Page 18 of The Christmas Extra

“It’s fine. Let’s go talk to her. I’m sure I can charm her,” Tony glibly stated.

***

Tony did not charmher.

A half hour later I was in some stiff dark green sheriff uniform and a bulky black coat with a badge proclaiming I am the sheriff of Mistletoe Corners. Everything aside from my boxers felt like someone had doubled the starch.

My nerves were jangling. The whole town seemed to be here for the big holiday barn scene. I did my best to meld into the background, tapping my fingers on my holster.

“Hey,” I heard to my left. Teddy had shown up too, it seemed. “The lone case today has been heard, and the jury has been dismissed by Judge Sorkin so he can film his bit.”

“That’s fine. Wanda will keep us informed if anything pops up. She did her filming yesterday while you and your houseguest were up in Corning watching glass being blown.”

“Her name is Fiona,” my deputy informed me, rising up to his toes and rocking back on his heels. “And glass wasn’t the only thing being blown yesterday.”

I shifted my attention from the arrival of Sasha Faye on the set, which was always a moment that seemed just shy of some sort of royalty making an entrance. One kind of expected trumpets to flare. When the queen of daytime had passed us with her ladies-in-waiting as Tony called them, I looked back at my deputy.

“I thought you were dating—”

“Yeah, no, that didn’t work out,” he hurried to say. “Listen, since I’m here now that the docket was cleared, do you think it would be okay if I rode along with you in the police car during your scene?” I threw him a curious look. “I won’t say a word. I’ll just sit there and look authoritative.”

“If it’s okay with the movie people, it’s okay with me. You’ll have to sign a contract with Roquefort.”

“Thanks, Stillman!” He beamed, clapped my shoulder, and ran off with his hand on his hat to find the man named after cheese. I scanned the set but didn’t see Tony anywhere. Perhaps he was off with the producer or director talking about the day’s filming. I hoped we would start shooting soon. The longer I had to wait, the more I fretted over fudging my lines.

Four hours later, we were finally ready for my one scene. Lunch had been served, sandwiches and chips from the diner by the library, and I was now burping the spicy mustard that had been smeared liberally on my ham and cheese sandwich. Teddy was at my side, in a uniform much like mine, smiling widely. You’d think he had won the lottery. Of course he didn’t have lines to fuck up. Maybe I should give him the bigger badge for the scene.

“Okay! People, please, can we focus here? Thank you!” Paul Gershman shouted to be heard over the hundred or so people here. “We’re running a little behind due to an unfortunate eyebrow incident in Sasha’s trailer, so we’re going to switch things up. Where are the cops?”

Teddy thumped me on the arm with the side of his fist and then stepped out from beside a heater blowing warm air on the frozen production crew.

“Here!” Teddy yelled as he jogged out into the meager sunlight. “We’re here.”

“Good, okay, so let’s get you into the cruiser. Tony is already at the end of Main Street waiting in his car. You two are to pull up behind him and then the big man here gets out and you go through your lines. If it’s at all possible, can we please nail this in one take? Sasha is now having an emergency eyebrow procedure in makeup and is emotionally unable to perform today, so we’re in a bit of a bind timewise already.”

“Is she okay?” I asked as Paul herded us to a golf cart parked around the back of the barn, out of sight of the cameras situated inside the decorated barn. Strains of Christmas carols floated on the cold afternoon wind.

“She’s fine. Little accident while smudging the trailer. Her psychic advisor warned her that there was a malevolent presence in her brand new trailer and so she wanted to smudge it. Guess she waved the smoking smudge too close to her face. Anyway, she’s out again today so we’re going to try to get something fucking done today.” He shoved us gently at the golf cart before hustling off to tend to something else.

“Wow, movie people are energetic,” Teddy muttered. I nodded. That was one word for them. The cart raced down the driveway, skidding on the pea-sized gravel. We climbed out and I caught a peek at Tony sitting in a pale green SUV, the motor running, parked in the pine-lined road leading to the barn. “My mother is so freaking excited!”

Teddy darted to the police cruiser we’d be using. I wiped my hands on my trousers. Cameras were in place, one on a rail-system that ran along the road to capture us driving, I assumed. I walked to the cruiser, my sight locked on my feet, my gut churning. Happi appeared to powder my nose one final time.

“You’ll be great!” she said and hurried off to fix someone else’s face.

I peeked at Tony. He blew me a kiss. My dick decided that now was a good time to perk up. It was not at all a good time, and I mentally told it that. How the hell could I get hard just seeing the man pucker up when I was so damned stressed out? Penises are stupid. I’d smack mine if I weren’t surrounded by lights and cameras.

Someone nudged me to the car—a woman with a lanyard and very little patience left by the tone of her tight voice—and instructed me to get inside. I did. Teddy crawled in on my right. He looked ready to explode with excitement. I wanted to vomit on my too-tight shoes. Shiny and black, with smooth soles that would be totally unsuited to the real duties of a cop, but hey, what did I know? I certainly wasn’t going to tell Gracelyn, who had dressed Audrey Hepburn, to give me different shoes. She kind of scared me.

Once the car was running, someone with a clapboard stood in front of Tony’s car, yelled something, and snapped his black and white board soundly. Tony pulled out slowly. I gave him a few seconds to get ahead and then I eased the old Buick into drive, hit the lights, and pulled in behind him. It was completely surreal. I felt like a gorilla as I hefted myself out of the car, reds and blues flashing, cameras trained on me as I swaggered to Tony’s car.

“Cut!” Miles shouted from his fancy seat. Everything stopped instantly. “Sheriff Stillman, did you shit your pants?”

I wanted to die. “No, I was told to put swagger into my performance.”

“Oh, well, stop swaggering,” Miles yelled, then burrowed down into his thick coat, his mouth going a mile a minute to some other woman with a lanyard who looked just as tired as the other woman with the lanyard. So many lanyards...

Right. I was going to throttle Tony. I went back to the cruiser, folded myself into the car, and waited for the guy with the clapboard to do his thing.

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