Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
MYLO
After I drop off my bag at the stunt team trailer, Bella leads me past the gravel lot and along the bundle of wires that will take us to the current filming location.
“The team’s currently working on one of our bigger rigs. Gabriel, my assistant stunt coordinator, is running things so I could come pick you up.”
“Me?” I can’t help but laugh, incredulous.
“Don’t be modest,” Bella says smoothly, and she means it. Stunt performers are to-the-point people. “You’re the linchpin. Without you, this film’s dead in the water.”
“No pressure.” My grin gives away how much I thrive on that pressure.
“Exactly.” Bella winks knowingly. “I’ll be giving you the crash course for the rest of the day, but I want you to meet the team first.”
My life will literally be in their hands, so I appreciate it. Trust is the most important currency in our industry.
Our path leads us around a low hill, and scattered rocks crunch underfoot.
“My agent said you’ve got a big rig already set up?” It’s one of the precious few facts I have, and my only chance at sounding proactive.
“Yep, crew finished it yesterday. So far the weather forecast is holding, so I convinced the director to push back that shoot to give you as much time as possible to prepare.”
“How long do I have?”
“Three days.” She glances over with a wry smile.
I offer an easy shrug. “No sweat.”
My heart thumps faster. Three days to prep for a major stunt—that I still don’t know anything about, by the way—is insane. Insane like jumping a hundred feet onto an airbag, or throwing yourself down stairs on purpose, or agreeing to be entirely lit on fire.
My kind of insane. I’m going to learn this stunt and I’m going to nail it; I have no doubt. I can’t have any doubt. That’s the fastest way to get fired—from this job or from life altogether.
Bella continues, “You’ll love the rig we’re shooting today. Not a blue screen in sight.”
“That’s refreshing.”
“Sure is. We won’t bug the director today, but you’ll get to see her in action. She’s committed to doing it old school. Alright, it’s just around here.”
I understand this as Bella queuing me to stay quiet. It’s a testament to Bella’s reputation and how much they’re prioritizing getting me up to speed that we’re even approaching filming at all.
Bella leads me around the final bend, revealing the familiar topography of a film set.
In a clearing at the base of the hill, aluminum scaffolding holds a complex array of cameras and lighting, ready to capture the action.
So many pieces of specialized equipment whose main job is to make you forget it was ever there. Not unlike a stunt double.
I follow Bella until we’re a few paces off the director’s shoulder. I clock her feminine frame and a messy bun of black hair, but Bella’s pointed finger and whisper draw my attention to the scene itself.
“That’s Haley. She’s really stepped up to do some of these stunts herself. Definitely a team player. She’s getting comfortable with basic wire work, but she’ll be very glad you’re here.”
In the center of the clearing stands a woman who could be my doppelganger, except for the slope of her chest. Our height, build, and olive undertones are nearly identical.
She wears a skin-tight green bodysuit styled with armor panels, and her long, dark hair is painstakingly arranged to look windswept and messy.
Everything about the character reads as sleek, futuristic ninja type.
Now I’m sure I’m dreaming.
Since I can remember, I’ve been obsessed with the archetype.
Sheik was my inspiration to start learning martial arts.
I dressed up as Samus—in her zero suit form—an embarrassing number of Halloweens in a row.
Then there’s the summer I made my parents buy every Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles comic featuring Karai, or the shit I happily took for always picking Chun-Li in Street Fighter…
(My friends were just salty they kept losing.)
There’s literally no type of character I’d be more excited to play.
My pulse kicks up another notch.
Stunt crew members in sweats and t-shirts stand behind Haley and double-check the harness under her costume, preparing for a ratchet pull.
Crash and smash work like this requires less skill than fighting.
For simple wire work, the hardest part is probably putting up with the discomfort of the harness, especially once it starts yanking you around.
Still, I’ll need to keep a close eye on Haley to see if there are any mannerisms she’s carrying through that I’ll need to pick up on.
The stunt crew steps back and offers a thumbs-up to the assistant director, an attractive beta man. With his sharp jaw, dark waves, deep tan, and fashionably low v-neck, he’d look just as at-home in front of the camera as behind it.
Haley finds her mark, rolling her shoulders and readying her pose.
The assistant director reveals a hint of a Spanish accent as he calls, “Quiet on set!”
My gaze stays glued to Haley as the familiar sequence of call-and-response unfolds:
“Stunt team ready?”
“Ready.”
“Roll sound.”
“Sound is rolling.”
“Roll camera.”
“Camera one rolling.”
“Camera two rolling.”
“Camera three rolling.”
“Marker.”
In my periphery, a production assistant holds a clapboard in front of the camera. “Scene thirty-three, camera A, take five. Mark.” The striped arm on the clapboard clicks shut.
A static hush hangs in the air: a moment of anticipation like teetering on the edge of a cliff.
“Three, two, one… action!” The director’s command rings out, setting the scene in motion.
It’s the whirring of a decelerator that brings my eyes up, up, up a scaffold whose height I’d missed before. Hurtling downwards from thirty feet is a blur of motion and a billowing red cape.
There’s a catch as the decelerator engages and the cable slows the broad figure in the last part of their fall. They land kneeling, and their fist connects with the dusty ground. At that exact moment, controlled explosions send dirt and sand spraying into the air, radiating from the impact.
As the explosions pass Haley, the wire yanks her backward out of the shot and onto a thick foam pad.
In the hanging cloud of dust, carefully positioned strobe lights flash with electric anticipation.
The breeze rushes past me, carrying with it the concentrated essence of the ocean: salty and crisp, with undertones of seaweed and driftwood. But the wind is coming from inland.
Silhouetted by the flickering lights, the figure rises, shoulders rolling back in heroic defiance.
Every breath stills as the dust slowly settles. The camera slides closer, and a wind machine starts, sending that brilliant red cape swaying.
Piercing blue eyes emerge from the cloud.
Christine Evansworth as Electra raises her spear, and her clear voice rings across the set.
“This. Ends. Now.”
It must be a trick of the light, but it feels like those impossibly blue eyes are centered directly on me.
I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
“Cut!”
The sharp call startles me, breaking the spell.
The director continues, “Great work, everyone; that’s the money shot. Christine, have I told you that I love you?”
The star flashes a too-white grin and laughs as stunt crew step over to unhook her harness.
“Every day,” she replies.
As the director goes to review the footage, the set comes alive again. Haley pushes to her feet, dusting off as more stunt crew move forward to help reset the rig.
Bella’s elbow bumps my arm. “Incredible, right?”
All I can do is nod.
Just my luck, just my fucking luck, that the opportunity I’ve been waiting for my entire life—a potential shot at a long-term contract with a major star, a recurring role in a well-funded franchise, the kind of opportunity my peers would kill for—requires working alongside the alpha I loathe the most.
Motherfucker.
I plaster a big smile across my face. It’s convincing. I’m an actor, after all.
“Really incredible,” I say to Bella. “You teach her how to do that?”
Bella winks. “You know she learned from the best. She’s a natural, though; you’ll love her.”
Categorically impossible, I think. “I’m sure,” I say.
That smell of sea-spray—Christine’s alpha scent—clings to the inside of my nose, the hint of seaweed turning sour and rotten.
I think I might vomit.
But I can’t look away from her. It’s prey instinct, I’m sure. Keeping eyes on the biggest threat.
My cheeks warm as rage seethes through me. How the fuck am I going to make this work?
Bella chuckles beside me. “Star struck? I was too. A couple rehearsals and you’ll lose the jitters.”
Oh goddammit. I finally pry my gaze away from Christine, and the best I can offer Bella is a half-smile, half-grimace.
Luckily, there’s a distraction headed my way: Haley has spotted us, and now that the crew has unhooked her harness, she scurries over.
“You’re my new stunt double, then?” she asks with bright eyes and a light British accent.
“AKA my rescuer?” She tugs at the edge of the harness just visible through her skin-tight costume.
It’s a corset harness, then—particularly uncomfortable, even as harnesses go.
“Sorry in advance if the director decides to re-shoot when they see you in action.”
Bella offers a warm smile. “You did great out there.”
Haley bites her lip. “Really? Ugh, I feel like I just flailed at the end of the line for a second. And not even on purpose. I’m going to have nightmares of randomly being yeeted into the air.”
Bella clamps a hand over Haley’s shoulder. “Really. You did great. I don’t think we’ll need reshoots.”
Relief and genuine warmth spread across Haley’s face. The tension in my shoulders starts to release.
Bella turns to me. “What do you think, Mylo?”
I offer a smile. “I agree. It looked fantastic to me. Flailing at the end of a line is basically all we do, anyway.”
Haley giggles and waves her hand. “Oh, stop it. You don’t have to make me feel better. You’re like, actually a professional. I’m just…” A blush rises to her cheeks. “Well, this is my first real movie.”