A Midsummer Night's Romp by Katie MacAlister Page B

confused—”
    â€œEveryman,” Roger interrupted, beaming with pride. “You’ll be our everyman.”
    â€œI will?”
    â€œYes, yes, don’t you see? You’re the only one here who doesn’t have any archaeology experience—all the volunteers have some sort of training, either from a university or with an amateur archaeology club. But you have none! Sue believes that the viewers will be lost with all the technical talk if we don’t present them with someone who is just as ignorant as they are.”
    I wondered if I should be insulted or not, and decided to go with not.
    â€œShe had an idea, and I think it’s really an excellent one, of picking a person to stand in for the audience, someone to whom the experts can explain things, so that it’s all understandable and fun and exciting for even the dullest of persons.”
    â€œOK, now I’m going to be insulted,” I couldn’t help but say.
    â€œDon’t be,” he said, waving away my objection. “It isn’t meant to insult. It’s meant to praise your accessibility. You’re perfect for the job—you’re well-spoken without being snooty, are personable and have a nice presence that will translate well on-screen, and you aren’t too pretty, so you won’t give Sue a run for the spotlight. Viewers will relate to the fact that you have little experience with archaeology. Plus you’ll look good with Gunner.”
    â€œI beg your pardon?” I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly. “Look good with him in what way?”
    â€œDidn’t I tell you? I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t stapled on. Since the others are busy getting the dig started, I’ve asked him to show you the ropes.” He waved a hand around vaguely. “Turns out he’s got some kind of relevant degree, and knows all about the Romans and Celts and whoever else lived here, but because of his leg, he can’t dig much.”
    Oh, dear lord, that was all I needed. “No!” I said somewhat wildly.
    Roger looked askance. “No?”
    â€œEr . . .” Mindful that I was there by the good graces of his production company, I tried to summon a friendly smile. “That is, no, I’m not personable, and I look terrible on film. That’s . . . uh . . . that’s why I became a photographer, so I could take pictures and not have to have them taken of me.” He just stared at me. I felt like an idiot babbling away, but I couldn’t seem to stop. “I appreciate the fact that you thought of me, I really appreciate it, but I’m sure there’s got to be someone else who would be much better suited to the role.”
    A little frown appeared between his eyebrows. “I am quite well-known for my productions, you know.”
    â€œOf course you are,” I said hurriedly, wanting to smooth over his obviously hurt feelings. “I’ve told you how much I liked your other shows, and it’s clear you’re a master at the job of . . . er . . . producing.”
    â€œYes,” he said coolly. “I am. And part of that mastery is knowing who is right for what role. Is there a reason you don’t wish to be filmed? Some secret reason? Perhaps an illegal one?”
    I gawked at him for a second, my gut spinning around like a hamster’s wheel. “No! I just . . . I’m not comfortable. . . . I’m not here illegally or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking—”
    â€œThen there is no reason why you can’t spend an hour or two a day with the film crew, allowing us to film short segments that will make the project clear to the viewing audience.” His words were clipped and had sharp edges. “I’m sure that since we have been so accommodating as to allow you unfettered access to the filming schedule, not to mention arranging for