Page 42 of Sweatpants & Sweet Tea

A loud honking interrupted our chat. I hurried to the front room and looked out the large bay window in time to see dust flying off the wheels of a black SUV with tinted windows as it pulled to a stop.

“They’re here!” I shouted to Aunt Rhonda, who was still in the kitchen.

Davina Lee was out of the car first. Her long, straight, jet-black hair fell to her waist and shimmered in the afternoon sun. The glossiness in her locks was Pantene-commercial worthy. She wore white slacks, a mint green shirt, and camel-colored ballet flats, giving her an air of effortless glamour.

Her style was an enigma to me. As a makeup and hair stylist, she dealt with foundation, blush, concealer, bronzer, and contour on a daily basis. All of which were items that, if it were part of my occupation, would end up on my clothes. But somehow, she never wrinkled or stained.

She was magic.

Next out was our segment producer, Lydia Hopps. Her shoulder-length brown hair curled at the ends, framing her sweetheart-shaped face. Today, she had on her ‘uniform’ consisting of jeans, a shirt, and clogs. On someone else, it would have looked like she wasn’t trying, but on her, it worked. Her gold jewelry and black-rimmed glasses elevated her casual look.

And the third musketeer was our Director of Photography, or D.P., Phil Reeves. Standing at six feet five inches tall, three hundred pounds, with a bald head and dark brown handlebar mustache, he was easy to spot in any crowd. He wore his signature flannel with a T-shirt, jeans, and Timberland boots.

The ‘crew’ were people I’d worked with from my first day atPulse. They’d all been with the network since its inceptiontwenty-five years ago, and I felt honored that they’d let me into their clique.

I cringed as the trio walked up the steps. “Do you all hate me?”

The only member of the crew who liked to travel was Davina, but her love of adventure was limited to traveling abroad. She wasn’t a huge fan of domestic travel. Phil hated to travel and had walked down the aisle just last month; his bride owned a chain of boutique lingerie shops in Southern California, so she couldn’t just up and leave with him. And Lydia was a creature of habit who appreciated her home comforts.

“We know it was Alexandra,” Lydia assured me as she pulled me into a quick hug.

Davina greeted me with her trademark European double kiss, then stepped back and scanned my face. “You look tired. Have you been sleeping? Drinking enough water?”

As a makeup artist, she was always the first to notice signs of exhaustion and dehydration.

“No and no,” I admitted as Phil enveloped me in one of his famous bear hugs.

“I hope Mabel’s not upset.”

Before meeting Mabel, Phil had been a confirmed bachelor. At fifty-four, he was sure that he’d never marry. But like George Clooney, he met his Amal. The pair were the textbook definition of the odd couple. Of opposites attracting. Mabel stood five feet tall on a good day and was a hundred pounds soaking wet. Phil was a big ol’ teddy bear. Their wedding cake topper was Belle and theBeast from Beauty and the Beast.

“She’ll be fine. She knows I’ll make it up to her when I get home.”

I grinned and patted him on the back.

“Come in, come in!” Aunt Rhonda called out from the screen door. “Don’t let out the bought air!”

Today was an unusually hot day in Firefly, and I convinced Aunt Rhonda to put on the air conditioning because I didn’t like her coloring. She appeared pale and clammy. She tried to convince me that she was fine, but I told her that I had a migraine and asked if she wouldn’t mind if we ran it, and she agreed.

I made introductions, and after supplying us all with sweet tea, not the kind served at the stand, the non-alcoholic variety, Aunt Rhonda excused herself to go have a lie down before work this evening.

We spent the next hour setting up the ‘war room’ in the dining room, talking about what differences the show would have since the location was Firefly and not the city. We also covered what we were looking for in casting. We’d just finished finalizing the shooting schedule, pending permits, when Lydia got a text.

“Ernie’s waiting for us downtown. He got us all tickets for the trolley, to location scout.”

“Ernie’s here?” I asked.

Ernesto Mendez was my favorite PA. He’d started on the show as an intern a couple of years ago. He was now a production assistant and one of my favorite people. He was the definition of not judging a book by the cover. He looked like a young Mario Lopez, complete with dimples and muscles. But unlike a lot of people his age, he wasn’t obsessed with his phone or social media. In fact, I wasn’t even sure he had a TikTok or Instagram account. He loved history, cooking, architecture, black-and-white films, jazz music, and his hobby was woodworking. He made all the crew oak memory boxes with beveled edges, and our names burned into the top as Christmas gifts last year. He was the definition of an old soul. I met his parents when they came to visit from Idaho, and they said that he was born an eighty-year-old man.

“Yep.” Lydia stood. “Let’s go.”

After I ran up and checked on Aunt Rhonda, who was peacefully napping upstairs, we all piled into the SUV. Phil was in the driver’s seat. Lydia was beside him in the passenger seat with her camera out, filming the town as we drove through it. Davina and I were in the back. We quickly found a parking space and spotted our PA. Ernie was waiting for us beside a white and red pole that had a Trolley Pickup sign on the top of it.

“This town is so quaint,” Ernie observed as I pulled him into a hug.

Davina and Lydia both agreed with his assessment as a bell dinged and a trolley pulled up.

“Perfect timing,” Lydia observed as we all climbed aboard with about twenty other passengers.

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