“I directed eight of those movies. We churned them out so fast, I can’t remember which movie was which anymore.”
Monty couldn’t tell the movies apart much either. Powell was set to release the twelfth movie in the series. They were known for their small town charm, predictable plotlines, and the neighbor character’s catchphrase: “Well, gang, it’s been fun but Abyssinia!”
“I imagine that’s part of the appeal,” he said.
“Probably. At any rate, I was delighted to get my first assignment. I was pleased as punch when they assigned me the next movie too. By the fourth, I was no longer surprised by the assignment. By the sixth, I was tired of them. And after I filmed the eighth, I had to practically beg to get something else.”
“I get that. That’s kind of how I’ve been feeling with the musicals I’ve been in.”
“I know.”
He looked at her in surprise.
“I told you I’d watched your movies. I could tell by the last few that you were getting pretty fed up with them.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t realize it was that obvious.”
“It probably wasn’t to most people. But there were tells. You leaned on your magic more to carry you through the duller numbers. Those plots are paper-thin, just like the Best movies. But you always shone brightest when your role required you to do more than sing, dance, and stand around looking pretty.”
They were nearing the end of the residential block. He expected her to go back toward the set, but she turned again to the next row of buildings. The façades were city apartment buildings. With a little magic, they could easily be adjusted to look battered and grimy for a poorer side of town or polished up to become high-class residences. Most of the time, they looked somewhere in the middle.
She pointed to a street corner that had a conveniently placed dark alley behind it.
“This is where I filmed She Looked Back, my first movie outside the series. Very different from what I had done before. It was a prestige film, you know. Big budget, the works. Exactly the kind of film I had imagined making as a successful director.”
Something in her tone indicated where she was going with this. So Monty supplied, “But?”
“But it wasn’t any fun. There was so much pressure. The actors were big names. My lead actor only wanted to be filmed on his good side, and my lead actress behaved like she owned the place. So when Ezra offered me a romantic comedy next, I snatched it up fast. Let’s go through the station lot. That’s my favorite.”
Monty was pretty sure they were not going to make it back to the set within the ten minutes, but he wasn’t about to say so. He duly followed her past the street lots. They turned back in the direction of the Main Street lot, but detoured to the train station and took the steps leading up to the platform. Like the other lots they’d gone through, it was empty of people and filming equipment, but the bones of the set were still present. The trains were all in the building where the engineers maintained them, but the tracks could be seen below, along with the turnstile and the ticket booth. There was even an empty newspaper stand.
She stopped for the first time on their walk and spun leisurely in place. “I just love this one. It feels exciting, even when it’s empty. There are stories and possibilities on every set, of course. But this set is the most inspiring to me.”
Monty followed her lead and turned slowly to look around him. All he saw was an empty set, stripped of any real personality, a perfect blank slate, just like all the others. There was the slightly stale feel to the air when a place hadn’t seen magic in a long time. It was only a vague feeling, like the hint of autumn in a late summer breeze, but it was there.
Director Chen leaned her arm on the newspaper stand and gave him a long look. “I’m well aware that you didn’t think this role was for you. I’m also aware that you have conveyed the exasperation and tension of the character by funneling your own frustration into your performance.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. He looked down and scuffed the platform with the toe of his shoe, noting that the paint was chipped in spots and dust had settled along the wall.
“It’s been effective,” she went on. “You’re finally showing the talent you’ve been hiding under your charm.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “But you can only go so far relying on raw emotion to fuel your acting. I’ve kept the pace quick because you work really well under pressure.”
She gave a small smile at his astonished expression before continuing. “But I need you to dig into the softer side of your character, the one that can’t depend on being stressed in order to perform it. This scene is the heart of the movie. It’s what will make the audience shift from laughing at our hero to rooting for him. People think comedy is easy because it’s silly and light. But comedy is just as good at revealing the truths about human nature as drama is. And that is what this scene is all about. This is the scene that will change reviews from ‘That Montgomery Kincaid is a riot’ to ‘That Montgomery Kincaid is a stellar actor.’ Show us who Sam is underneath all the bluster and you’ll really show what you are capable of. Think you can do that?”
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I think I can.”
She squeezed his shoulder before removing her hand. “Good. Let’s get back to the set.” She turned and paused. “Oh, and don’t think I didn’t notice you using your magic on the horses. Stop being an idiot and tell me when you’re nervous about animals so I can move your mark.”
Then she strode down the platform with her purposeful gait. Monty stifled a laugh at his director calling him an idiot so soon after giving him such an encouraging speech, and hurried after.
Chapter 18
Hilliard
“You look nice.”
Hilliard looked up from putting the perfect loop in his tie to find Monty propped against one shoulder in the bathroom doorway, hand in his pocket. He was in all black with a shimmery gold and white pocket square.
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Hilliard murmured, playfully affronted.
