Comedy of Erinn (17 page)

E
rinn sharply stopped the SUV and just stared in amazement. Chills pricked her spine and she shivered involuntarily. She was on the crest of a small hill, and below her the Valley Forge of 1777 had come to life in the crisp early-morning light. Several extras, already in costume, were milling around the snow-covered location, stacking guns, starting small campfires, and drinking coffee out of tin cups. Erinn knew that APE had hired a group of reenactors to be in the recreation, but she never expected anything as breathtaking as this. And on their budget! She could already see the footage they would be able to capture and she had to hold back her tears.

If it had not been for the two large mobile homes, a smattering of late-model cars, and the presence of down-clad crew members, she would have thought she'd somehow been thrown back in time.

Several of the log cabins stood with their doors open. The huge masses of snow that covered the park on her last trip to Valley Forge had melted, so there was no way of knowing if any one of these cabins might be . . .
might be what?

“It is a magnificent sight, no?” Massimo asked from the passenger seat. Erinn snapped back to reality. She had almost forgotten she had company. Erinn had whisked Massimo off to the Explorer as the rest of the crew got organized at the hotel. She did wonder if Jude might have some deep, visceral reaction to the sight of another man with Erinn. She was well aware that Jude was playing the whole thing off as a casual encounter, but men were men after all.
Best to keep things professional and not take any chances.

Erinn guided Massimo to the makeup-and-wardrobe trailer. Massimo carried the general's costume over one arm. Erinn, carrying the wig and boots, struggled up the metal steps of the trailer. Rita was already inside, and Erinn was relieved that the trailer had heat. She realized she was a little defensive about their working conditions, now that she had Massimo in tow. Not that she wanted to show off, but still...

Rita was studying what appeared to be a mason jar full of brass eyeballs swimming in an amber liquid.

She looked at Erinn as they entered, but completely ignored Massimo.

“What the hell is this?” asked Rita, brandishing the jar.

“I'm sure I have no idea,” Erinn said.

“Then I'll tell you what it is,” Rita said.

“If you know, why are you asking me?”

Rita unscrewed the jar lid and thrust it under Erinn's nose. Erinn sniffed delicately, then recoiled. Urine!

“Somebody cut the brass buttons off all the uniforms and peed on them!” Rita said.

“Who would do something like that?” Erinn asked, noticing that Massimo had pulled his button-heavy costume close to his chest protectively, in case some urine-streaming madman was lurking nearby.

“You're the producer, you tell me,” Rita said.

There was a quick rap on the door, and the production assistant Erinn now thought of as “Fetus” stepped almost apologetically into the trailer. He blinked at Erinn.

“Do you want me to get the gear out of your truck?” he asked.

Rita pounced.

“Do you know anything about this?” she asked.

Fetus studied the jar.

“Yes,” he said. “The reenactors did it. They're hardcore and refuse to wear any clothing that doesn't look authentic. They break into wardrobe the night before a shoot and pee all over the brass buttons.”

“Why?” Erinn asked.

“To age them.”

“I'm calling the police,” Rita said, snapping open her cell phone.

Erinn tried not to knock the phone from Rita's hand. Diplomacy was never Erinn's strong suit, but she couldn't have three-fourths of her cast arrested. She placed her hand on Rita's wrist. Rita tried to stare Erinn down, but while diplomacy might not be Erinn's strong suit, stubbornness was.

“I'm not sewing a bunch of pee-soaked buttons back on those coats,” Rita said.

“Why don't you get a cup of coffee?” Erinn suggested, steering Rita toward the door. “I'll take care of this.”

Rita handed Erinn the jar and left. Fetus, wasting no time, followed at her heels. Even Massimo deserted the ship, quickly hanging up his costume and leaving the trailer without a word. Erinn was alone with the mason jar. She held it up to the light. She had to admit, the buttons looked much more authentic.

She found a pair of rubber gloves under the sink and went to work. She had a sense of déjà vu and realized that it was because she was sewing once again. First Betsy Ross and now this. Since the Continental Army was a ragtag group, there was no set pattern to the heap of jackets in front of her. There were a few uniforms and some old coats and shirts. She held up one jacket much like General Washington's, which should have buttons up and down both sides. Erinn sighed. It would take forever to sew on sixteen buttons. She sewed on a button and carefully cut the thread with scissors—reminding herself, under the urine-circumstances—not to break the thread with her teeth. She could just hear her mother's warnings about germs.

“You don't know where those buttons have been,” her mother would have said.

But in this case, knowing where they'd been was even worse!

Erinn looked up from her sewing as the door rattled open. Jude bounced into the room and sat across from her.

“Hey, Erinn!”

“Hey . . . Jude.”

“How long do you think this will take?” he asked. “I'm not sure the light will hold all day. The clouds are pretty unstable.”

Erinn gestured at the stack of coats and beautifully patina-ed buttons and shrugged.

Jude held up another coat that would require a multitude of buttons. He studied it with a critical eye. The cuffs were frayed, the collar worn. One sleeve was so faded that it appeared to be made from a different fabric.

“You know,” he said, “I think that the owner of this jacket would never have had a full set of buttons at this point in the jacket's life.”

Erinn smiled as Jude put the jacket in the finished pile and picked up a needle and thread.

“Let me give you a hand. It'll speed this up.”

Erinn could feel herself getting warmer and hoped she was not turning pink. She tried to follow Jude's casual lead, but it was hard for her not to think of their night together, especially here!

“Thanks for helping,” Erinn said.

“Gets me out of the snow,” he said. “Besides, we haven't had much of a chance to talk since . . .”

“Since . . .”

“Since we got back from Valley Forge last time.”

“Well”—Erinn feigned a casualness she did not feel—“is there anything to say?”

“I don't know,” Jude replied. “I figured if there was anything to say, you'd say it.”

“Things like that happen,” she said.

“Yeah, but you have to admit . . . it's surprising that it happened . . . you know . . . with us.”

Erinn had felt herself opening up, but Jude's comment caught her by surprise and she slammed the iron door.

“Are you satisfied with our new General Washington?” Erinn asked, changing the conversation. The new subject put her on higher ground, she felt.

Jude shrugged.

“I guess. How well do you know him?”

“Not well,” Erinn said. “He rents my guesthouse.”

Jude looked up with a start. Erinn flushed. She had completely forgotten that she had rejected Jude as a possible tenant. Whatever heated emotion she thought she saw flickering in Jude's eyes faded and he smiled.

“Well,” he said, “he must be something then. I know it isn't easy to pass the guesthouse test.”

Erinn racked her brain for something to say. The problem was, Jude was right. Massimo had passed the guesthouse . . . “test” . . . and Jude had not.

Erinn let out a yelp. She had pricked her finger. She and Jude both stood at the same time.

“It's fine, it's fine,” she said.

Jude took her hand and looked at it.

“It's bleeding a little.”

Erinn could feel her heart racing. She was always shocked when words failed her, but she could think of nothing to say as she stared into Jude's eyes. They seemed to be suspended in time, but the door suddenly crashed open and Carlos stuck his head in.

“Dudes,” he said. “We gotta start shooting.”

Erinn and Jude both stared at him mutely, Erinn's bleeding finger still clutched in Jude's hand.

“Like . . . now . . .” Carlos continued.

Erinn pulled her hand away.

“It's only a flesh wound,” she said, as lightly as she could.

She and Jude stared at the pile of coats.

“There's still a shitload to do,” Jude said.

“I have an idea,” Erinn said. “We'll take all the coats and buttons outside and record the reenactors sewing them on while they sit around the campfire.”

Jude grinned.

“You rock, Tin Lizzy.”

Jude followed Carlos out the door. Erinn felt thrilled by the compliment. She insisted to herself that it was the fact that she, the producer, had pleased Jude, the director, who was making her spine turn to jelly.

Once everything was in order, the three camera operators, Erinn, Carlos, and Gilroi, prepared to start their day. They loaded tape into their cameras and checked light and sound levels. As a group, they wandered over to Jude, who was leaning over a large table studying a map. Erinn had wondered exactly how this sort of shoot happened, but now that all was being revealed, she found the process brilliant.

The reenactors were to go about their business and the camera ops would shoot little vignettes. Jude would give them a general sense of what he wanted, but there was an incredible amount of personal artistic freedom involved. Erinn couldn't wait to get started. Jude pointed to various spots on the map, indicating where the action would be taking place and what he wanted each camera person to cover. Erinn tried to follow what he was saying and not concentrate on the muscle in his forearm that contracted when he moved his hand from one position on the map to another.

Carlos would follow the freezing, starving soldiers, Gilroi would be attached to the soldiers who were making bullets and sewing on buttons (Jude glanced up at Erinn and gave her a wink), and Erinn would be assigned to General Washington, who would stroll among the dispirited soldiers.

“Is there something you want me to capture in particular with General Washington?” Erinn asked.

“Nah,” Jude said. “Just show him giving them . . . you know . . . some hope and general inspiration.”

Erinn looked at him. She could never tell if he was being sarcastic—“snarky,” he called it—or sincere. Sensing that he was in work mode, she took this comment at face value. She vowed that she would get General Inspiration like Jude had never seen! She shot a glance over at Massimo, glorious in his Revolutionary War attire. She was relieved to see that he was wearing his wig. Erinn realized that Massimo, already in character as General Washington, was leaning over a table of his own, poring over an old map with a couple of reed-thin reenactors. It was almost a perfect replica of the crew's tableau.

Jude gave a few final instructions and the crew dispersed. As Erinn threaded her way among the reenactors, she felt like a ghost who was floating among the dedicated troops of the Revolutionary War. Erinn had been aware of reenactors, of course, but always regarded them with a benign amusement. Now, watching them in action, with their ill-fitting boots and threadbare coats, she found she had a newfound respect for these people, who were keeping history alive. She noticed there were a few women milling about the camp in eighteenth-century costumes. She was pleased to see them, because they added to the authenticity of the shoot. While very little was known about the women at Valley Forge, there apparently were some women in the camp. Erinn's research showed that, while officers' wives probably never made it to Valley Forge, enlisted men's wives often lived among the troops, some as paid housekeepers, cooks, nurses, and laundresses.

Erinn looked through her lens finder, setting up her first shot, when Rita appeared on her screen. She was fussing with General Washington's wig. Erinn felt herself boil! Massimo already looked a little out of place, she noted, with his pristine uniform. There was no need to add insult to injury. Erinn had learned that Washington had admonished Congress in no uncertain terms for their callous disregard of the freezing patriots. He staunchly refused to rest during the war, even at times when he was only a few hundred miles from home. He certainly wouldn't have been wondering how his hair looked!

Erinn approached Rita, who was adding a tiny black ribbon to Massimo's wig.

“Thanks, Rita, I think we're ready to go,” Erinn said.

Rita gave Massimo's cheek a quick swipe with her makeup pad and beamed at him.
She
can
smile,
thought Erinn, trying to punch down her jealousy.

Massimo pointed the lens of Erinn's camera his way and flipped the LCD screen so he could see himself. In amazement, Erinn watched him preen. She had heard tales of actors having the audacity to touch a producer's camera, but she hadn't believed it. And Massimo, at that!

Massimo straightened up and looked at Erinn. He was tall and filled out the uniform nicely. Technically, he was perfect, and she knew no one would fault her choice.