by Zoe Wildau
Alan, who’d been conversing with Monty, looked up in surprise.
“Pardon me? I’ve missed a crucial turn in the conversation.”
“Oh, Maya,” chided Lilly. “Stop worrying. It’s going to be epic. I promise.”
Monty surprised them both by chiming in. “Epic. That’s right Lilly! What is it you call her, Jake? Here’s to the Pixie!” he exclaimed, enthusiastically clinking glasses around the table. “Thank God Phillip snatched her up before she became completely unaffordable.”
That night, Jake lay in bed, glad he had passed on the extra rounds of grappa, but wishing he hadn’t taken Lilly up on the offer to use her shower. He was covered in her scent. Warm sugar cookies and vanilla. It was going to be another sleepless night.
Chapter 19
On Sunday afternoon, back in LA, Lilly’s thoughts were in a tangle as she biked her way over to Warner. On the long flight back from Italy the day before, Clara and Lilly had been seated together. Jake had taken the studio jet back with Maya, Alan and Monty.
On the flight, she’d had that deflated feeling she always got when a highly anticipated trip came to an end. Clara’s mood seemed to match hers. In a lull in the conversation, Clara reached below her seat and came up with a two-inch thick book entitled, Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, by Susanna Clarke.
Lilly had laughed, “Why on earth would you haul such a huge tome between two continents?”
But the smile on her face became a fixed mask as Clara told her, “It’s for work. Jake’s offered me a job on his next film. He’s playing the part of Jonathan Strange.”
Clara elaborated, “Terry Gilliam is adapting the book into a screenplay. Guillermo del Toro is directing. Peter is producing.”
Peter, of course, was Peter Jackson. There were no three individuals better at crafting a fantasy than Jackson, Gilliam and del Toro. Together, they’d create a masterpiece. To work with the three of them was a once in a lifetime opportunity for an effects specialist. Or, it would be. For Clara. Jake hadn’t mentioned a word of it to Lilly.
Oblivious to the effect her announcement was having on Lilly, Clara became increasingly animated as she talked about the storyline, filming in Vancouver and meeting Jake’s co-stars.
“The book’s about a man, Jonathan Strange, who becomes a caretaker for an elderly magician, Mr. Norrell, hoping to learn from him. I haven’t gotten far, but there’s something awful about Mr. Norrell. I suspect there will be some bad magical happenings. Ian McKellen is going to play Norrell.”
“Wow, he’s brilliant,” she said, fighting down her jealousy and growing confusion over why no one, Jake or Phillip, had considered asking her to work on the film.
Lilly’s façade of feigned enthusiasm for Clara’s good fortune finally cracked when Clara told her, “Sierra Nighly has been cast as Arabella Woodhope, Jonathan Strange’s love interest.”
At her hissing intake of breath, Clara glanced over, taking in her sour expression.
“I know she’s no Maya, but she’s not bad,” Clara said.
Lilly rearranged her face into what she hoped was a smile, although it felt more like a grimace.
“No, no, she’s fine. She’ll be good.” Patting Clara’s hand to signal she needed to get up, she excused herself, escaping to the airplane lavatory.
Hyperventilating in front of the mirror, she fought the urge to scream. Or bawl her eyes out. Fury warred with sharp grief. She didn’t care about stupid Sierra Nighly. She didn’t, she insisted to herself. What she cared about was that she’d been bypassed. Jake had given her dream job to Clara. And for the ten hour flight, she had to sit next to her friend and pretend like she didn’t hate her just a little bit for taking a job that was so clearly tailor made for her. She wet paper towels with cool water and pressed them to her burning cheeks. With a herculean effort, she clamped down on her chaotic emotions until her expression was serene and composed.
When Lilly finally returned to her seat, she had bottled up the problem of Jake and Jonathan Strange, leaving it for later. Clara had her nose in the book and Lilly purposefully did not disturb her.
Skirting Hollywood Hills on North Cahuenga Boulevard, Lilly timed her breathing with the rhythm of her pumping legs to fend off the constriction in her chest as she thought about Clara’s news, and tried to calmly sort through her thoughts.
First things first. She had to confront the fact that, despite the tension between them, she’d been harboring the notion that she and Jake would continue to work together indefinitely. She’d thought that she would always be his first choice for any project, the way she was with his young cousin, Tyler. Clearly that was not the case.
A nasty thought crossed her mind, causing her to crush the brake handles and her tires to skid: Jake wouldn’t be choosing Clara over her if she hadn’t been such a prude.
Her anger turned inward and she berated herself. Did any part of her think she should have slept with Jake to secure her position?
Of course not. But she had to admit that their relationship would have been different. A brief fantasy flickered through her mind of her and Jake collaborating on projects over a perfectly arranged breakfast of orange juice and pastries. In her fantasy, they did this every morning. She’d be wearing a soft denim man’s shirt, Jake’s hair streaked with grey.
Yeah, right, shrewd Lilly interrupted her dreaming. Like that was how it was going to be if she had let him stay that night when he showed up at her house. She would probably already be out of a job.
Another, much different vision of the consequences of sleeping with Jake flooded her mind. In it, she showed up at his Beverly Hills mansion for an evening with him, and found a house full people, heavily weighted in favor of tall, curvy actresses and models in slinky silk dresses.
Jake was Ben Farrow, her college crush, all over again. If she had slept with Jake she’d have been nothing more than just another groupie.
There was no way she was going to go through that kind of hurt again. She’d never been so humiliated in all of her life. Not sleeping with Jake may have cost her the Jonathan Strange gig, but she’d kept her pride, her self-respect.
Lilly’s mood improved at the thought that when she ran into Jake after Feast ended, she’d have no reason to feel ashamed. He’s the one who would be embarrassed.
And she was likely to run into him, wasn’t she? Working on Tyler’s next project.
Another fantasy of her and Tyler accepting awards for their future films flitted through her head. Jake applauding sheepishly, just another star in the celebrity filled audience.
That fantasy stalled as she remembered that Tyler was currently set for an extended run on Broadway. After Broadway, his parents could decide that he needed to focus on school and prepare for college. He might not make another feature film any time in the near future.
Her mood took a darker turn as she imagined Tyler headed off for college, her long forgotten. It’s not like he had any reason to stay in touch. She wasn’t his family or even a close friend. She was just a sometimes coworker.
Once Feast wrapped, Jake wouldn’t be around her either, like he was now, in her line of vision nearly every day. He’d go back to being an untouchable, ultra-wealthy über-celebrity that she saw only on talk shows, in the movies, or plastered on the cover of magazines.
Lilly had reached the end of her ride. Dismounting her bike, she came to a somber resolution. She was destined to lose both Jake and Tyler, and there was not a damn thing she could, or should, do about it.
Sierra Nighly, on the other hand, would remain a mainstay in both their lives. Starring in features with Jake. Accompanying him to all the big events in Tyler’s life.
The studio was quiet on a Sunday afternoon. With no interruptions, it took her less than an hour to check supplies for the week. She took advantage of the quiet time to make a checklist of items that she would need to pack for Maya’s scenes in the faux Spello township. They would head to the Brooklyn soundstage being readied for that purpose in a we
ek.
Lilly was just locking up the Lab when her cell phone rang. It was Frances.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you on this day of rest,” opened Frances.
Lilly demurred, “No, not at all. Actually, I’m just locking up at the studio. What can I do for you?”
“A small contingent of our troupe is going to New York next week to film the encounter between Sofia and Blaylock.”
“Yes, I know. I planned on heading out with Maya next Sunday,” said Lilly, assuming that Frances was calling to confirm that she would take charge of Maya’s character for the crucial scene.
“No, that’s not what we need,” said Frances. Lilly was momentarily stunned. If she wasn’t going to be working with Maya, then what was left for her? Clara had firmly taken up the reins for Allegrezza. Was her work on Feast already over?
“I need you to take responsibility for overseeing the completion of the Spello sound stage,” Frances continued, cutting through Lilly’s thoughts. “You’ll need to be on the ground in New York no later than Thursday. I’d like to go ahead and put you in touch with the set decorator tomorrow so you can start reviewing the plan right away.”
Her mind stuttered, then quickly processed what Frances was saying. Trying not to sound like she was looking a gift horse in the mouth, she said, “When you say ‘oversee’, Frances, what exactly do you mean?”
“It has come to my attention that our current New York production designer has a few shortcomings. You’ll be replacing her,” said Frances. Then, used to dealing with talent much more savvy than Lilly, Frances added, “Of course, you’ll receive the appropriate credit for your work.”
“Get Janice up to speed on Sofia by Wednesday. I want you in New York ahead of us to iron out any problems with the Infiorata.”
Before Frances could sign off, Lilly quickly interjected, “Have you told Maya?” Her heart jumped at the opportunity to orchestrate the Spello scene, but her enthusiasm was dampened by Maya’s likely reaction to Janice taking over for her. Maya was not going to be pleased with this change.
“Let’s talk to her together, tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning. Enjoy the rest of your Sunday.” It wasn’t until after she’d hung up that Lilly realized Frances hadn’t bothered to wait for her to accept the new assignment.
As soon as she got home, she popped open her laptop and began researching the Infiorata di Spello. Hundreds of years ago, during a festival celebrating Corpus Domini, a tradition had sprung up of laying out flower petals before the bishop’s procession through the streets of Spello. With the passage of time, the flower carpets became increasingly more elaborate and spawned a competition in which the narrow winding streets of Spello were decorated in amazingly intricate carpets designed with religious themes, all made with flower petals and other plant material.
Lilly landed on a professional photographer’s website that had an entire gallery of the Spello procession from three years ago. She slowly clicked through the images, then clicked through them faster, creating a flickering moving picture. The religious celebrants wore gowns of white, heavily accented with bright golds and yellows. As they swept through the multi-hued mosaics, they scattered the petals in a kaleidoscope of color. The first physical encounter between Sofia and Blaylock would occur amidst the snowstorm of flowers.
She picked up her dog-eared screenplay hoping that someone much more experienced than she had given this considerable thought. The pages depicting the fight scenes were well-worn, Lilly having poured over them when developing the gruesome effects, but Allegrezza didn’t appear in Spello. She turned to the procession. There was virtually no dialogue. The whole point of the Infiorata was to provide a dramatic backdrop for the romantic scene.
There was a vivid description of the set, identical to what she’d seen in the web photographs. Raoul, in full bishop vestment, would trail through the petalled mosaics, a host of clergymen in equally elaborate gowns trailing behind. In keeping with the real festival, extras and crew dressed as townspeople and tourists would be invited to run through the flower-strewn streets as the procession passed, scattering petals everywhere. her vision sputtered and rewound.
The Spello flower mosaics would be destroyed on the first pass. None of the scenes on Feast had been shot in one pass.
She mulled over the problem. When it came time to edit the Spello scenes, Monty would mix and match camera angles from different takes. Even if she had unlimited identical sets, the petals would not scatter in the same way twice. Inconsistencies in the set production would not be forgiven. From take to take, she needed a way to match the trajectory of each petal.
That meant only one thing. There had to be a plan for chroma key compositing – green screening, like they’d done for the fight scenes – and some pretty detailed post-production animation. The live-action filming would still be complicated, but, if done with the proper planning and an eye for accuracy, the flawless end result that Monty demanded could be achievable.
Putting down the script, she picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts for Nat’s number. As she tapped Nat’s name, she hoped he’d forgive her for interrupting his Sunday evening.
When he picked up, she started apologetically, “Hi Nat. It’s Lilly. I’m sorry to bother you.”
“No problem, Lil. What’s up?”
“Are you coming with us to New York next week?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there. So, are you taking over for Sylvia?”
“Is she the production designer for the Spello sound stage?”
“She was. Frances fired her last week. I suggested you as a replacement. I guess Frances took me up on the suggestion?”
“Yes, it seems so,” she said.
“You’re going to have to go in there with a fire hose, Lil. They’ve got a top notch set decorator, but her background is in theatre. Nobody’s given any thought to how the scene’s going to film. You up for it?”
That was not what she wanted to hear. “Honestly, Nat, I don’t know. This isn’t going to be easy.”
“You got that right. It’s not even possible under the current plan. The proposed schedule was circulated while you were in Italy. You know how we deal with variables on the back side, Lil. You’ve got to green screen it. But it wasn’t even a budget item.
“I don’t speak French, but I’m pretty sure the words Frances used when she called New York shouldn’t be repeated in polite company.”
“Is it in the budget now?” she asked worriedly.
“Yeah, that’s why I’m coming. I’m going to have to miss the initial planning meeting for this year’s Comic-con.”
“Thank God,” she said. “Without your help, I’d never be able to pull this off. Although I’m sorry you’ll be missing your meeting.”
“Anything for you, Lil,” Nat said, brushing off her concern. Still, she knew how excited he’d been to get on that committee.
“Don’t worry too much about the Infiorata. Just get the CGI team enough to work with, okay? I’ll take care of the rest.”
Nat paused. “But I need something to work with. I’m not sure what you’re going to find when you get there.”
Chapter 20
On Monday morning, in Maya’s dressing room, Lilly stood next to Frances as she broke the news to Maya that Janice, Maya’s previous stylist, would be coming back on board starting at midday. When Frances had brought Lilly in to take over Maya’s character, Janice had been offered the option of continuing under Lilly’s supervision. But Janice had delayed accepting the subordinate position, thinking that Maya wouldn’t have enough confidence in Lilly to leave for Italy without her. Janice had been wrong. Now Maya was reluctant to turn the responsibility for her styling back over to Janice.
“She is an excellent stylist, Maya,” reasoned Frances. “Under Lilly’s direction she will be one of the best.”
Maya balked. “Frances, Janice was with me for four years. I paid her extravagantly and gave her free reign to make decisions that affected both of us
. But as soon as I asked something difficult from her, she abandoned me. Give me one good reason why I should give that ungrateful woman any more opportunities.”
“The humilité born from this experience will be an improvement to her character,” Frances said, her reasoned tone taking a turn toward stern. “Rise above this, Maya, and accept her back.”
Lilly inwardly wrung her hands. Frances was not a patient woman, and Maya was not one to be pushed around. Lilly wanted the opportunity Frances was offering her, but she’d come to care for Maya. Buried in Maya’s explanation for her refusal to reemploy Janice was the key issue: fear. Maya had depended upon Janice, and Janice had abandoned Maya.
“Frances, can you give us a few minutes?” she asked.
“Yes, of course,” said Frances reluctantly, assessing Maya and Lilly to gauge whether or not she needed to prepare for a mutiny.
As soon as Frances shut the dressing room door, Maya turned away from Lilly, examining her complexion in the mirror.
“You want to quit on me, too, Lilly?” Maya said. “Fine. Bring Janice back. It makes no difference.” Maya picked up a makeup sponge and began dabbing at the barely visible circles under her eyes.
Lilly pulled up a stool right next to Maya and sat. When Maya tried to hand her the sponge, she grasped Maya’s hand instead and held it, waiting for Maya to drop the emotional wall and look at her.
When Maya finally turned to her, her eyes were brimming. Lilly’s own eyes pricked with tears. Still, she forged ahead, saying what needed to be said.
“I was a short-term solution, Maya. I’m not going to be working with you on your next film, or the film after that. I’m not a stylist, and what I do has no place in a romantic comedy.
“If you truly don’t think you can forgive Janice, I’ll help you find another stylist, and I’ll work with whomever you choose to make sure Sofia is perfect. But I think you should give Janice another chance.”
“But I can’t trust her to take care of me, to make the right decisions. Not anymore,” Maya said, dejected.