FIVE
Darling
As the cameras rolled, Ricky and I stood by the window of the grand hall. His Mr.Crawford had spoken to my Fanny, turning on the charm in a way that was clearly performative. I looked out at the gardens below as Jane’s words rolled off my tongue, so easy and so natural.
We went on with the remainder of the scene, thoughtful and sincere and, as method acting would have it, I felt a yearning for the man I knew wasn’t right for me.
“And...cut!”Keely called out.
“That was great guys,” Abbie said coming forward. “Your sweetness is perfect, Darling. And, Ricky...the performative charm was perfect. I’m eager to see how things change when Crawford realizes that he’s actually falling in love with Fanny.”
“I love the tension between you two,” Keely added as she joined us. “There’s a push and pull that I’m sure is going to grab the moviegoer.”
“We only rehearsed this scene twenty times or so,” Ricky said with a crooked smile.
“Well, keep it up,” Keely said. “The time you two spend together results in less time here with the cameras going. Saves time, saves money and saves me a headache.”
Abbie, the open script in her hand, penciled something in the margin then clamped the pencil between her teeth, flipped a few pages over and scribbled something again.
“You guys can go and take it easy for a while,” she said. “We’re scheduled to shoot a rather long scene with Edmund and Mary out by the stable.” She looked up at us. “I’ll let you know if there’s a change.”
And with that, we were dismissed, leaving us the remainder of the afternoon to relax, or rehearse.
As I headed out of the grand hall, Ricky fell in step beside me. Still in wardrobe, Fanny was with me, in me, and the spring in Ricky’s step told me that he retained the confidence and arrogance of Henry Crawford.
“Are you pleased?”he said.
“With our scene? Sure. We only screwed up once.”
He chuckled. “You mean when you said ‘solitude’ instead of ‘solicitude’.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t know why that word simply doesn’t stick in my brain.”
Without planning or discussing, we each grabbed an apple from the fruit basket just outside the kitchen, then headed out to the inner courtyard.
“It’s one of those words that we don’t hear much anymore, but one that Jane seemed fond of,” he said.
I glanced side-long at him.
“And what do you know of Jane and her fondness for certain words?”
He laughed. “It may come as a surprise to you, my dearest Darling, but I happen to have read much of Jane Austen’s work.”
“Oh? Which one?”I said as I sat down on a wooden bench that faced a delicate statue of three children at play.
“Sense and Sensibility,” he said without hesitation as he sat beside me. “Her very first published novel. A delightful tale of the Dashwood sisters and their recently widowed mother.”
“It is one of my favorites. Just about everyone has read it.”
