The Cinema of Lost Dreams

by Alli Sinclair

  Luke disappeared into the shed, taking the last of the chairs.

  “This is it?” Nigel’s booming voice had her spinning to face him.

  “Yes,” she said quickly.

  “I know you said we had some work to do but good god, those photos did not tell the true story.”

  “Nigel.” She opened her eyes wide to give him the please-shut-up signal as Luke exited the shed. If he’d heard Nigel, he certainly wasn’t letting on. “Nigel Christenson, I’d like you to meet Luke Jackson. His great-aunt owns this cinema.”

  Nigel stuck out his hand and he and Luke shook. “A pleasure to meet you, Luke. I really appreciate you accommodating us at the last minute. Claire will be here twenty-four seven to ensure everything runs smoothly.” He paused then laughed, as if realizing his mistake. “And, of course, filming at your cinema will run as smooth as silk. Especially with Claire looking over things!”

  “Yes, yes,” she said. “I’ll be here day and night to answer any questions you may have. I’ll be guarding the cinema like it’s my own.”

  Oops. That was probably too far.

  Luke stared at her. “Why the need to be guarded? From whom?”

  “Nothing. No one. I just meant that I’ll be checking that everyone will be very careful.”

  Sheesh. Was she making it worse?

  Nigel stepped in. “The crew will be here early tomorrow, so if you have any questions during filming, Claire’s your gal.”

  “How about we show Nigel the interior?” she asked Luke.

  “Sure. This way.” He waved his hand for Nigel and Claire to follow and they went through the back door into Hattie’s kitchen. Despite Hattie having left, her kitchen still held the same warmth Claire had experienced the first time she was there. Well, until Claire had been asked to leave.

  They entered the main area of the cinema.

  “My god.” Nigel looked around, his mouth open. “This is incredible. The exterior photos made it look better than real life but the interior…well, the interior photos definitely did not do it justice.”

  “It is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she said, trying not to let pride inflate her head.

  Nigel moved around, inspecting chairs, walls, squinting his eyes and turning his head at various angles. He continued for some time.

  “Does he always do this?” whispered Luke.

  “Yeah,” she said. “He needs to get a good feel for the place. He’s imagining where the crew will be positioned and how the equipment will fit in, where the actors will stand and how they’ll move around. Basically, he’s playing the scenes out in his head.”

  “Like what you did before?” asked Luke. “Does everyone in your industry imagine things in their head?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He laughed. “Remember in your letter to my great-aunt when you mentioned ghosts and how the history of this place will have a big influence on the actors?”

  “Huh? Oh!” She smiled. “You probably think we’re a tad strange.”

  “No stranger than other types of artists.”

  “Like metal sculptors?” she joked, but his face had turned serious. “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right. It’s just a sore spot.”

  “Okay,” she said, not game enough to push harder. If Luke wanted to tell her, he would. Though she doubted that would ever happen. One minute he was familiar with her, then the next an invisible wall shot up, shutting down any chance of getting to know him. It would have been nice, though, as there was something very interesting about Luke Jackson, and it wasn’t just his gorgeous blue eyes.

  Nigel strode up to them. “You have done one hell of a job finding this place.”

  “Thanks.” There was so much more she wanted to add, but it wasn’t the time or place, especially in front of Luke. When the moment was right, Claire would meet with Nigel and discuss her future. Surely this coup would get her the backing she needed to work toward her own production?

  Stop counting chickens.

  “Right, well I have a pile to get through and so do you, Montgomery. I’ll see you at five tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay.”

  Nigel made his way out of the cinema and through to the back alley.

  “It’s his already,” said Luke.

  “No, he’s just one of those people who doesn’t have time for courtesies, like waiting to be shown out. You have my word that he’ll treat this cinema with the utmost care and respect.”

  “I’m counting on you.”

  “You have nothing to fear,” she said, then Robert Dennis’s words crashed in on her: This is not the end of it. And I will do my damned best to make sure this production fails.

  * * * *

  Claire had woken in the small bedroom above the Starlight Creek pub at four every morning for the past couple of days. She was always on location before anyone else arrived. The crew had set up, ensuring everything was in place.

  Today’s shoot had gone well. Everyone had adhered to Nigel’s strict instructions about keeping the place intact—he’d threatened death by gaffer tape should anyone damage a thing. He needn’t have worried, though, as the crew were reliable and respectful, just as Claire had expected.

  She stood at the back of the cinema going through the call sheet for the following day while visions of collapsing into an exhausted heap on her bed ran through her head.

  “You’ve done a great job finding this place.”

  Claire looked up to find Camille, the leading lady, in jeans and a white shirt. Her hair and makeup were still very much 1930s.

  “Thanks.”

  “You know, I was skeptical before we got here, but you’ve proven me wrong,” said Camille.

  “Oh?” How was she supposed to react to this?

  “Sorry,” said Camille. “That sounded rude. What I mean to say is that when I saw the photos I thought it looked like any other Art Deco cinema. But now, actually being in this space, there’s a certain…feel.” She looked around. “Like it’s filled with special energy. Kind of like there’s a piece of Amelia here with us.”

  “Exactly!” said Claire. “That’s how I felt, and I was hoping you’d experience the same. We’re not quite channeling Amelia, but at least feeling her presence.”

  Camille looked around and smiled. “Yeah. It certainly makes my job a lot easier. I’ve never felt more like Amelia than I do when filming in this cinema.”

  Tony walked up, and Camille waved a hasty goodbye and exited.

  “I’m done,” Tony said.

  “Seriously?”

  “I’ve done everything you asked.” Tony’s words sounded measured, like he was trying to contain his annoyance.

  “That’s great.” Claire made sure she sounded genuine. “You can go if you want. I’ll lock up.”

  Tony regarded her for a moment. “Like I said yesterday, that’s my job.”

  Claire wondered if they were going to have this conversation every day, because it would get very old, very fast. “I appreciate you wanting to do so, but like we’ve discussed, the owner gave specific instructions that I be the one to open and close the cinema every day.”

  “So you’re taking over my job now? Stealing the location manager role isn’t enough?”

  “Tony.” She willed herself to remain calm. “I never stole the job of location manager. I was hired because they felt I was the best fit for this particular production. My history of renovating Art Deco houses with my family put me in good stead.” Why did she feel the need to justify herself?

  “Yeah, well, I see the way you’re so close with Nigel.”

  Claire stared at Tony, not quite believing her ears and totally unimpressed with what he was implying. “Would you say that if I was a man?”

  “This is bloody bullshit.” Tony stalked off, leaving Claire
with her mouth hanging open.

  “You’ll catch flies.” Phil sidled up to her.

  Still in shock, she turned to Phil. “Did you hear what Tony just said?”

  “Nope.”

  “He thinks I got the job because of…you know…”

  “What? He thinks you slept with Nigel?” Phil did a cruddy job of controlling his laughter. “Tony’s an idiot.”

  “Yeah,” she said, a small wave of melancholy hitting her. “I’ve worked my butt off to get this far, and it hurts when someone implies I’ve gained my position through less than savory ways. Men don’t have this issue.”

  “No, they don’t,” said Phil. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this shit, Claire.”

  “I can’t have him undermining me.”

  “You could get him fired.”

  Claire looked at Tony. “He has a baby.”

  “He doesn’t treat you with respect.”

  “I know.” She studied the gold buttons on the rows of chairs in front of her. “I’d love to fire him.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  Claire puffed out her cheeks. “I can’t get rid of him because I haven’t got time to replace him. Besides, we haven’t got much longer to shoot, and he is actually really good at his job when he’s not being a chauvinist pig.”

  “This industry gossip travels the grapevine rather fast. Word about his behavior could get out after we’re done here.” Phil gave a crooked smile.

  “Hmm…”

  “Now,” said Phil, “moving on to a much nicer topic, when are you going to use your winning streak and talk to the production company?”

  “About what? I haven’t got anything in the pipeline. Well, I did, but they’ve rejected all my ideas. In fact, every production company I’ve spoken with has pooh-poohed them or yawned. My ideas for a documentary aren’t that bad, are they?”

  Phil shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “They are?” Wow. That hurt.

  “It’s not that they’re bad ideas, it’s just that they’re not…fantastic.”

  “Gee, tell me what you really think.”

  “You know how tough this biz is. If you can’t get the people with the purse strings excited, then you’ve lost the battle. Take this miniseries, for example.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, it’s not a documentary, but it is based on the life of someone real. Someone who created magic in the 1930s yet wasn’t really recognized for her brilliance at the time—because she was a woman.”

  “A very chauvinistic era,” she said.

  “Do you think much has changed?”

  “Nope.” Tony was a classic example. She leaned against the wall and tilted her head backwards. “God. How am I supposed to get any project off the ground? Sex shouldn’t make a difference if the idea’s good enough.”

  “Sex makes all the difference.” Phil laughed.

  “Very funny, not that sex. Sex as in gender.”

  “I know what you mean. Seriously, though, Amelia Elliott was a trailblazer in her day. All you need to do is find a topic like her and you’d be sorted.”

  “All the trailblazers have already had documentaries made about them.” She tried not to sound dejected, but it was hard not to.

  Phil squeezed her shoulder. “Your time will come.”

  “Thanks.” Somehow, she needed to channel Phil’s positive outlook. “I better get this place sorted, eh?”

  “Need a hand?”

  “Nah, I’m good. Go and rest.”

  Phil saluted her as he walked toward the door and chatted with the last of the crew. When they left, silence fell in the cinema and Claire sat in the back row, feeling more tired than normal. The encounter with Tony, the stress of ensuring everything was running to plan and constantly monitoring the crew and cast had started taking its toll.

  Her stomach grumbled.

  She stood, about to start the end-of-day check. Claire set about her ritual, wishing she’d finished up early enough to go visit Hattie. She wanted to assure her that everything was going well.

  With only one door left to lock, Claire collected her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

  “Slacking off, eh?”

  Claire couldn’t make out the identity of the dark figure standing at the back of the cinema.

  “Who’s there?” She wasn’t scared, but she was certainly cautious.

  The figure moved toward her and her muscles tensed, ready for flight or fight.

  The aroma of chicken soup filled her nostrils.

  “Thought you might like something to eat.” Luke stepped out of the shadows and her shoulders relaxed. “Why do you look so afraid?”

  “Because I’m not used to people stalking me.”

  “Stalking?” He laughed. “Nope, no stalking here. My great-aunt thought you might like some dinner. We’d heard about the crazy hours everyone is working.”

  “You did?”

  “Why are you surprised?” he asked.

  “I guess I shouldn’t be.”

  “The miniseries is the only conversation around here at the moment.” He walked toward her and handed over a basket that contained the soup and a couple of bread rolls. Hattie had even packed a red cotton serviette and silverware.

  “I hope they’re saying nice things.” She sat and motioned for Luke to do the same.

  “So far.” He settled against the plush seat and placed his arms on the backrest.

  She lifted the lid. “This smells amazing.”

  “Hattie’s specialty.”

  “I can understand why.” She unwrapped the serviette and realized there were two spoons. Claire offered one to Luke.

  “No thanks. I’ve already had my fill, but you go ahead.”

  “Thank you.” She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until Luke showed up. If she were by herself she would have scarfed it but, given the present company, she took her time spooning in the delicious goodness.

  They sat in companionable silence as Claire polished off the soup and rolls. As she was placing it all back in the basket she discovered another, smaller container.

  “What’s this?”

  “Your favorite.” Luke’s secretive smile had her ripping off the lid.

  “Carrot cake! How did she know?”

  “You may not have noticed, but Starlight Creek is a rather small community.”

  “Scarlet blabbed.” Claire broke the cake in half and offered a piece to Luke.

  “No, I’m good. I’m Hattie’s official taste-tester, and this definitely gets full marks.”

  “Ha!” Claire took a bite. Butter and cinnamon danced across her tongue. “Oh my god.”

  “Not bad, eh?”

  “Not bad at all.” She swallowed and broke off another piece. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For giving me a chance to prove myself,” she said.

  “I didn’t have much of a say.”

  “True.” Claire smiled. “Hattie is a woman who knows what she wants.”

  “Yep.”

  Silence wrapped around them once more.

  “I really like Starlight Creek,” she finally said.

  Luke shifted in his seat to face her. “What do you like about it?”

  “I love the sugarcane fields, and the hazy blue of the mountains. I love the quiet—that is so refreshing, though silence actually keeps me awake.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. The sounds of the city are white noise for me. I live in Melbourne, and the traffic is constantly in the background, keeping me company when my mind is going a million miles an hour at three in the morning.” She stopped and wondered if she was saying too much. Did he really want to know these things?

  “What keeps you awake at that hour?”

&n
bsp; “Stuff,” she said, then realized her comment was shutting him down when he appeared genuinely interested. “I’ve got lots of projects I’d like to work on, but none have come to fruition yet.”

  “Ah. I don’t have traffic keeping me awake. I have frogs.”

  “Frogs?”

  “Frogs in the pond outside my window.” His gentle smile was such a contrast to the expression he’d worn when they’d first met. “What kind of projects do you think about?”

  “It’s almost a case of what don’t I think about. I don’t plan on doing locations forever.”

  “I thought you enjoyed it.”

  “I love it, but it’s not the be-all and end-all. It’s just that I’ve got lots of dreams, and I’m not sure which idea is going to be the one that leads me down the road I want to travel.”

  Luke didn’t say anything for a long time.

  “Sometimes dreams aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.” Luke stood and collected the basket. “I’ll walk you back to yours.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  1994 – Starlight Creek, Queensland

  The next day, Claire stood at the side of the foyer as they filmed the last scene of a very long day. Camille looked resplendent in a mauve 1930s-style dress with a matching hat and feather. She swanned around the foyer, her smile bright, her laugh light. James, in the role of Amelia’s assistant-turned-lover, looked as handsome as ever in his gray suit and pristine white shirt. Claire could certainly understand why he had a legion of adoring fans.

  It had been a few days since Claire had seen Annalise and so far, so good. Robert Dennis had also kept his distance, and it appeared his threat was just him blowing off steam—that, or he was gathering his army.

  Since her run-in with Tony yesterday, he’d gone about his business, not causing a stir. Claire had stashed their conversation in her memory bank, hoping she wouldn’t have to drag it out again.

  “Cut! Print!” Nigel walked toward Camille and James. “Nicely done, you two. Right, we’re finished for today. Everyone back on set tomorrow at seven.”

  Camille and James quickly got involved in a heavy discussion, which resulted in Camille storming out the door. James looked at Claire then made his way over.

  “I hope you’re not upsetting Camille,” she joked.