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I’m no longer just fixing things. It’s more than wiring, plug sockets, and fuse boxes. I’m involved in creating a piece of art…and the longer I’m here, the more knowledge I absorb, the more I crave. It’s a good feeling, this thirst I have. It’s refreshing, energising, to want to learn. To choose a path for myself.
My first career was given to me. Becoming an electrician wasn’t a field I was particularly interested in, but, with no GCSEs, I gratefully accepted the apprenticeship at the company Becca’s dad worked for. In my head, the money would tide me over to adulthood, until I could escape, get the life I dreamed of.
Of course, dreams die. Routine sets in.
And here we are. Twenty-odd years later. Stuck in a routine that was supposed to be temporary.
In Studio 10, we execute Nathan’s plan, setting up the lighting fixtures to his exact specification. I get on well with the guys here. Meghan in particular is fun to be around. I think she reminds me of a female Rick.
“No, no, no… That Fresnel shouldn’t be there!” I hear Meghan yell.
I spin round to see what’s unfolding.
Bazyli throws his hands to the air. “It’s on the plan! Take it up with the gaffer!”
“I’ll take it and stick it up your ass if you don’t learn to read right.” iPad in hand, Meghan marches over to Bazyli and holds the plan inches from his face. She taps against the screen. “We are here. This Fresnel? Over there.”
I see the mistake register in Baz’s expression. “Ah.”
“Dumbass.”
“Gimme a break, Meg. I’ve been sick.”
“Were you vomiting from your eyes?”
“No.”
“Then you should be able to read.”
I’d interfere, but Baz can handle himself. If I’ve learned one thing it’s whatever goes down at work stays at work. There’s a lot of pressure here, in an industry powered by visionaries and perfectionists. We’re small cogs in a giant wheel but it won’t turn without us. So, we need to focus. Be a team. Inevitably, teams clash, disagree, and then they swill away that bullshit with a pint after work and get right back on track.
The set’s filling up. Noise is building, preparing for go time. Sometimes I wonder what the cast are doing in these final moments, while we’re all here rushing around in organised chaos. Are they mouthing silent affirmations in front of a mirror, or rehearsing their lines for the thousandth time? Are people patting their faces with powder, while showering them with compliments? Or are their shoulders sagging, lungs sighing, as they contemplate another boring day at the office…
“Laurie! You’re over here!”
My body freezes when I hear his name and, for a moment, the dolly I’m pushing feels like it weighs two tonnes. I don’t turn around. I remember who I am, what I am – a professional adult with a job to do - and go about my business. That goes well, until his voice becomes the only one in the room. It doesn’t matter that others are speaking. To my ears, that quick Scottish twang echoes above every other sound.
He's laughing now. I want to know what that looks like, how wide his smile is…but I still don’t turn.
“Four at fifty. At forty. At forty-five.” The gaffer’s in position now. I’ll have to move soon. Face Laurence. Watch him. “Okay, grab three. Pan three onto the window. Up a bit. Shutter off the left side. Right, update that to track please and can we put a block in on the last cue…”
“William.”
“Christ.” I literally jump, startled.
“Close.”
Laurence. Okay. Breathe. You’re an adult. He’s just a person. A man you’ve had hours of conversation with. A man whose lips you’ve imagined wrapped around your dick…
“Sorry,” I mutter, spinning on one foot to face him, face those lips. Fucking hell. “Lost in my own head. You look better.”
“Better?”
“Oh…the bug. I, uh, I thought you had it. Not seen you around.”
An impish smile pulls on his lips. “Have you been looking for me?”
“No,” I spit without hesitation. “No, I just, well I…I mean lots of people have had it. That’s all.”
“You work in the movies, you don’t take time off unless you’re bleeding out or you’ve injured yourself too badly for it to be covered in the chair. Trust me, anyone who went home will have a hard time getting a decent reference for their next project.”
“So you were avoiding me?” Where the hell did that come from? “God. I’m sorry. I-I don’t know why I said that. Please, please forget I said it.” My head drops, and I can only pray my cheeks aren’t as red as they feel.
A single breathy chuckle leaves his throat. “Yes, I suppose I was.”
I look up. Stunned. My mouth is open, but no words come out.
“Okay, everyone, can we take our places please!” The AD couldn’t have chosen a worse time to exist.
