he could watch her on the silver screen.
* * *
"Do all cinematographers know how to edit as well as you do?" Jenny asked as she watched Greg work on her brother-in-law’s huge computer monitor.
He shrugged. "I like playing with it and I’ve hung out with a lot of first-class film editors. Editing is the critical step that pulls everything together."
Jenny smothered her yawn as they watched the final scene, a marvelous image that young Sean had shot from the catwalk above the stage. Though an American spiritual was hardly traditional in a mummers’ play, Jenny firmly believed that folk performances were a living tradition, and should evolve and grow and adopt new music.
The final frame dissolved into darkness. " Finis . It’s a wonderful sample, Greg. Now all we need is for my telly people to bite."
"They’re nuts if they don’t." Greg saved the final version, then rose, yawning. His skill had made editing a pleasure. She had enjoyed discussing the shots and trying different versions until they had captured the essence of the live performance.
His competence was very sexy. If she weren’t so tired, she’d jump him. There was privacy enough—Patricia and her family had long since retired.
When Jenny and Greg were outside the house, he slung an arm around her shoulders as they walked to the car. She loved such casual, affectionate gestures.
Starting the engine as quietly as possible, she headed through the empty village to her cottage. They were almost home when Greg asked, "It’s well known that you and Kenzie Scott were an item at RADA. Were you in love with him?"
She guessed that he might not have asked such a personal question if he wasn’t so tired, but she didn’t mind answering. "Not really. I do love Kenzie—he’s one of my dearest friends, and he’s as kind as he is good-looking, which is saying a lot. But there was always something unknowable about him—an essence that I could never touch."
"I thought women liked mysterious men."
"Some might, but I think it’s tedious to always be wondering what a man thinks. I’m afraid that I’m hopelessly middle class, Greg. I like a chap who’s down to earth and knowable." Someone like Greg. She had dated her share of high-maintenance charmers, and they made her appreciate steadiness and good humor.
As they entered her cottage, she thought of his question from their first night together: Would she have stayed with him in California if he’d asked all those years earlier? She still didn’t know what her response would have been—but looking back, she was pretty sure that she should have stayed.
* * *
Simon Oxnard, Jenny’s honcho friend at the BBC, clicked off the Revels recording. He had watched the first third straight through and skipped rapidly through the rest to get a sense of the whole. Greg sat and gloomily noted all the errors he’d made. Shots held too long, angles that could have been improved, lighting that wasn’t quite right. He was beginning to wish he hadn’t accompanied Jenny for this sales pitch.
Of course, it was always good to watch Jenny. She’d opted for the businesswoman look today rather than actress glamour or country casual. With hair swept up and a beautifully tailored suit, she looked ready to run the Bank of England.
"Very nice, Jenny. The script is a delightful blend of traditional and contemporary, and you’ve directed well." Simon glanced at Greg. "You captured a wonderful sense of immediacy, Mr. Marino. I felt I was standing in the middle of the stage, immersed in celebration."
Greg thanked him, glad his errors weren’t obvious to a non-cameraman.
Simon continued, "I’ll have to run this by some of our programming people before I can make a commitment. There’s a good chance we’ll want it, but it won’t be anywhere near as much money as you need. Tight budgets, you know."
Greg sensed Jenny’s disappointment, though she didn’t let it show on her face. "I understand. Many thanks for making time
* * *
"Do all cinematographers know how to edit as well as you do?" Jenny asked as she watched Greg work on her brother-in-law’s huge computer monitor.
He shrugged. "I like playing with it and I’ve hung out with a lot of first-class film editors. Editing is the critical step that pulls everything together."
Jenny smothered her yawn as they watched the final scene, a marvelous image that young Sean had shot from the catwalk above the stage. Though an American spiritual was hardly traditional in a mummers’ play, Jenny firmly believed that folk performances were a living tradition, and should evolve and grow and adopt new music.
The final frame dissolved into darkness. " Finis . It’s a wonderful sample, Greg. Now all we need is for my telly people to bite."
"They’re nuts if they don’t." Greg saved the final version, then rose, yawning. His skill had made editing a pleasure. She had enjoyed discussing the shots and trying different versions until they had captured the essence of the live performance.
His competence was very sexy. If she weren’t so tired, she’d jump him. There was privacy enough—Patricia and her family had long since retired.
When Jenny and Greg were outside the house, he slung an arm around her shoulders as they walked to the car. She loved such casual, affectionate gestures.
Starting the engine as quietly as possible, she headed through the empty village to her cottage. They were almost home when Greg asked, "It’s well known that you and Kenzie Scott were an item at RADA. Were you in love with him?"
She guessed that he might not have asked such a personal question if he wasn’t so tired, but she didn’t mind answering. "Not really. I do love Kenzie—he’s one of my dearest friends, and he’s as kind as he is good-looking, which is saying a lot. But there was always something unknowable about him—an essence that I could never touch."
"I thought women liked mysterious men."
"Some might, but I think it’s tedious to always be wondering what a man thinks. I’m afraid that I’m hopelessly middle class, Greg. I like a chap who’s down to earth and knowable." Someone like Greg. She had dated her share of high-maintenance charmers, and they made her appreciate steadiness and good humor.
As they entered her cottage, she thought of his question from their first night together: Would she have stayed with him in California if he’d asked all those years earlier? She still didn’t know what her response would have been—but looking back, she was pretty sure that she should have stayed.
* * *
Simon Oxnard, Jenny’s honcho friend at the BBC, clicked off the Revels recording. He had watched the first third straight through and skipped rapidly through the rest to get a sense of the whole. Greg sat and gloomily noted all the errors he’d made. Shots held too long, angles that could have been improved, lighting that wasn’t quite right. He was beginning to wish he hadn’t accompanied Jenny for this sales pitch.
Of course, it was always good to watch Jenny. She’d opted for the businesswoman look today rather than actress glamour or country casual. With hair swept up and a beautifully tailored suit, she looked ready to run the Bank of England.
"Very nice, Jenny. The script is a delightful blend of traditional and contemporary, and you’ve directed well." Simon glanced at Greg. "You captured a wonderful sense of immediacy, Mr. Marino. I felt I was standing in the middle of the stage, immersed in celebration."
Greg thanked him, glad his errors weren’t obvious to a non-cameraman.
Simon continued, "I’ll have to run this by some of our programming people before I can make a commitment. There’s a good chance we’ll want it, but it won’t be anywhere near as much money as you need. Tight budgets, you know."
Greg sensed Jenny’s disappointment, though she didn’t let it show on her face. "I understand. Many thanks for making time
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