
“See you then.”
THE SCENE WHEN Mike arrived at the Student Union was one of utter chaos. Most of the actors and crew on the second floor had evacuated via the elevators and alternative staircases. The movie crew was scrambling to erect a privacy wall, hoping that the press would give the medical team time to work. A serious accident had not occurred while filming a non-action-packed movie in years. Some of the most experienced veterans of the industry on hand were visibly unnerved. Fortunately, the cast and crew had chosen to film indoors today; an accident out in the open surely would have had the press running immediately to the scene.
Mike’s arrival at the Union, unlike most days, went largely unnoticed. A part of him was grateful for the unusual obscurity. The other part of him was too absorbed with the news of misfortune. SG – the movie – should never have caused this much trouble, Mike thought with a shudder as he made his way through the panicky crowd.
Mike reached Adam’s side of the building as the ambulatory crew eased Jason Mills onto a stretcher. The crowd quickly split in two to let the stretcher get to the ambulance. Mike took a deep breath as the stretcher passed, gasping at the bloody cuts and bruises the actor had.
“Mike,” Adam said. The crowd slowly dispersed and began talking in muted tones, attempting to regain a sense of normalcy after the shocking incident they all just witnessed.
“Don’t blame yourself, Adam,” Mike whispered, “It wasn’t your fault.” They embraced as friends do, taking comfort in the familiar.
The silence of the moment was cut with a call for Adam’s attention. “Mr. Ruppesberger? Should we clean up the stairs for the next scene?” a janitor called out.
“What do you mean?” Adam asked, thinking that Jason’s fall down the stairs should not have caused much damage or spilled enough blood to be an issue.
Both Adam and Mike headed up the stairs to look at what mess needed to be cleaned.
“You know – this sizeable puddle?”
“What?!?” Mike chimed incredulously.
“Yeah!” the janitor said, and pointed to something on the ground with the wooden end of his mop from the top of the stairs.
“What are you talking about?” Adam said, inching closer.
“See…” the janitor said as he stuck the mop into a thin, translucent layer of slime.
“Oh my god!” Mike gasped.
Adam turned. “Am I missing something here?”
With greater shock in his facial expression, Mike’s tone turned into confidence. “Of course! Tomorrow’s filming schedule!” He began tumbling down the stairs and making his way over to the film crew’s material.
“Don’t touch anything” Adam said to the janitor before following his friend back down the stairs. Mike was hunting for the film’s schedule. “What’s supposed to be on tomorrow’s schedule?”
After grabbing a schedule from an abandoned chair, Mike pointed to the relevant section. “Can’t you see? Tomorrow we film the scene involving an accident from the novel. Someone must have goofed and planted the slime for today’s filming of that scene.”
“Impossible!”
“Why?”
“Because earlier today I made explicit instructions to the crew...”
“What?”
“The film crew knew what we were to be filming. They knew all along.”
“Adam, we really need to work on our communication, here!” Mike said.
“Mike, we’ve got a severe problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“The slime must have been put there on purpose. This wasn’t an accident. I think Jason was the victim of foul play. I think we should call the police.”
THE COLLONADE AT the Student Union was filled with some great memories, both for those who campaigned on Election Day, and for those regular students who enjoyed the occasional fairs, carnivals, and “movies on the lawn” that happened within spitting distance of it.
In its physical appearance, the Colonnade was a shaded, outdoor strip of concrete, tables, and benches leading eastwardly into the main entrance of the Student Union and westward into the main Ticke
t Office and drama stage on campus. The courtyard area in front, and the steps leading onto the Colonnade, was the site of many memories for Mike.
For him, it was only fitting that the first major press conference planned for the production of his movie was held on those Colonnade steps. The only misfortune was of timing. He could not avoid the accident that occurred earlier, or the revelation that came after.
Well, the show must go on, Mike thought. He sighed as he glanced down to straighten out his tie.
Lucky for him, the press did not seem to know about the earlier event. They slowly gathered in the courtyard. Mike stood behind the large promotional poster set up as a background for the press conference. It gave him time to adjust his appearance and gather inner strength as not to lose his composure (or, more importantly, his temper) with some of the more expected questions to be thrown at him.
Mike looked around, specifically down toward the main entrance to the Student Union. It was almost one-thirty. The press conference was scheduled to begin shortly. His partner in this project, Adam, was nowhere to be found. He was probably giving some last minute instructions to the crew, or working things out with the police that have begun a forensic investigation. But the delay was disquieting. Where is Adam when I need him? He knows this conference should begin soon so that it can end even sooner. Mike began pacing anxiously, shedding the nervous energy that had already begun building inside him and swelling up his spine.
Finally! Adam came out from behind the double doors, and in so doing, he briefly revealed the police investigation and crew work going on inside the Student Union. As he made his way down the Colonnade, Mike smiled. Adam was much better at putting out the best possible spin. The press quieted, and the introductions began.
“PARAMOUNT STUDIOS IS proud to present today’s press conference on behalf of “A True Gator Party,” an upcoming film about the fun times of our youth and how the darkness of politics can corrupt it. Our director and screenwriter are going to give opening…”
Deborah Henkley, the studio’s publicist, began her boilerplate comments about how the press conference was going to operate, and made her standard pitch about the studio, the book, and the film in production. Ashley’s attention slowly drifted away. She drew in her breath as Michael and Adam emerged from behind the promotional poster. Their entrance signaled the beginning of the conference, but Ashley didn’t seem to care.
Last night’s rain had cooled off the entire Gainesville area. The usual September heat had dissipated. Everyone was looking more relaxed, and comfortable. Even Mike is looking better than usual, Ashley thought, before realizing how unprofessional it was to even think about him. Snap out of it, Ashley, you’ve got a job to do.
AS ADAM STEPPED up to the podium to give his opening statement, Mike looked out into the crowd of reporters, many of whom looked familiar. From my days on the congressional campaign trail, no doubt, he thought.
“Hello, and welcome to the only true gator party on Earth, the University of Florida. We at Paramount are proud to be hosted by the Sunshine State’s flagship university. Mike’s book was set here, and that’s why we chose….” Adam said. His voice trailed off as Mike’s attention fell on someone in the crowd.
Damn, Ashley. More radiant than ever. Mike was impressed, and more so than he was yesterday during the smaller news briefing. Must be something in this Florida autumn air. He tried shaking off his thoughts, at least for the time being. His needs should be focused on today’s filming and the press conference that’s going on, not some attractive reporter with long legs.
“So, overall, I think filming is going…”
And so Adam’s speech went as Mike continued eyeing the crowd, which had nearly doubled in the last five minutes. Passersby were stopping or at least slowing down long enough to get a sense of what was going on. Even at UF, a large gathering of reporters, photographers, and cameramen was unusual and worth investigating even by the most jaded and apathetic of college students.
It’s almost as if they are drivers slowly passing an accident. Gawking at a spectacle is a never-ending American spectator sport, which I will never understand. Mike shook his head as he heard Adam wrapping up his speech.
Here goes nothing, Mike thought as he drew in a deep breath, and prepared for whatever the press was going to throw at him.
“HI. THANK YOU Adam and Deborah for the introduction and strong praise. You know, I’ve not been back at UF for such an extended period of time in, uh, I guess nearly sixteen years. But I’ve been here on this project long enough that I’m thinkin’ of taking classes again,” Mike said to several polite smiles and chuckles.
“But seriously, as Adam said, once you spend a semester at UF, you never feel the same again. You fall in love with this campus, and with this city. Of course, I would not be surprised if it’s something they put in the water here.”
More chuckles came, sounding genuine and generous. Hopefully that’ll disarm them, Mike thought in the back of his mind.
“…novel has most of its activities in the Student Union and Frat Row. And while we can replicate most of the meeting rooms and such on a sound stage, I am glad the cast and crew have accommodated my desire for a realistic portrayal of campus landmarks by filming a number of the scenes on location.”
“Even in this computer-generated age of film-making, there are still too many limitations on what computers can do, and I think Adam and the rest of the cast and crew,” Mike said as he lifted a hand onto Adam’s shoulder, “are doing a superb job with the tools available to them and the schedule the University has provided us.”
With a swirl of ice water, Mike paused in the middle of his statement. So far, so good, I suppose, he thought before diving back into his prepared text.
WHEN MIKE PAUSED, Ashley noticed that Adam’s gaze had fallen to the distanced behind the crowd of the press. She quickly turned to see what he was looking at. All she saw was the growing crowd, whose conversations made the press glad Mike was speaking into a microphone.
Mike is the closest thing this town has to having a celebrity, Ashley thought, and I bet none of that has to do with his time in Congress. Politicians are a dime a dozen in Florida, but a best-selling author who makes prominent use of his hometown can be priceless to this modest college town.
Ashley’s attention quickly snapped back to the podium when Deborah asked cutely, “I bet I know the answer, but are there any questions?”
THE Q&A SESSION is going too well. They’re throwing only softballs, holding back on tough questions. I wonder why. Mike rubbed his left cheek, as sweat and heat conspired to make his face uncomfortably unclean. Maybe the brief break from the heat has numbed the press, he thought with a silent laugh.
“Miss Woodard?” the publicist said, allowing the Time reporter to ask her first question at the press conference. Mike straightened up to listen to her question.
“The three of you have already explained yesterday’s hazelnut coffee mix-up. Now, Shands Hospital has admitted another cast member for injuries sustained this morning. Care to comment?”
She doesn’t pull any punches. She must have used her female charms, hot figure, and dark eyes to get a statement from Shands. We’d asked them not to make a public announcement about anything. Shaking off an image of Ashley and surrendering to the inevitable, Mike said, “Sure, I’ll comment.” Adam and Deborah held their collective breath.
“Jason Mills, the actor, took a fall down the main staircase inside the Student Union. He’s being check for a possible concussion and several cuts and bruises. He should be fine in a day or two. It was an accident; it wasn’t his fault or the studio’s; and we wish him a full and speedy recovery,” Mike said, not fully confident that his comments would be the end of that story.
Ashley indeed had a follow-up. “But isn’t it true that the Gainesville Police Department have begun a criminal investigation into the incident? Wouldn’t that, make it more than an “accident,” as you described it?”
Mike sig
hed. “The GPD, as you know, has been very protective of this production crew. Even more protective than the University police have been.” A chuckle from the front row rippled through. “I don’t blame them. They aren’t ruling anything in or out at this point. They want a thorough search to be done so we can avoid any other mishaps like the ones in the last two days.”
Timothy Cunningham, a Gainesville Sun reporter followed Ashley’s line of questioning. It was the one question Mike fully expected. No amount of spin could escape the question and no amount of spin could help soften the answer that must follow it.
Timothy asked it quickly, but with a hint of nervousness in his voice. A fourth-generation man of the news, he understood the implication of what he was about to ask. He knew it would be the headline-maker. And he knew it was on everyone’s mind, now that Ashley Woodard had blown the cover off the story.
“In light of recent events, are you going to suspend filming indefinitely?”