The Last Take Read online

  “So, there was another reason I called.”

  “You need money.”

  “What? No, hang on a second.”

  “You don’t need money?”

  I chew on my lip. “Well, yes. But it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

  “Evie, if you need money from us, just come out and say it.” She sounds exasperated, which is shocking to me, as she is the one making this much more difficult than it needs to be. “We knew it was a huge mistake, you taking off to Hollywood. So it doesn’t exactly come as a surprise that you’re broke.”

  I go to respond, but words don’t come out of my mouth. How can she say that to me? Is it so hard for them to support my ambition, the way they supported Sarah through years of med school? Is it such a joke that I want to do something creative with my life? If they don’t understand, fine. But it’s like they get satisfaction out of watching me fail.

  Which is how I feel in this moment.

  A failure.

  I knew this was going to be horrendous, but sometimes, just sometimes, it would be nice if my parents surprised me. I take a shaky breath, ready to swallow my pride. But an incoming call interrupts me.

  “Mom, this might be my boss. I’ll have to call you back.”

  I hang up without hearing her response and try to regain my composure. I’m already dreading picking up where we left off.

  Lingerie waitressing would be a walk in the park compared to this.

  I clear my throat, answering the unknown call. “Hello, this is Evie?”

  “Evie Miller? Hi, this is Delilah. I’m calling on behalf of Vanguard.”

  I shake off my mother’s words to focus on the woman who is clearly not my boss. “Err, sorry… Vanguard?”

  “Productions. I got your details from the Screen Jobs website?”

  My brain seems to be stuck in idle. Screen Jobs? That random website I added a profile to? I didn’t even know if it was a legit register. I was almost sure I’d surrendered my details to an elaborate scam and I’d wake up one day in a bathtub without a kidney.

  “Listen, we’re down to the wire and need to get our crew together quickly for a feature. I’m just gathering the PAs,” she goes on. “Are you available?”

  My heart is leaping from my chest. Did I pass out during my conversation with Mom? Did I hit my head, and this is all a hallucination? I scramble for a response.

  “Y… you’re offering me a production assistant position?”

  “That depends,” she replies. “Can you start Monday?”

  4

  Adam

  There is always a certain buzz on the first day of shooting. The sets are built; the cast are excited, and the crew aren’t yet exhausted by fourteen-hour days filming. And as I drive into the studio lot, I almost share the same enthusiasm.

  I’ve spent the last three weeks trying to pick up where the last director left off—which was a dumpster fire. The storyboard was garbage, the shot list was trash, and I had no idea what they had been doing in rehearsals. The cast were as prepared for principal photography as they were to pilot a mission to Mars.

  But after many late nights, cups of coffee, and some gentle bullying aimed at Simon the Scriptwriter, I feel we have an okay movie on our hands. Previously titled The Worst Film of All Time. And let me tell you, it was no easy feat. I mean, turning a story about a vet reasoning with animals as they scale the buildings of New York City into something of substance? I’m surprised I even pulled it off.

  What I have now is a critical look into the minds of mankind and our relationship to living things around us. A commentary on the obvious superiority complex most people have. Was it Oscar worthy? Fuck no. But at least I can look in the mirror without wanting to punch myself in the face.

  “Brian is at it again,” Delilah says, greeting me as I pull into my designated car space. “I swear to God if he comments on my ass again, I’m going to shove his boom mic some place where only his digestive noises can be recorded.”

  “And you have my full support with that.”

  There are very few people in the world who don’t annoy me. Dee is one of those people. Which is why I insisted on bringing in my own assistant directors. She is my second AD.

  “Damon is waiting for you inside,” she says as we make our way to stage three. “He has concerns about the scene in the vet clinic. Says he can’t emotionally connect with the CGI prop.”

  “It’s a tennis ball on a stick. What does he expect? It’s called acting. He should be familiar with it.”

  “He’s asking for a stand-in with a green suit to take its place.”

  We enter through the side door into the darkness. “Well, I’m glad he’s bringing it up now. Rather than say, during rehearsal when we had time to arrange that.”

  Dee gives me a wry smile, before speaking into her shoulder mic and heading in the other direction.

  It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, but then I can see stage three clearly. It houses all of our smaller sets for the film—the veterinary clinic, the protagonist’s living room, kitchen, and a small cupboard space where he hides from a sadistic raccoon (I wasn’t able to remove all the ridiculous scenes). The place is swarming with crew members getting ready to shoot our first scene of the day. The art department, camera and lighting, sound, and the video village; all bustling around their sections. I have to admit, I missed this.

  “Adam, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. We’ve got a problem.”

  And then there are things I didn’t miss.

  Divas.

  “Damon, what’s the problem?”

  “It’s this scene in the clinic,” Damon says, ruffling a hand through his blond hair despite just being in the hair trailer for the past twenty minutes. “I can’t talk to that tennis ball. It’s giving me nothing.”

  I blink at him. “It’s a tennis ball.”

  “And this line here about me being afraid,” he continues, pulling a script from his back pocket. “I don’t think it’s going to work.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, look at me.” He gestures toward his chiseled torso, which is currently clothed in an extremely tight V-neck. “I just don’t look like the kind of guy who gets afraid.”

  I rub my eyes with my thumb and index finger. “This isn’t one of those macho, ‘nothing scares me’, action films,” I say, though I’m pretty sure I’ve said it multiple times already. “And as for the tennis ball, you’ve got to make it work. We’re only using creature performers in action scenes. We can’t get someone in just to sit there and look at you.”

  But Damon appears not to be listening anymore. Instead, he’s watching a young costume assistant walk by. He gives her a wink, and she giggles into her coffee cup.

  Sickening.

  “Anyway, I have to go talk to Joel. I’ll see you on set.”

  I leave Damon before he can think of something else to complain about and head towards the camera department, passing sound as I go.

  “Hey, Brian. If you make any more inappropriate comments to members of the crew or cast, I’ll boot your ass off the set. Got it?”

  I glimpse Brian’s moronic expression before I reach Joel. “Can you keep an eye on Damon? I have a feeling he’s going to be a pain in the ass the whole shoot,” I say, sitting in my director’s chair. “Casting really screwed us on this one.”

  “Roger,” Joel replies.

  We sit there in a comfortable silence, which is the main thing I like about Joel and the reason he is my first assistant director. He is a man of few words. His big bear-like exterior, combined with his quietness, seems to have a calming effect on the talent as well.

  “Here.” Dee joins us, handing us each a disposable cup.

  “Aren’t you a little far up the food chain to be fetching coffee?” I say, accepting it regardless.

  “The production assistants haven’t arrived yet.” She takes a long sip from her own cup. “But they should be here any minute.”

  “Remember to t
ell them no selfies on set, no scrolling on social media, and no—”

  “No asking the cast for autographs,” she finishes my sentence. “How long have I worked with you now? I think I have a handle on your neuroses.”

  “I wouldn’t call them neuroses.”

  “Fine. Your grumpy old man-erisms then. Better?” She laughs at her own hilarity. “Sometimes I wonder what you would do without me and Joel. We’re the only ones who can put up with your shit. Right, Joel?”

  “Sure,” Joel replies, more interested in the shot list than in our conversation.

  “Just wait till you’re a director one day,” I say, watching the craft service guy load up a table with muffins. “Then you’ll see what I have to put up with.”

  “That’ll be the day.” Dee rolls her eyes.

  I have to give her credit—she’s a trooper for sticking it out in an industry dominated by men. And men like Brian, for that matter. Not that I ever question her gumption. She could take on any guy in this sound stage.

  “It’ll happen,” I say, draining the rest of my coffee. “A smart ass like you? Who would be brave enough to say no?”

  “That’s easy for you to say, Mr. Son of William Thorne. That connection alone could get you work in any creative field.”

  I smile tightly and take out my copy of the shot list.

  “I mean… fuck. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring him up,” she scratches at her thick brown curly hair. “I’m a dumbass.”

  “It’s fine,” I say. “I’m not going to have a breakdown at the mention of his name.”

  She scrunches up her face. “Muffin to make up for it?”

  I scoff. “Only if it’s chocolate chip, none of that blueberry crap.”

  “You really need to eat a vegetable.”

  As Dee leaves, I see a girl come into the building. She’s wearing a bright red outfit with yellow rain boots. I’ve never seen her before, and by what she is wearing, I’m guessing she’s an extra who got lost from the flock. She looks around the room with big, bright eyes.

  “There he is!”

  Eric strides over to me, a stupid grin on his face. Simon hurries behind him.

  “Day one of shooting. How good is this?!”

  “Pretty standard,” I say, hating how extra he is. People who are always ‘on’ are exhausting.

  “Ha! Love it, love it. So listen, you know that scene we cut, with the Mexican walking fish jumping out in the classroom and attacking the teacher? We wanted to explore bringing that back in.”

  “And why would we do that?”

  “Because it’s entertaining,” Simon says, still salty on me for changing so much of his script. Honestly, he should be kissing the ground I walk on. That pile of scrap paper was terrible.

  “We’ve gone over this. It doesn’t even make sense,” I reply, standing up. “Mexican walking fish don’t even survive out of water, let alone have the energy to terrorize a bunch of kids during a math class.”

  “We’re just spit balling here,” Eric jumps in, the goofy grin still on his face.

  “Look, you said full creative control. I don’t want to make some bozo spoof with murderous fish and monkeys climbing buildings. I’ve got to set up my first shot. Are we good here?”

  Eric and Simon share a look before they’re interrupted by Dee.

  “I got you raspberry white chocolate, and I don’t want to hear you bitch about the fruit.” She sets the muffin in my hand and then notices Eric leering at her.

  “It’s great to see you, Delilah. You got one of those for me?”

  She looks at him like he’s something stuck to the bottom of her shoe and then notices the same girl I did from before. “I better go wrangle the newbies.”

  “Yeah, I think you’ve got a lost extra over there,” I say, taking a tentative bite out of the muffin.

  “She’s not an extra. That’s one of your production assistants. I recognize her from her profile on Screen Jobs.” Dee hooks a walkie talkie into her belt and picks up her clipboard. “The others must be here somewhere, too. I’d better go warn them about their grump of a director.”

  “You’re hilarious,” I say, watching the rain boots girl again with a big smile spread across her face.

  5

  Evie

  I can’t believe I’m here.

  It’s like a dream. I literally think I might be dreaming. I pinch my skin between my fingertips and instantly regret it, rubbing my arm.

  The sound stage is exactly how I imagined it. There are guys walking around with trolleys, carting expensive-looking equipment across the room. People bustle around with scripts and clipboards, talking and writing notes. Lights are being arranged on one of the sets—the one that looks like a doctor’s office. And the entire ceiling is covered in lights too, just waiting to be arranged into the perfect positions. In one corner, I can see a guy leaning against the pole of his mic, talking to another guy who is sitting behind a sound board. And in another corner, a few people are sitting around in those chairs that have names on them. One of them has ‘Director’ written on it, but the person sitting in it only looks a few years older than me. He glances over and frowns, and I quickly avert my gaze so he doesn’t think I’m staring.

  “Evie?”

  I turn to see another person not much older than me, with bright green eyes that stand out from her light brown skin.

  “I’m Delilah Moore. The one who called you last week?”

  “You’re so pretty,” I gush, before remembering I’m supposed to be professional. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  She looks at me curiously and laughs. “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you too. Did you find the studio okay?”

  “I’ve been wanting to come here for years. I did once, actually. But that was for a tour on one of those little shuttles that runs around the sound stages. So it doesn’t really count. I can’t believe I’m here!”

  I inhale deeply and remind myself to breathe. I don’t want to start freaking people out too early. But Delilah just laughs again.

  “I love the enthusiasm. Just remember this feeling when you’ve been on your feet for twelve hours, and the actors keep forgetting their lines and we can’t go home before the take is finished.”

  I nod my head, scribbling in my notepad. I knew it would come in handy.

  “Are you writing that down?” Delilah asks, cocking her head.

  “I’m a note taker.” I smile, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear.

  “In that case, let’s go find the others and I can give you the proper introduction to the job.”

  I follow Delilah outside and my eyes take a moment to adjust to the bright sunshine. Trucks are being unloaded with more equipment, and extras are coming in and out of the costume trailer. Further up the lot is the production office, with a couple of people standing out the front watching everyone else go about their work day. We walk towards them, and I soon realize they are both in their twenties, like me.

  “You must be Jackson and Kylie. This is Evie, another PA.”

  “Hi.” I wave.

  Jackson gives me a succinct nod and Kylie gives me a dazzling smile, but her face instantly resumes a neutral position.

  “Alright, now that introductions are out of the way, let’s get to the real fun.” Delilah turns so that she’s facing the three of us. “My name’s Delilah, but most people call me Dee. I’m the second AD.”

  “That means assistant director,” Jackson whispers. It’s hard to see in the brightness, but I can just make out Kylie rolling her eyes.

  “Being the second AD means that if a job needs doing, and no one puts their hand up, it comes to me. Which is why I’ve got you. So I need you to listen up and pay attention, because I don’t want to repeat any of this twice.”

  I fumble with my notepad, turning to a fresh page with my pen at the ready.

  “You are production assistants, which means any area of production might ask you for help at any given time. This is okay, but know the main people
you will report to are myself and Joel, the first AD. I know for some of you, this is your first time on a major film set. And for all of you, this is your first time on Adam Thorne’s film set. So it’s imperative that you follow the rules I’m about to tell you… if you ever want to work in the industry again.”

  I share a nervous glance with Jackson. Kylie, however, still looks as confident as ever, with her all-business pixie cut and all-black ensemble.

  “Rule number one, always be on time. Rule number two, don’t touch anything unless you know how to use it. Rule number three, turn your phones off and put them away. Actually turn them off, because silent mode messes with the radio mics. Rule number four, when the first AD calls action, do not move. Even the tiniest sound can mess up a take. And trust me, you don’t want to be the one to mess up one of Adam’s takes.”

  I’m writing furiously when my ink fades out. I scribble to make it work, but nothing happens.

  “Don’t take pictures, don’t be noisy, even in-between takes. And for the love of God, don’t ask anyone for an autograph.”

  I flip to a new page and draw big circles, but still nothing. Why the heck didn’t I bring a spare pen?

  “If you need to go to the bathroom, say ten-one for a quick break and ten-two for a longer break. I won’t go into detail there. At all other times, you must have your walkie on and be available. The jobs you do will vary day-by-day. The most important thing is you are ready and willing to help at the drop of a hat.”

  I give up, and slide the notepad into my back pocket just as Delilah is wrapping up her speech. I guess my memory will have to do.

  “So, are we all ready to meet the director?”

  I soon realize the young guy sitting in the director chair was, in fact, the director. We wait with Dee in a little huddle as he talks with the cinematographer, which gives us time to go over the walkie talkie basics and some of the common lingo used on set.