Chapter 9 Dave
“What am I going to do?” Chelsea wails and throws herself into my arms. “The sound person is sick.”
I look around the set. There are about seven people here volunteering and each of them looks busy with either the lights, the props, or the camera. I’m the only one without a role, basically here to run errands and help everyone else. And Kris is here, because of course he is. Evidently, he’s friends with the cinematographer, Jules. We said awkward hellos a few minutes ago. He seems extra smirky today.
“I don’t know the first thing about sound, Chelse. Is there anyone else you can spare?”
“You’re the only free person, and I was thinking of putting you on mic duty.”
“What does that mean?”
“You hold the boom with the mic on the end during the shots.”
“I guess I can manage that.”
I look at Kris, who’s chatting closely with Jules. They have an easy comradery that's nothing like the prickly tension between us. I know I’ll regret saying this next part, but I want to help Chelsea.
“Kris might be able to do it if Jules can spare him. He’s got experience producing music and live events. It’s kind of similar, right?”
“Not exactly, but it might work. I’ll ask him.” She rushes towards Jules and Kris before I can say anything else.
I can’t hear her words, but I can tell she’s explaining the situation to Kris because she’s pointing at me, then the mic, and then the portable sound recording machine. He’s nodding in that polite way he does for a small handful of people. When she leaves, Kris’s eyes lock on mine and he starts moving towards me. There’s nothing polite in his gaze.
“It looks like you’re mine for the day, boss,” he says, mischief dripping from every syllable.
“I’m what?” I scowl.
“Mine.”
“How’s that?”
“I’m in charge of the sound while the other guy’s out. And that includes making sure you hit your marks with the mic. Have you ever held a mic before?”
“No, but I’m sure it can’t be that hard.”
“It’s not complicated, but it’s very easy to fuck up. You’ve got to keep your hands steady and make sure it stays in place. Do you think you can manage that?”
He says it with an air of authority and double entendre that I like and resent in equal measure.
“Yes, of course I can.” “We’ll see.”
“Kris, I can hold a goddamned mic.”
“That’s good, because I don’t put up with slackers when I’m in charge.”
I splutter for a second before I can respond. What the hell is this attitude he’s pulling? Authority is fine, but this is…
“You’re fucking with me,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.
“What tipped you off?”
“You’re smirking harder than usual.”
“This is just my normal expression.”
“Whatever, Kris. We should probably practice. You’ve never done this either, have you?”
“No. But I’ve got transferable skills.”
“Fine. Whatever. Did Chelsea show you how to work this stuff?” I motion to the equipment.
“Yep. Let’s give it a try.”
Kris finally shuts up as we crouch down to look at the stuff. One case contains the recording machine, another contains a microphone and accessories. And then there’s the long boom pole, which is made of carbon fiber according to the tag.
Kris quickly figures out how the mic attaches and connects to the recording machine. Then he locates a tattered booklet in the bottom of the case.
“Why don’t you practice holding the boom while I read the manual?” Kris is serious now. It’s interesting to see this side of him, businesslike and competent. Sexy. “The field of the mic is over here.” He mimes an oval shape in front of the mic. “Make sure it’s always pointed at the actor’s mouth. But far enough away that it’s not in frame. Chelsea said we could practice more with the actors later.”
“Got it,” I say, but I still feel hazy. How will I know if the microphone’s in the shot?
“You should work on finding a comfortable position to hold the boom over your head, because you absolutely cannot move your hands once filming begins. And shut off your phone.” His eyes flick back to the manual.
“Alright.” I almost say “boss,” but I stop myself just in time.
I lift the boom over my head and check to see if Kris is watching. He’s not. Fine, I’ll focus on getting my technique right. The boom weighs hardly anything, so there’s no difficulty there. I move my hands around, trying to find the best grip. It’s super easy, so I’m wondering what the big deal is, but then I realize I have to stay still in position for an extended period of time. I guess that’s the challenge.
I lower the pole and shake my arms out. I glance over. Kris is fully engrossed in the sound recording machine. That’s fine. I’ll practice on my own, but would it kill him to show a little interest?
Whatever. I set the timer on my phone, reset my grip, and raise the boom again. Arms locked? Elbows bent? I move around trying to find the best position. Eventually I find a good one.
It’s too boring just standing here, so then I decide to pretend the camera is rolling. I point the mic between one imaginary actor and another, while making sure to keep my arms good and high.
“You’re moving your hands,” Kris calls from the floor. It startles me and I almost drop the boom.
“Oops, okay.”
“If you do that, you’ll ruin the recording.”
“Uh, yeah. Okay.” I tighten my grip and think about how I can move the boom by gliding my shoulders around and shifting my weight. It feels like some kind of martial art. “Better?” I ask him.
He grunts and looks back at his back at the machine. I guess that’s the extent of the praise I can expect from Kris. Still, it feels kind of weird to be hoping for his approval. Kris, the cafe fuck up, is my sensei here.
We practice for another thirty minutes, first independently, then with the mic hooked up to the recording device. I’m just barely getting comfortable when one of the crew guys yells “Places!” My stomach clenches. Something must show in my expression, because Kris taps my shoulder and says, “Don’t worry, boss, you’ll do fine.”