‘Aw, damn. That was badly done wasn’t it.’ Wesley rubbed his eyes. ‘I swore I wasn’t going to drink too much tonight, but it’s so easy once it gets flowing.’
‘You brought us to a winery, Wes,’ Rowan pointed out.
‘Yeah. I did. It’s a gorgeous place though. And everyone looks happy, don’t they?’
It was and they did, to be fair, but… ‘There are going to be a lot of sore heads tomorrow.’
‘Good job it’s Sunday and you all get to recover before Day One.’
‘Weall get to recover?’
‘Yeah, yeah, me too.’ He slung one of his thick arms around Rowan’s shoulders and hugged him in, one step away from rubbing his knuckles on his head like an overzealous uncle. ‘Don’t get too cocky about your teetotal restraint though; you’ll be suffering alongside us next week.’
‘That so?’
He pulled out his mobile and showed Rowan a photo of a huge expanse of golden field, one large tree in the middle ground, and the mountains behind it. ‘You’re going to hate this field by the end of the week, Rowan. But that’s okay. Wewantyou to hate the field. And then…’ He zoomed in on the tree. ‘You’re going to hate this tree; another week you’ll be stuck up in it. And yet another week afterthat, you’ll be falling out of it.’
‘Sounds like great fun.’
‘Doesn’t it?’ Wesley gave him a big grin, flashing perfect American teeth through the black bristles of his bushy beard. ‘But let’s go back to the field. This is going to be the part where you’ve finally dropped out of the tree, got loose from the parachute, and found Jonathan. Dead. You’ve wrapped him up and now you’re faced with somehow hiding him. Your only choice is to drag that body, wrapped in two parachutes, across the field, to the cliff and push him down. It’s going to be frigging exhausting – for you, not just your character – even without a real body in the parachute. Looking forward to it?’
‘I am,’ Rowan replied and meant it honestly. Bring on the work. Bring on the opportunity to lose himself in the role, to sweat and exhaust himself by the end of the day. And if he could forget about supermodels and agents and their threats towards the contents of his trousers or his livelihood, all the better.
There wasn’t a lot of dialogue in this film, it was mainly action, but it was intense action. His character, Billy, would be on his own, scrambling to survive, to remain undetected on an enemy island, and trying to escape.
A shot of adrenalin zipped into his stomach at the thought. Although this was a small picture, he was the lead. He was in ninety per cent of the scenes. Gerrard’s disinterest in this role had distracted Rowan from how big of a deal this was. He wanted to do a good job of it. He wanted to find out if he was more than a set of muscles that looked okay in unforgiving spandex. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to resort to PR stunts to capture the interest of a casting agent.
He’d been so worried about not letting down his family by losing out on the franchise role that he’d forgotten that this was important too. If he turned in a lacklustre performance, he would be letting down the rest of the cast and crew, Wesley – who’d taken a chance on him – and, ultimately, he supposed, himself.
Lila
There was a lot of hanging around while making a film.
Lila was the lowest rung on the ladder, so she basically needed to keep out of everyone’s way, apart from when they needed something – when she was to materialise almost like a fairy godmother – or one of those indispensable butlers from the period dramas she loved.
She was there to make coffee, fetch food from the canteen, make sure the kit bags were fully and appropriately stocked up for when they moved out to location, clean up everything – kit, makeup unit and actors alike – and take the continuity photographs.
Since she wasn’t someone for making a lot of noise anyhow, it was simple enough to wait until she was needed. Especially when the waiting happened to be taking place in a field of golden, swaying wheat in the sunshine. Mount Etna watched over them all in the background, pale, grey-blue and white at the top through thin clouds.
Even that, after a few hours, might have become a bit boring but, in between, she got to watch the action. Not anywhere near the video village where the director was of course. But even at a distance, down by the vehicles, sitting on the pulled-down tail of a truck alongside Ruth and Jackie, and Jeannie from wardrobe, she could see Rowan.
He was dragging something across the field, the cords of an old-fashioned parachute over his shoulder as he pulled. It didn’t look easy. She couldn’t tell how much of the panting and sweating was real and how much was exaggerated for the shots they were taking and it was a toss-up as to whether it was the sun or watching him making her feel hot.
Or maybe it was thinking about that cringe-inducing moment from the “ice-breaker”.
She was such a moron.
What had she expected? That he would grin and hug her like an old friend? Why had she let herself think that she would be relevant to him in any way? Even for a split second? Her conscious brain hadn’t – but subconsciously, she must’ve – otherwise she wouldn’t be feeling so damn disappointed and so utterly foolish, as per usual.
Ofcoursehe hadn’t remembered her. They had been in a dark cupboard for ninety per cent of the time, had only briefly seen each other in the daylight, when she let him out. And he probably heard a million names a day. His cell phone had been evidence of how busy and how wide his social network was.
When he’d come into the makeup trailer in the morning, she’d had to busy herself right up the other end while Ruth saw to him, knowing she’d be completely clumsy and self-conscious if he so much as looked at her – thereby bringing more embarrassment down upon herself. It was a vicious circle. Ironically, the store cupboard had been her salvation that time.
But she couldn’t hide from him forever. When they called it for the afternoon, she would have to go over and stare directly at his face, albeit through a camera lens, to take the continuity photos so they could get his makeup right to pick up where they left off. And try not to think about how that face had been pressed to her stomach a little over a week ago.
And that he barely remembered it.
It wasn’t like she’d expected him to announce to the table that they’d spent some time in a cupboard together. Of course not – that had been the point of her sneaking him out – but she’d expected some kind of acknowledgement. Maybe a smile that told her he remembered.
