And Playing the Role of Herself... (34 page)

He grinned. "Just call me Dr. Josh."
I laughed and unstrapped the small water bottle I was carrying on the belt around my waist and took a few gulps. "So." I offered him the bottle and when he declined, strapped it back in before continuing. "I shouldn't worry about Robyn backing off if I bring up these unresolved concerns of mine. Is that about right?"
"Uh-huh." He used his shirt to wipe at the perspiration on his forehead, and the resulting glimpse of well-defined abs sent a group of teenage girls in bikinis tittering as we ran past. I couldn't blame them, really. The guy was awfully well put together. "Caid," he said after flashing a smile at the girls and causing hearts to pitter-patter, "Robyn loves you. The fact that she's admitted that to me, and to you, is huge. I don't think you could get rid of her now if you tried. If you need to know something, just ask."
"You make it sound easy," I grumbled good-naturedly.
"I know." He grinned. "Isn't it annoying?"
"Extremely." I snorted, but I was smiling, both at his humor and what he'd told me about Robyn.
The parking lot came into view and I eyed the distance speculatively. I grinned at Josh, and slapped him in the stomach. Hard. "Race ya!" I yelled as I took off down the path, happy enough to believe I might even win.

"Settle people…" Nate said crisply, and a hush fell over the crew gathered in the makeshift alley that the production designer and art crew had created between two out buildings on the studio back lot. "We're rolling…"
For a few seconds, only the faint sound of steady, drizzling rain falling in the surrounding puddles could be heard. I closed my eyes, trying to relax and ignore my surroundings - ignore the cold drizzle soaking my skin and hair, and the moisture from the wet pavement beneath me seeping into my clothes. Suppressing a shiver, I cursed whatever stupid childhood dream had made me want to go into acting.
Please, please, please let this be the last take…
It had been six weeks since the assault, five weeks since I got out of the hospital, ten day's since I'd moved from Liz's cottage back into my house and three days since the start of shooting for the new season of
9P
. My body had healed well and I hadn't had any problems with the physical aspects of my job or schedule, but my adventure in Florida was still causing problems because of the caps, blending, and covering necessary to hide the slowly healing damage to my face. The complicated application took an extra hour and a half each morning, forcing Jules and I to be on set by five am, and the additional time needed for touchups during shooting was throwing everyone off schedule, triggering all sorts of trauma within the cast and crew. When enough people complained, Grant talked to Dorn, Dorn talked to his writers, and the next day, the season opener was re-written to create a reason for my character to have scars.
The opener spanned two hours, one of those 'to-be-continued' episodes people bitched about but that drew great ratings. The script brought all six main characters into an investigation of a series of execution-style murders that seemed to be linked to the Mexican Mob,
La Eme
. The original script called for the final scene of the first hour to be an assault on a witness to try to keep her from testifying. The writers switched the assault victim from the witness to my character Rita, and added a few bordering-on-sappy hospital scenes to the start of the second hour where Liz would get to act distraught, the guys would get to act stoic yet caring, and everyone would get to act confused when Robyn's character Judith showed up at the hospital to visit Rita.
The new scenes had been scheduled during the second week of filming, but Nate, in his infinite director's wisdom, had decided that this unseasonably cold and wet night would be the perfect backdrop for the mood he wanted to set for the attack. And that was why, at nearly midnight after a full day of shooting, I was sprawled in a soggy heap in an dark, dirty 'alley'; cold, wet, and thoroughly annoyed that my plans for the night with Robyn, who I hadn't seen in two weeks and who was finally coming home tonight after delays on the
Lost Key
shoot, had to be cancelled.
"Scene eleven-C, take five…mark!" someone called, followed by the distinct snap of a clapboard.
"Ready," Nate spoke again, "…and action!"
I forced myself to stay limp as rough hands gripped the front of my shirt, lifting me slightly off the ground and hot, cigarette-tinged breath blew across my face.
"Drop the case, bitch." The words were harsh and grating, underlined by another shake that I suffered bonelessly. "Forget you ever heard of the name Julian Hernandez."
My eyes fluttered open briefly, enough to see the cruel sneer and the dark, pock-marked face above me. The day-player who'd gotten the part of my attacker - David something or other - really was quite…intimidating, and I experience again, as I had in the takes before, a moment of unease when I opened my eyes and found his face so close to mine. I fought the accompanying urge to strike out in defense, reminding myself that Todd Massey was safely locked away in the Intensive Psychiatric Service unit of Laurel Hills Psychiatric Center in Tampa, and the man above me was not a threat. I gritted my teeth and forced out a soft moan, lolling my head to the side and exposing the fake blood on my cheek to the cold rain. The gooey mess immediately began to drip down my neck and into the collar of my shirt, tickling slightly.
"Rita?" a muted voice called, and sharp, quick footsteps echoed nearby.
The man swore unintelligibly and gave me one more shake before dropping me unceremoniously back to the wet pavement. I stifled a wince and lay still as the splash and slap of his footsteps receded into the night.
The quick footsteps came nearer, stopping abruptly near my head. "Rita! Oh god…Rita…" Warm fingers brushed my forehead and then were gone in a rustle of clothing. A click, several beeps, and the voice came again. "This is Detective Jennifer Hastings, badge number 54162. I have an officer down at…"
Liz's voice rattled off a fictional address and other information while she knelt beside me, and I willed myself not to move as the tickle on my neck from the rivulets of fake gore and rain became harder to ignore. From the hours spent setting up, blocking, and rehearsing this scene, I knew the dolly camera was slowly pulling away, widening the shot, and soon we'd be done, if I could just keep still a bit longer.
A fat drop of water dribbled from my hair onto the side of my face, and I felt it start a slow slide towards my ear.
I
hated
getting things in my ears. They were extremely ticklish, and just the thought of that big fat drop trickling into one…
Not my ear, not my ear, not my ear,
I chanted silently, keeping myself still with supreme effort
. Goddamnit Nate, cut already....
Just as the drop trickled exactly where I didn't want it to, Nate yelled "Cut!" and lights and movement erupted around me, turning the seemingly deserted area into a hive of activity.
"Gah…" I jerked into a sitting position and shook my head wildly, spraying water and film blood everywhere, frantic to get the water out. I dug into my ear with my pinky and shook my head again, finally getting the water out with a shiver and a sigh of relief. "God, I hate that…" My voice trailed off when I glanced over to find Liz staring at her red-spattered hands and clothes with appalled dismay.
"Oh…shit." I bit back a laugh and reached out hesitantly to flick a drippy red chuck of gore from her forehead, and another from her cheek. "Sorry. It was dripping into my ear…"
She scowled and rose swiftly to her feet, wiping her hands on her pants in annoyance. "Ew. Just…ew. Until about thirty seconds ago, I was actually feeling sorry for you." She turned and yelled over to where Nate was huddled under a clear plastic tarp with two other people, watching a replay of what we'd just filmed on the monitors. "Nate! We'd better be finished, 'cause Caid just…exploded all over me."
"And I'm freaking freezing!" I called grumpily as I crawled to my feet, careful to not put too much weight on my newly healed wrist. The orthopedic specialist had given me the green light to take the brace off if I was careful, but it was still fairly weak and prone to aching. Especially, I was finding, in weather like this.
Nate waved a vague hand, not looking up from the monitors. "Get out of the wet for a minute, and let us take a look at these. I think we've got a print, but give me a sec."
I grunted and followed Liz towards the improvised tarp shelter they'd thrown up to covered our chairs, a small table with a few empty trays of crumbs, and an urn of coffee. I slumped into my chair and a barely recognizable crewmember wrapped in a yellow rain poncho handed me a towel which I took it gratefully, leaning over and rubbing vigorously at my wet hair. When I straightened, still drying my hair absently, Liz was perched in the chair beside me, sitting patiently while Jules wiped away the last traces of the blood that I'd splattered all over her. Liz's eyes cut to me with a frown.
"You really did get soaked." She took in my soggy jeans and the short-sleeved, cotton shirt I wore that was plastered to my body and so soaked it was nearly transparent.
Figures wardrobe would dress me in a white cotton shirt the night I have to lay out in the cold rain
…I felt like a contestant in a wet t-shirt contest, and had already fielded several sniggered comments about my 'points of power' and 'twin weapons of mass destruction'.
"Yes, I really did get soaked," I agreed, shivering and wiping at my arms and neck but avoiding my face, although the sticky mixture of wet adhesive and makeup globed there was driving me crazy.
Jules sighed in aggravation and stepped over to peel off the oozing red acrylic appliance that had previously been attached to my cheek to simulate a wound. She dropped it into a container in her set kit with a wet slap and peeled another off my jaw, producing a wince when it stuck to the still tender skin beneath. "Sorry," she muttered as she worked, although she didn't sound or act particularly sorry. She stepped back and nodded at my towel. "You might as well just wipe the rest off - it's ruined now anyway."
As she stalked off I sighed and carefully began to swab my face, cleaning away the film blood and whatever else Jules had smeared on me. I hoped that in a few weeks, when all this extra effort wasn't necessary, that she'd stop being so damn cranky at me all the time. The thought of going through the rest of the season with the makeup specialist pissed-off at me was too depressing to ponder.
"New beau." Liz stated, her voice startling me out of my thoughts.
"Pardon?" I glanced over at her and held the towel away from my face, cocking an eyebrow questioningly.
"Jules. Has a new beau. Some musician, apparently." She tilted her head slightly and tapped her cheek, just in front of her ear. I wiped at the offending spot on my own face, and she nodded. "Having to be at the set so early is interfering with her love life. That's why she's being such a bitch to you lately."
I shook my head and stood, dropping the crimson-spattered towel into my chair. "You mean she's treating me like shit because she's not getting laid?" I was annoyed that I was being blamed for the current disruption to the schedule - it wasn't like I went out and got the scars on purpose…I'd been attacked for fuck sakes. It was, however, slightly heartening to hear that the cold shoulder might end when the schedules settled and regular nookie could commence.
"So says Drew, anyway," Liz said, and handed me the coat that had been hanging on the back of the chair. "Here, put this on before you freeze to death."
I nodded my thanks and pulled the jacket on, shuddering at the initial feel of the cold material against my already ice-cold skin. I zipped it up and rubbed my arms a few times, hoping my body heat would soon make wearing the coat warmer than not wearing it. "I guess Drew would know. Hell, if this script change gets things back to normal with everyone, then it'll be well worth laying in a puddle in the rain for three hours. But next time, you get the puddle." A violent shiver shook my body to emphasize the words. "At least you got a coat during takes."
The script had called for the assault to take place in the alley behind a bar that the squad frequented; the assailant nabbed Rita on her way to the bathroom, hence no coat for me. Liz had lucked out that the writers and wardrobe had deemed Jen smart enough to put on a jacket before searching for her partner, and that had kept Liz fairly dry throughout the drizzly shoot.
"Sorry," she said contritely and handed me a cup of coffee. "I promise, next time I'll lay in the puddle."
I took the coffee it in both hands, holding it for several seconds to warm my fingers and smiling slightly at the ludicrousness of that statement. Her sentiment might be genuine, but the chances of a script ever being written that called for Liz Stokley to lie in a puddle were slim to none. "I'll remember that," I said, and sipped at my drink, feeling almost warm for the first time in hours.
I nodded to David the day-player who came under our tarp for a coffee refill. "Nice job tonight, David."
He seemed startled that I had spoken to him and his hands jerked, coming precariously close to tipping the coffee urn over. "Uh…thanks." He smiled sheepishly, righting the urn and finished filling his coffee without further incident.
"You look familiar…you had a part last season, didn't you? You worked with Micah and Henry…"
We chatted idly for a few minutes, Liz interjecting comments occasionally, until Nate finally decided he had what he needed, thanked us, and told us we were through for the night. The entire crew heaved an audible sigh of relief and several started breaking down the set and light rigging, while Liz, David and I, along with the rest of the crew, headed en-mass towards the studio building's front entrance, the parking lot, or the trailers, all of which were in the same direction.
The drizzle let up as we walked along the side of the building, and we rounded the corner, chattering and joking about crappy timing. As the large crowd broke up into smaller groups bound for different destinations, Liz and I waved and headed for the row of actor's trailers which were set up as a subtle reminder of the
9P
cast pecking order with Liz's being the first in the row and mine being the last. I stopped at her trailer to finish the conversation we'd been having, ribbing her gently about being willing to pay five thousand dollars for a wedding cake.
"Christ, Liz, I've heard you whine about paying a buck-fifty for a muffin…"
I could tell she was gearing up for a good comeback and looking forward to it when a wolf-whistle and several calls of greeting from the crew drew our attention to a tall, raincoat clad form emerging from a green SUV that I hadn't noticed parked in the lot's front row.
I hadn't recognized the car in the dark, but I certainly recognized its passenger. Even bundled in red gortex from the waist up, her form was unmistakable and a pleasant warmth stole through me at the sight of her.
"Isn't that Robyn?" Liz asked curiously. "I thought you cancelled your plans tonight."
I nodded absently at both questions. I had called Robyn and left a message about Nate's rearranging of the shooting schedule, telling her that I would call her in the morning. I hadn't expected to see her until then, and I was touched and pleased that she'd wanted to see me badly enough to brave the rain and the late hour. A grin spread across my face as she splashed through numerous puddles towards us, waving casually and returning the crew's greetings and comments but not pausing to talk to any of them.
Soon she was standing in front of me, smiling widely, her near-black eyes alight with pleasure. She pushed the hood of her coat back, absently freeing her hair from the confines of the hood with one hand and letting it cascade down her back. "Hey," she grinned, and moved towards me, hesitating when I instinctively flicked a glance at the several crew members who were suddenly not in such a hurry to get out of the wet. They watched us avidly, not even trying to conceal their interest.