Take One

by Karen Kingsbury

  “Hey.” Keith stopped and turned around. “Watch your language.”

  The offender’s eyes grew wide and he chuckled a few more times. “You talking to me?”

  “Absolutely.” Keith wasn’t one to lose his temper. But he didn’t want his cast and crew exposed to that kind of language. Not on the set of a movie with such a great message. “Find a better word choice.”

  The guy laughed again, and this time he elbowed the man next to him. “D’ya hear that? Find a better word choice?” He took a step closer and sneered at Keith. “I’ll use whatever words I feel like using.”

  “Listen.” Keith held his hands up. “I’m only asking if you’d watch your language.”

  The guy held his ground for a few seconds longer, and then backed down. “Whatever, man.” Under his breath he muttered, “Stick to producing and mind your own business.”

  Chase had kept quiet throughout the exchange, but he put his hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Come on. We need to eat.”

  As they walked on, they heard the guy talking to his friends, cussing every other word and speaking loud enough for Keith and Chase to hear as they walked away. They dished themselves chicken and rice and bowls of salad. Chase directed them to the production trailer. “Come on. We can eat in here.”

  Inside, Keith pushed his plate aside and leaned back in his metal folding chair, his eyes staring at the spot where the wall and ceiling met. “Do you feel it?”

  “The battle?” Chase whistled low. “I can feel it, all right.”

  “I mean, come on.” Keith uttered a desperate sort of laugh. “Our lead actor gets bitten by a dog?”

  “And then the below-the-line guys. The guy you were talking to is Steve Jenkins. He could’ve handled himself better.”

  “Yeah.” Keith thought about the Scripture verse again, the one he’d drawn on yesterday. Consider it pure joy … He sighed and found his smile. “All in a day’s work, right?”

  “At least we’re actually getting a day’s work in today.” Chase took a big bite of his chicken. “I need to check with Jake before lunch is over, see if wardrobe has something that’ll cover his bandage.”

  “He can switch to a smaller one tomorrow.” Keith was still composing himself. As they finished eating, he told Chase about Dr. Baxter and his offer for a Sunday dinner.

  “I remember their story, how Dayne was raised by a set of adoptive parents who were killed when he was just out of high school.”

  “Right. And when he first found the Baxters, the paparazzi were all over the story.”

  “It’s nice to know they’re aware of us.”

  “And that they’re praying.” Keith took the last bite of rice and dragged his napkin across his mouth. “He said Dayne might come by.”

  “That’d be great.” Chase grinned. “For us and the whole cast and crew.” Chase stood and headed for the door. “I’ll see you outside.” He stopped. “Don’t get down about today. Jake’ll heal, and grips are gonna cuss. There’s not much we can do about that.”

  “Jenkins could at least show a little respect. I mean, I was polite about asking.” Keith pushed his plate back from where he was sitting. “You imagine what would’ve happened if that dog had gotten Rita Reynolds?”

  Chase’s expression darkened. “Thought about it the whole time you were at the hospital. She would’ve called her agent and been on the next plane back to Hollywood.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that, we could’ve called it a day. No lead actress, no movie. Nothing to repay the investors.”

  The enormity of the possibility rested squarely on Keith’s shoulders. “I left another message with Ben Adams. Apparently he’s out of the country. I need to find a way to get on his radar.” He sighed. “Oh, and I talked to the handler. We’ll have a different dog here early this afternoon. The other one will take a week off before he works again.”

  “Amazing.” Chase shook his head and left the trailer.

  Alone with only the slight buzzing of the air conditioning, Keith stared out the small window at the trees that lined the street where they were filming. God … that was close … we could’ve lost everything.

  I’m with you, my son … don’t be discouraged, don’t lose heart. The battle is mine …

  Like a gentle breeze on the most stifling summer day, the answer from the Holy Spirit breathed life into Keith’s soul. He thought about Steve Jenkins and the other grips. The crew, everyone who worked behind the scenes, was considered “below the line.” An ongoing strike in Hollywood worked to their advantage this time, since they couldn’t afford union workers for the below-the-line jobs. Every one of the grips and techs and set guys were working for less pay than usual, but because there were no other jobs to take, they were grateful for any work at all. Each of them had signed an agreement attesting to the fact that they wouldn’t receive union wages, and that they understood this wasn’t a union film—at least not for anyone below the line.

  The cast, though, was considered above the line, and everyone who would appear on camera was working with union wages and conditions. It was the part of making movies Keith liked least of all—the separation between above and below the line, and the way both cast and crew expected an adversarial relationship between themselves and the producers. The cast and crew wanted an excellent picture, however long it took. The producers needed to keep everyone on track, and make sure that in the quest for excellence, the budget and timeline weren’t compromised.

  He pictured Jenkins again, the sneer on his face when he told Keith he’d use whatever words he wanted. How could God want them in an environment where He was mocked, in the quest of making a product where He was marveled at? The contradiction was unsettling, and it rattled the core of everything Keith believed about his decision to leave Indonesia for filmmaking.

  They were Davids in an entire industry of Goliaths, true. But Keith couldn’t settle for mediocrity—not in any area of making a movie. It wasn’t enough to make an unforgettable life-changing film. He and Chase needed to be a bright light along the way, pointing people to Christ, to a life different than the one they’d come to know in Hollywood. The goal had to be that the cast and crew no longer saw the distinction between union and non-union, on-screen talent or behind-the-scenes workers. So that no one on their set for a minute saw themselves as below the line, somehow lesser. Keith wanted every single person’s actions and attitudes, their character and commitment—on or off the screen until they wrapped the film—to be one place and one place only.

  Above the line.

  Period.

  Eight

  AUDITIONS WERE NOTHING LIKE WHAT BAILEY Flanigan was used to. At CKT, a hundred or more kids would gather in a room and watch one after another as their friends took the stage and struggled through a one-minute song. At Indiana University, they’d been allowed to sign up in time blocks, with groups of three other students.

  Bailey signed up Tim and Andi to join her for the afternoon audition at 2:10. She and Andi were already there, leaning against a cold brick wall and looking for Tim. Two groups were in line ahead of them, and though they could hear the faint sounds of someone singing in the auditorium, there was no way to tell whether any of the auditions had been great, or what sort of act they were going to follow.

  “CKT’s auditions were more fun.” Bailey had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She’d talked to her mom last night for a long time, telling her the assignments and essays already due in her classes over the next few weeks. That, and how she planned to get involved with Campus Crusade at the first meeting later this week.

  “You sure you want to do a play on top of everything else?” her mom hadn’t sounded doubtful, just curious. “It’s a lot for your first quarter.”

  But that was why Bailey had moved on campus, and she reminded her mother of the fact. She would get through this busy season, as long as she stayed organized. By the end of the phone call, her mom agreed.

  Andi shifted, restless beside her. “What if I throw up?”r />
  “Come on,” Bailey laughed. “You won’t throw up.”

  “I might. I want to act, not sing.”

  “You’ll do great. You could sound like a dying cat with your looks and you’d still get a part.”

  “Thanks.” Andi made a funny face. “I think, anyway.”

  They heard footsteps on the stairs and turned to see Tim bounding in their direction. He’d seen a picture of Andi, and she of him, but the two had never really met. Bailey watched him register Andi’s presence, and then turn his attention to her. He was out of breath as he hugged her. “I thought I’d be late.”

  “Nah.” Bailey kept her arm loosely around Tim’s waist. “We still have fifteen minutes.” She motioned to her roommate. “This is Andi Ellison. Andi … Tim Reed.”

  Andi wasn’t a flirt, but she carried with her a charisma that took over a room. She grinned at Tim. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Lead roles in a dozen plays, killer singing voice, you know … all the juicy details.”

  Tim blushed slightly beneath her gaze, and then he seemed to remember Bailey. “She exaggerates.” He tucked his arm around her waist and turned his attention completely to her. “What’re you singing?”

  Bailey didn’t mind that Tim was flustered by Andi’s presence. She and Andi were quickly becoming good friends, and Bailey could hold her own around her roommate. Andi couldn’t help the effect she had on guys, and at least she didn’t flaunt herself around them the way some girls did. She eased away from Tim, pulled her piano music from her bag, and handed it to him. “‘I’m Still Hurting,’ from Last Five Years.”

  “That’s perfect. Something Isabel would sing, for sure.”

  “I heard her practice.” Andi linked arms with Bailey. “She’s amazing. She’ll get Isabel for sure.” She played with a lock of her pale blonde hair. “What about you? There are lots of good parts for guys.”

  “He wants Scrooge.” Bailey gave Tim a teasing look. “Only the best for Tim Reed, right?”

  “Well …” Again Tim looked slightly embarrassed. “I’d be happy with any part, but … yeah, sure. Scrooge would be amazing.”

  The group ahead of them was called in and Bailey peered down the hallway. “Looks like our fourth person didn’t show.”

  “Great. I’ll probably have to sing first.” Andi grinned at the two of them. “Don’t make me laugh, okay? I mean, no matter how bad I am, don’t make me laugh.”

  They kept the conversation light until it was their turn. Once inside the auditorium, there were six director types sitting in the front row. One man seemed to be in charge, and he waved them up onto the stage where there were four chairs on the far side. On the opposite side, an older woman sat at an oversized grand piano. “Present your music to our pianist, and let’s have you sing in order. Please keep your audition to no more than two minutes.” He looked at his paper. “Bailey Flanigan, you go first.”

  Bailey was more nervous than she’d expected herself to be. She handed her music to the pianist and took a spot near the microphone at center stage. The director didn’t have to tell her to introduce herself and her musical selection. After years performing with CKT, that much went without saying. She quietly cleared her throat. “My name is Bailey Flanigan. I’m nineteen, and I’m a freshman.” She explained the song she’d be singing, and then she nodded to the woman at the piano.

  Okay, God … please help me do my best. She felt a strength and peace that wasn’t her own as she began. The section she’d chosen was just over a minute and a half, and Bailey sang it as well as she ever had. Along the way, she caught admiration in Tim’s eyes, and surprise in Andi’s. When she finished, she was filled with an exhilaration that came only from performing.

  The director thanked her, and then called Tim onto the stage. As Bailey took her spot in one of the chairs, Andi gave her hand a squeeze. “That was unbelievable,” she whispered. “Seriously, I can barely breathe, it was so good.”

  Tim was introducing himself, so they turned their attention to him. He sang This Moment from Jeckyl and Hyde, and as the song built and grew, Bailey was reminded again of just how much they’d grown as actors because of their time with CKT. She was glad the theater group was still helping kids, still under the direction of Katy Hart, and her husband, Dayne Matthews. The kids in Bloomington were blessed to have the program here.

  When Tim was finished, he took a chair beside Bailey, and Andi flashed them both an anxious look. “Pray for me. I’ll probably trip on my way up to the microphone.”

  “Andi Ellison.” The director’s tone was completely void of any humor. “You’re up, please.”

  Andi didn’t trip, and she didn’t get sick all over the stage as she took her place. She introduced herself and her music, and then she began to sing. From the moment she opened her mouth, Bailey could only sit back and stare. Andi hadn’t once rehearsed in front of her, insisting that she couldn’t sing, and didn’t want to sing. But here, as she launched into the theme from Beauty and the Beast, her voice sounded like something from an angel.

  “She’s good,” Tim whispered beside her.

  “So good.” Bailey couldn’t stop watching her. Combined with her looks and grace, and that certain something that couldn’t quite be defined, Andi was bound to get a lead role. Maybe even the part of Isabel. A shadow of jealousy cast itself over the moment, and Bailey fought against it. At the same time, she understood now why Andi was a theater major, why she pictured herself on the big screen one day. The way she commanded a stage, Bailey couldn’t think of anything that would stop her. So strong was her audition, that when she finished, Bailey half expected the directors to burst into applause. They stopped short of that, but their smiles made it clear they had caught what Bailey and Tim had seen.

  Andi Ellison was going to be a star.

  As they left the auditorium and the next group filed in, Andi was slightly winded from her performance. But rather than wait for feedback from Bailey or Tim, she launched into a story about her dad and the filming they were doing in downtown Bloomington.

  “It must be cool.” Tim stuck his hands in his pockets. His look fell just short of adulation. “You know, having your dad be a producer.”

  “I don’t know.” The three of them grabbed their things and walked toward the stairs at the far end of the hall. Andi seemed to make sure she kept Bailey in the middle. “My dad’s hard to please. He feels like people in Hollywood are pretty shady.” She gave a look that said she understood where her father was coming from. “I think he’d rather me be a teacher or a writer. Something a little safer.”

  As they walked, Bailey could almost feel something sitting on her shoulder, whispering discouragement and making her resent Andi for ever coming to Bloomington and being assigned as her roommate. Was this how it would be, competing against Andi for the next four years? Bailey couldn’t measure up to Andi in any area, so how great would that be? She stared at the floor while they walked, but as they reached the bottom of the stairs and headed out into the sunshine, she remembered that she hadn’t commented on Andi’s audition yet. “You have an unbelievable voice.” She smiled at Andi, hoping it looked genuine.

  Andi’s mouth came open and she made an exaggerated sound of disbelief. “Not really. I mean, I sang in choir, but I’m not a singer. Acting is my strength—at least I’ve always thought so.”

  “If you can act half as good as you sing, you’ll make it for sure.” Tim’s light laugh expressed his own appreciation for her audition. He peered around Bailey, his tone filled with awe and sincerity. “You were amazing, Andi. Where’d you learn to sing like that?”

  “Like what?” She hugged her bag to her chest and kept her eyes straight ahead. “I grew up in the jungle, guys. Choir at my Christian school, and that’s about it. Growing up, the only singing we did was worship songs around the campfire. I don’t know the first thing about performing.”

  “You fooled everyone in that auditorium.” Again Tim seemed to remember Bailey. He put his free hand around her
shoulder. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say I think we’ll all get cast.” He gave Bailey a light squeeze. “You were amazing too.”

  “Thanks.” Bailey was still silently fighting the jealousy welling inside her, but outside in the fresh air, she was recovering some. It wasn’t Andi’s fault she was born with a gifted voice. She grinned at her roommate. “How fun would that be, if we’re all cast?”

  “I don’t know.” Andi looked genuinely concerned. “I don’t have your experience.”

  Bailey wanted to tell her that she clearly didn’t have an accurate picture of her own abilities, but she let the moment pass.

  “You know what I’d like to see?” As they walked, Tim made eye contact with Andi and then Bailey. “I’d like to see the two of you play Elphaba and Glinda, you know, if the school ever performs Wicked.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t imagine it.” Andi gasped. “That’s the best show ever. Who would’ve thought to make a prequel to the Wizard of Oz?”

  “It’s a great show, for sure.” Bailey tried to imagine the two of them cast as the leads in Wicked. “That’d be the best ever.” But even as she kept up with her part of the conversation, she realized that with Andi’s light blonde hair and striking looks, Tim had to be seeing her as Glinda. Which would make Bailey the green witch—Elphaba. It was the bigger part, sure, but not the glamorous one. After dreaming for years that someday she might be considered for Glinda, in Andi’s shadow at IU, there was no way it would happen. Bailey would be lucky to be Elphaba.

  “You okay?” Andi nudged her, concern lining her forehead. “You’re too quiet.”

  “I’m fine.” Bailey silently chastised herself. What point was there in imagining the casting decisions of a show that wasn’t even on the docket. She drew a long breath and walked a little straighter. “Auditions take everything out of me.” Again her heart warmed toward her friend. Somehow she would learn to shine brightly even next to Andi. Otherwise she’d miss out on the golden friendship God had for the two of them.