After getting settled in their room, Diana went looking for their director. She hurried through the lobby, keeping an eye out for hotties. She was infatuated, not dead, and Billie needed her help. It was Diana’s sacred duty as Billie’s best friend to get her laid—and over her ex, Brent. That asshole broke up with Billie right after graduation and Billie still wasn't over him.
Brent’s wispy goatee looked like pubic hair pasted to his face, and he was scrawny. He moped around with a guitar, and his singing sounded like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. He wasn’t anything special, but Billie took the breakup hard.
Billie needed to get back on the horse, and there were two fine-looking men headed her way. Hot men ran in packs, and she intended to introduce herself to this one.
“Hi, I’m Di DeAngelis, unit publicist.” She wished her hair would lay down flat for once. There was a reason Franco, her middle brother, went through so much hair gel. “You two must be a couple of the actors.”
The two men—strapping guys in jeans and t-shirts that clung intriguingly—shared a bemused look.
“What makes you think that?” Hazel Eyes asked.
If Billie didn’t want him, she was crazy. Of course, if she did, Diana would make the sacrifice. It was what friends did.
“Well, look at the two of you.” She patted a bulging bicep and gave Hazel Eyes a bright smile. “You’ve got star written all over you.”
He smiled, flashing straight, white teeth. “No, I’m Miles, first assistant camera, and this is Judd, sound.”
“Well, you could’ve fooled me.”
“Is this your first Vancouver shoot? I know most of the locals, but I haven’t met you before,” Miles said.
“Yeah, I came up from LA—my best friend and I just graduated from UCLA—but we’re hoping to stay on in Vancouver. Getting this film credit will make the work visa process easier.”
“I’m from LA, too, but I’ve worked up here a bunch of times—I’ve worked with both Miles and Richard before,” Judd said. “A handful of the crew is from LA, but most are locals like Miles.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting everybody, especially the Vancouver people, but I should probably meet our director first. Have you two seen Richard? I need to talk to him.”
“I’d steer clear of him right now,” Miles said. “They’re having trouble getting a crane out here, and he’s pissed.”
“No biggie. I can handle it. You know where he is?”
Miles shrugged, drawing her attention to his broad shoulders. Her breath caught, and she missed what he said next.
“I’m sorry?”
“I said he’s in a meeting, but he should be headed down toward the tents shortly.” He gestured toward the double doors at the other end of the lobby. “Don’t worry, it won’t be hard to find him. Just follow the bellowing.”
She swallowed. This guy sounded like a beast. “Well, thanks.”
Miles flashed another great smile, and Diana reminded herself not to melt until she could confer with Billie.
“Well, see you guys around.”
“Absolutely,” Miles said.
Billie had checked out the lodge and when she came in from the deck, four of her Pelican cases sat in the center of the lobby. There was no indication who moved them from the van, and she shuddered to think of some ham-handed grip mishandling them.
It took forever to save the money for the camera, lenses and the lighting rig. Her parents, still in denial she A) went to UCLA, B) majored in fine arts and C) wanted to work as a photographer, were adamant they wouldn’t help pay for a cent of her “pipe dream.”
Billie hated to break it to them, but she wasn’t turning into a lawyer, doctor or engineer any time soon.
She struggled up to lift the cases. The lights were heavy, and the other case had her sound blimp. She winced as the case banged against her ankle and swore under her breath.
“Need some help?”
She looked up at the guy capping his water bottle. He had dark hair and hazel eyes, and was smiling.
“Um, yeah, I guess so.” She hated the idea of handing over her precious equipment, but she didn’t want to seem rude.
“What floor? I’m Miles Fordyce, by the way. First assistant camera.”
“Billie Jessop, we’re on the second floor. And I’m the still photographer.”
“I was gonna say.” He gestured to the cases.
“First AC? So you’re a focus-puller?”
He picked up two cases. “Your first film?”
She cringed. “It’s that obvious, huh?”
“You’ll catch on.” He led her toward the lodge entrance. Billie frowned, unsure why he wasn’t taking the stairs.
A beautiful blonde bounded in the front doors. “Miles! There you are! Richard told me to talk to you. He said you’d take care of making sure the pillows and duvets in my room were hypoallergenic. I’m allergic to down, you see. Makes my eyes all puffy, and that would look terrible on film.”
Billie was stunned into silence in Jordyn Brooks’ presence. Billie saw her breakout movie Time and Again and Jordyn gave Jennifer Lawrence a run for her money. In person, she was gorgeous, with clear skin, pale blue eyes and a killer body. Billie wasn’t sure she liked the expectant look on her face though.
“Jordyn, I’m not sure Richard realizes this, but I’m on the camera crew. I’m not a personal assistant.”
“But you were so good at driving me into the hot springs to that spa for a massage the other day. Richard said you’d do it.”
“I had to take the crew van and get some supplies in Chilliwack. For the camera crew,” Miles said testily.
“Oh.” Jordyn’s voice dripped with practiced disappointment. “That’s too bad. I guess I’ll see if Richard knows someone else who can help me. I know he’d be really upset if I was all puffy for rehearsals later on.”
Miles’ shoulders sagged. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Jordyn erupted into a squeal. “You’re the best!” She bussed him on the cheek, then rushed away, leaving them in her perfumed wake.
“Wow,” Billie said.
“Yeah,” Miles said morosely.
Miles turned around and punched a button behind her.
Billie turned around and her face got hot; an elevator. She was usually more observant than this.
They rode up in the elevator in awkward silence. This was her problem with men. She never could think of anything to say when Diana wasn’t around.
“You’re with the girl in the heels?”
“Yeah. Diana DeAngelis, my best friend and the unit publicist.”
“She’s going to get killed in those heels out here.”
“Oh, I don’t know, I might want to put some money on that.” Diana smoked her on a Miami beach once, running from a police officer—with five-inch heels on.
“Where’s your room?” His biceps flexed as he carried her cases. A jock, probably. Not someone who liked to be stuck behind a camera all the time despite his job. Either way, he was cute, and he had nice arms.
“No, for the last time, no. N-O. I don’t know how hard that is for you to understand, but I want the Technocrane. A jib arm is like ‘Woo, big deal, jib arm.’ Everyone uses a jib arm. I want the Technocrane.” A man paced outside the conference room. He had a cordless phone to his ear and an unlit cigarette in his hand.
Miles tried to hide a grin. “Have you met our director yet?”
“Not yet.”
He was in his late thirties or early forties, although he wouldn’t look it much longer if he kept frowning. He gestured wildly, although the person on the other end couldn’t see him. He ran his cigarette-holding hand through his hair, and if it were lit, he would’ve set his hair on fire.
“Just get the fucking crane.” He spun around at the end of the hall, spotted the two of them and gestured at the phone like he was talking to the world’s dumbest person. “Yeah, I don’t care. Get it on a truck and get it here. So what, it’s an unpaved road? You’re a crane company. You transport this shit all over the place for films, are you gonna let one unpaved road stand in the way? I don’t think so. When? No, I need it tomorrow. Better yet, I need it yesterday. I don’t care!”
He jabbed at the phone’s end button. “Jesus, I like hitting actual buttons when I hang up on an asshole. You don’t get that on an iPhone. This no-cell phone shit isn’t bad.”
“Wow,” Billie breathed, nearly inaudible—she hoped.
“You.” He pointed at Miles. “Why am I doing this? Where is Claudia? This should be her responsibility. And did you sort Jordyn out? She’s driving me crazy. And where’s Fay? We were supposed to go over script changes, and I know she’s dodging me. I need someone around here to actually do their job. God! Is that so fucking hard to understand?”
He paused and took a breath, walking over to them. The cigarette was actually a white plastic cylinder. He noticed her gaze. “It’s an electronic cigarette, a vape. I’m trying to quit, only this fucking thing is empty.” He made a motion like he would throw it away, but stowed it in a pocket instead. He glanced over at Billie again. “Who are you, anyway?”
“I’ll go find Claudia.” Miles winked at Billie. He set her cases down and hurried toward the stairs, leaving her alone with Richard.
“Billie Jessop. Stills photographer.”
“Oh, right, we have one of those. Your budget goes up by a million and look what happens. Okay. I’m Richard North, but you knew that already, right? Ground rules. No shots of me from the right side, always the left side.”
“My left or your left?”
He looked at her as if she was crazy. “My left, can’t you tell?” He angled toward her. “Right side—only good when well lit in a studio session. Left side—good general purpose side that does well in natural light. You’ll do well to remember it. Isn’t there someone else with you?”
“Diana DeAngelis, unit publicist.”
“Send her down to the circus when you see her. We need buzz on this thing. I want reporters crawling all over this shit. Oh, and we’ve got Jordyn Brooks’ agent Grady Leonard coming in today. He’s an asshole, I don’t want him near me, she can wrangle him. She’s good at wrangling, right?”
“The best.” Billie tried not to laugh.
“Good.” He ran his hand through his hair again. “So you, just take pictures. Left side. Remember it.”
He took off down the stairs.
“Wow,” she said to the hallway.
Billie carried her cases to the door and popped her key in. She opened the door to clattering and a scream. She felt resistance against the door and pushed harder.
“Diana! What’s wrong?”
A moment later the resistance stopped. When she opened the door, Diana was sprawled on the floor, attempting to keep the closet door shut with one red heel.
“What are you doing?” Billie put the cases down and rushed to see if Diana was hurt.
“Oh, thank God it’s you.” Diana brushed her hair off her face.
“Who else would it be? I’m the only one with a key.”
“Dorm flashbacks. It could have been anyone. Four years living in a place where people just barge in your room, you learn to duck and cover.” She gestured toward the closet door.
Billie went over and swung the door open. “Oh God. You fell flat on your ass in an attempt to hide this?”
A life-size poster of Sidney Crosby—Closet Sidney—was taped to the inside of the closet door, as he had graced their dorm room for the four years they’d roomed together. In the photo, he had taken his shirt off and draped it around his neck. He wore a Texas-sized belt buckle and faintly disturbed expression, as if he couldn’t believe he was doing a beefcake photo shoot.
“Mere mortals cannot gaze upon the raw sexuality that is Closet Sidney without immense preparation.”
“I’m fine,” Billie countered.
“You’re immune. Something about you repels Sidney. I can sense these things.”
“Well, something about you didn’t seem to repel the guy I ran into on my way up here, he asked about you.”
“Cute? Nice arms?”
“Yeah.”
“Was it Miles? I met him earlier, along with Judd the sound guy. Which one do you want?”
“Want for what?”
Diana gave her a withering look. “All work and no play makes Billie a dull girl.”
Billie rolled her eyes. “We’re here to work.”
“Not all the time. Get a look at the place?”
“It’s pretty. There’s a hot tub. I also ran into Richard.”
“Oooh, what’s he like? I was hunting for him earlier. He’s like a ghost, everyone talks about him, but you can’t find him anywhere.” Diana ran a brush through her hair, but it didn’t help matters. “I saw his IMDb credits the other night. Did you know he directed a movie called The Armless Hooker? I swear to God the tagline should have been ‘She doesn’t give handjobs’ or something. It bordered on softcore porn.”
“If I remember right, it was his first film.”
“What’s he like?”
“He’s . . . well, he’s different. Kind of a character. He wants you do go down to something he called the circus—I’m guessing where all the tents are?—because there’s some hotshot agent coming in today, one of the actor’s agents. Did you know Jordyn Brooks was in this? I met her in the lobby. She’s sort of a bitch.”
“Not shocked. Did you Google this movie at all before you said yes?” Diana looked out the window toward the circus. “Joyce Hayward is in it, too. God knows why an old-time star like her agreed to be in this thing.”
“Maybe because she’s an old-time star. Anyway, this movie sounds pretty cool. The Reaper—I like the title at least. You better get down there. Richard seemed to expect you to wrangle this agent.”
“Well, the agent can wait. Literally, not figuratively. Can you tell me what the hell this agent has to do with me? He’s not a reporter. Why do I have to publicize this film to someone who already has a client starring in it? Waste of my time. I need to get press releases out. In fact, I’m already doing that. I’ll catch up with you later!”
Billie laughed as Diana hurried out of her room with a shoulder bag and a pen in hand. Her heels clicked away down the hall.
Billie would unpack, organize her equipment and move her camera into the carry bags she’d use on set.
She had some left-sided photos to capture.
Joe, the lodge manager, was five-and-a-half feet tall, rangy, weathered and greying. He watched her with a sour expression.
Diana may have been a tad bit overwhelming earlier. She shouldn’t have made such a big deal over the isolated location. And the size of the room. And the fact there wasn’t a single television in the lodge. She couldn’t watch Sidney win an ESPY without a television.
“Hi,” she said.
Joe raised an eyebrow.
“We maybe got off on the wrong foot, but, in my defense, I had just almost died. Have you seen Claudia drive? It was traumatic. I may have taken it out on you just a teensy bit. I get cranky in near-death situations.”
Joe crossed his arms.
“I do feel bad about it. Like, guilty, even.”
Joe didn’t look like he believed her.
Luckily, Jordyn Brooks chose that moment to sweep into the lobby, dragging a comforter at arm’s length, pinching the corner between her thumb and forefinger, and grimacing.
Joe’s expression went from sour to alarmed. “Ms. Brooks?”
“Where’s Miles?” Jordyn shook the comforter. “Where is he? He was supposed to get me hypoallergenic bedding. And that was almost an half an hour ago! I am getting hives! I’ll have him fired!”
Joe fetched a sigh and glanced up at the vaulted ceiling, three floors above.
Diana looked up, too, to see if Joe kept his patience up there. Nope.
“Ma’am, I’ve told you it takes about two hours to get to Harrison Hot Springs and another hour and a half to get to Vancouver. Going into town is an all-day thing. You remember, when you wanted that particular brand of water—”
“I still don’t have it!” She stomped her foot. “I have allergies! I can’t drink water with certain minerals!”
“You haven’t died yet,” Joe said.
“He better get me what I want.” Jordyn threw the comforter on the floor. She kicked and stomped on it for good measure. “He better! Richard told me Miles would take care of me! When Grady gets here, he’ll be sorry!”
“Who will be sorry? Miles, Richard or Grady?” Diana asked.
Jordyn glared at her. “They will all be sorry. My eyes are going to be puffy for rehearsals!” She stomped out of the lobby, trailing dire warnings like a bridal train.
“What I said earlier? About feeling bad? I take that back. I am a sweetheart in comparison. A delight to deal with.”
“I just can’t wait until all you film people pack up,” Joe growled. “Nothing but complaints all day. Never had them from the hikers and hunters.”
“Is it true there’s no Internet or cell service?”
“No cell towers, and we’re lucky to have the fax machine. We used to have dial-up Internet, but it was expensive and the bleep-bleep-bloop noise made me half-crazy.”
“How do you live?”
“Simply.”
“I need to get press kits out, and if I can’t email them, I’ll need your wireless router password so I can print and fax them.”
Joe scratched his head. “Our wireless what?”
“Your router. So I can print stuff from my iPad.”
“Huh. Don’t think we have one of those. C’mon into the office, and I’ll show you.”
She did. The sole computer was one or two generations removed from a Commodore 64 and was hooked up to a dot-matrix printer.
Diana collapsed onto the creaky office chair. “Tell me I’m being punked. This isn’t from this decade—this isn’t from this century!” She covered her face with her hands. “I can’t work like this.”
Joe shrugged. “The people who come out here aren’t interested in the Internet or computers or any of that junk. So we don’t need it.”
“I need it.” Diana looked mournfully at the computer. “Do you at least have a word processing program?”
“That, we do have.”
It was probably the original Word. “Joe, I think we’re going to spend a lot of time together. Probably kicking the computer.”
Diana wanted to murder Dick.
She couldn’t because they needed the film credit, money and chance to network with local film people. She wanted to say fuck it and go to Vancouver, but Billie was counting on her. So she stayed. But she didn’t like it.
And she didn’t like Dick.
The first thing he asked was who she was, and, the second was to get him a cup of coffee. She was even-keeled as she explained she was a unit publicist, not his goddamned gofer.
That didn’t go well.
In the end, she got the damn coffee. She didn’t like that, either. She tried to discuss publicity strategy, but he just yelled, “just get the goddamned reporters up here, and get them up here today!”
She pointed out Dick decided to film in the middle of no-fucking-where and she didn’t have necessary equipment, and he went DEFCON one, hopping up and down and waving his arms like a mad man, screaming until the veins stood out on his throat. He said something about firing her.
Diana staged a strategic retreat until she could attack from another angle. She knew this much though: She and Dick weren’t done. Not by a long shot.
She relocated to the lodge office, where she did her best to write a release that sounded interesting while not revealing the production was a complete gongshow. Meanwhile, Joe entertained himself by telling her stories about mythical First Nations nasties lurking in the wilderness, waiting to eat ignorant city slickers. He went on at length about wechuges, including their habit of eating unwary people.
“They look like bleached skin stretched over bone, and they’re always hungry. Always.”
He claimed they were primal ice beings or humans who resorted to cannibalism to survive the winter and were punished for breaking taboo. When she pointed out it was the middle of summer, Joe laughed.
She worked the phones all afternoon, but not a single reporter wanted to venture out here. When one reporter heard Dick was directing, she hung up on her. A couple offered to do phone interviews, and Billie could take photos, but Diana would have to mail them out. Joe took a sadistic satisfaction in telling her the mail only came once a week. She could drive almost two hours into Harrison to mail them, if she wanted.
She’d be damned if she let Dick drive her out of a profession she was born to do. She would do the best damn job he ever saw and he would be forced to give her a glowing recommendation so she and Billie could work for a real director.
Diana would tough this out, take these lemons, add some tequila and turn them into a margarita.
Just see if she didn’t.