Changing the Script

by Lee Winter

  “Nope. Single but clueless. Be less subtle.”

  “Hold up a sign,” Alex suggested, amused.

  “Or wave your panties,” Skye said. “I hear that was popular in the seventies.”

  “So were perms,” Alex countered.

  “Good point,” Skye said. “Do not start me on flammable leisure suits.”

  Sam shifted from foot to foot, as though wondering if she was still a part of this conversation.

  “Right.” Chloe beamed. “I’ll up my A-game, cheers. Hey, Sam, I hear you went to school with my stunt double?”

  “So you do all know each other in New Zealand,” Skye teased.

  “School was a long time ago,” Sam said. “But yeah.”

  “Kiri said you jumped some huge dry creek back in the day, which makes you better than whitebait fritters, eh?”

  “Oh, I’ve heard of whitebait fritters,” Skye said enthusiastically. “Are they a thing in New Zealand? Where do we get them?”

  “Um, here?” Sam pointed at the item in question on the large blackboard menu.

  “Well, I’m feeling bold. Chloe,” Skye said smartly, “be a dear and come help me figure out what else to get for dinner. Maybe you can accidentally trip over Sid while we’re there.”

  The two women headed for the bar, discussing absurd romancing tactics, leaving Sam standing awkwardly in front of Alex.

  “Right.” Sam’s eyes darted everywhere else.

  “Well,” Alex said, eying the aggravating woman…a woman who suddenly had turned endearingly awkward, and it just wasn’t fair. She took pity on her. “Since Skye’s obviously manufactured this time for us to speak, you may as well sit.”

  “She has?” Sam asked before dropping into a chair.

  “Pretty sure,” Alex said evenly. “So is this about work? You have a sabotage update?”

  “No. My leads haven’t come to anything yet.”

  “I see.”

  Sam inhaled deeply. “I came to thank you.”

  “Right.”

  “For my bike.”

  “I see.” Alex kept her eye on Sam as she took a sip of wine. “It would be the polite and obvious thing to do.”

  “Right.” Sam’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I think I said some things that were out of line.”

  “You’re not sure?” Alex asked.

  “No, I’m sure. I was out of line.”

  “And?”

  Sam gave her a blank look.

  “This is usually where someone says sorry.”

  Sam pressed her lips together. “I thought that was obvious. I’m sorry.”

  “Mmm.” Alex eyed her. “Okay, so that’s that then.”

  Sam’s shoulders sank as if she were being dismissed. She rose to leave but paused uncertainly.

  Alex took her in properly. Slim-fitting pale jeans. A black T-shirt and leather jacket. A silver necklace at her throat. A thick, black leather belt that looked sexy as hell around the woman’s trim waist.

  Maybe it’d be better if she did go. With Alex’s frantic job, she didn’t have time for complications or complicated people. “Tell me more about the investigation.” Oh geez.

  Sam’s fine ass dropped back into the seat. “Not much to tell. The weapon of choice doesn’t match the tools available. The locals in town are unaware of your artificial pond. And the Shezan crew is outraged anyone would harm their production.”

  Alex’s eyes sharpened. “See? I know my people. Besides, what possible motivation would they have for sabotaging their own paychecks? It wouldn’t be one of us.”

  Sam shifted in her seat. “I’m not so sure.”

  Annoyance shot through Alex. “Don’t you think I might know a little something about how sets work? I’ve spent a lot more time on them than you.”

  “It’s not that.” Sam hesitated. “I’m genuinely not sure what’s going on here. I can’t rule anything in or out. I don’t like to make assumptions.”

  “That’s new.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You made assumptions about my movie. Several times.”

  “Not without any evidence. Come on, those costumes…”

  “Are history. The new ones are phenomenal.” Alex pulled out her phone. She scrolled to her photos and lay the phone down. “Have a look.”

  They were the raw shots she’d sent to LA, which would be used for publicity once the studio tweaked them. First was the Duncan sisters in Amazon outfits, beaming, hands on bows, looking ready to hunt insanely cute marsupials.

  “They look much happier,” Sam said after a few moments. “Skye has talent.”

  “She’s one of the best.” Alex swiped to the next photo. “That’s Chloe, who you just met, as Shezan. The girl in the safari pants is Melody. She plays Jennifer, the poacher’s daughter.”

  The two stood back to back. Both women’s arms were folded, and they were facing the viewer. Chloe’s head arched slightly back into Melody’s. Although the star was facing the camera, Chloe’s playful gaze was sliding toward Melody, whose lips were curving a little.

  On its own, Melody’s expression was innocent. However, paired with Chloe’s naughty, teasing look, it was as if they shared a secret.

  “What sort of movie are you making?” Sam asked.

  “An action/adventure fantasy hero thing.”

  “Do they know that?”

  “What?”

  “They look like lovers.”

  It isn’t supposed to be so obvious, for God’s sake. Alex regarded her thoughtfully. “Fine. You wouldn’t be wrong. But it’s being done as subtext. It won’t be explicitly spelled out that they’re a couple; the studio wouldn’t go for that. So please don’t share that. And if you ever find yourself talking to this woman”—she tapped Melody’s face—“never breathe a word of what we’ve talked about.”

  “She doesn’t know you’re making a love story?”

  “Actually, no.”

  “You’re serious.” Sam looked startled. “That’s…unexpected.”

  “People aren’t always self-aware. And some don’t neatly fit boxes, either.”

  “Well, that’s true.”

  “Although you seem pretty aware of a great many things not obvious to everyone.” Alex leaned back against her chair and eyed her. She waved at the photo of the two women. “So…is that a cop thing? Reading between the lines?”

  Sam chuckled. “Y’know, no one’s ever asked me if I’m gay quite so subtly before.”

  “That didn’t answer the question.” Alex offered a smile of her own.

  “I’m surprised the gossips haven’t filled you in already.

  “Nope. You remain as mysterious to me as the day I almost flattened you and you cursed my very existence.”

  “I’m shocked.” Sam leaned in and asked quietly, “So, this lovers thing…is that your big plan to fix your film?”

  Sam hadn’t answered the gay question. She hadn’t denied it though, either. Interesting. “Well…yes, it’s a part of the fix.” Alex regarded her curiously. “Why? Don’t tell me you have a problem with a lesbian-themed movie?”

  “Everyone needs their heroes, especially gay kids. If they’re done well.”

  “Do you think I’ll do it well?” Alex batted it back.

  “That depends.” Sam’s eyes became half lidded. “I mean, maybe it’d help if you had an interest in the topic.”

  “Forest guardians?”

  “The other topic.”

  “That has to be one of the most subtle ways anyone’s ever asked me if I’m gay.” Alex smirked.

  Sam’s lips twitched in amusement.

  “But if you have to ask, I guess it means you never Googled me,” Alex continued.

  “Now why would I Google someone who almost ran me over?” Sam’s eyes seemed bright
er.

  “Know thine enemy?” Alex suggested. “If you had, you’d have discovered not just that I’m gayer than a Melissa Etheridge concert, but that I’m a total nerd. Serious book nerd. I have Shakespeare-junkie friends. We party like it’s 1590.”

  “That’s quite a confession.”

  “Am I too tragic to know now? Especially for someone cool, of mythic creek-jumping skills?”

  “Actually, the only person around here with mythic stature works on your set.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “Breaker Bob.”

  Alex frowned. She didn’t know everyone yet. “Sorry…I…”

  “He’s your motorcycle stuntman. He’s been doing all the mounted camera stuff—like zipping through trees for a camera running effect? He taught me a few stunts over the years. He’s great to have a beer with.” She petered out, looking as if she’d overshared and regretted it.

  Everyone needs their heroes, huh? Looked like she’d found Sam’s. Alex smiled. “So are bike stunts how you party?”

  Sam shook her head. “A few years ago, maybe. Not now.”

  “I can’t even ride a pushbike without ending up in a tree, so that’s impressive. Aren’t you full of surprises?”

  “Me? I’m not the one sneaking a lesbian romance into a mainstream jungle flick.” Sam gave her a measured look. “That’s so not where I thought Shezan would go.”

  “I know the feeling.” Alex paused. “So you never said whether you thought I’d do it well. I mean now that you know I have a vested interest in the topic.”

  Sam’s gaze fell to the photos on Alex’s phone, a line knitting between her brows.

  “You’re taking a long time to answer.” Alex sighed, and sadness filled her at what it meant. “Never mind. It looks like your mind really is made up about my film. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

  “No.” Sam seemed startled. “I was just weighing up things. I’m…well, I’m evidence based. That’s how I work things out. Yes, you could do it justice. I was just thinking it’d have to be better than some of the lesbian films out there. I’ve only ever liked a handful.”

  She’d watched lesbian films? Plural? Well, well. So gay. “Which did you like most?”

  “If These Walls Could Talk 2. The middle story set in the seventies. I’ve seen it maybe thirty times.”

  “Wow. A favorite. Okay.” Alex wondered at its appeal for her. “That had some great layers to it. The butch girl with a sensitive heart falling for the popular femme, and all the pressure is on her to be less masculine.” Alex wondered if Sam had faced any bullying as a kid. “All that stuff about being different—is that why you love it? The message of being true to oneself?”

  Sam’s eyes danced. “Nah. The motorcycle. It’s beautiful.” Her voice warmed. “A Harley Sportster, K model. I keep trying to figure out when it was made. I’ve narrowed it down to 1952 to 1956.”

  Alex laughed. “And you mock my nerdy adoration of Shakespeare.”

  “I didn’t mock it. I just couldn’t relate to it.”

  “Is this where you tell me you hate Shakespeare? That he’s a boring, old, dead white guy?” Alex drew in a breath.

  Sam regarded her curiously and the air seemed to shift between them. “Would that bug you?”

  Truthfully? Yes. So much yes. A thousand times yes.

  “Now you’re taking too long to answer,” Sam said, eyes intent.

  “I know. I’m sorry. Let’s forget it.” Alex stared morosely into her wine glass.

  “Hey, I admit I’ve never read Shakespeare beyond Macbeth at school, but I have an open mind. Anyone still loved after four hundred years has gotta have something going for them.”

  Oh thank God. Alex gripped her glass, shocked by the depth of her relief. It wasn’t hard to figure out why: Shakespeare mattered too much to her to have someone in her life hate or laugh at it. Someone like that would be incompatible with Alex.

  And I really want Sam to be compatible with me.

  Her heart clenched at that admission. Oh Christ. “By the way, I owe you a thanks,” Alex said. “I should have said something earlier.”

  “For?” Sam’s eyebrow cocked.

  “Not arresting me for dangerous driving. It had to be tempting when Quincy said no to paying your repairs.”

  “You’re not worth the paperwork.” Sam smiled. A pair of dimples appeared. Damn them. Sam’s phone rang, and she dug through her jacket pocket for it. “Sorry, it’s work.”

  “They sure call you late. Aren’t you off duty at this time of night?”

  “I’m always on call. Unpaid overtime is one fun perk of my job. And for some reason, Tuesday nights are usually my worst.” Sam answered her phone with a sharp, “Senior Constable Keegan,” then put a finger against her other ear to drown out the background noise. “How many cars did they set on fire?” She frowned. “Yes, I understand. Okay, I’m on my way.”

  Sam rose from the table.

  “Duty calls,” Sam said. “It’s been…well, fun.” She grinned as if she hadn’t expected that. Her broad shoulders squared, and her long-legged stride was efficient and fierce as she left the pub, leaving Alex feeling suddenly bereft.

  She couldn’t tear her eyes off the retreating form.

  CHAPTER 11

  Let There be Light

  Sam yawned again. A glance at the clock—4:03 p.m.—showed she wasn’t much closer to home and an early night than the last time she’d checked. Last night had involved running around in the aftermath of a mob of violent males setting fire to cars. Today she’d spent hours on the paperwork and trying to match each perpetrator’s description to a known person of interest, without much success. She ran her hand through her hair and tried to focus.

  Her tiredness wasn’t entirely due to work. She’d woken this morning exhausted and frustrated, thanks to a dream involving Alex telling Sam she was gay, over and over. Why had her subconscious chosen to dwell on irrelevant matters? Really, who was Alex to Sam, anyway? A Hollywood blow-in who’d blow out again soon enough. Even if she was sort of interesting. Sort of amusing. Cute. Sort of.

  Sam swallowed the dregs of her coffee, her sixth tasteless cup for the day. Supermarket brand was the best you could get around here. Alex, living in LA and being English, probably drank ethically sourced organic tea from sun-drenched fields in the ruins of an ancient civilization. She probably drove a Prius, too.

  Her desk phone rang.

  “Oh, thank God you’re in!” a female voice squeaked. “It’s stolen! Just now! The M90 lamp! Um, sorry, I mean, hi, it’s Alice Benson.”

  The name tapped at Sam’s brain. Oh, that’s right—the assistant on Alex’s movie. The young woman had helped Sam on her fruitless pitchfork hunt. American. Softly spoken. Smart. Somehow managed to make Alex Levitin look tall.

  Sam glanced at the clock as she digested the woman’s panicked ramble. 4:07 p.m. Okay, how could some crucial piece of lighting go missing in broad daylight? Especially with Sid on duty? “Alice?” she interrupted. “How come you’re calling me, not Sid?”

  She stopped. “Oh, he went to talk to his brother.”

  “He…” Wasn’t Kev working in lighting now? Oh hell. He wouldn’t…would he? “I’m on my way.” She hung up. Damn it. If Kev couldn’t straighten himself out at his age, when would he?

  Sam slammed the patrol car door and stalked onto set. Sabotage and now a theft? Two crimes were definitely a trend. Alex was not going to be okay with this.

  Why do I care again?

  Sid met her at the gate, his black, bushy eyebrows wrestling in a civil war.

  “So,” Sam said, “what’s going on? Got yourself a crime spree now?”

  Sid looked baffled. “Beats me. Anyway, everyone’s waiting for you to grill the crew. And it’s not Kev.”

  “Better bloody not be.”

  “Ye
ah, nah, I know how it sounds.” Sid pointed out their destination, and Sam adjusted her trajectory as he continued, walking beside her. “The gear that got nicked weighs a ton. It’s not merch you can shift on the quiet. Besides, Kev loves this job. It’s not him.”

  “We’ll see.” Sam headed toward an olive-green tent with a crush of several dozen people standing around. Sam’s pace slowed. Among them was Alex.

  The director was dressed the same as the day they’d met: tailored, slim-fit black pants, black boots, white button-down cotton shirt, and a fitted black linen jacket that had a masculine cut. The look really worked for her. Cute nerd chic. Sam’s brain gave an approving mmm.

  Alex’s red hair had been cropped quite short the first time they’d met, but it now flopped forward to touch the top of her black-framed glasses.

  “Search everywhere,” Alex was saying. “Dave and John, grab some crew, anyone spare, and go over every inch of this place. We need that lamp or we’ll be unable to do tonight’s shoot. Or any night shoot, for that matter.”

  “Um, small question,” a crusty man with wild gray hair spoke up. He wore weathered motorcycle boots and a crimson shirt that read “I do all my own stunts.”

  Sam couldn’t prevent her smile. Breaker Bob. How often had they compared notes on the gruntiest motorcycles and craziest jumps at the pub? The legendary stuntman had texted her a congrats when she’d jumped Dry Creek. It was her most valued text.

  “Wouldn’t the missing gear be long gone?” Bob continued. “It’s been over an hour. Whoever did this obviously knew what they were doing.”

  “Check everywhere anyway,” Alex said. “We need to be sure.”

  Quincy cleared his throat. “And people, if one of you stole this equipment, it’s not only a firing offense; you’ll be sued for the damages and time lost on the shoot. Got it?”

  Sam tried to find her younger brother’s face in the crowd. Kevin Mahuta, you had better be innocent this time.

  “Where’s Steven?” Alex asked, head snapping around. “Can you bring me that photo?”

  “Sure, boss,” came an American twang amid the throng. A tall, mustached man with worried eyes passed over an iPad.