Chapter 28
On the way to the film set, Lily thoroughly stalked social media once more to make absolutely certain Dorian wouldn’t be there.
The risk of a chance encounter—even from a distance—made her stomach turn.
But an early-morning sighting of Dorian by a fan at a beach, documented on social media with much pride, put her mind at rest, and once she banished the sick feeling in her stomach, she felt free to look forward to the visit.
In LA she had only seen the machinations on the production side of the movie business.
Here she would see creativity at work, and that was exciting.
Their car looped off the freeway, curved through some picturesque farmland, and emerged on the edge of a tiny one-main-street town.
There was one old grand pub, now empty upstairs; a delightfully decorative Mechanics’ Institute Hall, now a dance studio; a handful of utilitarian businesses, cheerful homes, and gardens; and dilapidated farmhouses and sheds, built or adapted over the years to the town’s fluctuating fortunes.
All seemed peaceful until they reached the traffic barrier and security guards blocking off the main street.
Beyond them, a line of tents flapped as production crew popped in and out.
In the distance, there was the hum of generators and the sound of building.
A nearby paddock looked like a crowded trailer park, and the side streets were lined with enormous white trucks, all open at the back, revealing piles of mysterious metal equipment, guarded by crew members with tool belts.
“Wow,” breathed Lily.
“I didn’t realize it was such a big operation,” gasped Kitty.
She spoke to the security guard and soon Hanna’s friend Bronte appeared, sporting a remarkable jangling array of lanyards around her neck and a walkie-talkie on her hip.
“Yay!” she bubbled. “This way—park in here, anywhere you can. So glad you’re here!”
She chased the car to the paddock and greeted everyone with a hug and a lanyard marked VISITOR.
“Sorry, protocol. This production is next level. It’s so good to be working on something that’s got big money behind it.”
The lines of trailers and trucks sprawled right to the edge of town and into the fields beyond.
Everywhere they looked there were crew members hauling equipment or talking into headsets or mobile phones.
Cast members dressed in nineteenth-century farm gear clustered in the shade, sipping water from bottles marked with the film title logo.
Curious locals could be seen looking on from their own front yards or curtained kitchens.
“Isn’t this supposed to be just a small Australian film?” asked Kitty.
“Well, it’s smallish, but once the big DK signed on, he brought overseas interest and then here you are—mind your step—with a team of—copy that—ROLLING!”
Bronte put her finger to her lips and motioned for them to stop where they were—in the field of cars and trucks, with spaghetti of electrical cords at their feet.
All around them everyone stopped walking or talking or carrying things.
Then a few seconds later—“CUT!” And everyone started moving again.
Bronte continued as though nothing had happened.
“And you’d be amazed the difference it makes. I mean, of course we were all worried he’d be a huge snob and demand blue candies in his trailer or whatever.”
“We’ve heard that’s what stars do,” Kitty put in with a wink at Lily.
“Well, he is next-level nice,” gushed Bronte. “See those trailers?”
Lily looked at the line of square white boxes with doors at each end.
“Dorian Khan could have had a whiz-bang thing three times the size of those all to himself. Actually, the producers assumed that’s what he wanted, but he intervened and asked to get the same as everyone else.
Said it would save money and time and he’s right, of course—those huge bedroom-ensuite trailers are a pain to set up. ”
“Do you have much to do with him?” Kitty asked.
Bronte answered her with a raised hand.
“Copy that. ROLLING!”
They tiptoed around a corner of a tent. Before them a cluster of people sat on camp chairs under an umbrella, watching monitors.
In the street in front of them was an athletic figure who looked just like Dorian Khan!
Lily’s heart skipped a beat, then she realized all at once it wasn’t him, it was his double.
Someone yelled “ACTION!” and he took off down the street like a rocket, with an older guy hot on his heels.
They pelted past a general store and a horse and cart, then as Not-Dorian flew over the verge, the older guy caught him and tackled him to the ground.
“CUT!”
It was only when it was over that Lily even spotted the camera beyond the monitors and tent, strapped to a man with what looked like some kind of spinal brace.
The two stunt performers helped each other up and the atmosphere immediately flipped back to the everyday as people started moving around again, distant power tools revved up, and the cluster of people around the monitor huddled closer with their headphones on to watch the replay.
The stuntmen lumbered over and had a good look too, pointed things out, and discussed what had happened or not happened.
Lily was fascinated. This was filmmaking.
Not the Sunset Room, fancy pool parties and yachts and social media.
This was a moment of real drama, happening right here and now, that would be strung with hundreds of other real moments like beads on a string to make a story that moved people.
After some downtime in which nothing much seemed to happen or be decided, the call went up.
“Going again! Resetting! We’re going again! Back to one!”
The calls echoed around the set, yelled by various people at various distances.
The stuntpeople and crew ambled back into position, there were more calls of “ROLLING!” someone leaped out of nowhere with a genuine electronic clapper board, some incomprehensible phrase was shouted out, the clapper clapped, someone yelled “ACTION!” and the chase began again, exactly as before.
But this time, when the chase was halfway down the street, Lily’s and everyone else’s attention was drawn to the highly incongruous approach of a bearded man riding a pink cruiser bicycle.
The entire group around the monitor groaned. One of them called “CUT!” as a couple of the crew converged on the man on the bicycle, who despite being a fair distance away, was speaking loudly enough to make it pretty clear to all concerned that he was not happy.
“But youse are still here!” he shouted. “Youse were here yesterday! And all I want to do is ride me own bike down me own bloody street and youse are still here!”
Reactions around the set ranged from amusement to annoyance to disbelief or a mix of all three.
Lily looked on, eyes wide. The conciliatory efforts of the crew members seemed to stall as the rider was now declaring, “I don’t care about your movie, mate!
” and telling people to get their hands off his bike.
Finally, one small person near the monitor stood up and wandered over with an air of patient authority.
“That’s the director!” whispered Bronte.
To Lily, the director looked just like a PE teacher crossing the playground to break up a fight.
Lily couldn’t hear what she said, but whatever it was, it satisfied the bike rider to the extent that he rode off, back the way he came, rather than straight through the performing area and tents.
And just at the point where everyone seemed about to relax into giggles and headshaking, he shouted back at them, “But youse better be gone tomorrow!”
“So sorry,” said Bronte to her guests. “That does not happen every day!”
While Kitty and Hanna burst into questions about how often such things happened, why, and what would happen next, Lily kept an eye on the director, who slid back into her seat and replaced her headphones with a quick word to another important-looking producer type.
They nodded. Clearly, there was a plan in place to deal with recalcitrant locals and it had failed and there would have to be further measures.
The crew buzzed across the set, all talking and laughing a little at the intrusion, and it made Lily think more about how the production had taken over the town and what that meant for the people who belonged there.
Lily wondered whether anyone had asked the man on the bike how he felt about his everyday life being upended.
“LUNCH!”
The call rebounded around the set. There was much dropping of tools, removing of headsets, and securing of equipment, then everyone gathered in a huge tent in another paddock.
“It’s the best part of the day,” gushed Bronte. “The catering on this set is unbelievable.”
She led the way and they lined up with cast and crew for a magnificent buffet, then found a seat at a trestle table with her colleagues.
“Everyone tends to sit with their kind. High school’s never over,” she laughed.
She pointed at the table of people in colorful shirts and wide-brimmed hats.
“Hair and makeup and costume.” She nodded toward a big table of burly folk in button-down flannels.
“Gaffers. Lighting,” she explained. The table of athletic-looking muscly types in a mix of costume and sports gear.
“Stuntpeople. I’ll take you to say hi later if you like; they’re super friendly.
So are the actors.” She gestured to another table of people in costume.
“Anyone we know?” asked Kitty.
“I think they’re all background performers today.”
“The stars wouldn’t eat here anyway,” put in Hanna. “With everyone else. Would they?”