“You looked like you were prepping for surgery. All focused and shit.”
“Enough,” Callan said roughly, not looking up. His tone wasn’t angry, just slightly tense. Rocco rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Then he looked at me again. “I’m still setting up. I’m sure that’s something you’ll want to write about since your essay’s going to be about production rather than the movie itself.”
I nodded. “That’s right.”
I let my eyes wander around the room. A simple bed sat at the center of the space, with the head against the large floor-to-ceiling window, and with light gray bedding. The walls were painted a neutral off-white, and black curtains were pulled to the far left. There was no smell of perfume or anything overtly sexual like I had imagined. The room smelled faintly of detergent, which was pleasant.
Callan finished whatever adjustment he was making and finally turned toward me. “You can sit over there,” he said, pointing to a folding chair near one of the monitors. “Stay behind the yellow tape on the floor. Don’t move around once we start.”
I nodded and moved toward the chair, then sat down and set my notebook on my lap. My palms were already damp, so I wiped them on my jeans before clicking my pen four times. The yellow tape on the floor marked a clear division between the set and the rest of the room. It felt strange to be separated like that, but then I reminded myself that I would rather be an observer than a participant. At least in this situation.
Rocco came to stand beside me. He leaned down slightly. “You still look like you’re scared,” he said, unable to stop mocking me.
“I’m not scared,” I shot back, which sounded like a lie even to me.
“Sure,” he said, grinning. “Your heart’s practically visible through your shirt.”
“Rocco,” Callan said again, sharper this time. “Leave her alone. She doesn’t need distractions. She needs to focus.”
I didn’t expect that from Callan at all, but I was glad he said something. Because I sure wouldn’t have.
Rocco straightened, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave.” Then to me, he added, “You’re fine, kid. Just take your notes and stay out of the splash zone.”
I blinked. “Thewhat?”
“Jesus Christ,” Callan hissed, shooting him a look.
Rocco chuckled under his breath and went to check something by the soundboard. I tried to focus on the questions I wrote down this morning instead.
Callan moved to another camera, adjusting its lens, and muttering to himself. He was calm and focused, and it looked like this was his routine. Every time he bent to check an angle or adjust a light, I found myself watching him more intently.
When the silence became a bit too insufferable, I decided it was time for some research. I cleared my throat and asked, “Do you always do all this yourself?”
He didn’t look up. “Mostly.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like mistakes.”
That made me sit up straighter. “Does that mean you don’t trust the people who work for you?”
His head turned immediately, and the look on his face told me that he didn’t like how I interpreted his reply. His jaw tightened. “No, that’s not what it means.”
“Then what does it mean?” I challenged. I was starting to feel like an actual reporter. Only that the thing I was reporting on wasn’t usual.
He watched me for a moment, then his eyes moved to Rocco, who gave him a shrug. “Answer the girl, man.”
Callan looked at me again and let out a heavy breath. “I like control,” he said finally. “If something goes wrong, I want to know it was because of me, not because someone else didn’t pay attention.”
I wrote that down because that was actually a great answer. One I hadn’t expected because I didn’t think Callan was the kind of man to admit to his mistakes. But then, I didn’t really know much about Callan.
“So you like to do everything yourself?” I asked.
He gave a small, humorless laugh. “Not the actual fucking. I definitely need others in the scene with me. But this part,” he gestured toward the equipment, “this is precision. The lighting and the angles. Even the sound. Everything matters.One bad shadow, one mic crackle, it ruins the whole scene. And then it’s hours wasted. So if anything goes wrong, I want to be the one to blame instead of having five people blaming each other.”
I nodded slowly. “Makes sense.”
Rocco snorted. “He’s a complete control freak.”
