Read The Cutting Room: Dark Reflections of the Silver Screen for Free Online

demonstrated I wasn’t a klutz. I guess you could say it was the modern social equivalent of an army physical. Denise and Lora exchanged approving nods near the end and Stan loosened up enough so that he took a minute between shots of tequila and his chain-smoking to talk to me.
    Between all the alcohol and nicotine, I got a contact buzz and found myself obsessing about the hanged man and the way he disappeared into the shadows. Denise was still attractive to me, but I couldn’t forget how pleased she’d looked as she talked about the death.
    My thoughts hid me beside the Tin Man’s cabin, watching the trio skip past. I would move onto the road. The hanged man was visible ahead. They must have turned their eyes to follow the road as it bent to the right, because they didn’t see him.
    But I did.
    Denise had seemed like her old self in the mixed company, and I assumed I was overreacting. So I agreed to a third date. Instead of a rerun with the mystery man in the trees, I got Stan and Lora again and a nice restaurant. I was almost happy when I saw their wan faces.
    Almost. Denise and Lora left to powder their noses, and Stan asked me a question.
    “How did you like the movie?”
    “What?”
    “You know what I mean. You look like you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in a while.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “Denise is predictable. I’d be more surprised if she hadn’t shown you the film yet.”
    I gulped my beer. “You’ve . . . seen him?”
    Stan shrugged. “What about it?”
    “The guy hanged himself. She seems so glad.”
    “Someone dies somewhere every second. Get used to it. Life will get a lot easier if you do.”
    Before I could ask what he meant, Denise and Lora returned from the bathroom.
    I had the dream again the next night. It started at the same point. The Tin Man finished his dance, stumbled off the road, collapsed in a heap on a tree stump near the cabin. The others rushed to his side, Technicolor concern painting their expressions.
    No one noticed me. I couldn’t hear everything they said. It did seem to change night to night, probably because I couldn’t remember the dialogue verbatim.
    The Wicked Witch screeched at the three adventurers from her perch on the roof above, surprising me again. I crouched and prayed she wouldn’t see me. She tossed a fireball at the Scarecrow and even from this distance I felt the heat. The Tin Man smothered the flames under his funnel hat, but not before the silver paint bubbled and blistered on the edge of his hat and on several of his fingers.
    The Wicked Witch took off on her broom. Smoke billowed like a tumor in her wake. No trapdoors this time; my position offered an excellent view behind the cabin. Her flight left a rough scar across the sky that traced the road’s path toward the Emerald City and beyond to the land of the Winkies.
    “I wonder how many she’ll kill when she gets home?”
    I jumped from my crouch. The Scarecrow stood beside me. Dorothy and the Tin Man remained in the road. Instead of the concern I’d seen earlier, they appeared curious.
    “What are you doing?” I glanced toward the trees. The Hanged Man swung from his rope, as solid as a mirage, flirting with the shadows. I turned back to the Scarecrow. “You’re supposed to be on your way to the Emerald City.”
    The Scarecrow, who looked less and less like Bolger, dropped his gaze and shrugged. The simple gesture produced a sound reminiscent of dead leaves. “I’m not supposed to tell you,” he said, his words more rustle than speech.
    Dorothy and the Tin Man, poor doubles for Garland and Haley, edged toward the bend. “We have to go, Scarecrow,” the not-Garland said. “There’s not much time left and we’re expected.”
    The Scarecrow joined them. “I’m not supposed to tell you, Michael,” he repeated. “Talk to Stan.” He glanced towards the trees one last time as he and his companions moved away. “Stay away from the Hanged Man.”
    I woke drenched with