Comedy of Erinn (6 page)

Erinn was again grateful for the low lighting. She could feel herself glowing.

After dinner, Massimo suggested they look at one of his short films. It was in Italian, but Erinn was eager to shake the cobwebs out of her brain and watch. It had been a long time since she needed to sustain an understanding of the language.

Massimo poured them each another glass of wine and took Erinn's hand as he led her to the sofa. He sat very close to her, but in such a casual way that it seemed the natural order of things. Massimo was such a sweet man—a little pushy, maybe, but sweet. Memories of another sweet Italian man threatened to invade the evening, but Erinn was very practiced at keeping them at bay. Erinn concentrated on the movie in front of her.

The plot was something about a curvaceous young Italian woman traveling through Italy. She seemed to spend most of her time changing in and out—mostly out—of clothes. Massimo played a street vendor and was on screen all of ten minutes. He was selling the woman a shawl, and she stripped down to a skimpy, transparent T-shirt to try it on. Having spent so many years in the theater, Erinn was completely comfortable with nudity, but this seemed a bit excessive. She glanced at Massimo, who looked lovingly at his masterpiece flickering on the screen in front of them.

“She is beautiful, no?”

Erinn wasn't sure if he meant the film or the woman, who was once again divesting herself of her clothes on her way into the Adriatic Sea. Erinn took in the beautifully shot Italian landscape and the impossibly blue water. The sunset was perfect—a gift from the filmmaker's god.

“Yes, she is beautiful,” said Erinn.

E
rinn was hoping Massimo would stay away from the front door, but as Suzanna pulled up, Massimo stuck his head out and waved. As Erinn started down the path, Massimo grabbed her and kissed her on both cheeks. Erinn got in the truck and slammed the door.

“Nothing is going on,” Erinn said. “He's just trying to be helpful.”

“Did I say anything?”

“You just make me feel defensive,” Erinn said. “And silly.”

“Are you nervous?” Suzanna asked.

“No! I can handle him!”

“Not Massimo, work!”

Suzanna was driving Erinn to the airport. Erinn had only packed a small bag of personal belongings, but Suzanna had to bring her husband's truck to fit all the camera equipment.

All the preparation for the Revolutionary War shoot was wrapped up and all the crew—Gilroi, Carlos, and Jude—were meeting at the airport. The plan was that they would all fly to Philadelphia together. After that, Erinn lost track of the plan. It appeared that once they hit town, they could either stay together for the big location shoots or fan across the area, shooting their pieces simultaneously. The lack of a concrete schedule made Erinn nervous, but the more seasoned crew seemed to be quite comfortable with the idea, so she decided to wait and see how things worked—before making changes. Erinn tried not to be judgmental, but the casual approach the men took to the assignment disturbed her.

“I'm ready for the shoot,” Erinn said, grateful for the change in topic. “I'm just not sure if anybody else is.”

“You don't have to worry about anybody else. Just do your job.”

“Well,” Erinn said, changing the subject, “at least I don't have to worry about Caro for the two weeks I'm away. Massimo will look after him.”

A leaden silence filled the very small cab.

“I would have been happy to look after Caro,” said Suzanna. “But I guess since Massimo practically lives in your house, this is fine.”

Erinn bristled. She wasn't avoiding the topic of Massimo after all. “Massimo does not practically live in my house. He uses the kitchen from time to time.”

“From time to time?”

“Well, OK, from meal to meal. But he's a wonderful cook, and he doesn't take advantage.”

“Oh? He's taken up all your cabinets and half your refrigerator!”

“He has leftovers from the restaurant!” Erinn said. “You're just annoyed that I found him myself and you didn't get to save me.”

“Well, I wouldn't have picked him myself, that's for sure. He doesn't even have a real job!”

“How can you say that? He's a cook!”

“You said he was a chef,” Suzanna said.

Erinn twisted uncomfortably in her seat.

“He is an artist. I don't care what his label is.”

“Bella Bella is a little dive on Pico Boulevard,” Suzanna snorted. “I guess the difference between
cook
and
chef
is a fine line in translation.”

“Cook, chef... the rent gets paid,” Erinn said.

“Oh, well,” Suzanna said. “Some people don't consider a tea shop a real restaurant, either.”

Erinn was grateful for a truce.

“Have you been watching television like I told you to?” Suzanna asked. “Getting a sense of what people want these days?”

“Yes, and I don't think it did one bit of good. All it did was reaffirm my opinion that TV has gone to hell in a handbasket. These reality shows—my God! What a waste of time and money.”

“Erinn, if you're going to make it in TV, you're just going to have to be more adaptable.”

“I am adaptable,” Erinn said. “Not a word that springs to mind when thinking of me, I grant you, but I am.”

“Whatever you say, Erinn. Anyway, we're here,” Suzanna said, as she pulled up to the curb.

She wanted to help Erinn load all the equipment onto a cart. Erinn maintained that it was too much for a pregnant woman and insisted that she had done enough and she should get back to her shop. Erinn endured a hug from her sister while scanning the check-in line for other crew members. Suzanna abruptly held Erinn at arm's length with tears in her eyes.

“Don't screw up, for God's sake, Erinn.”

Suzanna drove off just as Erinn spotted Gilroi at the front of the check-in line. He was standing with a good-looking man in his forties. They leaned into each other intimately, and Erinn smiled. She remembered back in her heyday in New York, when gay couples could not show public affection. It was always so unnerving to live in the theater, where being gay was completely accepted, and then heartbreaking to watch her gay co-workers' transformation as soon as they headed into the world . . . or even out to the street. She remembered a time when two of the most affectionate men she knew—they were always all over each other during rehearsal—left the hall and parted on the street. They stood there gazing at each other and then theatrically shook hands. It was their “heterosexual good-bye,” they said, making a joke of it. But nobody—least of all the two of them—really thought it was funny.

Erinn watched as Gilroi's partner kissed him good-bye and grabbed a cab. Erinn wondered if Gilroi was too young to have felt that kind of prejudice. From his body language and theatrical facial expressions, it was clear Gilroi was arguing with the beleaguered check-in attendant. Gilroi caught Erinn's eye and signaled her to join them. She pushed her cart to the front of the line, oblivious to the glares from the other passengers lining the curb.

Gilroi turned to Erinn.

“He says I can't bring the camera case on the plane. It won't fit in the overhead. I have to get it on board! I can't check the
camera
!”

Erinn knew that Gilroi was right. Even in a protective case, the camera was much too delicate—and expensive—a piece of equipment to leave to the underbelly of the plane. A cab pulled up to the curb while Erinn was mulling over the situation. Carlos unloaded his equipment next to Gilroi's. A passenger a few heads back shouted that it wasn't fair for these “movie people” to cut into line.

Erinn stared the man down.

“For your information, we're TV people, not movie people. Furthermore, we have a problem to solve and it will save everyone—including you—time if we solve it once, instead of three times. So I'll thank you for your patience.”

Turning back to the problem at hand, Erinn detected a look of respect shoot from one production crew member to the next. Erinn, feeling empowered, turned to her cohorts.

“The problem seems to be that the camera cases are too big for the plane . . . not the cameras themselves. We all have carry-on bags. Let's re-pack. We'll put the cameras in our carry-ons and pack our carry-on things in the camera cases.” She turned to the check-in attendant. “Does that work for you?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said as the crew got busy stuffing and shuffling belongings.

Gilroi gave Erinn a quick, approving squeeze.

“Good work, Sawyer! You started out a youngster, but you came back a star.”

“Thanks, Gilroi. But that quote is wrong.”

“It can't be. I know my movie quotes. It's from
42nd Street
.”

“Yes, it is from
42nd Street
,” Erinn said. “Nineteen thirty-three. But the quote is ‘You're going out a youngster, but you've got to come back a star!' ”

Gilroi smiled, impressed.

“Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Erinn smiled back. Slowly, she was making inroads. Although impressing Gilroi was easy . . . ten years in the theater meant she could match movie and Broadway play quotes with the best of them.

When the equipment had been checked in to everyone's satisfaction, the group managed to get through security without incident and headed toward the gate. Erinn looked at her co-workers and was pleased that they had turned to her in a time of crisis. Clearly, her unruffled demeanor and authoritative persona were a calming influence. Carlos fell in step with Erinn and put his arm around her shoulder.

“Thanks, Momma,” he said. “It's always cool to have the old guard around when things turn to shit.”

Erinn blinked in surprise.
Momma?
She looked up at Carlos, who loped along easily beside her.

Maybe it's a Latino thing
.

She stole another look at Carlos as he checked out every pretty young woman who walked past them.

It wasn't until everyone was clustering around the boarding area that Erinn realized they were one director short.

“Has anyone seen Jude?” Erinn asked.

“He'll be here. He always does this,” said Gilroi.

Erinn boarded the plane with the others. She tried to settle in to her aisle seat. She looked over at Carlos, who was sitting by the window, flipping through United's in-flight magazine. The empty middle seat, where Jude was supposed to be sitting, yawned between them. The rest of the Apple Pie crew was ready to fly to Philadelphia where they would spread out and conquer the entire Revolutionary War in a span of ten days. Could they shoot without a director? Erinn looked around the plane and saw Gilroi calmly reading a newspaper and listening to his iPod a few rows ahead. No one seemed alarmed that Jude was not on the plane. Erinn tried to shake thoughts of a coup from her brain.

“Passenger Raphael, please report to gate forty-six. Passenger Jude Raphael.”

Erinn listened tensely to the flight attendant making her loudspeaker announcement. She thought the flight attendant sounded magnificently bored asking Passenger Jude Raphael to get himself to the plane. Erinn was wondering if the attendant just added a plaintive plea to her voice, maybe that would inspire him to get a move on, wherever he was.

Stop thinking about this scenario,
Erinn admonished herself.
Jude's the director, not you.

Well, I am if he doesn't get his ass on this plane
.

As the seconds ticked by, Erinn's mood lifted. If he didn't get on the plane, she was sure she could convince Cary that it only made economic sense to give Erinn a shot at directing.

“Passenger Raphael, last call. Passenger Raphael. Flight 260 to Philadelphia will be leaving in one minute.”

“Should I call the office?” Erinn asked Carlos, trying to sound professionally concerned.

Carlos looked up and pulled one earbud out of his ear. Erinn smoldered.

“This requires two ears.”

Carlos grinned and good-naturedly yanked out the other earbud.

“OK. What's up?”

“Should I call the office?”

“What about?”

“Jude.”

“Oh, Erinn. Just chill.”

Carlos nestled the earbuds back in place.

Erinn stared at him and thought about the new words she'd picked up during the two weeks she'd been at Apple Pie. Because she was self-taught, she didn't really know much production-speak, but every time she heard a word she didn't know, she wrote it down.

Now, when someone asked for a “stinger,” she knew to grab an extension cord, and if “barn doors” were called for, she knew that it was a lighting fixture with metal flaps that opened and closed. “Beefy Baby” had nearly stumped her, but it turned out to be an aluminum stand with some heft to it.

Erinn looked around the plane. She caught Gilroi's eye. He seemed to read her mind.

“Don't worry. He always shows up by the time we have to shoot.”

Erinn sat back in her seat and closed her eyes. She admonished herself for her fantasy of how great it would be if he
didn't
show up. A tap on her shoulder brought her back to reality. It was Jude, holding a Burger King bag. He indicated the seat next to her.

“I think that's my seat,” he said.

Erinn got up and let him in. She was determined not to say a word, but silence was not one of her virtues.

“You almost missed the flight.”

“No, I didn't,” he said, biting into his greasy burger. “I can't stand getting on the plane and just sitting, so I always wait until they're ready to close the doors before I get on. I still had a good seven minutes.”

“The flight attendant said ‘last call.' ”

Jude shrugged. “They call your name four times before they lock you out. I was cool.”

She glanced over at Carlos, who was pretending to read but who was smirking. Erinn loathed being smirked at and she stewed.

The flight attendant, a young woman in a snug uniform and a name tag that read
Marla
, leaned over Erinn to speak to Jude. Erinn, annoyed, flattened herself against her backrest to make room for Marla's industrial-strength breasts. Marla and Jude flirted effortlessly over Erinn, which annoyed her even further.

“Glad to see you could join us,” Marla said.

“Wouldn't have missed it.”

“We almost lost out on your company for Burger King?” Marla shook her curls.

“Hey! Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

Marla giggled and removed her breasts from Erinn's personal space.

Erinn pulled out her book and determinedly began reading. Jude chomped his fries noisily beside her and suddenly nudged her as Marla started her pitch to her bored, captive audience.

“You're supposed to give her your undivided attention,” Jude said. “Since you seemed so hell-bent on following all the airline's rules.”