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Lorrie
They entered the tomb slowly, the heroic Mr Square Jaw – or whatever his name was – leading the way, flaming torch held high. Behind him the rest of the party followed. The too young for him blonde, the plucky teen sidekick, the well-dressed rival, the grey haired professor. Bringing up the rear was a small collection of identically dressed and highly disposable workers.
Lorrie was the token female among them.
She felt small and more than a little ridiculous in the oversized overalls. But, hey, it was a job. As long as she got paid she would wear and do whatever these weirdos wanted.
Including walking into the obviously haunted tomb of an ancient Egyptian pharaoh apparently.
Not that she could see any pharaoh. All she saw was a corridor, long, dark and covered in cobwebs. Normally that would be enough to make her turn around and get the hell out of there. Forget mummies. Spiders were really scary.
But she had a job to do.
Steeling herself she turned her attention to what she came here for. The sarcophagi. Half a dozen of them, propped up against the wall. Big, covered in sinister looking hieroglyphs, and topped with snarling jackal heads.
“Stick close,” Mr Square Jaw said and stepped forward.
The party huddled obediently behind him as they began moving down the corridor.
All except for Lorrie.
The sarcophagus closest to her was cracked open slightly. Through the gap in the flickering light she could just make out what looked like a body. Or maybe it was just a trick of the light. She leant forward, peering close.
Yes. It was a body. Withered, old, and wrapped in yellowed cloth. Still not as scary as spiders. As if offended by the thought the corpse moved. Fast.
Lorrie choked out a scream as a bandaged arm shot out of the gap and seized her by the throat. Before Mr Square Jaw and his intrepid band could respond the sarcophagus lid slid back and she was face to face with a mummy. Black eyes, cracked skin, hair hanging in mattered knots from beneath its tattered shroud. It snarled, barring rotten teeth, breath hot and smelling of... strawberry mint?
Lorrie’s cry faltered.
“Cut!” The director leant forward in his chair, frowning as he studied the footage again from his monitor beside the camera. “What kind of scream was that?”
“Sorry,” Lorrie called. “I got distracted. My bad.”
The director wasn’t sympathetic. In fact, he didn’t even look at her. “Let’s do it again,” he said to his assistant. “Make sure she does a proper scream this time. It’s not scary unless she does a proper scream.”
“Reset!” The assistant called. “And you! Scream better!”
Scream better. Okay. Thanks for the A grade acting notes, arsehole.
The rest of the cast moved back to the mouth of the ancient tomb, a few of them sending her sympathetic looks as they passed. Not Mr Square Jaw though. No, he felt the need to mutter ‘amateur’ under his breath. She bit back the impulse to remind him that he wasn’t exactly a Hollywood superstar and he’d spent half an hour yesterday fucking up one line twenty times in a row so if he could keep his mouth shut about a minor thing like not screaming enough on the first take that would be great thank you very much.
“Hey. Um.” It was the mummy that spoke. Voice soft, shy, and shockingly feminine. “I thought it was good and we didn’t rehearse so... um... I wanted to ask... Do you want me to come out differently?”
“Oh. No. It’s okay. You’re fine.”
“Thanks. You’re pretty fine too.”
Lorrie blinked.
The mummy seemed to realise what she’d said a moment after Lorrie did. Her decomposing face twisted with horror. “Oh! No! I just meant you’re doing fine. I didn’t mean you look fine. Not that you don’t look fine. You look great. Really. Like. Super hot. But that’s not what I’m saying. I just...”
Lorrie couldn’t see it but she was ninety percent sure the mummy was blushing under all that makeup.
“I’m sorry. I... I...”
“You two!” The director’s assistant called. “Starting positions!”
The mummy didn’t need to be told twice. She fled back into her sarcophagus and pulled it closed behind her. A clam snapping its shell shut.
“Quickly please!”
“Yeah yeah.” Lorrie called. “I’m coming.”
“So is Christmas.”
She rolled her eyes and walked back towards the rest of the actors while the crew ran through their pre take checklist.
“Sound!”
“Speeding.”
“Camera!”
“Rolling.”
“Clapper!”
A boy sprung forward with the clapperboard. “Scene Fourteen. Shot One. Take Two.” He snapped the board together and pranced back out of sight. The director waited a moment – Lorrie wasn’t sure what for, the stars to align perhaps – before calling ‘action’.
They shuffled back into the chamber and took moment to gawk at the display of sarcophagi.
“Stick close,” Mr Square Jaw said and began his purposeful stride forward as the rest of the characters trailed behind him.
Lorrie lingered, her attention once again focused on the slightly opened sarcophagus. This time she couldn’t see the mummy within. She stepped closer anyway and peered into the darkness.
The bandaged arm shot out and seized her, fingers gentle. She gave her best Hitchcock worthy scream and thrashed against the mummy’s grasp. As per the script Mr Square Jaw raced towards her in a heroic rescue attempt, but it was already too late. She was pulled, still screaming, into the sarcophagus. A second later the lid slid closed sealing her in darkness.
She gave one final wail, cutting it off dramatically halfway through.
For a brief moment afterwards it was just her and the mummy, breathing hard in the confined space.
Then she heard the muffled voices of the actors playing out the rest of the scene.
“You did great,” the mummy whispered.
“You too.”
“Sorry about before I—”
“Hey. No worries. It’s okay.” And pretty adorable if Lorrie was being honest with herself. What could she say? She had a thing for cute shy sorts. “I’ve never been flirted with by someone dressed as an ancient Egyptian corpse before,” she said instead. “That’s a story I’ll tell my grandkids.”
A small nervous laugh. “As long as you’re not angry.”
“No way.”
Outside of the sarcophagus Mr Square Jaw botched his line.
“Keep rolling,” the director called. “Just say that sentence again.”
He said it again. And messed it up again. The third attempt wasn’t any better. Or the fourth.
“Looks like we might be in here for a while,” Lorrie said.
“Are you uncomfortable?”
“Not at all.” That was a lie. The sarcophagus was small, hot, and the cheap plastic hard against her back. Despite that she settled in to wait for however long it would take for Mr Square Jaw to master Basic English.
A minute passed.
Then two.
Then five.
Then ten.
Jesus. How did this guy get the lead role?
Stupid question. Lorrie knew how he’d got it. It was that chin. He looked like Fabio crossed with Harrison Ford. Manly. That was the word. If she were a little straighter she might even have called him handsome. Not smart though, and certainly not a good actor.
Beside her the mummy shifted.
It was a weird feeling hanging out in near pitch blackness with a complete stranger, even if that stranger had already accidentally called her hot. She felt like she should say something but wasn’t sure exactly what to say. Something fun, witty, and clever. Something that would make the less than ideal place where they were temporarily trapped a little less drab.
“Hey,” she whispered. “Want to hear a joke? I don’t usually get such a captive audience.”
“Oh... sure. I guess.”
“What sort of music do mummies like?”
An uncertain pause. “I don’t know.”
“Wrap music.”
It took a moment for the mummy to get it. When she somehow managed to giggle and groan at the same time. “Oh my God. That’s so bad.”
“Bad jokes are my speciality,” Lorrie promised. “Here’s another one for you. What did the Pharaoh say when he saw the pyramids?”
“Umm...”
“Mummy’s home.”
A snort of barely stifled laughter.
“You liked that? Okay. Try this one. Why do mummies have a hard time making friends? Because they’re so wrapped up in themselves.”
“Why are mummies so attractive?” The mummy asked.
That surprised Lorrie. People didn’t usually join in when she started to make her bad jokes. But then again, people didn’t usually enjoy it when she started making bad jokes either. “Oh! Don’t tell me. Is it because... ah... shit. No. I can’t think of it. Hit me.”
“It’s the pharaoh-mones.”
She laughed, loud and true. She couldn’t help herself. “Holy shit that’s lame! I love it!”
“Shh!” The mummy clapped her hand over Lorrie’s mouth. But it was too little too late.
The sarcophagus lid swung back to reveal a very pissed off Mr Square Jaw and a less than impressed crew.
“We’re filming,” the director informed them curtly.
“I’m sorry,” Lorrie barely managed around her laughter. “I’m sorry.”
“Get them out of here.”
“We need the mummy for the next scene,” the assistant reminded him anxiously.
“Let her stay. It’s totally my fault.” Lorrie untangled herself from the mummy’s arms and stepped out of the sarcophagus. The truth was she was feeling kinda bad for laughing so loud. No matter how cheesy she thought the movie was she didn’t actually want to wreck everyone’s hard work. “I’ll leave. My character’s dead now anyway.”
“Wait,” the mummy said, voice small and face somehow forlorn behind all that rotten cloth and dried dead skin.
For some reason something inside Lorrie twinged at the sight. She wanted to tell her it was fine, maybe exchange a couple more bad mummy jokes...
But there was no time. She forced a smile and waved. “Thanks for killing me. Ten out of ten. Would die in your arms again.” Then, as if that were the most normal farewell ever, she turned and walked off the set ignoring the glares of Mr Square Jaw and the lingering gaze of the mummy in the sarcophagus.
*
Kat
So that was the story of how Kat met the cutest girl she’d ever seen... only to spend ten minutes locked in a box unable to talk to her and, when things finally started picking up, have her leave without her ever seeing Kat’s face. That should be the tagline of her autobiography. The title would be something a little snappier. Maybe ‘How Not to Meet Girls’ or ‘Why Does Life Keep Setting Me Up Like This?’ or maybe ‘Sad Stories by a Lonely Lesbian’. Yeah. That seemed about right.
Not that she should be thinking about her sorry excuse for a love life right now. She should be focusing on acting.
She gave her best undead moan and shambled down the dark corridor with a small legion of other mummies. The Pharaoh walked at the head of the procession, his tattered cape billowing – with the help of a fan held out of sight behind the camera – and eyes glowing an unnatural gold.
It was all very impressive.
Or at least she thought so. The director was still sitting in his seat making that face that might have been critical contemplation or might have been constipation. Behind him a bunch of other actors were getting ready for their next shot, not paying attention at all. Behind them a crew member leant against a stage light... totally asleep.
Kat didn’t blame him. It had been a long day. She’d been on set at sunrise getting makeup on and had been snarling, shambling, and springing out of sarcophagi all day. Her pits were sweaty, bandages smelling, and eyes stinging from the contact lenses.
She was ready to unwind. Literally.
“Cut!”
They all stopped and waited while the director and his assistant discussed what they thought of the take.
It was a long discussion. Very long.
“Hey.”
She looked up and almost gasped when she saw it was the hero of the film, the one that kept stuffing up his lines. Proud chin, thick swept back hair, a fine dusting of stubble. Shit! What was his name? She should know this. He was the star of the movie.
“Hi,” she croaked.
His name began with N. She remembered that. And his last name was some kind of animal... Bear? No. Bird? No. Gah! Why couldn’t she remember? She’d read it on the shooting script. It stood out because it was spelt wrong...
“You’re that tall brunette, right?” He asked. “I saw you getting dressed but it’s hard to tell with all that makeup.”
“Um. Yeah. I guess that’s me.”
He gave a wolfish grin.
Wolff! That was it! That was his name. “Mr Wolff.”
“Call me Neil. Are you coming to the party tonight?”
“Oh, um...” how could she say no politely? “I didn’t know there was a party.”
“Yeah. Just a get together for some of the actors. Good networking opportunity. It’s at the O’Conner Pub, the one next to the university.”
“Oh. Well. That’s a long way away and I don’t really have a car so—”
“I’ll give you a ride. It’s no problem.”
This polite no wasn’t going well.
“Ah... well... I don’t really think—”
“Reset!” The director’s assistant called. “One more take!”
The mummies gave a collective groan and shuffled back to their starting positions. Kat went with them, glad for an excuse to end the conversation. Though, as it turned out, it wasn’t just one more take.
It was twenty seven.
It was an hour after the scheduled end of shooting, as several of the extras were starting to loudly proclaim, when the director finally let them go. Kat had a feeling they were being dismissed not because the director was happy with the take, but because he realised they weren’t going to get any better at that point. It didn’t matter. Kat rushed back into the changing room the second she could, pulled off the costume, and waited impatiently while the make-up crew removed the painted latex stuck onto her face.
She hoped if she got out quickly she would avoid having to go to this party.
It wasn’t that she hated parties or anything. It was just after a hard day filming she really wasn’t in the mood. What she wanted was to eat chocolate, watch trashy TV, and pass out on her sofa.
But, as it turned out, the universe had other plans.
As she stepped out of the small downtown studio where they’d been filming she came face to face with a sleek black car. And there, sitting in the driver’s seat, waving at her with an overly white smile was the very man she’d been hoping to avoid. Neil Wolff.
“Hey! I’ve been waiting. Are you ready for the party?”
*
No. It wasn’t a hard word to say. Not in theory. One syllable. Two sounds. A single breath of air.
She was an actor! Saying lines was meant to be her job. Or, at least, she hoped it would be one day. The most articulate thing her mummy character had said was ‘rrraaggghhh!’
But, for whatever reason, she’d always had a hard time saying ‘no’. A dozen memories swam through her mind. Her mother insisting she should stay at home and help out with the shop, her high school friends asking if they could copy her homework, her uncle insisting she have more of his dense as mud meatloaf. Her strategy in these situations had always been to smile and nod and never utter the single word that would have saved her.
And here she was again, in a loud pub, struggling through a beer that tasted even worse than most while sitting beside a man who kept awkwardly trying to start a conversation.
“So, have you done many other movies?”
“Oh... no. Not yet.”
“What about TV shows? I’ve done heaps of those.”
“No. Not them either.”
“Commercials? That’s how I started out.”
“No. No commercials.”
“Do you want to be a big Hollywood actress or are you just in it for some quick cash?”
She mumbled out something about still figuring it all out and took a deep mouthful of her beer in the hopes of getting it a little closer to empty, and her a little closer to gone.
Neil took the opportunity to rattle off his own impressive slate of film and television appearances. The other actors oohed and ahed at appropriate intervals but didn’t join in. Kat guessed they would rather relax than talk about work. That instinct was proven correct when, in a pause which Neil probably intended to be a dramatic, another man cut in to change the subject.
The new topic of conversation: rugby.
Something Kat knew absolutely nothing about.
That was fine by her. It gave her all the more motive to drink.
By the time she’d finally choked down her beer the group was busy arguing about who they thought was going to win the World Cup. Australia, New Zealand, Wales, England, South Africa, Japan, Fiji. The list went on. A couple of people looked ready to start laying down money.
She put down her glass and stood up before Neil could offer her another. “I’m really sorry. I have an early start tomorrow. Work.”
“That sucks. Hey, what’s your social media handle? We should get in touch. You know, for networking.”
“Networking?” She echoed dumbly.
“Yeah.” He pulled out his phone. “Are you on twitter? Insta?”
“Just Facebook.”
“What’s your name?”
“Katherine Mason,” she said before she realised that was something she might not want to tell him.
His fingers zipped across his phone screen a couple of times, navigating through his apps at lighting speed. “Okay. Found you. Friend request sent. Talk later.”
Kat opened her mouth to respond. She had no idea what she was going to say. But, as it turned out, it didn’t matter. She never got the opportunity to say it.
“Hello!” A new voice cut in. “Sorry I’m late!”
Kat looked up.
And froze.
It was her. The woman who’d joked with her in the sarcophagus. She was wearing a t shirt with a chest x-ray printed on it, had tied up her bleached blonde curls into a mass on top of her head, and was smiling through a pair of immaculately painted lips.
Utterly gorgeous.
“Hey Lorrie!” A tall and absurdly attractive man on the other side of the table called. “Glad you could make it!”
“Are you kidding? It’s Friday! I need a beer. Is this seat free?” She indicated to the spot Kat had just vacated.
Once again, Kat couldn’t quite spit out the word ‘no’ in time.
“Yeah.” Neil said. “Kat’s leaving.”
“Excellent!” The woman – Lorrie, her name was Lorrie – plopped happily down onto the chair. She was given a beer from the jug in the middle of the table and quickly brought up to speed on the current conversation.
“All Blacks,” she said without a moment’s hesitation. “One hundred percent.”
“No way!” And with that the debate started again.
Kat stood to the side feeling stupid and small. She wanted to stay and talk to this random beautiful stranger with whom she’d shared a fleeting connection. But, at the same time, she didn’t know how to push back into the conversation... and it wasn’t like Lorrie knew who she was anyway. She’d been in makeup when they met and had only exchanged a couple of jokes. Lorrie had probably already forgotten about her and their brief exchange.
Kat took a step towards the door. Then another. Then another.
“Hey, which one of you killed me?”
Kat stopped.
The rest of the group went quiet.
“What?”
“You know,” Lorrie said. “On set today. My character was the first to die because I’m blonde and a woman, so of course. But shitty sexist tropes aside, was it any of you?”
Silence.
“No? Aw man. That sucks. I was hoping to—”
“It was me.”
Everyone looked at her. Lorrie swivelled in her seat, eyes big, bright, and brown.
Kat felt her cheeks heat with colour. “I killed you,” she forced herself to say, voice ringing loud in the room. “It was me.”
“What the hell?” Someone a few tables over whispered.
Kat ignored them.
Lorrie studied her for a moment, a strange look in her eye. Then, she spoke. “Why don’t mummies take holidays?”
“Because they don’t want to unwind,” Kat said. “Too easy.”
The whole table groaned. Lorrie smiled, her teeth white and perfect. “It is you.”
What could Kat say to that except... “Yeah.”
Lorrie moved her seat to the side. “Come on. Pull up a chair. I have more where that came from. Spent all day coming up with them.”
Kat wanted nothing more than to stay and listen to those jokes.
“Kat was just leaving,” Neil said.
Lorrie’s face fell. “Already?”
But she couldn’t. Not without revealing that she’d lied to Neil.
“I have to work tomorrow,” she repeated the lie.
“Oh that’s really shit. I’m sorry.” Lorrie lifted her beer in toast. “Hope to see you around, Kat was it?”
“Yes.” She stayed standing for a moment longer, awkward and uncertain, desperately trying to think of a plausible excuse to stay longer. Nothing came to her. Slowly, reluctantly, she turned and left. Away from the table, passed the bar, and down the stairs.
She had never been good at saying no.
But, she thought, as she walked slowly out of the pub onto the street, she had never really been much good at saying yes either.
With a sigh she began the long walk to the nearest bus stop. Maybe she should just give up on meeting cute women, write that autobiography, and focus on her acting career. With any luck her next role might be something a little better. A character with actual lines where she could show her face.
Yeah. That would be nice.