by Drew Lindsay
‘OK people. Some quiet please.’ Stewart Shaw sat back in his chair and surveyed the set. ‘Welcome back Brenda.’
Brenda Grant stretched back on the huge circular bed and pulled the white satin sheet tighter around her breasts. She looked perfectly relaxed but her teeth were gritted. Her long blond hair cascaded around tanned shoulders in ringlets and her bright hazel eyes flashed a warning at the director which he obviously missed or chose to do so. She said nothing.
A large man with extremely bushy grey hair smothering his chest lay beside her. He was wearing only boxer shorts. Bright red with yellow smiley faces dotted throughout. He was in his late 70’s, almost bald with dark eyebrows and a prominent hook nose. His eyelids were closed but that was because he had been threatened with something akin to death by Stewart if he opened them.
‘Mr. Boom,’ said Stewart. ‘You put that mike into the shot once more and you are out of a job. Understand?’
‘Yes sir,’ mumbled the boom operator.
‘And Mr. Dolly puller. This is not a race between you and Brenda.’
‘No Mr. Shaw.’
‘Move in camera.’ Shaw watched the video screen as the large blimp shielded movie camera craned down towards Brenda. ‘Now I want action,’ said Shaw. ‘Drop that lighting to midnight interior.’
The studio lights dimmed.
‘Rolling,’ said the camera operator.
Brenda stretched out on the huge bed in a slow, sensual movement, her arms behind her on the pillows. All eyes were drawn to her. She rolled onto her side and faced the camera which was slowly craning down and moving in. She pushed herself into a sitting position with one arm, giving a glance back at the supposedly sleeping elderly man next to her. The satin sheet slipped away revealing large, perfectly formed naked breasts. The boom operator experienced a moment of weakness and the mike appeared in front of the camera.
Stewart Shaw sat forward with his head in his hands. The camera operator didn’t need to be ordered to stop filming. The set was deadly silent.
Shaw sat back and fixed his eyes on Brenda. She sat defiantly on the bed, making no effort to cover her nakedness. The boom operator moved the mike well out of shot and tensed himself for the onslaught. The elderly male actor kept his eyelids firmly closed but they were twitching slightly.
‘Brenda dear. You have read the script I gather?’
Brenda nodded slowly.
‘And you know what you had to do in this particular scene?’
Again Brenda nodded.
‘So the thing with the breasts. Where did that come from? Is that in the script?’
Brenda Grant pulled the sheet around her body and got off the bed. She fixed her stunning eyes on the director. ‘You got something against my tits Stewart? They’ve made you a lot of money in the past.’
Stewart Shaw flew out of his chair like a demented banshee and rushed onto the bedroom set. He looked up at Brenda and screamed, ‘You follow the damn script! If I had wanted your boobs in this shot I would have put them in the shot. I run this bloody show, not you.’
Brenda’s eyes flashed with anger and she moved close to the diminutive director. Shaw took a step back. ‘You are a pathetic little man Stewart. I’ve worked my arse of for you on 3 pictures now. I’ve put up with your moods and your closet gay ranting.’
‘Closet gay! What do you mean by that?’ Stewart was screaming. ‘I resent that remark you bitch.’
‘Then go make the picture with someone else. I quit.’
‘You can’t quit. You’ve got a contract. Who do you think you are?’
Brenda moved closer to the director and he took a further step back. ‘Someone who could whip your bony arse with one hand if I had to.’ Brenda dropped the sheet and strode off the set totally naked. Mouths dropped open including Stewart’s. The elderly man got off the bed and scurried off set.
Brenda walked to her dressing room. Elizabeth was waiting at the door with a dressing gown. Brenda slipped it on, moved to the bed and sat down. Elizabeth closed and locked the door.
The two women looked at each other for a second. Elizabeth said, ‘I’ll make you a coffee.’
‘Like hell. I need a drink.’
‘You shouldn’t drink when you’re angry babe.’
‘Then I’ll get it myself.’
‘OK. OK.’ Elizabeth walked to the bar fridge and dropped ice in a glass. She poured a healthy nip of very good scotch and put the bottle back on a shelf. ‘You sip this slowly.’
‘Don’t Mother me Liz. Did you hear what that bastard said to me?’
Elizabeth handed the glass of scotch to Brenda. ‘Everyone in the hangar heard it. He was out of line. You two were obviously not meant for each other.’
Brenda took a mouthful of scotch.
‘Slow down damn you.’
‘I’m not going back on. He can find someone else.’
Elizabeth twirled her black pony tail with a finger and sat down in a chair facing the bed. ‘Think it over Brenda. It’s worth money to keep going. They aren’t exactly breaking the door down to get to you this year.’
‘That will change. I’ve still got it.’
‘I know you’ve still got it and so do millions of fans out there, mostly male.’
‘Mostly creeps like Stewart.’
‘I don’t think so darling. You even got an email this morning from a cop in Sydney, Australia. I don’t think he’s a creep. Perhaps a bit drunk, but not creepy if you know what I mean.’
Brenda put her drink on the bedside table. ‘What’s he say?’
‘I printed it out.’ Elizabeth went to the computer desk and picked up a single page. She handed it to Brenda. She read Ben’s email slowly, folded it neatly in half and put it on the bedside table.
‘Cute. Touching. He’s pissed.’
‘He’s telling you how he feels and he’s not crude like most of the others.’
‘True.’
‘So perhaps this is one you can reply to with a photo and a best wishes line. You can’t ignore them all.’
‘Wanna bet?’
‘OK. So let’s call it a day. I’ll take you to the beach and we’ll have ice cream and hot dogs.’
‘I think I should go see Joe.’
‘You don’t need a shrink. He charges too much anyway.’
‘He’s good for me.’
‘So is ice cream and hot dogs.’
Brenda laughed and drained the last of her scotch. ‘You’ve got a point. Let’s go.’
“****”
Chapter Seven