His canvas folding chair was next to mine because Conrad, the photographer for MGM, had taken pictures of us in costume yesterday as we had looked over our scripts.
Thankfully Conrad and Mr. Fellbaum were not present today.
Spencer looked different this morning—rested and not hungover. More like the actor I was familiar with and less like the troubled young man I’d interacted with at the Academy Awards and the first day of filming.
“I heard we have to scrap yesterday’s work,” he said as he took the seat next to me, hardly looking in my direction, his gaze on the script.
“Good morning, Mr. Hayes.”
He deliberately turned to me, a smile on his face. “Good morning, Miss Bennett. Now may I comment on yesterday’s work?”
“Comment on whatever you’d like.”
“WhateverI’d like?” He leaned on the armrest of his chair, moving closer than necessary. “Perhaps your beautiful eyes, or your—”
“Save the acting for the movie.” I lifted the script on my lap, pretending his nearness didn’t affect me—wishing it didn’t affect me.
He chuckled and leaned back. “It’s probably a good thing we have to scrap it. I wasn’t at my best yesterday.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “That’s an understatement.”
“I sense you don’t like me, Miss Bennett.”
“You sense right, Mr. Hayes.”
“Have I offended you?”
“Today?” I turned to him. “Not yet, but I’m sure you will.”
He laughed, and it took me by surprise. “It’s so refreshing to meet a woman who doesn’t throw herself at me.”
I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t help it. “Your humility is astonishing.”
“One of my better qualities, I’ve been told.” He grinned.
“If it’s one of your better qualities, I shudder to think about your less stellar characteristics.”
His face sobered. “Unfortunately, you’ve already seen some of them.”
The mood grew so serious, I wasn’t sure how to respond. He went from lighthearted and teasing to morose and sincere without effort. Surprisingly, it was the latter mood that appealed to me, because it felt real and unaffected.
The soundstage was massive, four stories tall and a city block long. At one end of the building, the façades of the March and Lawrence houses had been constructed to look like they were in the New England countryside. Several scenes took place in winter, so there was fake snow on the ground, trees, fence posts, and houses. We would film those scenes first, then the set crew would take away the snow for the spring and summer scenes.
Next to the houses was another part of the set, where Spencer and I were sitting now. The March family’s parlor, dining room, and front entrance had been fashioned after the real Orchard House in Concord. I had known Louisa, the author of the book,since she was a little girl in my other path, and I was trying to emulate some of her personality quirks. She was eight years younger than me, so we had never been close, but I knew her and her family well enough to coach Vicky, Annette, and Lydia about their habits and mannerisms.
Unfortunately, I had never been to Orchard House because they wouldn’t move there until 1857. Instead, I’d visited them at their home called the Hillside until they left for Boston in 1848. It was at that time that my father and Mr. Alcott had parted ways and closed their school. The Alcotts, like my father, had been disheartened and disillusioned by Concord’s reception of their controversial school. It was the reason Father had agreed to go to San Francisco with me.
“Frank got us tickets for the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra,” Spencer said without looking at me. “They’re playing at the Hollywood Bowl tonight.” He added quickly, “We need to get in our quota of dates this week.”
“Are you asking me to go with you? Or telling me?”
He lifted an eyebrow, his tone teasing. “I don’t really have to ask, do I? You’re legally obligated to go out with me.”
A smile tugged at the corners of my lips.
His eyes sparkled with surprise. “Is that a smile, Miss Bennett? For me?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
