“How many people live here?” I called out.
“About a thousand, I’d say, but they have to contend with swarms of tourists.” Eamon led us up the street to a restaurant that looked like an old, white barn surrounded by aged picnic tables. Tí Joe Watty’s was scrawled on the outside above a violin.
“It’s a fiddle,” Eamon said like he was arguing with my thoughts. “Come on, then. Everyone is excited to see you.”
Everyone?
He hauled open the outer door, and Ryder rushed for the inner one, and then we were staring at everyone. At least fifty cast and crew members, all holding up drinks. Petite Cate Collins stood on a chair at the center of the dim restaurant, raising a pint glass. “…not exactly a successful first day on location but—” Her words caught at the sight of us. “Witness our luck! M. E. Thorne’s grandchildren have arrived to bless our production.”
Oh, for crying out loud…
“Hey, guys!” Ryder yelled.
Everyone laughed, followed by a raucous call of “Sláinte!”
“It’s Irish for cheers,” Eamon said.
“I know,” I muttered, although I didn’t.
Cate rushed over. Her hair was tightly buzzed and beautifully gray. The laugh lines around her eyes were both sculpted and youthful. But all that aside, I bristled, recognizing the same intense excitement that had set off all my Thornian alarm bells back in LA months ago.
Dad, Ryder, and I had finally taken the bait and found our way to the Vantage Pictures lot and up to her office, where Cate had wept upon meeting us. “Elementia saved my life,” she’d said while holding my hand like she wanted to steal it and keep it in an ornate box. She’d told us her vision for the adaptation that was days away from initial filming. Cate believed—fiercely—that the story should be celebrated as the feminist answer to Tolkien’s male-dominated world, and that her home country of Ireland would benefit from the same tourist adoration that New Zealand had garnered in light of The Lord of the Rings films.
I glanced around the rustic interior of Tí Joe Watty’s. Ireland might need to leave the nineteenth century if they wanted attention from the outside world, but then, the laughing, drinking production crew reminded me that a lot of people liked this sort of thing.
Cate was hugging Ryder too hard. I pried her off, trying to ignore the way Ryder hugged her tightly as well. “We’re hungry,” I said.
“Sure, sure!” She rushed us over to a table and soon meaty sandwiches and “chips” appeared.
“They’re french fries,” I said to myself, not exactly surprised, but tired.
“Oh, what a world that has different names for things,” Eamon shot back, sitting too close. His crystal eyes threatened to do that snarky wink again, and I tried to scoot away without luck. Five of us were stuffed around a circular table meant for two. Besides Eamon, Ryder, and Cate, we were introduced to a thin man with a floppy hat, who was hunched over a notebook. “This is Henrik,” Cate said. “He’s the AD.”
Henrik peered at me through darkly tinted glasses. “I’m here to make sure this movie makes sense to people who haven’t memorized the books.”
I liked him immediately. “Not a fantasy fan?”
“I have other allegiances.” He pulled up his shirtsleeve, revealing J. R. R. Tolkien’s stylized initials tattooed on the brown skin of his left forearm. Good Lord, what is it with nerds and their tattoos? “I’m a supporter of the original trilogy.”
“Oh please, Henrik. M. E. Thorne was not a copycat.” Cate seemed to fall headlong into an ongoing argument. “Thorne’s story is about women saving the world. Tolkien went to the George Lucas school of ‘one woman per universe.’”
“Galadriel, Arwen, Éowyn,” Henrik listed.
“Oh? Three is it? Oh, that’s much better. Three women per universe should do the job.”
“Lúthien!” he snapped. “Or how about Haleth the Hunter? She killed thousands of orcs.”
“The Silmarillion characters don’t count,” Cate said. “That’s an entirely different book.”
Ryder was smiling hugely at their debate, and I couldn’t help weighing in too.
“I see Henrik’s point,” I said, enjoying Cate’s growl. “Elves. Magic trees. A world in peril. That all sounds Middle Earth to me.”
Henrik’s satisfied grin was a bit trollish.
“This is anarchy,” Cate said. “First, these fantasies, all of them, draw from The Canterbury Tales. Chaucer is the one who deserves the rights check from Tolkien, Lewis, Thorne, Rowling, et cetera. Secondly”—she turned at me—“how could you not see the genius of your grandmother’s legacy?”
“I haven’t read the books,” I admitted proudly. “I’m—”
“She might be putting on a fair show, Cate,” Eamon butted in, crossing his arms as he turned at me. “Ryder says your da read it to him when he was six. And you’re saying that your da didn’t read it to you as well? I don’t believe it.”
If I thought my face was red when we’d walked in, it was lava now. No, my dad had never read the books to me, and he’d only read them to my brother as part of Ryder’s post-attempted-abduction therapy. My dad’s voice filled my head, louder than usual: Don’t say a word, Iris. These people cannot be reasoned with.
Cate and Eamon left me alone, discussing his elf ears before hauling over a girl who didn’t seem much older than me. Her hair was shaved on one side and twisted into blond-and-pink spirals on the other. She wore fingerless gloves and laughed easily with her director boss. What I wouldn’t give to be more like her. Artsy. Bold. Confident. People didn’t mess with girls who looked like that. They messed with girls who looked like me—long hair without a committed style, enough makeup to seem like no makeup, decent clothes that didn’t flare into any particular style. In short, girls who were a dead ringer for their dead grandmother.
“And this is Iris,” Eamon said. “M. E. Thorne’s granddaughter. She’s delighted to be here.” In my defense, I was scowling long before that introduction.
The girl stuck out her hand. “Roxanne. Makeup artist.” Great. She even had a cool name.
I managed a stiff smile and shook her hand across the tiny table.
“Roxy did my ears,” Eamon said. “And she worked on that Shannara program you were talking about enjoying earlier.” Roxanne beamed; apparently this was not a joke. Eamon’s grin teased. “Lots of elves on that program, Iris?”
“We call them TV shows,” I said. Oh my God, I was going to have to murder Eamon O’Brien, and I’d only just met him. Cate appraised me with a disappointed look, and I didn’t like that either. “Yeah, I guess I only saw the commercials. Looked cool. I’ll have to put it on my watch list,” I added to Roxanne so that I didn’t seem like a complete jerk.
Roxy gave me a half-smile. She knew I wasn’t trying to insult her. She knew Eamon was messing with me. She knew that I had zero interest in being here. And she knew all that because girls don’t get as cool as her without being perceptive about everything.
I made a study of my french fries…chips…whatever…until everyone left me alone. The truth that had taken over my thoughts on the ferry—that this whole production was a lot bigger than I knew—made me scoot my chair closer to Henrik. He hooked an eyebrow at me. “Why was it a bad first day?” I asked. “What went wrong?” Smooth, Iris.
Henrik glared at his notebook and muttered, “Cate films in sequence. She believes it encourages the actors to feel the story, but it causes time constraints. And we only have two weeks to film a month’s worth. We spent all day waiting for the clouds to lift for one shot when we could have set up another day and had it in an hour.”
“We got the shot. Didn’t we, Henrik?” So Cate was listening. He nodded, and she aimed that Irish accent—mildly tuned down after a few decades in California—at me. “Your father sent me an email about you, Iris. He says you can be rather negative.”
I bit my tongue, literally. If that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle… “But I bet with a little focus and exposure, we can turn you into a wild-hearted Thornian.”
Ryder laughed hard, coughing on a fry. I thumped his back, smacking hands with Eamon who was also trying to help. I pushed him away. This guy had gotten into my business fast. They all had. “So is this fantasy conversion camp or the set for a major motion picture?” I snarked.
Cate leaned forward. “Maybe it’s both.”
“Iris is a songwriter, Cate,” Eamon interrupted. “She brought her guitar and everything.”
Cate looked too interested, so I tried to head off whatever inquisition might come next.
“Where are the restrooms?”
“We call them toilets,” Eamon said, still with the baiting humor, still unaware of how unfunny this all was to me.
“How specific,” I shot back.
Eamon pointed, eyebrows raised.
I shimmied out from behind the table, while Ryder watched me with a tilted head that made him look like a terrier pup. No doubt trying to understand why his big sister made everything so awkward.
MEET CUTE: ENTER HOLLYWOOD HUNK LOVE INTEREST
a.k.a. the Orlando Bloom Eye Candy of This Film
The restaurant was louder by the time I got back from the bathroom. A three-person band had appeared in the corner, playing traditional Irish music that seemed invented to accompany laughing. Back at my table, Eamon was downing a pint, and I thought maybe I could jump on the alcohol train as well. Maybe that would make the room stop closing in.
The bartender stared at me for a full minute before I found the words. What did people drink here? Oh yeah. “A Guinness?”
“You’re not eighteen,” he said.
“I will be in seven months,” I tried.
He shook his head.
“Fine.” I slumped on a barstool. “Water, please?”
He filled a glass from the tap and set it down. The water was cloudy and warm. I stared into the murkiness, looking for my life.
“Find any tadpoles? I definitely found a tadpole in mine.”
The voice was like sudden sunshine, and I slipped off the edge of my seat. My legs caught me, and I looked up from a leather jacket—that probably cost as much as Eamon’s car—to a chiseled, smiling face.
Julian freakin’ Young.
“Hi, Julian.”
“Hi…?”
He doesn’t remember me. Why would he remember me?
“I almost have it,” he said. “Give me a second.”
“Iris,” I said, and his smile broadened. His teeth weren’t Hollywood caps—two of the bottom ones had a little lean to them. A perfect imperfection.
“Didn’t we meet over a water cooler a few months back?”
Holy crap, he does remember me! “Yeah. Outside Cate’s office. On the Vantage lot.”
“One sec.” He slipped his phone out of his jacket pocket and began texting swiftly while I recalled every detail of my first encounter with Julian Young, a story I’d regaled my school friends with at least a dozen times.
Cate had been mid-Elementia speech when my dad lost his cool and started dropping f-bombs. I’d taken Ryder to the bathroom, and while waiting in the hallway, filling a little paper cone with water from the cooler, I’d bumped shoulder to shoulder with Julian. His T-shirt hugged his biceps so hard my thoughts flickered with indecency.
“You’re going to be in the movie?” I’d blurted, my eyes attempting to rip off said shirt.
“I’m the twin brother, Eager. Eric? Sorry, all the names sound the same, and I’m coming off a different production. My head isn’t in it yet. Who’s the brother again?”
“That’s all right,” I’d said fast. “I don’t know his name either.” A tiny lie. I knew the main characters and a few odd details. Couldn’t avoid them once Ryder had become obsessed.
Julian leaned in, smelling of sandalwood. “Can I tell you a secret? I haven’t read those books.”
“I love you.” Well, I didn’t say that, but God, the words were right on my lips.
“But I’ll read them soon. For the role. That would be professional, right?”
I’d nodded fervently. There were few people in this world who could make Grandma Mae’s books seem legit. Julian Young, twenty-one-year-old movie star, was one of them.
“You two need bottled water?” the bartender asked, bringing me back to Ireland. Julian was still texting, the ghost of a smile on his lips.
“No, thanks. This looks great,” I said. Julian laughed. I made Julian Young laugh.
He dropped his phone in his pocket and clinked his glass with mine. “You didn’t tell me you were a famous grandkid.”
“Well.” I swallowed the earthy water. “No sense bragging. Plus, I’m like you.” Pause for effect. “I’m not into those books.”
“You’ve gotta meet Shosh.” He took my hand—whoa—and pulled me to a dark corner booth where a stunning girl with wild, curly hair was holding court. I recognized her from the boat beneath the cliff. “Iris Thorne, this is Shoshanna Reyes. Our Sevyn.”
A swift memory scan confirmed that Sevyn was the heroine of Elementia.
Shoshanna did an admirable job of looking interested in me, but we both knew we were different girl species. While Roxanne had made me feel plain Jane, Shoshanna’s royal presence instantly had me questioning if I was an alien. She leaned back and cocked her head, proving that while she might be near my age, she was more comfortable in her body than I’d ever be in mine. Movie stars, I realized with a pinch. I was sitting at a table with movie stars.
“Shosh is my film twin,” Julian said as if he were enjoying that detail too much.
“Yeah, I see it,” I tried. “You do kind of look alike.”
Shoshanna narrowed her eyes on me. “Are you racist or hopelessly naïve?”
I had been taking a sip from my glass and my mouth malfunctioned. Warm water poured down my chin, making Shoshanna bark a deep laugh.
Julian took my cup and actually wiped my chin with his thumb. “Seriously, Shosh? Why do you do that?” She shrugged, and I had no idea what was happening except that I had been doing far, far better at the table with the über nerds. “We’re both part Filipino,” he said.
“We’re the studio’s token attempt at putting some color in the cast,” she added.
“That’s…” A few choice words flashed through my mind. Nothing felt appropriate. “Terrible,” I managed. “Of them. Sorry, I don’t know what to say.”
Shoshanna held up her palm triumphantly, as if I’d proved a point. “That’s why I do it, Julian. Honesty in a hurry.” She turned to me, her eyes wildly bright and her hair a halo of curls. “We meet a lot of empty heads in this business. I like to know right away who I’m dealing with. You seem all right.”
I do?
“But you’re also the granddaughter. Cate has been going on and on about how you and your brother are going to be our good-luck charms.”
“That’s so creepy,” I said. Shoshanna laughed. Minor mission accomplished.
Julian leaned in. “See? She’s not a nerd, Shosh. She’s with us.”
• • •
The rest of the evening got loud and blurry. And I learned a lot.
For one, Shoshanna had not been in that boat beneath the cliff. That was Jessica, her stunt double. Also, Shoshanna was going to murder Julian if he didn’t quit calling her “Shosh.” Most importantly, the Elementia fanaticism was keeping these two actors isolated—something I could relate to. Apparently the crew was made up of hardcore Thornians, working at minimum wage for the experience. Even after two months of soundstage filming back on the Vantage lot, Julian and Shoshanna still had no idea why everyone was nuts about Elementia.
So I told them ridiculous Thornian anecdotes. I even recycled the mishap with m
y in-flight boyfriend and his torso map. They didn’t believe me when I said he’d asked to take me out for my birthday, so I slapped his card on the table.
“Fame leeches. Such a-holes.” Shoshanna dropped the card in her empty whiskey glass. She quirked a smile at Julian before adding, “Julian’s much nicer about his fans.”
He leaned back, clasping his hands behind his beautiful head of dark hair. “My fans keep me working. I appreciate them.” He was being so earnest, and I actually imagined Oscar Wilde sitting up in his grave to do a slow clap.
The cast and crew left the restaurant in a large group, and call it jet lag or being plain fed up with caring for an eight-year-old, but I sort of forgot about Ryder until we arrived at a circle of small production trailers. Ryder and I had been assigned to one, which wasn’t the greatest news, except that we were right next to Julian’s.
“Your brother is inside,” Eamon said, pointing toward my door. “He’s a bit homesick.”
“Okay.” I trudged up the steps. Julian had disappeared a few moments earlier, tucking his phone to his ear and speaking in a hushed voice. He hadn’t even said good night.
“Missing something, Iris?” Eamon called out. I looked back, and he held up Annie.
“Oh my God, thank you!” I rushed forward and took it, shocked that I’d forgotten about her. Was it the star power of Julian and Shoshanna, or was I that far out of my element?
“I’m sorry I was slagging you back in the pub,” he said. “It’s odd, you being in the middle of all this and not caring for any of it.”
I looked at Eamon for real. Past the fake ears and scrappy hair. He had no idea how to talk to girls, and I don’t know where it had come from, but he was now wearing a backpack like he was waiting for a ride to school. How in the world was he supposed to blend in on-screen with his costars? Maybe I felt sorry for him. Maybe I related.
“I’m here for Ryder. This means the world to him. Up until about a year ago, he thought he was part elf.” That was hardly the entire story, but there was no need to drag out Ryder’s history with Elementia’s rabid fans.
Now a Major Motion Picture Page 3
