Page 36 of Bad Reputation

Cole surveyed the set as he waited for Rhiannon to respond. It was supposed to look like a 1730s Jacobite camp, all hand-spun bedrolls, swords, and bonfires. On the other side of them was the twenty-first century—the state-of-the-art camera, the monitors, and the boom mic. When they filmed the daylight scenes, the set would be full of horses and people. Tonight, it was just Madge, Geordie, and a skeleton crew.

“Yup.” Rhiannon gave Kevin a firm nod.

“I’m good,” Cole said.

They’d already run through the blocking for the scene fully clothed; then they’d filmed the shots of talking and kissing that led into the love scene. They’d filmed the slow dance of undressing. They’d removed a layer, like Geordie’s shirt, which spilled out in front of them, and shot for a bit. Then they’d paused to move the cameras and the lights for the next shot.

So now they’d arrived at the blow job, the part he’d gone over so many times with Maggie and Rhiannon during rehearsal and about which he was still not thrilled.

“David, you ready?” Kevin asked.

The DP gave a thumbs-up.

Maggie stood behind the director, her expression fixed into something friendly, distanced, and on top of things. It was how she’d sounded on the phone this afternoon, and Cole was grateful for it. But it was also vaguely unsatisfying in a way he didn’t want to ponder.

Whatever. He had a job to do. He didn’t need to be wasting time wishing for another thunderstorm so Maggie might seek shelter against his chest again.

Cole shrugged off his robe and handed it to a PA. He was nude from the waist up, and for all that there was a huge bonfire just to the left of the bedroll, it was nippy. Scotland at night was freaking cold.

Penelope Bullock, a tech on the hair and makeup team whose no-nonsense air of authority suggested a middle school vice principal, applied a quick skim of gel to Cole’s chest. “I’m trying not to overdo it. We don’t want you to look like you’ve recently retired fromMagic Mike.”

“Believe me, I’m familiar with UltraSweat.” It was basically his professional calling card.

When she’d finished, he settled on his mark.

Rhiannon handed her robe to a PA and slid into place—straddling Cole’s legs. “Remember, don’t be gentle,” she warned him.

“I won’t.” The words were brave. Cole wasn’t.

After he’d voiced his initial concerns that first day they’d worked on the blocking, Maggie had made sure they’d rehearsed this to the point of routine, but it was different on the set, with the lights, the fire, and the crew.

Cole wasn’t a Method actor. Being your character every moment for weeks or months at a time? Frankly, the idea made him want to poke his eyes out. But way back onCentral Square, he’d realized while he could—and probably should—understand what his character might be thinking in a scene, when they were filming, the key thing was being present. Acting was that simple, and it was that hard.

Decades of doing this, and Cole had become hyperaware of his body. Of the line he made during a shot. Of whether he was clenching his abs. Of whether that was an attractive grimace or an ugly one. But that same awareness made his acting self-conscious and shitty.

Cole had to be a roguish, sexy jerk in this scene. He had to blot out everything in him that wasn’tthat. It was the only way to give a half-decent performance.

In the previous shot, Cole’s and Rhiannon’s fingers had tangled together, unlacing the fastening of his breeches. Now, the crew had reset for a wider shot. She was going to kiss down his chest until he put his hand on the back of her head, forcing it downward, and they simulated her performing oral sex on him.

In reality, her head would be over his thigh. The placement of the camera would make them look far closer together than they were. But this was the shot he was least excited about in the entire damn show.

His stomach was revolting, his muscles cagey. He didn’t normally feel this tense filming intimacy, but he had to trust Kevin and the production team, trust Rhiannon, trust Maggie, and above all, trust himself.

He locked eyes with Maggie, and she nodded.You got this.

He hoped she was right.

“Picture’s up.”

It was time.

Cole tipped his head back, Rhiannon leaned against his chest, slate was called, and Kevin shouted “Camera set!”

They were filming. Cole blotted everything out and let muscle memory take over.

The shot was a blur, and it felt far longer than the minute Cole knew it took.

Kevin yelling “Cut!” broke the bubble.

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