Page 3 of Totally Wrecked
A definite ripple of interest runs through the crowded room as I walk towards the bar.
You can do this.
A table-full of tourists call out as I go past.
“Oh! Are you…?”
“Look! It’s the real-life superhero!”
Before I can answer, out come their cellphones.
“Selfie?”
“Group pic!”
“Such a fan! We all root for you, Action Jackson!”
I smile awkwardly, and do the classic ‘Brooke 'Action' Jackson pose. Hands on hips, and chin tilted up. My sister stole the move from the viral ‘Wonder Woman Pose’ thing that was everywhere a few years ago. Nobody calls it the Wonder Woman any more. Now, it’s the Action Jackson pose: confident, powerful, and a little arrogant.
Just like my sister.
And not at all like me.
A small woman clutching a tablet runs and takes my arm. “Brooke! Great! How was your flight? Come on back.”
This is Frances—production manager. She’d been on the powerpoint Brooke made for me. I’d studied it on my phone two days ago, while at a salon getting heavy bangs and highlights to aid my Brooke Jackson transformation.
Frances, production = nice, but oblivious, nothing to worry about.
Trevor, sound guy = likes to talk about classic movies, just stick to that topic.
Peter, DoP = not interested in you at all because he’s having a hot fling with…
Simone, camera assistant = (see above).
“You must be so excited,” nice-but-oblivious Frances is saying.
“The flight was great, and yes, so excited—totally!”
“Gosh, and you do look…well rested,” Frances pauses a moment after saying that. I guess what she’s thinking is that I actually look like I’ve gained several soft pounds.
“Rested and err…relaxed.” She nods to herself, then continues on. “That can only stand you in good stead, because this is a big one, Brooke. Alrighty, come get some champers. Oh wait, I forgot you don’t drink. We’ll get you a lovely juice.”
Ugh, that’s right, I don’t drink. Internal eye-roll to my sister.
She takes me by the elbow and propels me across the room and towards my fate. “So, things have been a little crazy; a lot of the incoming flights got delayedandwe had to get a different sound guy because Trevor suddenly quit.”
She makes a face and rolls her eyes. I mirror her expression. Frances laughs. “We are so bad—poor Trevor. Anyway, we’ve had to shuffle some things around. I’ll explain later.” Frances keeps wittering away. “I’ve sent schedules to your email; I’m sure you’ve already been through them all, knowing you.” Frances winks at me, and I give her a rictus grin in return.
If she really did know me, she’d know that all I want to do is run back to the airport, get on a plane and fly home to Rhode Island.
The crowd around me is growing. “Not now, not now,” says Frances, thankfully interrupting as more tourists demand selfies. She pushes me the final few feet to the bar.
“Look who I found!” she says to a tall man who is standing alone and sipping whiskey. I give him a quick once over, then double take. He wasn’t on Brooke's powerpoint about the crew, so…new sound guy? And also, good grief, he’s…compelling.
“Hi, I’m Brooke,” I put out my hand, trying to still the quiver in my voice.
He raises his eyebrows at me. “Hello, Brooke.” The man draws my name out slowly. “I’m Killian, your audio.”
