It’s true. Nora left uni with that rare thing: an actual job. She went to work for one of the senior editors of theTimesonline edition, and this woman, who was a total cow, basically made Nora plan her whole wedding for her. Nora was horrified by the general flakiness and sloppy pricing in the industry and went on to plan her boss’ wedding with military precision, using hostage-negotiator tactics in her haggling, supply chain software for logistics, and excel spreadsheets that looked like the financial reports of a FTSE 100 company.
Thus, Nora Wilder Weddings was born, and Nora runsthis mini empire with laser focus, zero emotion and a team of clones-slash-minions doing her bidding.
‘Do you want the job?’ My fingers hover over my screen. ‘Mum’s saying I should text Miles and congratulate him and recommend you.’
‘And this is why we love Linda,’ Nora sighs. ‘Yes, please.’
My lips twitch. This is an excellent distraction from the relentless reminders my brain keeps serving up that this week Josh Lander will be kissing me—what was it Dominic said?—most ardently.Fuck fuck fuck.
‘I’ll message him now,’ I tell Nora. ‘You realise Theo will probably be best man, right? Just saying.’
CHAPTER 23
Elle
I’ve been in the hair and makeup trailer for two hours, and they’re nearly done. My up-do, including extensions and silk flowers, has taken up the majority of the time. For the most part, I’ve sat quietly and only spoken when the hairstylists and makeup artists have asked me questions.
It’s always odd at first on a new job, because I’m uncomfortably aware that everyone knows far more about me than I know about them. And that can make them uncomfortable, too. It’s like they’re afraid of stumbling over elephants in rooms. Not this lot, though. They’re a riot, and I suspect we’ll feel like a family by this time next week.
Parka Pete, as he introduced himself earlier when he got me a mug of tea, pops his head around the door, encased in the hood of a tatty-looking parka and holds out a cardboard box of the eggs and avocado I ordered from catering.
‘You want this in here, lovey, or when you’re out of the chair?’
I stick my hand out. I’m starving. ‘I’ll have it here, if you guys can work around it.’
Parka Pete is the Cast PA, or Cast Production Assistant.His job is to look after the cast, particularly the leads, and he will likely be my guardian angel.
‘Go for it, babes,’ says Cheryl, my makeup artist. ‘You need your grub; we’ll manage just fine.’
Felicity, playing my mother, pipes up from the chair next to me. ‘You got my bacon sarnie there, Pete?’
‘I most certainly have, your Ladyship.’ Pete edges in and puts a box and some cutlery down in front of both of us.
‘You’re an absolute star.’ She rips open her box in delight.
Today is our third day of filming, but I haven’t glimpsed Josh in costume yet. I shot a scene with my family yesterday, and according to yesterday’s sides (which are the little paper handouts distributed each morning that tell everyone who’s shooting what and where that day), he was shooting one between Dominic and Rugby on another stage.
We did, however, have our sit-down with the intimacy coordinator, Kate, yesterday morning. It was excruciating. I felt like Josh and I were two adolescents having to have a sex talk with a teacher. I’ve worked with intimacy coordinators before—all female—and I’m a huge advocate of their role.
The introduction of the IC role has taken sex scenes from potentially massive liabilities for everyone involved to heavily choreographed processes where the actors and directors have a chance to voice concerns, discuss the motivation and justification for having an intimate scene, and rehearse the sequence of actions the scene will comprise. When an IC does his or her job well, the actors feel safe and there are no surprises when the cameras start rolling.
Amen to that.
I liked Kate a lot, and I respected that she came out guns blazing.
‘Tell me if I’m wrong, but the main area I’d like to address is the fact that you have been involved with each other romantically in the past.’
Josh and I managed to avoid looking at each other, both acknowledging her point tersely. Poor Kate. We were on opposite ends of the sofa, stiff as boards. She was going to have a hell of a lot of work to do on our body language.
‘Thank you. I didn’t want to make assumptions that the relationship was real as opposed to something orchestrated for the press’ benefit.’
Bloody hell. This woman didn’t pull her punches.
‘It was real,’ I mumbled, picking at a hangnail. Operative word:was.I glanced at Josh, daring him to contradict me, but he just nodded like he was agreeing to a request to pull out his wisdom teeth without anaesthetic.
Kate nodded like I was a therapy patient who’d had a breakthrough. ‘Excellent, Ellery. Therefore, and please stop me at any time if I make any incorrect assumptions, you will both have concerns around intimacy that are quite different from ones actors who don’t know each other may have. My job is to ensure that to the greatest degree possible, when you are in front of the cameras you feel as safe and as prepared as you can be while honouring the needs of the story in that particular scene.
‘Think of it like a fight scene. The potential for injury in a fight scene that isn’t properly choreographed and planned out to the last detail is massive. It’s exactly the same with sex scenes, even if the potential damage is invisible.’
