The Last Take Page 4

  “We’re ready for our first shot.” A tall, bearded man joins our group.

  “Joel, these are the PAs. Guys, this is Joel, your first AD. Ahh, and here is the man we’ve all been waiting for. Adam, here are your PAs, Jackson, Kylie and Evie.”

  Adam makes his way to the group and looks at each of us, but his eyes rest on me for the longest. I panic and decide to do a curtsey.

  Oh my God, kill me.

  Dee conceals a laugh behind her hand and looks at Joel. Adam just stares… a crease forming between his eyebrows.

  “You’re wearing rain boots.”

  I look down at my bright yellow boots, one of my favorite things that I own. “I know. Aren’t they fun?” I do a little heel-toe dance move so he can see them from all angles.

  “Why are you wearing rain boots? You’re in LA. It literally never rains here.”

  “I just think they’re cute. Don’t you think they’re cute?”

  Adam keeps staring with his dark brown eyes, like he’s trying to decipher what planet I come from. His brown hair is tousled—a just-got-out-of-bed look, though I suspect he’s been here for hours. And he’s wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, like he’s ready to do some manual labor.

  “Well I hope they’re comfortable, because you’re going to be on your feet all day,” he says, before turning his attention to the set. “Dee, we’re about to do our first shot. Can you get everyone stationed?”

  Adam and Joel walk back to set, resuming their conversation with the cinematographer.

  “Okay. First shot. Everyone feeling ready?”

  Before any of us can answer, Dee goes on.

  “Well, if you’re not, you better get ready, and fast. Jackson, I’m going to put you on set. Kylie, you will circulate the sound stage. Evie, you’re going to be on the stage door. Alright, break a leg!” And with that, she joins Adam and Joel on the set, leaving the PAs to look at each other.

  “I have hot bricks, if anyone is looking for them,” Kylie says, unclipping her walkie from her belt.

  “Um… hot bricks? Don’t burn your hands,” I say, laughing to myself and managing a weak smile from Jackson.

  Kylie narrows her eyes. “A hot brick is a fully charged walkie battery. Is this the first time you’ve been on a set?”

  I feel my cheeks flush and am grateful for the dark lighting. “I’ve been on sets before, just nothing that required radio communications.” I grab my own walkie and talk out the side of my mouth in an old timey voice. “Echo two, this is Sierra one. The eagle has landed, and the horse is in the barn. Copy that. Roger Roger.”

  Jackson scratches the back of his head. “I’m going to go to set.”

  He leaves me there with Kylie, who is still smiling at me like she just figured something out that makes her really happy.

  “Right… well, you should get outside. I’ll see you later.”

  She flounces across the room, greeting people as she goes like a seasoned professional. I fumble with my walkie, shoving the earpiece in place, the mic on my shoulder, and the walkie on my belt, before heading to my post at the stage door. The second I’m standing outside, I realize all the fun happens on the other side of the wall, and feel sad I can’t watch the first shot being filmed. After a few minutes, I hear a small voice in my ear.

  “Quiet on set.”

  I get a little tingle down my spine. It’s officially starting; my first day on a real film set. After I got the call from Delilah, it didn’t take me two seconds to call Glen at the café and tell him I wouldn’t be coming back. I also called Lyle and Caroline, who were less than impressed that I was leaving my internship. But I don’t have time to feel guilty about that. I have an actual job in the industry now. A paid job. And I’m not going to do anything to stuff it up. If I can make this work, not only will all my dreams come true, but I can afford to stay in my apartment without going to my parents for help. The day Dee called me was the best day of my life.

  “Rolling.” Joel’s voice comes through the earpiece.

  “ROLLING,” I call to everyone outside, keeping my position in front of the door so no one can sneak in.

  I wish I could see what’s happening inside. The next thirty minutes go on like this as they redo takes—me parroting everything Joel says to the rest of the film crew who are stuck outside like I am. But it doesn’t curb my excitement. Whether I’m a big-time film producer or a lowly production assistant, I can still say the same thing.

  Hi, I’m Evie, and I work in the movie industry.

  In fact, my excitement is so pronounced that I can feel a familiar pressure in my bladder. Darn it, I knew I shouldn’t have downed that large coffee before I got here. What is the code for the bathroom again? I pull out my notepad, which is entirely unhelpful since my pen stopped working.

  I shuffle on the spot, bending my knees and trying to convince myself that I don’t really need to go that much. I can hold on till lunch.

  I look at my watch and see that it’s barely past nine o’clock.

  Nope, I absolutely can’t wait till lunch.

  “Evie for Kylie,” I say into my shoulder mic.

  “Go for Kylie.”

  “Hey, um… I need to go to the bathroom.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll come out and take your spot.”

  “You will?? Oh, thank God! I’m dying.”

  “I’ll be right there. You go now,” she assures me.

  Without further prompting, I run to the closest bathroom outside, careful to turn my walkie off before I pee. I don’t trust myself not to be heard by the entire studio.

  I take a moment to gather myself in front of the mirror before I walk back out to everyone. A piece of hair has fallen out of my ponytail again, but at least it doesn’t matter now. No more serving muffins for me. I turn my walkie back on and a voice is barking through.

  “Evie?! Does anyone have eyes on Evie??”

  I jerk my shoulder towards my mouth so fast I look like I’m auditioning for the ‘Thriller’ dance. “Go for Evie.”

  “Evie!” It’s Dee. “Where the he—”

  The earpiece crackles and then goes silent. I pull out my walkie, turning it off and on again, but it doesn’t come back to life.

  “Shoot,” I hiss, running out to the tent that has the batteries on chargers. But they are all gone. “Did Kylie take all of them?” I say to myself, as one of the craft service people watches me with concern.

  I run back to the door, where Jackson now stands on guard.

  “Are they rolling?”

  “No, you can go in. Delilah is looking for you,” he says, before talking to his shoulder. “Eyes on Evie. She’s coming in now.”

  I go through the door, making sure not to get in anyone’s way while I power-walk to set.

  “There you are!” Dee is looking at me wild-eyed, her smile long gone. “Where the hell were you? Where is your walkie?”

  “I’m so sorry, I got a dead battery,” I say, looking over at Adam, who has a stormy expression on his face.

  “You left the door and someone came in while we were rolling,” she says. “Where did you go?”

  I rack my brain for the right code word. I’ve already stuffed up, I can at least try to talk with the proper lingo. “I was, um... I was… ten? Two?”

  The boom mic guy and camera assistant snigger at each other while Dee brings her hand to her face.

  Adam walks toward me. “I don’t need to know about your bowel movements. I just need you to stay in your post so my take isn’t ruined.”

  “My bowel…?” I look between him and Dee, and then it clicks. “Oh, God! I wasn’t pooping!”

  There is more laughter now. Even Joel, who has barely spoken a word, is giggling into his beard.

  “I don’t care what you were doing. But if you fuck up another shot, you’ll be off my set. Got it?” Adam storms back to the fake clinic, muttering to Joel as he passes. Joel speaks into his shoulder mic, and of course I can’t hear because my walkie is still
dead.

  “Resetting!”

  I turn toward the booming voice and see Kylie.

  “Hot brick?” she asks, smiling sweetly and holding out a fresh battery.

  6

  Adam

  “Cut!”

  I lean forward in my chair, rubbing my hands against my face.

  “This just isn’t working for me,” Damon says, gesturing at the CGI prop. “I don’t know how to perform under these conditions.”

  “And I don’t know how else to help you,” I say. “Did we not go over this enough in rehearsal?” Obviously this is a rhetorical question, because we went over this scene in rehearsals a thousand times.

  “That was different. I didn’t have this thing throwing me off.”

  To make the tennis ball on a stick more animal-like, the special effects department had added green hair, a green nose, and little googly eyes. It now resembled a cheap Sesame Street puppet. The kind that only appear in your nightmares.

  “Look, we just have to go with what we have. Take ten to pull yourself together and we’ll try again.”

  Damon stalks off to his trailer, his personal assistant and acting coach rushing behind him. I don’t envy them. But then again, I don’t envy me either. I walk over to where George is operating the camera. “This is horrible.”

  “It’s these hot-shot actors, coming in here with their Hollywood good looks and full head of hair,” George says, repositioning his flat cap against his balding head. “They don’t know how to suck it up and get on with it.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  I look around as the rest of the crew start talking amongst themselves. What a waste of valuable filming time. Evie walks tentatively onto the set, whispering something to the wardrobe assistant. They giggle, but then Evie sees me watching and quickly goes about her business.

  “What else is new, George? How’s Elsa doing?” I say, turning back to my cameraman.

  George lets out a deep sigh. “She’s doing okay, you know… considering.” He leans back in his seat, folding his arms together.

  “I heard she was sick again… I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, already regretting bringing it up. Feelings are not my forte.

  “These things happen.”

  Brian taps him on the shoulder, asking him a question about the frame, and our conversation is over.

  That’s the thing about the older generation. Something terrible could be happening and they just pick up their socks and keep moving.

  “Alright, let’s go again. Dee, can we get Damon back?” I ask.

  Dee speaks into her shoulder mic. “Fly in Damon.”

  I rub my hands together, psyching myself up for more diva antics. I need this scene to work. Not only is it the most emotional scene of the film, but it conveys a powerful message. The only problem is that Damon can only convey how in love with himself he is.

  “Okay, let’s do this.” Our leading man appears on set, crouching down to his position in front of the prop. I make eyes with George before the usual commands are called out. Evie repeats her prompts so everyone can hear, and by the look on her face, she even finds that exciting. Rookie.

  “Alright, quiet on set.”

  “QUIET ON SET.”

  “Picture’s up.”

  “PICTURE’S UP.”

  “Roll sound”

  “ROLLING”

  “Sound speeds.”

  “Camera speeds.”

  “Two apple. Take fourteen. Mark.”

  “Set.”

  I take a deep breath and hope that Damon’s acting coach worked a miracle in the last ten minutes. “Action.”

  Off screen, the actor who is going to voice the dog says his lines, and we all wait with bated breath for Damon to respond.

  “I don’t know what to do,” Damon says, running a hand through his sandy blond hair. “The truth is, I don’t have any faith in mankind anymore.”

  I rub my knuckles into the palm of my hand, praying that Damon can just make it through one successful take. So far, so good.

  “All you have to do is walk out your front door to see it—people only thinking about themselves. Judging each other. And God forbid you have a different opinion. Gone are the days where altered perspectives are valued. No one listens to each other anymore, they’re just waiting to throw their own opinions out there.”

  He looks up at the prop.

  “And I don’t know what that means for you. I don’t know how to help you if people won’t listen to me. How do I make them listen?”

  He looks into its beady, glued-on eyes.

  I can see Damon’s face slipping, losing its composure. And then there is one unmistakable flinch.

  “I can’t do this.”

  “Cut!”

  “CUT,” Evie parrots.

  There’s an audible groan throughout the crew as Damon stands up straight.

  “That thing is terrifying,” he says, placing his hands on his hips. “I can’t work with it.”

  “Fine,” I reply, trying not to growl like an actual bear. “We’ll just go back to the original prop.”

  On command, the special effects assistant appears with the original tennis ball on a stick, without the freakish add-ons.

  “That’s not going to work for me either.”

  I clamp my eyes and mouth shut to stop the rage from spilling out.

  “I just can’t perform with balls in my face,” Damon continues.

  Brian and the camera assistant turn to each other and stifle a laugh. Even Dee has a smirk on her face. But I’m too angry to find it amusing. I’m going to lose it.

  “Maybe one of the stand-ins can sit where the dog will be?” Dee suggests.

  I shrug and turn away. We will never get this scene done.

  “Does anyone have a call sheet?” Dee asks.

  “Here!”

  Evie comes stumbling onto the set, tripping on her yellow rain boots. I knew they were a bad idea. Those ridiculous things are anything but practical.

  She hands a folder to Dee.

  “It’s bright pink,” I say, intercepting as she passes it.

  “With sticker tabs for each day,” Evie adds proudly.

  I flip through the call sheet, which has been embellished with more stickers and drawings of small animals. “You like your colors, don’t you?”

  Evie just smiles in return, and it goes all the way to her big brown eyes. It’s only now I notice the smattering of freckles over her nose and cheeks, blending out to her copper hair. But it seems I’m not the only one noticing her.

  “Now you I could look at.” Damon walks over to our group, regarding Evie up and down. “I could look at you all day.”

  Evie turns a deep shade of red and looks at the ground, tucking her hair behind her ear.

  “We’ll get you a stand-in or an extra,” Dee confirms, taking the call sheet from me. “Evie is a PA. She’s needed elsewhere.”

  But Damon isn’t listening. He’s still eying Evie like she’s about to give him a lap dance.

  “I don’t believe anyone has introduced us,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’m Damon. Evie, is it?”

  “I know who you are.” She smiles. “Nice to meet you.”

  She goes in for a shake, but instead, Damon brings her hand to his mouth, kissing the tops of her fingers. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

  “Alright, we need to move on,” I interrupt. If Damon was as talented an actor as he is a slimy Romeo, maybe this scene would be wrapped already.

  It’s nearly ten by the time I get home. The place is dark as I push the front door open, and right on cue, something smooth and furry circles my ankles.

  “Hey Rufus,” I say, crouching down to give the cat a quick scratch behind the ears. He enjoys it for two seconds before he shakes me off, and we separate amicably. Neither of us have the desire for prolonged displays of affection.

  “Come on, I’ll get your dinner.”

  He follows me into the kitchen, and soon enough the do
wnlights brighten up the room. I pour the tiny fish-shaped pellets into his bowl on the floor and grab myself a beer from my bare fridge. Who needs groceries when you have Astro Burger?

  Three nights in a row of Astro Burger.

  I move some dirty laundry off the couch, tossed there yesterday after another long day, and slump down for the evening. I know other directors have personal assistants to do things like go shopping for groceries and keeping the laundry under control. But I don’t like the idea of a stranger poking around in my things. Especially in my dirty underwear.

  Done with his meal, Rufus comes in silently, jumping up on the foot stool a comfortable distance away from me. I never considered myself a cat guy, or an animal guy, for that matter. But our cohabitation works. Which is lucky, because after the woman who took him in decided our relationship wasn’t going anywhere and moved out, Rufus had nowhere else to go.

  I watch as his stomach rises and falls, remembering a time when there were three of us in the house. Not that we were here together very often.

  Let’s be honest, she was probably right to leave.

  I rifle through my backpack to go over the shot list for tomorrow, but pull out something I’m not expecting. The bright pink folder. It must have gotten mixed up in my stuff on set.

  I turn it over in my hands and shake my head. Who has the time or energy to decorate their call sheets with sparkles and tiny unicorns? Evie was an interesting choice from Dee.

  I didn’t have the same conventional film school, then internship, then assistant gig on a set experience like most people breaking into the industry. My first time on a film was when one of my dad’s novels got picked up by a huge production company, and he brought me along. I knew the second I saw the cameras rolling, that was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Make meaningful stories. Make films that mattered.

  Maybe I’d gotten sidetracked. Caught up in the next job and the next job and lost sight of what I wanted. I look up at my bookshelf, at the rows upon rows of novels by the great William Thorne. Some people don’t have to choose between doing something meaningful and important, and doing something that makes them money. Some people get both. Some people, like my dad. At least, he did while he was alive.