“Kim!”Troy shouts. “Get your ass in the harness!”
I glare at him. He sounds like she should have already been there, which she might have been if he hadn’t delayed her by chewing her out.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I’ll find her and talk to her. You can take a turn when your part of the scene is done.”
Kim nods and trudges across the sand toward the crane. I watch her go, wishing I could take her away from all this and spend some time relaxing, just curling up and ignoring the rest of the world.
When filming’s done, that’s exactly what I intend to do.
Twenty-eight
Kim
The last thing I want right now, in the midst of dealing with my private life becoming even more public than usual, is to be suspended ten feet off the ground in a harness, flashing sizeable portions of my ass in Hemlock’s booty shorts and fishnets.
And yet, here I am.
Troy calls out “action,” and we run another take. I flail angrily against the invisible powers holding me suspended (which will be a lot more invisible when the thin cable holding me and the small crane it’s attached to are edited out). Peter Dryden holds up the orb whose powers are keeping me in midair. He delivers his big villain monologue, chewing the scenery so much I’m surprised it doesn’t give him indigestion.
I expectTroy to tell Dryden to tone it down a bit on the next take, but he doesn’t, just tells everyone we’re moving on. I’m not sure ifTroy has given up on the notion of subtlety (not that there was much to begin with) or if he’s just over the film entirely by this point. Neither of which is a good sign for the finished product.
I’m doing the best I can for this film,I tell myself,Troy’s accusations still ringing in my ears.That’s all I can do.That’s all anyone can expect of me.
But with everything else going on, with all the information that’s now known to everyone in the world, when anyone with a cell phone out might be watching me even now havesexwith my ex-husband—I feel even more responsible to get this one thing right. And somehow even more helpless.
I hang there, still suspended, asTroy calls for the actors in the next part of the scene—Blake andTanner. Blake disappeared for a while looking for Ivy, but he’s back now. He jogs to his mark on the sand where he’s going to teleport in—conveniently almost directly under me.
“Did you find her?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I think she and Aaron took Costanza for a walk. I texted him to bring her to us as soon as they get back.” He looks up at me, and he must notice I look worried. “She can’t run off. If the perimeter is keeping the reporters out, it can sure as hell keep her in.”
That is true.The paparazzi can be even more creative and tenacious than Ivy, and we haven’t seen security throwing anyone out yet today. Ivy is here, probably sulking and whining about how awful we are.
Lucky Aaron. I’m not sure what gift card to buy him for having to put up with that.
Blake squints up at me. “I like the view.”
“I bet you do,” I return. But our banter is forced. We’re both too worried about Ivy, and the fallout from the leaked video, and the multiple missed calls from my parents and even his parents.
“Maybe I should teleport us both out of here,” Blake says. “Spend the next few weeks in Belize—one of those little bungalows, remember?”
I do. God, that was a nice two weeks.
“Or that animal sanctuary in Utah,” he continues. “I could see if my dog-walking skills have improved.”
“I think you’re going to see that back home in a couple weeks,” I say, my smile less forced now. “But yes. Yes to all that. Get us out of here, Farpoint.”
He opens his mouth to speak, butTroy’s booming voice—he’s using a megaphone now—cuts him off. “Tanner Berg! Where the hell isTanner Berg?”
Sarah runs up and says something to him, andTroy looks like he might be about to throw the megaphone in the sand and kick it a few times for good measure, but then just wearily rubs at his forehead. “Five minute break,” he announces loudly. Quieter, but still loud enough that I can hear him, he says to one of the PAs, “When you bringTanner, bring his assistant too. She’d better have given him the updated fucking call sheet.”
Of courseTanner would fail to show up on time for his scene. He’s probably sleeping off last night. If he’d been willing to listen to me even the tiniest bit—
“It’s not your fault he’s screwing this up,” Blake says, and I glare down at him, even though it actually feels nice that he can read me so well. Also, my glare must not be as potent as Ivy’s, because Blake gives me a knowing smile back.
“No, it’s definitely his fault,” I agree with a sigh. “I just wish I could’ve helped. And that the whole world didn’t now know exactly how we feel about his screwing this up.”
That’s definitely not the worst of the things they know, but it’s still hard for me to even think about the rest.
