Page 9 of The Location Shoot
“Stay, have a drink,” Jean commanded.
“I’ll just have water,” Drew said, taking a seat as Jean slid him a glass.
“Cheers,” they all said, raising their glasses.
After taking a sip, Finn looked across the table at Jean and said, “So, it’s been almost two weeks. You ever gonna tell us what this movie is about or if you’re even getting what you want?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Jean replied.
Used to that response, they all laughed.
Just then, Finn noticed a strikingly beautiful woman who looked to be in her early thirties sweep into the room. She was breathtaking in a sleeveless black silk jumpsuit, cinched at the waist, with several long, sparkling chainshanging from her neck, light brown hair in natural spiral curls flowing down her back, and large, piercing green eyes. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Michael caught him staring and looked over, also transfixed by the beautiful stranger. Drew winked at her, signaling to the others that he knew her. She put her finger to her mouth as if to keep her presence a secret as she tiptoed toward the table. She rested her alabaster hands on Jean’s biceps, leaned over his shoulder, and purred in his ear, “Darling, I’m here.”
He jumped up from the table, grinning from ear to ear, picked her up, and whirled her around in the air. She flung her head back, giggling with abandon. When he eventually put her down, he said, “Thank you for coming,ma chérie.”
“Well, your request was hardly subtle. You left a dozen messages and followed up with a private jet. I assumed you must need me desperately. Or were you just being overly dramatic, as you’re prone to do?”
“Let’s sit down. You can have a drink and meet the actors. If you’re hungry, I’ll have the kitchen prepare something, whatever you desire.”
“First things first. We dance,” she said, looking at him coyly.
Jean turned to Drew and said, “Put one of our songs on,s’il vous plaît.”
Drew pulled out his phone and paired it to the speaker he’d brought along. Soon, Elton John’s “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” filled the room. With the opening chords, Jean took the mysterious woman’s hand and escorted her to the dance floor. They waltzed dramatically across the room, their smiles growing with each whirl. Each time the refrain began, the woman put her back against Jean’s chest and they swayed back and forth, their arms extended wide, and then he grabbed her hand and twirled her around duringthe chorus. Finn and the rest of group sat mesmerized as the unpredictable director completely transformed before their eyes, gracefully moving around the room with the enchanting stranger. As the final refrain ended, he picked her up and spun her once more, both smiling widely. He carefully put her down, and they whispered conspiratorially to each other.
“My God, who is she?” Finn asked quietly.
“Gabriella Sinclair, but everyone calls her Ella. Thirty-four years old. An American philosopher,” Drew said.
“She’s a brilliant philosopher. An artist, really. She presents her theories through literary writing like Simone de Beauvoir or Jean-Paul Sartre, although she’s much more, um, risqué,” Charlotte added. “We’ve never met, but I’ve been reading her work for years. She’s fearless, daring, marches to the beat of her own drum.”
“He looks like he’s completely in love with her,” Michael remarked. “Are they . . .”
Drew shook his head. “They’re close friends. She’s his muse, or perhaps he’s hers.”
“I’ve enjoyed the pleasure of her company before. A Jean Mercier production finds flight when she enters the picture. Ella’s presence on set changes everything,” Albie said. “She’s a real artist through and through, the embodiment of inspiration. And not bad to look at either,” he added, taking a swig of his drink.
The men laughed. Willow smiled while Charlotte rolled her eyes discreetly.
“Oh, come on, now. I’m an old man. I must have some pleasure from time to time, even if it is just looking,” Albie teased, touching Charlotte’s arm. “Besides, Ella doesn’t mind. She has an extraordinarily strong sexual energy and a real bohemian spirit.”
“Her writing is quite provocative,” Charlotte said, the trace of a smile appearing on her demure face.
Finished with their whisperings, Jean and Ella walked over to the table, his arm comfortably slung around her waist. “Everyone, it is my great honor to introduce the one and only Gabriella Sinclair.”
“Please, call me Ella,” she said in a silvery voice. She darted over to Albie and hugged him affectionately. “I hope we have some fun this time around,” Finn heard her whisper, “like at the Barcelona shoot or that time in the Cotswolds.” He patted her hand and chuckled. She kissed the top of his head and returned to Jean’s side.
“Ella, obviously you know Albie and Drew, and I’m sure you recognize the rest of these scene stealers,” Jean said.
“Very nice to meet you,” Michael said, the others nodding in agreement.
“Likewise,” she replied, her smile revealing a dimple in the right cheek of her heart-shaped face. “So, let me guess: you’re at the part of the shoot when you’re wondering what the hell you’re doing here.”
They all laughed.
“Pretty much sums it up,” Finn said, raising his sea-colored eyes to meet her gaze. Her eyes lingered on his face for a moment before turning to Jean.
“The driver is in the entryway with my luggage. Where shall I direct him?” she asked.
