Chapter 8: Locations – School and Psychiatric Hospital
Wayne was up by 7 a.m., organizing all the materials he needed for the day. Everything was neatly packed in his bag. Glancing at Naomi, who was still doing her makeup, he shook his head and said:
"We need to hurry. I can't be the one running late to a meeting I organized."
"Okay, I'm ready—just about. Want me to carry your bag?"
Naomi tossed aside her eyebrow pencil and walked over, wrapping her arms around Wayne's. She took the briefcase from his hand, and he didn't stop her. He rather enjoyed the attentiveness of a beautiful woman—it gave a man a sense of accomplishment that was hard to match.
Grabbing the car keys and locking up, they headed downstairs. Wayne drove them straight to Jasmine Café. When they arrived, the place was still empty. They ordered coffee and sandwiches and began quietly eating while waiting for everyone else.
The first to arrive was Luke—no surprise there. He was clearly enthusiastic about the project. Maybe it was Wayne's passion that had rubbed off on him, or maybe it was just the excitement of working closely on his first real film production. Either way, he looked like he hadn't slept much.
One by one, the rest of the crew trickled in. Wayne had only met most of them once before, so things were still a bit awkward. There wasn't much small talk—just brief introductions before everyone fell silent, waiting.
At 7:50, Jimmy finally walked in, accompanied by Uma Thurman and Ethan Hawke. The three of them pulled out chairs and sat down. Jimmy gave a sheepish smile.
"Sorry we're a bit late. Hope we didn't hold things up."
"No worries—it's not eight yet. You're on time." Wayne looked around. "Since everyone's here, I'll get straight to it. I know most of you aren't too familiar with each other yet, but don't worry. Once we start filming, that'll change fast."
"I called everyone here today to let you know that filming begins in two days. Our primary shooting locations will be in Orange County. The school scenes will be shot at Vincent High. I've already negotiated with them—they'll help us clear out the space and provide props where needed."
"Ross and Mia, if there are any school items you need, feel free to coordinate with them. Don't be shy."
"Lily, if you need a makeup space, Luke can arrange a classroom for you. We won't be renting a makeup trailer. Any questions so far?"
Seeing both Ross (the prop master) and Lily (the makeup artist) nod in acknowledgment, Wayne continued:
"For the hospital scenes, we'll be using an abandoned psychiatric facility on the outskirts of Orange County. Luke, we'll only need half of the first floor. Go check it out with Ross and begin setup."
Ross raised a hand and tapped the table, interrupting politely.
"Sorry to cut in, Wayne, but if we're setting up an entire hospital environment, it's just not something Mia and I can handle alone. We'll need extra hands."
"Got it," Wayne said. "Luke, hire two more temps for the set crew. Anything else about props or set design?"
"Not for now," Ross replied. "We'll see once we scout the location. I'll get back to you if anything comes up."
Wayne nodded and continued:
"These are our two main exterior locations. The rest of the scenes—on roads or in tunnels—we'll shoot on quiet highways or underpasses. If all goes smoothly, the entire shoot should wrap in about two months."
"I'm asking everyone to be professional. If you have questions or issues, now is the time to raise them. Once filming begins, I want everything running smoothly—I don't want unnecessary interruptions."
He glanced around the room. It was a modest crew, maybe a dozen people at most. Not exactly a blockbuster-scale team.
Suddenly, Steve—the lighting tech—raised a hand. Wayne gestured for him to speak.
"Where will we be staying? Sorry if that's a dumb question. I just figured since it's your first time directing, you might've missed that detail."
Before Wayne could respond, Luke jumped in.
"Already handled. The hotel's been booked in advance. Meals and lodging are covered. It's only two blocks from the shooting site."
Steve gave a nod of approval and relaxed.
Wayne looked around again, knowing full well he was the rookie here. Most of these people had some level of experience on film sets, and there was no doubt they were judging him.
But that was fine. As long as they did their jobs well, he didn't care what they thought of him.
For most of the crew, this was just another two-month gig. Nothing more, nothing less. Anyone who'd read the script could tell this was a low-budget, unconventional horror film with little chance of real success.
"Well then, if there are no more questions, everyone head back and get ready. We'll meet here, outside the café, two mornings from now. Transportation will be arranged."
Wayne paused, glancing at Jimmy. "By the way, Jimmy, are we good on extras?"
As the group stood and began filtering out of the café, Wayne double-checked with him.
"No problem," Jimmy replied. "Just need a decent-looking middle-aged guy for the teacher role. I've left a few background extras for the school scenes—some local kids. Nothing difficult. New faces are easy to find."
He gave Wayne a nod and left first, driving off. Wayne took Naomi back to the apartment. Only after handling a few final things did he finally exhale. The first phase was done. Now, everything hinged on the shoot itself.
Only then did he truly understand what his teacher used to say:
A film is the result of an entire crew's collective effort.
Wayne didn't have a casting director to handle auditions. No producer or production manager to manage the budget or logistics. No cinematographer or assistants to help plan camera angles. No assistant directors to scout locations.
Honestly, just the pre-production phase had left him mentally and physically exhausted.
Scraping together this barebones crew made him feel stretched thin—but there was still more to arrange. At least, things were moving forward.
He picked up the phone and called Luke.
"Luke, it's Wayne. Double-check the bus rental tomorrow, and make sure all the equipment is loaded in advance. I don't want any surprises."
"Got it. I'll have everything packed up by tomorrow afternoon."
Hearing Luke's confident reply, Wayne relaxed on the balcony and returned to his storyboards. Naomi had finally gone back to her own place, giving him some space to focus and mentally check off anything that was still unprepared.
He ripped a sheet from his typewriter and began penciling notes—one location after another confirmed, props sourced, cameras and set design on track. Still, he would personally inspect everything before the first day of shooting to ensure nothing went wrong.
Any mistake at this stage could turn into a disaster once filming started. A slight delay, an accident, and the entire budget could collapse. If they went over cost, the whole project might fall apart halfway through.
And then there was the issue of this patchwork crew—working together for the first time. It was inevitable there'd be friction. So, Wayne planned to start with the simpler scenes, to ease everyone in and give the cast time to settle into their roles.
He could already tell the two lead actresses weren't going to get along. But Wayne was banking on contracts, professional ambition, and the potential benefits of a successful film to keep them focused. If nothing else, the promise of future work would be enough for them to bury the hatchet—at least temporarily.
His mother had once told him, back when he was younger: There's no such thing as a harmonious crew in Hollywood. Wayne knew that. Disagreements, tensions—even blowouts—were normal.
The only rule? It must never affect the work. If it did, he wouldn't hesitate to fire them. Actors were cheap, after all.
This was Los Angeles—the heart of Hollywood. You couldn't throw a rock without hitting a pretty face or an aspiring star. It was overflowing with gorgeous, hungry nobodies.
He'd even considered casting a minority actress for one of the supporting roles—just to make the film appear more "politically correct." But in the end, he dismissed the idea himself.
"Damn it," Wayne muttered. "It's the early '90s, not that 'BLM-everything' future nonsense."
That era—just imagining it made him shake his head. If a film didn't have a Black lead? Racist. If the villain was Black? Racist. If the hero wasn't Black? Racist. Hell, if your ex-girlfriend wasn't at least coffee-colored, someone would call it racism.
He'd been here for over twenty years. Even at private schools, he'd grown up around minorities. And if there was one group he couldn't stand, it was the so-called "brothas"—lazy, entitled, always stealing or scamming.
They knew everything except how to support themselves or their families.
So, no—he wasn't about to cast some self-righteous Black actor in his films. If he ever had to? Maybe someone like Will Smith. A Black man with a "white soul." Someone who worked hard to integrate into the mainstream. That kind of guy? Smart.
Knock knock!
Just as Wayne was sketching out another shot, a knock echoed from the door. He sighed, crumpled the paper in his hand, and tossed it in the trash before getting up.
"Hi," came the playful voice. "We've only been apart a few hours, but I already missed you. Still working?"
Naomi stood at his door, teasing smile in place. Wayne frowned.
"Naomi… we're just friends."
The blonde didn't skip a beat. She looked him over and replied smoothly:
"Of course. Best friends. I just came to invite you over for lunch. I assume you don't have plans?"
He closed the door behind him and followed her across the hall. She was always testing boundaries.
If this film flops, Wayne thought, she'll turn on me faster than flipping a page.
Her apartment was identical in layout to his—but spotless. She clearly liked cleanliness, maybe even had a touch of OCD.
In the open kitchen, a small dining table was set with two large plates. Each held a thick steak. A bottle of red wine stood beside them.
He sat down, and only then noticed that his steak was noticeably larger—clearly made with his appetite in mind.
"Naomi," he said, smiling, "Sometimes you're a wild little kitten. Other times, you're like the perfect girlfriend—sweet, considerate, seductive enough to make a man want to lock you up and keep you all to himself."
Naomi smiled back as Wayne cut into his steak, casually tossing flirtations. She knew better than to fall for it.
In just two days, she'd already figured him out. Wayne might talk a smooth game, but he was never going to let love or a woman slow him down.