Love, Camera, Action

Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Something was missing. Something vital. The last shot of the scene was about to wrap up, and it was smooth and sexy and passionate and … fine.

It made Cali’s skin itch.

She looked at her watch, then at her script, then back at her watch. She snuck her umpteenth glance at Jory. Returned to the monitor. Snuck another glance.

He was so still . She could never be that still. It was like he was meditating, gathering the tendrils of images from the monitor on an inhale, circulating them through his body to root out flaws that threatened his delicate wizardry, then disseminating them on an exhale, all while in complete stasis.

It was distracting. All his concentration and breathing and stillness produced a roiling heat that was scrambling her brain. Some guys were like that. They had an intense sexual vibe that was difficult to ignore. Cali usually steered clear of them because, while they were fun to get to the sack, they weren’t fun in it. Too wrapped up in performance. She preferred a guy who had something to prove and then didn’t balk when she walked away. Those guys were great for letting off steam—grateful for the hookup—but wouldn’t push for more. Cali wasn’t into more.

She grunted out her frustration. She shouldn’t be focusing on her steam; she should be focused on the steam on set which was more liquid than gas. She furiously fanned away the clouds of pheromones Jory exuded with the flimsy pages of her script. He stole his own glance, implying her fanning impinged on his airspace.

“Sorry,” Cali muttered.

He returned his eyes to the screen, dismissing her.

A buzz emanated from the side pocket of her chair, and Cali fished out her phone with all the gravitas of a very busy and important person.

The name “Patsy” glowed at her from the screen, and Cali glowered back, her chest filling with the familiar concoction of annoyance and guilt only her sister could foment. Patsy knew Cali was at work. She wasn’t usually this thoughtless. Or was this the dreaded call?

The older of the two, Cali had practically raised Patsy while their mother was either holed up in her room or out on a manic spree. Cali had helped Patsy with her homework until it got too advanced for Cali to do much good, had collected neighborhood beer bottles to buy Patsy the increasingly rare books the library didn’t have, weaseled invitations to other people’s houses where the heat hadn’t been shut off. And that was before their mom’s most disastrous relationship with Rick.

Cali had always struggled balancing her career with the financial and emotional responsibilities of her mother and sister. Now that Patsy had a job and Cali had set up their mother with an untouchable nest egg to pay for her bills and meds, Cali was in the clear for the first time. Financially anyway. Emotionally, even though Cali steered clear of their mother as best she could, there was still Patsy, who was no less exhausting.

Cali forced herself to swipe left and typed out a quick text.

Working. Call you back?

NP!

Cali frowned at the response. Patsy didn’t do text slang. Her job as a translator of ancient Greek at the university meant she found the millennial use of acronyms an insulting bastardization of language. If Patsy sent an NP there was clearly a P .

Cali squeezed her eyes shut and blindly tapped out a response against her better judgment.

You sure?

Cali waited for a reply.

Colin wants to take me to his cottage this weekend …

That ellipsis was alarming. Patsy attached herself like a barnacle to every passing male ship, turning him into The One within weeks. When the guy inevitably dumped her, Patsy went on a destructive bender that shut down everything in her and Cali’s life. Colin was new so, by Cali’s estimate, that gave her about eight weeks before the meltdown. Please let this one be different, she prayed.

As Cali composed a response in her head, another text came in.

What am I doing? You’re shooting! Ignore me. And she finished it off with a sparkly heart emoji.

Cali had no point of reference for an acronym and two emojis.

She forced her attention back to the monitor, realizing she was furiously fanning herself, most likely in the improbable hope the paper would waft away her unease. It also wafted the script Jory clenched in exasperation.

Cali ignored him, captivated by the undulating sheets.

That’s it. That’s it.

On set, Dan bellowed, “Moving on with—”

“Hold, please,” Cali interrupted.

Dan stiffened. Cali winced. It wasn’t great to cut off the first AD, but to his credit, Dan schooled his features into a neutral mask and awaited further instruction.

Cali turned to Jory. “Can you join Dan and me for a moment?”

Jory graced her with a stony stare, and her omniscient doubt rose. Cali let the power of her inspiration stomp on it, wishing it would also stomp on Jory’s implacable face. She pushed herself from her chair and strode onto set.

Cali planted herself in front of Dan. “How much time do we have?”

“About fifteen minutes.”

“Could you squeeze out twenty?”

“Maybe, but time ticks.”

Cali turned to catch Jory prowling over, poised to pounce on her idea. She summoned her most authoritative voice, the one that said, I am the director and I am about to bestow the best idea in the Universe on this very scene.

She hoped she wouldn’t squeak.

“I want to shoot the sheets, so I need one more setup with handheld,” she declared.

Jory looked like he wasn’t sure which part of her ridiculous sentence he should negate first. “We don’t have a handheld camera.”

“We need something messy, something energetic, something wild.” Cali squared her shoulders and felt sweat squelch in her armpits. “We need to see the sheets flutter and rub and move and undulate. It will be beyond sexy.”

He let out a long sigh, and repeated, “We don’t have a handheld camera.”

“You used the camera we have today as a handheld in Battalion’s Folly.” Cali knew this for a fact because of the many rabbit holes she’d traveled down studying Jory’s style.

“That was different.”

“So are you saying we don’t have the camera or you don’t want to operate it?”

Dan’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, and he took the slightest step back.

Jory’s jaw tensed. “It would look shaky and unwatchable, like—”

“Like someone waking up from a nightmare. Or like someone who’s been caught.” Cali’s growing excitement leaked out in the form of a tiny bounce.

Jory opened his mouth and then shut it. He took a quick survey of the surrounding crew, who were busy not listening to everything they said. He turned to Dan. “Give us a sec.”

“Alright, but again with the tick tock.”

Jory nodded tersely and stalked off, assuming Cali would follow like an obedient dog.

Dan shot her a warning glance. Acknowledging him with a dip of her head, she followed Jory into the shadows.

He had stopped two sets over in a pool of darkness, his back ramrod straight. When her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she saw they were on the CEO office set. A behemoth mahogany desk with a high-backed executive chair dwarfed two matching leather club chairs, all placed in front of three huge windows looking out onto “Central Park.” A fitting place for Jory to give, what Cali could only assume, a dressing down. She mentally pulled on her big-girl boots.

“Okay. I’ve seen this a lot.” He turned, a bastion of patience. “And I hope you’ll excuse my candor, but it’s a classic first-time director mistake.”

“I’ve directed two films and three TV series.”

He put out a hand to mollify her, as if she hadn’t understood him. It made her hackles rise. “You want to try out some fancy shots that aren’t close to the look of the show—the look I created—to make your mark and prove you are a director of vision. But the question you need to ask, the question the seasoned director asks is: Is this new shot worth sending us into overtime, costing the production money, pissing off the actors and crew, and forcing the producers to rethink why they hired you, when that shot probably won’t make it to the final cut?”

When he put it that way it sounded like she was about to make the biggest mistake of her career. The mistake of a director who placed her ego above the show. Her confidence crumbled. He’s right. You don’t know what you’re doing. Better to be safe.

But … no.

Lots of directors survived on bland choices, made their careers on them even, but Cali wanted something better, to be something better. Her instincts were screaming that this was the shot, despite the risk. Jory’s fluttering script sheets filled her mind’s eye, and she fixed her courage to the image.

“We can be fine or we can be exceptional. And I know you care about being exceptional.”

Jory bristled. “You don’t know what I care about.”

“It’s not that different from that incredible cabin scene you shot in Dead at Sunset .”

“Yes, but I had a handheld cam—wait.” Jory drew back, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “You saw that?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I saw that. The dinner scene? All shot from below, making every character into a villain until you didn’t know who to trust? I mean, come on! I literally shouted out, ‘No way’ in the movie theater.” The empty movie theater, but still.

Jory opened his mouth to respond, but Cali plowed forward, her epiphany driving her toward probable doom. “You could use the same technique here from the kitchen fight, getting vignettes, snapshots of moments, moving on instinct—the shakier the better. But instead of knives and drawers and cabinets framing the shot, you use the bed sheets. It will give the scene an authenticity you don’t get in the rest of this show.”

Jory stiffened. “That’s a strange tactic. Complimenting and insulting in one breath.”

Cali forced herself to stay quiet. She’d made her case. Any more talk would detract from the power of the inspiration.

They fell into silence while they sized each other up.

She wondered what Jory saw. A frightened girl desperately trying to make her voice heard? The poor, scrappy, passionate upstart who was cute, but easily ignored? Or did he see a woman of ideas, of value? She schvitzed under his burning gaze. He was just so much. And they were standing so close. Close enough for her to catch his scent. What was that? Cedar? Some kind of tree, for sure.

His eyes cut to her mouth and then away.

Heat swept through her body. Jory Blair had looked at her mouth. In that way. If she weren’t so intent on him, she would’ve missed it, but there it was.

He met her eyes again, leaning in the tiniest bit, probably trying to intimidate but only underscoring the crackling energy between them. He brought up a finger. “One shot.”

“One shot.” Cali nodded.

Jory held her gaze a moment longer, then he was gone, booming across the set, “One more, Dan.”

Cali huffed out a breath. That was either the smartest thing she’d ever done, or she had just blown whatever sliver of respect she may have had.

Whatever she’d done, the inspiration had better be worth it.

Jory was sweating. Uncomfortably.

He had only been shooting for fifteen minutes, but he’d jumped all over the set—lying on the floor shooting up at Paolo, standing on the bed shooting down at Thalia, squeezing behind the headboard to shoot through the spindles, and jamming his back against the wall to get their feet—all while using the sheets to frame the shot as he balanced a forty-pound not-handheld camera on his shoulder.

Paolo had flipped Thalia over nine times and thrust against her fourteen, while she raised her legs anywhere from a slight knee lift to a full-out ankle clasp around Paolo’s butt, ever mindful of where the sheets were on their bodies.

Cali called out each move like an army general, bossy and relentless.

Jory knew his muscles would be screaming at the end of the day, but he also felt the tiniest inkling of something else. Fun?

No. He was not having fun. There was nothing fun about bouncing around the set like a twenty-five-year-old on a student film. Sets should be predictable. If he were running things, scenes would be knocked off like clockwork. None of this searching for magic and inspiration and fun that inevitably wasted time. He remembered his first gigs, the producers scrounging for investors, the directors grasping for creative solutions because of a lack of money or talent or time. On one horror film, they couldn’t afford a jib arm for the slow rise he wanted of the killer’s feet walking up the porch stairs. So instead, he’d shimmied under the house through the dirt and the bugs and the things he didn’t want to identify to shoot through the gaps in the steps. It was disgusting.

But man, it had been a great shot.

“I think we’ve got it.” Jory wiped the moisture off his brow with a handkerchief from his back pocket.

Ignoring him, Cali said, “Dan, how long have we got?”

“Three minutes.”

She pinned Jory with her gaze. “I want you to go under.”

“Under what?”

“The sheets.”

“What?”

“I’ll lift them.”

“This is getting a bit much.” Jory put the camera down.

Cali regarded the camera as a gauntlet thrown. “Have you ever seen a shot like that?”

“No, because it’s a pain.”

Cali lifted the sheet that covered Paolo and Thalia, who weren’t baiting each other for once because they were too busy trying to catch their breath. “Think of the quality of light as it diffuses through the fabric. Like in a nineteenth-century harem. It’ll take two seconds,” she promised.

“You get it’s only nine thirty in the morning, right? We have another ten hours of this.”

“I’m aware of how production works.”

Jory raised an eyebrow that said he didn’t think she did. Cali stubbornly returned his glower, as though immune to his most formidable of looks, and shook the sheet to make her point.

He had to admit, it would look good.

“Fuck it.” He picked the camera back up.

Cali turned to the actors. “Can you guys do one more?”

Shaky, they both nodded. Thalia pulled herself up to straddle Paolo again while makeup swooped in to blot their ever-worsening sweat shine.

Cali flew to the bottom of the bed and lifted up the sheet. Jory gave her one last glare that went unacknowledged, and ducked underneath.

He calibrated the camera and took a deep breath to slow his heartbeat so the camera on his shoulder wouldn’t pulse along with it. When he peered through the lens, he almost gasped.

The diaphanous quality of the sheet gave Paolo and Thalia’s bodies an unearthly glow. Bronze skin on olive became luminescent as the flowing sheet created an undulating wave like parachute silk. It was sensual and carnal, and he wondered why they hadn’t been here all along.

And that annoyed him. It annoyed him that they only had three minutes left. It annoyed him that Cali had come up with it and he hadn’t. But mostly it annoyed him that the shot might have been lost because of his stubbornness.

Jory made one last adjustment, then said, “Camera speed.”

Through the muffle of material, Cali called, “Action.”

Thalia and Paolo began to move.

As their bodies twisted and slid, the sheets became a part of them, billowing and rolling in response. The atmosphere ached with intimacy, ethereal yet earthly, and Jory heard a voice whisper to him from the boundaries of his carefully crafted borders: That’s it.

Jory felt the gray recede as he moved in sync with the camera. A familiar flow took over as he came alive to intuit every shift in the scene unfolding in front of him, guided by their breaths, their bodies. This was what he was meant for, and the thought galvanized his resolve to switch to the director’s seat. He couldn’t let others control his environment any longer.

Then, Paolo suddenly veered in a way he hadn’t before. He pinned Thalia’s arms over her head in an aggressive act of dominance that forced Jory to pull back and into someone standing behind him who fell to the floor with an, “Oof!”

Disregarding whoever it was, Jory reframed in an instant to capture the panic that swept into Thalia’s eyes. And the swift knee she slammed into Paolo’s balls.

Paolo bellowed in pain as Thalia shot out from under him, hip-checking Jory on the way and knocking him off balance. Jory steadied the camera as much as he could, holding onto the shot for as long as possible, but felt himself going over. Suddenly two hands were at his back keeping him balanced, allowing him to capture Paolo’s writhing form for that last crucial moment.

Jory heard Cali call, “Cut!” and when he looked back, he saw it was her, on her knees, bracing him from the fall. It was Cali he’d knocked over, but she didn’t look like she cared. Instead, alarm lit her face, her eyes screaming the question, “Did you get that?”

Jory gave her a quick nod, and a smile burst out of her. He drank it in, letting her exuberance sluice through him to his bones. Her hands were still on his back, warm and solid, fusing them together as their chests heaved in tandem. He had the strangest urge to bring those hands around his neck so they could wind their way through his hair.

“I’m so sorry!” Thalia’s panic pulled them apart. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to do that.”

Cali rushed to Thalia while Jory awkwardly went down on one knee to check in with Paolo, who was now clutching his balls and rolling from side to side.

Jory winced in sympathy and asked, “You okay there, bud?”

Paolo gave a pathetic thumbs-up while he tried to breathe.

Dan clicked his walkie. “Better send in the medic.”

Jory gave Paolo a clumsy pat of assurance and stepped back so on-set Wardrobe could dive in with Paolo’s robe, clucking and soothing as though he were going into shock. Jory handed the camera off to his assistant, Alison, and set his covert attention on Cali as she attempted to calm the near hysterical Thalia.

“I don’t know what happened. It’s just that he—”

“I know.” Cali grasped Thalia’s upper arms, steadying her. “You weren’t expecting it.”

“It was a reflex.”

“He surprised you.”

“It’s not his fault.” Thalia’s breathing quickened.

“It’s not yours either,” Cali responded.

“It was. I just—I just—”

“It’s not your fault.” Cali’s tone was steel, and Thalia’s eyes flashed to hers.

Jory glimpsed something lightning quick pass between the two women. After a long moment, Thalia shakily nodded.

Cali gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Why don’t you go relax in your trailer? Paolo will be fine. I’ll have someone bring you some tea, yeah? Some chamomile?”

Thalia nodded again, and Cali called for the third AD to escort her to her trailer. Something warm spread through Jory’s chest. He rarely saw directors take an interest in actors or their well-being. More often than not, actors were treated with the thinnest veneer of respect, under which flowed the opinion they were passably trained monkeys who were more trouble than they were worth. But Cali’s eyes, blazing and protective, held nothing but concern. Jory couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that care.

A male voice boomed through the set. “What is going on?”

Jory groaned inwardly. God had arrived.

Howard Fox strode onto the scene. He was the showrunner, top executive producer, engineer of all things creative on the show, and TV royalty, having helmed some of the best-known series in the world. He had graced The Demon with his venerable presence and was now clearly in the mood to reign down some holy terror. He was also the key to Jory’s next career move.

Cali met the imposing man with a quiet confidence that surprised Jory—most directors would be quaking in their boots. Howard was a big personality, dwarfing those around him with his Old Hollywood presence. He was blustery, blunt, and definitively un-woke, but was often a generous benefactor, the man behind skyrocketing careers. He could also decimate someone for what he saw as incompetence. Howard was not someone with whom to fuck.

He inflated his chest and set his decibel level to stun. “Why has a medic been called down to the set?”

At that moment, the medic, complete with first aid kit, rushed to Paolo’s side. Paolo winced at his arrival and tried to close in on himself, clearly embarrassed.

Cali took in the medic’s arrival and, voice steady, turned back to Howard. “Hi, Howard. We had an incident during the scene—”

“You’re Cali Daniels, I presume.” Howard focused a cold stare on Cali. “Melanie’s hire.”

Jory winced. With two words, Howard effectively removed any responsibility for Cali and placed it firmly on Melanie, who, if Jory were honest, should be the one calling the shots on this show.

“Yes.” Cali flashed him a self-deprecating smile. “I would have liked to have met under different circumstances.”

“Me too.” Howard’s smile was just shy of shark. “Why is there a medic on set?”

Now was the time for her to delicately throw Paolo under the bus. It was his fault for changing the choreography without consulting Cali—a rookie move. Howard was the more important person in the grand scheme of things; it was he she needed to impress.

“There was a certain improvisational quality—”

“Improvisation? I thought the scene was rehearsed.”

“It was, but I decided the authenticity of the moment—”

“Our actors’ safety is of the upmost importance. We would never want to endanger them.” Howard’s voice was concerned but loud, aimed to humiliate. Jory felt the need to step in to clear up the situation but stopped himself. He wouldn’t want someone to interfere on his behalf—why would she? This was her battle, and she would resent him trying to rescue her. Besides, Jory wanted to draw as little of this type of attention as possible.

“Definitely not. Nor would I.” Cali’s eyes darted around the set, taking in the crew who uncomfortably watched the exchange. Her tone became diplomatic. “We were able to capture a fresh take on the scene that—”

“I was under the impression part of the reason Melanie brought you on was for your particular expertise. And so I’m a bit confused, after discussions around the delicacy of this scene, why we would need the onset medic?”

Cali hands clenched. “It was my call to go outside the plan.”

“ You went off the plan? I see.” He squinted as though weighing his words. “I understand it’s your first day, and I know Melanie has a lot of confidence in your talent. I myself am grateful you were able to help us out on such short notice and am excited to see your work, but I need to ensure everyone is safe. I hope this isn’t a harbinger of things to come. We need to keep things professional.”

Jory bit back a growl and shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t deck the guy. Howard was an old-school showrunner, who ruled through manipulation and fear. But since most people’s reputations were only as good as their last job, to earn a bad review from Howard Fox would be devastating. He could make three phone calls and Jory’s career would be over, no matter how in demand he was now. And Jory could forget about the director’s chair—it would never happen.

Now Howard’s sights were on Cali. She had to shift blame or she might not be given another chance. Yet Cali stayed quiet, tacitly taking responsibility as Howard turned to address the crew with one of his fake smiles.

“Don’t worry, everyone! Paolo seems okay, and we’ll be moving on. But please, let’s stick to the script, shall we?” Howard shot Jory a glance that clearly said “Keep her in line,” before lumbering off the set.

Dan stepped into the void. “Moving on! Scene sixteen. Daytime. Health food store. Rafe finds something mysterious in his smoothie.”

Cali drifted away, and Jory felt the strangest pull to follow her to … do what? Make her feel better? Tell her Howard had been too harsh? Assure her what they got was great?

That would accomplish nothing except drawing notice from Howard. He wasn’t about to sacrifice the good humor of a powerful man for a newbie who showed up on his set that morning, no matter how good her ideas were.

His attention lit on Dan, quietly talking into the phone. Jory always knew when Dan was chatting with his wife—he seemed more boyish somehow. His body relaxed and a slight smile lifted his lips, as though he was flirting, even though they’d been together for twenty-two years. Jory had just sent them an anniversary gift. Now Dan dragged a hand across his face as he paused for long periods while Jory suspected his wife gave him support over what had just gone down on set.

Jory had wanted that. He had wanted someone to call between setups, to download the latest disaster. Or even just to discuss dinner that night. What his parents once had. He wanted to share the beach house, his sanctuary, not hide in it all alone, terrified by numbers on test results. But he couldn’t draw someone into an uncertain future, drag them through the pain and loss of an unhappily ever after. He wasn’t that cruel.

His gaze drifted to Cali, who was off in a corner, hunched over her script, isolated from everyone. Jory walked over to Dan as he ended his call. “I’m going to drop that dolly shot in the hair salon this afternoon. We don’t need it. And ax the jib for the hell scene.”

Dan studied his ever-present clipboard, brows raised in curiosity. “Dropping two setups before we get to the scenes. That’s not like you. Something going on?”

“I want to make sure we make our day.” Jory’s eyes strayed back to Cali, who was now in deep conversation with the props master over the size of a candelabra.

Dan cleared his throat, and Jory realized he was staring. “I’ve never seen you show such interest in the schedule before.”

“It’s more efficient.”

“I think it’s very positive.”

Jory tried to ferret out Dan’s meaning. But he was forever inscrutable. “What’s very positive?”

“Your interest in the schedule.”

“Yes. The schedule .”

“Exactly. I think the schedule could use some help.”

“If the schedule doesn’t come up to speed, it’s not really my problem,” Jory defended.

“No, it’s not.” Dan flipped a page back in place, closing the clipboard—and the conversation.

“I want to be a team player and make sure things get done right.” Jory pushed, feeling like a petulant office manager.

“And that will definitely help the schedule. Thank you.” Dan thrust the clipboard under his arm.

“You’re welcome.” Jory stormed off to the camera, not really comprehending what had just happened. Dan had a way of say something without saying anything that was infuriating.

Howard had made it clear he needed Jory to take control of the set. So that’s what Jory would do. He’d keep Cali from making impetuous decisions while he steered the shoot. Really, he wasn’t helping her out. He was helping the production. He was helping himself.

He gathered the familiar gray around him as he stared through the eyepiece in the camera without seeing a thing. Cali Daniels was going to have to figure out how his set worked or she’d be gone by the end of the day.

And he wasn’t sure why he felt loss at the thought.