Dirty Movies (22 page)

The last
few weeks of production were so catastrophic that the cast and crew on
A Desert Affair
had little time to dwell on Michael’s absence. On Monday, a small fire had broken out on the main stage destroying a pivotal set. Rachel and Polly had spent the rest of the week holed up in the production office, pleading with freelance Set Decorators and Painters to fly out at the last minute and repair the damage.

Just as that crisis
abated, their lead actor, in a fit of drunken lunacy, made a series of calls to the most salacious tabloid editors in London, outing himself in ways only Oscar Wilde could have dreamt of. With weepy pictures of his beautiful, cuckolded ex-girlfriend splashed across the front pages, the international press had descended on the small desert town of Erizo to catch an exclusive first glimpse of Zach and his rumoured new lover.

To
cope with the press invasion, in his typical penny-pinching style, Vincent had promoted all runners, drivers, nannies and general hangers-on to Set Security duties, but they were soon outfoxed and outnumbered by the wily paparazzi. In an appalling twist of fate, their Unit Publicist Janice had also selected that week to host her VIP press interviews in the build-up to the film’s marketing campaign. The poor woman was now having her work cut out steering questions away from the touchy subject of their lead actor’s sexual persuasion.

Fed-up with having a camera shoved in her face every time she stepped outside the production office door, Polly was just devising ways of escaping undetected when Rachel appeared in the doorway brandishing two mugs.

‘You lifesaver,’ sighed Polly, taking one and slurping noisily. There was something illogically refreshing about drinking piping hot mint tea when it was fifty degrees outside. ‘I’ve just had a thought. Shall I bung the hair department a few quid for that Pamela Anderson wig? She’s so passé these days the press wouldn’t flutter an eyelid.’

‘I
think Gemma’s beaten you to it.’

‘
Non-
gentlemen prefer blondes,’ muttered Polly, under her breath. They weren’t the only ones who had caught the voluptuous Hair Stylist humping away behind the generator this week but only Polly had recognised the pale fuzzy bottom grinding into her.

‘By the way
,’ said Rachel, as she stuffed paper into the printer tray, ‘another of Janice’s journalists just arrived. She needs taking down to set.’

Polly groaned. The last time she ventured outside she had been the unwilling beneficiary of two squished toes and a sharp jab in the kidneys. ‘And to think I gave you my last custard cream!’

‘I’ll do it if you want but she says she’s friend of yours.’

‘But I don’t know any journalist
s…’ Polly’s voice trailed off when she spotted a familiar blonde with pixie-like features grinning at her from the doorway. The blonde tutted at her indignantly.

‘Thanks a bunch Pollyanna.
Remind me to disown you next time we’re in the desert!’

‘LUCY!’

Polly jumped up and threw her arms around her friend in delight.

‘What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Don’t tell me your parents actually advanced you a
decade worth of birthday money? ’

Lucy started g
iggling. ‘Calm down, you daft woman. I didn’t say anything because I wanted to surprise you.’ She took a step back and her laughter faded. ‘But where’s your tan, Pollyanna? You’re as white as a snowflake!’

Three months in a gloomy Production Office was no better than a spell down the mines. Only a sprinkling of freckles
betrayed the fact that Polly had been toiling away in Africa all summer and not the crap end of Slough. It also appeared some wicked crew member had put her best friend in a hot wash on repeat. Her shorts were hanging off her tiny frame.

‘Come on
, Lucy, out with it. What’s the story? What are you really doing here?’

‘
Like you’re colleague said, I’m ‘another journalist’.’

‘Oh?’ Polly turned to Rachel
then realised her faux pas. ‘Sorry guys, Rachel, this is Lucy, Lucy, Rachel.’

‘Nice to meet you
,’ said Rachel, leaning over to shake her hand.

‘Umm likewise
.’ Lucy regarded her thoughtfully. 

‘Lucy works for our home town newspaper
,’ explained Polly. ‘But I thought you were stuck on village events and things?’

‘I was
, but my Editor Phil was so impressed with my embellishment skills on my May Day piece that I got promoted. One of your actors, Charlie Cassidy, also happens to have a fourth home in our part of the world so I persuaded Phil to fiddle the books and fly me out for an interview. Phil’s a closet gay with a mega crush on Zach so I promised I’d put in a good word.’

‘
That’s amazing! How long are you out here for?’

‘Only a day or two but I can probably string it out for a bit longer if Phil thinks he’s in with a chance
.’

‘But that means you might be here for the wrap party on Saturday!’ Polly was puce with excitement.

‘I will if you don’t spontaneously combust on me. Seriously Pol, you look like my Nan every time Bruce Forsythe appears on the TV.’

‘Why don’t you take Lucy down to set?’ suggested Rachel gently. ‘It sounds like you two
have a lot of catching up to do.’

‘Your mum’s on the war path,’ warned Lucy, as they sped off in a hail of camera clicks. ‘She hasn’t heard from you in six weeks. Oh, and the flat’s got a new leak, and my car’s finally choked. Wow, that’s impressive,’ she added, gazing up at a fortress spanning the length and breadth of the back lot. ‘I bet that doesn’t require a load of saucepans when the heaven’s open.’

‘I
beg to differ, it doesn’t actually have a roof.’ 

‘
Ah. Best stick to our leaky flat then. So what’s been going on out here?’ she asked, removing her Gucci knock-offs and peering at Polly beadily.

Polly shook her head.
‘Where do I start?’

‘You can
start
by telling me how you managed to lose half your body weight.’

‘Have I? How wonderful!’

‘Not wonderful at all, you’re too skinny, and I nearly died when I got your ONE email. You sounded more miserable than Morrissey.’

‘I’ve made a few silly mistakes
,’ admitted Polly, ‘and not all of them are work-related…’

‘Oh?’

‘Hey gorgeous, what cha doing all the way out here?’ called out a voice suddenly. Polly slammed on the brakes and the golf buggy pirouetted gracefully across the loose gravel. Whipping off her sunglasses again, Lucy watched, open-mouthed, as a gorgeous man with a head of dusky brown curls came striding up to them. He was wearing low-slung blue combat shorts, an enormous black headset, and a white t-shirt which had ridden up to display that fantastically sexy spot that lay just a few inches beneath a man’s waist. Lucy gulped. He had to be an actor. He was too fantastic looking to be anything else.

‘My, my, my, who’s that?’ she breathed. B
ut before Polly could answer, the man was kissing her cheek, and then delving in greedily for a second.

‘This is a nice surprise
,’ said Joe beaming at Polly. ‘Vincent doesn’t normally let his minions out before nightfall. Have you locked him in the toilet?’

The idea of Vincent being imprisoned in their fetid production office toilet was a wonderful
, yet implausible scenario. The walls were so flimsy you could fart your way to freedom in a matter of seconds.

‘It was the only way
,’ said Polly seriously. ‘Do you think anyone will notice?’

‘Only the caterers when they have ten potions of lunch left over. The studio
strays will be in doggie-heaven.’ They grinned at each other and Lucy felt the air thick and charged with something indefinable.

‘But now I’m at the mercy of those charming paparazzi instead
,’ sighed Polly lightly.

‘The lesser of two evils in my opinion
.’

‘Even so
,’ she said, looking around. ‘They seem to be conspicuously low in numbers this afternoon.’

‘Zach’s suffering
from heat stroke so we’re wrapping him early. We’re just in the middle of re-shuffling the schedule now. Hi, I’m Joe,’ he added, nodding at Lucy.

‘This is Lucy Richards
,’ explained Polly quickly. ‘She’s flown out for the cast interviews.’

‘Another journo, huh? So which paper are you from?’

‘
Lightbridge Informer,’
announced Lucy proudly, as if any weekend paper enthusiast wouldn’t be seen dead in their local Starbucks without a copy.

‘I see
.’ But he didn’t see at all. In fact he’d never even heard of it. He realised both girls were grinning at him.

‘Don’t worry Joe, we don’t expect you to know it
,’ teased Polly. ‘Lucy’s a reporter for our local paper.’

‘Local paper, huh?’ Joe reached into his back pocket and pulled out his call sheet. ‘That’s odd…i’m sure I didn’t see any charity walks or cake fares sche
duled for today.’

‘Oh
, we’re branching out,’ said Lucy airily. ‘They’re strictly page four fodder these days. We hold our front pages for our celebs.’

‘Lightbridge a
n alias for Belsize Park, then?’

‘Nope, it really is our home
town. Polly’s my flat mate. I also happen to have a closet homosexual editor with a major crush on Zach.’

Joe glanced from girl to girl. Their closeness was unmistakable.  ‘So how long have you known each other?’

‘Oh decades,’ said Lucy. ‘Polly stole my lunchbox on the first day of primary school and we’ve been best mates ever since.’ 

‘So you’d be the best person to shed some light on her mysterious
boyfriend then?’ he asked slyly, ‘the one she never mentions. Tom, isn’t it?’

The question took both girls by surprise.

‘Tom err…?’ Lucy looked confused. ‘Oh yes, sorry Tom, yes umm lovely, handsome Tom. Yeah, they’ve been together for how many years now, Polly?’ Lucy glared at her friend.

‘Three
.’

‘Yes three.’

There was an awkward silence.

‘Is everyone so
secretive in Lightbridge?’ asked Joe, sounding amused.

Fortunately
, the girls were rescued by the sweaty arrival of the Unit Publicist Janice.

‘Excuse me, are you Lucy Richards?’ she panted, fanning her face with her clipboard.  

‘I am. I think.’ she said, glaring at Polly again.

‘Great. Welcome to Morocco
!’ Janice thrust a press pack into her hands. ‘I gather you’re here for an interview with…?’

‘Charlie Cassidy
.’

‘Yes of course
.’ Janice perked up considerably when she realised Lucy wasn’t another Zach Roberts interrogator. ‘If you’d like to follow me, I’ll see what we can get organised.’ 

‘Lovely stuff.’ Lucy climbed out of the buggy and brushed the creases out of her khaki shorts. ‘Give me a call when you’re finished
,’ she added to Polly. ‘I think you and I need to have a little
chat
.’

Polly nodded sheepishly and mouthed a silent thank you.

‘Joe, this is Danny, over.’ The crackle from Joe’s walkie-talkie made them all jump.

‘Danny, this is Joe, go ahead, over
.’

‘Zach’s wrapped and is on his way back
to unit base and wardrobe, over.’

Janice let out a wail. ‘But he can’t leave yet
!’ she cried. ‘Ellis Merton from
Hollywood Film
has been waiting to see him for hours!’

Joe radioed
Danny back immediately. ‘Danny, Joe again, over. Can you nip over to wardrobe and tell Sally to stall Zach? We have a journalist coming over to interview him there, over.’

‘Let’s hope Mr Merton
likes wet pants hanging above his head,’ whispered Polly, as Janice belted off with Lucy in tow.

Joe grinned. ‘H
e used to report serious stuff from Afghanistan so I reckon he’ll take dripping underwear over raining gunfire any day of the week. Listen, I better scoot and sort this schedule out. I’ll see you later, sweetheart.’

‘Ok, see you
.’

Polly watched him disappear into his trailer
. She couldn’t wait to fly home next Sunday but as soon as they landed at Heathrow the GBA crew would scatter to the wind like dandelion seeds. She wouldn’t see Joe again until the next shoot was up and running which, according to Rachel, would be six months at least.

She knew th
e odds were stacked against her. She had agonised every night in her bed until sunrise, but even so, she couldn’t help clinging to the possibility that there might be a little love left in his heart that was hers for the taking.