by Curt F
Brazil, 1935
Gloria Swann ran for all she was worth. Her breath was coming out in ragged gasps as her legs churned furiously, driving her forward. Her feet hurt, as her boots seemed too tight, the lacings biting into her ankles, and the trail through the jungle was barely a rock strewn path not fit for a goat let alone a person. Every step was agony. The sun was beating down, even though it was low, almost touching the horizon and mostly hidden through the thick green foliage. Every breath was strained in the hot humid air that was thick with mosquitoes and other vile insects that bit and stung and made her day to day existence miserable. Gloria Swann hated the jungle and South America in general. Brazil most specifically. She wanted to go home.
She burst from the dense rain forest in a shower of leaves, the trail arching off and away across a small clearing. Not far off towards her left she could see the river that she had been pacing, barely a dozen yards away. She could hear the roar of the water, her eyes searching ahead to where the land seemed to drop away over the edge of a cliff and the falls; her destination.
The heat seemed to double, the setting sun blazing down on her now, the meager protection of the jungle left behind. Gloria felt the perspiration rolling down her body, making her shirt cling to her and stinging her eyes. The open air was just as thick with insects as the forest had been, and a huge bird swooped far overhead watching her race, laughing at her with its raucous call. Another time and she might stop and marvel at the creature, as even at a glance it seemed magnificent and beautiful as it soared lazily in the heated air. But not now…not today. She had no time to waste, dreaming and sight seeing. Gloria had to reach the cliff.
To make matters worse, her hands were bound behind her back, tied loosely with a coarse, woven rope. The binding held her arms back at an awkward angle, and made running all the harder because of it. The ropes did not hurt really, not too much, but they were an inconvenience. She could not even wipe the perspiration from her brow.
Suddenly she heard the screams and shouts of her pursuers and Gloria's heart leapt into her throat. She dared not glance back to see just how far behind her they were, lest she stumble on the rocky trail, but she felt sure that they were almost upon her, dogging her heels. They sounded an angry mob, and she knew that they were all far younger than she was, and in much better shape, and would catch her in no time if she did not reach the cliff. Gloria had no doubts that she was out of shape, if not just a tad over weight. And much as she was loathe to admit it, at almost forty, she knew that she was no longer a spring chicken. The race had taken a Herculean effort on her part, and she was ready to collapse.
She stumbled along, tears streaming down her face now as she pushed herself even harder. The path wound towards the water, as the cliff drew closer with every stride. An arrow plunged into the path ahead of her, but far closer than she would have liked. She let out a shrill little gasp of surprise, lifting her legs closer as the shouts grew behind her.
Gloria slowed her pace, almost sliding in the gravel and loose dirt at the edge of the cliff as she came to a halt. She peered over the precipice, watching as hundreds and thousands of gallons of water rushed over the falls, now just a few feet away, plunging fast and furious over fifty feet to the pool below. The noise was deafening as she inched forward, staring out at the river that continued its course vanishing finally as the jungle canopy closed over it in the distance. She felt a twinge of vertigo, swaying slightly as she watched the thundering cascade. She swallowed, jumping in surprise as another arrow dug into the dirt near her feet, just a few inches away. Too close…
"And…Cut! That's a print! Stand in…You're up! Get ready!"
Gloria Swann spun about at the director's shouts and glared at the eight women that were jogging to a stop some dozen yards back up the path. She hated them! They were all almost half her age and gorgeous, with long muscular legs and tanned bodies. Their hair was all long and thick and full, their faces oval and perfectly handsome. Their costumes, little more than rags and animal skins, only made them look all the more exotic and enticing. They were barely sweating for God's sake!
"Who fired that last arrow?" Gloria snapped, her skin flushing with the heat and burning with fury as she rotated her arms and wrists, twisting her hands free of the loosely tied cords that bound them. She eyed the beauties as they all dumbly looked from one to the other, but none spoke up and confessed. "C'mon! Who was it?"
Gloria stormed forward, her eyes crackling, angling towards three that held the small wooden props that were little more than toy bows. The other women that were holding longer sticks done up to look like spears and blow guns all eased back to give the movie star room. They knew better than to get in the way when Gloria Swann- Queen of Escapes- was on the warpath.
Gloria stared at the three, ignoring the fright that her hair must be and the sweat dripping down her face and back. She was still breathing hard, but she used her will to control it as she tossed the useless rope aside. She would be damned if she would let this trio of…of extras get the better of her. For their part, the three young actresses, dressed sparingly in animal skins that barely covered their more private parts and held their bosoms in check, all blushed and looked away, suddenly more interested in the dirt at their feet than in anything that Gloria Swann had to say.
"All right!" Gloria almost shrieked. "Which of you three fired that last arrow? Was it you?" Gloria jabbed a finger at a statuesque blonde, her long hair pulled back into a ponytail. The blonde woman turned a deeper shade of red, but shook her head, mumbling that she was innocent. Gloria scowled and glared at the other two. They could not meet her gaze. That was good. Gloria's scowl quickly turned into a conceited sneer-
"Fine!" she snapped, crossing her arms over her own adequate- if sagging only a bit- bosom. "None of you wants to confess, then you're all fired! I'll tell Jonathan now, and you'll all be let go! I'll teach you all to fire arrows too close to me, and the rest of you better learn!" The trio of beauties all stared at the movie star with open-mouthed shock, gasping and moaning in dismay. The other women had moved out of the line of fire, but not so far so they could not hear, and they all mumbled under their breath when Gloria turned on them. "I'm the star of this film! Not any of you! And none of you better forget it!"
Gloria raised her chin defiantly and stormed away, actually shouldering through the trio of women too dumbstruck to move. She spied the film's director, Jonathan Harkins sitting in his chair going over the script, and veered towards him, lifting her tight, khaki skirt to better watch the rocky path before her. She would burn in hell before she put up with any of this stupidity any longer. A few inches to the left and that last arrow might have hit her. She might have been hurt, or worse! Despite her age, Gloria Swann was still a big star in Hollywood, and a big draw at the box office. She would have her way, and those bims would all be sacked. And anyone else that got in her way!
Gloria looked up making sure that Harkins was still in place, and gasped. Again, as she had many times before, she stared in amazement at the young woman walking casually towards her. Angela Morgan, Gloria's stand in was almost fifteen years younger than the aging star, but she was the spitting image of what Gloria had once been. They were dressed the same, in a khaki canvas knee length skirt and thick blouse with long brown leather boots that laced up to the knee. Their hair was all but identical, a dirty brown, though Gloria's was streaked with sweat and plastered to her head while Angela's was colored slightly to hide a white streak that touched her crown. But even their faces were remarkably alike, with the same full lips and dark green eyes, the same oval shape with high cheekbones and a small, pert nose. For Gloria, it was like looking into a magic mirror to see herself as she had been a decade before; young and beautiful.
They passed on the trail, the younger woman smiling and nodding as Gloria raised her chin a bit higher and stared down her nose at her stand in. Angela had been hired to do those things deemed too dangerous for Gloria, or too strenuous, or simply too mundane and not worthy of the star's greater talents. Angela Morgan was likable enough, Gloria supposed, and she did her job well, but she had airs like the rest of the rabble. Gloria felt it was her duty to keep the little people in their collective places.
"Make sure you show off my good side this time, dear." Gloria smirked, strutting towards the director's chair, hearing her double sigh…
"That would be your big, fat butt, right?" Angela mumbled, watching the wicked witch of West Hollywood stalk off to make some other poor soul's life miserable, glad that it was not her that had attracted the movie star's ire.
Angela wondered what had happened in her life that had made the woman such an arrogant snob. Fifteen years ago she had idolized the great Gloria Swann. She had loved going to the Saturday matinee, seeing a Buster Keaton or Charlie Chaplain comedy, or a Gloria Swann adventure serial. She would become immersed in the action, staring wide-eyed as Gloria would outwit the Kaiser's bumbling soldiers, or some native tribe in Africa, or even a gang of mobsters or boot-leggers in America. Angela had known even back then, living in New York's Hell's Kitchen that that was what she wanted to be when she grew up.
It was a quirk of fate, however, that had determined that Angela look almost identical to her Silver Screen heroine when she had finally grown old enough to try her own hand at acting. She had taken a bus across country, to a bustling, growing Hollywood filled with aspiring young actors and actresses like herself, only to find out that even though she was an adequate talent, she bore too close a resemblance to the then leading star. Time and again she was turned away with the sometimes not so polite refusal, that she would never get more than a bit part, at least as long as Gloria Swann was still on top of the Hollywood heap.
Finally, at the suggestion of her acting coach, she had applied to be Gloria's understudy at the film Production Company where Gloria was contracted. It seemed her only choice, to follow her dream at least in some respect, and not have to return home in defeat and disgrace. Oddly however, she found that she enjoyed working as Gloria's stand in, and she was hired immediately, making more money than she would have ever dreamed possible. Not only was she almost the spitting younger image of her favorite movie star, but as Angela was honing her acting skills, so too was she learning the arts of female escapology. Growing up she had spent hours bound and gagged by her very own brother and some of her closer friends, struggling with the knots and cords, learning all the tricks to free herself again from every possible situation that she could imagine. She had been hog-tied and bound to poles and pillars. She had been tied and locked away in basements and closets. She had been hung by her arms until they were aching so badly that she would cry, but she always escaped. In many ways, she knew more than Gloria herself. And Gloria's claim to fame was that she was the Queen of Escapes.
So, for over five years Angela had done the dangerous and daring work that was deemed too much for the aging movie star. Angela was the one who was bound and gagged and thrown into perilous situations with Gloria mugging for the close-ups and doing the more tame and intimate scenes. Gloria got to kiss the hero, and receive the adulation of the crowd while Angela did all the real work. And for the most part, Angela loved it. While other women might resent always living in the shadow of another, Angela relished it. She was doing what she had wanted to do for so long, getting paid and living better than anyone of her family or friends. And she was having fun…
Angela Morgan twisted her wrists, checking the special rope bonds that held her hands and arms behind her back for at least the twentieth time as she walked towards the cliff and her mark. Like Gloria, she had been loosely bound, but her own ropes were actually tied into knots and not just looped about her wrists. The cords were different though; a special line that had been cut and hollowed out a bit- just an inch or so- at the severed ends, with the hollowed parts then filled with a short, thin stick of wood that would hold the two halves together until Angela applied enough strength to separate them. Angela had heard that the great Harry Houdini used something similar in his act, and she had gotten Karl the Prop Manager to create something similar for her. Simply by pulling her arms, the rope would separate and she would be free enough to undo the loops of the cord and escape. It was so simple, it was positively brilliant.
Angela stepped right up to the cliff's edge and peered over. She watched as the great plume of never-ending water from the river streamed over the edge, plunging almost fifty feet into the large deep pool below. It was not such a long drop. She had leapt from higher, but it was not the fall that was the stunt in this instance. Some thirty feet below where she stood, Angela spied the rope that was strung across the gorge, camouflaged with moss and leaves, disguised as a passable vine.
Her job would be to leap from the cliff to escape her pursuers, or rather, Gloria's pursuers, escape from the ropes binding her wrists as she fell, grab the 'vine' and then swing out to safety far down the river. Not an impossible task, but one that left little margin for error. Still, as she followed the disguised rope arching out over the water and disappearing into the thick branches of a large tree that loomed over the pool below, she was confidant that she was safe. She trusted Karl Braun, the prop manager and stunt coordinator- as she preferred to call him- and knew that the rope would be securely tied to the tree and that it had been measured to the inch to set her safely on the river bank far below after the arch of her swing. Karl had been the one to bind her, in fact, and he made doubly sure that her trick rope was in perfect order. She would simply have to tug on her bonds and then swing the trailing rope under her legs to get her hands back in front of her. Then she must grab the rope and it would swing her to safety. The only real hazard of the stunt was getting her hands in front of her quickly enough, and leaping out far enough to grab at the rope in time. Angela would be jumping without the benefit of a running start, thanks mainly to Gloria's fear of heights. The actress insisted that she stop well away from the edge of the cliff to ensure her own safety, and Angela would have to leap from where she stopped. It was a twenty-foot arching jump, and Angela was just a little worried that she might not make it.
Angela looked at the ground, inspecting the area around the edge of the cliff, kicking away a few of the larger pieces of rock littering the ground at her feet. She frowned to see Gloria's foot prints over ten feet away from where she was standing. Gloria had missed her mark, and as Angela walked to where the star had stood, she could see that the extra distance placed the leap to the rope well outside the limits of safety. Even if she got her hands free, she would never make that extra distance in her leap and grab the vine.
Angela sighed, hoping that the cameras would not show the difference. She had to leap from her mark, or the stunt would be ruined. She would miss the vine, or land in the wrong spot, or worse. She hated that it would not be perfect, but there was no way that she might do the stunt from where Gloria had stopped. She hoped that Jonathan, the director would not notice, or at least would understand.
Peering over the edge of the cliff again, Angela could just make out the shadow of the safety boat hidden in the shadows of the thick foliage at the bank and the roiling mists created by the waterfall. She knew that Karl was in the boat, waiting to drag her from the water should anything go wrong with the stunt, or if she should get injured somehow. She could also see one of the three cameras that would be trained on her for the fall. Three cameras were almost unheard of in an adventure serial, but Gloria herself had backed this venture, along with several producers, and the budget apparently allowed for the extra expense of getting all the stunts from as many angles as possible. Along with the camera situated down on the river bank below, there was also one set on a platform amongst the trees and the third would be trained on her from behind to get the image of her leap over the precipice. There were too many people involved with just this shot for Angela to get it wrong, and she had to admit that she was becoming a little anxious for it all to be over.
Angela turned at the shrill screech of Gloria Swann’s voice as it cut across the set. She saw the actress in the midst of the production crew surrounding Jonathan Harkins as he sat in his high wooden director’s chair. Gloria seemed to be fuming, shaking her finger almost in Harkin’s face and gesturing wildly at the extras that were milling about at their mark a few yards away. All around the director, his staff busily tried to do their respective jobs; the script girl thumbed through her copy of the day’s scenes, the head camera coordinator peered through a small view finder, trying to measure the remaining light for the final shot of the day, the make-up girl tried to swab the sweat away from Gloria’s brow, only to be swatted away. For his part, Harkins stared at Gloria, apparently listening intently through her tirade though Angela knew differently. The Assistant Director, John Thomas, was leaning in closely behind Harkins, his lips moving, and Angela knew that whatever he was saying was far more important than anything that the arrogant star had to dispute. Angela had to smile.
Angela glanced over at the eight women who made up the pack of Gloria’s pursuers. They were all gorgeous, done up to look like Amazonian warriors from legend to fit in with the theme of the movie being shot. The gist of the story was that Gloria was an archeological explorer, riding the crest of popularity rising from the discoveries of ancient tombs found in Egypt over the past few years. Her character would discover a hidden, forgotten city deep in the dense jungles of South America, rich with gold and jewels and populated by fierce female warriors; the Amazons. The film would then focus on Gloria’s trials and tribulations as she tried to escape from the city and get back to civilization with some proof of her discoveries. As an adventure serial, it was a good plot with plenty of action written into the script. Gloria’s own money and power made sure that she would come out on top, surrounded by exotic locations and the best direction and production that her wealth could buy. Finally, there would be dozens of beautiful and scantily clad women prancing about for the young men in the audience to ogle from week to week. Every episode would be tailor made to keep the crowds packing into the theatres and spending their hard-earned nickels and dimes.
The ‘Amazons’ looked bored and just a little abashed as they tried not to seem too interested at what Gloria Swann was saying. From what Angela could hear, Gloria seemed to be berating the extras, most specifically the trio that held the prop bows. One had fired an arrow a bit too close to Gloria it seemed, and she was furious. Angela giggled. The look on Jonathan’s face was priceless.
Angela could see the extras smirking as well, though they were more able to hide their reactions than she was with her arms bound behind her back. She saw her friend, Jennifer Higgins- designated third Amazon- trying desperately to stifle her own fit of giggles. The two friends locked eyes for a split second and both broke down in laughter. Jennifer covered her mouth and turned away, but all that Angela could do with her hands trapped behind her was bite the inside of her cheek and hope that no one else took notice of her most unprofessional behavior. She took a step back, turning to face the falls again-
Something thumped into the dirt between her feet and she staggered. Glancing down Angela saw an arrow vibrating in the earth, and even as she gasped another struck, slicing through the thin leather of her boot and jutting from the ground suddenly behind her ankle. She yelped in surprise and jumped back, the long wooden shaft snagging her boot and sending her off balance. Angela felt the ledge beneath her start to crumble under her sudden weight and give way. Angela screamed…
Jonathan Harkins sighed trying his best to ignore the shrill ranting voice that was nagging at his ear. It seemed to be becoming almost a daily occurrence with the spoiled starlet. Gloria Swann had some new complaint every morning, and some suggestion or problem on almost every shot. Harkins swore that this would be the last film that he ever shared credit with the star, and if not for the money she had promised the studio, he would not even be here in the steaming hell that was Brazil. It was not worth it… almost.
He looked up from his copy of the script that Shirley was holding for his perusal, pretending that he cared what Gloria Swann had to say. The sudden cry had drawn his attention, and he glanced about quickly, hoping for anything that might distract Gloria from her latest tirade. His eyes went wide as they focused on the Morgan girl, Gloria’s stand in, stumbling backwards towards the cliff’s edge. His first thought was that she was in danger, that she needed help! But then he saw the waning light, and the possibility that the stunt would be ruined, and a day’s shooting would be lost. More if the double was hurt, or killed.
Jonathan Harkins’ mind raced in the space of a heartbeat. Even before the girl’s scream began to fade and others about the set started to look up at the sudden commotion he was up and out of his chair. He shoved Gloria Swann out of his way, not even weighing the consequences of that abrupt action or the endless speeches he would have to endure later. He grabbed at his megaphone, shouting at Thomas as he ran forward-
“Action! Roll film! Roll film!!”
Everything seemed a blur as Angela fell backwards, but oddly, time seemed to slow as well, giving her a long hard look at what was happening. She saw the sudden stricken look of panic on Jennifer’s face, her mouth opening wide, her breasts starting to strain at the skimpy strip of fur cloth that barely held them in place as she drew in breath to scream. She saw Harkins running forward, though not actually towards her. His megaphone slowly rose to his lips, the wide-mouthed cone hiding the look of startled determination on his face. She heard his booming voice barely over the roar of the cascading waterfalls calling for action. She saw Gloria Swann stumbling across the set, her footing lost and landing in a heap on the dirty trail…
Time caught up to itself as her heart slammed into her chest another beat. Angela’s scream choked in her throat as she lost her view of the set, the edge of the precipice crumbling and falling away beneath her feet. Her stomach lurched at the sudden sensation that there was nothing under her anymore. Nothing to support her as gravity locked her in a vice-like grip and started to drag her down… down…
Angela screamed…
Will Angela Survive? Join us here next time to find out…
© Curt F 2002