by Claire Raye
“You don’t need to do that, Lyss,” I say, knowing it’s pointless me even saying it.
“Yes, I do,” she says, her words firm. “But enough about her, are you okay? You’re in L.A. now right?” she asks.
“I’m okay,” I tell her, not really meaning it. “And yep, here for the next three months, I think.”
“Good,” she says. “A break from her is exactly what you need.”
“Mmm,” I murmur.
“And what’s the movie you’re working on called again?”
“A Perfect Place.”
Alyssa scoffs. “God, how fucking ironic,” she says. “But hey, maybe it really will be the perfect place for you to get over that lying, cheating bitch.”
“God, Lyss,” I say, laughing a little. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
“Meh, it never hurts to hear it again,” she says and I know she’s smiling now.
“Anyway, I gotta go. Filming starts today,” I say. “Thank you for getting my stuff. I’ll call you tonight?”
“Yes, no problem. Go, forget about the she-devil and have fun. Maybe have a fling with one of your stunt girls or something.”
I roll my eyes even though my sister can’t see me. “Whatever you say, Lyss,” I say. “Bye.”
I park the rental the production company set up for me in the studio lot, grab my bag from the passenger seat and the coffee from the center console and make my way inside. I normally love the start of making a new movie, the excitement of everything we’re about to create, but I know today is going to be different. Aside from all the shit that’s currently inside my head, it’s going to be a super long day, which is now going to be infinitely worse due to the fact I’ve had no sleep.
It’s the first day of filming and after a quick meeting to go over logistics, it’s going to be straight out to the streets. We are to begin filming one of the fight scenes that actually doesn’t come until the end of the movie.
Movies are never filmed in order and often it depends on how things work with the star’s schedules, the local authorities and whether production is able to block traffic or close streets down. Even in a city like L.A., which literally lives and breathes movies, it’s a huge imposition to the regular folk just trying to go about their day job.
“Paul, hey,” Andrew, the head stunt coordinator calls out as I walk into the office and we shake hands. “How’s things?”
“All good. You?” I ask.
Andrew nods. “Excited to work on this movie actually,” he says, as we join the rest of the stunt crew at the table. “This director might be new, but she’s got an awesome script and some really fantastic ideas for how she wants it all to play out.”
I grab the script from my bag knowing that’s high praise coming from Andrew. Glancing around the table, I say hi to the other stunt actors who’ll be working on this movie. It’s a small crew, only three guys and two girls, plus me, but they are all people I’ve worked with before.
Surprisingly enough, the pool of people able to work as stunt actors and doubles is pretty small, most of them either retiring early because of too many injuries or making the jump to actual acting roles if the opportunity ever presents itself.
I’ve been lucky so far on the injury front, a twisted ankle and broken finger are the worst I’ve suffered, and I’ve got no desire to be the main star, so moving into acting isn’t going to happen for me.
I don’t read the tabloids or go to premieres. I don’t even watch the award shows on TV, preferring to hear the news of any win from my agent. When a movie I’ve worked on comes out, more often than not, I’ll buy myself a ticket to a late screening and go alone, preferring to just enjoy the moment without a million eyes on me and a million questions afterward.
It’s another one of the things Helena used to constantly bring up with me. How she could never understand why I didn’t want to be a movie star and earn the big bucks. How I didn’t want to walk the red carpet or promote all the things I’d done, use my connection to movie stars and all the rich associates that seem to constantly surround them.
It didn’t matter how many times I told her that wasn’t my scene, she didn’t seem to care. Given recent events, I’m not sure if she ever cared about anything when it came to me.
God, how the fuck had I been so blind to this for so long?
After we do a quick read through of today’s scene, the six of us make our way to the crew bus that’s going to take us down to Venice Beach for the shoot.
I take a seat in the back, making small talk with Gus, another of the stunt guys as we make our way out of the lot and into the late morning L.A. traffic. It’s gonna take over an hour to get there, so propping my jacket against the window, I try and take advantage of the free time to catch up on some desperately needed zzz’s.
“Paul, wake up.”
I force my eyes to open, my lids feeling like they’re weighed down with lead. Gus is standing beside my seat, a grin on his face. “You have a big night or something?”
I shake my head, pushing up and out of my seat. “No, the opposite,” I say, scrubbing a hand down my face. “Christ, I hope there’s some coffee.”
Off the bus, we walk over to the trailer that’s been set up for us. Inside, I dump my bags before Gus and I are told to head over to costume to get dressed in the matching outfits of the movie stars we’ll be standing in for.
In this movie, I’ll be standing in for the main star, while Gus is standing in for the co-star who plays the villain. Although we don’t usually care which way we play these things, knowing most of it is based on hair color and body shape, filling in for the main star does mean more screen time and more action.
After we’re both dressed and make-up has taken a cursory glance over us to make sure we fit the bill, I spot a catering table set up outside someone’s trailer. Unable to resist the call of caffeine, I wander over to grab a quick cup of coffee.
“Pass me a cup, please?”
I glance down to find a woman, casually dressed in tight black jeans and an oversized grey sweater that hangs off one shoulder, standing beside me. Her long blonde hair is pulled back into a messy bun that’s being held in place with a pencil and she has another one tucked behind her ear. A smile tugs at my mouth as I reach for a cup and hand it to her.
“Thanks,” she says, glancing up at me, an exhausted look on her face.
“You look like I feel,” I say, filling my cup with black coffee before adding a couple of sugars.
The woman reaches for a stirrer before dumping a handful of sugars into her own cup and stirring it furiously.
I chuckle. “Careful there, you don’t want to overdose.”
She looks up at me before looking down at the coffee she holds in her hands, a confused look on her face. “Shit, how many did I just add?”
I shrug. “Looked close to five maybe?” I suggest.
She scrubs a hand over her face. “Jesus,” she mutters.
“Bad night?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Bad morning actually,” she murmurs, reaching for a muffin.
I watch as she takes a large bite, chewing hungrily before washing it down with a large mouthful of coffee. She winces when she realizes how hot it is and I reach for a bottle of water and wordlessly hold it out to her.
She stares at my outstretched hand before looking up at me. “Thanks,” she says, swallowing hard as she takes the bottle. “What about you,” she asks, tipping her head in the direction of my coffee. “Why are you so desperate for a hit?”
Now it’s me scrubbing a hand down my face, my eyes briefly closing. “Bad night,” I mutter, my hand scratching my jaw.
She doesn’t say anything and when I finally turn to her, I find her staring up at me, her blue eyes wide.
I offer her a smile, but it feels forced. “It’s nothing,” I say, waving my hand. “Just a cheating girlfriend and a three-year mistake, that’s all. But hey,” I say, trying for a laugh. “We’ve all been there, haven’t we?
”
She continues to look up at me, her blue eyes locked onto mine now, searching my face as if she isn’t quite sure what I’m telling her. Even I don’t know why the fuck I just said that.
Eventually I hear her whisper, “Are you okay?”
I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “I will be.”
“Well, if you…”
“Okay, places people!” A voice calls out, cutting her off.
I smile at her, throwing back the last of my coffee before dropping the cup into the trash and saying, “Action time.”
She doesn’t say anything more and I nod my head once before moving over to where Gus is waiting for me, working his way through the movements of the fight scene we’ve both previously rehearsed with trainers prior to all of this starting.
It’s not the first time he and I have played opposite each other and like always, I’m looking forward to sparring with him, knowing he’ll bring an element of realism that you rarely get with other stunt workers.
“You good?” he asks, a big grin on his face as he bounces on his feet and shadow boxes the air.
I laugh, mirroring his action. “I’m good. Don’t let a sleeplessness night fool you, Gussy.”
He laughs now and we both turn as the lighting is positioned and the cameras turn toward us. In the distance, behind the barricades the LAPD have set up, a crowd gathers, anxious to catch sight of a movie star. No one bothers to tell them the stars aren’t here yet.
Just as we’re waiting for everything to kick off, I see the woman from the catering table walk up to the main camera. Curious, I watch as she puts on a set of headphones and picks up the script folder.
She quickly scans the page before looking up, her eyes meeting mine as she holds a hand up and yells, “Action!”
Fuck, she’s the new director?
Chapter Five
Sadie
When I call action and the set falls silent something inside me changes, my heart begins to race in a way that screams excitement and freedom. I’ve only co-directed movies with Noel and any of the movies I’d written alone, Noel claimed never mattered.
But they’ve all mattered to me: big or small. They’ve all shaped my craft and allowed me to work at all levels of this industry.
I look around, taking in the vastness of Venice Beach and the production crew with their cameras and microphones, the whole set up, and I realize how lucky I am to be here. At nineteen I dreamed of being here, but thought it was one of those things that would never materialize. I was always the writer, never the director until I met Noel and even though he’s a complete asshole, I do have him to thank for my career becoming more than I dreamed of.
I always had the talent, something he can never take credit for, but without his high-profile name, my career would’ve never reached this level.
I hate that he can stake claim to that, but I need to move on, and as I scan the beach, a part of me smiles secretly.
I’ve closed down Venice Beach. My movie, a movie I wrote and am directing, is the reason for the crowd of people and the camera flashes and the quiet hum of conversations gossiping about if this movie will be the next big one.
I call cut as we finish up an argument between our two main characters and lead into an action sequence that needs to be shot with the male lead’s stuntman.
The male lead storms away dramatically, getting into his car, and driving recklessly. It’s the crash that culminates at the end that will require the stuntman and why we have a mile of road closed for the next several hours.
It’s scenes like this that make for a nervous excitement, a jittery feeling of butterflies in my stomach, a lightness in my chest and the idea that if we nail this on the first shot, it will be epic.
Despite my shaking hands, I call out orders and shift people and look through cameras, making sure the lighting is perfect, making sure the shot is staged.
I take one last look through the cameras, because one of the biggest issues with using a stuntman in the place of my male lead is seeing his face. We’ve taken the lead as far as he can go in this shot and now it’s up to the stuntman to mimic his every movement, to perfect his mannerisms, to be him in every way so that the people watching the movie don’t notice a single hair out of place.
But when I look through two of the cameras, I can see him, an angle that gives away that he’s definitely not our handsome well-known lead actor, and while the stuntman is equally handsome, it’s just not the same. We need only the back of his head, and possibly just his jawline so I adjust the cameras, but still catch too much of him.
“Hold up!” I call out, tossing a hand up as I walk out from behind the camera and over to the parked car. I stop a few feet short of the car. I look at the cameras and then back at the stuntman as he waits patiently for me to get it together.
I walk around the other side of the car and climb into the passenger’s seat, leaning over and again checking the cameras.
“Hi, I’m Sadie,” I tell the stuntman who I just happened to be chatting with at the catering stand and he replies that his name is Paul. “Okay, Paul, I’m going to need you to shift just slightly to the right. Sort of an awkward angle for driving, but we are getting a full shot of your face otherwise.”
“You want to cut my moneymaker out of the shot?” he asks, a cheeky smirk on his face.
“See that, I thought your moneymaker was your hot body, but only from behind,” I tease back and he looks a little caught off guard, both of us suspended in a moment of silence. “Can I move your face?” I ask, cutting thorough the stillness that lingers.
Noel always manhandled his actors and stunt people, pulling and shoving them in the direction he wanted them to move or he’d just bark out orders. He hated that I always asked permission to shift someone around.
Paul nods his head and when my fingertips touch the stubble on his jaw, my breath catches in my throat and I watch as he swallows hard. I force on a professional smile and tilt his face toward mine.
“Here, I need you looking in this direction and we’ll need to angle the car just a little bit more.” Paul shifts, and begins to back the car up until I throw up a hand, telling him to stop. “Ken and Reed, check the cameras now!” I yell out and they both do exactly as I say, calling back a few changes to me.
I exit the car and run over to the cameras, checking them myself before radioing out to the cameras we have set up at the end of the street. Once all seems ready to go, an assistant calls for quiet on the set, noting the timecode on the digital slate as we sync up the sound and the filming. Everything needs to be perfectly timed for editing since it will all need to be pieced together.
I suck in a hard breath, holding it in and sending up a silent signal to whoever may be listening that this all goes as planned.
“Action!”
Paul hits the accelerator on the car, the tires spinning on the pavement and letting out a squeal as it takes off. The spike of adrenaline that moves through my body rushes hard and I suddenly exhale hard and fast.
The car needs to crash into a wood-frame faux cement embankment, but in order for it to look realistic it needs to hit hard enough to inflict damage. It’s a dangerous position for the stunt person too. In the end, it will be edited and effects will be added, but none of that matters if the crash looks slow and fake.
The car is just a plastic shell that will crumble upon impact and if we don’t get the shot perfectly, a re-shoot will delay the whole production. We’re all waiting with bated breath, following along with the mounted cameras on the process trailer as the car careens toward the embankment.
Hitting with blunt force, the shell collapses and Paul’s body is jarred violently in the car. Everything about it is pure perfection from a filming standpoint, but the celebration is on hold until everything is checked.
I call out “cut” over the radio and begin the process of confirming the shot scene. I scan the film, watching it play back in slow motion as I verify the lighting and think about how each frame
will place itself into each scene during editing. My next point of concern is my stuntman. While it’s his job to basically abuse his body, I never want anyone injured on my set.
I hop off the process trailer as I instruct one of the production assistants to continue to review the footage and I hightail it over to where Paul and the rest of the production crew are waiting.
When I reach the mangled car, Paul is climbing out, giving his head a shake and swiping a bare wrist over the blood that runs from his nose.
Fuck
“Are you okay?” I ask, knowing that even the simplest stunts can cause people to be hurt. But I still worry.
“All good. Did you get the shot?” His voice goes up a little at the end, a lilt of excitement at the idea of nailing the shot on the first take. I look at him, my head cocked slightly to the side and I see in his eyes that same thing I feel. A rush of excitement, a camaraderie in understanding what it means and the pride that swells in knowing a job has been done well.
And his response is all I need to know that this take was a huge success.
“It was absolutely fucking perfect!” I yell out, throwing a fist up in the air, far prouder of my crew and myself than I ever have been on the set of any movie I’ve directed. They have no idea what this means to me.
The crew cheers out loud right along with me and I’m struck by the communal energy that engulfs this set. When I succeed, they succeed and I’m only as good as the people I direct. Not one of us failed to perform.
I can’t help but enjoy the moment, dancing around and clapping my hands, and without thinking about it, I throw my arms around Paul’s neck, hugging him and thanking him for making this entire scene come to life.
But what passes between us feels electrified and I pull away quickly, running my hand through my hair and tugging at the sleeves of my shirt.
The excitement begins to die down and I can’t help but wonder if it was because of my weird display of affection for a stuntman I just met a few hours ago. I don’t dwell on it and the crew begins to set up for our next scene with little instruction from me.
