Page 9 of The Singapore Stunt

“Caffeine-free.” She freaking skips next to me. “I run on sunshine and the joy of those around me.”

I descend the steps three at a time. “If you’re going to stick with me, you might need to find a Starbucks. My joy meter has been on empty for a decade.” Longer. Next week marks the eleventh anniversary of the incident. I refuse to call it an accident because that would imply it was fate. It wasn’t. It was inevitable. It’s what you get when you mix entitled, unqualified people in a position they’ve not earned. A disaster waiting to happen. It’s not if, but when. I just happened to be at the center when it exploded.

“We’re going to be best buddies.” She leaps down the final half-dozen steps, landing lightly on her feet, barely making a sound. I don’t turn, I don’t react, but I am impressed nonetheless. Landing like that is a skill. “Do you want to know why?”

Her questions are endless. She’s been here twenty-one minutes, and I’m exhausted. “If I say no, what are the chances that you don’t?”

She paces ahead of me, turning to face me and walking backward. “Oooohhh. Our first secret. See, we’re already on the way.”

“Does this work on other men?”

She stops, and I nearly bump into her. “Other men?”

Her eyes fill with hurt, and I feel like a bully. “Why do you care? We don’t have to be friends to work together. In fact, I kinda prefer that we don’t.”

Her long lashes flutter, and the spark returns to her eyes. “That’s only because you’ve never met someone like me.” She hooks her arm through mine, and that damn jolt returns. I bite my lower lip and hide my reaction. When the scent of honeysuckle hits my nose, I force myself to untangle from her.

“Time to put on your game face.” I point to the enormous thirty-by-thirty, eight-inch-thick mat under the canopy in the courtyard. “I want to run through the sequence for the garden scene to see if you’re half as good as you think you are.” I shoot the words at her, hoping to get her to focus on the task at hand. Anything but me.

She squints as she assesses the courtyard. On the far side of the mat is a table with a pile of equipment: hitting pads, practice swords, and foam-padded escrima fighting sticks. “When do I get to meet the rest of the team?”

I point to the table and wave her forward. “They’ll be here in a few days. Until then, it’s just me and you. Sorry to disappoint, but there won’t be an audience here fawning over you.”

She steps on the mat, bouncing on her toes like it’s a trampoline. “Good. I can concentrate all of my charm on you.”

“Lucky me.” I grunt and scoop up the iPad from the table. I look up in time to see her untie and readjust her ponytail.

Last month, when I arrived in Singapore, I was a typical American. If I stepped more than two feet from a table, I would grab all my valuables. Our location scout quickly schooled us. Crime is near nonexistent in Singapore. It’s not that they’ve figured out how to change human behavior, but the penalty for crimes here is so severe no one in their right mind would break the law. Couple that with CCTV cameras covering nearly every inch of the city-state to monitor those foolish enough to attempt. Since then, we’ve left iPads, laptops, and valuable equipment in the courtyard between sessions without a concern.

My fingers navigate to the secure studio site with the director’s mock-ups for the scene. I hand the iPad to Kimberly and half expect her to break into song. Her brows furrow with an intensity that she hadn’t displayed up to now.

She nods. “Yeah. I studied them on the plane. And did a FaceTime walk-through with Ariana.” Her finger taps her chin, and I can tell she wants to say something else.

“Hopefully you didn’t spend too much time.” She hands me the iPad. “When we worked with the fight choreographer nearly six months ago, we came up with the sequence based on the abilities of the stunt team. We’ve been talking…”

“We?”

“Xavier, me, and the stunt team,” I clarify for her. “We’re going to rachet up one or two of the moves from the secondary fighters to match the intensity level of the original vision since we’ll have to…”

“Have to what?” Kimberly crosses her arms against her chest. “Dumb down my moves? Have me stand in a corner and watch?”

Attitude. Good. “Not exactly. But we always match the moves to the talent of the performer. I don’t do high-wire work, and I wouldn’t expect you to—”

“How would you know what to expect from me?” She doesn’t wait for me to react. She turns and runs to the center of the mat. She lowers into a squat and slams both hands to the mat. My first thought is that it’s going to sting her perfectly manicured fingers.

“Yaaah!” she shouts, and I recognize the move. She is performing the kata from the movie. It’s a ninety-second skill performance that highlights a martial artist’s repartee. This kata was developed to highlight flashy camera-friendly moves. It will be a candidate to stream behind the credits at the end of the movie.

Her glare is intense, focused in my direction. I shift on my feet and force myself to concentrate on the movements and not on the woman. Her hair flies as she somersaults and hops three feet in the air for a double split kick.

I’m surprised she’s retained much of the kata. For practitioners of the art, the kata is second nature. But for Kimberly, the fight coordinator taught her this sequence three months ago on the back lots of LA. Most actors, once their sequence finishes filming, forget everything they’ve been taught and focus on their next performance.

She’s sharp. Practice sharp.

She finishes the sequence with a double turnout tumble, sticking the landing at the edge of the mat inches from where I stand. Her chest heaves as she gathers her breath. It’s nearly ninety degrees, and this short exercise has her dripping in sweat. The moisture glistening on her flawless skin is poster-worthy. I push out the fifteen filthy thoughts fighting in my head and cut to the only one that matters.

“So you can kick the shit out of the air. Let’s see what you can do when you have someone in front of you that fights back.” I kick off my sandals and step onto the mat. She doesn’t budge an inch.

We stand toe to toe. She tilts her chin up to capture my gaze.

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