They both were doing better than Justine could’ve hoped for given their disastrous first day on set. He seemed completely at ease, requesting pats from anyone who got within arm’s length. And when it came time to work he was laser focused on her, to the point where she nearly teared up with pride.
Justine threw on her jacket and they made their way past the line of luxury trailers where the actors got ready to the lot across the street from the set. Spencer made a few deposits and they headed back to the set. She noticed Malcolm in his gray uniform hoodie standing a few feet away from the door leaning against the brick wall with his eyes closed and his face turned up to the fall sun.
“Hey, Malcolm,” she called to him. Spencer high-stepped in anticipation of greeting one of his favorite new friends.
“There he is,” Malcolm said, his eyes on Spencer. “You pulled it out today, little dude. Saved your ass. Yes, you did!” He bent over and placed a massive hand on Spencer’s chest and the dog melted with delight.
“He was good, huh?” Justine asked, knowing full well that she was fishing for compliments.
Malcolm looked at Justine and nodded. “I was worried for you two. You should’ve seen my report from your first day. I heard that they already canned one dog and thought they were ready to get rid of Spence next. But after what I saw today I think you’re going to do just fine.” He paused. “I’m still worried about that water scene, though.”
Justine had read through the script and made a mental note about the location shoot in Maryland where Spencer had to wade into running water, but it was a long way off.
“He loves to swim; we should be fine,” Justine replied. “Have you had bad experiences with water stuff in the past?”
“It definitely adds a layer. I’ve almost had to pull our credentials because of a few rough ones.”
Justine knew how critical the “certification of animal safety” badge was for movies and shows that featured animals, and that Malcolm was the key for getting it for The Eighteenth.
“Well, I want to do everything possible to keep Spencer safe, so when you’re ready to discuss it let me know.”
Malcolm nodded. “You got it. We have a little time, though. Let him get his set legs and then we’ll move on to the tough stuff. You got this, rookie.”
He gave Spencer another scratch before they headed back to the set. Even though they had a while to wait, she was eager to watch the next scene. As much as she hated to admit it and as hard as she tried to ignore it, she was deep in fangirl mode.
“Anyone have eyes on Claire?” someone shouted. “Eyes on Claire?”
The next scene was the preface to what they’d be shooting with Spencer, with the chief bad guy from a rival speakeasy sneaking into the loading dock to “send a message” to Anderson by threatening Claire. Spencer’s frantic barking would scare the bad guy off and save the day.
Claire speed-walked to the set trailed by her dresser and makeup person. “Sorry, my fault,” she called out in her crisp British accent. “Wardrobe issue.”
She was wearing a simple long-sleeve gray knit top that hit her hips, belted at the waist by a simple circle of black fabric, and a black skirt that reached her knees. Her makeup was subdued to show that she was a workingwoman and not a showgirl like Taylor. Even still, she was luminously beautiful. Spencer wagged his tail when she walked by them.
Ted met Claire on the set with another actor named Peter Meer in a tan Homburg hat, white shirt, and black vest. He had a wide, square chin that made him look like a comic book villain. The three spoke quietly for a few minutes.
“Let’s just try it, okay?” Ted said in his reassuring way as he walked off set. “No pressure, let’s see what happens.
“About to go for picture, people. Lock it up,” he said once he was in position behind his monitor.
Justine sat on the ground with Spencer on her lap at a safe distance from the action but still close enough to see everything. She kept having “pinch me” moments. It didn’t feel like a job; it felt like a dream come true.
Spencer sprawled across her legs so that his head was on the ground on one side of her body and his tail was on the other. He seemed perfectly at ease with the commotion around him. Everyone he met was his friend, so much so that when the boom-mic guy leaned down to pat Spencer’s belly he wagged his tail and lifted his leg to provide greater scratching surface area without even raising his head to see who was doing the scratching.
Peter paced around the set muttering and making menacing gestures. Claire walked in circles, gently waving her hands in front of her as if she were dancing to music on invisible headphones.
“Last-looks fly-in,” someone shouted, and a crew of people wearing aprons crowded with brushes, sprays, and lint rollers dashed to the set and made minuscule hair and wardrobe adjustments. Justine saw a woman pat the air above Claire’s shoulders. They scuttled off set in a pack.
Justine had read the script and knew that the confrontation between Peter and Claire was filled with unspoken menace, a dance of a blustery gangster and an unflinching woman. It was tense enough to read it on the page, and she was excited to see how they’d translate the written word to reality.
“Pictures up,” Ted shouted. “Rolling, rolling, rolling. Roll sound, roll cameras. Slates in.”
A woman walked on set and held up a clapper board bright with electronic numbers, said a jumble of letters and numbers, smacked it, and walked off.
“And . . . action!”
“Myrna,” Peter said as he strode onto the set with a lilt that sounded anything but friendly. “You alone?”
Claire had her back to the man and jumped in shock when he spoke.
“Bill. Why are you here?” The expression on her face was real, and her upper-crusty British accent had been replaced by 1930s New Yorkese.
“Needed to talk to your man, but if he ain’t here, you’ll do.” He paused and eyed her up and down. “You’ll do just fine, Myrna.”
“He’s . . . he’s inside. On his way back out; he just had to fetch something.” Claire’s voice quivered and she walked farther away from him. Only a dozen and a half words and Justine was already awed by her performance. Spencer was less impressed, opting to doze on her lap.
“Izzat so?” Peter asked as he made a wide circle around Claire with a smooth, predatory walk. “What would it take to get him out here in a hurry? A squeal?” He slid closer to her like a dancer and ended up just a foot away from her.
Claire’s entire body jolted momentarily, like she’d been hit by an electric pulse. She straightened her back and met Peter’s gaze with an unwavering stare.
“I ain’t the squealing type. You should know that, Billy.”
“Hey”—he grabbed Claire’s wrist—“don’t call me that!”
He held on to her wrist and they stared at each other. The air on set practically vibrated from the tension, and Spencer slowly sat up.
“Get your hands offa me, Billy!” She wrenched her wrist from his grip and pushed him away with every ounce of strength in her tiny frame, causing him to stumble backward for a step.
Justine felt a flutter of panic. The wrist grab and push were new. They weren’t in the script.
Spencer had moved from his half-up position to full attention and was watching the action on set as intently as the rest of the room.
“Hey!” Peter roared, so loudly that Spencer jumped. “You pushin’ me? You pushin’ me?” He strode toward Claire with his face contorted in rage and she looked around the room in desperation, trying to find some sort of weapon to fend off the fight to come.
Justine’s breath came in short spurts. Spencer placed one paw on her leg but never tore his eyes away from what was happening on set.
“Keep going, keep going,” Ted coached in a quiet voice.
Peter wrapped his massive hands around Claire’s shoulders, and sh
e seemed to crumple into herself like tissue paper. He hunched over so that his eyes were level with hers. “You push me, I push back harder. Your man needs to know that, okay?” He stared at her for a second longer, then practically picked her up off the ground and threw her across the room. She stumbled for half a dozen steps, but she managed to right herself, her eyes blazing at Peter.
A wave of cold swept through Justine. Spencer stood all the way up with his tail high in the air and his weight shifted forward. They both couldn’t look away from what was happening on set even though she desperately wanted to. Spencer growled softly, but instead of checking in with him Justine was focused inward, trying to sit normally instead of curling into a ball and hiding.
“I guess you ain’t a squealer after all,” Peter said to Claire in a quiet voice as he skulked toward her.
Spencer took a step forward, still growling softly.
“Spence,” Justine said, swallowing the bile rising in her throat. She placed her hand against his chest, but she knew they couldn’t move away or the scene would be ruined, and the one thing she’d learned was that no one wanted to be the reason why the cameras stopped rolling.
Peter raised his hand high in the air as if he were about to backhand Claire, and it was all Spencer needed to see. He took off before Justine could grab his collar and dashed onto the set with his head low and his teeth bared, barking viciously at Peter, who was frozen in place with a grimace of real fear on his face. Justine finally snapped out of her trance and leapt to her feet.
“Spence, out!” She realized that she’d whispered the cue. Her voice wasn’t working.
Ted dashed toward the set, then flashed his palm at Justine and shook his head.
Spencer stood on the set a few feet away from Peter, alternating between a low growl and his raise-the-dead bark. His lips were pulled back and every one of his glistening teeth looked like a dagger. Justine could tell that he wasn’t going to do anything more than threaten Peter, but she still needed to call him off because he sounded like he was about to murder him.
“All right, dog, all right,” Peter said, still in character with his hands in the air like Spencer was a loaded gun. “Back off.”
“Ford,” Claire said in an authoritative voice. “I’m fine. That’s enough.”
Justine finally stumbled back into trainer brain and made a short high-pitched whistle. It was a cue she’d picked up watching sheep farmers working their border collies around the herd, though she rarely used it because she couldn’t reliably replicate the sound. She was shocked she had the pucker to do it properly.
Spencer bobbed his head for a second, then collapsed into a down. It was as if a switch had flipped, and he relaxed into the position with a heavy stress pant.
“And . . . cut,” Ted said softly.
The room exhaled at the same moment, and people applauded softly.
“That was amazing,” Peter said to Claire, and they hugged. “I almost shit my pants, though.” He kept an eye on Spencer as he embraced his costar.
Claire looked over at Justine and blew her a kiss. “Wonderful work, darling.”
Justine called Spencer off set and took a few deep breaths to try to calm herself down. Spencer seemed no worse for wear. He wagged his tail and smile-panted at everyone as if the outburst hadn’t even happened. But Justine knew from her research that his cortisol levels were probably soaring. Dog stress was as real as human stress, and it would take hours before he got back to normal.
And they both had trigger-happy baggage in their shared history.
Ted walked over to her beaming. “That was amazing. I told Peter and Claire to improvise and take it a little farther than what’s on the page, but I never imagined Spencer would join in too. It was incredible; he hit a mark and we had him perfectly in frame! We’ll need to do some pickups for close-ups, but we couldn’t ask for a better take. How did you work that out?”
“We, um . . .” Justine knew she couldn’t tell him the truth, that she’d lost control of Spencer for reasons she didn’t want to admit to herself. “It was a moment where, um—”
“Doesn’t matter.” He waved his hand and cut her off. “From now on I need you to run any improv by me to make sure we have coverage on him. But this one worked out great.” Ted clapped his hands softly in Spencer’s general direction. “Bravo, young man. Go get yourself some lunch meat from crafty. You earned it.”
Justine clipped Spencer’s leash on and turned to leave the soundstage. She was so focused on getting outside for a head-clearing walk that she almost ran into the wall that was Malcolm’s chest.
“What the hell was that?” he asked in an even voice.
“What?” She widened her eyes at him.
“That was real, Justine.” He lowered his voice to an angry whisper. “I never saw you give him an attack cue; he just took off barking like a junkyard guard dog.”
“I did give him a cue; it was subtle.” She hoped her acting was as convincing as Claire’s.
“I need to write this up,” Malcolm replied, glaring at Justine. “We can’t have a dangerous dog on set.”
“Malcolm! He’s not dangerous, I swear! You have to see that. He got caught up in the moment and he thought Claire was in real trouble. It’s because . . .” Justine stopped herself.
“I’m listening.” He tilted his head at her with an eyebrow cocked.
Justine felt like she was holding her breath. “Long story. But I swear it won’t happen again. Please. You know he’s a good boy.”
He paused and looked down at Spencer, who was smiling up at him and circle-wagging his tail so hard that he looked like a helicopter about to take off.
“One strike, Justine. I’ll minimize it on the report, but you better not let anything like that happen again. The only reason I’m not making a big deal about this is because he showed restraint, not because I like him. That doesn’t matter. I don’t normally look the other way on stuff like this. My ass is on the line too.”
“Thank you, Malcolm,” she replied. Her heart slowed a measure and she exhaled. She placed her hand on his arm. “I promise.”
“Don’t make me regret this,” Malcolm said as he walked off while banging away on his tablet.
chapter twenty-two
Hey, Justine? You still here?”
Justine screamed when she heard Griffin’s voice echoing through the apartment. She ran to the railing at the edge of the loft and peeked over and saw him greeting Spencer with bear hugs.
“You scared me! What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t getting back until late tonight.”
“I guess you didn’t get my text,” he said as he wrapped his arms around Spencer and lifted him off the ground while the dog licked his face clean. “I got out of Kansas early due to good behavior.”
“Welcome home.” She bit her tongue to keep from correcting his naughty behavior with Spencer. “I didn’t get your text, which is weird. I’m just packing to head out; we’ll be gone in ten minutes max.” Justine looked over her shoulder at the chaos of her clothing strewn on Griffin’s bed and realized that ten minutes was an ambitious estimate.
Griffin trudged up the metal stairs still holding Spencer like a baby.
“Hey,” he said, flashing his dimples at her.
“Hey!” Justine replied as she flipped the mess on the bed so that her underwear was hidden on the bottom of the pile. “How was Kansas?”
Griffin launched Spencer onto the bed and peeled off his coat. “Really good. The staff picked everything up fast, and they seemed to love the software. And they all gave me incredible reviews, so that’s a plus for the old trajectory.” He made a hand movement like a plane ascending.
“Very cool,” she replied as she pulled shirts and jeans from underneath Spencer, crumpled them into balls, and shoved them in her suitcase. It seemed like the only two things that mattered to Griffi
n were her dog and the damn trajectory.
Griffin sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re not a light packer, are you?”
“Not even close. And obviously you are.”
“I could do it with my eyes closed. It’s an art. I can give you lessons if you want . . .”
Justine shook her head. “I need tips for repacking. I can never fit everything back in my suitcase.”
“I see that.” He gestured to the mess. “I guess my main advice would be pack less stuff. You’re only here overnight.”
“I know, but I can never make up my mind about what to wear! Don’t forget, I’m on my hands and knees for most of the day, but I’m also surrounded by some of the most beautiful people in the world. My goal is to look sporty, but cute.”
Griffin leaned back on his elbow and let his eyes drift up and down her body. “I think you pulled it off, Becker. The Adidas are cool, the jeans look good, the black T-shirt is basic, but the sweater-thingy over top takes it to the next level. Sporty, check. Cute, double check.”
Justine’s cheeks went pink at the unexpected compliment. She smiled as she threw her pajama bottoms into the suitcase. “Thank you.”
“How did Spence do today?” Griffin reached out and scratched Spencer’s belly.
“He did okay.” Justine started crumpling and throwing faster. “Depends on who you ask.”
“What do you mean?”
She didn’t want to talk about how Spencer had acted. The more she thought about it, the more upset she felt, because she’d lost control of his behavior and her own. Because the sensory memories caught her off guard and overwhelmed her, and she hated herself for letting them get the best of her. And because Griffin was smart enough to keep asking her questions until she told him the whole story.
“He . . . went off script. He improvised.” She tossed her hoodie in the suitcase in a heap. “Luckily, he did something that worked for the scene, but it wasn’t anything I taught him to do. And it’s not a behavior I’d like to see him repeat, to be honest. Let’s just say the Humane Federation rep isn’t a big fan of Spencer’s improv.”
Lost, Found, and Forever Page 14