The Continuity Girl (25 page)

“And delicious fried in butter.”

“Just like everything else.”

They laughed, delighted with this shared bit of nonsense.
Eggs,
Meredith thought,
shut up about eggs.

She waited a moment then asked him, “So why did you call me that time, anyway?”

“You mean after you ran out in the middle of your appointment?”

“Was there any other time?”

He shot her a knowing look. “I was worried about you,” he said. “I was following up.”

“Oh.” Meredith deflated. Whatever she’d been fishing for, she hadn’t found it.

“I also kept thinking about that thing you said,” he added.

“What thing?”

“About me not seeming like the sort of person who would take a leap of faith.”

“Oh,” Meredith said, waving a hand, “you shouldn’t have listened to that. I was just freaking out about other things. I don’t
even know you. It was presumptuous.”

“Yes,” he said, “it was.”

She held up the shaker and tipped it toward his glass. There was a bit of rust near the spout.

“Will that give us tetanus?” she asked, draining the rest of the vodka into his glass, sloshing a bit on the sleeve of his
sweater. Cashmere, she noticed.

“Only if you suck on it for ten thousand years,” he said. “But you should probably clean it off to be on the safe side.”

Meredith looked at the rust mark. “I wonder if they have CLR here,” she said, more to herself than out loud.

“I love that stuff,” Joe said, taking the shaker and rubbing at the spout with his thumb. “It’s amazing. It would definitely
get this off.”

“I know!” said Meredith. “I use it on everything—faucets, tiles, countertops.”

“Have you tried soaking used flower vases in it?” he asked. “Like magic.”

“Seriously? I hate those stains at the bottom. The ones you can’t even reach with a scrub brush? They drive me nuts.”

He nodded. “All you do is pour in some water and a little CLR and let it sit overnight. In the morning—gone.”

“What does the name stand for again?”

“Something Lime Rust,” he said.

“Clean Lime Rust?”

He shook his head. “No, it’s something else.”

They were silent for a moment, sipping their drinks.

“Calcium!” Meredith jumped to her feet. “Calcium Lime Rust!”

“That’s it!” Joe offered her the high five, and she did a little victory dance. Then he coughed, remembering himself.

He looked at his martini glass and back at her.

“Are you sure we should be doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Drinking. In the middle of the day. In a movie star’s trailer. On a film set. Where you are employed.”

Meredith made a fake snoring sound. All of a sudden she was sick to death of being the responsible one. After several moments
of shameless enjoyment, she stood up and sauntered over to the trailer door, pulled it shut with a cowgirl wink. She thought
of what Mish would say in this situation.

“Don’t sweat it. Kathleen won’t be back here for ages. She’s getting her body makeup done.”

“Body makeup?”

“For the nude scene.”

“Riiight.”

“So I guess she bailed on your appointment.”

Joe shrugged and nodded at the same time. “Looks that way. Fine with me really. Just means I get to spend another day in London.”

“How long are you here for?”

“Just a couple of days. I have to get back. My daughter.”

“Right. Of course.”

For a moment they sat in silence. They sipped their drinks and tried not to stare at each other. It was hard. He was handsome.
But in a slightly outdated, unfashionable way, as though he should be wearing a soldier’s uniform and kissing a girl with
braids in a Norman Rockwell painting. It really was too bad about the ring. She checked his left hand. Still there.

“How old are you?” she asked, suddenly curious.

“Forty-six.”

“When did you get married?”

“A while ago. But my wife—”

“Never mind about your wife,” Meredith said. The last thing she wanted to hear listed were the virtues of the underage gazelle
she’d seen him with in the drugstore. She wished she hadn’t brought the marriage thing up. “I want to hear about
you.
Where
did you go to medical school?”

“University of Toronto. But I studied literature first and switched to medicine later. Listen, Meredith, I’ve been wanting
to ask you ever since we spoke on the phone that day...”

“Uh-huh.”

“Did you ever end up seeing another doctor?”

“Well no, not exactly. I came over here and started working and things have been pretty crazy since then.”

“Crazy how? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind you asking but I’m surprised that you’d be interested.”

“Of course I’m
interested.
” He leaned forward slightly. “I’ve thought about you.”

“What did you think?”

“I wondered how you were.”

“Were you worried? I mean, about my ovaries shrivelling up inside me?”

“Not like that, no.”

“Well, I’ve been dating. I guess you could call it that. I’ve been looking for, you know, the One. But not in the romantic
sense. More in the biological sense.”

“Can you separate the two?”

“My mother did.”

Joe smiled. “You’d know more about that than I would.”

She felt a hot stab of resentment. The smugness of married people! He probably drives a BMW sedan with leather interior. His
wife was a former hospital candy striper—some innocent society flower who grew up in the suburbs surrounded by plush carpets
and protective parents and now spends her days doing Pilates and taking Tuscan cooking courses. Probably has season tickets
to the symphony and a time-share in Arizona. Probably they call each other some silly equal-opportunity pet name like Snooger
Booger. What can people like this know about life?

Meredith felt indignant. How could he have any idea what it was like to be single for years and years and worry about growing
middle-aged alone in a condo with exposed ductwork and no walls? What it was like to long for the company of a cat but resist
getting one for fear of becoming a single woman with a cat? She drained her martini in a gulp.

Discovering a candle nub on a plate with a packet of matches, she lit the wick and set it on the floor between them. After
a jittering start it flamed high. The smell of lilac and sulphur filled the trailer.

“Tell me, Doc, what’s in your bag?”

Joe looked down at his battered antique doctor’s bag, a gift from his late father-in-law, a retired obstetrician.

“Oh, you know. The usual tools of the trade—potions and lotions and a lot of frightening stainless steel devices.”

“Because I was thinking...”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “You want to reschedule your appointment?”

“I want”—Meredith lowered her head, covered her face and spoke into the warm fleshy mask of her hands—“I have no idea what
I want.”

Meredith uncovered her face and, dropping her arms clumsily, managed to send Mish’s traveling minibar clattering to the linoleum.

“Oh shit.” She crouched down and began clutching at half-melted ice cubes that skittered out of her fingers like beetles.

“Meredith.” Joe managed to sound calm and deeply alarmed at the same time.

“Relax, it’s nothing—” But before she could finish, Meredith understood. Her skirt had managed to skim the top of the candle
and catch fire. She began to jump up and down like a mad pogo stick while Joe swatted her bottom with a rolled-up newspaper.

“Water!” she screamed. “Stop, drop and roll!”

“No,” said Joe. “Get it off.” And with a single yank he ripped off her skirt, leaving her naked except for her underwear.

The fire died as soon as it hit the soaking linoleum and the charred skirt lay smoldering on the floor between them.

Before they could say a word everything in the room changed: a whine of hinge, a shift of light and a gust of damp outside
air.

Richard Glass was in the trailer.

“Excuse me, sir,” Joe said as indignantly as he could manage. “Can’t you see we’re occupied here?”

“Of course,” Richard said with a chilling politeness. “I’ll give you two a moment to straighten up.” He turned around and
stepped out of the trailer, shutting the door firmly behind him.

“Oh
God,
” Meredith groaned.

Joe handed her a petticoat to put on. “Not again,” she whispered.

“You’ve done this before?” Joe seemed slightly amused.

“No,” she snapped. “I’ve been fired before.”

Joe laughed. “No one would fire you for this.”

“Don’t count on it.” Meredith struggled miserably with her shoelace. “That was my boss.” Her hands were shaking. Joe noticed
and put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s a long story.”

After a minute Richard stepped back into the trailer. He didn’t knock, but simply came in and began inspecting the place.
He lifted a martini glass to his nose, sniffed it once and set it down again. He picked up Meredith’s novel, opened it to
a random page and read a line or two, and then set it down again.

“Well, Miss Moore,” he said. “It’s been quite a day.”

“Look, Richard. I’m sorry. I know this looks terrible, but let me explain.” Try as she might, Meredith could not staunch the
gush of useless clichés pouring from her mouth. “It just sort of happened. It was an accident really. We were talking and
then the bar fell over and I tried to clean it up but my skirt lit on fire so Joe here pulled it off and that’s when...” She
paused to inhale. “I know it’s a mess. Just give me another chance.”

Richard raked his hands through his hair in raffish mock-consideration. “Another chance? Do you think soldiers get second
chances on the battlefield? Moviemaking is war, Meredith, and I am the general. If you can’t toe the line, I’m afraid you’ll
have to be court-martialled. This behaviour is entirely unacceptable. What if Kathleen had walked in on this? It’s inexcusable.
And after the way your mother...Well, let’s just say I can’t take any more risks on this set. I’m sorry.”

Joe had been standing beside Meredith with one hand half raised in a helpless gesture of emotional support, but he broke in.
“
Now look here,
” he began.

Now look here? Meredith thought.
Who actually says that?

“I don’t know who you are or what you do here, but you should know a few things before you make any rash decisions. Meredith
is a respectable and hardworking young woman and I am entirely to blame for what went on here today, which I am prepared to
admit was entirely inappropriate, and for that I apologize.”

Richard cocked his head at Joe and then turned to Meredith. “Your Dudley Do-Right here is very gallant, but would you please
ask him to leave?”

“He’s not my Dudley Do-Right—he’s my
gynecologist.
”

“My deepest apologies. Allow me to rephrase.” Richard swiveled around to face Joe. “Who the fuck are you and what are you
doing on my set?”

Joe took a step toward Richard just as Kathleen entered the trailer. She was dressed in a Chinese robe and trailed by Andrea
and a thin man holding a flattening iron. When she saw Joe, her hand flew immediately to her hair.

“Doctor—you’re here!” She looked at Richard and the toppled minibar and paused. “What’s going on?” Her pupils seemed to shrink
when she laid eyes on Meredith. “What is
she
doing here?” She turned to Richard and spoke through clenched teeth. “I thought
this was a closed set.”

Richard picked up the continuity log and handed it to Meredith. “Naturally we’ll need you for the rest of the day,” he said.

She looked at him, eyes dry. After a moment she tucked the binder under one arm and the hem of her petticoat under the other
and left.

Meredith was halfway out of a nap when the buzzer rang at the flat on Coleville Terrace. The low-pitched static made her teeth
tingle. It was five in the afternoon on a Saturday, but she barely stirred. One eyelid opened and she took in the room. A
stream of dust-seasoned light poured in through the window. Her face was smushed into the pillow. She could feel the seam
pressing into her cheek, making a shallow indent there. Again with the bell. Her mother must be out. Probably attending some
committee meeting or other. Meredith was pleasantly surprised to notice she did not feel remotely guilty for being in bed.
This must be what depression was like, and upon reflection she decided it did not seem so bad.

After being fired from the Crouch picture, she had retreated into the guest room of her mother’s flat, first in an effort
to avoid her mother and then in an effort to avoid everything else. She watched her cell phone squawk and beep until eventually
the battery ran dry. Her laptop, similarly, languished unopened in the corner. She hadn’t bothered to check her e-mail in
over a week.

For the first couple of days she was restless, occasionally getting up and eating some toast from the kitchen or wandering
over to the small, high-set window and looking down at the street below, wondering about the people walking by on their way
to work or to see friends. People carrying umbrellas and pushing strollers and looking so purposefully blasé that it made
her long for bed and sleep. Now all curiosity about the outside world had drained away. She felt safe in her little room with
its stained yellow wall.

Again
the buzzer. Meredith imagined someone putting a finger to the button and leaning in hard. This was followed by a staccato
series of buzzes, an atonal rendition of “Jingle Bells.” Meredith kicked off her quilt and stumbled down the stairs toward
the door. She did not think of brushing her hair or putting anything on over the washed-out flannel nightgown she had been
wearing for the past week and a half. She did not want to see the person on the other side of the door. The sound was irritating
her and she simply wanted to make it stop.

“Finally!” said Mish. Meredith struggled to haul open the door.

Mish was wearing a clear plastic raincoat with yellow polka dots and holding a long, dangerous-looking umbrella.