Chapter 11
Monty
Monty was almost annoyed by how much he liked the script.
Every other movie he’d been in had boasted a handful of clever lines and a bunch of songs, usually unconnected to the plot.
Like many studios, Powell used the B musicals to test out new talent, so Monty’s movies typically had a ton of assorted acts—Vaudevillians, circus performers, comedians, opera singers, dancers of every variety, jugglers, jazz bands, and balladeers.
But this was different. The script was strong, with incredible banter and memorable one-liners.
There was a cast of colorful characters, sure, but Monty’s character was undeniably front and center.
If he didn’t have what it took to pull it off, the picture would fail.
For the first time since he’d laid eyes on the script, Monty realized that Ezra really wasn’t punishing him by casting him in Together on Parade; they were testing him. And he was determined to pass the test.
Another detail Monty observed was that while his character was the focus of the film, the character was not particularly charming. His magic would have little place in this story.
He thought about all of this as he read through the script with Hilliard his first night.
And then he thought about it as he tried to fall asleep in the guest bedroom, then as he and Hilliard had a quiet breakfast of grapefruit and buttered toast, and as he watched Hilliard putter around the house the entire next day.
This was the strange part of his new living arrangement.
He’d stayed countless nights at Hilliard’s house, but this was the first time he’d stayed for any length of time.
Typically, he skedaddled as soon as breakfast was over, letting Hilliard get on with his day.
It was different now. He wasn’t simply helping Hilliard with the dishes and then getting out from underfoot, he was watching Hilliard use a carpet sweeper over his rugs, dust everything with a worn rag, and prepare a light lunch.
Hilliard humming along to the radio was no longer simply something he heard as he woke up; it was a soundtrack that carried throughout the day.
Monty tried to relax into the strangeness of it. This would be his life for the next couple of months, until the picture was finished, and he was off the hook.
But by the time Sunday afternoon rolled around, he had exhausted his ability to relax. He was bored as hell.
“We should go do something.”
Hilliard didn’t pause as he eased his freshly made pie crust off the rolling pin and onto the pie plate. “Like what, for instance?”
“I don’t know.” Monty kicked his leg over the arm of the sofa. “Doesn’t have to be anything big. We could go out for a drink maybe?”
“You’re supposed to be laying low, remember?”
“We could go to the movies? Go swimming in my pool?”
Hilliard frowned at this last suggestion. “I think hanging out at your place would defeat the purpose of staying at mine.”
Monty sighed because he was right. “What do you do for fun?”
“You’re lookin’ at it, doll.”
Monty swung off the couch and sauntered over to the kitchen, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What kind of pie you making?”
Hilliard was gently pressing the crust into the bottom corners of the pie plate. “Rhubarb.”
“Do you ever make apple pie? That’s my favorite.”
“They’re not in season yet. But I’ll show you how to make one, if you like.”
Monty had absolutely no interest in learning how to bake an apple pie, but he didn’t want to hurt Hilliard’s feelings, so he just said, “Thanks.”
Hilliard chuckled. “I’ll still make them even if you know how to do it.”
Monty leaned against the counter. “In the past two days alone, I’ve watched you clean every inch of this house, bake cookies, make omelets, cook us a fried chicken dinner, read the script, and weed the garden…but you never seem to just relax. I want to go do something relaxing with you.”
Hilliard didn’t say anything as he tipped a bowl of chopped rhubarb onto the pie crust and carefully evened it out.
Then, he placed the top crust over the fruit as gently as he’d placed the first. “Wanna see me relaxed? Watch this.” He took a fork and slowly creased the edges all around the side of the pie.
When he was done, he gave Monty a satisfied grin. “I’m relaxed as can be.”
Monty wanted to roll his eyes, but instead he turned on the charm. “Take me out, Hilliard,” he said, letting his voice dip just a little. “I promise I’ll be good.”
Hilliard chuckled and Monty felt his magic bounce back with a promptness that surprised him. “But then I’d be denying you the pleasure of a freshly baked pie, and I simply couldn’t be that cruel.”
Monty groaned.
Hilliard swatted his arm lightly with the back of his hand. “Why don’t you tell me what you liked about the script? I’ve given you a couple of days to think about it.”
Monty was grateful for the distraction, even if he was still disappointed by his friend’s stubbornness. “Well, there are a lot of great lines in it.”
“Mm-hmm.” Hilliard dipped a pastry brush into a bowl of egg yolks and began coating the pie crust. “Any parts in particular that stood out?”
He considered. “I like the beard scene. I think that’ll be really funny.”
“I like that one too. They’ve got Ned Bly playing the Santa character. He’ll do great. I think you’ll like him.”
“Is he as serious as he always seems?”
Hilliard laughed. “Nah, that’s just his typecast. He’s a hoot.”
“If you say so. What parts did you like most?”
“I think my favorite scene is the one with the mayor. I reckon I’ve read it at least three times. Makes me laugh every read. And, of course, I’m looking forward to the final scene, where the parade comes together. That’ll be great to watch.”
“You’re a sentimental softie, aren’t you?”
Hilliard winked at him. “Sure am, sweetheart.”
Something fluttered in Monty’s chest. He was relieved that Hilliard promptly turned away to put the pie in the oven.
Hilliard was an attractive guy, always had been.
Monty had harbored a crush on the man ever since they’d met.
He was pretty sure his friend knew it too, considering the gentle way he always turned him down.
He’d taken for granted that their easy way of getting along would carry them through this temporary roommate situation.
But for the first time, Monty wondered how he’d handle Hilliard’s natural charm while he was there.
For a man who never used magic to seduce people, Hilliard’s smile had a sweetness to it that rivaled the sugar he’d sprinkled over the pie crust. It made Monty weak in the knees every damn time.
He cleared his throat and shifted his weight. “I still think we ought to go do something before we get back to work. Soon we won’t have time for fun.”
“I’ll make us a meatloaf that’ll make you forget you ever wanted to leave the house.”
“You just going to bribe me with food for the next two months?”
“Whatever works. Besides, don’t you want to be at your best for our first day of filming?”
Monty grumbled at the reasoning. “Oh, all right.”
Hilliard didn’t say anything, but his smug smile proved he knew he’d won the battle.
* * *
Bright and early on Monday morning, Monty and Hilliard drove back to the studio, with their scripts in Monty’s hands and Henrietta perched on Monty’s lap.
“I’m surprised you bring her in on shooting days,” Monty remarked.
Hilliard chuckled and ruffled the terrier’s fluffy head. “She behaves herself better than most stars do.”
Hilliard found a shady parking spot and they walked to the costuming department.
Monty was unsurprised that he’d been given a costume from one of his previous films; it happened often.
It fit well enough and was nondescript enough to pass as a new outfit.
Seeing Hilliard in something bland was more startling, however.
“It’s weird to see you in shades of brown. You almost look ordinary.”
Hilliard smoothed down the taupe tie. “It’s the cross I must bear.”
The soundstage was filled with the usual flurry of activity that accompanied the first day of filming.
Monty loved the buzz of excitement and magic of a first day on set.
He stood for a moment at the entrance, taking it all in.
Then, Hilliard hooked his arm around Monty’s and walked into the building.
Everyone greeted Hilliard by name, like old friends rather than coworkers.
Hilliard responded in kind, handing out terms of endearment and compliments as if everyone he met was cherished.
Monty could barely keep people’s names right, let alone remember whose wife had a baby and whose kid was off to college.
He wondered how much of it was magic or just Hilliard being Hilliard.
Where did his magic end and his personality begin?
Before he could consider that weighty thought, they took a sharp turn around a table filled with coffee and donuts.
He glanced at his friend. “Why do I get the feeling you’re leading me in a particular direction right now?”
“It’s good manners to greet the director first thing.”
“What’s our director like?”
“She’s good.”
“I mean, is she nice? Is she tough?”
Hilliard shrugged. “She’s one of the best directors I’ve worked with. I’d rather you come to your own conclusions about her. But I’d advise against using your magic on her. She won’t like it.”
Monty bit back a groan at the thought of someone else disliking him because of his magic.
Hilliard led him all the way up to the filming crew, where a woman was arguing with a camera operator about the lens they were using.
From the sounds of it, she was winning the argument.
Hilliard waited until an agreement was reached and the woman turned to give them her full attention.
Monty sucked in a breath and tamped down the magic that threatened to rise at the sight of a beautiful person.
“Nora,” Hilliard said, pulling Monty forward. “I’d like you to meet your star, Montgomery Kincaid. Monty, this is Ms. Nora Chen.”
Monty stuck out his hand. “Pleasure, Ms. Chen.”
Nora Chen ignored his hand and gave him a shrewd once-over. She was a tall and lanky Chinese-American woman, wearing creased grey slacks, a cream-colored button-down shirt, and knitted vest. Her straight black hair was cut in a severe bob and her expression was somber.
“I have to look over everything before we start. Walk with me, Kincaid,” she said brusquely. She paused to give Hilliard a small smile. “Good to see you again, Mr. Burke. Thank you for the introduction.”
Hilliard gave him an encouraging nod and Monty joined his director, matching her long and hurried stride. It took everything in him not to use his magic in an attempt to win her over. Her solemnity intimidated him.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Kincaid.”
“Good things, I hope?” he said with a winning smile.
“Some good things, yes. You’re fairly prompt, fairly good at lines, get along with most people. I’ve also heard you’re a little wild, a little unpredictable, and in quite a bit of hot water with the studio.”
Monty cleared his throat. “I’m working on the last bit.”
“I’ve heard that, too.” She paused her speech to talk to a lighting tech. They exchanged words that were too technical for Monty to understand, or care to, and then she continued her circuit. “I’ve seen your pictures. You have talent.”
Monty preened a bit.
“But you spoil it with that magic of yours.”
“Excuse me?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “You drown out a lot of natural skill with your desire to be liked. I can imagine your magic comes in handy in specific situations, but you should save it for interviews and press tours. I don’t want to see your magic on my film unless I specifically ask for it. Is that understood?”
Monty gaped. “I’ve never had a director forbid me from using my magic before.”
“That says more about your directors than it does you, I’m afraid. I want the audience to see you, Kincaid. You could be great, you know, if you stopped depending on your charm.” Then, without waiting for him to respond, she led him onto the set and beckoned Hilliard to join them.
Monty had never been with someone who moved so quickly. In less than half an hour, Director Chen had walked them through the scene, talking about motivation and context, and then was seated in her director’s chair.
“Let’s do a rehearsal of it before we start shooting,” she said.
Monty looked at Hilliard, who gave him another encouraging smile. “You’ve got this, sugar,” he whispered, before taking his spot on the side of the stage.
Director Chen yelled, “Action!” and they swung into their roles.
The scene was an exciting one to perform, and perfectly fitting for Monty’s current mood.
His character, Sam O’Reilly, had been mistaken for the organizer of the town’s Christmas parade, and his friend, played by Hilliard, was trying to persuade him to act the part.
Sam’s temper was high, as was Monty’s anxiety.
His magic was desperate to claw its way out and ease the way ahead, and he was fighting to keep it on a tight leash.
This was no scene for his magic and, according to his director, it was no movie for his magic at all.
The frustration of his miscasting had risen all over again and he allowed it to pour forth in his acting.
It was almost a relief to allow the character to take over in such a way.
When Director Chen shouted “Cut! Print,” Monty’s relief swiftly ended. “What do you mean, ‘Print?’”
She slid off her chair and joined them on the set. “Exactly the kind of performance I like to see,” she said. “Raw and unfiltered. Let’s do another setup and run through it again.”
Monty looked at Hilliard in alarm. “Is she serious?” he asked in a hushed voice.
“She’s famous for this kind of thing,” Hilliard responded. “Her pictures always come in under budget and on time. I’m surprised you’d never heard about that.”
Monty sputtered.
Hilliard patted his shoulder. “Don’t get too worked up about it. She knows her stuff. One of my favorite directors, to be honest. You get used to the pace.”
As they prepared to shoot the scene again, Monty realized that his nerves hadn’t gone down from the moment he’d walked onto the soundstage.
He began to wonder if that was intentional while they shot two more setups.
By the time they broke for lunch, he was exhausted from restraining his magic, remembering his lines, and staying on top of his performance.
Working with Director Chen was tough. He never got to be off.
But when he joined Hilliard at the commissary, he had to admit that the exhaustion felt good in a way that performing never had before.