Chemistry

by Tess Oliver

  Cassie: Yes, it'll be like a ride on a luxury liner.

  Cassie enters the truck.

  I climbed in and sat gingerly to avoid the spring. Camera moved in as I primly checked my coat collar and folded my hands with ladylike finesse in my lap.

  Tom climbs in and works the levers and pedals to start the truck. (It is rigged to start with a slight of hand push of a button.)

  I grabbed the edge of the seat as it lurched forward, and we rolled along the pretend driveway. We passed the mark on the set that was my cue to look back at the house, one last vision of my childhood home.

  I curled my fingers on the edge of the window, held onto my hat and glanced back to find that four pieces of luggage were left on the sidewalk. I sat back hard, catching the coat on the spring. The costume technician had cut a slit in it to help it snag easier. I struggled with it for a second.

  Cassie: Pardon me, Mr. Biggs, but you seem to have left four-fifths of my life behind. I insist you go back at once. I cannot survive without my belongings.

  Tom stares straight ahead.

  Tom: You won't have any need for those glad rags where we're heading. We'll get you some proper clothes once we get back to town. I'm sure the second hand store has some dresses—

  Cassie: Second hand store? You expect me to wear a dress that another woman has worn. I can only imagine what a woman from your town might have done in that dress. Why, I've heard women just squat down in the field to have babies in your part of the country.

  Tom: Nope, we've got a midwife in town and everything. You'll be able to have our babies right at home in the bedroom. Unless, of course, you just happen to be out picking corn when the little one's insisting on comin'.

  Cassie: Our babies? Good lord, let me out of here.

  Cassie tries to open door.

  I frantically reached for the door. Roger leaned across and roughly grabbed my arm to keep me from opening it.

  "Cut," Sawyer shouted.

  I rested back and took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn’t say 'go again'. It felt solid. I'd read the passage in the diary enough times to think I would have done Cassie proud. On the first day of filming, several scenes had to be filmed five times. It wasn't just me. The crew was just starting to gel and get their gears rolling. Things were moving smoothly now, but I was sure we'd be starting all over once we got to the farm location.

  Roger glanced at me. "I think you missed a cue. You were supposed to reach for the door after you said babies."

  I stared at him for a moment. Such a waste of pretty packaging, I thought as I climbed out of the car without a word.

  "I need everyone to gather around," Sawyer called through his megaphone. "I've got an announcement."

  He wouldn't dare call everyone together just to tell them I missed my cue and we were going to go again, I assured myself. Fucking Roger and his nitpicking.

  The set crew left their posts and equipment and moved toward the director's chair. Sawyer flipped casually through his phone as he waited for everyone to gather.

  "Are we going to shoot it again?" Roger asked.

  If I could have stomped on his foot without looking like an angry preteen I would have.

  Sawyer finally looked up from his phone and seemed confused by his question. "No, it was fine."

  I smirked at Roger. (Like an angry preteen.)

  "But Kinsey missed her cue. She was supposed to grab the door handle after the word babies. I just think if we're going to have a script, we should stick to it."

  "Oh my gosh, try a suppository, Anal Andy," I said. The crew broke into laughter, but it was cut short by one sharp look from Sawyer. He finished the sharp look pointed directly at me.

  I smiled weakly.

  "I'll be the one to say 'go again', Roger. That's why they give me this fancy director's chair. Now, everyone, I've been monitoring the weather channel in the past few days. They say we are entering an El Niño year, which means Southern California could see some significant rainfall."

  Another round of laughter swept around the group, only this had nothing to do with me and more to do with the fact that we were always hearing about the mythical threat of significant rainfall. It never happened.

  Pete, the key grip, chuckled. "Man, if I had a thousand dollars for every time the weatherman said it was going to rain—"

  His assistant, Al, looked over at him. "A thousand dollars?"

  Pete shrugged. "Yeah, my granddad always said if I had a nickel for every time. I just figured with inflation that'd be about a thousand dollars."

  We had another round of laughter, with the exception of Roger. Of course.

  "If you're all finished with your idle chitchat, I'd like to continue," Sawyer said. He was the kind of boss who could get things done and keep it together during chaos. At the same time, he knew the best crew was a happy crew, so he never acted like an authoritarian prick like some directors.

  "Rainfall in the desert comes with thunderstorms, torrential downpours and flash flooding. They're predicting a wet January and February. I'm not going to take a chance on weather ruining the location shoot, so we're packing up today and heading to location in the desert in two days. We'll head back here afterward to finish the east coast scenes."

  There was some grumbling in the group. We hadn't planned to head to location for another three weeks. And things had just started flowing smoothly at the studio set. Being on location meant living in a trailer, eating under a tent and standing in the hot Mojave sun for hours. It also meant our leading man would be joining the shoot and that thought sent a pulse of nerves through me. I wasn't kidding myself. These past weeks on the studio set had been pleasant and somewhat stress free but that was about to change.

  "Decide ahead of time who you're going to bunk with. The town we're based out of is small, less than three hundred. There's a market and a saloon and a gas station but not much more. We've rented an entire R.V. rest stop, so we can keep hooked up to power and water. We're taking a caravan of fifth wheels and motorhomes, but only the lead actors and yours truly will have their own trailer. The rest of you—" He smiled widely. "It's slumber party time, at least during your work days. It's up to you if you're going to commute home on your days off. And before you yank out your phones to search for a nearby motel, and yes, I said motel because there are no hotels within a hundred mile radius of Highway 395, you should know that the one motel in existence was shut down three times by the health department. It was also the site of a grisly murder. So, unless you're really a sicko, which I know some of you are in your heart of hearts—" Another round of laughter. "You'll be much happier in the motorhomes on set. That's a wrap for the day, so you can get ready for the move. Kiki, stay behind. We need to talk."

  I hadn't taken even half a step in my patent leather squat heels. I swung back around and unbuttoned my coat while we waited for the area to clear. Roger stuck it out too.

  "You can go, Evans. I only need to talk to Kinsey." Sawyer waved him off and reached for the clipboard leaning against the leg of his chair.

  Roger grinned smugly at me before leaving. Apparently, he thought I was in some kind of trouble, which immediately had me worried that I was in trouble.

  "All right, I shouldn't have called him Anal Andy," I said once the area was clear.

  "Yes, you should. He's like a crotchety old man." Sawyer shuffled through the papers on the clipboard, flipping over several before stopping on the one he was looking for.

  I pressed my knuckles to my lips to stifle a laugh.

  He lowered the clipboard and peered up with a serious expression, one where his dark brows nearly touched in the middle creating one big unibrow. His brows were the only hairy sections that weren't streaked with silver. It made them look almost painted on.

  "That said," he continued in a sterner tone. "Try to get along with him. Some of the dislike between you is showing on film." He put up his hand to stop me from mentioning that Cassie hated Tom Biggs. "I know that the main character despises her hus
band, but it still doesn't add to the scene when the two of you are cold toward each other. Which brings me to my next point. How are you doing?"

  I raised a brow and waited for him to elaborate. Only silence followed. "All right?" I said tentatively. "Not sure what you mean."

  "We are going to be on location in a few days, which means we'll be bringing in the Nate character, which means—"

  "Yes, I can fill in the blank there. I'm perfectly fine." I was impressed with how airily I said it. "Looking forward to working with someone other than Mr. Crotchety."

  Sawyer continued to scrutinize my face, apparently looking for a crack in the armor.

  "I'm fine. Really. Not looking forward to the Mojave sun though. Especially if I'm wearing camel hair coats and felt hats." I slipped the coat off my shoulders and sighed with relief when a breeze pushed gently against my perspiring skin.

  Sawyer dropped down off his chair. "That's good because I'm going to need you at your best. No pressure but this entire damn movie depends on the chemistry between my two leads. Otherwise, all of us are through in this town."

  We headed toward the studio building. "Right," I said as the tingling started in my fingertips. "No pressure at all."

  Fifteen

  Jameson

  Sand, nothing but sand. I think I have it in places sand shouldn't be," Harlow complained as she trudged across the lot to my trailer.

  "Told you not to bother coming," I said over my shoulder as I carried luggage, mostly hers, up the metal steps.

  "I'll be fine once I have a shower." She switched to a more enthusiastic tone. "Then I'll head to the store and buy things for healthy meals. That way you don't have to choke down that greasy, processed catered food." She stepped into the trailer still talking.

  I'd stopped listening at this point. I needed to pull out my script and get to work. I'd expected a few more weeks of study time, but Sawyer had surprised me with an early company move to the desert location. He'd insisted Kinsey and I skip any line run throughs, his genius plan for bolstering spontaneity between us. He'd used looming January weather as an excuse, but I was beginning to wonder if this sudden scheduling change was all part of his diabolical plan to catch us off guard. After all, bad weather in fucking So Cal?

  Harlow let her purse slide off her shoulder as she peered around at the interior of the motorhome. "It's all one color, beige. Why is it all beige?" A small couch and matching chair, both upholstered in, yes, beige leather, took up one side of the main room. The laminate counter of the kitchenette was an off white and the cupboards were an even more off white. The back of the trailer was sectioned off by a wall and a door, which led to the bedroom. And the shower with its small sink and vanity were tucked in between the mini refrigerator and the sleeping quarters. I'd spent enough time in trailers to not give a damn about the accommodations.

  "You can always go back home," I suggested. With any luck, she'd tire of the depressing landscape, a dry patch of desert with the occasional gnarled yucca and creosote bush. And even those were rare. The location scout had chosen it because it was so barren and void of any of the tell tale signs of the desert, a habitat that was out of sync with the actual setting of the movie. It was a landscape that could easily be transformed into the Dust Bowl. Being California, even the desert was dotted with small mountain ranges like the Granite Mountains and the San Bernardino Mountains. They would all have to be blotted out by a green screen or in editing to give the feel of the interminably flat landscape of the Great Plains. But Sawyer had his mind, and budget, set on using the desert. He was sure it would give the actors a feel for what it was like to live in a land parched and lacking in water.

  Harlow ignored my suggestion that she head back to L.A.. She picked up her bags and carried them into the sleeping area. I'd planned to talk her out of coming along, slowly and casually but then I was called to location and my plans went to shit. Before I knew it, she was at my door, packed and ready to go.

  "I think I'll go shopping before I shower." She came out of the bedroom area with her purse and phone.

  "You really don't need to cook. It's a crappy little kitchen, and the caterers always have healthy choices."

  "Bullshit, their idea of healthy is a greasy burger with a piece of lettuce wrapped around it." She sifted through something on her phone, then looked up with a pout. "We are in the middle of nowhere."

  "What gave it away? The lack of civilization? You were napping on half the drive. I think we passed the last grocery store about—"

  "Thirty miles," she said with stunned disappointment. "It's thirty miles back the way we came."

  "Told you don't bother." I pulled my script out of my duffle and plopped on the couch. "I need to memorize my lines." Sometimes the scenes were shot out of order, but Sawyer was convinced my first seconds in front of the camera had to be when Cassie first met Nate. It was a pretty comical scene in the book, and at the same time, it let you know there was something between the two of them right from the start. Sawyer seemed to be counting on that pivotal moment more than anything. It was a lot of pressure built up for one short scene.

  Harlow's huff pulled me from my thoughts. She stood for a few minutes in a silent tantrum before snatching my keys off the counter. "I'm going to go for it. I can't stand the stuff in the caterer's tent." With that, she marched with purpose out of the trailer. She was using the food as an excuse to be on set, but we both knew why she was there. She couldn't let go of the idea that I was going to be filming a movie with Kinsey.

  Sixteen

  Kinsey

  You've got to see this, Kiki." Shelby was standing in the open flaps of the caterer's tent with her veggie wrap. I was behind her at the sandwich table, trying to decide between a ham and cheese or a pastrami on rye. "And you better be picking up one of those veggie wraps," she warned without turning around. "Hurry over here, would ya?"

  I begrudgingly picked up a veggie wrap, basically a thinly pounded tortilla wrapped around spinach, tomato and onion. "How the hell do they categorize these as sandwiches?" I reached her and was still staring at the poor excuse for a sandwich.

  She elbowed me, which made a piece of avocado jump out of the wrap. It landed on the dusty ground. "Great, that was probably the only good part of the sandwich." I lifted my face and looked in the direction she was staring.

  Instantly, a jolt of something went through me. I had to remind myself to take a quiet sip of breath. A gasp would have alerted my friend to my reaction, and it was the last thing I needed for Shelby to hear. Shit was getting real. I was going to be in front of a camera, with Jameson, and Sawyer was expecting magic. It was enough to make me slightly nauseous.

  I pressed my face farther out into the hot, dry air and squinted. "Is that Harlow?" There was no mistaking the tight little, wiggle butt walk of petite, white blonde and annoyingly fit Harlow Newton.

  "Yep, apparently Jameson couldn't leave town without his kewpie doll."

  We watched as Jameson walked several paces ahead, carrying two heavy pieces of luggage and a duffle, while Harlow skittered behind him in short shorts and sandals. They disappeared into his trailer.

  Shelby turned to look at me. "How are you feeling?"

  "Why the hell does everyone keep asking me that?" I spun away from the opening and the annoyingly bright sunlight. "It's like I have some sort of disease. I'm an actress and I'm about to start filming a movie in the middle of the desert. I'm hot and, frankly, a little thirsty, and I can already tell that my lips are going to be chapped like a baby's behind with diaper rash. That's how I'm feeling. The arrival of what's his name and his annoying little sidekick has got nothing to do with the way I'm feeling." I was, of course, speaking like someone who was anything but fine. A few of the crew members glanced our direction at the sound of my overloud protestations and then returned their attention to the cookie tray.

  Shelby stood there silently, head tilted, waiting for me to say what was really on my mind. I chomped noisily on my lettuce sandwich and star
ed back at her. I finally swallowed the mouthful of roughage. "Fine. I'm not fine. Sawyer is counting on everything going all sparkly and wonderful just like it did on the Kisses set. But nothing is the same and a lot of shit has passed between Jameson and me since then and now tiny miss chirpy bird has tagged along, who, I might add, hates the very air I breathe, even though the two of us have never even spoken." I waved my arm, dislodging yet another piece of avocado from my wrap. "And the fucking avocado is so bored in this lettuce sandwich it's trying to escape." I took a deep breath, and we laughed about the avocado.

  Shelby caught her breath first. "Feel better?" she asked.

  I thought about it for a second. "Yeah, I think I do. Let's head back to my trailer. I need to study."

  Seventeen

  Kinsey

  Shelby had gone into the claustrophobic trailer bedroom to have a nap. I paced the trailer for a few minutes, hoping it would alleviate some of the anxiety that I'd been feeling since spotting Jameson heading to his trailer. My stomach was protesting with hunger from the measly lunch. I crept to the small pantry cupboard, and, quiet as a mouse trying to steal food and avoid the house cat, I pulled the box of crackers out. It was not easy slipping a handful of crackers from the box without making noise but it was a necessity. Shelby had radar ears and eyes in the back of her head (as demonstrated in the food tent) when it came to my diet. I felt sort of bad for her. I would hate to have to watch over me. I was a total pain in the ass.

  I munched the slightly stale crackers with the gentle ease of someone wearing loose dentures as I headed to the side window on the trailer. Beyond where the living quarters and tents were set up, the propmaster's crew, carpenters and production designer were creating the Biggs' homestead, a small house and a few ramshackle outbuildings made from reclaimed barn timber. It was always magical to watch these talented people recreate an entire new world in the middle of nothing. The meager interior of the Biggs' farmhouse was being created with three sided sets, each with a roof overhang to give the illusion of being inside. That was where the lighting technician crew came in with their genius. They could make day night and night day. I wasn't entirely sure how they would create the suffocating shadows of a massive dust storm, but I was certain they already had that covered.