Page 18 of Hot Set

The silence is instant. Five sets of nervous eyes are on Bobby.Note to self: Bobby Provost must not take well to being rewritten.The muscles in his face have turned to iron, and I swear his eyes actually vibrate. If this is his thinking face, it’s super intimidating. Like an ice cube dropped on a griddle, he thaws in the snap of a finger. “Yes. That’ll work. Get me the cuts in an hour.”

Bobby targets Benj and Benny. “B and B, where are we on 109? It’s location heavy. I want to start second unit by next week.”

Benj, the cute debate-team-captain type of the pair, gestures to me. “Close. We want to chat up Gillian on her vision of fusing Mac and Mary into one. 109 will be ready for group dissection tomorrow.”

The casual comment about my idea starts a flutter in my stomach. How did they know about my theoretical character mash-up? It had to have been Bobby. The flutter shifts into a rush because he gave credence to my suggestion.

Bobby nods rapidly. “Maureen, where are you on the final for 110?”

“Collin’s giving it eyes, then I’ll add the last coat of polish.”

Bobby pops his lips. “I’m off to editing then.” He waves me over as he heads out of the room. “So, dinner?”

“Yes” is the correct answer. If Bobby takes me under his wing, it’ll be easier to avoid Jack. God, I wish I didn’t have to avoid the artist formerly known as Jay, but that connection is fraught with complications. Especially one named Niks. Another naggy voice in the back of my mind warns me not to get too social with Bobby. Until I get the big picture here, I’m better off as a solo act. “I don’t mean to be antisocial, but I’m dog tired. I need some settling-in time.”

The easy-going duffer I beaned in the head makes an appearance. “Of course. Feather your nest. We’re going to work you to the bone.” He scratches his chin. “I’ll probably be in editing into the wee hours anyway. This is a bitch of a production schedule.” A weary smile tugs at his lips. “It’s going to be a wild ride for the next twelve months, but we’ll be ahead with scripts and shooting on season two.” Something catches his eye over my shoulder, and he bobs his chin. “Benj and Benny request your presence. Prepare to have your brain picked.”

I lay a hand on his arm. “Thanks, Bobby. For everything.”

He gives me a friendly pat. “Let’s meet in my office at ten tomorrow morning. I’ll go over your schedule and the thousand things I’ll expect from you.”

“I’ll be the one wearing Post-it flags.” With a wave, he pivots and rockets down the hall. Damn, that sounded a little too flirty. None of that. I’m going for a clean slate. Fresh start. Reinvent myself. Step one: impress B and B.

An all-access pass and a studio key fob are things of beauty. It’s not snooping if you’ve got permission.The Chieftain’s Soncomplex seems to go on forever. I follow the main artery deeper into this playground. Through a set of metal industrial doors, I find the scenery shop. The smell of freshly cut boards takes me back to all the lumber yard runs I made with my dad during summer vacation when he was working on shows.

With the shop crew gone for the night, the buzz of giant table and panel saws are quiet. I’m surrounded by walls of stonework, the façade of a cottage, and even a tree that seems to magically grow out of the cement floor. I lay a hand on the trunk. It’s real. There’s a conversation starter.

At the far end of the cavernous shop, I hear galloping hoofbeats. Doolin mentioned I’d be getting up on a horse.

All access, baby. I head toward the sound.

Past the shop office, through a wide-open arch, is a huge dirt packed arena. Jumps, tires, and bales of hay set in a zigzag pattern spread out in different parts of the space. There’s even a purple plastic wading pool filled with water for God knows what.

Across the arena, I see the entrance to stalls. I clocked quality time at equestrian camp in Ojai for a couple of summers back in high school. I loved it. I only ride a few times a year, but if Doolin isn’t foolin’, I’ll be up on a horse again soon. I giggle at my mental rhyme. Carefully navigating ripe piles of evidence this space was recently occupied by the noble steeds ofChieftainand company, I make my way to the stables.

A string of lanterns run near the ceiling to light the dim space. They could pass for old world even though they’re definitely electric. I wonder if they shoot in this stable. It’s not dressed completely like days of yore, but it’s not super modern either. From the quality I’ve seen so far from this art department, they could turn anything into a page from a history book.

A dappled gray head pokes over the rail to inspect me. “Hey, baby.” A questioning whicker greets me as I rub the long nose. “Aren’t you a sweetheart.” When my new pal discovers I have nothing of the carrot or apple variety to share, she loses interest.

Smells of hay and horse mingle in a timeless aroma. I let my mind fade into a semi-dream state.

A deep, rich male voice flows from the next stall. “Who’s my beauty? Yes, you are.” I hear soft scrapes of a horse being groomed.

“Do you love me? I love you, gorgeous.”

A horse blows and stamps.

“That’s my good girl.”

A shadow rises on the back wall of the stable. It’s broad and tall without detail, but there’s no doubt, standing less than ten feet in front of me is Jack O’Leary.

“Don’t you blab to Moose about our private workout.” He slaps the horse’s flank.

I should all-access myself out of this dark stable, but my lips tingle with a memory of a certain brief kiss from last night.

I push the thought away. Jack lied to me. The man sweet-talking the horse let me call him Jay without correcting me. Jack O’Leary is an actor. His role last night was to charm the new girl, make her feel like one of the gang. I saw the warm fuzzies between Niks and him. How many times have I heard my parents talk about on-set romances?

This man’s job is to capture every heart and lustful urge of the world’s female population. That’s a spell best avoided. Donal Cam on paper will be my responsibility, not Donal Cam in the flesh.

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