So, after discussing it with Cecilia, we invited a few people over for a small get-together at our place. Despite her initial reluctance, Cece had become quite fond of the Crock-Pot and liked to come back to the townhouse to find a hot meal just for me and her. Word got around, and after the first little dinner we had with Margaret, Blair, and a few others, we found ourselves hanging out with almost thirty of our closest coworkers. Our townhouse looked like a commune with everyone sitting on the floor cross-legged, pouring wine, and telling stories. Pretty soon, everyone knew about Cecilia and Sam’s (very informal) dinner parties, including the cast.
“Why am I never invited?” Hugh asked one morning, piercing me with his sky-blue eyes. In the last week or so, Cecilia and I had been working even more with the main cast. I had the luck to be assigned to Hugh, shadowing Margaret. She was due in about ten weeks, and I knew production wanted to make sure we’d be covered. To be honest, I was surprised they hadn’t called someone else with a résumé like Margaret’s, but I was glad I was being given the chance to shine, and I didn’t want to throw it away.
As such, I had convinced myself I had to abandon all the dirty thoughts I had about Hugh MacLeod at once. I wanted to lock them up in an ancient trunk and throw them in the ocean. Unfortunately, when I was close to him and we happened to be alone, it was hard to keep myself in check.
I stopped applying fake dirt to his face and looked at him, pretending I didn’t understand what he’d just asked. “What do you mean?”
“Your crew parties, why am I never invited?”
I stifled a laugh. “Well, they are crew parties,” I said, smiling down at him, my lips pursed together. “You know…for the crew.”
“Mostly crew,” he said, smirking. “I know of a few cast members who have been invited.” He was right about that. A few cast members had been invited.
“Why not me?”
“You know, I’ve been in this business for a while, and I’ve always been told cast and crew shouldn’t mix.” More specifically, I’d always been told the crew should not try to mix with the cast unless invited.
“That’s bollocks.” He shook his head, his lips pressed in a smile.
“It has nothing to do with the fact that we don’t want you over. You’re the star of this thing. People know you have long shooting days, and plus, don’t you work out in the evenings? And you have to learn your lines. I’m sure everyone is just trying to give you space and leave you alone.”
“Oh, how thoughtful. But you see, the other day I was walking to my place, and I heard all this laughter,” he said, pointing his finger at me. “And it was coming out of your townhouse.” He gave me a serious look, and I sighed.
I tried to justify myself. “We didn’t mean to hurt y—” I said, but he lifted a finger and asked me to let him finish.
“Now, I understand you guys were trying to be respectful, and in some cases, yes, you might be right about cast and crew not mixing. God knows I have been in productions where they made sure they let you know what your place was,” he said, letting out a deep breath. “But, if, as you pointed out, I am the star of this thing, shouldn’t I receive preferential treatment? Shouldn’t I be invited regardless of if I accept or not?”
“Do you really want to join us?” I was surprised by his insistence and couldn’t help but smile.
“Sam, I grew up with four brothers. Believe it or not, even though I have been on my own a long time, it still feels kind of weird to go back to an empty house. I could use the company.”
“Four brothers? You mean there are five boys in your family? Your poor mother!”
“We weren’t that bad.” He shrugged.
“Says you! I bet she would beg to differ.”
“Maybe one of these days you’ll get to ask her yourself and find out,” he joked, and I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Is she coming to visit and watch you be a badass?”
“Maybe,” he replied with a coy smile.
Margaret came back to the trailer.
“Is Hugh ready to shoot?” she asked a bit curtly. She looked tired.
“Yes, I am almost done with him.”
“Hurry, Sam. They’re ready for him.” She left, and I let out a sigh.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble,” he said, grabbing one of my hands, his voice soft and gentle. I nodded and gave him a small smile. I resumed applying dirt to his cheeks, and then tipped his chin up and locked eyes with him.
“It was not my intention to hurt your feelings.” His eyes grew warmer. “I’ll make sure to let you know when we have our next get-together, okay?” I told him with a nod of my head. He nodded and gave me a lopsided smile. God, why did he have to be so damn attractive? “Close your eyes,” I ordered him. Hugh hanging out at my house? Yeah, that sounded easy peasy. How was I going to keep my dirty thoughts away then?
The more I worked with Hugh in the following days, the harder it became to be indifferent to him. Most days, he was polite and chatty and all-around one of the best people I had ever worked with. Some days, he had to sit in a makeup chair for about three hours, like when we had to apply the scars to his chest.
He was kind, and he always told funny stories about the many acting gigs he’d had to take during his years as a struggling artist.
On set, everyone loved him, and not just because he was the main character. He was respectful and humble and was always nice to everybody, even after long hours on set when everyone had had it and was just itching to be done for the day.
There were also the times when he had to focus on the role or when he had a difficult scene coming up. On set, we all knew that some days were easier than others.
We knew that, on some mornings, Hugh—along with the other actors—just needed to concentrate, so we moved around them accordingly, trying to work as quietly as we could, focusing on not disrupting their concentration.
On those days, the change in him was so drastic, I almost felt as if I didn’t know him at all. I noticed that on some mornings when he got into character, he wasn’t the cheerful, gorgeous man I often chatted with.
He was Abarath, the brave, sometimes arrogant hero with a dark past.
As a matter of fact, we had just started working on some flashback scenes that were going to reveal part of his past. Sometimes we had to be on standby for touch-ups, especially for the fight scenes that were always particularly bloody, and we had to wear rain suits to protect us from the weather. I liked that the Gore-Tex material kept me warm and dry, but it never failed to make me feel like a bulky robot when I walked around. I hated it.
“You!” said the director who was working on the current block, some guy I had never seen on set before. “Find my lead actor.” No please, no thank you came out of his mouth. What an asshole. I was tempted to remind him I wasn’t a production assistant and that it wasn’t my job to fetch things or people.
One look at this guy and I understood the type: arrogant director prick of the Michael Bay variety. We’d had such nice directors so far, and thankfully, he was only scheduled for the current block, so we’d just have the pleasure of working with him for two episodes.
Where was Hugh, though? It wasn’t like him to not already be on set after he got called on. I had seen him ready at least half an hour ago. I had been busy all morning getting a couple extras dirty and bloody. I looked for his assistant, Kevin, but I couldn’t find him anywhere near the trailer. I knocked on the door, and no one answered. I knocked again and when there was still nothing, I decided to open the door. I didn’t want to go back to Mr. Michael Bay empty-handed. Hugh was sitting on a couch, one arm propped on his knees, holding his head up. He didn’t look up immediately, but he did a double-take when he saw it was me. The expression on his face was unreadable, and for a moment I thought maybe it would be better to go back to the asshole director without the lead actor.
“I knocked,” I explained. “Twice.” He gave me a silent nod and exhaled a deep breath through his nose. He mad
e a sign for me to come to him. “Is everything okay? They’re waiting for you on set.” My voice was low and tentative; I was nervous.
He had mostly been pleasant with me, but actors were moody sons of bitches, and yes, I included my darling sister in that category. He was obviously distraught about something. I didn’t know how he would react. This was just another reason why I never ever wanted to work overseeing production. It seemed like an endless pain in the ass or maybe I should say arse. (I loved saying arse.) I let out a breath, and he looked back up at me as if he had just remembered I was standing there.
I chose the gentle approach. It looked like someone was having a bad day, and theoretically, our day hadn’t even started yet. Better get this handled now or we were going to be out there for longer than required. Brrr.
I knelt in front of him and took the hand he had been resting over his knee between mine. Our eyes met, and he gave me a wary look.
“What’s going on, Hugh?” I asked.
He didn’t respond immediately, as if he were working up the nerve to tell me the truth. His brows furrowed, his eyelids shut, and I fixated on his impossibly thick, light brown eyelashes. I often wondered why guys were always the ones with better eyelashes. Was it a genetic attribute to get the woman to fall for the man, much like a male bird’s feathers were brighter and more colorful than his female counterpart’s? What was with male eyelashes, really?
“Hugh, are you feeling okay?” He nodded. “Tell me what’s going on. You can talk to me.” Just then, he looked at me, eyebrows raised in surprise. He exhaled, and when his warm breath caressed my face, I realized how close we were. I was on my knees, in front of him, our faces just a few inches away from each other. “It’s nothing, Sam. Dinna fash yourself,” he said with a small smile, trying to hide what was anguishing him. “I guess it’s just a little performance anxiety.” He was supposed to shoot a pivotal emotional scene that day, when Abarath comes back home after a mission only to find death and destruction at his parents’ estate in Broochmar.
“Stop it, Hugh.”
“Stop what?” he asked.
“I know this is not my area of expertise, but I believe you’re overthinking it.”
“Am I?” He raised both eyebrows at me, his jaw taut, his lips pressed together.
“You so are. Now, I may not be the actor here, but I grew up with one, which means I do have some experience in the matter.” I gave him a convincing smile, and he stifled a laugh, smiling back at me.
“You do?”
“Yes, my sister is Mira Farouk.”
“Mira Farouk is your sister?” he asked in a tone of surprise, his eyes widening. “Why have I never made the connection before?”
“Because we look nothing alike. Yes, she’s my sister, but we don’t have time for that right now. We need to get you ready for your next scene.”
“Okay, so what have you got for me?” I quickly glanced at my phone. We were running late.
“Well, I know that your next scene is pretty dramatic and emotional—”
“Correct. So, what’s yer advice?” he asked with a smug smile.
“I am not going to tell you to do what Lee Strasberg recommended.”
“Which was…?” he asked with a hint of amusement.
“Pull a hair out of your nose,” I deadpanned, and he laughed. “No, seriously, he really said that! It’s supposed to help you cry. You can thank Amira—I mean Mira—she’s the reason I even know any of this.”
He seemed to be a little more relaxed; the frown between his brows disappeared for a moment, and his shoulders sank. “What else do you know?” His voice was low, but his tone was so deep it felt like a low rumble in my ears. Gahh, it was so sexy. He could have read me anything, any time.
I pressed my eyebrows together, trying to remember what I had learned through my sister. “Well, there are actors and coaches who do not believe in rehearsing.’”
“Do you believe that?” He cocked one eyebrow at me.
“Yes and no. There are many acting teachers who swear by preparation, and many others who just believe you should jump into a scene.” He nodded and remained quiet, his eyes fixed on me. “Now, what I think we have here is a severe case of head-stuck-up-your-arse,” I told him, pronouncing the last word with a British accent. “Jokes aside, I think your brain is playing tricks on you. You just need someone to talk some sense into you.” He hung his head, and I placed my hands on his shoulders, shaking him lightly so he would look at me. He did, and I felt his eyes piercing me. “You’re a trained actor. You’ve worked your ass off for years. You are perfectly capable of going out there and slaying this scene.” I stretched my arm and pointed outside. “You’re going to go out there and murder this scene.” Over and over and over, no matter how many times that prick out there wants you to repeat it. “And I guarantee you, by the end of the day, there will not be one dry eye. Everyone is going to lose it when they watch the dailies.” I fixed the lapels of his coat and grabbed his chin in my hand, realizing too late I shouldn’t have done it. Oh, well.
“You got this.” I wasn’t just telling him what he needed to hear; I honestly believed what I was saying. I had seen enough from him to know he had range, and I knew he had it in him. He’d just gotten stuck. It happened to all of us. I was sort of stuck myself. I had been living the last few months on autopilot, and I was just now feeling like I was grasping the steering wheel of my life again.
His smile returned, and this time it reached his beautiful eyes. We stared at each other for a few more seconds, and I felt as if his fiery-blue depths were able to reach inside of me. My heart started galloping within my chest, and I let out a breath.
He stood up and stretched out his hand to help me get up. We left the trailer and walked toward the set.
“Thank ye, Sam.” It was a simple expression of gratitude, but the look in his eyes was so intense, it could have set my panties on fire.
“You got it. I’ll send you an invoice for my services.” That earned me another laugh from him, and the kindling fire inside my chest started burning a little brighter, a little stronger.
Hugh
It had never happened to me before to get stuck like that. I’d always looked forward to a challenging scene. I had never experienced that kind of panic, and I would have hated for anyone to witness it. I didn’t want anyone to question my capabilities or think I wasn’t up to the task, but somehow I didn’t mind that she had seen the state I was in. When she accompanied me to the set, I felt a renewed sense of calm, a peace, and a confidence I had been longing to find all morning. She had helped get my head out of my arse.
“Thank ye,” I told her again before I said good-bye.
“I didn’t do anything. Go out there and kill it.”
I nodded. “Will ye stay here? For a little bit?”
“Okay.” She smiled at me, and my chest felt suddenly warmer, filled with something I couldn’t explain. It was a feeling that encompassed both hope and excitement. I had felt it before around her, but I thought it was just because she was attractive. I could have stared at her brown eyes all day, but the director had already acknowledged my presence, and the assistant director was ordering everyone around to take places.
I took a deep breath and paced a few steps, emptying my mind of everything: my sudden nervousness, the pressure I felt I was under, the way Sam’s eyes affected me…the way her presence affected me.
I walked to the spot the production assistant pointed to and stood there, head down, focusing on my breath, trying to get in the zone. Someone called “Action!” and in that moment, I became Abarath again.
Sam
There it was. It was what I loved the most about this job: the moment when everyone shut their mouth, the camera started rolling, and the actor became the character. I loved that moment, the moment when fiction became something tridimensional. No matter how stressful and draining working on set was, moments like these were what I did it for. This was why I loved my job so much.
>
Being able to witness a story brought to life, just like this, before anyone else could see it unfold? It was priceless. No matter how many people were around, from light technicians to camera operators to sound techs, everything disappeared the moment the actor said his lines. I was completely enthralled by that magic. It was as if everyone were collectively holding their breath as fiction made its way into reality.
I couldn’t tell how long I stayed out there watching Hugh; there was a small part of my brain telling me I should probably go back to my quarters, but I couldn’t walk away, and I didn’t want to, especially after he’d asked me to stay. My heart broke when he shot the scene the first time. I knew what was going to happen, and yet I wasn’t ready for it. My body shook as he cried out when he found and embraced the dead body of his mother, and tears started rolling down my cheeks as they shot the scene for a third time. Time after time, his performance was nuanced by a different subtle shade of heartbreak, and my own heart could not take it.
The director called for a break and then touch-ups, and it took me a few seconds to snap out of my daze. Thankfully I had my kit on me, so I walked over to him as someone handed him a bottle of water. He took a swig and nodded in my direction, acknowledging me as I approached him. I replied with a small smile, careful not to say anything to him, not wanting to distract him with small talk.
I took his chin in my hand and started fixing the smudge of blood that had dried out. I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn’t want to meet his. There were at least thirty people around us, and I suddenly felt exposed. I wanted to tell him how great he’d been, but I knew better. I was going to wait until later, when the day was over. From the corner of my eye, I saw him lift his index finger. He wiped one of my tears away, and I closed my eyes, relishing his touch. I told myself it was small and insignificant, but my heart wanted to turn it into something bigger. Our eyes locked, and I smiled shyly at him. He looked as if he wanted to say something, his lips slightly parted. His breath was warm and ragged, his eyes wide and bluer in the sunlight. The day’s weather was some of the best I had seen: chilly, but with a bright sunshine. It created a stark contrast with the macabre scene we were shooting.
Lost in Scotland Page 7
