MATT
HOLLYWOOD
“We’re ready for you, Matt.” The assistant director, a go-getter named Snow Snowden, handed him notes on the scene. “From Roger.”
“Is Cindy ready?” He folded up the edition of theGazettethat arrived last night and reached for the notes. While there was no news of the petition, the newsprint was full of Sea Blue Beach anecdotes. Like how Marie Turner, who’d just had a baby, sent her teenage sons to Suds Up, and they used too much detergent which flooded the whole place. So . . . “Suds Up!”
Why did he spend so many years avoiding home? Because ofwhat happened with Booker. Then why didn’t he try to mend things? Why not read his next letter? If he ever sent one.
“Cindy’s ready,” Snow said. “So, lights, camera, action.”
Matt smiled. “Check the gate and we’re good to go?”
“The camera gate has been checked.”
Matt liked the old-time movie references, like checking the film gate to make sure it was clear of lint or hair or a bug.
He flipped open Roger’s note.Bro, get your head in the game. He made a face. His headwasin the game. Sort of. Occasionally he was distracted with thoughts of the Starlight. With images of Harlow.
He’d not talked to her since that one Sunday. He’d picked up the phone to call her a few times but backed out. She’d forgiven him, they were on solid ground. Just let it go.
In other news, he called Bodie for an update on his case.“No word yet,”he said.“I thinkit’s going to blow over.”
“Matt, go to one, please.” Roger motioned him to the heroine’s living room. They’d been filmingDate for My Daughterthe last two weeks in a 1930s Hollywood Hills home.
And there had been issues. It started when one of the grips tripped over a lamp cord, which blew an electrical fuse, which started a small fire. Roger looked exactly like Doc Brown inBack to the Future, when his test of creating one-point-twenty-one gigawatts caught a tarp on fire.
After the fire brouhaha, the set and costume designer got into an argument over the color of the couch clashing with Cindy’s outfits. You’d think it would be an easy fix, but no. Last but not least, every time Roger called “Action,” the eighty-pound German Shepherd next door barked. So, Roger had them filming this evening scene at four a.m. because the dog was still inside, sleeping with its owners.
Matt portrayed Mitchell Davidson, a brilliant architect who believed in old-fashioned love and traditional American values. He played him upright and clean-cut, channeling his dad.
Cindy played Clementine Sparks, an avant-garde interior designer, who believed in nothing traditional, especially love. Cindy owned the role. She was Clem. The girl from Midwest America who wanted to shed her family’s values.
The script was sort of an eighties version ofThe Goodbye Girlbut with two young, urban professionals. Clem had just been kicked to the curb by her boyfriend and business partner. Mitch, the architect, just happened to be there when she found out.
Gradually, he felt more like Mitchell than Lt. Striker. Yesterday, as he read another back copy of theGazette, Cindy smacked down the top of the page and peered at him.
“You’re such a square.”
“Why, thank you.” He meant it too. What’s wrong with being square? Foundations were square. Bricks were square. Dashing, rugged men sported jaws that were square. Boxes were square! Really, how much could one pack in a circle?
“Let’s get this shot before the sun comes up and the dog is out,” Roger said, clapping his hands. “Snow, are we ready? Someone fix the blackout curtain on the southern window.”
Matt moved under the lights of the small living room that was Clementine’s apartment and became Mitchell Davidson. He enjoyed this film. Enjoyed being busy. He felt lonely and empty in his big, lonely, and empty house. He spent most of his nights flipping through cable channels until he fell asleep.
A couple of nights ago, a former frequent guest, Groove, came around, looking to crash for a few days, but he was drunk and high. Matt gave him money for a hotel instead. He had to stop assuaging his guilt over his past by letting people crash and trash his place. He had to stop despising his success. If he could manage those things, maybe he’d find the courage to call Booker.
On his way home last night, he’d spotted aFor Salesign in the yard of a really cute cottage in the Hills that overlooked the city. He peeked inside and fell in love. The place felt like home. Like Sea Blue Beach. He called his Realtor first thing this morning.
“Matt, you with us?” Roger looked around the camera, where he confirmed the shot. “Cindy, love, how are you?”
“Call action, Roger,” she said. “Don’t talk to us like we’re children.”
“Action.”
The scene was Mitchell and Clem’s first kiss, and even though they’d filmed the happily-ever-after ending on the beach two days ago, Matt had to play Mitchell as a square, awkward yet eager man wooing Clem for the first time. The script called for Mitchell to dance around the kiss, but Matt could just hear the guys watching in the movie theater with their girlfriends, shouting, “Just kiss her!”
So he did. Mitchell snatched Clem to his chest, and without so much as a by-your-leave and the scripted romantic line, he tipped her chin up and kissed her. No hesitation. No waiting. No games. Eyes closed, Matt—er, Mitchell—became the guy who wanted to fall passionately, madly,squarelyin love. Cindy—er, Clem—somehow became Harlow, and he was back at the Starlight. Desperately wanting to kiss her.
