by Tess Oliver
The property was vast, and Nate was always out somewhere in the fields or in town, no doubt fighting or doing heaven knows what with women. He must have been eating there too because I had yet to see him in the house since the night he dragged his belongings out.
After the lunch dishes had been cleaned, the chickens fed and the kitchen garden watered, I set myself the task of baking a deep dish apple pie directly from Mrs. Biggs' recipe. Tom had picked some large green apples from a nearby grove, and he'd hinted that they would taste extra fine in a pie. I'd done a quick pantry assessment and found that I had all the ingredients required for the recipe. First, I lit the oil wicks so the oven would get piping hot to bake a deep dish pie. I hadn't noticed the extreme amount of smoke while I worked the unwieldy ball of pie dough. I was rolling forward and back, putting my entire body into smoothing out the dough when That Man decided to just walk into the house under the premise that he saw the smoke. For some inexplicable reason, the sound of his heels on the plank floors made my heart race so fast, I needed to cease rolling the dough and take a drink of water. Which I did, then proceeded to immediately double over in a coughing fit when the water went down the wrong way. The next ten minutes are a blur, and at the same time, they are engraved in my mind for eternity . . .
I had closed my eyes and fallen into a state of drowsiness while Gina finished my hair. My hands were still clutching the script as she tapped my arm to wake me. My eyes popped open and there I was, Cassie Biggs, with just enough makeup to not let me fade on camera but little enough to make it look as if I was living on a rural farm with no supply of cosmetics to keep me in style. My bob haircut had taken on a new look, brushed back behind my ears with a small metal clip on each side. It wasn't the glam look Cassie wore walking out of the Youngston home, but I rather liked her this way.
"Well, doll," Rocky said as he cleaned up his workspace. "Go break a leg."
"I'll give it my best."
Twenty-Four
Jameson
Sawyer was more relaxed than I'd seen him but then the scenes between the brothers were fairly low stress. I only wished his mellow would wash over me. The scene with Kinsey was next. I stood on my mark, waiting for action. I'd caught only a glimpse of Kinsey as she hurried onto the interior set, a rustic looking farmhouse kitchen, to find her mark. The shot would start with Nate walking into the farmhouse. I was relieved knowing that Harlow was not standing out there in the shadows somewhere watching every move and every line. Sawyer had cryptically mentioned that he'd found the on and off switch when she walked into the chow tent. I had still been reeling from the previous few minutes with Kinsey, so it took me some time to come back to his statement and figure out just what the hell he meant. He seemed to think that Harlow's presence was the reason for the crappy morning scene. One he hated so much, he decided to hold off on shooting it again. I wasn't so sure if he was right but then what did I know, I was just the guy in front of the camera.
The slate clapped, jarring me from my thoughts.
"Action."
Nate enters the house, fans the smoke away from his face. Cassie is rolling out a piece of pie dough on a table in the kitchen. She looks up and is immediately flustered by his presence. Accidentally smears flour on her cheek. Nate walks up and leans against the counter in the kitchen, watching her.
Nate: Thought the house was on fire. What are ya baking, cupcake?
Cassie: The apples and the pie crust might be a clue.
Cassie struggles with the dough and gets frustrated. Wipes more flour on her face. She puts the rolling pin down hard on the table.
Cassie: Please stop referring to me as cupcake. I don't walk around calling you—calling you—calling you beef stew or pork chop.
Nate laughs.
It was easy to produce a real laugh. Kinsey was so adorable and funny trying to be indignant and at the same time fighting the ball of dough. I found myself blotting out the lights, the boom, the intruding camera. I was alone with her, just me and the girl I used to think about night and day.
Nate: I don't know. I kind of like beef stew. Feel free to use it.
Cassie: (Flips dough sending flour into the air.) Well, my name is Cassandra. Cassie if I consider you a friend, but I'm thinking you should stick with Cassandra.
Nate moves closer to the table with a smile.
Nate: Ca- san- dra, I like it. Doesn't really fit you though.
Cassie: I'll keep it just the same, since it was chosen for me.
Nate plucks a piece of sliced apple from the bowl and bites it as Cassie scowls.
Nate: Just like your husband was chosen for you? Or, I guess it was more the other way around. You were chosen, or did you have any say in the matter? Can't seem to get any straight answer out of Tom.
Cassie smacks the pin down on the dough and rolls roughly, angrily.
Cassie: Not that my life is any of your business.
Nate reaches across. Cassie gasps as he takes hold of her chin and lifts her face to his.
My gaze dropped to Kinsey's lips, but I didn't need an action cue to do it. I was always drawn to those damn lips, and tonight they looked especially bitable. I lifted my eyes to hers.
Nate: Your life is my business, sweeting, because you are a part of my life now. Whether you like it or not.
Nate releases his hand from her chin, and she steps discretely back from his reach.
Kinsey stared back at me with those big, blue eyes and a flood of memories washed through me. I was in the middle of a scene and all I could think about was Kinsey, Keezy, cold and wet and shivering in the rain after a day out and her staring up at me with those same big blue eyes and those lips saying 'kiss me damnit. I've always wanted to be passionately kissed in the rain'. I obliged, gladly. Minutes later we were back in my car tearing each other's wet clothes off and steaming up the windshield.
Cassie: But you moved out of this house.
Nate: Had to. Self preservation. Couldn't stand the idea of you stretched out in my brother's bed.
Cassie is confused, distraught, unsure of how to take his comment. She pretends to busy herself with the dough again.
Cassie: I just assumed you despised me so much you couldn't stand to live under the same roof.
Nate walks around the table to Cassie's side.
The set was so quiet I swore I could hear Kinsey's heartbeat. Or it might have been mine. I decided to improvise an action of my own. If it didn't work or if Kinsey startled, I might just have ruined the whole scene, but I took a chance. Something told me she'd flow with it. We were always good at that, flowing together.
I reached my hand up and touched her cheek. I was right. She didn't startle or pull away. The opposite. She pushed her cheek against my palm and her long lashes fluttered down for a second before she gazed at me. We stayed that way for a long, quiet moment.
Nate: That face. Christ, that face.
I lowered my hand. Now Kinsey looked stunned. But I was feeling pretty damn good.
Nate walks out of the house.
"Cut! Cut! Fucking hell, yeah! Cut!" Sawyer sounded as if he'd just won the lotto. He hopped off his director's chair, tossed aside his megaphone and practically skipped across the set. He grabbed Kinsey and lifted and twirled her around in the air. He placed her down on her feet and swung around. "Slate, get back in here so I can kiss you smack on the lips for coming up with that move, the touch on the face."
I poked my head through the fake door opening. "Not coming in if I have to kiss you."
The crew broke out in laughter.
"That's a wrap tonight because I need to go back to the trailer and drink until I pass out with joy," Sawyer said. "Call time is eight sharp for actors." He swirled around to the camera and lighting crew. "That means six for all of you. It's going to be a full day of shooting. Let's get this thing moving."
I looked past him to give a nod to Kinsey, but she was already gone.
Twenty-Five
Kinsey
I slipped out of Sa
wyer's celebratory moment to have a teensy little breakdown. I found myself once again pacing inside the trailer. They really needed to make them longer.
Shelby's head poked out of the sleeping area. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. "Seriously, you're doing the elephant routine again?"
I held out my hands. "Seriously? You're sleeping again. What are you, a cat?"
"I'm taking advantage of the quiet. And, by quiet, I mean moments where I'm free from my neurotic best friend." She climbed out of the cramped quarters in a pair of blue pajama bottoms and a t-shirt with a rainbow colored unicorn plastered on the front. She headed to the kitchen sink for a glass of water.
I continued to pace while taking deep, strained breaths and simultaneously shaking the tingling from my fingers. When I had a breakdown, it was multifaceted. "I've got a problem, a big problem."
She leaned against the counter and crossed her ankles. "Oh shit, did the filming go badly?"
I spun around and walked toward the front of the trailer. "No, actually, it was good. Sawyer just about wet his pants with excitement."
"Would you stop pacing and turn this way. You're talking to the closet."
I turned around but continued with the hand shaking and breathing, which was now shorter and more labored as if I was about to give birth.
Shelby put down her glass of water. "Damnit, where are the paper bags? You did bring your emergency hyperventilation bags, didn't you?" She started opening cupboards.
I let her spend a few seconds looking for the bags that I didn't bring as I cupped my hands over my nose and mouth to slow my breathing.
Shelby looked at me with concern. "Have we passed the critical period?"
I lowered my hands and took a steady breath, at the same time, forcing myself to relax my shoulders. "I'm all right. That is, except for the really big, giant problem."
"Tell me already before you send me into one of those stupid attacks. You said Sawyer was happy with the scene tonight, so what is it?"
I nodded and took another breath, mentally checking to see if I was absolutely sure about my big problem. I reached up to my cheek where Jameson had touched me. It had only just stopped feeling warm. "Yep, it's true. The big problem is there, sitting like a fat jack-o'-lantern in the middle of a patch, scary and hard to ignore."
"K, first of all, jack-o'-lanterns don't grow in patches, pumpkins do, and if you're not going to tell me this big, giant problem, then I'm going back to bed." She turned in her pajama bottoms and headed back toward the sleep area.
"I'm still in love with Jameson," I blurted. I expected a reaction, a big, giant reaction to go with my big, giant proclamation.
Shelby stopped and scratched her butt cheek with a loud yawn.
"Did you hear me? I said I'm still in love with Jameson."
"Yep, I heard ya." She climbed on the bed and disappeared behind the small partition before poking her head back out. "Now tell me something I didn't already know." With that she crawled back under the covers and went to sleep.
Twenty-Six
Kinsey
Sawyer was on a madman's quest to film as much as possible in one day to make up for yesterday's lack of progress. My first two scenes, with Roger, who I found more disagreeable each day, went smoothly enough that we only had to 'go again' twice. Both times my fault, line flubs, of course. Roger wouldn't allow himself to make a mistake. Since Jameson didn't have a call time until noon, I'd managed to avoid him completely.
I was a flustered mess about my newest self-revelation. It had hit me like a ton of bricks, all triggered by one touch on my cheek and a gaze that practically melted me into the floorboards. Then I skittered off like a scared mouse. He, no doubt, strolled happily and eagerly back to tiny miss perfect, who was most likely waiting for him in the trailer, clad only in skimpy lingerie and expensive perfume. I had to stop thinking about it and convince myself that the whole thing was just a passing fancy or short term rekindled crush.
Sawyer's voice barked through his megaphone. "As a special treat, and because I'm that kind of a guy, I had six dozen fresh donuts delivered. The delivery charge cost me two hundred bucks because the nearest donut shop with a decent rating was eighty miles away. So savor every bite." A round of cheers followed. "Take twenty, team, while the animal handler gets the chickens ready."
The chicken scene was next. There was no way to avoid Jameson anymore. A donut was the perfect antidote for a broken heart. I hurried across the yard, my eyes shifting side to side like a spy entering enemy territory. No sign of Jameson. He was probably in wardrobe, I reminded myself. More importantly, there was no sign of the food police. Shelby had borrowed the car to travel into the tiny, podunk town to look for contact lens cleaner. She spilled hers down the sink, and unclean contacts in the dry California desert were nothing short of torture. Her words, not mine.
Much of the crew had descended on the food tent at the mention of freshly delivered donuts, but I knew how to use my elbows. I managed to squirm myself to the table where possibly three dozen donuts remained, sitting like perfect little chocolate, maple and speckled jewels in their pink boxes. A moment of panicked indecision hit me as I stared down at a particularly nice chocolate buttermilk and a luscious maple bar. In the end, the maple bar, with its long, sleek chassis and thick layer of glaze won the debate.
The press of bodies behind me was starting to push my panic button, something I just didn't need pushed. I elbowed and squirmed my way back out of the melee. I headed out of the tent, savoring my first bite before landing smack dab into Shelby.
I shoved the donut behind my back, chewed quickly and swallowed.
She tilted her head and lifted her sunglasses to show her annoyed expression. "Do you really think you can hide a donut the size of a bed mattress from these eyes?" She pointed to each of her eyes in case there was confusion.
I pulled the donut out of hiding. "It's just one donut. I'm going to take a walk later. A brisk walk."
Her head continued at a tilt.
"A brisk, two hundred mile walk."
She held out her palm but I held my ground (and my maple bar.) Then I turned on my special pleading face with the pout. "Just let me have this one treat. After all, I'm in total heartbreak right now, and I've got to film a scene with the object of my heartbreak and this donut will fortify me."
Shelby sighed. "You know I can't say no to that stupid little ducky pout of yours." We walked back to the trailer, so I could enjoy my donut out of the desert sun. "You need to pull yourself together, Kiki. Sawyer is going to be expecting chemistry. Which scene is it?"
"The chicken scene."
She stopped and turned to me with a look of horror. "Oh, shit. That's a big one. Why is he skipping ahead to that one?"
"The animal handlers don't want to stay out here too long. They said there are way too many prey animals, like coyotes, lurking out there just past this movie set chaos. They don't think their temporary cages will be enough to stop a predator, so they moved up the chicken scene."
We headed into the trailer, which was feeling somehow smaller and more claustrophobic than yesterday. But at least I had my donut. I grabbed a glass of milk to help savor every bite. I closed my eyes and pushed in the last piece, then chewed slowly.
Shelby laughed. "You're eating that donut like you're on death row with your last meal. I got the group text as I pulled back into this desert hellhole. Your call time is in ten minutes, so don't mess up your makeup. Maybe you should look over that scene. This seems like one you're going to want to get right the first time. Otherwise, each retake will zap the life out of it." She had flipped to the right page in the script and dropped it on the counter next to my drained glass of milk. "I've got to clean my contacts. Study."
I picked up the script and sat on the built in chair at the kitchen table. I needed to get into Cassie's head. That way I'd be leaving my own confused noggin. It was my best way to thwart any nerves I was feeling about being on set with Jameson. This was the last thing I'd expected to
happen. I was going to blame it on Kent. I should have been happily married by now. Then Jameson would mean absolutely nothing to me. I was still reeling from my failed wedding. That was all. I tapped the table resolutely. "Just get your head in character, Kiki, and it'll all be fine."
Dear diary, I'm sorry, I've lost track of time and days, but I think it's been a month since I arrived at this place I'm supposed to call home. As you'll soon see, I am in a grim mood as I write this because my mind and heart seem to be somersaulting with confusion. And it's all because of That Man with his green eyes and confident manner. But today something changed, and I'm not sure it will ever be unchanged. It all started with a cloud, a menacing, black cloud looming on the horizon. But it wasn't a cloud bringing the downpour of rain we so badly need. This cloud did not come from the heavens. It came from the bowels of hell . . .