by Skylar Finn
“Girl, no.”
“Why are we scheduled for night shoots anyway?” Ailani demanded. “We’re filming inside.”
“You know why,” Walt answered. “Sebastian thinks filming at night improves Trip’s willingness to take direction.”
“That’s because Trip is doped up on Ambien.”
Walt started the coffee maker and tugged the elastic that kept Ailani’s long hair out of her face. It cascaded around her shoulders. She embodied the essence of a true California girl—sun-soaked golden hair, tanned skin, and lean muscle mass built up by surfing—but her true roots were Hawaiian.
“You haven’t talked to your sister in a while, have you?” Walt asked as he began to separate Ailani’s gorgeous hair into braidable segments.
“Keiko? No, I haven’t heard from her in a few weeks.” Ailani let herself relax under Walt’s touch. “How did you know?”
“Because you always get grumpy when she doesn’t call.”
“She’s seventeen,” Ailani sighed. “I’m sure she’s busy with school and friends. She works too, at the shaved ice place on the beach.”
“Ooh, I bet the boys love that.”
“And your dad?”
“He called yesterday,” Ailani said. “We didn’t talk for too long. Sebastian wanted something.”
Walt gave her a knowing look. “Are you sure you didn’t make an excuse to hang up?”
“You know it’s hard for me to talk to him,” she said. “Especially around this time of year.”
He finished braiding her hair, took a picture, then unraveled his delicate work with gentle fingers. Ailani let him practice on her whenever he wanted, but the deal was that he always had to undo the braid when he was finished. If he left it in, Ailani’s heavy hair pulled painfully on her scalp.
“I’m here for you.” Walt returned her hair tie as the coffee finished brewing. “You know that, right?”
“Thanks, Walt.”
They returned to the set, and though they hadn’t been gone for longer than five minutes, yet another superficial tragedy had brought the production to a grinding halt. Sebastian was in the middle of a temper tantrum, having thrown his script notes into the air. Papers flew everywhere as the crew attempted to placate the raging director. Trip Travis was nowhere to be seen.
Sebastian stomped up to Ailani. “Are you happy? As soon as we tried rolling, Trip declared he couldn’t work like this and marched off the set!”
“That’s my fault how?” Ailani asked.
“If it weren’t for all these hold-ups, we would be finished with this scene by now,” Sebastian fumed. “Since you interrupted the last take, you get to be the one to coax Trip out of his trailer.”
“But—”
“Go! Now!”
Ailani turned sharply on her heel, and Sebastian leaned away to avoid her long hair as it whipped around. She kept her composure. She couldn’t allow Sebastian to win or give him the satisfaction of knowing he bothered her. Walt tried to follow Ailani, but Sebastian held him back.
“Not you,” the director said. “Is that my coffee?”
Walt handed over the cup. “Fresh off the Keurig.”
Sebastian spat the coffee out. “Tastes like dirty water. Do it again. This time, use the French press.” He flung his arms in the air. “Why doesn’t anyone know how to do things right around here?”
Ailani pounded on Trip’s trailer door. She balanced a cup of iced tea and the latest advance copy of Entertainment Magazine in the other hand. “Trip, come on. Open the door. I’ve got Sandra Oh with me, and I know how much you love her.”
“Sandra can’t fix this!” came the anguished howl from inside.
“I can’t help you if you won’t let me in,” Ailani said. “At least tell me what’s wrong. Why did you storm off the set?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“I wouldn’t?” Ailani challenged. “Because I’m the only PA who knows your favorite blend of herbal tea.”
Trip’s perfect nose appeared as he opened the door an inch. “Tangy hibiscus and lime?”
Ailani offered him the cup. “On the rocks, just the way you like it.” She let him take the tea, but when he reached for the magazine, she pulled it out of reach. “Nope. Let me in first. Then Sandra’s all yours.”
“I want to be alone,” Trip declared.
“Okay.” Ailani hopped off the trailer steps, turned, and flipped to the cover story in the magazine. “Wow, she looks amazing. Oh, look. She talks about the new season of Killing Eve. You like that show, don’t you?”
Trip snatched the magazine and dragged Ailani inside. With a satisfied smirk, she sat down on his exquisite leather couch. Trip’s trailer was practically a tiny home. It had a full kitchen, a shower, and an entertainment center. The less important actors were lucky to get an oil diffuser and a mini fridge.
Trip himself was a fascinating specimen to behold. Like Walt, he was phenomenally built, but his muscle was born out of five thousand calories a day and a training regimen that would make the Hulk cry. His blond hair was shaved on the sides while the longer part on top was slicked back against his scalp. He had the perfect amount of scruff to look rugged but not dirty, and he had mastered the art of the smize. From afar, he was every woman’s dream man, landing somewhere between Captain America and Danny Zuko for looks.
“So what’s the problem?” Ailani asked as Trip sipped his tea and searched through the magazine. “Why did you storm off the set? We’re almost done for the night, but we need this last take. Otherwise, Sebastian’s head might explode and we’ll never finish this movie.”
“Perhaps that’s for the best.”
“What are you talking about?”
Trip let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Am I just a pretty face?”
“Uh.” Ailani, caught off guard, wasn’t sure how to navigate the answer to that question. “I don’t think so. I think you’re pretty—uh—pretty handsome, but that’s not all you are. You’re a talented actor.”
“But I’m typecast.” He caressed Sandra Oh’s image on the magazine cover. “Every movie I’m in is exactly the same. The hunky, broody man makes questionable moral decisions, but he does it all to save his one true love.”
Ailani clicked her tongue. “Can’t argue with you there.”
“I don’t always want to be the action guy,” Trip said. “I want to do other things too. Matt Damon did the Bourne trilogy and Good Will Hunting.”
“So you want to be Matt Damon?”
Another wistful sigh. “Maybe I should transition to TV. I should be more like Sandra. She takes roles that have an impact on people. Everyone just wants me to look good as I’m walking away from explosions. How many times can one guy walk away from an explosion and not look back?”
Ailani tapped the magazine cover. “Are you actually complaining about having too many opportunities? Sandra Oh had to fight like hell for those roles, all because she’s Korean.”
“I suppose.”
“I know,” Ailani said. “Trip, if you want to change the course of your career, do something about it. Tell your agent. Take an acting class to expand your abilities. Tape auditions on your own for roles you want to play. You can do whatever you want.”
Trip’s bottom lip quivered. “Really?”
“Sure. After you finish this movie.”
After Trip’s hair and makeup were touched up, the production was finally underway again. Ailani made eye contact with Sebastian as she coaxed Trip onto the set, but Sebastian looked away without grace or ceremony. Ailani rolled her eyes as she kept a comforting hand on the middle of Trip’s back. He shook out his arms, blew his lips, and made a series of alarming noises that were either vocal warm ups or mating calls for seals. Sebastian ushered Ailani out of the way.
“Is everything okay?” he asked Trip in a low voice, patting the actor’s back.
Trip shrugged Sebastian’s hand off. “For now. You should give that PA a raise. She’s the only one on set who knows
how to handle actors.”
Sebastian glared at Ailani, who smirked back. Sebastian snapped his fingers. “That’s enough dawdling, everyone. I’d like to finish this scene by dawn. Let’s go!”
The crew hustled into place. Ailani joined Walt near the edge of the set, where they would be neither seen nor heard. Sebastian took his seat in front of the monitors, put his headphones on, and cued the crew he was ready to go.
“Quiet on set! Stop eating chips, Jack.”
“Audio rolling.”
“Camera rolling.”
Trip rolled out his shoulders one more time.
Sebastian tensed. “And… action!”
The set went dark. As we plunged into darkness, everything shut down with a whir of electrical components giving up. Since the studio had no windows, it was a complete darkness, the kind that put invisible pressure against your open eyes. Ailani blinked, trying to see anything at all, but it was useless. Walt’s hand brushed against hers, and she linked their fingers together. Strength in numbers.
“What the hell just happened?” Sebastian yelled. “Isn’t this place supposed to have backup generators?”
Tentative footsteps crossed the set and a small crash sounded. “Ow! Sebastian, the generators are supposed to come on automatically. If they haven’t already, it’s because they’re busted too.”
As Sebastian groaned, Ailani imagined him doing his signature hand toss. She fished in her pocket for her cell and tried to wake it. “That’s weird,” she muttered. “My phone’s dead. I charged it before I got here.”
“Mine too,” Walt said. “It won’t turn on.”
Someone turned on a heavy-duty flashlight and pointed it toward the ceiling. It wasn’t much light, but it gave everyone a frame of reference around the room. Sebastian hurled his headphones across the set.
“Someone do something!” he ordered.
“Backup generators are down,” another crew member reported. “Might be a citywide blackout.”
“I don’t care,” Sebastian said. “Get us powered up. If we don’t finish this scene tonight, I’m done with this entire production. I’ve had enough of this—”
A huge explosion interrupted his tirade. Startled yells echoed around the studio. People flinched, ducked, or took cover, but the explosion hadn’t happened indoors. All at once, everyone rushed for the emergency exits. The flashlight got knocked over, sending the only source of light spinning haphazardly around the room. Ailani almost joined the fray, but Walt held her back. They waited until the stampede had slowed before tagging along with everyone else outside.
Los Angeles was never this dark. Every light in the city had been extinguished. For the first time in forever, the stars were visible. The moon—almost full—was the single shining beacon, though it was nothing compared to the illumination Ailani was accustomed to. Crowds gathered in the streets, and Ailani followed Walt and the others past the studio gates to see what the commotion was. The reason for the explosion became clear immediately. The transformer outside the studio had exploded. Alight with fire, it burned like an enormous torch irradiating the street.
“This is a disaster waiting to happen,” Walt muttered as he watched the blaze lick the telephone wires.
“Look!”
Ailani pointed to another transformer farther away. Sparks flew around it, and in the next second, it went up in flames too. All around the city, small fires erupted as the transformers blew one by one.
“We need to get out of here,” Walt said, taking Ailani’s hand. “Come on.”
They wriggled out of the crowd and jogged away from the studio. A collective scream went up from the crowd as the telephone wires, crackling and sparking, disconnected from the transformer and swung toward the ground. People scattered like cockroaches, running in every direction.
Sebastian stormed into the street, unconcerned about the city’s lack of power. “Get back inside! You’re all on the clock. We’re not finished with this scene!”
Ailani turned back, but Walt caught her by the arm. “No way,” he said. “We’re not compromising our safety for that moron. Besides, they’re not going to be able to get anything done without power.”
Ailani flinched as the transformer let out another show of sparks. “Do you know what this reminds me of? That crappy solar storm movie we worked on a couple years ago. This was how it all started—worldwide blackout, transformers blowing, no cell service…”
Instinctively, they both checked their cells again, but the screens remained black. Walt stuffed his into his pocket, as if putting it out of sight would make him forget it wasn’t working.
“It’s not a solar storm,” he said. “If it was, NASA would have warned us. We would have heard it coming on the news.”
“Unless no one listened to NASA,” I said. “These days, the conservative news is doing such a lovely job of smashing science into the ground.”
“Northern Lights,” Walt countered, pointing to the sky. “If it was a solar flare, we’d be able to see the Northern Lights. I think this is something else.”
“What?”
“Nothing good. Let’s stop by the store on the way home.”
The twenty-four hour corner store near Ailani and Walt’s shared apartment was busier than they had ever seen it before despite the lack of electricity. People shone battery-powered flashlights across the rows of non-perishable foods and first aid supplies. They waited in a massive line to pay, clutching actual money instead of debit and credit cards.
Walt grabbed two cheap LED flashlights from a display on the counter and handed one to Ailani. “Stay close to me. I don’t want to lose you.”
They loaded up on whatever was left on the shelves. Protein bars, dehydrated fruit chips, bottled water, vitamin drinks, and whatever else hadn’t already been claimed by someone else. As Walt and Ailani joined the line to pay, an argument broke out at the front.
“I don’t have cash,” a middle-aged man with a comb over said to the store owner. He carried three bags of potato chips and a handle of cheap vodka. “No one carries cash anymore. I’ll write you a check.”
“Sorry,” the store owner replied. “Cash only. We don’t know how long this blackout is going to last, and I can’t afford to lose stock.”
“Listen here.” The comb over man beckoned the store owner closer. “I’m going to write you a check, and you’re going to take it. That’ll be the end of it.”
The store owner pursed his lips. “No, sir. It won’t be. Please step out of line. I need to help the other customers behind you who can actually pay.”
Without warning, the man chucked the bottle of vodka up over the counter. The store owner ducked just in time, and the bottle exploded against the wall behind him. The situation didn’t have time to escalate. The burly woman in line behind the comb over guy tackled him from behind, pinned his arms behind his back, and escorted him out of the store to resounding cheers. When she returned, she dusted her hands and grinned at the shop keeper.
“I used to be a cop,” she said as she handed over a ten-dollar bill for her items. “If you’re in line and you don’t have cash to pay for your things, don’t be like that guy!”
A few people stepped out of line, dropped their wares at random, and let themselves out of the store. Ailani nudged Walt.
“Do we have enough cash?” she whispered.
“I carry an emergency fifty in my wallet at all times,” he replied. “We’re covered.”
The Los Angeles blackout had already become a novelty. People star-gazed and watched the rest of the transformers fizzle out. Electricity and cell phones weren’t the only thing to go. Whatever caused the blackout had also fried most of the cars. The streets were blocked with stagnant sedans and trucks, the owners of which had abandoned their vehicles to find an alternate way home or were determined to stick around until a solution had been found. A few cars were still running, all older models, but their drivers couldn’t find a clear path through the blocked streets.
; Ailani and Walt’s apartment wasn’t far from the studio. They walked or rode their bikes to work most days. Neither one of them owned a car. L.A rent was expensive enough on its own, and traffic was so awful that most people didn’t want a car. Ailani and Walt shared a studio apartment on the fourth floor of their building. Having no privacy meant getting to know one another on a molecular basis, but they managed well enough. Their unit didn’t have a kitchen either, so they were used to storing their food in a mini fridge and cooking dinners on a hot plate, an electric griddle, or a George Foreman grill.
Walt poured a bag of ice into the bottom of the fridge. “We should eat whatever’s in here tonight. It won’t stay cold for much longer.”
They set up a picnic on the floor of the five foot by five foot area they dubbed the “dining room” and began eating by the light of emergency flashlights. It was a feast of sorts, featuring all the leftover Chinese food from the day before, salad fixings but no lettuce, and Ailani’s portable yogurts meant for children but were too convenient not to buy.
“Do you think it’s like this everywhere?” Ailani asked Walt as she dug wontons out of a soup container. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“No idea.” Walt chewed on bourbon chicken. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
“I hope it’s just L.A,” she said. “I don’t want Dad and Keiko to have to deal with this mess. Did you see how many fender benders happened down there?”
Walt speared another piece of chicken with the end of his chopstick instead of pinching it between two like a normal person. “They’re the lucky ones. Kauai is way more natural than L.A. They know a lot more about living without power than we do.”
“What about your family? Where are they?”
Walt shrugged with practiced nonchalance. He never spoke about his family, and he wasn’t in contact with them. Though they had been roommates for years, Ailani didn’t know the details of his family feud.
“My uncle is near Red Bluff,” Walt said. “He’s the other weird one in the family. We relate. Other than him, you’re the only person I care about.”
