Everything About You

by Lisa J. Lickel

  “Always thinking.” Fred pulled the camera to his shoulder and looked into the lens. “That’s what I love about you, Shell. An angle for everything. You’ll go far. Now, tell us all about the horrible dance.”

  Normally, she’d be thrilled if Fred called her conniving with his “angle” comment. Shelly pushed back her wounded pride. She glanced at the clock. She’d have to make sure Winston ate a meal with the right amount of protein and got to a session with the personal trainer. Then interview practice. This was Day Three, winding toward noon. Lydia arrived on Day Four. When could they carve out some time so Shelly could warn—er, coach him how to act and react to the femme fatale’s outrageous personality? Besides going over some of those confrontation scenes.

  “You’re on!”

  “Day Three of the Star Maker Challenge,” Shelly said toward the tip of Fred’s nose. It would make her seem off center on film, but it might also give her a thoughtful appearance. “We had a surprisingly good session this morning. Mr. Daniels, unlike other actors I’ve worked with, enjoys a well-rounded repertoire of skills. I wonder where he learned to dance so beautifully?”

  Fred was too much of a professional to laugh while handling the camera, but she knew she was cracking him up with phrases like “well-rounded repertoire.” Back when they worked for Tommy, Fred had been her only champion when Tommy realized he wasn’t going to get her into his bed. Tommy could never understand high concepts like marriage and virtue—something she wondered why she bothered to hang on to when it seemed like no one else in Hollywood cared. When Tommy tried to cross the line one too many times, she’d threatened him. He hadn’t called her bluff, but he dropped her flat, kicked her off the job, and she’d been too humiliated to share the real reason, not even with her father. She’d thanked Pettibone profusely for hiring Fred when she’d recommended him.

  “Sweetheart?”

  “Oh, right. Sorry.” Shelly focused on the red light this time. “It’s so rare these days to find genuine people in this crazy world of make-believe. We’re all pretending to be something or someone else. It’s hard to know what’s real.” She blinked. “Winston Daniels is as real as they come. He’s got a gift for stepping in where needed and trying to help the best way he can. He’ll make a perfect leading man, and America can’t help but fall in love with him.”

  Too bad she was smarter than that.

  *

  Day Three - Afternoon - Interior

  Danny took in the set, two high bar stools against a white backdrop with bright lights making him wish he could wear his work hat. Lane would wear a hat, he was sure of it.

  Fred and his shoulder mount hung back, just outside the range of the photographers and big camera operated by a huge woman he’d never seen before. How many of those things were there? They probably cost thousands. No wonder movies were so expensive. Danny introduced himself to the camera operator, Barb, before he slung his leg over the round, blond wooden stool and hooked the heel of his boot on the lowest stretcher. He blinked at her. “It’s pretty bright. I been wonderin’ what you think of me wearing my hat?”

  Shelly strode into the light. “Terrible.” She put her hands on her hips and studied him and the chairs. “Hats make shadows. We have to make sure every angle of your gorgeous mug is caught on camera. Right, Barb?”

  “Yeah, Boss.”

  Danny knew the compliment didn’t mean anything to her. Jen came back from California telling him he was better than average-looking, but Danny hadn’t cared. God made him and Danny never bothered much to question why. His community was too small and girls in his class too few and busy to waste time over. Sure, he’d had a couple of dates, taken Amanda Witsom to prom and church outings, even had a girlfriend in college for a semester until she decided she was allergic to fish. He preferred to focus on his dream and figured there’d be time later to find someone who shared his values and wanted a family.

  “Now, then.” Shelly cocked her head at the camera, strode in front of him and started turning his jaw this way and that.

  He grabbed her wrist. “Moo.” He made the noise softly and calmly, though Fred still laughed at his hint about being herded.

  Shelly snorted impatiently.

  “You can tell me which way to turn.”

  “Takes too long,” she said and pursed those cute lips.

  “Give me that right jaw, darling’,” Barb called from behind the camera.

  Shelly stepped back with her hands up.

  “Why don’t you get yourself situated, Shelly?” Barb coaxed.

  Danny hid a grin in his left shoulder.

  “Do some practice talk,” the sound guy said as he lowered boom microphones. “We can fiddle with collar mics later—get you comfortable with being fitted with the small microphones normally used in interviews.”

  Shelly shuffled and crossed her legs. Danny wondered how she could perch and balance like that so gracefully on the stool. Her feet had to be six inches from the ground.

  “We’re here today with America’s new heartthrob, Winston Daniels, star of Everything About You, from acclaimed director Jordan Eastman and Jovian Productions. Winston, tell us about yourself.”

  “Uh…” There it was…that dreaded moment. Danny stared at the red light. His mind was one big black hole, sucking all his thoughts and words and breath into a stellar vortex.

  “Winston! This way. Winston! Daniel. Danny. C’mon.”

  “It’s no use, kid,” Fred’s voice came from beside the Cyclops red eye. “He’s not going to be able—”

  “Yes I can!” Danny gulped air. “I just forgot if I’m supposed to be me or Lane.”

  “It’s practice, folks,” Barb called, peeking around her camera, then looking into it again. “Head right, drop your chin a little, Danny. Right. Go.”

  Danny dug deep and put on the Winston smile. Maybe it was Barb calling him by his real name that pulled him back. Or maybe he heard Shelly remind him he had nothing to fear. “Thy rod and thy staff,” he muttered through stiff lips. This was no place to forget his well of strength.

  “Thanks for having me here today.” Danny ducked his head a little then looked back up at the camera and smiled. He turned toward Shelly.

  “That’s right,” Barb said. “You’ve acknowledged the audience, but you’re having an intimate conversation with the host. Go on.”

  Encouraged, Danny thought about waking up at dawn in a strange bed in the neighbor’s house. “I’m a humble working man. This is all a huge surprise on me. Sometimes I wonder if it’s God’s little joke, you know, forcing me outta my comfort zone to give me a shake.”

  “And what do you mean?” Shelly said.

  He couldn’t read her expression very well in the artificial glare, but as soon as he started to squint, she shook her head. He relaxed his facial muscles.

  “Too much,” Fred called. “Don’t go blank, Danny.”

  Danny shifted on the stool. “I suppose I’m too scheduled. I milk cows, and they need to be on a schedule.”

  “Stop.” Shelly reached over to touch his forearm. “Sit still. Talk about the farm, what it means to you.”

  “Okay. Um.”

  “No ‘ums.’ Tell us about yourself, Winston.”

  “Right. Okay. Well—”

  “He shouldn’t say that either,” a voice called from beyond the bright light circle.

  “Let him talk,” Shelly directed. “He needs to find a comfort level here.”

  “I’m a farmer,” Danny said toward Barb’s direction, taking control of the situation. He wanted to stand, but decided not to try that. “Plain and simple. It’s like we’re a dying breed. How many of you know where your food comes from? In this way, Lane Thompson and I have a lot in common.”

  “Good, good,” Shelly said. “Tell us a little about your farm. What’s the size and what do you grow and stuff like that.”

  Danny ducked his head a little and peeked at the light.

  “No, look at her,” Barb said.

  He
swallowed. “It’s a kind of a secret, ma’am, about the acreage. But I’m not a crop farmer. That is, I only raise alfalfa to feed my cattle. I milk cows.”

  Shelly held up her mug to the camera. “Cream in my coffee!” People standing around made laughing noise when Fred told them to. “I’ve heard that line of work can be stressful.”

  “Yes. Yes, ma’am it can. I milk twice a day…”

  “All by yourself? How many cows do you have?”

  Now she was shooting questions at him. Danny grabbed the collar of his shirt.

  “Stay still!” Shelly whispered.

  “Uh—”

  “Relax!”

  “How can I when you keep telling me what not to do?”

  Fred called, “Why did you go into acting? What do you hope to gain?”

  Danny took a deep breath.

  “See!” Shelly pitched herself off the seat and stood in front of him. “You can’t do that—stop and act like you’re thinking about it. These sound bytes are tiny! Miniscule! Every pause, each word can be twisted to mean something you don’t intend. There’s no time to think! You’ll look like an imbecile!”

  Danny inhaled, forced his muscles to relax and lifted his face over her wrathful head at Barb. “You might find this funny, but the acting gig was dropped on me like a gift from heaven.” He ignored more sputtering from Shelly. “I was literally visiting my sister on the movie set for Everything About You—she’s playing the character—role—of Alana, Nadine’s conscientious best friend—and this voice from overhead speaks to me.” He faked a laugh, making sure the teeth showed, and checked out Shelly’s little feet encased in strappy leather sandals. He looked up again. He would get this right. “Now, how do you refuse a demand like that?”

  More laughter, less dutiful, erupted from the sidelines and Danny was back “on.” Lord forgive him for wistful romantic feelings even when Shelly was yelling at him.

  *

  Day Three - Evening - Interior

  “Last filming of the day, promise.” Fred aimed his camera at Danny, seated in the kitchen of the farmhouse. Danny been alone for five whole minutes after Shelly finished explaining how he was and was not supposed to act around Lydia Danes when she showed up tomorrow, and his head was still reeling.

  “Huh? Oh, right. The vlog thing.”

  “I didn’t make you do one earlier, though I should have,” Fred said. “Interview rehearsal looked rough enough. And we got a lot of it on film already.”

  Danny winced. “Thanks. Okay, so…about the day.” He twisted his neck. “Seems like this morning started a week ago. I think I forgot how to milk a cow.”

  Fred chuckled.

  “My day began on cloud nine. Dancing, of all things. Strange, I know. But I love to dance. My sister Jen, she’s the one who got me into this gig, remember? Anyway, she’d been taking dancing lessons, and part of it was learning ballroom stuff. She made me practice with her a few times. I admit, I really got into it. But then, there isn’t much chance to go dancing around here. Not anymore, anyway. Time was, way back when my grandparents were kicking, they’d go out to these supper clubs. Very popular in Wisconsin. Dinner and dancing.”

  Danny smiled and looked at his hands clasped on the table. “Thing of the past. But I didn’t forget as much as I thought. The afternoon was more show time. I can tell you I now have more appreciation for what you real actors go through.”

  “You are a real actor, Danny.” Fred stopped rolling film. “You have a natural gift. Consider all you’ve accomplished in just three days. I can hardly believe it myself. I studied some film of your first day, and if I hadn’t been the one behind the camera, I wouldn’t believe the transformation.”

  “I don’t want to be an actor, Fred. I’m only doing this so I can fund my real dream.”

  “Just stating a fact, buddy.” Fred put his eye back to the mini screen next to the eyepiece to set the shot and started filming. “Go.”

  “Maybe I’m not minding this…interruption in my life quite so bad as that first day. If it gets me to my goal faster. I’m a man of my word. I promised Miss Colter I’d do my best, and I mean it. I really couldn’t do any of this without her, and if I enjoy any success at all, it’s because of her. She puts on a big front, I know that now. But I saw her face when we were dancing together. She is good at her job, and yeah, she’s the first to tell you, but it’s true. If anyone could take a ragamuffin like me, farmer in clod-hopping boots, with manure in my cuffs, and turn him into Winston Daniels, she can.”

  Danny cleared his throat. “She works hard, so I have to keep up with her. I tried telling myself that I must be the role model here, that God put me here to show Hollywood what Christians look like, but, man, was I put in my place this morning when I joined a prayer group with some of the crew and cast. Talk about humbling. So, while I’m still figuring how this all works, I’m also growing in respect for what goes on behind the scenes. Sure, there’s a lot of raunchiness out there.” He touched his heart. “But there is in my soul as well. No matter how hard I try, I can’t forget that, and the price that was paid to absolve me from it. So it’s my duty to remember and show them I’m forgiven and do this job right.”

  At least he didn’t have to swear or do nude scenes. He never would have signed if Jen couldn’t assure him of that. More films could get away without so much R-rated stuff, and he was glad Jen had been cast so well in one like that.

  “What are you looking forward to about tomorrow?”

  “To tell the truth, I’m nervous about meeting Lydia Danes. She’s supposed to come in the early afternoon. I’ve never met anyone famous like that. Sure, I had breakfast with the mayor day before yesterday, and I guess the director is sort of famous, but not movie-star famous.”

  Danny got up, poured a glass of water, and took a few sips. “Shelly told me that chemistry between lead actors is important. That if Ms. Danes liked me and we could work well together on the set, I’d get to act with her for sure. You see, this whole week, or five days, is kind of a try-out period for me. I wasn’t sure until today that I really wanted the job. But I do, and if I don’t get Ms. Danes to like me, then I may not get the part. Shelly said good actors can fake liking each other, even being in love, but that I’m not—probably not—someone who could do that. I like hearing her say that. Shelly, I mean.”

  Danny sat at the table again, making Fred wince at the sound of the chair legs scraping across the linoleum. Danny’s gut rumbled. “Oh, yeah, they got me on this, like, high protein, low-carb diet. Lots of meat and nuts and stuff, but no bread or fat. No cheese. That one’s tough, and I only cheated once with those cracker things they had at supper. Shelly loved them too and raved so much I got her more and loved…was happy she was…happy.”

  He rubbed his belly. “Never thought I’d get tired of steak, but I just might. Anyway, I got some coaching about how to meet and greet and act around Lydia. Be nice, but not too nice. Whatever. Don’t let her put her arms around me unless we’re filming. How to stay near but out of her personal space. How long to look at her. What kind of things to say. Like, I hadn’t seen her last film, which I haven’t. Sounds like lessons on avoiding an octopus. But I’m sure I can figure it out. Ms. Danes is so famous for a reason, so she’s got to be all right, or people wouldn’t like her so much.”

  Fred chuckled in the way that meant the exact opposite was true of what Danny confided to the camera.

  *

  Day Three - Interior - Night

  “Now, Fred? Seriously?” Shelly lounged on a vintage 1999 cracked brown recliner in the high-ceilinged living room of the farmhouse, forcing herself to take a break while pretending not to listen to the conversation in the kitchen. “You’ll probably have some echo in that last vlog.”

  “I can handle it. Don’t you worry about me. What exactly did you tell that boy about Lydia Danes?”

  “That boy” had gone upstairs, thankfully, saying something about phoning his father.

  Fred checked his equipment
and raised a light pole. “Does she really have personal space?”

  “Hers and everyone else’s,” Shelly replied.

  “I think you mixed him up six ways from Sunday. He’s a nice man, Shell. One of the really good ones.”

  She wished he would stop trying to set her up with a man. Not that she didn’t agree about Winston. “We’ve met one of those heroes found only in book club romances, Fred. Pretty soon, this will all be a bad dream for him, and he’ll be deep into fish guts, or whatever.”

  “Farming fish. Now that’s a real nightmare. Ready?”

  “Promise me you won’t let him look like a fool in front of…of Lydia, will you?” Shelly asked.

  “Promise, sweetheart. Roll.” Fred turned on the camera.

  Shelly put on her bright face. “Jordan was pleased at the footage from the dance scene rehearsal this morning. He said Da—Winston was going to be great and that he was one of the few natural dancers he’d seen. Cutaways to doubles are fine for most things like piano playing and dangerous action stunts, but he was happy they could probably shoot whole sequences with multiple cameras. Jordan Eastman’s the best director.”

  What next? She yawned, remembering to cover her mouth. “Excuse me. Long day. I guess I already talked about dancing earlier, didn’t I? During interview practice for the cameras, I got the fright of my life. I thought Winston was going to wind up on the floor for a minute when he got camera-shocked. What a thing to find out after all our hard work. And he’d been doing fine so far, so whatever happened during the interview, I have no idea. But he seemed to shake it off and got on track. I’m still a little worried about his image off the set. Maybe we can treat the interviews like shooting more scenes, scripted and all. I agree with Jordan, he is a natural. I wonder what it would take for him to forget about that fishing plan and do more films?”

  Fred cackled.