Chapter 9 EXT. WAVERLEY SET—NIGHT
Chapter 9
EXT. WAVERLEY SET—NIGHT
Kevin Combs, who was directing this episode, leaned out from behind the monitor and asked, “You ready?”
Cole surveyed the set as he waited for Rhiannon to respond. It was supposed to look like a 1730s Jacobite camp, all hand-spun bedrolls, swords, and bonfires. On the other side of them was the twenty-first century—the state-of-the-art camera, the monitors, and the boom mic. When they filmed the daylight scenes, the set would be full of horses and people. Tonight, it was just Madge, Geordie, and a skeleton crew.
“Yup.” Rhiannon gave Kevin a firm nod.
“I’m good,” Cole said.
They’d already run through the blocking for the scene fully clothed; then they’d filmed the shots of talking and kissing that led into the love scene. They’d filmed the slow dance of undressing. They’d removed a layer, like Geordie’s shirt, which spilled out in front of them, and shot for a bit. Then they’d paused to move the cameras and the lights for the next shot.
So now they’d arrived at the blow job, the part he’d gone over so many times with Maggie and Rhiannon during rehearsal and about which he was still not thrilled.
“David, you ready?” Kevin asked.
The DP gave a thumbs-up.
Maggie stood behind the director, her expression fixed into something friendly, distanced, and on top of things. It was how she’d sounded on the phone this afternoon, and Cole was grateful for it. But it was also vaguely unsatisfying in a way he didn’t want to ponder.
Whatever. He had a job to do. He didn’t need to be wasting time wishing for another thunderstorm so Maggie might seek shelter against his chest again.
Cole shrugged off his robe and handed it to a PA. He was nude from the waist up, and for all that there was a huge bonfire just to the left of the bedroll, it was nippy. Scotland at night was freaking cold.
Penelope Bullock, a tech on the hair and makeup team whose no-nonsense air of authority suggested a middle school vice principal, applied a quick skim of gel to Cole’s chest. “I’m trying not to overdo it. We don’t want you to look like you’ve recently retired from Magic Mike .”
“Believe me, I’m familiar with UltraSweat.” It was basically his professional calling card.
When she’d finished, he settled on his mark.
Rhiannon handed her robe to a PA and slid into place—straddling Cole’s legs. “Remember, don’t be gentle,” she warned him.
“I won’t.” The words were brave. Cole wasn’t.
After he’d voiced his initial concerns that first day they’d worked on the blocking, Maggie had made sure they’d rehearsed this to the point of routine, but it was different on the set, with the lights, the fire, and the crew.
Cole wasn’t a Method actor. Being your character every moment for weeks or months at a time? Frankly, the idea made him want to poke his eyes out. But way back on Central Square , he’d realized while he could—and probably should—understand what his character might be thinking in a scene, when they were filming, the key thing was being present. Acting was that simple, and it was that hard.
Decades of doing this, and Cole had become hyperaware of his body. Of the line he made during a shot. Of whether he was clenching his abs. Of whether that was an attractive grimace or an ugly one. But that same awareness made his acting self-conscious and shitty.
Cole had to be a roguish, sexy jerk in this scene. He had to blot out everything in him that wasn’t that . It was the only way to give a half-decent performance.
In the previous shot, Cole’s and Rhiannon’s fingers had tangled together, unlacing the fastening of his breeches. Now, the crew had reset for a wider shot. She was going to kiss down his chest until he put his hand on the back of her head, forcing it downward, and they simulated her performing oral sex on him.
In reality, her head would be over his thigh. The placement of the camera would make them look far closer together than they were. But this was the shot he was least excited about in the entire damn show.
His stomach was revolting, his muscles cagey. He didn’t normally feel this tense filming intimacy, but he had to trust Kevin and the production team, trust Rhiannon, trust Maggie, and above all, trust himself.
He locked eyes with Maggie, and she nodded. You got this.
He hoped she was right.
“Picture’s up.”
It was time.
Cole tipped his head back, Rhiannon leaned against his chest, slate was called, and Kevin shouted “Camera set!”
They were filming. Cole blotted everything out and let muscle memory take over.
The shot was a blur, and it felt far longer than the minute Cole knew it took.
Kevin yelling “Cut!” broke the bubble.
Cole immediately lifted his hand, and Rhiannon rolled back onto her heels. Production assistants were there with their robes instantly.
“You okay?” he asked Rhiannon once she was covered.
“Perfect.” She patted his forearm. “You’re the sweetest.”
But having concern for your scene partner wasn’t sweet. It was the absolute bare minimum.
“Let’s go again.” Kevin’s eyes were glued to the monitor, rewatching the footage they’d just shot. Tall and slim with a buzz cut and a penchant for wearing black turtlenecks, Kevin always looked as if he were cosplaying Steve Jobs. “This time keep your expression more neutral, Cole. Almost disassociating.”
Since that had been what Cole thought he’d been doing, he could only nod and say “Sure.”
What he’d learned from Tasha was to make every take a little different. Give more or less emotion. Phrase his lines differently—at least until they said Exactly like that .
“The director makes your performance in the editing,” she’d said.
Cole had never really thought about it until she’d said that to him, but she’d been right. She was almost always right, except for the part where she was stonewalling Maggie. That was just bizarre.
Kevin signaled they were ready to go, and they filmed the shot again and then a third time.
Cole felt queasy. His insides were roiling. But he gritted his way through it.
“Got it,” Kevin called. “Let’s reset for the next bit.”
The next part of the sequence had Geordie tugging Madge’s dress and underthings off. This bit was tricky because Rhiannon had decided she wasn’t comfortable having her nipples on screen. Kevin had fully supported the change, despite her signed nudity waiver, but it took four takes to get it right.
“Your arm has to be higher to hide her pasties,” Maggie instructed.
Damn, this was a weird business.
Then Maggie was there with the exercise ball that would sit between Cole and Rhiannon for the next shot—the onset of the actual thrusting. They had to film that from the side and from the back, before getting close-ups of Rhiannon’s face and then Cole’s. There was the inherent awkwardness stemming from the fact that Cole was still clothed from the waist down, and Rhiannon was naked except for a few bits of Lycra and toupee tape.
The entire thing was worse than a game of Twister. Where should his hand be to shield this bit or that one from the camera? Where should Rhiannon put her left knee? How could they get the angle right but keep the ball invisible?
At least all the technical concerns were enough to make Cole’s nausea fade. This was so clearly a group exercise, he didn’t have to feel bad, as if he specifically were using someone.
After what felt like a dozen takes, Geordie put Madge on her knees. In the flow of the work, Cole was able to shove down another wave of discomfort. The shot came with another set of lights and camera moves, all while the design team had to keep the fire stoked at the same height for continuity. Penelope kept touching up Cole’s fake sweat, and the makeup and hair people kept fussing over Rhiannon.
When the last shot of thrusting was done, the awkwardness faded, and people started to crack jokes. Cole felt himself smile for what might’ve been the first time all night. His body was almost loose, almost his again. He could almost take himself back from Geordie.
They were on the last part of the sequence—the cuddling. The camera reset to be overhead, looking down at the couple in their shared bedroll. Wordlessly, he and Rhiannon had to convey that Madge was triumphant, in love, satisfied. She was fully convinced that giving herself to this man meant they were together forever. But Geordie needed to feel like a sleeping lion, as if he was only content for the night.
“That seemed fast,” Rhiannon said while they waited for Kevin to shout Camera set .
“About two hours, I think.” Cole wasn’t sure if he’d ever shot an involved love scene so quickly. Even the moments he’d been most hesitant about had been basically fine. Maggie had prepped them well.
“At least we get a blanket now.”
“It scratches like hell, though.” The crew had staked a ground cover underneath the bedroll and sprayed for midges—disgusting tick-like insects that were all over the Highlands. If Cole got midge bites on his nether regions, he was going to be extremely pissed off.
“I cannot wait to get into that warming station.” Rhiannon chafed her arms. “Thank God for Maggie.”
Next to them, a grip finished tending the fire.
“I owe you ten bucks on the Lakers, right?” Cole asked him.
“Yeah, but I’d guess you don’t have your wallet on you.”
“I left it in my other crotch sock.”
Everyone was still laughing when Kevin said “Let’s get this in the can.”
It took five shots, largely because Cole was feeling tired and unfocused. He’d never felt good at these kind of moments when he just had to emote, and he could only hope he didn’t look as if he had indigestion.
At last the director announced they were done.
A PA handed Cole his robe, some sandals, and a cup of tea. He didn’t really drink the stuff, but he appreciated how it was thawing his hands, so he took it back to his trailer. He set the canister of warmth down long enough to change into sweats, and then he curled up at the small dinette table, clutching the paper cup.
After filming, it always took a while to quiet his mind. It was good that they’d gotten everything they needed in a single evening. A few night shoots in a row could mess up his sleep for weeks.
A knock sounded on his trailer door.
“Yeah?” he called.
“Cole? It’s me.”
Me being Maggie.
“It’s open.”
He really should have locked the door when he’d changed, but since the crew had seen most of his body tonight, that hadn’t seemed important.
Maggie poked her head in and smiled at him. Her hand still on the knob, she asked, “How are you doing?”
“A little cold,” he admitted.
“Apparently last night was even chillier. So I guess we’re lucky.”
“Do you want to come in?”
“Sure. May I?” She pointed to the bench across from him and only sat once he’d nodded. “Rhiannon is in the warming station. I’m sure she’d be happy to share.”
“I’m okay. I have tea.” He held up his cup. “How did the footage look?”
“You know, I wasn’t paying attention to the monitor. But Kevin sounds really pleased.”
“One down ... a lot to go.” Cole had never bothered to count how many scenes he was in, but he was number one on the call sheet. He was going to be a busy man during the next three months.
“You got off to a great start. Listen, I wanted to stop by because you had some concerns about the scene when we were rehearsing. Now that it’s done, how are you feeling?”
Apparently a postfilming check-in was one of the duties of an intimacy coordinator.
Cole set his tea on the table so he could scratch his face. He wasn’t certain how to answer Maggie’s question. He didn’t feel like celebrating, but mostly, his feelings were blank. “Playing someone who’s so different from me is ... look, on the one hand, if I can pull it off, maybe I’m a better actor than I thought I was. But on the other hand—”
“You’re a damn fine actor, Cole.” Which Maggie meant. Absolutely. Her fiery belief was—well, it felt nice.
Her belief in him wasn’t enough to obliterate the discomfort in his gut, though. The queasiness lingered, like film on a glass when you drained it. “It doesn’t feel natural. I’m not a man who’d shove a woman’s face in my crotch.”
“I’m certain you aren’t.”
Awareness pulsed in the air, like a bomb had detonated but without the destruction. Just the blast of energy and heat.
Cole was attracted to Maggie. Had been from the first moment he’d clapped eyes on her. He wasn’t going to act on it, but it was there, the shimmering gold version of whatever gilt thing he’d faked tonight.
All the restlessness in his limbs, in his mind, began to pool in the pit of his abdomen. Her. You want her, it said.
But he wasn’t going to get her.
He took a sip of his tea, which had gone lukewarm, and almost gagged. Nothing was quite as unpleasant as liquid that wasn’t hot and wasn’t cold. The taste equivalent of beige. “Well, to play Geordie, I have to find the part of me that would do that to a lover. And I don’t dig it.” It wasn’t much different from what he’d said while they were rehearsing, but it was still true.
Maggie’s fingers danced over the Formica tabletop for a second. Maybe she played piano?
Then, finally, she said, “I directed a production of Oklahoma! once, and the kid playing Jud said a similar thing to me.”
“I haven’t seen that one in a while.” He wasn’t really into musicals.
“Ah. Well, Jud assaults Laurey twice, and he strongly implies that he killed another woman and her family when she turned him down. This kid was one of the nicest kids I’ve ever directed. He was playing way against type. We had endless conversations about those moments. How far did we need to go so the audience would get it? What would be comfortable for the actress playing Laurey? How to stage it? How to block it? How to use the music? The girl playing Laurey, she got right with it very quickly. From her perspective, it was so important because sexual violence could make this old play feel relevant to teens now. But for him, it was the relevance that made him want to crawl out of his skin.”
Lots of actors liked playing villains. Relished it, really. But Cole never had, and he suspected he never would. Geordie’s moral grayness was as far as he was comfortable going—and he obviously wasn’t comfortable with that.
“So how did he deal with it?” Because Cole was feeling so insecure, he’d take acting advice from an actual teenager.
“It helps that Jud is the villain in Oklahoma! And since it was a school production, it was supposed to teach the students something. So we talked about what he was learning, the technical challenges of the role. But ultimately, I asked him why he thought we did plays. Like, what human impulse demands drama?” Maggie turned her gaze from the window to Cole. “What do you think?”
Cole almost took another sip of his tea, but nope, it would only be disappointing. He set it down again. “I assume you’re not going to let me say I make movies because I enjoy it.”
“Nope—though I get that. But I think there’s something deeper, more existential here.”
Cole closed his eyes and pictured the set. “I love the collective effort it takes to make television. I mean, tonight was fairly sparse, but wait until we get to those big crowd scenes. I know when people watch it, they’ll just think about Rhiannon and me. But dozens of people were involved in filming that. So many folks, so much expertise.” When he watched a movie, he always stayed through the entire credit sequence, trying to see every name. From the assistants to the caterer to the sparks and the grips, they all had made that movie. They were all important.
“So it’s a group endeavor,” Maggie said. “Like building a cathedral or something. What else?”
“Movies, television”—probably theatre, too, but he’d never done plays—“they say something about who we are. Like, as humans. Why we do the things we do.”
“Humanity and psychology.” Maggie ticked those off on her fingers.
“Sure. And to be selfish for a minute, I wasn’t a very good actor at first.”
Maggie started to disagree, but Cole cut her off. “No, really, I wasn’t. But I’ve gotten better, and sometimes when I’m really in a scene, everything else goes away, and I can be in the moment.”
Her eyes were gleaming, as if they’d caught every bit of the electric lights outside and compressed them.
Cole had caught the thread she’d been trying to get him to find, and he was speaking quickly now. His body was still humming with lust, but maybe also with some professional know-how. “Have you ever been in an accident, and you remember every single millisecond of it? As if time has slowed down or something? Performing can be like that. And other times, it’s an out-of-body experience, and I don’t come back to myself until it’s over. Either way, I feel ten times more alive. It’s standing on a mountaintop but without the climb.” Even tonight, with its moments of discomfort, his body was still rushing. Cole wouldn’t be able to sleep for hours.
“And now?”
“It’s a smaller buzz.” Cole laughed. “Sex scenes, fight scenes, stunts—they’re too technical to be truly ...”
“Transcendent?” she offered.
“Yeah.” That was a good word for it.
“I hope you get some of those moments during this shoot, Cole,” Maggie said softly. “They sound amazing.”
There was a note of jealousy in her tone that had him curious. “Was it like that when you were teaching?”
“Yes. Maybe even amplified because I felt extra pride in my students. I didn’t know my heart could be that full before that job.”
“I bet you were incredible at it.”
“Not to brag, but I was.” Maggie’s expression was smug, and for an instant, he was the jealous one.
Cole never found it easy to be kind to himself, probably because he’d made such big mistakes at the start. He wouldn’t give himself higher than a B-minus at pretty much any task or role he’d ever had.
But while she kept a smile pasted on her face, Maggie’s eyes dimmed. “Now I have to settle for being incredible at this.”
“You are. Oh my God, I should be saying thank you. I’m sitting here whining about how I don’t like playing a selfish lover, and I’m not acknowledging you . Maggie, I am so sorry.”
“For what?”
“That scene went so much better than it would have without you. It’s what Zoya wanted and the show needed. And that’s because of you.”
She shook her head and got to her feet. “It was you, Cole. You and Rhiannon. I just hope I helped.”
“Wait, leaving so soon?” Cole said it jokingly, but under the question, he knew he was serious. He wanted Maggie to stay, to keep chatting with him, to tell him more about the kids she’d worked with and the plays she’d directed. To give him the perfect word when he couldn’t think of it.
The moment stretched out. Her standing, one hand still on the table. Him sitting, staring up at her, with what was probably a pathetically needy look on his face.
But honestly, he was feeling pretty pathetically needy.
Maggie’s gaze on him ... he couldn’t have begun to make sense of it. She was watching him so intently, she might as well have been sending sonar waves through him. He could only hope his echo sounded good.
Please.
But he didn’t even know what he was asking for.
After a few beats, Maggie yawned, comically exaggerated. “You may be used to movie star hours, James, but I am not. And I have more work to do tomorrow.”
He almost wrapped his fingers around her wrist. But before he could do something so stupid, Maggie was gone.
Which was ... good. She’d been kind, professional. Her work had made the shoot go well, and then she’d helped him set down his stress about the character. And that, and only that, was all Maggie owed him.
Whatever he’d been imagining in her face had been exactly that—imagining. Cole might want her, but he wasn’t going to have her. He had to bury those feelings deep and pretend they didn’t exist.