Breaking Character

by Lee Winter

  At night, it was the opposite. Owl hoots, distant coyote howls, and the buzz of cicadas filled the air. The thrum of nature, for some reason, reminded her of a theater ovation. It vibrated through her, jolting her with the realization of how disconnected she’d been lately from the earth. It was so easy to forget what the real world felt like. Gossip and headlines and followers and fans were so meaningless next to grassy clods of soil, rich with living things.

  Elizabeth brushed her jeans and pulled close the knee-length, padded navy coat on loan from Wardrobe. She’d thought London was cold, but the air out here—thin, clean, and fresh—bit through everything and turned her cheeks ruddy. She settled onto the top step of her trailer, not yet ready to face the circus of catering trucks, lighting rigs, and trailers. Sipping a mug of tea—not the good stuff, of course; Summer wasn’t here yet—Elizabeth studied the wall of wilderness before her.

  People left her alone out here, which suited her introverted streak. It was a welcome change from American sets where everyone was pumped up and felt the urge to be friendly. English productions could be even worse. That old theater troupe mentality of group inclusion usually put her in a bad mood, because she couldn’t exactly wave a sign that said, “Please ignore me and we’ll get on just fine”.

  Grace used to laugh at her hatred of group bonding and suggest she play the role of “the gregarious actress who gets on famously with her co-stars.” How exhausting that sounded.

  Jean-Claude’s hand-picked team went about its business with the minimum of fuss or interaction with her. They’d all been working long hours to get Elspeth’s scenes wrapped before Elizabeth’s hiatus was over. The work everyone was putting in to meet her deadline kept her focused to do her best. Not that it was in her DNA to offer anything less.

  “Ah, you are here,” Jean-Claude strode up in black jeans, a black turtleneck, and a fat coat that matched hers. A beatnik poet came to mind. He edged his narrow backside next to her on the trailer step. “Not long now, oui?”

  Ah yes. She was supposed to be climbing the walls, missing her girlfriend after two long weeks apart. Well, if Elizabeth was being entirely honest, she had noticed Summer’s absence. There was something oddly addictive about her. Her warmth could shake Elizabeth out of even the worst moods. Summer was also one of the few people whose presence she didn’t find draining.

  “Today’s the day.” Elizabeth mustered some enthusiasm.

  “Oui. She called me last night on the satellite phone to say she must stop for the junked food essentials but she’ll be here as soon as she can.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “Fortifications? That sounds like her.”

  “I am sorry there is no reception out here and you have not been able to call her as you must have desired. The satellite phone is for business calls and emails only, you see.” His eyes filled with regret. “If I made an exception for you… mutiny! Everyone would be demanding this access.”

  “It’s fine.” Truthfully, she hadn’t minded being off the grid a few weeks. “I notice some people make a mad dash for the ridge quite often.”

  The ridge—God only knew what it was actually called—rose up halfway between distant Fresno and their valley set, and was the only place for miles you could pick up even one bar of reception. Cast or crew with a spare ninety minutes and a burning need to check in on the outside world would shout “Ridge Run” and then disappear off in that direction.

  Elizabeth had made the trek just once, needing to hear Grace’s voice again. She still regretted the call a great deal.

  Grace hadn’t wasted any time, demanding to know Elizabeth’s approach to her character, her mental preparedness, what notes she’d written. It was like being back at college, Grace correcting her technique and dicing her suggestions. For some reason, rather than feeling her usual excitement that Grace cared enough to ask, this time she resented it. Elizabeth was no longer a twenty-year-old ingénue needing guidance. And so…

  She hadn’t meant to say it. The words had just slithered out, as though Alex were sitting on her shoulder, whispering comments like a cartoon devil.

  “Summer’s been the best,” she’d said. “It’s wonderful having her here. She’s so supportive, and we’re working together so well.” The lie had felt rebellious and she’d smiled.

  Well, until Grace hissed in a breath. Then came the silence. And then…and then.

  Elizabeth gulped her tea, her stomach churning at what had followed. The awful things Grace had said. She’d had no idea Grace was capable of such viciousness, especially to a woman she barely knew. Shock had hit her. Then dismay. Then confusion. And then…she’d hung up.

  Elizabeth had hung up on Grace Christie-Oberon and driven back to set in a foul mood.

  After that, it hadn’t been hard at all to play opposite the beefy actor representing Fury in her next scene. Elizabeth’s snarling intensity had been both a weapon and a release until all she’d wanted to do was wring her co-star’s neck.

  Poor man. He’d quailed from her when the director had finally called “cut”.

  Jean-Claude had rushed over to her, beside himself with giddy glee. “Oh oui,” he kept saying, hand fluttering against his chest. “Oh my. Oui.”

  His enthusiasm hadn’t erased the bitter after-taste of Grace’s insults.

  “Elizabeth?” Jean-Claude’s voice shook her back to the present.

  “Sorry?”

  “I said we have the little girl, Julia, this morning. In to play Elspeth’s Hope.”

  She knew. Elizabeth had met the child and her mother yesterday. Precocious and perky. And that was just the mother.

  “But after we finish and your Summer is here, we will map out how your two roles intersect.” He interlocked his fingers in demonstration. “Are you nervous?”

  Taking a sip of tea to stall, Elizabeth thought about that. “The only sex scenes I’ve done have been on my TV show and they weren’t that revealing. Physically or emotionally. But I’m sure the same principle applies. It’s all just well-planned technical work.”

  “I’ll take that answer as ‘Oui, Jean-Claude, I am somewhat nervous’.” He patted her hand. “It shall be fine. We will banish from the set all those who do not need to be there. Louise has a remote-head camera, so she will not be hovering over you, ruining your mood. And, of course, you have your Summer. Just trust in her. We will make this work.”

  “Yes,” she murmured.

  He jumped to his feet and began barking out orders in a mix of English and French to anyone within earshot as he disappeared toward Elspeth’s shack.

  The compact, 350-square-foot building had been built just for the film and would be taken down when they wrapped. The national park’s supervisor had agreed the environmental impact was negligible, especially after Jean-Claude passionately cited the film’s “global tourism impact” and other marketing doublespeak that sounded entirely plausible when spoken with a French accent.

  The wooden construct had been deliberately aged and looked rustic on the inside. One wall was removable to allow a variety of camera angles on the interior. Depending on where in the shack they filmed—near the insulated, weatherproofed three sides, or the removable front one—it was either hot or freezing.

  Elizabeth’s wardrobe comprised of jeans, a white tank top, and a blue and gray flannel shirt rolled up at the sleeves. It only kept out some of the creeping fingers of wind, despite all sorts of tarpaulins strung up at the front to keep any icy gusts or rain at bay.

  Elizabeth found herself impatient to see Summer’s blue VW screech up, and have the woman’s happy laugh shatter all this silence. Silence was far too effective at giving a person space to think. And Elizabeth didn’t particularly want to dwell on what was really bothering her.

  She sighed. Why did everything always come back to Grace? That rant had been so bizarre. She had no right to speak that way about a warm, decent, talented ac
tress who was a…a friend.

  Friend?

  How had they gone from blood packs and cacti stories to this? Making new friends was not Elizabeth’s strength. Besides, she was fine with the six she had. They were comfortable, like old, fuzzy pairs of bed socks. Making new friends meant having to talk to people she wasn’t settled with. Not that she minded talking with Summer. It was painless. The more she twisted it about in her head, ‘friend’ felt like a good fit.

  Tossing the tea dregs to the ground, she returned inside her trailer and washed her cup in the small sink. As she did so, one thought tumbled through her mind on repeat, as she scrubbed the white ceramic harder and harder.

  What is Grace’s problem?

  The moment Summer pulled up on location, she felt at home. It was the weirdest feeling. She didn’t even like camping, and this place had killed her cell phone reception an hour ago, so that was another strike against it. Yet, here she was, feeling like she belonged. Maybe Elizabeth’s small, pleased smile as she leaned against a tree, waiting for her, might have a little to do with it.

  Best welcome ever.

  “Hey, you!” Summer grinned. “Wanna give me a hand? I promise there’re naughty carbs in it for you if you play your cards right.”

  Elizabeth ambled over. “Does that line work on anyone?”

  “Only hot actresses.” They met by the trunk and Summer whispered, “Jean-Claude’s watching,” before pressing her lips to Elizabeth’s.

  The familiar rush of warmth and endorphins and that sexy scent that was all Elizabeth washed over Summer once more. Her stomach gave a merry clench. Damn it!

  “So I heard the bad news,” Summer said. “Marcus is doing catering? I know he’s a good chef but I’m so sorry.”

  “You should be,” Elizabeth offered a soft groan. “I’ve been doing stealthy runs to craft services at ridiculous hours to avoid him or Jean-Claude so I can get real food. You couldn’t have given me an allergy to turnips or something?” She looked imperious as hell, but a glint in her eye suggested she wasn’t entirely serious.

  “Okay, I’ve got your back.” Summer hefted her shopping haul from her trunk. “I presume your trailer has a fridge? I bought every conceivable cheese they had in Fresno. And any other dairy snacks I thought you might be deprived because of your ‘allergy’. You can’t blame me for any osteoporosis after this.”

  “Our trailer.”

  “Hmm?” Summer stopped. “What?”

  “I gather Jean-Claude assumed he was doing us a favor. He decided we’d want to share a trailer.”

  Summer blanched. “Seriously?”

  “Don’t worry, it’s not as bad as you think. We’re not in the same compartment. Our Winnebago’s a double banger. A door at each end, a partition down the middle, matching facilities in each half. But it gives us easy access.”

  Easy access? “Um. Well…lead on,” Summer squeaked. Oh yeah. Smooth.

  The trailer was large, long, sleek, and split in half, as Elizabeth had said. Each half had its own double bed, fridge, kitchenette and bathroom facilities, couch, table, and wall TV. Jean-Claude was looking after his star, all right.

  “Comfy.” Summer gazed around her new digs, dropping her bags near the double bed. “But then, anything would be after what I was in on Choosing Hope. I mean, I know you’re used to the star-issue fancy trailer, but this is a big step up for me.”

  “You’ve clearly made it,” Elizabeth drawled. “Jean-Claude didn’t just toss you a sleeping bag for the backseat of your car.”

  “Ha-ha. Although, I am a little surprised any indie flick has a budget for something like this.”

  “They aren’t that expensive to hire, and Jean-Claude has only a tiny cast and crew. Plus it’d be low overheads out here. Don’t forget, Jean-Claude has some pretty substantial investors backing his US debut.”

  “Oh right. Guess that explains the fancy hotel suite he wined and dined us at.” Summer sat on her bed. “Okay, this’ll be cool. I assume you don’t snore loud enough that I’ll hear it in here?” she teased.

  “No one can snore that loud.”

  “I didn’t hear a denial.”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Come around to my side. We can file away the essentials you brought.” She waved at Summer’s bags of food.

  Ten minutes later, after they’d stuffed the non-perishables into an assortment of cupboards, Elizabeth poked through the bag of cheeses. “I thought I knew every variety. But what on earth is Humboldt Fog?”

  “Goat cheese. From Humboldt County.”

  “That’s some high-end contraband.” Elizabeth ordered it in her small fridge.

  “Oh, I know.” Summer laughed, and then stared when she saw what else was in there. “You drink Diet Coke?”

  “No. That stuff’ll rot your insides. It’s for you. I assumed you’d wind up in here sooner or later to run lines or whatnot.”

  Warmth spread through her. “Thanks.”

  Elizabeth shrugged and continued squeezing cheese into her fridge.

  “I also got you enough tea to get you through to the next millennium,” Summer said. “Or at least the end of this shoot, the speed you drink it.” She set another bulging bag on the table.

  “Summer.” Elizabeth’s almost-smile grew full and wide. Her voice dipped lower. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

  Summer inhaled. Elizabeth liked her? Of course, she probably liked Summer’s gifts more. But still, try telling that to her pathetic heart.

  “Oh, before I forget, Jean-Claude wants to talk to us at two about our scenes.” Elizabeth closed the fridge. “They’re setting up lighting right now for Lust. Lots of reds and oranges. Looks like the fiery pit of hell in Elspeth’s shack. They’ll probably need an exorcism in there after our sex scene.”

  Our sex scene. Two o’clock was only half an hour away. Well. That seemed a whole heap of real, now didn’t it?

  Chapter 14

  In the large production trailer, Jean-Claude pointed Elizabeth and Summer to seats in front of a monitor. “Welcome, Summer. It’s good to see you again.”

  “Thanks. Great to be here. I missed a certain someone a lot.” She smirked.

  “I’m quite positive you do not mean me.” He snorted. “All right, to business. I knew we would not have much time with both of you, so I made something to show exactly what I want from you tomorrow.” He hit a button on the keyboard in front of him. “I shot this on my phone, so no comments about the amateur cameraman, oui? This is your scene, planned, step by step.”

  The bed from the writer’s shack filled the screen. Elizabeth’s brunette body double was being pushed backward by a second, blond, body double.

  He hit Pause. “Hold there three beats. See how they’re turned? Now, here is my trick to perfection. Pay attention to the music.” Jean-Claude hit Play again. “I have choreographed this scene to be like an intricate dance. Listen for the changes that signal when you shift. Do just as your doubles do. This music will play on set, so it will be as if it is me whispering the directions in your ear.”

  A thin overlay of music began as “Lucille” pushed “Elspeth” back on the bed and climbed on top of her, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, pressing her lips to Elspeth’s with all the grim determination of someone facing an execution. Both women had the fluidity of quick-drying cement.

  Jean-Claude tapped the side of the monitor. “I expect Elspeth to look like she has never been kissed so well right there.”

  The scene continued. “Here is where the clothing will come off.” He hit Pause again. “I don’t care how the clothing comes off but make it fast. You are both eager, excited. This is thrilling. This is Lust. All right…” He waved at the frozen stunt doubles on the bed. “Now at this point let’s assume everyone is naked. This next key change, and the first scene we will shoot, starts in bed, the moment Lucille captures
Elspeth’s wrists. Watch closely how they move their bodies after.”

  Elizabeth saw what he meant about this being a dance. The turns and twists were elegant, or would be, if not for the doubles’ businesslike approach. After plenty of awkwardly mimed kissing, rocking, and rubbing, the scene finally ended.

  Jean-Claude looked to them. “So, obviously you two will do this much better. But now you see what is required, the angles I need, and so on. Questions?”

  When the scene was perfectly lit and she and Summer were in place, Elizabeth could see how it would look. Sensuous and liquid. Beautiful. She was impressed in spite of her reservations. Even so, her nerves rose again. This was a lot for her to overcome.

  Her people had negotiated an excellent contract, including specifying how much nudity was allowed and for how long. A nude thong had to be worn at all times, to be digitally removed later. Summer’s sister had obviously negotiated something similar given Rachel’s subsequent wry phone call.

  “We’ve confused the poor man terribly, Bess,” her agent had declared with a laugh. “Jean-Claude wants to know why two lovers are protecting their modesty from each other. He said he’d save a lot of money on digital editing if you could be ‘more French’ about the whole thing. Don’t worry, I convinced him it’s a standard clause in American productions. Just trot that line out if he asks.”

  As if reading her mind, Jean-Claude said, “Now, we must discuss the nudity.” He glanced at them. “It’s all a sleight of hand. Indeed, so much sleight of hand, I suspect you have not seen what I did. Let’s watch the scene again. This time, look at the sheets, how they are carefully placed across the hips. Summer, it is your job to ensure Elizabeth is covered the same way your double does it here.”

  “Okay,” Summer nodded. “Protect Bess’s dignity. Got it.”

  “Yes, do try and get that one right,” Elizabeth drawled.

  “No pressure.” Summer’s grin seemed nervous.