THE DIRECTOR’S CUT

by

Jojo Barker

“Honey, we need to know. Did you do this to yourself, or was it someone else?”

Sarah Chandler studied the girl’s dark eyes for a clue. An alarming beauty radiated from the girl’s face, nestled deep between antiseptic hospital pillows. Such a stark contrast to the huddled mess of raven hair and torn clothes Sarah had found her in the driveway that morning.

“It's unlikely she did this herself,” said the doctor. “The position of the wound rules that out.”

Sarah smiled. “These kids are clever. They cut in places they can cover up. That way it can go on for a long time before anyone knows.”

“Ms. Chandler, that’s no self-inflicted cut,” said the doctor. “A six inch strip of skin peeled from her inside thigh… I doubt she could do that to herself, even if she wanted to.”

Sarah raised one eyebrow, annoyed at his dismissive tone. She knew what he was thinking: “yes, my dear, we know you’re a big star, but let’s face it, you’re an actress. We doubt you actually understand what you’re talking about.” She knew the papers would already be printing the headlines of this morning’s discovery, “Goth Girl Found in Star’s Driveway”, and that the rumors would be circulating furiously. Before long the nameless waif in the bed would be Sarah’s estranged lesbian lover in the minds of the Hollywood tabloids.

“But those marks…” Sarah began, remembering the hideous scars that cut across the inside of the girl’s left arm: rough, reddish weals of raised skin, the word “FAT” cross-hatched into her pale flesh.

“Yes, that’s self-inflicted,” admitted the doctor. “But it’s old, probably a few years old.”

Sarah leaned over to sweep a fallen lock of hair from the girl’s face.

“We suspect she’s also bulimic,” the doctor added.

Sarah nodded. “They do it so that they can feel something,” she said.

“Hmmm?” the doctor’s eyes swept impatiently to the door of the ward, signaling other duties.

“Cutting. They do it so that they can feel something,” Sarah repeated. “That’s what most people don't understand. The cutting is a relief. In some cases, it's what keeps them alive.”

“Yes,” said the doctor. Again Sarah felt that patronizing look: “Sweetie, don’t get carried away. Just because you played a psychiatrist once doesn’t mean you actually know what you’re talking about.”

“Why don’t you check on your other patients,” Sarah smiled. “I’ll wait with her.”

“You don’t have to do that,” the doctor said. “She’s not your responsibility.”

“I know,” said Sarah. “But I’ve got nothing better to do today. Honestly.”

The doctor turned to leave the room, hesitated, and faced her again, his look changing to that of a child waiting outside the principal’s office.

“My kids… my kids would love it if you could…” he began.

“Hand me that paper and pen,” said Sarah.

“Thanks,” said the doctor.

“What are their names?” she asked, as she clicked open the doctor’s stainless steel pen.

#

The afternoon sun dipped low in the window of Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. Sarah closed the novel she’d been trying to read all afternoon and drained the final drops of her latte. Throughout the day she’d tried talking to the girl, but there’d been no response. She felt tired now, and noticed that it was already past seven p.m.

She leaned over the bed and kissed the girl lightly on her pale forehead.

“Honey, can you hear me? I’m going to go home now but I’ll be back tomorrow. Okay? I’m not going to leave you alone. I’ll be back.”

She walked towards the door, but before she could open it, she heard a voice behind her, faint, like a toy bell.

“I didn't do it.”

Sarah stopped. She turned and saw that the girl’s eyes were open, staring straight at the ceiling.

“I didn't do it,” the girl repeated. “The doctor’s right.”

Sarah regained her seat by the bed, not saying anything.

“Aren’t you going to ask me who did?” For the first time the girl’s black eyes darted nervously to Sarah's mid-section, then fluttered upwards to meet her gaze.

Their eyes locked momentarily before the girl looked away again.

“Who did it?” Sarah whispered.

The girl stared at the ceiling. Sarah placed her hand gently on the side of the bed.

“David Geldner,” the girl said, her voice breaking.

Sarah noticed a change in her face, almost like relief.

“That’s um… that’s quite an accusation,” said Sarah.

“Yes.”

Sarah took a deep breath. “I guess that would explain how you ended up in my driveway, after all, David is my neighbor.”

“You know him?” The girl’s eyes darted to Sarah in panic.

“Sweetie…” Sarah tried to sound calm. “Surely you understand, of course I know him. Everyone knows him. He… he directed me in my first feature.”

“You’re friends?” The look of terror did not leave the girl’s eyes.

“Well… I wouldn’t say that exactly,” said Sarah, shifting in the chair. “I don’t know whether David has anyone you’d call a friend.” She took the girl’s hand in hers. “Listen… it’s just… well… it’s just that… what you’re saying sounds like…”

“I’m not lying!” the girl’s eyes drilled into Sarah now, searching for signs of her accused tormentor.

Sarah nodded slightly, as if trying to remain calm.

“Are you going to tell me your name?” asked Sarah.

The girl relaxed a little, her gaze turning away from Sarah and back to the ceiling.

“It’s Netta. Netta Macklin.”

Sarah smiled cautiously. “Okay Netta, do you want to tell me what happened?”

The girl’s gaze moved again to Sarah’s face. “Why? You don’t believe me. Nobody’s going to believe me.”

Sarah realized that her hands were shaking. “Actually Netta, the problem is, I do believe you.”

Netta looked puzzled.

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Sarah looked down at her hands, adjusted the antique gold bracelet her mother had given to her before she passed away. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Netta shifted in the bed. She winced slightly as she moved her legs.

“It hurts a lot?” Sarah’s eyes softened on the girl.

“Uh-huh.” Netta found a more comfortable position, and relaxed again. “I just find it all so hard to believe, everything that’s happened to me in the past twenty-four hours. Now here I am with you, of all people. Sarah Chandler. I used to watch your movies when I was a kid. I’d say your lines in front of the T.V., like I was you.”

Sarah smiled. “It’s not all that big a deal being me, trust me.”

“You’re one of the reasons I came to Hollywood in the first place,” said Netta. “And now here you are, in front of me. If you’d told me two months ago I’d be here with you I would have said ‘yeah… right…’ Jeez… it was hard enough to get here in the first place. Then once I got here… once I got here…”

Sarah said nothing, recognizing the beginning of a story she’d heard many times.

“I thought my luck had changed when I found this new agency online. They said they’d put me in front of some people with connections. They didn’t have a street address or anything, but I thought, well… who needs shit like that, as long as they get me there. I thought… they told me I was going to audition, then do a screen test. I was ready, had my monologue, and a song. My singing teacher, she always said ‘sing Bali Hai, and you’ll show them that you can handle a difficult song.’ So that’s what I did. And when I saw the address they were sending me to… well… I thought it had to be the real deal.

But when I got there, to his house… well, I always thought people who lived here would have maids and butlers and stuff who came to the gate. There was nobody. Just a camera. Anyway, the gate buzzed and opened, and so I went in. I walked up to the front door and knocked.

Nobody answered.

I felt like a total dumbass, standing there. It must have been about five minutes, and I was just going to leave when this dark-haired guy, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, came running out from the back of the house, looking like… well… my first thought was ‘this guy’s drunk out of his friggin’ skull.’ But he grinned at me, said he was sorry for the wait, and told me to come around the back of the house. He told me that Mr. Geldner was waiting for me there.”

Netta pulled the sheet closer to her.

“At first… at first I was relieved. This guy, who never even told me his name, took me to a building at the back of the house, like a little theater. ‘Finally,’ I thought, ‘something that makes sense.’ It was dark, real dark, and it took a while for my eyes to get used it… the darkness, I mean. I somehow found my way to the stage and before I could say or do anything, they turned this light on, blinding me. So there I was standing there on this stage, blinded, when I heard this voice, somewhere in front of me:

This one’s young. That’s good.

It scared me. Not what he said, but the fact that he was so close and I couldn’t even see him. I was shaking, thinking that this was like some sort of test; like I had to show I could handle being under lights or something. I was shaking, I was just shaking. I started to sing my song. I heard some sort of snorting noise down the back of the room, like the guy in the Hawaiian shirt was laughing under his breath. But I kept singing.

Finally I came to the end of the song. They let me sing the whole thing. Anyway, I finished it and just stood there, waiting. Nothing happened. Nothing. I just stood there on stage. ‘Do you want to hear my monologue?’ I asked them. If they’d told me to go away I would have understood but they didn’t. They did nothing.

Then, after what seemed like ages, I heard that voice again, the one real close to me:

I’m so fucking sick of auditions.

I felt like bursting into tears. I knew I’d blown it. I just stood there on that stage trying to hold it together. ‘It’s okay Netta,’ I told myself. ‘Just say thank you and leave. This is not the end. There’ll be other auditions.’ I was about to walk away when I heard his voice again:

Show me something I haven’t seen.

‘Excuse me?’ I said, and I must have looked totally lame standing there in that light.

And then…” Netta stopped speaking. Her eyes darted to the door.

“Netta?”

“Do you think anyone’s listening?”

Sarah smiled. “Only me. Honey you’re safe.”

Netta’s eyes took in different parts of the bed, like she was looking for a clue, trying to make sense of her own story. “And then…” she continued, “then he came closer to me, and for the first time I saw his face. It was… it startled me, this face in the dark. It was the most… the most handsome face I’ve ever seen. Honest. I remember thinking how beautiful this man was. I recognized him straight away, of course. Anyone would. But his face, so close, in that room, I just… I could smell something real bad on him. Chemical. But it didn’t matter. He could have been rolling in skunk and he still would have looked incredible.”

Netta’s shoulders relaxed again.

“And then, he smiled at me. And I… I smiled back. I suddenly wasn’t afraid any more. Anyway, this face… his face… he starts saying to me:

Little girl, little girl, don’t misunderstand me. I’m trying to help you. I want to help you.

And I believed him, I really did.

‘You see,’ he said, ‘I can’t tell you how many beautiful women have stood there, exactly where you’re standing, and they all look the same. What I’m after…’

And he smiled at me again, and I almost laughed, he made me feel so good with that smile…

I want you to show me something unique, something that’s completely you. Something so personal nobody else has it, something from deep inside.

His face kind of went into shadow then, but I could still see his outline.

‘Do you think you can do that?’ he asked me.

Well, I stood there not knowing what to say but wanting… wanting to give him something. It was weird, this complete stranger and I wanted to give him something. So I thought about what he said…”

Netta took a deep breath.

“I couldn’t think of anything! My mind went blank. Shit! I’m so ordinary! How could I figure out what he wanted? I thought about what an idiot I must have looked, and how he’s so used to seeing all these famous people. I racked my brain, trying to think of something. Then all of sudden, he says:

Why don’t you tell me something about yourself, something that nobody else knows.

As soon as the words came out of his mouth I knew what I was going to do. Slowly I rolled up my sleeve, and as I did it I could sense him leaning forward, curious. So I rolled it up more and more, until finally I’d rolled it all the way up. I turned my arm over, showing him all my scars, all my memories. I was shaking. I’d never done it before, not shown anyone. It was real hard to do, but I did it anyway. I wanted to cry but I held it.

I heard him exhale.

’Now that’s interesting,’ he said.

I was so proud. Fuck! I must have had a grin on my face from ear to ear. I thought ‘this is what real actors do’. I was so proud of myself, not laughing, not crying, just being there with him.

Then I heard this sound down the back of the room, and I remembered I’d completely forgotten about the other guy, the Hawaiian shirt guy. He came down to the stage and suddenly, before I knew it, there was someone else as well. I was surrounded by three of them, the director, the Hawaiian shirt, and some other guy, dressed in black.

‘Fellas, don’t you think that’s interesting,’ the director said, and they all agreed.

I pulled my sleeve down, real embarrassed. They just hovered there, one on each side of me. And then, before I knew it, I was sitting in a chair. Someone pushed it under me. They all smelled bad. They all had that same chemical smell. It didn’t bother me before, but now… now it was all around me.

The next thing I knew, the two guys were holding me down and the director had opened my legs. It happened so quickly I didn’t even realize what was going on. The director grabbed this rope out of nowhere and tied my legs to the chair. I was so much in shock I didn’t do anything; I just sat there. And then the director, he’s suddenly kneeling down in front of me. It was only then that I realized what was going on, but it was too late. He started coming towards me and I screamed. One of the guys covered my mouth, and I couldn’t breathe then. I thought… Oh My God, this guy’s going to… you know… and then…”

Netta’s lip trembled.

“And then… he’s coming towards me, but he didn’t… he didn’t do what I thought he was going to do… He just gets down there and starts licking inside my thigh, like a cat cleaning itself. I couldn’t believe it. It was so confusing. He’s just sitting there licking my thigh, and the others are holding me, and then I…”

Netta’s voice broke slightly.

“Then I…”

Netta closed her eyes. A single tear trickled down the side of her face. Sarah pulled a tissue from her bag, leaned over and wiped the tiny trail. She put her hand on Netta’s to reassure her, but Netta pulled away abruptly.

“I’m so ashamed,” said Netta, stifling any further tears.

“Netta…” Sarah began.

“No, you don’t get it. You don’t know what I did! I just… my God. I was so confused. And my body was confused. He’s down there licking my thigh, and all the time I’m wondering when he’s going to go through with it… and I went… my body… I just felt like… I became…”

Netta covered her face with her hands.

“I became wet. Can you believe it? I felt myself becoming wet, like my body knew what was coming, like it was preparing.”

Sarah grabbed Netta’s hand, holding it this time before she could pull away. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”

Netta’s tears started to flow, and Sarah rocked back and forth on the bed with her. The girl’s grief appeared boundless, her tears freeing some long concealed, deeper disturbance. Finally Netta pulled her hand up to her nose, as if fighting off a sneeze. “I have to tell you the rest,” Netta said.

“Sweetie, you don’t have to…”

“I have to tell you the rest!” Netta protested. She snuffled her remaining tears and continued:

“What happened then was, well… I don’t know whether I’ll ever understand it. I guess the three of them were just totally fucked up, on something. I don’t know. But as I sat there, struggling, the director looks up at me and I notice he’s looking at the words in my arm. Before I know it, he has something in his hand. I couldn’t see what it was at first, but it shone. And then I saw it. This metal blade: thin, surgical. I tried to scream and again they covered my mouth. Then he looked at me, that face… that beautiful face now like some sort of nightmare, and he says to me:

You’ve inspired me. I like that.

And then he reaches in between my legs and cuts me. It hurt so bad and I tried to scream out. But he didn’t stop. He kept cutting me, until he’s peeled off all this skin from my thigh. And then… the sick asshole takes the skin… my skin… and puts it in his mouth and starts chewing, and he’s smiling up at me the whole time… and I’m screaming and screaming and he’s down there chewing, this wild look in his eye.”

Netta’s head shook from side to side.

“I… I can’t remember when I passed out, but I know I did. All I remember is this scene in my mind… I was being carried. I think that maybe the guy in black was carrying me. It could only have been him, because in this haze, this nightmare, I’m looking back at the stage, and it’s a long way now, like he’s carrying me out of the room, and I can see the director and the Hawaiian shirt guy in the distance, and the director’s on his knees on the stage, vomiting, throwing up all this blood, my blood. And the Hawaiian shirt guy is behind him, jerking off.”

Netta let out a long, slow sigh, her breath shaking. “Can you… can you hand me that glass of water?”

“Of course.”

Netta took a sip of the water. “The next thing I knew I was here, and you were there beside me, talking to me.”

Sarah smiled.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” said Netta, her dark eyes shining. “Sarah, thank you so much. I just… thank you. Of all people, I wake up and find myself with you! It’s like a dream. It’s like waking up and finding out that Marilyn Monroe is your Guardian Angel.”

Sarah looked away.

Netta’s brow furrowed, and she tried to catch Sarah’s gaze.

“Your hand…” said Netta. “It’s shaking.”

Sarah tried to concentrate on stilling her hand, but it was no use. All she could think of was her involvement with David Geldner years before, in her first feature, Bloodloss, when she was starting to move out of obscurity. She remembered filming the climax of the movie, tied to a chair, and how her co-star, Troy Sanders, had lit matches under her toes, holding them there until she could smell her own flesh burning. She also remembered how angry she’d felt when she discovered it was the director who’d put him up to it, claiming behind her back that he hadn’t seen enough fear in her face, and that he’d give her a taste of real “method acting”. And she remembered how helpless she’d felt about the whole ordeal, when, after pleading with her agent to do something about it, the whole matter had been dropped, with no questions asked.

And then Sarah felt a twinge of shame, as she remembered the recognition she’d received for the movie, and how everyone had commented on how “frighteningly real” her scenes were. She remembered how she’d used the ghastly experience as motivation for a later character, wondering at the time if that was what she’d been reduced to, a worn-out hack, cannibalizing her own life-experience for the sake of a few flickering moments of emotion on film. She remembered the period that followed, her horrible years, when she’d drifted from booze and thrill-seeking rides up and down the 101 in her convertible, to pills, and then finally to crystal meth. And she remembered how all the time her reviews had gotten worse, until the L.A. Times had finally summed up her performance in her last movie in six words: “Sarah Chandler – Star, yes. Actress, no.”

Sarah looked down now at Netta’s face, so fresh and yet so strangely worn already. She saw the sadness in Netta, the longing, the worldliness that had been thrust upon her at such a young age.

“You have to help me,” Netta said quietly. “People can’t be allowed to do things like that. You have to help me.”

“Okay,” said Sarah, her breath shaking now, along with her hands. “I’ll help you.”

#

The engine of the car made a clacking sound, like a lawnmower, as Sarah pulled up to the curb.

Netta frowned, puzzled at the sight of the beaten up old Volkswagen, with Sarah at the wheel, dressed in a black pullover and black jeans. “Sarah, this isn’t your car.”

“Just get in. You don’t think I’m going to use my own car to do this, do you? What if we get seen?”

“Oh.”

The eucalyptus trees hung like snakes shedding their skin along the sides of Mulholland Drive, as they drove into the Hollywood hills. Netta had burst out laughing when she’d caught sight of them both, Sarah in black and Netta in her navy top and dark blue denim skirt, like cat-burglars from a sixties film. But then as she shifted in her seat and felt the sting in her leg returning, Netta grew quiet again.

“Does it still hurt?” Sarah asked.

“Yes.”

They drove in silence.

“So whose car is it?” Netta finally asked.

“Never mind.”

They rounded a corner, and the lights of Los Angeles flickered into sight.

“It’s looks so beautiful,” said Netta, looking out over the endless cityscape, “like an army of fire-flies.”

“More like an army of vampires,” muttered Sarah.

They rounded another bend, and plunged into blackness again.

“His house isn’t far from here,” said Netta.

“I know.”

Sarah pulled into a side road, the trees closing in overhead. The car bumped to a halt and she turned off the engine. Sarah saw that Netta looked instantly unsettled again, nervous to be so close to the site of her ordeal.

“Thanks for doing this,” said Netta, softly, her dark eyes catching a glimpse of a distant moon. “You… you’re my angel, Sarah.”

Sarah sighed. “God forgive me.”

Netta turned, her eyes seeking out Sarah’s face in the dark.

Sarah could hear her breath, and she noticed that the windshield was starting to fog.

“Sarah, can I ask you something?”

Sarah hesitated. “Okay.”

“I just wanted to know. Well… I know this is going to sound stupid but… how do you bear it all? After all these years.”

Sarah looked down at her hands, guiltily. “You don’t.” She felt a lump in her throat and brushed away a mosquito that had started to buzz in her ear. “It never gets any better. You're so bright and innocent. It's what they want. I've seen this too many times. I can't witness it again. I can’t see another life pulled apart.”

“If we go through with this then you won’t have to,” said Netta.

“Yes,” Sarah smiled. She leaned into the back seat and pulled out a bunch of green garbage bags and a length of piano wire. She adjusted her gloves.

“Are you ready then?” Netta asked.

“Yes,” said Sarah.

Neither of them moved.

“Are we going to sneak in the back way?” Netta asked.

“That won’t be necessary,” said Sarah.

Netta looked at her, puzzled.

Sarah closed her eyes. Then she opened them in one quick movement. She swung around and threw the wire in a loop around Netta’s neck. The girl’s eyes bulged in shock for a moment, but then popped open in panic, as she realized what was happening. She kicked hard against the floor of the car. Her arms flailed wildly towards Sarah, who dodged her thrusts, swinging her head out of the way at each lunge, expertly dodging Netta’s protests like Sigourney Weaver fighting the Alien.

As Netta’s body stilled, Sarah loosened her hold on the wire. Finally the girl hung completely limp, her body slumped in the seat, her dark hair now covering her face, cloaking it, like she’d never existed.

Sarah noticed that Netta’s denim skirt had ridden up during the ordeal, revealing the puffy white dressing that covered her leg wound. Something about the position of the dressing reminded her of a dog, “Sandy,” she’d had when she was six years old, who’d been fatally wounded by a passing car. She remembered her father’s words, the day he took Sandy out back with his rifle: “we call this a mercy killing, Sarah. Old Sandy won’t walk again. What kind of life is that for a dog, eh?”

Sarah reached down and recovered Netta’s exposed thigh.

Suddenly she heard a knocking sound on the car window, snapping her out of her reverie. She wiped away a tear that had settled on her cheek and looked up to see the face of David Geldner, peering at her, concerned. She wound down the window.

“Darling, are you okay?” he looked past her at the dead girl.

“Yeah,” Sarah sighed, her hands shaking. “How was it?”

“It’s going to look brilliant. She did even better than at the audition. And you… you were fabulous. This one’s going to re-launch your career.”

Sarah smiled.

“Why don’t you come up to the trailer, get out of those ridiculous clothes,” said the director.

“It’s okay,” said Sarah. “I’m going to sit here for a few minutes. Calm down.”

“I understand,” the director motioned to a nearby shadowy figure, who came forward and helped him to remove Netta’s body via the passenger door. Together, the director and the dark shadow dragged the body away from the car, until they were out of sight and Sarah was alone. Through the windshield fog she saw a shooting star, journeying brightly across the night sky. She pulled out a cloth to clear the mist from the windshield, but before she could reach up, the star had disappeared.

THE END