Chapter 6
ANYA
The next morning, I’m a wreck. Sleep the night before was evasive, even in Claudette’s luxurious bed with the sounds of the city seeping through the Juliet balcony. I have managed to look presentable; pulling on jeans and a t-shirt, swiping some mascara on my eyelashes and concealer on my dark circles.
Following the address on the call sheet, I catch the metro to the edge of the Bois de Boulogne. Production has commandeered an empty car park at the edge of the park, large white trailers propped haphazardly behind temporary gates.
Taking a deep breath, I head to what looks like the entrance. A beefy security guard steps into my path holding out a hand.
“ Désolé mademoiselle vous ne pouvez pas venir ici .”
“ Oh, je travaille ici ,” I pull out my phone, unlocking the screen with sweaty fingers and showing him the call sheet.
The guard nods and lets me pass.
Glancing around the base, I take a shaky breath. What now? I stand, biting my lip until a blonde woman jumps out of a truck, radio stuck to the belt loop of her jeans.
Gathering my courage, I head in her direction.
“Uhm hi?” I say, embarrassment rising. “I’m Anya, I’m a PA?”
The blonde woman blinks at me for a few seconds before saying “Production is that one.” She points to the truck she emerged from.
I mutter a thank you as the woman darts off. I can’t help but feel that I have already committed a grave faux pas but have no idea what it could have been. And it was probably not worse than the train journey from hell. Shaking off the memory, I head to the production truck.
After I lightly tap on the door, it swings open to reveal a brunette woman balancing on the top step, a pen resting behind her ear.
“Anya?” she asks.
“Yes, hi.” I offer my hand.
The woman shakes my hand with a bemused smile. “Devon, Production Coordinator. We spoke on the phone. Come on in and meet everyone.” She steps back to let me step into the trailer.
I have never been in an official film trailer before, this one is kitted out like a mini office on wheels. Wooden desks are stacked basically on top of each other and miles of papers are pinned to the walls.
Inside there are three desks littered with papers and empty coffee cups. An older man with blond thinning hair looks up from his laptop and gives me a half smile.
“This is Brian the Production Manager. This is Sarah our 2nd AD, and you’ve just missed Rachel our 1st.” A woman with short brown hair pulled back in a slick bun gives me a friendly wave. “You’ll meet our Line Producer David and Michael the Producer later, they’re in a meeting with the Exec’s at the minute.”
“Hi,” I say shyly.
“Well,” Devon says. “Let me give you a quick tour.” I spin around on my heels and jump back down the stairs. Devon follows and pulls the door behind her. “I don’t usually give tours but I didn’t want to say this in the truck. I’ll be honest, I’m not really sure what your job is.”
Thank god , I think. “Yeah, the job description I got was pretty vague.” I force out a fake chuckle.
“Basically, from what I can tell — Danny is a bit…well…he’s difficult apparently. And the producers figured having someone on his back 24/7 would be the best way to ensure he’s…handled.”
“Handled.” I echo.
Devon nods as if I’m picking up what she’s putting down. “Exactly.”
“So…like his assistant?”
“Exactly,” Devon repeats. “Well, I guess it could be described more as a babysitter.”
At my raised eyebrows Devon rushes to reassure me. “Not that that’s what you’ll be doing. Anyway, you know what these actors are like, more like toddlers than anything else. They just need a bit of attention and a lot of wrangling.”
I absorb this. A babysitter? For a grown man. “Isn’t this the 2nds job?” I ask. On a set this size, the second assistant director would be in charge of the cast; getting them on set on time and catering to their various needs.
“Well, yes usually,” Devon says. “But the boss decided Danny would need a personal. They were going to hire someone from their side, but Gwen put her foot down and fought for you.”
I feel dizzy, Gwendoline Marcs fought for me ? But I’m a nobody. I find myself nodding.
“Is this making sense?” Devon asks before clicking her fingers. “Oh, and you speak French, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I reply. “I mean oui .”
Devon laughs, “Great, I think that’s just a precaution but we don’t have that many French speakers on set so it’s always a good weapon in the arsenal. Right, I need to get back in there but we are going to need Danny in makeup in —” she checks her watch “—twenty five minutes. His trailer is the last one on the left, can’t miss it. Let me know if you need anything.” Devon calls over her shoulder.
I feel like I’ve been caught in a whirlwind. Gwendoline Marcs had fought for me? Or, at least, my job. And I haven’t even considered seeing Danny again after the debacle from yesterday.
Not wanting to wait around like a spare part, I wander towards what I presume is the catering truck. I grab a cup and pour myself a coffee, praying I’m actually allowed to make it myself.
“Hi,” a voice sounds at my side causing me to jump and nearly spill my drink. A girl, at least a few years younger than me with a long blonde braid resting over her shoulder, smiles at me shyly. “I’m Jess, the base runner. Devon sent me over to say hi. So hi.” She chuckles nervously.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Anya.” I hold my hand out for her to shake. “Have you been on this for long?”
“A few days, we’re still setting things up so I’ve just been running around doing this and that. Mostly making sure we’ve got enough water, I never considered how many gallons of water would be needed to keep a set going, we’ve already gone through five bottles and we’ve only been here a few days. ”
I smile at her, unable to get a word in if I tried. I try to subtly return to making my drink, hoping I’m not coming off as rude.
“Sorry I’m rambling, I do that when I’m nervous,” she blurts, barely stopping for breath. “It’s my first time on a big set.”
I grin at her and lean forwards conspiratorially. “Me too.”
Her eyes bug, “Really? But you’re working so close with Danny Covington.”
“Don’t remind me,” I mutter, pouring an extra sugar into my coffee.
The radio at Jess’s hip bleeps, and she presses her hand to her ear. “I need to go, but it was nice to meet you.” She runs away.
I linger by the table guzzling my drink like it’s water. The caffeine buzzes through my veins and gives me the boost I need. Checking my watch I decide it’s finally time to get this over with.
Deciding to just rip the band-aid off and go for it, I head over to Danny’s trailer. From the outside it looks exactly like the production truck. Clinically white with tiny windows and a rattling metal staircase.
He won’t bring up yesterday, surely. He will be professional about this, just like I am about to be.
Clambering up the steps, I raise my fist and knock softly on the door. No answer. I try again more forcefully. I know he’s in there, I can just tell. Finally, after knocking so hard my knuckles ache, the door swings open, nearly pushing me off the step.
Danny Covington leans on the door, his soft lips pulled into a grimace and his blue eyes glaring.
“The louder you knock, the longer you wait,” he says, like a dickhead.
He slams the door in my face.
My jaw drops. He did not just say that?
I wasn’t totally sure on the etiquette of actor wrangling, but whatever rule book I could have been given is thrown out of the proverbial window as I grab the handle and swing the door open.
Inside, the soft leather accents and black cabinets made it look more like a tour bus than a trailer. Danny Covington is lounging elegantly across one couch, holding a tablet in his hand.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks sharply, sitting up.
“Look,” I say, my anger controlling my voice box. “We got off on the wrong foot yesterday.” I thrust my hand in his face. “I’m Anya and I’m just here to do my job.”
He ignores my outstretched arm. “A job you are already pretty terrible at from my position.”
I see red. “You’re the one who apparently can’t be trusted on set without adult supervision.”
Danny stands, “And you’re my adult supervision? I bet you’ve never even stepped foot on a set before. Of course you haven’t. If you had, you would know that speaking to me like that was a big mistake.”
“All I know is that I’ve been brought on this job to make sure you get to where you’re meant to be.”
Danny laughs incredulously. “You are so out of your depth here, freckles. You’ve been brought on as a pawn of my father’s. Are you sending him daily reports of my comings and goings?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I snap. At least no one has mentioned that to me yet. “I am here to get you to makeup.”
“I don’t need to go to makeup. I’ll go when I’m good and ready.”
“I may not have experience on big film sets—”
“So you admit it.”
“But, even I know that you need to be where you’re told to go, so everyone can get on with their jobs. And right now that is the makeup truck.”
He sniffs, ignoring my point entirely. “Are you saying I need makeup?”
“I’m saying those bags under your eyes aren’t going to disappear on their own.”
Danny basically clutches his pearls, “You did not just say that.”
“Maybe they’ll even give you some cucumber whilst they do your manicure.”
“Hey,” he snaps, “It’s good to have soft hands.”
I bark a laugh, “Yeah and I suppose that’s an essential part of the job.”
“Not for the job, “ he takes a step towards me, crowding me against the counter. “I’ve never had any complaints.”
I look up at him. He’s so close I can feel his breath kiss my face. I swear his blue eyes darken.
I swallow harshly, my breath shallow. “Please.” God, it sounds like a plea.
He blinks at me, his tongue wetting his lip.
What am I doing? Recovering quickly I add. “Just go to makeup. Please.”
Danny catches my eye before taking a step back, “I need a coffee first.”
I inhale a shaky breath. “I’ll get you one.” I tug my collar away from my neck, “Milk?”
“Black.” Danny says, refusing to look at me.
“It will be in the truck,” I throw over my shoulder, desperate to get into the fresh air. Just before my hand touches the door handle, I pull the phone charger out of my pocket and practically throw it on the counter.
The door slams behind me.