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Today they were shooting a scene that takes place after the dance because Sasha had, according to the whispered gossip I’d overheard while hiding in the shadows, thrown a fucking fit about not having the proper boots for the dance scene itself. Also, today was the first day that she had been on the set. I’d caught a glimpse of her as she and several attendants had paraded past. Beautiful woman who had aged gracefully. She was roughly our age, according to Tony, just a year younger, but with a soul possessed by an ageless harpy. His words, not mine. I’d picked up his unease last night over a delicious pot of beef stew he’d made for dinner. I feared I might have to move to the next notch on my belt if he stayed for the projected six weeks.
Six weeks. Christ. We barely had four done, and I was unable to think rationally. I glanced upward. The hay loft looked better and better.
“Please, do not try to insinuate to me that I do not know how to deliver a comedic line!” I heard Sasha saying as she sailed onto the set, sending the hands flurrying about like chickens after a fox ran into the pen. Paul Gershman, the assistant producer, was being raked over the coals by the starlet. Was a woman in her fifties still considered a starlet? I had no clue but man did I feel for poor Paul. I’d spoken to him several times and he seemed an affable sort of guy. “I’ve been starring in films since before you were a spurt from your daddy’s saggy ball sack.”
Paul glanced around, seeking out Miles Whitehead, the director, and the only person who seemed to be able to curtail Sasha’s histrionics. Tony must have needed a beard badly to marry this woman.
“Sasha, I’m well aware of how talented you are and how long you’ve been in the business,” Paul quickly said as a group of makeup and hair people fluttered around her, trying to finish their work while she ranted. I felt bad for them too.
“Was that an age crack?” Sasha snapped, and then her sight flew to me. Shit. “You there!” She stalked over and tapped my chest with a long, merry fingernail. “You’re the law around here, correct? I want that man arrested!”
I shot Paul a look. He was whispering a silent prayer to the sky, or the hayloft, perhaps both.
“On what grounds?” I asked as politely as possible.
“Defamation of character! I want him thrown into your jail and held there until he retracts his statement about me being too old to star in a romantic comedy!”
Wow. It was amazing how such a pretty woman could morph into something so horrible to look at in such a short amount of time.
“Defamation is not a crime. You can certainly contact your attorney if you wish, but since multiple witnesses can testify that Mr. Gershman said nothing like what you are accusing him of, you’d lose the case.”
She glowered up at me, called me a hick that slept with pigs, and then stormed off with makeup, hair, and several members of her “team,” whatever the hell that constituted. Paul whispered a thanks to me and raced off after Sasha to placate their leading lady.
“Nicely done,” Tony said, stepping up beside me out of nowhere, looking amazingly handsome in his winter gear. “She will stew about your set down for at least an hour. Want to go to the food trailer and get something hot to drink?” The inside of the barn was chilly for sure. All the doors were open, which allowed the winds to whip through. With the temps now hovering around twenty degrees, it didn’t take long to get cold. “It’s on me.”
Deep down, I knew I should move on. I had paperwork out the ass to do back at the office. I’d been trying my level best to keep as much space between me and Tony as humanly possible, but there was something about his aura today that had me nodding silently.
We made our way out of the big red barn, which was all duded up with holiday cheerfulness. I made a point to give the ball of mistletoe hanging over the open doors a wide berth. Not that Tony and I would ever kiss again. No way.
“You certainly do have a way with people,” Tony said as we meandered outside, the November sun weak today as thick gray clouds were moving in. Forecasters were saying we might get a dusting of snow overnight.
“I try,” I replied, shoving my hands into the front pockets of my thick black bomber jacket with the RPD patch on one arm, my name stitched over the placket for my badge, and my shoulder mic fastened to my left shoulder.
“Sometimes that gruff bear persona works. I’ve never seen the queen bitch or her ladies-in-waiting, as I call them, move so fast.”
That made me chuckle. “I wasn’t trying to scare them, just relay some information.”
“I should have had you around when I was married to her,” he glibly tossed out and then paused beside a sturdy pine festooned with little Christmas lights and decorations. Every tree lining the walkways and driveway had been decorated. Even with my usual Scrooge attitude about the holidays, in general, it was hard not to feel a tiny bit of ho-ho-ho creeping in. “But if you were around, then I would never have married her.”
That took me aback. “Why not? Even if we had been together, we wouldn’t have been able to be together. I’m assuming she was a handy way to prove how straight you were.”
“Mm, yes, she was handy. And willing to be my wife. We’d both stumbled into a bit of a PR muddle at roughly the same time. She had been caught with a married man getting cozy at a club, and I’d been seen with a single man getting cozy at a club. There were no pictures and no internet, thank God, or that would have been it, but there were rumors. So, to save her reputation as well as mine we rushed to Vegas to get married. It was a perfect ruse. We played husband and wife on TV, so fans fell for the lies our agents fed the world. How we had fallen so deeply in love while working...” he made a yucky face, “as if I could ever fall for a human being like her. Still, it did get the heat off each of us for a long time, even after our divorce.”
“I’m sorry you had to live that lie. I know how tiring it is.”
He glanced at me, a softness now settling over his face. “Thank you. That was the kindest thing you’ve said to me since I arrived.”
A young man raced past with a goat on a lead. Then Santa strolled past with a vape pen and a cell phone plastered to his ear.
“I’m not trying to be mean, Tony, I’m just trying to keep a professional distance because once this movie is over, you’ll leave. I cannot allow myself to get close to you again and then have you fly west.” He stared at me openly, dark eyes now filled with agony. That look there I could not handle. “On second thought, I should get back to the courthouse. I have paperwork to file.”
I walked away before I said something else that bared more of my soul.
“See you for supper?” Tony yelled.
I gave him a nod without looking back. If I dared to glance back, he’d see the vulnerability I seemed unable to control around him. I had learned at a young age to never let weakness show.
***
