Judith’s gaze shot back to Emily. “If you’re politely reminding me he’s married, there’s no need. I really don’t like the man. But he isn’t happy. Rumor is he only married his wife because she owned the adjoining property. He couldn’t have built this track without her land.”
Emily shifted sideways, uncomfortable with the conversation. She liked Mrs. Hamilton. And despite Judith’s denial, the gleam in her eyes revealed an unhealthy interest in Mr. Hamilton.
A tractor hauling a harrow rumbled up the track, cutting short their conversation.
“Background, move to the rail,” the assistant director called. “We need two by the tractor, a driver and a groom. You, in the blue shirt, come stand here.”
A man with headphones touched Emily on the shoulder. “This way, please.”
She ducked beneath the rail and followed him to the green tractor.
“Stand there and wait.” He pointed to a dark X on the ground.
Emily nodded agreeably. The air was still, a perfect morning for filming. But it was hotter on the open dirt track than it had been on the other side of the rail. Sweat beaded between her breasts and her tight jeans itched. She edged along the side of the tractor, searching for a cooling breeze, hoping the director would appear soon.
For the next forty minutes, a woman with a clipboard adjusted background performers against the rail. Judging by their clothing, it looked like media and casual onlookers sprinkled with barn workers. Cameras rolled into position. Robert Dexter still lounged beneath an umbrella, sipping on a clear bottle of water, looking crisp and cool. He must be in this scene, but obviously he didn’t intend to move yet.
Emily blew out a bored sigh. She edged off the mark by the tractor and propped a hip against an enormous black tire. However, the rubber was burning hot and she quickly straightened. It seemed like hours before the man with headphones reappeared.
“Put some dirt on the girl’s chest,” he said. “We’ll do a shot after the horse runs past.”
A makeup artist hurried up. “Stand square please,” she said, expertly brushing something on Emily’s chest.
“What are you doing?” Emily asked.
“Making you look authentic. Reckless dumps his rider, then almost hits the tractor. People get dirty. Let’s see.” The lady tilted her head, studying Emily’s chest. “Okay. That’s good.”
Emily glanced down. Her shirt was now stained and a line of dirt ran down her neck, disappearing between her breasts. Someone pressed a white lead line in her hands.
“What am I supposed to do?” she asked. “Do I catch the horse?”
No one answered and she blew out a frustrated sigh. It had been way more fun working with Dan, who’d let her know the procedure every step of the way. These people treated her like a mannequin. Or maybe they didn’t know what was happening either.
“Just wait for the director,” the man with the headphones said. “It might be awhile. There’s a problem with the rail.”
Emily shaded her eyes and stared across the infield. A chestnut broke away from the group and seemed to be heading their way, but the horse abruptly wove to the right and stopped. But that couldn’t be the rail scene. Reckless was a bay.
She glanced around, hoping to find someone to talk to, but the rest of the background was positioned by the finish line. Judith now held a silver recorder and was talking animatedly with a man in a beat-up Fedora.
This is great, Emily thought. I’m being paid to do nothing.
But her gaze drifted from the happily chatting Judith to Robert Dexter lounging in the shade, and it was painfully obvious some movie jobs were much better than others.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Dan groaned as the rider on the chestnut horse veered out of line and once again galloped past Bruno.
“Dammit,” Anthony said, waving an arm in despair. “My brother promised she was a competent rider. Too bad we couldn’t use stock footage.”
Dan dragged a hand over his jaw. This entire morning was a fiasco, and it wasn’t totally the fault of Anthony’s inept niece. He’d been distracted, curt and surly, unable to forget the feel of Emily’s mouth, the soft sighs she made in the dark, the trusting way she’d curled against his chest and spoke of her family. Thank God, she was leaving tonight.
“We can’t work this group of horses any longer,” Dan said. “I’ll get a new batch.”
“No. Background is in place.” Anthony gestured at the colorful mob gathered on the other side of the track. “Keep your stunt horse out. We’ll shoot the runaway scene now and finish this part later.”
Dan flipped through his notebook. After Bruno crashed through the rail, he galloped riderless around the track, almost clipping a tractor. The incident was well documented since Thomas Hamilton had invited the media to watch the colt work prior to the Derby.
Dan had Bruno inked in as first choice and a second horse, painted and primed, as backup. No horse worked more than three furlongs a day, which meant Bruno would have to nail it on the first take, or step aside for his underling.
“Get the second bay ready,” he said to Lizzie, hoping he wouldn’t have to use him. The lookalike was rather lazy and didn’t possess Bruno’s wicked energy.
Dan walked up to the stunt rider, a fearless pro who he loved to work with. “Thanks, Mitzie. We’ll shoot the stunt again tomorrow, along with the rearing in the gate. Bruno is going solo now.”
Mitzie saluted and vaulted from the saddle, pausing to pat Bruno on the neck. “Not many horses are this versatile. Can we get together later so I can see the storyboard?”
“Sure. Drop by the production office about six.”
She gave a knowing smile, probably aware his trailer was his refuge. But he’d learned never to invite anyone in, even someone as safe as Mitzie. Emily had been a rarity—but hell, he wasn’t a choirboy. If she hadn’t been leaving, he never would have touched her.
Bruno tossed his head, and Dan yanked his attention back to his job. The saddle would remain but the reins needed switching. The stunt reins would flap but break away if stepped on, keeping the horse safe and giving the illusion of greater speed.
“All done,” the wrangler said, after making a final adjustment.
“Wait in the backstretch.” Dan checked that the pickup rider was in place beyond the finish line then climbed into the golf cart beside Anthony.
“Wasted day,” Anthony grumbled, as their driver turned the cart and headed to the front of the track. “We’re going to have to get some of the extras back tomorrow. Gotta expect this once in awhile though.”
Dan said nothing. They both knew the day would have been much smoother if Anthony hadn’t insisted that his niece ride.
“The tractor is fifteen feet from the rail, and I want the horse to run through the opening,” Anthony continued. “We have two people set up to wave their arms and look like they’re trying to stop him. One of them is a stunt man who’ll hit the dirt.”
Dan nodded. This was a fairly simple exercise for Bruno. He’d be released at the top of the stretch, gallop riderless along the outside rail and across the finish line to where he’d be picked up by the outrider. The stuntman would be filmed up close. The background performer was only there to emphasize the danger of a loose horse.
“Just make sure the tractor guy stays well back,” Dan said. “Bruno isn’t going to stop. And I requested a bigger gap.”
“Yeah, well, fifteen will have a bigger impact. But we shortened the run, like you asked.”
Dan grunted. Bruno would have no problem with a fifteen-foot gap but if he had started at fifteen, Anthony would have cut the margin to ten, like he had yesterday with the cardboard rail. And ten feet was dangerous.
“We have some eye candy by the tractor,” Anthony went on. “She’s going to step out and wave her arms, instead of having the male driver do it.”
“I take it she’s not wearing a turtleneck,” Dan said dryly.
Anthony laughed. “According to my assistant, she ha
s beautiful tits.”
“It’d be safer to have her up in the tractor.”
“Precisely.” Anthony gave a complacent smile. “But I want the movie popcorn friendly. Besides, she can’t complain. She’s not union.”
Dan crossed his arms, unable to hide his disapproval. His tolerance level was razor thin today, a result of the botched rail stunt. His bad mood certainly wasn’t related to Emily.
A handful of onlookers stood beyond the background at the rail, and he scanned their heads, searching for her face. He didn’t want to see her. Not really. He just wanted to make sure she’d call about the Louisville job. She’d made this shoot very pleasurable and the least he could do was crack open a couple doors.
The university movie would be perfect for her, a fluff story about a student with sexuality issues. The director was screening a variety of pretty girls. Seeing Emily last night, all painted up, had provided him with a much-needed reality check. She was an actress who craved the lights, and actresses were out of bounds. He should have kept his belt buckled.
The cart bounced over a rut, knocking his knee against the frame of the front seat. “Dammit,” he swore.
“What’s wrong?” Anthony’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been surly all day. You need to get laid.”
Dan snagged a bottle of water from the cooler and yanked off the top, trying to hide his despair. “That’s the last thing I need,” he said.
*
Sweat trickled and Emily’s T-shirt was soaked. She wiped her forehead then brushed at a bloodthirsty fly, wincing as the duct tape cut deeper into her skin. The technician had warned her not to touch the makeup, but the brown stuff on her chest was itchy and drew insects like a magnet.
She glanced wistfully at the tractor seat. Up there, she’d have shade and a chance to catch the breeze. But she was being paid to stand so delays were good. Another day of this, and she and Jenna would be off to the races.
Clearly there was a glitch on the far side of the track. The slowdown wasn’t good for Dan or the budget, but it was excellent news for background performers. As Judith had emphasized, they were paid to wait. For the sake of the horses though, Emily hoped the stunts went smoothly.
“Okay, gang,” someone hollered. “They’re on their way.”
The announcement was accompanied by a flurry of activity. Even Robert Dexter rose from his umbrella chair. Seconds later, a dolly truck rolled up and positioned a camera. To Emily’s right, a tech bent over a steady cam and refocused the equipment. She glanced down, checking that her feet were back on the mark.
Her heartbeat revved. Dan would show up soon. If there were horses in the scene, he’d definitely be with the director. It didn’t matter really—they’d already said their good-byes—but it would be comforting to see a familiar face. Being left isolated for so long was rather depressing.
However, it looked like this upcoming scene might be very short. There were certainly fewer animals around. Only two horses circled near the starting gate, one without a rider. She strained to distinguish horses and faces. Possibly the lady in pink was Lizzie. The riderless horse might be Bruno. But the distance was too great to be certain.
Twenty feet away, a golf cart rolled to a stop. Dan unfolded from the back.
Every one of her senses kicked into overdrive. Her breath caught so sharply it hurt. She could see the pulse beating at the base of his throat, smell the spicy scent of his skin, almost taste the cool water dangling from his hand. She smiled, unable to hide her sheer joy at seeing him.
The hubbub around them faded to gray. His eyes locked on her like a laser, sharp, hard and angry.
She jerked back as if slapped.
He turned to the man beside him. “That’s the girl?”
The director gave a dismissive shrug. “Oh, damn, it’s the sneezer. She’ll have to do. At least, there’s no dialogue.”
“Get someone else,” Dan said flatly.
“No, she has the physical appearance. I like it.” The director turned to a hovering attendant. “Put more dirt on her chest, a mark on her cheek. We’ll take a medium shot.”
Something withered deep in Emily’s chest, but she forced a brittle smile. They spoke as if she weren’t there, and at that moment she resented the director, resented the movie but most of all, she resented Dan.
“We have to move the tractor out another five feet,” Dan said, turning from Emily and striding after the director.
“Look at me please.” The makeup artist yanked at Emily’s chin and brandished a black brush.
Emily raised her head, uncaring now how hot and grubby she was, or what they rubbed on her skin. It didn’t matter anyway. Dan had barely looked at her. And when he had, it was with open hostility. Even horror.
Had he expected her to lay low until the bus pulled out tonight? Maybe he was embarrassed. After all, she wasn’t a sought-after movie star, only a lowly extra. It was painfully obvious he hadn’t expected to see her again.
I’ll laugh about this later with Jenna when we’re watching the races from our fifth-row seats close to the finish line. But she didn’t feel like laughing now. In fact, she gulped twice, desperate to control the weird spasms in her throat.
“Would it be possible to have a drink of water?” she croaked.
“You don’t have any lines.” The woman deftly flicked some powder off her brush. “And I have to hurry. The director’s in a mood.”
“Isn’t he always,” Emily said, struggling to regain her usual flippancy.
“Still, no one dares cross Anthony today, except maybe him.” The lady rolled her eyes meaningfully over her shoulder.
Dan still followed Anthony who flung a clipboard in his director’s chair and wheeled, arms waving. It looked like a heated exchange. Emily couldn’t see Dan’s face but his muscles were bunched so tightly, his shirt strained from the tension.
Finally Anthony nodded and gave a curt jab of his thumb. A gray-haired man with a ponytail and white sandals ran over and clambered onto the tractor. It rumbled to a start, spitting exhaust and dust as it inched toward them. “Stand back, ladies,” he called, positioning the trailer further from the rail.
“Maybe they won’t need me out here,” Emily said hopefully. It would be much more pleasant to stand with Judith and the other background people. They hadn’t been dirtied up. Emily no longer cared about makeup and stylish clothes; she’d settle for a clean face and some shade.
“Quiet. Here he comes.” The makeup attendant stepped back, nodding deferentially at Anthony, his assistant and Dan.
“Cue her when to wave her arms,” Anthony said, his gaze raking Emily’s dirty shirt. “Then she needs to step back before the horse hits her.” He walked away without ever addressing her directly.
“Stand here,” the assistant said, then glanced at Dan. “She’s all yours now.”
Emily’s grip tightened around the lead line. She raised her head before turning toward Dan, determined to hide how much his antipathy hurt.
His gaze traveled over her chest then back to her face. He’d been animated with Anthony only minutes earlier, but now he stood silent, unmoving, other than one lean finger that idly tapped his water bottle.
“Was this scene explained to you?” he asked.
She shook her head, hoping he wouldn’t insist she be replaced with another performer.
“Reckless,” he said, “played by Bruno, rips through the rail and dumps his rider. A stunt rider. He bolts around the track. Someone tries to stop him—another stunt person. Bruno then gallops between the tractor and the rail, almost trampling a groom. You are not a stunt person.” His voice turned accusatory.
She blinked. Perhaps she’d exaggerated a bit about her horse experience, but she was quite certain, almost positive, that she hadn’t marked the stunt box on her application. “I never pretended to be one,” she said cautiously, guessing he was searching for a reason why she wasn’t suitable.
“That’s not the point,” he snapped. “Drink.” He pressed
the bottle into her hand, shocking her as much by the action as the abrupt cold against her skin.
She took a quick swig, then reluctantly passed it back, unable to keep her wistful gaze from following the water.
“Finish it,” he said, his voice gruff.
She drained the bottle. At least they weren’t arguing over this.
“Want more?” he asked.
She shook her head and carefully wiped her mouth, conscious of the makeup artist’s annoyance.
Dan’s gaze drifted over her chest and his scowl returned. “You have to follow directions. No thinking out of the box. Jump out of the way the second you’re cued. Got it?”
“Of course. I always listen. I’ll do whatever the scene requires.”
“I think you have a skewed definition of ‘listening’ but you are definitely plucky.” A corner of his mouth twitched. “And you do look like one of Hamilton’s grooms.”
She gave a cautious smile, relieved to see the return of his natural good humor. He, of all people, must know her shirt-popping cleavage required some assistance. But he was looking at her face and perhaps didn’t notice. It didn’t seem as if he’d insist on a replacement performer though. His anger had disappeared, replaced with a wry resignation.
“The assistant director will rehearse the scene with you,” Dan said. “I’m tied up with Bruno and the stuntman.” His voice lowered. “Did you take the number for the Louisville movie?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“Good. It’s an excellent opportunity. No stunts required. Nice wardrobe too.”
Clearly he was poking fun at her dirty face. She raised a self-conscious hand to her cheek, then slowly lowered it. What did it matter? She’d primped for hours last night and it hadn’t made a bit of difference. “We extras do love a nice wardrobe,” she said, hiding her hurt.
“Look, Emily. I’m working flat out today.” He glanced over his shoulder at the makeup artist. His voice lowered. “But I do apologize for this morning, for leaving the trailer so quickly…afterwards.”
STUDS AND STILETTOS (Romantic Mystery) Page 18
