The Last Take

by Tabitha Bree

  Did she see me staring at her lips?

  “Um, yeah. You get my point. But we’re good now, so don’t worry about it.”

  “Thanks.” She stands up. “And this job is really important to me, too. I won’t let you down.”

  I watch as she walks away, only dropping my stare when she turns around and flashes one final smile.

  Whatever tantrum Damon pulled earlier to be sent to lunch, he’s back on set now, being his usual broody, obnoxious self.

  “Why does he keep pulling that face?” I whisper to Joel as we play back the last take. “Let’s do one more. I feel like he’s trying to impregnate me with his eyes.”

  Joel laughs gruffly before speaking into his shoulder mic. “We’re going to do that one more time.”

  “Hey Damon.” I motion with my hand so I can speak with him privately. “Let’s try it again. Do less of the eye thing and more… I don’t know, like you’re trying to stop a car hitting your best friend. Remember, it’s a dog, not your love interest.”

  “It’s these hazel eyes.” He smiles out the side of his mouth. “What can I say? I can’t help what they do.” He finds the petite blonde extra behind me and winks, and she titters in response. I have to actively stop myself from gagging.

  “Just try to tone it down.”

  We end up doing five more takes, but we finally get something I can work with. At least we’re making progress. Actually, considering we factored Damon’s habit of slowing things down into the schedule, we’re making good time. I’m starting to feel like this film won’t be the death of me.

  “Let’s reset for the car crash,” Joel says into his mic, with Evie repeating it loudly to the crew. I catch her eye and she gives me a huge, bright smile. Not one of those fake ones you see everyone in LA do, but one that reaches her eyes. I nod to her and turn to the cinematographer to discuss the angles for the next shot.

  Much to Damon’s relief, we have a creature performer playing the dog in this scene, so he doesn’t have to fret about having balls in his face. The performer walks onto set, thick metal stilt legs attached to his own so he can walk and move like a German Sheppard. We rehearse the scene a few times before we start rolling, just to go over the choreography.

  “I need you to jump in a second earlier,” I instruct Damon, who is running his hands through his hair and nodding. “And remember you move into the car sideways, like you’re blocking it with your shoulder to protect Max.”

  “Ooh, like Twilight!”

  We both turn in the voice’s direction, but I already know whom it belongs to.

  “Twilight?”

  “Yeah, when Edward stops the car from hitting Bella,” Evie says, before crouching down and reenacting the scene herself, shooting her arm out to the side and stiff-arming the air. “God, what a classic, am I right.”

  I hear some muffled sniggers from the crew and the makeup artists whispering to each other.

  “I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure of watching Twilight, but I’ll take your word for it,” I reply, amused at her complete lack of fucks given for how ridiculous she looks.

  Her mouth drops open. “Haven’t watched Twilight—”

  “Let’s get this show on the road.” Dee smirks between me and Evie.

  I refocus on the task at hand. “Agreed, let’s shoot this one.”

  It takes Damon a few tries to get the timing and movements right, stopping the imaginary car on cue, but eventually he gets it and we’re able to wrap for the day. As everyone is packing up, I can’t help but think the mood has shifted. The entire crew feels lighter—more optimistic about the work ahead.

  Or maybe it’s just me.

  “Today was good,” Dee says, walking with me to the production office. “Seems like the crew has found its rhythm.”

  “You know, I don’t want to jinx it. But I think you’re right.”

  Dee scoffs. “Like you believe in jinxing and all that woo woo stuff. You almost had a stroke when the production coordinator wanted to burn sage on our last film together.”

  “That production coordinator was insane.”

  We both laugh.

  “But you’re right. We have a good team here… if you ignore Damon, Eric and Simon,” I say.

  Dee grimaces. “Well, you seem to be making it work. And how about that Evie, huh?”

  “What do you mean?” I stop walking. “What about her?”

  “She’s a fire cracker, right?”

  I scratch the back of my head, trying to act more casual. “Or maybe just cracked.”

  Dee nudges me in the ribs. “She’s a little extra.”

  I raise my eyebrows at her.

  “Okay, she’s a lot extra. But I like her. She’s made a couple of stumbles, yeah. But who didn’t when they were new?”

  “I’m not going to fire her, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Do people really think I’m that big of a jerk?

  “Good,” Dee replies. “Because I think she brings a good energy to the team. That’s why I got her in. Even her profile was bubbly.”

  We walk along for a few more steps in silence, and I replay Evie’s strange Twilight reenactment in my head.

  “Yep, she definitely brings something.”

  9

  Evie

  It seems like the crew call is getting earlier and earlier. First it was eight am, then seven, and now it’s before six in the morning, and I’m creeping out of my apartment like I’m about to commence a walk of shame.

  I’m hit with a pang of disappointment when I remember my love life is completely barren. A walk of shame would be an exciting change.

  It’s been a while.

  I gently pull my front door closed and make my way toward the elevator. At least now I’m sneaking around because I don’t want to wake up my neighbors, and not because I’m avoiding my landlord. Which is a good thing, as he’s standing by the elevator door, smoothing plaster over a dent in the wall.

  “You’re up early, Ron.”

  He jumps at the sound of my voice, making a ripple in the plaster. “Jesus, kid. You scared the life out of me. Don’t you make sounds when you walk?”

  “I was doing my best Pink Panther impression.”

  He looks at me, puzzled.

  “You know. Da-na, da-na, da-na da-na da-na da-na da-naaaaaaa. DANANANA.” I circle in front of him with long, sneaking strides.

  “Yeah… I don’t do impressions before I’ve had my morning coffee.”

  “Oh.” I hold out my reusable cup. “Here, why don’t you take mine? I’ll get another on set.”

  Ron hesitates for a second but then shrugs, accepting my gesture and taking a long sip. “That seems to be going well. The movie thing?”

  “Well enough for me to keep sliding envelopes of cash under your door, at least. Sorry I’m still a little short. Just playing catch up on what I owe you.”

  Ron waves me off. “Don’t worry about it. Now that I know you’re working for actual money and not interning, I trust you.”

  I tilt my head sideways. “Aw, Ron. You were listening when I told you what I was doing.”

  “Get going before they fire you and I have to reconsider.”

  I salute him and board the elevator, not needing to be told twice.

  On the drive to Burbank I think about the last few weeks, and how the call from Dee was like a call from God herself. To think I was just moments off begging my parents to pay my rent. On a scale of one to getting in trouble in front of the entire film crew, going to my mom with my tail between my legs was top-of-the-list mortifying.

  I think about my conversation with Adam at lunch. He seemed different alone than when he’s trying to wrangle a crew. Softer, maybe. Under all the gruff bravado, I suspect there’s a kind soul. I’m just one over-the-top impression away from cracking a smile. Maybe one day we would actually be friends.

  I roll down the window as the early morning sun breaks through the sky.

  Damon walks out onto a makeshift cliff, gazing out o
nto a land of green screen. The camera crane soars through the air behind him, filming what will be the last shot of the movie. It’s funny seeing this stuff from behind the curtain. I can just imagine when it’s done, with its impressive CGI landscapes and booming orchestra soundtrack, it will be one of those blockbuster scenes that appear larger than life. But here on the ground level, it’s just a man sitting on a fake rock staring at a green wall.

  It’s still the best job in the world though. I grin to myself.

  “Cut!”

  “CUT,” I repeat, just in time for Jackson to sidle up next to me. Kylie is on stage door duty, and I’m glad to be standing here with him instead of her. Even if it means listening to his commentary.

  “This is going to be epic,” he whispers, watching Damon stand there triumphantly.

  “I think we need to do that again,” Adam says, motioning to the camera guys to reset.

  “What was wrong that time?” Damon’s eyebrows bunch as he turns to face Adam, still in his valiant final pose.

  “You look too victorious,” Adam replies. “Remember, this isn’t a happy ending. Yes, you saved the dog, but the entire city has descended into chaos. The human tendency to react instead of understand has resulted in a war between men and beasts. You failed to get anyone to listen. Didn’t we go over this?”

  “Yes, but what’s wrong with what I’m doing?”

  Adam rubs his forehead. “I just need you to look less heroic, more troubled. More like you’ve failed.”

  Damon rolls his eyes and goes back to his starting position as they prepare for another take.

  “I think we’re going to be here for a while,” Dee murmurs to us, before walking over to Joel.

  “Did you know Jaws had all kinds of problems on set?” Jackson says to me. “The script wasn’t even finished when they began principal photography. They were re-writing it throughout the shoot.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “That’s not even the half of it,” he goes on. “The shark? They hadn’t tested it in salt water, and when they used it out at sea, it sank! Right to the bottom of the ocean!”

  “I think I have heard that one.”

  I have definitely heard that one. Twice, in fact. Jackson is one of those newly graduated film nerds who knows everything about every film ever made. He’s full of ‘fun’ facts, and he loves to share them with anyone willing to listen. Anyone unfortunately meaning me, because everyone else is too busy to let him go on and on.

  Come to think if it, I’m too busy to let him go on and on as well. But I don’t have the heart to cut him off. Unlike Kylie, who met his latest fact with a snappy “what are you, like, a film encyclopedia?”

  Eventually we’re shooting the last take (while Jackson ranks every Steven Spielberg film in order of lowest to highest grossing) and it seems like Damon is finally doing it right. But before Adam can call ‘cut’, a loud bang reverberates from the back of the sound stage and everyone turns to see who is responsible.

  “Are you fucking kidding?” Adam turns around, removing his headphones. “Who is on the stage door and why is my take ruined, again?!” But before he can keep yelling, he sees the person marching toward the set and his face falls.

  From my extensive research prior to my first day (always be prepared), I know every name and every face of the top dogs on this film. And as the man traipses toward us, I know this face belongs to Nolan Smith. Billionaire and executive producer. AKA, the boss of everyone here.

  He reaches the set, his expensive suit standing out against the typical cargo-pants and t-shirt uniform of most of the crew, and all eyes are on him. He is the kind of man who commands the attention of a room. And by that, I mean he is very attractive and powerful-looking. I can’t help but notice a few women, mainly the makeup team, making eyes at each other.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Nolan says, with a confidence that suggests he doesn’t care an iota about interrupting. “So I’ll make this quick.” He deadpans Adam. “What the hell is going on with my film?”

  Adam clamps his eyes shut, holding his palms up. “Nolan, you hired me, remember?”

  It only takes me two seconds to realize Adam isn’t intimidated by Nolan at all, unlike everyone else in the room.

  “I’m the director, so I think you’ll find it’s my film,” Adam continues.

  A few sounds are made around the room, and one audible “damn” from Dee. Everyone looks back at Nolan.

  “As the executive producer and the man paying your income, I think most people would disagree.” He walks into the set so that he’s standing next to the makeshift cliff, his fancy shoes clopping as he goes. “I was hoping the reports were exaggerated. But no, it seems you’ve completely obliterated my movie.”

  Nolan nods to the side of the room, where Eric and Simon come slinking out. “But at least I was brought up to speed before it was too late.”

  “We tried to handle it ourselves,” Eric starts toward Nolan. “But—you know what he’s like…”

  Eric tilts his head at our director and Adam glares back, before returning his attention to Nolan. “Before it’s too late? What are you talking about?”

  “Before there’s no going back. We need to get this film back on track, back to the vision we originally had.”

  “What, with cats attacking their owners and apes climbing buildings?” Adam laughs. “The original vision was ridiculous.”

  “That’s not really your call to make now, is it?”

  “Ah, again. As the director, it kind of is.”

  There’s an uncomfortable silence, and I’m not sure who’s about to pop. But Nolan just smiles, like he knows something Adam doesn’t. Like he has the answer to the magic riddle and Adam’s an idiot.

  “Your stubbornness may work on these two,” Nolan says. Eric and Simon both look sheepishly to the side. “But you’re dealing with me now. Alright? You’ve had your fun, now it’s time to get back to business.”

  “Fun?” Adam balks. “I’ve had my fun? For weeks we’ve been working our asses off shooting this film. We’re not changing anything now.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Then good luck finding another director.”

  The breath catches in my throat. And by the looks on other people’s faces, they are just as concerned as me.

  He wouldn’t walk now.

  Would he?

  “Easy, Thorne. Remember, you’re under contract.”

  Adam stares him down, a fire in his eyes I’ve never seen before.

  “For what it’s worth, I liked the original script better, too.”

  Everyone looks up at Damon standing on his fake rock.

  “No one’s asking you, Reeves,” Adam says through clenched teeth. “Maybe it’s time you learned how to act when you’re not playing a big macho hero.” He turns to Nolan, shaking the script in the air. “I turned this garbage into something meaningful. Something with substance. Not something people will mindlessly watch for ninety minutes and never think of again. I won’t put my name next to another joke.”

  “Well then finance your own film.” Nolan opens his arms out wide. “Make a little indie drama that no one will ever see. I don’t care. But take it off my set.”

  “I was promised full creative control!”

  For the first time, Simon pipes up from the back. “Within the parameters of the script.”

  “Shut up, Simon!” Adam growls.

  The whole sound stage is swallowed in awkwardness so thick you could swim through it. I look over at Dee, who is hiding her face behind a clipboard. And then it dawns on me. What will happen to us all if Adam leaves? Production will stop, that’s for sure. It would have to until they find a new director. But Dee is on Adam’s team and she’s the one who hired me.

  Will I even have a job if Adam walks?

  My stomach drops, and this time, not just because I hate watching confrontations. But because I’m realizing now, this could be the end of my dream job.

  It could
be all over.

  Nolan takes a few steps towards Adam so that they’re only a couple of feet apart. I’m frozen, waiting for one of them to knock the other one out. Nolan looks down at him, a comfortable three inches taller.

  “I don’t care what Eric promised you to get you on the film. I don’t care about your vision. I don’t care about your juvenile need to prove you’re a serious director. What I care about is the bottom line.”

  His voice is just above a whisper now, but the room is so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

  “What matters now is that I’m here, and I’m telling you we’re going back to how it was. I don’t care what you have to do. Just get it done.”

  Adam’s jaw flinches under his facial hair as Nolan takes a step closer.

  “I don’t care who your father was, or what you usually get away with on set. But you’re in Nolan’s land now. And you’re playing by Nolan’s rules.”

  10

  Adam

  It takes a specific type of douchebag to talk in third person. And apparently Nolan Smith fits the bill.

  I grimace when he brings up my dad. “You mind telling me what that’s supposed to mean?”

  “I think you know,” he replies with a smirk, before backing away. Which is lucky because I’m about three seconds away from lodging my fist into his eye socket. I glower after him.

  “All those scenes you cut? Consider them added back in,” he says, walking off the set. “Eric will go over the details.”

  I look at Eric, whose expression is caught between frightened and smug. Simon, however, looks quite pleased with himself. His embarrassment of a film will get made after all.

  But I won’t be a part of it.

  “Good luck with that. I’m out.”

  Nolan stops walking and turns around slowly. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m out. Find someone else who will direct your stupid film.”

  Nolan chuckles to himself, rubbing his jaw. “You might want to think carefully about this, Thorne. Remember who you’re dealing with.”