Eight
EIGHT
“Open. And see.”
“My eyes are wide open.”
“Eyes are blind. Open your heart.”
Autarch Zear and Lys Amarga, The Quantum Wraith
J ay stood in the doorway. “Got a sec?”
Xavier glanced up from his monitor. They were twenty-two days from finishing the location shoot and moving to soundstages to finish the film, and the last scene of The Quantum Wraith still didn’t read right to him. He knew what the final image would be: Lys, alone, the camera dollying farther and farther away until she is nothing but a dark dot on the expansive sands, the framing emphasizing her isolation with no one coming to save her. But the dialogue leading up to that image…he sighed and closed the file. “Sure.”
“I put together tomorrow’s shot list but have a few questions for you. Here, I printed it out, thought it might be easier to look at on paper.” Jay shut the door behind him as he entered the office.
Xavier held out his hand for the document and glanced through the order of the shots and the camera positions planned for the next day. “Looks good. I don’t see anything that would need my input.”
“Oh no, the questions aren’t about the shots. They’re for you. Number one, have you spoken to Sutton about the new location?”
Xavier shook his head. “Not yet. It’s going to be a fight. Monsoon season is approaching, and she’s determined we leave Arizona before that happens. Since moving locations will add days to the schedule, I’m picking my time to bring up that up with her.”
“Excellent segue to my next question. What exactly is going on between you and Sutton?” Jay dropped into the chair across from Xavier’s desk. “I finally placed her. She’s from LAU, right? The one you couldn’t stop talking about at the time.”
There were advantages to partnering with the same crew from film to film. Working with Jay as his cinematographer so closely and for so many projects meant they had built up an easy rapport and trust that freed both men to perform their optimum work. And Jay was one of the best in the business at instinctively understanding light and apertures, shadows and angles.
But there were disadvantages, as well. Such as not being allowed to get away with a bullshit answer like, “Nothing is happening.”
Xavier leaned forward in his chair. “Do you remember Mimi Kingston?”
“Who doesn’t? She won the Emmy last year.” Jay crossed his legs, a sign he was settling in for a long conversation. “Also, I remember a bad breakup.”
“I wouldn’t say bad—”
Jay smirked.
“Fine, painful,” Xavier conceded. “But not for the usual reasons.”
“I appreciate this quick hop down memory lane. But what does Mimi have to do with our current producer?”
Xavier got up from his desk and started to pace. The office was small, so he only managed four strides before needing to turn. “Mimi and I broke up because she had a promising career in front of her.”
Jay frowned. “You broke up because Mimi only thought of herself and no one else.”
“That’s not fair. She’s a talented actress and we all need to hustle when our careers are hot, or the offers dry up. She did the right thing.”
“What does Mimi have to do with—”
“But Erik loved Mimi. She’s great with kids, at least when there’s a timer on the interaction.”
“Man, you’re making me dizzy.”
Xavier stopped pacing. “Mimi and I knew our relationship had run its course. When the film finished, we ran out of things to talk about. But the breakup meant she disappeared from Erik’s life. He still won’t watch her series.”
Jay’s gaze narrowed. “So?”
“Erik has lost too much already.” He couldn’t wholly protect Erik from rejection. But having braced the cold winds of his parents’ neglect for most of his life, he would do his best to shield Erik from the same sense of abandonment.
Jay shrugged. “Again, that’s Mimi. I’m asking about Sutton. There could be cash riding on the answer.”
“What? Why?”
“There’s a betting pool on you two. A third of the crew think you hate each other. A third think you haven’t slept together yet but will. And the rest believe you’re already burning up the sheets. I’m here for insider information.” Jay grinned.
Xavier loved directing. The incessant gossip on the set, however, he could do without. “No hate. But no burning. At any time.” Unless one considered his thoughts, late at night in his bed, unable to sleep as he replayed their encounter in his hallway. Sutton’s nipples pressing against the T-shirt of his she wore, her soft lips parted and available if he had just leaned down… “We’re colleagues. And when the film ends, she’ll return to Monument, and I’ll go wherever the next project takes me.”
“Too bad. I like Sutton. She runs a tighter ship than Pauley. Communication between departments has never been better.” Jay rose from his chair and clapped a hand on Xavier’s shoulder, his expression turning serious. “There are plenty of people who would welcome being a permanent part of Erik’s life, you know. Not everyone is Mimi.”
“Again, Mimi did nothing wrong. And I know that. I date. But not while working.” He shrugged. “We have a film to make. Keeping my eyes on the goal. No room for anything else.”
Jay sighed. “Looks like I’ll have to make my best guess in the betting pool.”
“Told you. Go with never.” Xavier sat again in his chair and reopened his file, signaling the conversation was over on his end.
A knock came at his door. “Xavier? Can we talk?”
Sutton’s voice. Xavier didn’t dare look at Jay. “Sure. Come in.”
“Thanks.” She entered his office, her gaze focused on the electronic tablet in her hand, her red-gold curls twisted into a haphazard bun threatening to fall at any moment. Like the rest of the crew, she dressed casually, today wearing formfitting dark olive leggings with an ivory blouse loosely flowing on top. But her posture, ramrod straight with her shoulders pulled back, still screamed, Hollywood suit!
“Hey, Sutton,” Jay said, before turning to Xavier. “Yeah, never isn’t the guess I’m going for. Talk to you later.”
“Bye, Jay,” Sutton called after him. “What does ‘never’ mean?” she asked Xavier.
“I have no idea. What do you have for me?” He leaned back in his chair.
“We need to talk about moving these scenes to the soundstage. I emailed this list to you but thought we’d better discuss in person.” She handed her tablet to him.
His frown etched deeper into his cheeks the farther down the page he read. “No. No. No. And hell no.”
“Hear me out—”
He didn’t need to. “You’re going to say shooting the scenes with green screen and computer graphics will ultimately be more cost effective, even though I’ve been clear all along I intend to shoot practical effects—”
“The destruction of the Filloli camp scene went three days over schedule thanks to problems with the pyrotechnics. But if you had filmed on a soundstage, the scene would have taken far fewer takes. You’ll have to sweeten the firestorm in postproduction anyway, so why not let the visual effects team handle—”
“Because people can tell when a scene is mostly CGI. There’s a weightlessness to the footage, to the acting. The actors are on a climate-controlled stage, surrounded by generic green shapes, reacting to a ball on a stick. Here.” He pulled out his phone and opened his photo app, thumbing through pages of pictures. “This is a picture I snapped during rehearsal.”
He handed the phone to Sutton, the screen filled with an image of Contessina staring into the distance, her jaw set, her gaze narrowed against the bright sunlight. Yellow-red dust clung to her dark hair, marked her high cheekbones. “Look at Contessina. She feels the heat of the sun, the dryness in the air,” he continued. “Her eyes reflect the color of the landscape. She is wholly present in the moment, experiencing what Lys would be experiencing. And, yes, she’s a great actress and I could replicate the desert with CGI. But there’s substance there. A reality that can’t be faked.”
Sutton stared at the photo. Her lips pressed together firmly as she handed the phone back to him. “Beautiful picture. But this is a science fiction film. Emphasis on fiction.”
“The only emphasis should be on the audience. CGI doesn’t allow—”
She cut him off with a quick shake of her head. “Bottom line is you’re running out of time. Monsoon season is around the corner, and we can’t risk weather delays. Plus, the soundstages are reserved and paid for. It’s either move these scenes or…you can move these scenes. Your choice.”
Her arms were folded across her chest, her gaze emerald dark. But her cheeks were so rosy her freckles nearly disappeared. He was suddenly glad there was a desk between them, both to hide the reaction his body always had when she was near and so there was a physical barrier to remind him she wasn’t his to touch, to caress, to witness that blush covering every inch of her curves…
Priorities , he sternly reminded himself. He wanted her, yes. But he needed his direction of the film to be considered an artistic success, to lead to more assignments, so he could provide Erik with the stable life he deserved.
And maybe he could leverage this situation to his benefit.
“What if,” he said, rising from his chair and leaning his hands on his desk so his gaze was level with hers, “I agree to your list—mostly—in return for moving the final battle between Lys and Autarch Zear to a new location?”
Sutton blinked several times. “New? You mean, not using the place now earmarked for the showdown scene, but somewhere else on the ranch?”
He shook his head. “No. Near Yuma.”
She did a quick search on her tablet. “Move the company two hundred miles? You can’t be serious.”
He straightened up. “I know you’re seeing nothing but dollar signs. But the site was originally on the schedule. Permits were even pulled. Then, the owners of the land changed their minds. But the location manager was recently informed they’re now open again to film crews. This is a can’t-miss opportunity.”
“Do you know how much a move would cost? The extra days that would add to the schedule? If we push into monsoon season, we risk more delays due to weather. I’m breaking out in hives just thinking about it.” She pushed up the sleeve of her blouse. “Angry red marks are going to appear at any second.”
This wasn’t fair, giving him glimpses of the creamy bare skin he was just daydreaming about. His gaze fell, lingered, powerless to look away. She bit her lower lip, the pink glow on her cheekbones deepening to crimson, and she let her sleeve fall. “Not that I matter. But the budget does. I can’t ask Monument for more money. The well is tapped dry.”
He held her gaze. Her irises were endlessly fascinating to him, a kaleidoscope of gold and green shards. If eyes were the windows to the soul, then her soul was deep and bright and ever shifting in its beauty. “Come with me.”
She blinked at the change in subject. “Excuse me? Come with you where?”
“Come look at the location with me. If you don’t agree it’s the only place possible to film the confrontation between Lys and Autarch Zear, I will drop the discussion.” Three hours in a vehicle alone with Sutton. And three hours back. The trip would be an excruciating test of his resolve.
He found himself desperately hoping she would agree to make the journey.
“If I say no after seeing the site, you’ll agree with my decision? And you’ll also agree to my list?” She narrowed her gaze. “This is too easy. What’s the trick?”
He shook his head. “No trick, on my honor. How about tomorrow?”
“Saturday? Aren’t you spending the day with Erik?”
“Erik was invited to go camping overnight with some local kids. I spoke with the parents. It’s an organized annual trip with plenty of chaperones. He can’t wait.” Another reminder of the life he intended to give his family. While he was thankful Erik made friends his own age easily, following Xavier from indie film to indie film meant the friendships tended to be transitory. He wanted Erik to have a chance to form lasting bonds with his classmates. “Meet in the ranch parking lot after lunch? Two p.m.?”
“Isn’t that rather late? We’ll have a long way to travel.”
“Trust me. There’s a method to the madness. We can get dinner on the drive back, arriving at the Pronghorn around nine or ten. Well before bedtime.”
Her gaze narrowed, but her luscious mouth curved up in a half smirk, half smile. “A method to your madness is what I’m afraid of. But fine. It’s a d—” She coughed. “It’s a plan. See you then.”
Definitely not a date. He agreed, even as he caught himself watching the smooth roll of her hips as she exited his office.
But he was more excited than he should be about their plan. He turned to his computer and clicked on the email with the list of scenes to be moved from location to the soundstage, but he couldn’t concentrate. The anticipation of spending time alone with Sutton meant the hours until then would painfully inch by.
* * *
Sutton spent far too much time choosing what to wear for the drive to Yuma, considering she had a limited wardrobe in Arizona and would no doubt be walking around in sun and sand, two items that did not allow her to look her best. Being a redhead made her and solar rays sworn enemies, and she was not someone who could pull off looking attractive when covered in sweat and grit. She eventually decided on a lightweight long-sleeve top in sage with built-in sun protection and moisture wicking, on top of loose khaki-colored trousers that offered the same properties. A sun hat with a large brim completed her outfit, along with hiking boots.
Not that she was thinking of her appearance because she wanted to appeal to Xavier. No, unequivocally not. Her only consideration was comfort while striking a balance between casual yet still professional.
So what if the green shirt emphasized her eyes?
Xavier was waiting in the parking lot next to a four-by-four pickup truck that had seen more than its share of action, judging by the scraps and dents on the doors and along the side panels. The bed of the truck was covered with a boxlike shell that she assumed was for hauling equipment. “Sweet ride,” she said as she joined him.
Her palms were sweaty, and she discreetly wiped them on her trousers. While she’d spent plenty of time with Xavier since that morning in the hallway, even time one on one, the reality of spending the next several hours alone with no one around to interrupt them, no appointments to use as an excuse to run, caused her heart to knock hard against her chest walls.
“I borrowed the truck from Dalip,” he said, referring to the location manager. “Hop in. There are waters by the passenger seat. Sorry, all out of energy drinks.” He flashed her a swift grin.
Her misadventure with dehydration had become an inside joke to the crew. She returned a smirk. “Too bad. How am I going to stay awake on the drive?”
But as they set out on the three-and-a-half-hour journey, Sutton found staying awake was not a problem. Not with Xavier sitting beside her, his hands moving confidently as he drove, his thigh near enough to brush when she reached for the bottle of water in the cup holder between them, his dark gaze darting over to check on her when traffic allowed, his scent, undefinable but unmistakably him, warm and spicy and clean, wrapping around her. They didn’t talk much, and when they did, they stayed scrupulously away from the revelations in the hallway.
She gave him the update on the cautiously enthusiastic reaction to the daily footage from her Monument bosses and filled him on the arraignment for Contessina’s intruder. The campaign against the film had died down, in part because the worst offenders found something else to be incensed about in bad faith, while others had been horrified at the break-in and realized the rhetoric had gone too far. He discussed Jay’s dream of moving from cinematography to directing, and how he was working on a reel to showcase Jay’s talent. They took turns exchanging what they knew about the hunt for Pauley and Hera, who had apparently dropped off the grid for now. But Chester, Sutton was happy to note, was facing embezzlement charges.
They stopped for a snack at a roadside taco stand before Xavier pulled the truck off the paved highway and onto a dirt road. “Now I see why you borrowed a four-wheel-drive vehicle,” Sutton said. The truck hit a bump, causing her to yelp as her butt left the seat. Her grip tightened on the passenger side handle attached to the truck’s ceiling. “And now I know why these are usually called ‘oh shit’ handles. Also, reaffirming my love of seat belts.”
“Keep holding on. This land recently changed hands, which is why it is now available to us. The previous owner didn’t maintain the road, and the new owner hasn’t had time to make improvements.”
The pickup bumped down the path for what felt like miles, and then started to climb. Xavier kept his gaze firmly fixed on the vista in front of him, referring to his phone’s GPS and the compass on the truck’s dashboard to ensure he was headed in the right direction. Finally, he pulled the vehicle over onto what had once been a flat paved turnout big enough for several vehicles, but all that now remained were bits of crumbling asphalt.
“This is it?” Sutton asked, opening her door. The drive had been pretty—she’d grown to greatly appreciate the stark beauty of the desert—but she hadn’t seen anything so incredibly different from the landscape available to them at the ranch. Or that couldn’t be replicated with computer graphics. At Xavier’s beckoning wave, she came around to join him at the rear of the truck.
And she suddenly understood. “Oh,” was all she could say, a long-exhaled syllable.
They were parked on an overlook that provided an unobstructive view of the surrounding area for miles. Xavier had timed their trip just right, and they’d arrived at the golden hour, much beloved by filmmakers, the magic period before sunset when sunlight was the most concentrated, intensely gilding the landscape. In the distance, barren sand dunes undulated and swooped into surreal peaks and valleys.
But what caused her to gasp were the shimmering colors filling her vision in every direction. The hills and nearby ground were pockmarked with various holes, some big enough for a man or two to stand, some small and hastily made. The area glowed like Aladdin’s treasure cave as the late afternoon sun threw sparks of reds and ochres and the occasional blue and green. “What is this place?”
“A mineral mine. Or rather, a potential mine,” Xavier said, his gaze on her instead of the landscape. “Turquoise, wulfenite, vanadinite, quartz, selenite and more are in the vicinity. People came up here to prospect. Then the family who used to own this land ran them off. You’re seeing the left-behinds.”
That wasn’t all Sutton saw. She instantly grasped why this location was the perfect setting for the showdown between Lys and Autarch Zear. “The dunes in the distance…that’s the Maro Empyreal. Imposing a sameness, a blandness over all the systems they absorb. The sparkle of crystal and stone in an otherwise arid and harsh environment represents Lys.”
“And do you see why this is preferable to CGI?”
She sighed and gave him a lopsided smile. “Yes. The scenery is fantastical but tangible in a way computers just can’t replicate, making the point this isn’t just a fun escapist film—although it’s that, too—but an allegory for real life.”
His gaze was warm and full of light, and the sun had nothing to do it. “You get it.”
“I get it. In a world that is increasingly reliant on AI for images, using a physical setting makes Lys’s story that much more visceral for the viewer.” She squeezed her eyes shut so tight they wanted to protest. “I get it. But I don’t see how to get it.”
He leaned against the truck’s tailgate, his arms loosely folded. “I’ll agree to your list of scenes to be moved to the soundstage. You chose well, by the way.”
“That gets the original budget to zero. This would be adding a number of zeroes to the debit column.”
He nodded, his gaze distant and focused on the far horizon. “What if I cut the detention hold breakout?”
“Maybe.” She chewed her lower lip. “I wish I could magic up more budget. I’m sorry.”
“I’ll see what else I can cut.” He opened the driver’s door and brought out a small bag containing an SLR camera. “We should get on the road, but do you mind if I take photos before we leave? I want to capture the light.”
“That was the second lecture. From your seminar. ‘Always observe and record the world around you so you can replicate, enhance or detract as needed in your work. The films that stay with audiences are those that reflect and comment on reality,’” she quoted.
He threw her a tight smile. “Good to see you remember.”
“I never forgot,” she murmured, but his back was to her, and only the wind appeared to have caught her words.
Xavier should stop taking photos. He and Sutton had a long journey back to the ranch, and they would be driving mostly in the dark as it was.
But the chiaroscuro of tall black clouds forming to the south and contrasting with the late-afternoon golden sun was too visually stunning to pass up. He played with apertures and f-stops, only ceasing to check the result on the camera’s screen.
Sutton explored the area while he worked, stooping to pick up and examine glittering rocks as they caught her interest. The wind increased, turning her red-gold curls into fiery nimbus. A veritable warrior princess in athletic wear, and he couldn’t resist taking photos of her, backlit against the light.
Sour disappointment at not being to use this location made a move to take up residence in his stomach, but he did his best to evict the interloper. He knew Sutton was only doing her job, and better than Pauley did. Pauley would have paid his request lip service and then left Xavier to twist in the acrid winds of the studio’s disapproval. In her own way, she was as protective of the film as he was. Even if her protection only extended to Monument’s dollars and cents.
“Hey! Look at this!” She held up a chunk of wulfenite. He was capturing her delight, her eyes wide and shining as joy appeared to make her glow her from within, when stinging raindrops hit his head and hands. He glanced up just in time to see the last remnants of the sun disappearing behind purple-indigo thunderclouds. “Those showed up quickly,” he said.
Sutton dropped the crystal she was examining and stood up. “Monsoon season is still a few weeks off. But that looks ominous.”
A crack of thunder so loud his ears rang swallowed the rest of her words.
“We need to leave.” Thunderstorms in the desert were no joke. The arid ground was unable to absorb torrential rain, leading to flash floods that could be deadly, which was only one of the reasons why the production team wanted to avoid Arizona’s monsoon season.
Xavier steered Sutton to the passenger side of the truck, the wind almost ripping the door out of his hand. The rain intensified, turning from fat droplets to a stinging steady shower as he jumped into the driver’s seat. The truck started easily, and he pressed the accelerator as hard as he dared, considering the uneven road. The truck bumped and jostled and even flew for a brief second, all four wheels leaving the ground. The truck landed—
And stopped moving.
Xavier gunned the accelerator. Sutton held on to the grab handle with her biceps flexed. Her face was pale in the reflected light of the dashboard, the storm blanketing all other forms of illumination. The only sounds were the whine of the engine, the hammering of rain and the swoosh , swoosh of wipers furiously attempting and failing to remove cascades of water.
The back tires spun, trying to find purchase. For a heart-stopping moment, he thought they might be stuck. He finally remembered to put the truck into four-wheel mode and they started moving again, but slower, as if something was grabbing at the tires and not letting go. Something like slick mud.
Almost too late, he realized the poorly maintained road they were on was a former gully and was becoming a gully again, a runoff trench that would turn the water that was falling from the sky into a fast-running stream.
“We have to find higher land.” He took the first opportunity he could to leave the road, heading toward a rise he could barely make out between the water and the wipers. He brought the truck to a stop on the crest of a small hill, turning off the engine but leaving the headlights on.
For a few minutes all was quiet, save the steady beat of the rain on the roof and the hard thumping of his heart. Then her hand found his. “I think I’ve met my thrill ride quota for the year, if not the decade,” she said.
“What were you saying about being too early for monsoon season?” he tried to joke. But he was too breathless for the joke to land well. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. We should have stayed where we were. We’d be safer on the ridge. I thought we had time to get to the highway.”
She shook her head. “We would’ve been stuck on the ridge and unable to return to the ranch tonight.”
“Sutton, I hate to point this out. But we’re still stuck.” He indicated out the windshield at the headlights that revealed only raindrops against pitch blackness. “We need to stay here until the sun comes up to ensure we’re not driving into a flood. Or worse.”