Page 16 of Keep It

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her struggling to catch up with my quick strides.

“Costume next,” she says brightly, as if the confrontation in my truck twenty minutes ago never happened.

I let out a grunt of acknowledgment.

When I get to the bottom of the stairs, she darts in front of me, damn near tripping me up in her rush to open the door for me.

I don’t say a word, my jaw clenching, as I’m ushered into the truck.

Inside, the eccentric-looking costume designer guides me to a changing room at the back of the truck, and hands me a bundle of clothes. As soon as the curtain closes behind me, I slump on the rickety stool.

I can hear hushed voices outside the curtain, probably talking about what a prick I’m being.

Gritting my teeth, I pull my costume on.

When I’m ready, I emerge to allow the costume people to fuss around my body like I’m a mannequin.

“Perfect measurements,” one woman says with a big smile.Yes,I think,I don’t know who gave them to you but I’m sure they’re accurate.

As soon as I’m excused to leave, I’m escorted by my babysitter to a waiting car, and escorted from the car to the set where cameras are being prepped. I clock a few looks from the crew but elect to ignore them, focusing instead on the sides in my hands.

Robert: It’s all here, there’s no wayLeClericdoesn’t know about this. It’s gross misconduct sure but almost certainly criminal negligence.

Gwendoline Marcs comes up to me, shaking my hand and introducing herself. Of course, I already know who she is. Which is good as I will not be able to absorb any information given to me now.

Soon, I’m ushered to my mark where I listen like a good boy to the instructions from Gwen. My movements are bulky, unnatural, andwrong.No one seems to notice, no one shakes their heads and audibly complains about how terrible I am. No. They stare with what could only be described as confusion, and a bit of pity.

It’s worse when we get to the dialogue scene. I stumble through each sentence, barking ‘Line!’ every five minutes, sweat beading on my forehead despite the mild weather.

Now I know the crew are getting irritated. They have started to realize what a disaster this whole operation is going to be. I’m a fish out of water, drowning on dry land under the artificial lights and the glare of the camera. They all know it.

Eventually, someone calls wrap.

I wait patiently as the sound guy pulls my mic off. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t speak to me. What’s there to say anyway?

I let myself be led to the transport car, to the costume truck where I pull on my street clothes. I don’t look up from the floor until the car door closes behind me, ready to take me back to the hotel.

I take a deep breath and lean my head back, the city passing my window in a blur.

“Are you okay?” a gentle voice asks to my left. I start. I hadn’t even noticed Anya was in the car with me. Her big hazel eyes wide with concern.

I bristle under her attention.

“Do you have to come with me everywhere?” I snap.

“Apparently,” she shakes her phone in her hand.

“Great,” I mumble, closing my eyes.

I keep my eyes closed the rest of the journey, Anya’s flowery scent filling the car and invading my senses.

Chapter 8

ANYA

It only takes a few days for Danny and I to find a rhythm. The disastrous first day (not including the train ride that shall never be mentioned again) has at least eased into some sort of routine. Every morning, I wait by the car outside his hotel with a cup of hot coffee. Then I accompany him — in silence — to base where I pick up the sides from production and ferry him to the makeup truck, then to costume, then to the set and then safely return him to the hotel at the end of the day.

If anything the job is well…boring.

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