Generations: Wilder Times

by Lori Folkman

  ……

  Exhausted. Two weeks later and Kat was ready to find a cave and hibernate for the rest of the season. But they weren’t done yet. All the scenes where she and Ben dance together had yet to be filmed.

  The practices had been grueling. The dance steps were complicated. She had to completely turn her focus to learning the routine. She practiced at home each day at the end of rehearsals, and every morning she’d wake up an hour early so she could practice before school. But she’d gotten it down. And the filming was going well. It’s just that everything took so long. The hair and make-up. The costume changes. It was becoming so tedious.

  But it was fun too. Way fun. And she never imagined that she could have so many different looks. She especially loved the twenties era character: she, Katrina Hayes, actually had straight, smooth hair for this set. This was the part that Ben sang:

  Flapper girls

  Short skirts

  So carefree

  Hiding the booze

  Feeling liberty

  But the love’s still there

  The pain we share

  The days are lost

  But your story’s not

  Before the filming of that scene, Katrina couldn’t stop running her hands down her hair. It felt like silk. Like it belonged to someone else. This was hair that she’d always dreamt about. Most of her hair was pinned up—leaving only the top, shorter layers—creating a sleek bob. Talk about a major transformation. Her stylist should get the Noble Prize for Hairstyling.

  If only Heather—the Nobel Prize winning hairstylist—could move in with Kat. Like yesterday. Kat could have desperately used some help getting ready today.

  To add to the fatigue, Katrina had been allowing herself an extra half-hour every morning to get ready for the day. Just in case Ben saw her before she got made over. She always wanted to look her best. But, she was getting to the point where she didn’t even hear her third alarm anymore. Today, she’d royally overslept. She didn’t have time to do her hair. Result: two puffy looking pom-poms on the sides of her head. Not that it looked that bad: if she were just going to cheer camp or something. She only had time to apply powder and mascara. And then her clothes—oh boy. This was a really bad morning. She hadn’t had time to do laundry in like ages, so she was out of clothes. She did have some goofy hot pants that she’d bought and never worn. But what to wear with it? She remembered that shirt of her dad’s that she loved but was forbidden to wear. It was vintage, from a concert he’d been to in the eighties—for The Clash. Way cool. So she “borrowed” it and accessorized it with a chain belt. Add her go-go boots and she was out the door, looking like a wannabe rocker girl. If only she had black lipstick and pink streaks in her hair.

  She reassured herself that she was safe looking like this: she hadn’t seen Ben before she got into costume the last four days. She hadn’t seen much of Ben period. It was rather disappointing. And troubling.

  They’d spent that first week in rehearsals together, with the entire cast of extras, learning all the steps. That put him in the same room with Kat for most of the day. But when it came time to practice the dances with just the two of them, Ben was never to be found. Kat always danced with Ernie. And she was told that Ben practiced with Ernie’s assistant (that tall and lanky gorgeous dancer Kat had met on the first day) earlier in the day. When Kat asked when she was going to practice with Ben, Ernie told her that he thought she had the moves down and didn’t need any more practice. Kay. Whatever. She couldn’t imagine just winging it with Ben during the filming. He was so particular with everything. Weird.

  Then she began to notice that she didn’t see Ben at dinner or breaks either. He spent most of his time in his dressing room. With Jackson. Jackson got invited in a lot: to play video games. When Kat had questioned Jack, he’d just said that he didn’t have much else to do at this point anyway. “Who, you or Ben?” she tried to clarify.

  “Both,” Jackson had said.

  The star of the show had nothing else to do besides playing video games? Huh. Something wasn’t right.

  So Kat had begun to worry. Big time. Maybe Ben had already filmed the dances with Elizabeth, Ms. Gorgeous professional. And no one knew how to tell Kat that she no longer had the lead. That they were just stringing her along and then would tell her that she hadn’t made the final edit. She’d questioned Jackson about it. He’d laughed at her. “Stop being stupid. You’re still in the video.”

  Then she had begun to worry that it was worse than not being in the video. Ben must not like her … as a person. He must be going to great lengths to avoid her. Because she annoyed him. She was lame. She giggled too much. And said stupid things. She’d probably insulted him! Crap. Ben hated her. And she soooo liked him.

  She had drilled Jackson about this as well. “So does he say anything about me … when you are in there playing video games?”

  “We’re playing video games, Kat, not talking.” Jackson had said.

  “But does he say anything at all? Like if I offended him or something?”

  Jackson had laughed. Really laughed. “You’re messed up,” had been his only response.

  “Will you ask him,” Kat had begged, “If there is something I have done wrong? Or could do differently? Will you ask him if he still thinks I’m cute?” Yeah, she was that desperate. She’d fallen from Ben’s grace. And landed on her butt. It hurt. Bad.

  “No, I will not ask him,” Jackson had said. “You do it.”

  No way. ‘Cause #1. She never saw him. And #2. She didn’t want to look pathetic.

  So anyway, she thought she was safe to arrive at the studio looking like a Taylor’s most loved (most disheveled) Bratz doll, minus the good make-up. But of course, it would be the day that Ben was waiting near her dressing room. He smirked when she approached. At least he didn’t all out laugh like Jackson had done when he saw her. “Hey,” Ben said.

  “Hey.” Katrina immediately reached for the door, kinda keeping her head down so he couldn’t get a very close look at her skimpily-done face.

  “You ready for today?” he asked.

  “Mmhmm.” She opened the door, trying to make it obvious that she didn’t want to have a conversation right now.

  She glanced up. Ben was looking at her … chest? Well, at the writing on her shirt. “Wow. Cool shirt. Is it an original?” He sounded really enthused, like he’d just seen priceless Rembrandt or something.

  “Yeah. It’s my dad’s. He got it at their concert.”

  “Serious?” Ben touched her shirt and pulled it away from her a little bit, so he could read the writing. “This is a really rare shirt, Katrina. It’s from when? 82?”

  She didn’t know the year. Early eighties sometime. Forever ago. Her dad was just a goofy guy with feathered hair and preppy polo shirts. A guy who spent nearly every dollar he earned on records and concerts and backpacked halfway across America. How he landed her mom—a classical oboist—remained a mystery. Somehow opposites attract: look at Ben’s parents. But as different as they were from each other, Lena and Dan somehow fit perfectly. They were America’s dream couple. Like an American version of Charles and Diana, except that Dan and Lena loved each other. They had even made-out in public frequently. Kat had seen all the pictures. They were hot, even though Kat had laughed at the styles they had worn back then. But back then, they were IT. No couple was talked about more than the Wilders. For years after Dan’s death even.

  “You know I collect concert T’s?” he asked.

  No, she didn’t know that one fact about Ben. It was never printed on his website, or in any of the magazines. He told her how he watched for them on on-line auctions and occasionally even got them from industry insiders. But he said how it was always a struggle to find a good one. The most desirable ones were too worn—too disgusting to put on his body. Or smelled of weed or something. But he never knew until the shirts arrived, and by then he was out a couple hundred bucks.

  “You know there is a guy at the flea market who sells
vintage T’s. All kinds. Not just bands, but from TV shows and community events and stuff. They’re really cool. And not that expensive.” Not that money was an issue for Ben. But why pay a couple hundred bucks when you could pay fifty?

  Turns out that Ben didn’t even know about the flea market held in Redondo Beach each weekend. “You mean where people sell their old stuff?” he asked with a tone of distaste.

  “Well, yeah. There’s a lot of junk. But you can find some really awesome things too. All kinds of vintage clothes and décor and stuff.” She was going to add the word cheap, but decided against it. It looked like Ben was ready to reach for hand sanitizer just from thinking about used junk. “It’s kind of cool, ya know, to see what things people treasured at one time. It kind of gives you a glimpse into other people’s lives.” She was serious for a second, because she really did like wandering through those old, odd collections at the flea market. But then she had to joke. “And when you see some of that stuff, you have to wonder who would have ever owned it. And why.” Really, much of it was perplexing. The strangest stuff. Especially the stuff that was homemade. Who would spend their precious time making things that were so … tacky? And weird. Like Barbie dolls with yarn stitched skirts—skirts that opened to reveal a hidden box of Kleenex. Who would want Barbie with a huge hoop skirt sitting on their coffee table? Like a tissue box looks worse than that? And they weren’t even real Barbies … just those cheap knock-offs.

  Ben smiled at her last statement. “Yeah, I’ll have to go sometime,” he said. “See if I can help you figure out why people are so weird.”

  Did he just say that he would go with her sometime? Or was he just being polite?

  “You excited about the filming today?” he asked her, changing subjects.

  “Ah, sure,” she said. She didn’t know exactly how to say that, no, she was actually apprehensive about it. They really should practice together. But it had been his call. She didn’t want to offend him. But. It just felt so wrong to do it this way. “You think we’re ready to film? You don’t want to do a practice run first?”

  “Nope.” He sounded confident. Sure of himself. Like always. “We both have it down. I’ve seen tapes of you and Ernie. It’ll go great.”

  He wouldn’t practice with her, yet he’d watch the videos? Weirder. “Kay,” she said half-heartedly, “see ya in a few.”

  She went into her dressing room, where she would spend the next hour and a half getting made over. Something occurred to her once she closed the door. She must stink. Not dancing-wise, but literally. B.O. Or bad breath. That had to be why Ben wouldn’t dance with her. Something was keeping him at bay. Or warts! Had he noticed that teeny tiny one growing on her palm? She hadn’t had time to go get it frozen yet. Maybe he didn’t want to touch it. If he ended up wearing gloves for the filming today … she’d know.

  ……

  The way the video treatment had been redone, while offensive to Jack, was actually going to be super cool. Kat had realized that right away. She thought that Jack saw it too, but that he wasn’t ready to admit that Ben’s version was better.

  Kat was now in costume and on the set, waiting for lighting checks. She was getting nervous. Big time. The fact that they hadn’t practiced weighed heavily on her, but there was also the fact that she and Ben were going to be close. Intimately close. Bodies smack dab next to each other. At one point, she was actually supposed to wrap her leg around him. Oi!

  Not that the dance was anything … raunchy. Her dad had seen it, and he approved. It was just … romantic. Passionate. Full of yearning. Or at least it was supposed to be. It might turn out to be one of those awful You Tube videos where someone ralphs in front of the camera. And that someone was going to be Kat.

  Ben came out of his dressing room looking like … well, like Ben. His costume wasn’t much of a stretch. This dance between Kat and Ben was them now—modern day and age. They looked like every other kid on the street. Sorta. They were glammed up a bit. And he wasn’t wearing gloves. Phew.

  This part was to be filmed against a green screen. At first, when Ben and Kat finally reach each other and their dance begins, it’s just them. Everything else in the world is black. Like nothing else exists. Then they’ll be CGI’ed into the forefront of the scenes with the other dancers. Ben and Kat will still be doing this slow intimate dance, while in the background, the others will be doing the dance through the decade thing. And the scenes will subtly shift through random decades, just like Jackson’s treatment. But Ben and Kat in modern age will still be the focus for a while. Then they jump back into the group dance, in the costume of each decade, to finish out the song. Cool, right?

  Most of the cast had been dismissed yesterday, since all the group scenes were done. It was a lot quieter today. Kat missed the noise and the endless selection of people to talk to. The thinner crowd added to her malaise. It served as a reminder that something big was about to happen. Something kinda private almost. Especially since Ben had kept his hands in his pockets every time she was around. Seriously, there had been absolutely no physical contact between them since rehearsals began. And now they were supposed to get so close that even a flea couldn’t fit between them.

  When Ben and Kat took their places under the myriad of lights and camera equipment, Kat had to have Heather come dust her face before they even got started. She was already sweating. Nervous sweating. Ugh.

  Action. The routine started. Kat missed Ben’s hand.

  Take two. She got his hand this time, but missed her kick.

  Take three. Got the hand, nailed the kick, nailed her spin, and then poked her finger in his eye. Yep. Major embarrassment. Especially since his make-up girl had to come retouch his face. Five minute time delay.

  Take four.

  Take five.

  Take six.

  She was doing something wrong—something stupid—each and every take. She was blowing it. Big time.

  Ernie pulled her aside and scolded her: severely. He’d never so much as said a cross word to her during rehearsals. Sure, he pushed her. He expected way more of her than Ms. Stella ever had. And she was dancing better than she ever had because of Ernie’s direction. Was. But now she was falling apart.

  Take seven. A near repeat of take three. Her finger gouged Ben in the temple instead of the eye this time. She covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh. My. Gosh. I’m so sorry,” she quickly apologized. Ben didn’t smile about it like he had last time. He didn’t look mad though … but he did look worried. “I’m just off … today,” she said, trying to explain away his worry. It’s not like this was something she did every time she was paired with a male partner.

  “Do we need to call it? Try again in a few hours?”

  “No.” She could feel the tears coming. “I’m good. I can do it.” She breathed heavily, trying to keep the wash of emotions from flooding her body.

  “Go take a break,” he said. His voice had a moderate amount of kindness in it. Good. He wasn’t going to can her … yet. “Ten minutes enough for you to pull together?”

  She gave him some sort of quick response and sprinted for her dressing room. She wanted to get inside before the tears came. But they were already spilling down her cheeks by the time she reached the door. Great. That meant touch-up time. She’d just added another five minutes to the break time.

  When she was back on set, she was composed again. Albeit, her insides were still a jumble. But she could do it. She had to do it. Or she’d be tossed out on her ear.

  Take eight started out fine. They got farther into the dance than before. But she couldn’t relax. Every time Ben would touch her, she could feel her body stiffen. And about the time that Ben completely wrapped his arms around her was about the time that it fell apart. She was so stiff that when she went to take her next step, she actually stumbled. Landed on one knee. Holy mother of embarrassing moments.

  “Cut!” Kat was pretty sure that the director hadn’t been the only one to call it. Ernie’s voice was in there as well.
And probably Paul’s. Maybe even Ben’s. Oh, this was bad. She caught Jack’s eye. He looked concerned. He was the only one that had that look. Everyone else looked mad … or disgusted. Not that those two looks were that different. They both had the same effect: tears pricking in her eyes again.

  Ernie returned to her side, this time his voice was back to normal decibels, but it had a tone of … shame in it. Like he was thinking that this looked badly on him: like she was betraying him. And she was. He was a better teacher than this. He had her do some stretches and then practice her yoga breathing. “Relax,” he kept saying.

  She wasn’t going to relax, ‘cause Paul had just called a conference in the control booth. Ernie left. The director left. Ben left. Yep. They were going to can her. It was all over. She kept eyeing the nearest exit. Should she just run for it and save them the trouble of having to tell her that she better get a job at the nearest Burger Barn because her dancing days were over?

  Ben finally came back. Alone. Oh bad, bad news. One by one, the other crew members began to leave. She heard whispers of “clear the set.” Her heart fell out of her ribcage and hit the floor with a splat, never to be reconstructed. Game over.

  Ben had his hands in his pockets, looking all suave like always. But he looked kinda tense too. He waited until the set was empty before he came within speaking distance. He gave her this pathetic attempt at a smile and said, “Katrina, I think I made a mistake.”

  Chapter Eight ……

  Katrina looked like she was going to turn into this massive black hole. Like she was going to completely collapse within herself. He had used the wrong wording. She probably thought she was going to get fired. That wasn’t the case. Ben really had made a mistake: in the way that he had planned on filming this sequence.