warm. In October, our night temperatures drop down into the forties pretty often, but the day temperatures can march right back up into the eighties. People were discarding jackets all over the set. I was wearing a short-sleeved dark blue silk tee shirt and khakis, having decided to be cold for an hour rather than tote a sweater the rest of the day.
I felt smug. Robin was equally practical in jeans and green golfing shirt. The jeans made his butt look very nice.
“Interested?” Robin asked, and for an unnerving moment I misunderstood him. I looked up at him with wide eyes until I realized he was just asking if I was enjoying the controlled chaos around me. I nodded. Looking past Robin’s shoulder, I saw someone waving in his direction.
“Hey, that gal wants to talk to you,” I said. It was the stout young woman who’d been overseeing the Molly’s Moveable Feasts table.
Robin looked uncomfortable. “What now?” he said, and strode off. I was left standing in the middle of a sea of busy people and mysterious cables. I was afraid to move for fear I’d go where I wasn’t supposed to, or trip over something vital. It was hard to look nonchalant, under the circumstances, and I was relieved when the chief cameraman stopped to chat.
Though he might be on the unpolished side—his hair was rough and poorly cut, his face almost obscured by a huge graying mustache—he was really polite. “Will Weir,” he said, extending a hand. I shook it and introduced myself.
“Oh, yeah, Robin said he was bringing you to the set,” Weir said. “Celia’s character is based on you, you know.”
“I’d heard,” I said dryly.
“Robin is a nice guy,” Weir said. “I don’t know how much of the script is autobiographical, but according to the book, you two dated for a while?”
It seemed a strange thing for this cameraman to ask. Why would he care? Our relationship was really none of his business. But there wasn’t any reason for me to be touchy, either.
“We dated for a couple of months,” I said levelly. “Then he went off to Los Angeles to seek his fame and fortune.”
Weir appeared to relax at that, and I wondered if he’d been worried that Robin would be distracted by me and thus upset the star of the movie.
Celia seemed upset by something, anyway. Weir heard her voice just as I did, raised in a sharp protest over something. The actress was just far enough away, in a little huddle with the director and Chip Brodnax, to be unintelligible from where we stood. But there was no mistaking the anger in her posture. Her right hand swung out almost as if she intended to slap the much taller director, but Joel Park Brooks proved quick on his feet. He dodged the swinging hand adroitly, and stared down at the actress with a stony face.
Celia herself seemed appalled at what she’d done. For a long moment she looked from Joel to Chip to her own hand, her mouth open in amazement. Then, her body language unmistakable, she apologized.
All three lowered their voices and bent their heads together, and then Joel was striding back to his chair, his shaved head shining in the sun. He’d have to put on a hat soon, or he’d be sorry tomorrow.
Chip and Celia moved back into their starting positions for the scene, as did the first couple, and then . . . everyone did the whole thing over again.
By the fifth time, Robin was back by my side, with a murmured apology that I didn’t quite catch. I was bored, hot, and ready to leave, and I was none too happy with being dumped and reloaded by Robin so unceremoniously. As I whispered my own deliberately unintelligible farewell, my nose was probably as high in the air as Celia’s when she did her “pert” sentence.
“I’ll call you,” he promised. He still seemed distracted. “I think tomorrow we’re doing street scenes.”
Well, the heck with him, I thought, making my path through the confusing tangle of cables and equipment. I was determined to reach my car and make my
I felt smug. Robin was equally practical in jeans and green golfing shirt. The jeans made his butt look very nice.
“Interested?” Robin asked, and for an unnerving moment I misunderstood him. I looked up at him with wide eyes until I realized he was just asking if I was enjoying the controlled chaos around me. I nodded. Looking past Robin’s shoulder, I saw someone waving in his direction.
“Hey, that gal wants to talk to you,” I said. It was the stout young woman who’d been overseeing the Molly’s Moveable Feasts table.
Robin looked uncomfortable. “What now?” he said, and strode off. I was left standing in the middle of a sea of busy people and mysterious cables. I was afraid to move for fear I’d go where I wasn’t supposed to, or trip over something vital. It was hard to look nonchalant, under the circumstances, and I was relieved when the chief cameraman stopped to chat.
Though he might be on the unpolished side—his hair was rough and poorly cut, his face almost obscured by a huge graying mustache—he was really polite. “Will Weir,” he said, extending a hand. I shook it and introduced myself.
“Oh, yeah, Robin said he was bringing you to the set,” Weir said. “Celia’s character is based on you, you know.”
“I’d heard,” I said dryly.
“Robin is a nice guy,” Weir said. “I don’t know how much of the script is autobiographical, but according to the book, you two dated for a while?”
It seemed a strange thing for this cameraman to ask. Why would he care? Our relationship was really none of his business. But there wasn’t any reason for me to be touchy, either.
“We dated for a couple of months,” I said levelly. “Then he went off to Los Angeles to seek his fame and fortune.”
Weir appeared to relax at that, and I wondered if he’d been worried that Robin would be distracted by me and thus upset the star of the movie.
Celia seemed upset by something, anyway. Weir heard her voice just as I did, raised in a sharp protest over something. The actress was just far enough away, in a little huddle with the director and Chip Brodnax, to be unintelligible from where we stood. But there was no mistaking the anger in her posture. Her right hand swung out almost as if she intended to slap the much taller director, but Joel Park Brooks proved quick on his feet. He dodged the swinging hand adroitly, and stared down at the actress with a stony face.
Celia herself seemed appalled at what she’d done. For a long moment she looked from Joel to Chip to her own hand, her mouth open in amazement. Then, her body language unmistakable, she apologized.
All three lowered their voices and bent their heads together, and then Joel was striding back to his chair, his shaved head shining in the sun. He’d have to put on a hat soon, or he’d be sorry tomorrow.
Chip and Celia moved back into their starting positions for the scene, as did the first couple, and then . . . everyone did the whole thing over again.
By the fifth time, Robin was back by my side, with a murmured apology that I didn’t quite catch. I was bored, hot, and ready to leave, and I was none too happy with being dumped and reloaded by Robin so unceremoniously. As I whispered my own deliberately unintelligible farewell, my nose was probably as high in the air as Celia’s when she did her “pert” sentence.
“I’ll call you,” he promised. He still seemed distracted. “I think tomorrow we’re doing street scenes.”
Well, the heck with him, I thought, making my path through the confusing tangle of cables and equipment. I was determined to reach my car and make my
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