Monty cursed under his breath as everyone moved back to first places. Hilliard offered him a sympathetic grin. His co-star was going to need a quiet evening to relax after the big scenes they’d been shooting that day. An easy dinner on the porch ought to do the trick, Hilliard decided.
Once the line of parade participants was back in order, the clapperboard snapped and Monty was frantically flipping through the papers on the clipboard he’d been handed.
“Who approved the dog sled being directly behind the baton twirlers?” he asked incredulously.
Just off camera, the dog handler sent one of the two huskies on set running forward with a baton in its mouth, followed by the twirler in her glittery blue and silver costume. The chase cut directly in front of Monty and Hilliard, both turning their heads to watch in unison.
“You did,” Hilliard said. “It was right after you–” He paused to let the stilt walker go by. Monty was too busy looking at his clipboard again to notice. It was timed perfectly so that he walked directly between the long stilt legs like he was passing through a garden arch. Hilliard took a few long strides to catch up with his distracted friend. “Right after you told the fella in the polar bear suit he was being too aggressive.”
“I had to say something,” Monty told him. “He had one of the penguins in a chokehold! This is supposed to be a wholesome family event, Tom, not a professional wrestling match.”
“A little fighting around the holidays is perfectly normal,” Hilliard said with ease. “Why, I wouldn’t even recognize Christmas Eve dinner without my Auncle Gert calling Uncle David an airhead before we’ve even sat down to eat.”
Monty looked up from his papers. “Is your Uncle David an airhead?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
They strolled past the fire truck, which was also decorated, and the group of carolers warming up their voices with over-the-top tongue trills. In between was a float with a giant papier-mache dinosaur that was meant to be entirely nonsensical but never questioned throughout the film.
“Sir! Sir!”
One of the dancing elves came barreling through the middle of the marching band members dressed like nutcrackers, knocking several of them down like bowling pins in the process. The cymbals clashed as the musician holding them fell against the French horn player, who landed on the drummer. They’d clearly rehearsed it many times.
“What’s the matter now?” Monty asked. This particular elf showed up in several earlier scenes, always with a new catastrophe to report.
“Santa has lost his beard!”
Monty slapped a gloved palm against his forehead. Hilliard was sure he’d never seen the man do that outside of filming. It was adorable.
“Again?”
“Last time was the hat,” Hilliard pointed out.
Monty shot him a glare.
“It’s somewhere in the snow,” the elf went on, all big eyes and rosy cheeks.
“Of course it is.” Monty smacked his clipboard against Hilliard’s chest for him to hold.
The elf whirled around, ready to crash through the marching band again. Monty caught his shoulders first. They dashed across the sidewalk to where several more elves, someone dressed up as a penguin, and Santa himself were digging around in the snowdrift.
Hilliard stood by looking highly amused as Monty tossed the tails of his scarf over his shoulder and joined in the search.
What came next was the big laugh of the scene. Monty had to stay bent at the waist as he continued looking for the elusive beard, all while taking steps toward his mark in front of a much larger pile of snow. There, the studio’s best horse wrangler had one white gelding with jingle bells on his bridle standing at the ready.
As soon as Monty reached the right spot with his backside turned to the camera, the trainer waved both arms and said, “Up!”
The gelding tossed his head back, working up to his trick, and then reared onto his hind legs. The elf sitting in the saddle was another skilled horseback rider that had been in most of the studio’s Westerns. She feigned surprise and held on, pretending to calm the horse.
From behind the pile of snow between them, a hidden crew member sprayed Monty with more of the snowy mixture just as the horse’s front hooves came back to the ground, covering his face and chest. At the same time, Monty grabbed the beard from where the prop runner had tucked it for him.
Hilliard stepped forward to his mark as Monty stood and turned around to face the camera so it could get a closeup shot of both of them. Snowflakes fell from Monty’s eyelashes as he blinked several times. It was surprisingly difficult for Hilliard to keep from brushing delicate fingertips over Monty’s face as he would’ve done if they were themselves.
“Would you look at that,” Hilliard said, taking the long, curly beard from him and holding it up to his own chin like he was wearing it. “And I thought it was reindeer who help the jolly man in red, not horses.”
Director Chen was happy with the shot and wrapped the scene.
“Come here,” Hilliard said with a soft laugh, stepping in front of Monty after handing off the clipboard and beard. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and began wiping the faux flakes away from his cheeks and chin. “Is real snow this messy?”
