“Mmm, Tia?”
“Yes?” I looked into Jason’s eyes.
“Would you pass the salt?”
“Oh, um, sure.” Not exactly “Let’s spend the rest of our lives together,” but at least he was talking to me. For months, the only communication we’d had was arguing over filming techniques. At least we were sitting at the same table. That was a start.
“This place is crazy.” Benita looked around, her eyes widening as she saw a familiar male star. “Oh, Tia! That’s Trace Goodnight from Another Side of Love. I’ve always thought he was so handsome.”
“Yeah.” I shrugged. I’d seen him around dozens of times, so he’d lost his luster.
“Working at a studio has to be the best job I’ve ever had.” Benita looked my way, her eyes sparkling. “And seeing all of these famous people is just the icing on the cake. Now I can see why you love your job so much, Tia.”
“Why wouldn’t she love it? She’s very good at what she does.” Jason took a bite of his sandwich and gave me a wink.
My heart fluttered. Did he really just wink at me, or does he have something in his eye? And did he actually say I’m good at what I do?
Benita took a bite and leaned back in her chair. “I know she’s good at what she does. She talks about work nonstop, even when she’s at home with the family. It’s ‘camera angles’ this and ‘lighting’ that. She never quits.”
“I like my job. What can I say?” Nibbling on a piece of lettuce, I tried to put her words out of my mind. Besides, what did she know about my work? She’d never shown much interest in it.
Benita shrugged. “Might not hurt to give it a rest every now and again.”
I bit back the words on my tongue and continued chewing the lettuce.
She turned to Jason. “Don’t you agree?”
“Oh, well, I guess it’s not my place to say. Besides, I’m pretty much a workaholic myself.” His encouraging smile lifted my spirits. “So, what do you do for fun, Tia?” Jason took a swig of his Coke. “When you’re not talking about your work, I mean.”
“For fun?” I paused and shrugged, opting not to mention taping and floating Sheetrock. I finally landed on the only answer that made sense. “Watch a lot of TV and movies.”
“Me too.” He nodded.
Benita rolled her eyes. “You two are so boring.”
His gaze narrowed as he looked my way. “Now, this isn’t a trick question—or maybe it is—but are you watching TV shows and movies to rest and relax, or are you working?”
I sighed, knowing I’d been caught. “I watch the various camera angles and setups. Wide shots. Narrow shots. Close-ups versus pulled-out shots. Actors’ tones and inflections. Hairstyles. Set design.” I groaned. “Trust me, I’m not resting and relaxing. I’m usually looking for new and innovative ways to do things. Or I’m catching errors. Do you know how many costume errors alone I’ve caught? It keeps me on my toes so we don’t make the same mistakes.”
Benita’s eye rolling kicked in again. “See? I told you. She never takes a minute off. It’s ridiculous. Even God took one day off.”
“I rest.”
Sometimes.
“If anyone understands Tia’s work ethic, I do.” Jason sighed. “Especially when it comes to watching movies or TV. I’m ruined for life. Can’t enjoy them at all.”
Finally! Someone who understood me.
Jason leaned forward and spoke in hushed tones. “Just last week I watched an episode of Another Side of Love and noticed that Trace Goodnight’s shirt was yellow at the beginning of the scene and brown at the end. Someone wasn’t paying attention.”
“I actually took notes at the last movie I went to. Beni got mad at me because I hid my iPad in my purse.” I glared at her. “Don’t know what her problem was. I only pulled it out a few times, and I reduced the light on the screen so it wouldn’t bother anyone.”
“I wanted her to have a good time,” Benita said. “But she doesn’t know how to do that. Trust me, we’ve been working on it for years and she can’t get the hang of it.”
“Can I help it if I’m a workaholic?” I asked. “I’m trying to make a name for myself in this industry, and that’s not easy.”
Even as I spoke, shame washed over me. Where had the words come from, anyway? Since when did I care about making a name for myself?
Jason gave me a sympathetic look. “I’ve never said this before, Tia, but I don’t envy you being the director. Having that much control would be tough. And having to come up with decisions on the spot—with so many people looking on—would be even tougher.”
“The worst is when we’re in the middle of a scene that’s not working. I’m standing there in front of the whole cast and crew, having to come up with a solution. I usually work much better alone. I block out every scene in my head—and on paper—ahead of time. So when things fall apart, I might look composed on the outside, but I’m mush on the inside.”
“I never would have known.” He gave me an admiring look. Seemed like I was seeing more of this side of him lately. Interesting.
“I’d take your place any day,” my sister said between bites.
I sighed. “Beni, there’s more to the job than most people know. I don’t just have to direct the actors and actresses. I have to make sure the set design is perfect.” The intensity of my voice rose, and my words were more rushed. “I have to work closely with the costume department to make sure everyone is looking the way they should be looking. Same with hair and makeup. I have to communicate with all of the department heads on a regular basis to make sure we’re on the same page. Not to mention the producer and the advertisers. And then there are the kids. I have to make sure they’re on the set only a certain number of hours per day, and having their lessons with their teacher the rest. That means everything has to be scheduled down to the minute.”
Jason looked sympathetic. “I don’t know what you’re so worried about. You’re the director, and a great one at that. You’re accustomed to telling people what to do, and they do it—not just because they respect you as a person but because they respect your position.” He shrugged. “That’s got to feel good.”
“Sometimes. But I guess I’d just rather have their respect as a person, not a director. When I’m not hollering out directions, people just pass me by like I’m not even there.”
“Impossible.” His gaze lingered, and a hint of a smile creased the edges of his mouth. “I defy anyone to pass you by.”
Suddenly all the noise in the commissary seemed to come to a grinding halt. For a moment, I could hear only his words: “I defy anyone to pass you by.” They rang out loud and clear, flooding my heart with joy. And surprise. And intrigue. And hope.
His face lit in a boyish smile, and all of a sudden it was just the two of us sitting in the studio commissary, eating lunch and talking about the things we had in common. Everything around us faded to sepia tone. No, scratch that. Sepia tone was highly overrated and rough on the eyes. I’d never understood that whole faded-edges thing, either. Better make it mood lighting—soft whites shimmering through transient gels positioned overhead. Or maybe a lovely beach scene in the background. Digital, of course.
One thing was for sure. If Jason had been filming this scene—if the camera had zoomed in close enough—he would surely have noticed the shimmer of tears in my eyes. And though they surprised me, I could no longer deny the fact that they reflected feelings simmering just below the surface.
Oh, mama mia! Now what?
I spent Tuesday night arguing on the phone with my brother, who claimed he’d been too sick to finish floating the Sheetrock in my entryway that day. Too drunk was more like it. From the sound of things, he’d passed “sick” about four beers back. So, once again, I tackled the chore by myself. For hours I worked alone, until my body just couldn’t take it anymore. By the time I tumbled into bed at midnight, the dust had clogged my airways, causing me to cough and sneeze nonstop. Lovely. Nothing like a director with a head cold.
When I tried to sit up on the bed, my arms and legs didn’t want to cooperate. Well, not without pain, anyway. And what was up with my shoulders? Strange. They were almost as stiff and sore as my neck, which refused to turn. And then there was the issue of my stuffy sinuses. They were worse than ever. Maybe I really was coming down with something.
No, after a hot shower, I could only conclude I had DIY syndrome. Too much home improvement had nearly done me in. But no time to think about that right now, not with our final run-through happening today. Somehow I had to get through this delivery scene, even if it killed me. And I had a feeling it might, especially with my body in such a weakened state.
After showering, I did a few stretches, hoping to ease my joints into working order. Though they cried out in pain, they cooperated for the most part. Still, nothing about this particular Wednesday morning felt right to me. For one thing, Mama didn’t call me like she always did as I made the drive to the studio. For another, I couldn’t seem to get my creative thought processes to come into alignment where this week’s filming was concerned. Instead, I had this nagging feeling that I was on the Titanic, slowly guiding it toward an iceberg. Heaven help me.
Arriving at the studio, I parked and did my best to emerge from the car without wincing in pain. After all, with Lenora and Rex pulling into the spot next to me, I had to keep up appearances. And speaking of keeping up appearances, Lenora emerged from her pink Cadillac convertible wearing a cream-colored blouse with a high collar, a long skirt, white gloves, and a wide-brimmed hat. I’d gotten pretty good at guessing her movie getups, but I had to admit this one boggled me.
“Who are we today, Lenora?” Jason said from behind me, and I turned to see him walking my way from the most gorgeous red BMW Z4 I’d ever seen. I’d never noticed that he drove such a wowzer car. Maybe it was new. Still, it seemed a little odd considering his cameraman’s salary.
Lenora’s voice startled me back to attention. “I’ll give you a clue. I traveled with Humphrey Bogart up the river, facing crocodiles and renegades who tried to kill me.”
“Ah, piece of cake.” Jason nodded. “Katherine Hepburn. The African Queen.”
“One of the greatest movies ever filmed.” Lenora sighed. “Wasn’t Bogart the dreamiest boat captain you’d ever want to see?”
Rex cleared his throat.
“Oh, don’t worry, you sweet man.” Lenora reached up to stroke his cheek, her eyes filled with wonder. “There will never be a hero greater than you.”
He gave her a sweeping bow. “Why, thank you. Thank you very much.”
A girlish giggle erupted from his wife. “It’s Elvis in the flesh!”
“Then you are my Priscilla.” Arm in arm, they walked into the studio, Rex’s voice bellowing out “Love Me Tender.”
I pulled out a Kleenex and blew my nose. “They’re really something, aren’t they?”
“Yeah.” Jason looked their way then glanced at me. “They give me hope that some relationships really do stand the test of time.”
“Me too.” Just one more thing we had in common.
“Are you sick?” He pointed at the Kleenex.
“I’ve been stricken with a rare malady—DIY syndrome—but I’d rather not talk about it right now if you don’t mind.”
“DIY syndrome?” He looked puzzled but didn’t comment.
“Yeah.” I blew my nose again. “But don’t worry. It’s not contagious. If it was, the whole country would be under red alert.”
As we entered the studio, I took note of Erin, who was playing with a couple of the kids. They really seemed smitten with her, and vice versa. Her laughter, lilting and carefree, brought a certain sense of joy to the place. What would it be like to live like that all the time? To have such a relaxed attitude? Likely I’d never know.
I got right to work, checking in with the writers to see how next week’s script was coming, then committing to a plan of action for the day.
By eight o’clock, my cast had arrived in full. Kat looked a little pale but claimed she was perfectly fine, just a little tired. Scott looked anxious, and Brock—well, he just looked distracted. Strange. I’d never seen him this way before.
Seconds later, I noticed the object of his distraction. Benita’s familiar giggle rang out from the far side of the set. She’d somehow collected a group of guys around her—no big surprise there. Jason stood in the center of the group, just a few feet away from her. She’d said something funny, obviously. Jason, Brock, Bob, and Paul were all laughing. Why this bothered me so much, I couldn’t say. Probably had something to do with not feeling great. Well, that, and the comments the guys had made yesterday about Benita and me having different parents. That still bugged me.
Kat approached, one hand on her belly, the other hand clutching a churro she nibbled on. “Looks like your sister’s quite a hit with the guys,” she said between bites.
After a couple seconds of silence, I finally said, “There’s always so much drama going on around here.”
“Well, of course.” Kat giggled. “That’s the point, isn’t it? We’re a television sitcom, after all.”
“I just like to keep my drama on the stage, if you know what I mean. In bringing Benita in, I feel like I’ve had to direct more drama offstage than on. I should have known.”
Athena joined us, offering a sympathetic look. “You’re worried about your sister?”
I nodded. “You have no idea. She’s . . .” I wanted to say, “following in our father’s footsteps,” but held back.
“She’s flirtatious with the guys. I’ve noticed that much,” Kat said. She took another bite of her churro and a contented look came over her. “Yum.”
“And she’s a raving beauty,” Athena threw in. “You can’t blame them for being interested.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty, all right.”
On the outside.
The words had no sooner flitted through my brain than I felt like slapping myself. Really, who did I think I was, cutting my sister down because of her physical beauty? Only God could see the heart, right? Besides, how would I ever know my sister’s potential for inner beauty if I didn’t slow down long enough to get to know her—really know her?
“Looks like she’s got Brock right where she wants him.” Athena’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Yep. She’s caught him on her hook and is reelin’ him in.” She chuckled. “He’d be quite a catch. Can you even imagine, Tia? If she snags him for life, that would make him your brother-in-law.”
Ugh. Why did that idea suddenly make me feel nauseous?
Okay, time to get to work. I blew my nose one last time, then clapped my hands together and called the room to order. Seconds later, a roomful of cast and crew members faced me. The words of Kieren Willingham, my director at LAFS, ran through my head. Look confident. Confident, Tia. Make them think you know what you’re doing. They’re going to follow your lead. I squared my shoulders, ready to take control.
“I know we had a rough day yesterday, but today is going to be different. We’ll get through this episode top to bottom and clean up the rough spots.”
Everyone on that set is going to be taking their cues from you. Kieren’s words again. If you fall apart, they fall apart. If you look lost, they will feel lost. It’s your responsibility to keep the ship from sinking. Or at least to keep it from looking like it’s sinking.
But how did one go about that with a true sinking feeling in her gut?
Everyone stared at me in complete silence. After a minute, someone coughed.
Oh, right. Better get this ball rolling. I smiled and dove right in. Somehow we managed to make it through the episode, scene by scene. Kat did a superb job with the delivery, and we all cheered when Scott lifted up a plastic doll and proclaimed, “It’s
a boy!”
Tomorrow we’d have a real baby. I’d already arranged for an infant boy to arrive on the set early in the morning. Filming his scene would be tricky. He could only be under the lights for minutes at a time—what with child actors’ activities being governed by the labor union and all—but we would manage. I hoped. And keeping the news that the baby was a boy out of the papers would be even trickier. My cast and crew had been sworn to secrecy, and studio audience members were as well. In fact, the network had gone out of its way to prepare privacy documents for audience members to sign before they were allowed on the set. Hopefully no one would leak our little secret.
By the time the lunch hour arrived, I felt completely confident once again. And as if on cue, the stuffy nose ended. Ironic. Maybe I wouldn’t need to see a doctor after all.
Rex pointed at his watch—my cue that I needed to cut everyone loose for lunch. I did just that, thankful the caterers had arrived with our food for the day. Wednesday run-throughs always required a quick lunch.
Instead of joining the others, I slipped down the hallway to my office, pulled open the script, and began to scribble and scratch. My stomach grumbled, but I ignored it and kept working. There would be time to grab a few bites later. Maybe.
A rap on the door caught my attention. I turned to discover Jason standing in the open doorway. His boyish grin captured my heart. “Still working?”
“Yeah.” I sighed and pointed to the script.
He gave me a fatherly look as he took a couple of steps in my direction. “So, I guess Benita was right. You do overwork yourself.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I just—”
“I’m worried about you, Tia.”
Well, that certainly got my attention. “You are?”
He nodded, and I could read the concern in his eyes. “You need a break. And you’ve got to eat.”
“Yeah, I know, but I’m worried about that one bit where Scott and Brock fight over the sandwiches. Something about the way they handled it didn’t ring true. At times like this, I wish we had a choreographer on staff, someone who could actually block the scene to its best potential. It could be really funny if we get it right.”
The Director's Cut Page 6
