HOT SET: Playing with Fidelity (A romantic suspense novel) (12 page)

It was a nostalgic, subdued
Rhys that strode onto the chartered aircraft on his way from Brisbane to Sydney. Mira greeted him at the door.

He’d a great week with his family, stayi
ng in his old room with its VL Commodore posters, sporting trophies and his parents fussing over him again. It’d been too long and he resolved to get back more often. He had enjoyed not having Mira, Sal and Lucy governing his life. He enjoyed just being Rhys.

He’d also awoken lots of memories by visiting haunts from his childhood
. The high school hadn’t changed in the 14-years since he’d left, the corner store still stocked the familiar Smiths Chips, Toffee Apple Bars and Wiz Fizz lollies, the local boys were still riding BMXs around the long-abandoned quarry and he even made time to surf every day at his local beach, revelling in the familiar tides. He’d gone fishing twice with his dad and got under his mum’s feet when she made dinner, which always earned him a good-natured slap.

Rhys
was at peace, relaxed, with his true identity restored. These were emotions foreign to him in his polished, fabricated life in Los Angeles. He hadn’t styled his hair for the entire week, had lived in daggy clothes and hadn’t been approached once for an autograph. Today, he felt jealous of those with anonymity.

Maybe one day he could move back
here or at least somewhere like it? Leave Los Angeles and settle down in a small town with a wife and children? Discover monotony.

One day.

Wednesday
morning. 8:50am. Ten minutes before the first production meeting and Kate was stuck in the Sydney Harbour Tunnel.

She was seething
. Her little red Holden Barina felt like a cage. She’d been pulling on her right earlobe for the entire 30-minutes she’d been wedged in this gridlock, a nervous habit that consigned her to being an eternally bad poker player.

The day was getting ominously worse. That morning when drying her hair upside
down, she flicked her head back and there it was. The first sign of mortality. It was curly, it was long, it was shiny and it was WHITE. She squealed and rummaged through the draw for her tweezers and taking a strong hold of the offending strand, yanked it from her scalp and stared at it in horror. Her first white hair! It was so long! How had she missed it? Why hadn’t Chrissy (the hairdresser on
Pacific Beach
) told her about it? Ahhhh!

Then
, later in the car, she met the end of the traffic jam. Kate hated traffic and had never adjusted to it in the years she’d lived in Sydney. Crammed into a tiny metal box surrounded by other tiny metal boxes slotted into a long concrete box under a harbour full of water was guaranteed to send her temperature beyond boiling point. It was accelerate, brake, clutch. Accelerate, brake, clutch. Accelerate, brake, clutch. Let in a stupid driver who stupidly thinks her stupid lane is faster. Accelerate, brake, clutch.

She also hated being late
, even more than being stuck in traffic. Kate could feel the stiffness building across her shoulders with every minute the digital numbers on the dashboard clicked one digit closer to the hour. Her collar bones could be worn as ear muffs.

Could things get any worse?

Then, agitatedly tapping her left hand on the steering wheel (her right was now turning her earring furiously), she noted distractedly the usual, reassuring click of her wedding and engagement ring wasn’t there. They were still on the vanity at home.

Of course
they were.

Fortunately for
the other tunnel occupants, with her windows up and the radio on, they couldn’t hear her loud, colourful threats against the world. However, they may have noticed a small, black haired woman attempting to punch the steering wheel with her forehead, only to be brought up short by the seat belt, giving the impression of head banging to the guitar rift of Bohemian Rhapsody.

Oh, m
amma mia let me go
!

T
oday was the day she would be meeting Rhys for the first time; her fellow co-star and future non-marital kiss provider. In her current harassed state, she admitted that most of her stress was grounded in being in close proximity with the biggest star she’d ever worked with.
How the hell did I get this part? I mean, Rhys Bradford!

S
he hoped he was tolerable.

Accelerate, brak
e, clutch. Accelerate, accelerate, ACCELERATE! Whoohoo!

Kate had
finally passed the accident. With a dirty glare towards the aggrieved vehicles and their ineffective owners, she rushed onto the now open road, going a bit faster than the speed limit, her nerves at being late making her drive more aggressively than usual.

“
Please don’t let there be a cop around,”she repeated to herself.

It took 20
-long-minutes to arrive at the gate at Fox Studios and thankfully without meeting a Constable Killjoy. She gave her name and following the signs, parked in the multi-story car park and ran down to the front of the Stage6 building, long, black hair soaring chaotically behind her, the contents of her satchel bouncing dangerously towards the top of the bag, her tan ballet flats slapping noisily on the concrete pavement.

Her lateness did not bode well for her first day and
she was huffing badly, and shaking when she finally made it through the Stage entrance, turned the corner and arrived at the closed door of the office. She regulated her breathing by taking in a lung-full of air and after adjusting her blue cashmere knit over her jeans, Kate pushed open the office door and peered her sweaty face inside.

Approximately
35 people were gathered on various types of chairs around a large makeshift rectangular table. The room was large and airy with one wall dominated by a mirror. Conversation was well-established.

She slunk through the door, her head down, an apologetic
purse to her lips and she slid into the last available chair, a standard office-wheeled version, her heart beating flat-out and her skin red. Without looking up from the table, she took three more deep breaths to steady the waves of embarrassment that was turning her skin the colour of pumice, raised her head and immediately locked eyes with Rhys Bradford.

Good
God, he’s hot.

His dark
green eyes were half closed in his ‘damn, I’m sexy’ guise whilst simultaneously projecting a superior glint of amusement, his mouth slightly curved. In her quick assessment of him, she took in a dark green t-shirt emblazoned with a light blue slogan partially hidden by a fashionably crumpled tan, military-style jacket. His thick, jaw length, blonde-brown hair was slicked back from a high-brow into a low pony tail. He looked confident, relaxed and disgustingly attractive.

Her stomach dropped as he lifted
both his famous mouth and an eyebrow in her direction. It was a practiced expression he’d used to lay waste to innumerable women and Kate was annoyed it affected her so. She lost her nerve, looked away and blushed again.

When she
later looked up, she made sure her gaze went nowhere near Rhys.

The
director, Mac, had already discussed the script and Kate took a moment to study the famous Oscar winner who, reports said, was doing this independent film for the love of his country and only a tiny pay packet.

Mac’s real name was
Callum Macintyre and he was the visual epitome of the stereotypical Scotsman… except that he was born and bred in Perth, Australia. He was covered head to toe in thick, red freckles which liberally adored skin so white, it was almost transparent, and on top of his head was a messy mop of unmaintained red hair that started springing upwards behind a receding hairline. Skinny legs dropped from unattractive beige knee-length shorts and ended in a worn pair of Birkenstocks. His crumpled, dark blue polo was tucked into the shorts with a black belt securing the lot under a slightly pudgy tummy. Highly intelligent green eyes scanned his team with a permanent expression of irritation.

He asked everyone in the room to introduce themselves
. There was Minh Lee (Production Coordinator), Cally MacIntyre, (Screenwriter), Frankie Tol (whom Kate had met at casting), Barry Lock (Assistant Director), Thomas Scott (Producer), Bill Yard (Director of Photography), Gary Singar (Editor), Jane Toby (Costume Designer), Hijar Murani (Location Manager), Peter James (On-site Production Specialist) and on till the 35-odd people around the large table had been introduced.

“
Obviously everyone knows who I am,” said Rhys when his turn came around. Everyone dutifully laughed except Kate, who thought he was arrogant.

The meeting went for an
other hour with Mac describing the shooting schedule. He explained the movie had been renamed
The Ancestor Rock
. Four months minimum, ten weeks on site and the rest in the studio. It was a longer schedule than most films because of the huge travelling distances between locations. The only way to get large amounts of equipment around Central Australia was by vehicle and it was a long way on sometimes rugged, dirt roads. According to the schedule, they would stay at several places; Alice Springs, Ulu
r
u and eventually the N’Dhala Gorge Nature Park, east of Alice Springs, where scenes would be filmed among some of the largest petroglyph collections in the world.

It was being financed by a government grant and a couple of patrons. Money was tight and everyone was told they’d be sticking to a strict budget.

Everyone was given a folder containing a revised copy of the script, shooting schedule, itineraries and various other documents. They were told to be ready to fly to Alice on Tuesday week. The vans would leave today for the four-day trek and the cast, director and other line managers would fly to Alice Springs Tuesday lunchtime and spend the week in Alice rehearsing.

Nadia
Bock spoke up, “what will we be living in?” Nadia was in her early 20s and this was her first big acting job. Her character was a student on the exploration team. Kate was able to quickly identify her as a diva when she flicked back her thick, well-styled, blonde hair from a pert little nose and heavily made-up, hazel eyes. She glanced across to make sure Rhys had noticed her.

“
Hotels, mainly,” said Hijar. “However, when we’re in the N’Dhala, most cast and crew will be sleeping in share huts at a resort but we shouldn’t rule out sleeping in a tent if we have to.”

“
What? We have to share! In a tent!” The woman’s hysteria was instant. “If you dare put me put me in a tent, my agent will rip you a new one.”

“
I’m sure he will.” Mac was nonplussed, having had years of experience working with actors. “Be sure to tell them it’s the only accommodation available and that you’re welcome to travel the two hours from Alice Springs each day at your own expense. Or, you could stay here in Sydney. It’s your choice.”

Nadia
hunkered down in her chair and mumbled something incoherent. She crossed her arms and pouted petulantly.
Hope she’s a decent actor
, Kate thought,
because her attitude stinks
.

Camping
and bunking had never bothered Kate, so she didn’t care about where they were staying. She was still chuffed to be in this room at all.

Soon after,
Mac wished everyone well and trotted out of the room. Barry Lock asked all the talent to stay behind to discuss the rehearsals scheduled for that week. Barry was tall and slim with small, light brown eyes, wispy, pale hair and moved in jerky movements. He was wearing a pastel green button-up shirt tucked into a belted pair of navy blue dress pants that highlighted his recessed stomach.

“
We start immediately.” Barry’s voice was high pitched and grating to listen to. “You are expected to know the first three scenes by Monday.”

“
And if we don’t?” Rhys spoke slowly, carefully noting Barry’s response.

Barry turned
pink. “Mr Bradford, here you are only one of the many. I expect you to treat this issue with all the seriousness it requires.”

Rhys
grinned infuriatingly at him and Barry went a bright Ferrari red, which turned his blonde hair to white. But, he would not lose control.

“
Scene one rehearsals on the Stage start immediately,” Barry squeaked.

Then
, trying to keep some skerrick of authority, he scuffed his multitude of papers into messy piles, heaved them to this chest and hurried out.

“
Man, Bradford, you’ve decided to start with impact I see.” The voice came from Shane McMasters, or Dr Kinnen in the movie.

“
Just wanted to see what happens if he’s wound up. This is going to be an interesting trip.”

“
He can wind me up any day,” whispered a voice just over Kate’s shoulder. She tipped her head towards the sound and looked into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. She started slightly, surprised the man had snuck up on her so quietly.

“
Sorry, love, didn’t mean to frighten you. Trystan Smith.” A well-manicured hand shot out, grabbed hers and gave her shoulder an exuberant pump.

“Yes, I know.” Kate smiled.

Trystan was a slim man of average height, wearing wonderfully dapper combination of a black fedora hat pushed back off spiked brown hair, a loose white button-up shirt, black suspenders and corduroy brown jeans. A sky-blue ascot was tied around his throat that matched his eyes. “I’m Dr Golubic, anthropologist and drama queen. You’re Kate, leading lady.”

“
That’s me!”

“
Lovely to be working with you, Kate. By the way, Spectacular Bradford has been eyeing you off since you walked in. Very jealous.”

Kate
’s obvious incredulity shot Trystan into a fit of snorting laughter that tipped his slim frame backwards into his chair, leaning it precariously towards the mirrored wall behind him. His dapper brown jeans lifted high from pointy tan shoes and speckled black socks. The other staff members still in the room turned to see what the fuss was about.

“
Kate, I’m going to enjoy working with you. I adore people who have absolutely no idea of their appeal.”

Kate
’s eyes were wide and she opened and closed her mouth like a carp. She glanced across the table to see the others now listening into the conversation, Rhys included. They seemed to be waiting for her response.

“
I-I think they’re waiting for us,” Kate muttered. She moved hurriedly to her feet and to her mortal embarrassment, the chair tipped over behind her with a resounding clatter of spinning wheels and levers. Now, her dignity non-existent and her face the colour of a red traffic signal, she kept her chin glued to her necklace, grabbed her bag, righted the chair and hurried from the room.