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When he had finished eating, Erik stood up and excused himself. “I’d better do some shooting before the natives get too restless,” he said, indicating the children.
“Good idea,” B. J. agreed. “Anything we can do to help?”
“No, just act normally. I really hope I don’t attract the kids’ attention. I want them to behave just as they are now. I could use the able assistance of my key grip here, though.”
Kathleen didn’t realize he was referring to her until a silence fell on the group. She looked up at him. “Me?” she asked in astonishment.
“If you don’t mind. Now that you’re familiar with the equipment.”
“But I only—”
“Please, Kathleen, time is of the essence,” he cut in.
She glanced around at the expectant faces and realized she had no choice but to get up and follow him.
“What are you trying to pull?” she asked out of the corner of her mouth as they crossed the large room. “I’m not at all familiar with the equipment.”
“No, but I need you anyway.”
“Why?”
They had reached the small dais that B. J. used whenever he had to make important announcements to the whole group. Erik turned on the camera, slung it upon his right shoulder and placed his eye to the viewfinder. Kathleen noticed that he didn’t shut his left eye. That must be hard to do, she thought objectively. How could he focus his vision?
“Just stand still a minute,” he said as he turned toward her.
She was appalled when he placed the lens of the camera to within inches of her breasts and began turning the awesome dials that ringed the lens.
“What—” She jumped back in shock.
“Just stand still, I said.” He reached out with his spare hand and drew her close again.
“Would you get that thing away from me? I know you think you’re very funny, but I don’t.”
He took his eye away from the viewfinder and fixed her with an exasperated expression. “I’m only using your white blouse for my color balance.”
“Exactly what does that mean?” She was partially pacified, but still suspicious.
“It means,” he said with the slow, measured tone one would use on a simpleton, “that I have a meter built into the camera. Each time I shoot a scene, I have to check my lighting and balance the color level against something solid white. I promise you my motives for using your blouse are honorable.”
“Why didn’t you use a tablecloth?”
One corner of his mouth tilted into a sardonic grin. “I only promised that I was honorable. I’m not stupid.”
Kathleen shoved past him and strode back to the table. When she had flopped into her chair, B. J. turned to her and asked, “Everything all right? Is Erik set to shoot?”
“I think so,” she mumbled, and didn’t add that Mr. Gudjonsen’s actions were no bloody concern of hers!
For the next half-hour, she chatted with the other members of the staff and studiously kept her eyes off Erik, who managed, despite his size, to remain almost invisible as he moved among the tables recording the antics of the children as they launched into a series of organized games. When he finished, he whistled loudly to get everyone’s attention. His voice boomed out across the room. “My name is Erik. Would any of you like to be on television?”
The response was deafening. Kathleen knew a smug satisfaction when he was stampeded by clamoring children all demanding equal time to cavort idiotically before the camera. As he did everything, he handled the mob with aplomb.
For another half-hour, he let the children ham in front of him. When he called it quits, he safely returned his camera to the dais and strolled to the staff table, wiping a perspiring forehead with his sleeve.
“You are either a saint or a glutton for punishment.” Edna laughed. “Why would you put yourself through such torture?”
“I’ve learned that there is nothing more intimidating than the lens of a camera. Even the most gregarious become tongue-tied and inhibited in front of it. So, I thought I’d let them act as foolish as they wanted to, let some of the mystique wear off. Tomorrow night, I’ll show them the tape on the monitor. Hopefully, the magic will have worn off and they’ll start ignoring me. That’s the only way I’ll get candid reactions.”
“You missed your calling, my boy,” B. J. said. “You should have been a child psychologist.”
