by Lia London
Jill joined Chieko and Crawford at the wall—and by wall, she could hear Milo calling it “the knee-high stumbling block over which chihuahuas and small children have surely plunged.” The Columbia River stretched broad as a lake to the horizon both east and west. Every shade of green and blue, from the grasses and trees to the sky and the water, enhanced the splashes of citrus colors in crops growing on the opposite shore. All of this draped over the majestic cliffs of slate rock. With the wind at this altitude, she felt like a kite soaring high above the epic scenery. She inhaled the wonder of it all.
“There sure are a lot of semi-trucks down there,” said Crawford. “Come on. Let’s get a shot of this.” He pulled them in close for a selfie.
Huddled up against his taut body, the thought occurred to Jill that fewer and fewer guys had asked her out in the last year or two. Was she no longer attractive? And why had Milo never made a move? Or would that be weird?
She strolled up the cement steps and into the domed Vista House, like a giant stone gazebo with massive pillars instead of white posts.
“Romantic, isn’t it?” said Chieko with a hopeful look at Crawford.
Jill sighed. Milo was having lunch with Amaya, and here she was playing third wheel to Crawford and Chieko.
The Museum sign pointed to a flight of stairs, so they made their way down the narrow passage to an extensive display of hundred-year-old photographs. Jill went from frame to frame, wishing Milo were with her. He’d find it interesting, and would in turn make it more so for her.
Chieko’s flirting giggles reached the raucous laughter phase, and Jill watched with a pang of self-pity. She was used to getting all the attention … from Milo. Did that count?
She watched Crawford closely, appreciating his charisma, but the feelings stopped from the neck up. Why? If she tried, she could probably win Crawford away from Chieko in a matter of minutes.
“So, where are you guys visiting from?” asked a middle-aged docent with smudged glasses and a Multnomah County logo on his shirt.
Crawford slid a wry grin at Chieko and Jill. “We’re in town for a televised event.”
Jill widened her eyes and dragged a fingernail across her neck.
The docent snapped his finger and beamed at Chieko. “That’s it! I’ve seen you on the news.” He began puffing up and glancing around as if for a hidden camera man.
Jill chewed the inside of her cheeks to keep from laughing. Holding her hands in a shot-framing gesture, she strode up to Crawford and Chieko. “I don’t know, Miss Makiguchi. The lighting isn’t very consistent. Are you sure you want to film it here?”
Chieko’s smile froze for a second, and then she laughed. “You’re right. Let’s take it outdoors.”
“Wait, so you aren’t doing a spot on the gift shop?” The docent drooped.
“Not this time,” said Chieko. “But you keep watching for me on TV. I hope you see me soon!”
Milo and Jill sat at either end of her couch, their legs almost entwined in the middle. His reward for trying out with her was to watch whatever he wanted, so she kept her eyes glued on Tides of Port Delano, and he gazed at her with conflicting waves of despair and desire. Of course, he had forgiven her for the lunch-hike mix-up. It had been an innocent confusion with so many people involved, right? Or did she actually have a crush on Crawford?
On screen, the actors had mastered certain survival techniques: chest-heaving without making any actual respiratory noises, and pausing at the end of key lines to stare with focused emotional energy so that the camera could go back and forth between character close-ups and any significant props, like guns, affidavits, or snorkeling gear. On the couch, Milo felt like he might explode if he didn’t touch her … or if he did.
When she shifted to face the screen more directly, Milo closed the gap between them as much as casually possible. Just behind her line of sight, he gazed at her hair, imagining her face, longing for her to turn around. His lips parted, poised to steal the kiss…
The TV cut to a commercial, and Jill glanced at Milo in time to see his mouth pop shut. She misread the gesture. “I know! What a plot twist!” She knocked her shoulder against his playfully. “Thanks for letting us watch this!”
“You look much better in a hospital gown than Blondelle.”
Jill wriggled her nose and slurped from the dregs of her Mega Gulp.
Why didn’t she ever respond when he complimented her? Had he done it so often she thought he didn’t mean it?
Jill pursed her lips. “We should probably head over to the gym after this.”
His heart sank. “Because I have to buff up if I’m going to win?”
“Not you, dummy. Me. Haven’t you ever noticed that soap star women have amazing arms? Not a jiggle anywhere. Solid. I need you to train me.”
“You need me …”
Jill furrowed her brows. “I’m sorry, Milo. I’m totally taking advantage of you. I didn’t even ask. What a crappy friend I am. Did you have other stuff that you wanted to do to get ready for next week’s filming?”
He brushed his hand on her arm in a gentle caress. “No. I’m all yours.”
The empty play structure resembled a big cube of plumbing pipes cut and stacked in grids. Nothing fancy, but Milo found a dozen ways to make Jill climb and crunch and generally sweat her skin off. Hanging from the lowest bar in an upside-down push-up, he did a few reps of pull-ups. “Maybe three sets of twenty and we can call it good for the day?”
Jill groaned and tried to position herself. “There is no graceful way to do this, is there?”
“Probably not.”
Sitting on the wood chips that kept the area from being muddy, she wriggled under the bar. “If I get splinters in my butt—”
“I’ve got pliers back at my apartment.”
Jill cracked up, lay back, and sprawled under the bars, giving into exhaustion for just a minute. She sighed and took in the view of the pine branches above that stretched across the pale blue sky. “Can’t we be done?”
Milo folded himself between the bars until he perched above her. “Come on, Jill. This was your idea. I’m here to see you through it.”
With a grunt, she hoisted herself into position and gripped the bars. “Count for me.”
“You got this.” He counted while she huffed and puffed, and by the second set, he had maneuvered himself to balance horizontally on the bars one rung up, resembling a kid reading a comic book while levitating on his stomach. Jill felt her eyes drawn to his, and in them, she saw the hundreds of times he’d done this kind of thing for her in an epic montage of loyalty and longsuffering. With each pull-up, she felt his strength come into her, and she wondered what she’d done to deserve such a perfect friend.
What would she do if this latest venture took them in different directions? What would she do if he and Amaya became a thing and she needed to give him relationship space? What would she do if …
“Jill?” He reached down and touched her hand. “You got it. Way more than you needed.”
“Huh?” Jill stared, motionless, at the spot where his fingers touched hers. “Oh. Right. Of course.” She breathed a soft laugh. He seemed to hover just above her, and yet she could feel his nearness as if nothing separated them at all. “Thanks.” It came out quietly, maybe because she was winded by the work out. Or maybe she was winded by the sudden fear of losing Milo.
Scene 8: Monologs
Milo gripped the steering wheel tighter and changed lanes. “I can’t believe I had to rent a tuxedo for this.” He hated rush hour traffic, and the fancy suit squeezed the patience right out of him. “Okay, well can you read my lines to me a few times so I can at least internalize the mood before I get there?”
“Sure, it’s the least I can do after you helped me tone my triceps all week.” She pulled up the email on her phone and started feeding him a sentence at a time. Milo knew she wanted to polish her own monolog, but she didn’t complain. He smiled at the thought. She’d been like that forever: flighty and obl
ivious most of the time, and then suddenly really focused, helpful and big-hearted. Those were the moments that tied his heart to her.
The sound of her voice soothed his latent road rage. “I don’t know how the other contestants are handling the stress without having their best friend with them.”
Jill smiled. “I know. I can’t imagine doing all this stuff without you.”
Milo could hear her feeding him his lines, and he felt his lips move to recite them, but all that registered in his brain was that she didn’t want to do this without him. Maybe she just meant for the competition, but if so, he hoped it never ended. He’d just have to keep winning as long as she did.
His aching for her swelled. When was he ever going to find the right moment to tell her how he felt?
“Wow, Milo. That was incredible. I can really feel the emotion. You’re going to kill this scene!”
***
Milo held the door open to the lobby and let Jill enter first. Chieko paced up and down the back wall muttering to herself. In her flowery dress, she looked like a confused fairy, but he figured she was reviewing her lines.
Milo took a deep breath and elbowed Jill. “Knock ’em dead.”
She grinned. “You, too.”
His fingers made an unauthorized move towards her face before his brain engaged again. “Hey, don’t forget to practice your scowl.”
She frowned and winked at the same time, making him chuckle.
Turning to find his canvas seat, Milo almost tripped over Crawford, who knocked out the world’s fastest push-ups. Milo hopped over him during a dip, and made his way to Janot. She smiled and got to work without a word, brushing and shellacking.
The door to the stage opened with a bang and Parker stormed through, followed by Antonio, Amaya, and the burlier of the two cameramen who had been working the show. “Okay gang, this is Ned. He’s either going to be your best friend or your worst enemy because he’s the guy in charge of close-ups. We’ve got five minutes before we start the shoots, and for the love of peanut butter, if you don’t know your lines yet, fake it. You know the drill. Ad libbers win. Gaping fish faces go home early.”
She swept back out, leaving Ned to smack his bubble gum and eye the contestants smugly.
Jill wasted no time slinking up in her stilettos. “I’m Jill Ripley, and believe it or not, I’m your new best friend.”
Ned popped a bubble and made a big show of bringing it back into his mouth with his tongue. “I’m willing to believe that.”
Jill let her hip slip a little to the side, pulling the skirt tighter. Every man in the room noticed, much to Milo’s annoyance.
“So, ever seen anyone like me before?” Her voice lilted, and Milo felt sick watching her flirt with such a slab of beef.
“Lots of times,” said Ned.
Amaya and Chieko both suppressed grins, but Jill held her pose. Ned let his eyes do a lap down and up her whole body. “Never get tired of it though.”
***
Parker lined everyone up near a folding table with a box of props in it. “I’ve got a meeting with the rest of the crew in an hour, and I need to get these monologs shot fast. Make ’em good or you’ll look really bad, really big. She positioned Ned and consulted her clipboard.
“I’m going to die,” muttered Chieko, looking visibly flustered.
“Then let’s shoot you first,” said Parker.
Milo snickered at the unintentional pun as Parker steered Chieko up onto a step ladder in front of the green screen. “This is Blythe at the Cliff” She poked Chieko’s knee. “Up to the top step, please.” Squinting into the dark recesses of the stage, she called, “Where’s that wind machine?”
A timid voice from the abyss said, “Uh.”
“Uh?” Parker echoed.
“Ever notice how Parker can be scary with only one syllable?” whispered Milo.
Jill giggled, and Milo ventured a few inches closer, feeling his whole arm brush up against her back. Heat surged through him.
The voice in the shadows came out muffled. “It’s busted. Somebody threw pasta into it.”
Parker dragged her hand down her face. “I don’t want to know.”
“I do.” Jill winked at Milo.
Another flash of heat. Weather stations were going to pick up the disturbances before long.
“Find something! Fast!” Parker raged.
The faceless stagehand clanked around in the equipment, and Parker turned to glare at Chieko. “Why aren’t you on the top rung yet? We need the angle. All the imagery is going on the green screen. Spacing is everything.”
“Huh? Oh.” Chieko climbed higher. “Here?”
Parker’s neck veins flexed. “I need a fan or something out here now!”
A saggy stagehand trotted up with a regular oscillating fan and an extension cord. She turned it on and held it up to show Parker, who responded like a cat caught in a sprinkler.
Jill buried her face in Milo’s shoulder. “Oh my gosh, I’m going to pee.”
“No bed pan in this scene. I’d hold off.”
Jill slapped his back and giggled while he wished the stage hand would point the fan in his direction.
“In three, two, one.” Parker stepped back and Ned zoomed in.
On the monitor screen, Chieko looked genuinely terrified.
“Talk already,” said Ned.
Chieko took a deep breath and looked over her ‘cliff’. “I just don’t know what to do! I love Max, but I’m not ready to have six of his children all at once.” She paused and wrinkled her brow. “Wait, don’t I need a flag or something? I’m supposed to be signaling the yacht.”
“Cut!” Parker checked the prop box. Not finding what she needed, she bellowed, “Flag?”
The stagehand shrugged and searched the prop box too, still toting the operating fan. After untangling a mess of cloth and cord, the girl managed to get Chieko her prop.
Parker counted down again, and Chieko raised the flag. “I just don’t know what to do. I love Max, but I’m not—”
“Can’t see your face!” Ned snapped. “Flag’s in the way.”
Parker let fly a few words stronger than “peanut butter” before she regained her calm. “Okay, lose the flag. You’re going to have to use your body to signal to the yacht. Like this.” She formed a wide X with her arms and legs spread.
Chieko looked uncertain as Ned wheeled up closer. “What? Do I say my line now?”
“You’re on a hundred-foot cliff,” said Parker. “Look scared.”
“Lean,” coaxed Ned. “Good. Wider with the X.”
Chieko wobbled on the tiny platform of the step ladder. “Like this? I don’t know whaaa—” The crash was bad enough that no one laughed.
“Cut!” Parker clapped her hands once and raised her eyebrows. “Even better. A leap scene.” She grabbed her clipboard from under her arm. “Jill Ripley. Next!”
Jill hurried to the green screen which now had a fake tree in front of it. The monitor revealed it as the interior of a classy looking bar. In her cocktail dress, flushed with excitement, Milo thought Jill looked perfect. And then she adopted her perma-frown.
“Pretend Dr. Hogan is standing over there.” Parker stepped back and counted down.
Jill kept her moves very controlled, like a cat ready to pounce, and her eyes fixed on Milo with a mischievous glint. She spoke with the husky voice that always marked a soap character talking to herself. “That’s Dr. Rafe Hogan, the world-famous plastic surgeon. Mmm, he’s perfect. Look at him. That hair, those eyes.” She gazed at Milo with such intensity that he had to loosen his collar to cool his blush. “Look at me, doctor.” A shadow of pain flitted across her face and she turned her head aside dramatically. “But no. This rare disease will ruin everything. He’ll never find me attractive.” She turned blazing eyes to Milo, making his own eyes widen with anticipation. “I’ll have to use other ways to get his attention. I’ll make him fall in love with me, and then he can fix my face for free.” Standing tall, she f
lipped her hair and strode forward. “Dr. Rafe Hogan?” Her voice broadcast sexiness. “What a surprise to see you here!”
“And cut!” Parker and Ned exchanged satisfied nods.
Jill skipped over to Milo, clapping like a little girl. “I did it! Was I sexy enough?”
Milo gurgled. “Wish I could play Dr. Rafe Hogan.” Did I say that out loud?
“Me too!”
Did she say that out loud? His heart pounded with hope.
“The Car Wreck!” Parker motioned Crawford forward. “Okay, this is where you’re gasping out your final words.”
Jill frowned. “Don’t let them kill you, Crawford!”
Crawford winked back at her. “Sure thing, Sugar.”
Twin spikes of jealousy attacked Milo’s head and stomach during the exchange. He glanced over to where Crawford lay on a patch of fake grass and Parker rumpled his hair. “They’re trying to make him look near death.”
With a sigh, Jill gazed at Crawford. “It won’t work. At best, he’ll come across as a drunk Greek god. Eye candy, but not very convincing drama.”
Ned yawned and checked his phone. Milo hoped that meant the beach bum would look really bad, really big in the final cut.
Jill watched the monitor as Antonio brooded out behind the restaurant, cooling off after an argument with his boss. Even standing next to a green screen dumpster with distant neon lights flickering, he managed to rip her heart out.
“Vaya pues, Mr. Horne. Go ahead and fire me because I won’t cheat your customers. I’ll just find another job. Two or three if I have to. I need the money, and I’m not afraid of honest, hard work. My little sister is counting on me. I’m all she’s got. Do your best to hold me down, Mr. Horne, but I’m not living for myself. I’m living for Esperanza—hope. She needs food. She needs shoes. We came to this country to escape the crime that filled our city, and now a thug like you thinks he has the power to push the little guy around. Well, Mr. Horne, I’m not the little guy. I will fight back, and I will win.”
