He didn’t even sit down but stood there with his arms out as Joanie and Josie went to work, one literally sewing the costume into place on his body while the other set his hair and makeup and did and whatever other magic they did to make him look presentable. Not movie-star worthy, of course, because they weren’t miracle workers, but at least he wasn’t Quasimodo.
“You know,” Josie said next to his ear, “I’d be terrified to go up in the ropes too.”
“Um-hmm,” Joanie echoed. “I hated the sight of them even before today.”
They kept talking, one to the other, in a rapid banter that set his teeth on edge. “Nobody would think less of anybody who refused to do that again. Nobody.”
“Truth, girl.”
“But then, they say you’re supposed to get right back up on the horse that threw you, right?” Josie continued. “Keeps the terror from setting in.”
“And it does set in. If you don’t fight it right off.”
“But it’s got to be hard—”
“Real hard—”
“Still,” Josie said with a slow drawl. “If you’re the star of the show—”
Joanie shook her head. “You gotta do hard every day.”
“Ain’t that the truth? Every day.”
It was the J-girls’ chorus of “get into the damn ropes.” Normally he appreciated their not-so-subtle means of manipulating him. After all, they were the ones who’d initially convinced him they could make him look good on camera. But this was a different matter.
He dropped his arms and stepped forward, forcing them both to scramble out of his way. Then he stared at them, his expression hard.
“Have a little faith in me,” he said.
“We do! We do!” they chorused at the exact same moment. “Wouldn’t be here if we didn’t.”
It was a lie. They were both desperate for movie work as a way of getting their SAG cards. Everyone here was. It was why they’d been willing to come all the way out to Wisconsin during a world-ending catastrophe. Either way, he couldn’t spare any more time for them. He’d promised to do this, and he’d damn well deliver.
Unfortunately, it was a hundred times harder to act drunk while doing martial arts than it was to fight straight. Walter didn’t have close to the skill he needed to do what he’d promised, and he couldn’t fathom why he’d been so insistent on doing it this way.
He took his position with his arm around Red Wolf’s brother. The scene was a simple one. The character Wang Xuegang had been celebrating with too much enthusiasm. He knew better, but hell, his brother was to marry a gorgeous girl, and the two of them had hit the bars. The brother counseled him to take lodging at the inn rather than risk the dangerous trek back through the woods to their home, but the young, arrogant, and inebriated Xuegang (Walter’s character) declared loudly, “I will defeat any creature who challenges us, even a god!”
The gods were not ones to ignore such a challenge, and so the two were attacked by bandits riding bewitched wolves. The brother died horribly, but Wang fought so well—even drunk—that the gods took pity on him and turned him into a werewolf.
It would have been easy for an expert martial artist. Walter had no idea how he was going to manage it. A familiar panic churned in his gut. What the hell was he doing? He was about to humiliate himself in front of his cast and crew—all three hundred of them! They were waiting to laugh at his failure. Or worse, roll their eyes and call this entire expensive production a vanity piece, a circus, with him as the center clown.
Just as he was about to call it off, he caught a glimpse of Bing stepping onto the set. He was shadowed closely by Auntie Sand, but even Walter could see that Bing was watching her as closely as she watched him. Normally Walter would think of his best friend right before trying something hard. He’d tell himself to do it for Bing. That he needed to do the best he could, even if it was a pale imitation of his best friend.
Now Bing was right here. He’d shown up without an explanation, done something in the trailer, and now Walter feltsomethinginside his own gut. Suddenly everything was Bing’s fault. If Bing hadn’t disappeared, then none of the craziness would have happened. And more important, Bing would right now be standing here as the lead, instead of Walter, who would have likely been stuffing his face at craft services at that moment.
Asshole.
He’d show him. Walter would show the man who’d shredded his heart that he was just fine without him. That, in fact, he wasn’t Walter at all, but Walter the mysterious new Red Wolf.
“Action!”
Buoyed by his burst of fury, Walter launched into his role. He was arrogant, drunk, and rip-roaringly funny. That had been something Walter had added when he’d taken over the role. He couldn’t play a martial arts god with a straight face, so he went for the bumbling clown, and he did that exceedingly well.
He delivered his lines with slurred delight. And when his costar couldn’t quite remember his lines, it didn’t matter. Hell, Walter had written the scene a thousand times, a thousand different ways. He adjusted, he improvised, and he gave himself over to the wildly impetuous martial arts role.
Inside his belly, the alien creature he’d almost forgotten seemed to flex. It was enough to make him gag, which he quickly shifted to a drunken hiccup. Hot tendrils wormed their way into his insides, and he fought to control his own body.
“This is my body….” His words slurred to a stop because that wasn’t the line he was supposed to say. Worse, he saw Bing push forward to the edge of the set, worry etched in his face.
