Page 33 of Only the Small Bones
“William,” Xavier cautioned under his breath. “It’s a breach of contract to allow anyone to watch this.”
“He won’t tell anyone,” I said, not taking my eyes off Ryan as he maneuvered around the various equipment. I glanced over at Xavier to find him gaping at me. “It’ll be fine,” I assured him, jumping back into my concerns over the scene one cue.
It took us four hours to work through the first quarter of the film. Ryan watched and listened as we brought it all together. After getting to the midway point, we decided to roll it back to the beginning. I wanted to watch with no interruption before making adjustments this time.
Ryan scooted to the edge of the loveseat, looking between the door and the TV, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.
“We’ll wait for you,” I said, pretending I didn’t sense Xavier’s displeasure.
“We don’t have time to wait,” he said once Ryan left the room.
“It’s fine,” I shot back. “We could all use a little break.” I headed for the bathroom before he could respond.
When Ryan returned, he had a bowl of caramel popcorn in one hand, and a bottle of water in the other. He set both down in front of me, not meeting my eyes before retaking his seat. I hadn’t eaten all day, and felt faint because of it. He’d brought me my favorite sweet snack, and ensured I had something to wash it down with because popcorn made me thirsty.
Had he left just for this? Or was it an afterthought? He hadn’t disappeared for long, though, so maybe…
“Can we continue or do you need another minute?” Xavier asked in a tight voice, shaking me from my preoccupation with Ryan. I gestured toward him with the bowl. He had to be hungry too.
“No thanks.”
I glanced over at Ryan in time to catch his displeased expression.
I had to practically sit on my hands to avoid making tweaks while we watched the romantic drama. Certain spots needed more work. I didn’t know how I managed to notice with my attention diverted to Ryan and his enjoyment of the movie.
By the time Xavier and I had dug back into the edits, I’d started ignoring the score’s time codes in exchange for taking my prompts from Ryan’s emotional responses—or lack of. If he straightened during an adrenaline-charged moment, I elevated the action cue, causing the screen to erupt in kinetic energy.
If he seemed bored or distracted when he should feel drawn in and connected, I made a note to double back and strengthen the musical signatures that echoed throughout the entire film. The idea was that the musical motifs would imprint on the audience’s subconscious, weaving together a sonic tapestry between characters, objects, or concepts. A reminder of what was at stake and what had already been suffered through and endured due to a love separated by war.
And when he looked flushed during a scene involving a simple kiss, I scaled back completely, letting raw honesty color the moment. I did so by ensuring the music played as a backdrop to the sensual sounds coming from the characters before the screen faded to black. In such a short time, and completely unaware of it, Ryan had become my muse.
“What are you doing?” Xavier asked during the film’s climax. “You were supposed to cut out as soon as the sun set.”
“I’m trying something,” I whispered, my gaze on Ryan. Xavier had to notice, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away long enough to confirm it.
“We’re not getting paid to try something new. This isn’t the rough cut. Everything’s been decided. We have to stick to the codes.”
“We’ll do a playback. If it isn’t better, we’ll do another cut.”
“Are you also going to beg for more time on a project we’ve already gotten a generous extension on?”
“If I have to,” I said, finally looking at him. Xavier looked between Ryan and me, his expression full of disbelief and jealousy.
“Fine,” he bit out, rolling his eyes when I nudged his shoulder playfully. Xavier took his job seriously. We both did. It made us great working partners.
I rewound to minute ninety-eight and hit play again, concentrating hard to pick up what wasn’t working. I wanted Ryan to melt from the melodrama, wanted him to pump a fist in the air or flutter an eyelash or two after the long-lost soldier fell into his lover’s arms. After all, they’d been apart for many years. He did nothing, and I wanted to see if I could fix that.
“The key didn’t extend long enough,” I said, hitting pause again. “That’s the difference between watery eyes and a tear actually falling.”
“Trust me, the tears will fall. It was a microsecond, William.”
“Even microseconds count.”
“Okay, we can extend it digitally, then.”
“We can’t mix digital in with this.”
“No one will be able to tell. We’re probably the only fools in the business who still go through the trouble of recording with a live orchestra.”
