HOT SET: Playing with Fidelity (A romantic suspense novel) (16 page)

“
I know. It’s just like the big towns we have on the coast. Just no ocean.”

“
It’s really… civilised.” Kate mused as the bus passed several car sales lots and clean, modern buildings.

“
It’s nice,” agreed Sam, sitting behind them, taking up two seats with his bulk.

Eventually, the bus
took a left turn off the wide road and drove slowly through the high, covered entrance of the Chifley Resort, parking near the large, fenced-in pool on the other side. “I’m so going for a swim,” Nadia pipped up and there were several murmurs in agreement.

Everyone filed out before shuffling through the baggage being forcefully ej
ected from the rear of the bus by Sam and several others. Already the bags had a furry coat of red dirt discolouring the surface and Kate would soon discover this mahogany dust would get into everything. She was now dreading her choice of cream coloured pants and sure enough, long red streaks now decorated her legs where her bag had brushed.

The resort was a single-level complex with several wings
to the left and right. Each room’s door opened directly onto a porch extending along the front of each wing. They were assigned to their rooms with most sharing except for the principle cast and line managers. Nadia’s vitriol at having to share could be heard across the complex. Most felt pity for her room mate.

Kate
pushed at the door to her room after dropping her pass into the reader. The chamber was clean and modern with white walls and linens and the standard beech-colour furniture used in hotels the world over. As one of the lucky principal cast members, she didn’t have to share and was secretly grateful. Kate made herself at home and went out to explore.

For the next eight days, they lived and breathed Alice Springs
. The daytime temperature didn’t vary from the early 30s and the flies were as numerous as oxygen particles. In appreciated contrast, nights were comfortably cool once the desert sand lost its heat and, joy of joys, the flies went away upon dark, giving the grateful visitors a slight reprieve.

Days were spent in rehearsal
s in the resort conference room with some short scenes filmed in the main street of town, Todd Mall, that neither Kate nor Rhys appeared in. Still, it was the first filming done for the movie so everyone was jubilant at finally canning some footage. The principal photography, otherwise known as the
point of no return
, had begun.

Kate
was thoroughly enjoying herself and settling into friendship groups. She found herself spending a lot of time with Jane, the head Costume Designer, and Trystan, often seeking them out during breaks; Jane and Kate would become solid friends.

Jane was a no-nonsense woman who belied the rules of political correctness and said exactly what was on her mind
, which she did with such honesty and humour, she got away with it. Jane was a little overweight (she just called it ‘fat’ and blamed it on those evil jam doughnuts) and wore her hair constantly pulled back tight into a bun, no make-up or jewellery and baggy, comfy clothes that rarely matched. She’d once been nominated for an Oscar for costume design but those skills were never turned towards her own wardrobe and she was happy about that. She was engaged to an engineer and due to marry at the end of filming; even her engagement ring was a simple silver Claddagh.

They also had their first costume rehearsals and
Kate suited up in her fitted canvas coloured, high waisted pants and plain, navy blue, round-necked t-shirt that sat just low enough for a hint of cleavage.

Jane tugged and struggled with her top, trying to make it sit properly,
“hun, you’re gonna need a better bra to pull this off.”

“
Why?”

“
We need more boob.”

“
I’m an anthropologist, a scientist. Boobs detract from my brains.”

“
I think that’s the plan.”

“
What’s wrong with this bra?”

“
It flattens you out.”

“
Who says I need to show more boob?”

“
The industry, darling. The viewers.”

“
Stuff the viewers. You want authenticity, right?”

“
No, not with boobs. You’re the lead’s love interest. You need cleavage.”

“
How about we compromise then. I’ll get a push-up bra and the top stays high.”

“
That way you’ll only see boob shape.”

“
Exactly. But they’ll be a perky shape.”

“
They’re already perky.”

“
Exactly, again. My boobs are fantastic – let ‘em do what they do best.”

Jane laughed
. “Okay, fine, but just because I like you. We’ll go into town and get you a push up bra but you’d better bounce them at least once during filming.”

Kate
stepped down off the fitting platform and pulled on her brown leather knee high boots.”

“
Ooo, a bit tight.”

“
Where?”

“
Across the toes.”

“
It’s okay, they’ll stretch. Any long-term problems, let me know.”

“
So, back to the other subject, what is it with breasts and movies? Look at Meryl Streep, Dame Maggie Smith, Dame Judi Dench, Emma Thompson; all classy, gorgeous women who don’t show boobs.”

“
Oh, I don’t know. Probably because men still rule this world. And besides, those women are not in their 20s like you.”

“
Again, I’m failing to see the point.”

“
Yeah, me too.”

Rhys
entered the room in his costume and Kate had to blink for a second to recognise him. She now knew why he’d kept his hair long; it’d been parted in the middle and hung messily around his face. It was now a dark brown colour with a few grey streaks dyed in. He was wearing a pair of unflattering round, silver glasses, a button-up, soft blue plaid shirt, a pair of baggy army-green cargos and brown hiking boots. The clothes sat loosely to hide the famous, well-sculptured bod. He’d shaved off his stubble but left side burns which he was now rubbing whilst looking perplexed.

He called across to
Jane, “they feel horrible.”

“
You’ll get used to it. Sexy men aren’t anthropologists, it’s an empirical fact.”

Kate
spoke up, “except for your height and attitude, I wouldn’t know it was you.”

“
Bet you think that’s a good thing.”

“
Yes. You’d never make a flight attendant drop her mask, now.”

He rubbed his sideburns again and screwed up his face
. “Can’t think how men used to think these were trendy.”

Jane
said, “oh, stop your whinging and come here. I need to fix your shirt.”

“
I don’t whinge.”

“
Humph.”

“
Oh, shut up.”

Jane
just smiled.

On the morning of the ninth day, Mac called a meeting of all staff in the Conference Room.

“
As you’re all aware, because you’ve been duly reading your schedules, we were due to go to Ulu
r
u in two days. However, we’ve been looking at weather forecasts and rains are most likely to hit soon. As we can’t get to the petroglyphs in the N’Dhala if the river floods, we’ve decided to go there first, instead. The Resort we were booked to use in two weeks has a ground already booked into the cabins. So, most of us will be camping for two weeks.”

“
WHAT! I hate camping!” Nadia exploded.

Mac continued, deliberately ignoring her
. “It’s only for two weeks and then we’ll move into the cabins. “We’ve hired a camping company that specialises in big, outdoor events like this and they’re on their way out now to set up camp. It’ll be very civilised and you’ll all survive,” he said pointedly at Nadia, crossed her arms and glared back.

Mac ran through a few more items of business then
said, “okay, that’s it. We leave at 12 o’clock tomorrow.”

Everyone dispersed.

The drive to the Ross River Resort
took just under two hours. It was sheltered in one of the many crags of the Eastern Macdonald Ranges on a major bend of the Ross River. The river was one of the few in the region with permanent water. It was a pretty spot; quiet, serene, majestic and very red.

The Resort had
a dozen small cabins, which were currently occupied by an Alice Springs high school group, and housed a proper campsite with shower blocks, a laundry and even a small kiosk where you could buy exorbitantly-priced junk food and simple supplies.

Where the bus pulled up
were 30-odd large army-green cubed tents with peaked rooves set in a u-shape around a central fireplace. If an observer stood at the fire facing the semi-circle of tents with their backs to the bus, the toilet/shower blocks were to the right of the campsite and the marquee containing the kitchen and dining area to the left, closest to the sandy river. Three more marquees made up the full circle opposite the sleeping tents, which Kate assumed correctly were for rehearsals and meetings. There were three large caravans for make-up and costuming near the toilet blocks and one that backed up to the marquee which was where the food was prepared and the dishes washed.

Rhys
had been assigned the last available cabin, but he’d asked for a tent, wanting to be near the action. Mira asked if she could take it, not being one for camping and she quickly installed all the paraphernalia for her RCU, or Rhys Control Unit. Kelly Victor, the Production Coordination Assistant who was in charge of accommodations, apologised that his caravan hadn’t arrived yet, but Rhys was nonplussed and said to cancel it, happily installing himself in a tent, a simple gesture appreciated by the cast and crew.

It felt just like a school camp and the others must have thought the same
, judging from the jubilant mood and shrieks from most people.

Kate
swished at the thousandth fly and wandered to Kelly. Originally from a tiny town in the far west of Queensland, she directed Kate to her tent with a broad Australian accent.

Kate
slung her hiking pack onto her shoulder and marched across the open meeting area to find her quarters. Unzipping the door and the screen, she stepped into the large space and looked around her temporary home. It was bigger than she expected; about four metres by four metres. The floor was a thick silver tarp with lifted edges that had been tied to the walls to keep most of the dust out. To the right was a single camp bed that looked straight out of M*A*S*H, complete with rough looking green blankets and a flat pillow. To her left was a collapsible cream wardrobe and a fold-out table with two folding camp chairs. Rope had been stretched across the four corners of the roof for a clothes line. And that was all.

Looking at her watch, it was now
2:30 with nothing scheduled for the rest of the day so she made herself at home. Kate always travelled with a few large sarongs and she hung up one as a curtain between the bed and the living area and spread another on the bed to give it a homey feel. Putting her clothes and toiletries in the cupboard and neatly stacking her books on the table, she fruitlessly dusted down her cream pants. She wished she’d brought more robust colours but being a light traveller meant her clothing choice was limited. Nevertheless, she went out to explore. The flies, annoyed Kate had temporarily relieved them of a target, descended en masse once more.

The toilet b
lock was large and airy with half-a dozen toilets and showers. Whilst a little rundown, the looked like they’d do the job. A sign inside the door assured her the campsite was run sustainably with solar-heated water and power and bore water. The showers were all fitted with water saving heads and guests were advised to keep their showers under five-minutes.

The laundry was attached
to the end of the toilet block and a short walk across the car park was the kiosk and resort office. The kiosk was open and was already making a killing on their sunscreen and insect repellent sales. Kate bought the third last canister of roll-on insect repellent and continued on her journey after lathering up. The flies attempted a few more swoops before giving up and Kate was relieved the menace had been cowed.

W
andering back across camp, she stuck her head in the long white dining marquee. Three rows of rectangular tables and benches ran lengthways across the big tent. At one end was the buffet table, its empty bain-maries already in place. At the opposite end of the tent was a dishes station with a long, stainless steel bench top and next to it, a trolley heavy with assorted condiments.

Fussing over the
buffet table was a dark woman wearing a chef’s uniform. Her black hair had been braided intricately into tiny plaits that hung long down her back, ending in colourful beads. Smooth ebony skin covered her hands and neck and she had a well-proportioned bottom that swayed rhythmically as she bustled around the table. Kate walked into the tent.

“
Hello?”

The woman turned around and sent
Kate a big, white smile.

“
Hullo, there!”

“
Just thought I’d introduce myself. I’m Kate Johnson.”

“
Nambita Thomas, lovely to meet you.” A strong northern African accent flowed through her words.

“
You’re our chef?”

“
Cook, m’dear. Chef sounds far too fancy for what I do.” Kate smiled.

“
What’s on the table tonight?”

“
For the main, chargrilled eggplant and capsicum lasagne for the vegetarians and a roast beef lasagne for the meat eaters. For dessert, raspberry cheesecake and whipped vanilla cream. Oh, and for each meal, these bain-maries,” she patted one fondly, “will always have lots of salads, veggie and potato sides.”

“
Sounds divine!”

“
Just wait till ya taste it, m’dear. Judge then.”

“
Can I help at all?”

“
Oooo no. I got it. Am not used to havin’ help. Wouldn’t know what to do with you.”

“
I’m hearing you! I’m the same.”

“
You’ll have to excuse me but the beef needs shreadin’.”

“
I understand. See you at dinner!”

“
It’ll be served at 6:30.”

“
Okay, thanks!”

Kate next
tramped down the well-worn, rocky road to the deep, sandy river bank. What she found was more of a trickle than a river, but it had the potential to be very mighty. Between two rows of large gum trees and scrub was a very wide, deep indentation in the earth which contained a small, brown trickle of water that meandered slowly and smoothly through pale pink sand and bowling ball-sized rocks. The water was about half-a-metre deep and two metres wide with some smaller tributaries running further out in the riverbed. She carefully walked down the high sides to the water and slipping her boots off, stuck her toes into the muddy bottom. It was surprisingly cold and she wiggled her toes in the mud and sloshed around for a bit.

“
It’s quite peaceful here, isn’t it.”

Kate leaped
at the voice. She stepped back, tripped on a rock and sat down bum first in the mud in a great hurry.

“
Ouch.”

Rhys
ran down the side of the river bed and grabbed her arm to help her up.

“
You okay?”

“
Fine. But you could have given me some warning.”

“
I did. You just weren’t ready for it.”

Kate
slopped to dry land, the red-brown mud caked heavily on her pants, bottom and hands.

“
Drats.”

“
Sorry.”

“
Sure you are. I can see you trying not to laugh.”

“
I would never.”

She tried to shake the mud from her hands and turned around as far as she could to survey the damage to her pants
. Yep, cream pants were a really stupid idea; she’d never get the red out of them now.

Rhys
stood nearby not knowing what to do. He felt guilty for scaring her but the reaction was funny. She was right; he was trying not to laugh.

And t
hen, to his surprise, she did. It burst from her like a rainbow; a full belly laugh that got right under his skin and made his chest ache. Kate held her stomach and bent over, tears rolling from her eyes. She made such a comical picture that he started to chuckle and sat down on a big rock before joining in with her just as loudly. Kate had to sit down on the ground.

“
That’ll teach me to wear cream.” And she started to laugh again.

“
You’re filthy, “Rhys agreed.

“
So much for coming across as poised and professional.”

“
It happens. Makes you human.”

“
Makes me paranoid. I’ll be expecting you to launch out from behind every tree from now on.”

“
Then my work here is done.”

“
Are you always this juvenile?”

“
Always.”

“
Figured as much.”

She stood up
, grabbed her boots and walked gingerly on bare feet up the slope towards the welcoming prospect of clean clothes. The mud had started to dry on the edges already and her pants felt very heavy. Rhys fell in beside her and they walked up the broad road together.

“
So who does your washing, then?” she asked.

“
At my place in L.A., I have a housekeeper who comes in every second day. She looks after the washing.”

“
Sounds awesome. I hate doing washing and housekeeping. It’s a necessary evil that I’d be more than happy to outsource. What about your place in Sydney?”

“
Serviced apartment with a laundry service.”

“
Decadent.”

“
Necessary. I’m useless at washing; can never understand the separation rules.”

“
If you practiced, you’d learn.”

“
Yes, but then I’d have to do washing.”

“
Fair point.”

“
Off topic, I was looking at some real estate websites yesterday, actually. I might buy a place in Sydney. You’ve lived there for years now, where do you recommend?”

“
Well, I don’t particularly like Sydney but if I were to choose anywhere, it’d either be Dural or Tamarama.”

“
Tamarama or Dural, hey? I’ll remember that.”

And they chatted companionably all the way back to
Kate’s tent.

Later that night, after an incredible dinner that effortlessly coerced Kate back for thirds, a large group was sitting on fold-out camp chairs around a large, cheerfully-burning fire.

There was not much talking
. The desert magic conjured each into a trance. Densely packed stars scored the dark canopy above them, the major constellations practically indistinguishable in the chaos. Insects chirped their unremitting music, complemented by a soft wisp of breeze that brushed the low scrub and tree branches together in shuddery crescendos, later followed by stillness. The air was so pure, you could taste its crispness on your tongue and it brushed against fine skin hairs caressingly. The land felt ancient, alive and protective.

It was getting very late and one by one,
they retired to their tents, the evening and food having lulled them into lethargy.

Eventually, there were only three and
Sam stretched and yawned noisily, his wide nose and large lips joining into a mashed mess of dark brown skin. He was an enormous man of both breadth and height, his features typical of someone with his Polynesian ancestry. Sam was the Key Grip; the person in charge of the equipment that supports the cameras. He lifted the heavy dollies and tripods like they were match sticks.

He
called a good night leaving Kate and Rhys sitting in companionable silence by the flames. Rhys handed her a long barbeque skewer with a marshmallow loaded on the end and she gave a quiet thanks. Within seconds, it was a smouldering black, bubbling glob on the embers.

“
Stupid marshmallow.”

“
Operator error. That’s cruelty to confectionary, right there.”

He handed her another marshmallow and
Kate securely punctured it with the long skewer and toasted the edges with more care. Rhys watched her side profile.

Her nose turned up slightly at the end, he noticed, and she has a pale mole on her jaw
. Kate turned and saw him staring. She blushed but covered it up by the retort, “what?”

“
You have a mole on your jaw.”

“
Gee, thanks.” She turned back to the fire.