Back to the Drawing Board

Red and blue lights cycled in and out, changing the lighting
of the darkened room with every turn. A
large, stern-faced man with a bush mustache stood next to a short woman with
her hair pulled back in a ponytail. The
red and blue lights danced across the notepad of the stern-faced man.

“How many times we been here, O’Hare?” the stern-faced man
said.

“Too many times,” O’Hare replied, pulling on blue rubber
gloves and gently adjusting her long blonde ponytail.

“What’s your take?” the stern-faced man asked. He clicked on the cap on his pen and prepared
to take notes.

“Two Caucasian males, mid-to-late 30’s,” O’Hare studied the
bodies that lay within the white chalk outlines on the linoleum floor. “No signs of forced entry. No signs of struggle. Wounds indicate close proximity, meaning they
probably knew each other. Looks like the
taller male struck first and his husky friend got in a retaliatory blow before
they both succumb to their wounds.”

“Motive?” he asked.

“Who knows,” O’Hare replied.
“Crime of passion, crime of convenience, crime of curiosity, crime of
wheat. This is a twisted world. Nobody knows that better than we do.”

O’Hare and her stern-faced partner knelt down next to the
bodies. With her blue rubber gloves, she
reached into the front pocket of the victim’s cargo shorts and pulled out his
wallet.

“Cut!” the director yelled from the corner of the room. A bell rang overhead and there was a
collective groan from the cast and crew.
Woodruff and Bob sat up from the chalk outlines around their bodies.

“Did we get the shot?” Woodruff asked.

“No,” the director replied.
“Your friend was smiling, again.”

“Those gloves tickle,” Bob said.

“Bob, you can’t smile,” Woodruff said. “We’re supposed to be dead.”

“I know, but it tickled,” Bob replied. “I think she’s doing it on purpose.”

“I’m not tickling you,” the indignant actor replied.

“Well then you’re just naturally tickly then,” Bob argued.

“Steve, this is ridiculous,” she pled to the director.

“It’s not my call,” the director replied.

“He’s right,” Woodruff said.
“Judge Goodman sentenced us to community service here on the lot.”

“Turns out if you kick in a door dressed as superheroes,
grab hold of a woman, jump out a window, and run from security, it’s a crime,”
Bob added.

“Who knew?”

“Who knew.”

“I won’t work with a couple of amateurs,” the actor replied.

“Katee, please,” Steve said.

“No, either they go, or I go.”

“Well, we are here at the mandate of the courts,” Woodruff began,
with an awkward pause. “So, if one of us
are leaving, it’s probably gonna be you.”

“It’s been a pleasure working with you,” Bob said. “I’m a big fan.”

The actor threw her head back, rolled her eyes, and stormed
off in a huff.

“Katee, come on,” Steve pled. The door slammed shut behind her.

“Steve, if I may, I’ve got a few notes,” Woodruff said. “The script says two Caucasian males, well
I’m of European descent for sure, but Bob here is 1/32nd Cherokee
and 2/92nd Choctaw.”

“My baby, she’s a Chippewa,” Bob added.

“She’s a one of a kind,” Woodruff said. “So, I don’t know that your description gives
full sway to the nuanced background of the bodies we’re portraying.”

The director stood with his back to Woodruff and Bob, still facing
the recently slammed door.

“Also,” Woodruff continued.
“No one’s gonna believe that these sweet shrines to humanity are in
their mid-to-late 30’s.”

“And while we’re on the subject,” Bob said. “Which one of us is the tall one and which
one is the husky one?”

“Bob, I mean, clearly I’m the tall one,” Woodruff said.

“So that makes me the husky one?”

“Yeah.”

“How dare you, sir!”

“Enough!” Steve shouted.
He turned around to face Woodruff and Bob. “You two have completely ruined this entire
shoot.”

“I think the descriptive inaccuracies of our physical traits
were already doing that,” Bob said.

“Not too mention the casting,” Woodruff said. “I mean Office Angry Brow over here would be
more convincing as a disgruntled bus driver than a detective.”

“I want you two out,” Steve said.

“Knocked out or passed out,” Woodruff said. “Because I was thinking if we just fell down
on the floor and then you chalked our outline it would look more natural than
trying to contort our bodies in a pre-drawn form.”

“Especially a husky pre-drawn form,” Bob said. “Which is clearly too big for my non-husky
form.”

“Get out!” the director ordered.

“But the court,” Woodruff said. He pulled the court order from his pocket and
held it up in front of the director.
“We’ve got to return this to the judge with your signature after we’ve
completed a hundred hours. It’s only
been four.”

“Give me that,” Steve grabbed the paper from his hand. “Pen!”

An intern ran over from the craft services table and handed
the director a pen. Steve took Bob by
the arm and turned him around. He placed
the court order on Bob’s back and signed it.

“There,” Steve said, handing the paper back to
Woodruff. “You’re all done. Now leave this set, immediately.”

“Thanks, Steve,” Bob said.
“You’re all right.”

“Do you want the rest of our notes before we go?” Woodruff
asked. “I’ve got some thoughts on our
backstories that could really spice things up.”

“Security!” Steve called.

Two muscular men in black t-shirts stepped out from behind a
façade.

“See that these two are thrown off the lot and banned for
life,” Steve said.

The burly security duo nodded and took Woodruff and Bob by
the arms.

“Benny, Leon,” Woodruff greeted them. “How are the kids?”

“They’re good,” Leon said.
“Molly just made first chair in orchestra.”

“Greg took fourth at state,” Benny said.

“That’s terrific,” Bob said.
“Top five.”

Benny and Leon escorted Woodruff and Bob to the main gate.