Page 14 of Cinematic Destinies
“She’s the sweetest person in the world.”
“Are you sure she never told your father?”
Albert nodded. “She respects my privacy. She wanted me to tell him myself.”
“Then . . .”
“I’m not ready yet. I’m working myself up to it. Can that just be okay? For a little while?”
Ryan leaned forward and kissed him. “We’ll lay low on the public displays until you’re ready.”
Albert smiled and they kissed again.
GEORGIA RELAXED IN THE BACK SEAT,marveling at the unique landscape during the hour and a half drive from the Reykjavík airport. For all her travels, she had never seen any place like Iceland. At first there were seemingly endless vistas of moss-covered lava rocks with rolling milk chocolate–colored mountains in the distance. The stark terrain eventually gave way to vast green fields covered in mysterious purple flowers, punctuated with streams and waterfalls, and dotted with small horses that looked like they walked off the pages of a fable. Soon the landscape morphed again into a series of volcanoes and mountains, surrounded by rocks and dirt in all shades of brown. It was desolate and opulent all at once. She felt as if she had been dropped off on another planet.
“We’re here,” the driver announced as he pulled into the dirt driveway of a rustic-looking home facing a massive midnight-black volcano, no other signs of life as far as the eye could see.
They spilled out of the vehicle, and the driver began unloading her luggage from the trunk. Georgia took a deep breath and looked at the volcano. He noticed and said, “Don’t worry, she won’t blow. You’re a safe distance. There’s a trail if you’re adventurous. It’s quite beautiful.”
She smiled and followed him into the house. An older couple with snow-colored hair hurried over to greet her, warm smiles on their faces. “Welcome. I am Ástríður and this is my husband Gunnar.”
“Hi. I’m Georgia Sinclair Forrester.”
“Yes, of course,” Ástríður said. “My husband and I are the caretakers. This property is usually used as an artists’ residency house. We host visitors from all over. Mr. Mercier rented it during the duration of your film shoot. The cabin that’s being used as the set is just down the road. There are trailers set up for the actors, and a car will take you back and forth.” Georgia nodded and she continued, “So, about the house. Common rooms are on this floor: a living room with a television and an old DVD collection, a kitchen that you’re free to use, a dining room where meals are served, and there’s also a self-serve bar and a large workspace that can be used as an office, a rehearsal room, or some have even used it to do yoga, as there’s a sublime view. There’s also a small library and an even smaller gym. Just a treadmill, an elliptical machine, and some free weights. Guest rooms are on the second floor. You’ll be in seven at the end of the hallway,” she said, holding out an old-fashioned skeleton key.
“Thank you,” Georgia replied.
“Mr. Mercier and Mr. Hennesey are relaxing in the dining room. I can take you to join them if you like. I’ve put out afternoon refreshments. Dinner will be served in a couple hours. My husband can assist the driver with your bags. Unless you prefer to get settled in your room.”
“No, I’d love to join the others, please.”
“Right this way,” Ástríður said, while the men ferried the luggage upstairs.
Georgia followed her into a casual dining room featuring wood furniture that matched the floors, with a wall of windows overlooking the volcano. Jean and Michael were sitting at the oval-shaped table, with pots of coffee and tea and a smattering of bite-size sandwiches, pastries, and fruit.
“Georgia!” Michael bellowed, jumping up to hug her. “Great to see you.”
“You too,” she replied.
Jean slowly rose, leaning on his chair for support as he labored to his feet. He looked at her with a glint in his eyes and in his thick French accent said, “Ma chérie, welcome,” before pecking her on each cheek.
Michael lent Jean a hand as they all sat down.
“Wow, that view is something. I’ve never seen any place like this,” Georgia remarked.
“It’s wild, isn’t it?” Michael asked. “We’re definitely not in Hollywood anymore.”
Georgia giggled. “It should be an amazing backdrop for filming. So otherworldly.”
Jean smirked. “The landscape is actually ugly in a way, all the brown and black rocks and dirt as far as one can see. Yet it’s spectacularly beautiful and singular too. Breathtaking. Almost as if the ugliness has turned inward on itself, creating something extraordinary, something one can hardly turn away from.” He stopped to huff before adding, “Beauty from despair. Like much in this fucked-up wasteland we call life.”
“Glad to see age hasn’t softened those hard edges,” Michael joked. He and Georgia both laughed.
Jean shrugged. “We are who we are. Life is what it is.”
“And on that dystopian note, tea or coffee?” Michael asked Georgia, gesturing at the pots.
“Perhaps something a little stiffer after the journey. There’s a bar over there,” Jean said, pointing to the corner. “Your mother has always enjoyed a good bourbon. Your father as well.”
