why.” Tess thought about explaining
All the King’s Men
to Greer but knew she would be depressed if Greer’s only point of reference was Broderick Crawford. Or even worse, Sean Penn.
“But I thought the woman, the one who’s been running the crew, calling out some of the orders—”
“First AD. Assistant director, Nicole. She’s really good, and Stark’s smart enough to cede a lot of power to her. Smart or lazy — he doesn’t like to leave the video village if he can help it. At any rate, she’s pulling his bacon out of the fire on this ep.”
Something in the phrase, the bit about pulling Stark’s bacon, didn’t ring true to Tess. She didn’t doubt its veracity, having no basis to judge his performance. But she didn’t believe it was Greer’s unique opinion. Someone must have told her that, or Greer had overheard that scrap of phrase and decided to appropriate it.
“You need to watch from the village,” Greer said. “Where the director is.”
“Oh, I’m fine here,” Tess said.
“You may be fine, but Johnny’s not. You’re in his eye line, and he freaks out when there are strangers watching him.”
Tess decided not to point out that someone who freaked out when strangers were watching was a bad fit for the acting profession.
Greer led her to an encampment of director’s chairs, some of which did have names on their backs. Here was Flip, along with the tiniest adult woman that Tess had ever seen, her chair fitted with a wooden footrest higher than the others, so her legs didn’t swing free. The back of her chair identified her as Charlotte MacKenzie. So that was the bean counter who had cut her fee and reduced Lloyd to an intern. Ben wasn’t in his chair. He was several feet away, standing next to a cart piled high with food. Flip glanced up, caught Tess’s eye, greeted her with a curt, professional nod. Ah, she had segued into the category of “help,” alongside Greer. She no longer qualified for the thick charm Flip had piled on when trying to hire her. As long as his checks cleared, she didn’t give a damn.
“Here you go,” Greer said. “If you want to watch, you can take Ben’s chair and I’ll get you a headset.”
“Oh, I—” But Greer was off, catching a man by the sleeve and bringing Tess back what looked like a small battery pack with headphones.
“Just remember to give it back to me, okay? Don’t walk off with it, whatever you do.”
“I wouldn’t—”
“Do you want sides?”
“You mean like french fries?”
Greer gave an exaggerated sigh and thrust some pages into Tess’s hand — not a script, proper, but just a few pages, including the scene in question — then rushed away again, returning to her natural orbit at Flip’s elbow. She considered Tess a waste of time, and Greer clearly didn’t value people unless she felt they could do something for her. She wanted to be around those with power, and Flip was the power source here.
“Rolling… action…
fuck
.” The camera, a two-headed behemoth set on a wheeled cart, had snagged on its track. Workers rushed to it, not even waiting for instruction, already aware of what they had to do to fix the problem.
Ben wandered over to Tess, having snagged a handful of miniature candy bars, but waved Tess back into his seat when she tried to surrender it to him.
“Exciting, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” Tess said.
“I was being sarcastic. The most exciting thing on a movie set is craft services. The food,” he added helpfully, brandishing a Snickers. “Movie sets are lousy with free food.”
“Isn’t that hard on the actors?”
“Harder on those of us who have no incentive to maintain our boyish figures.” More sarcasm, she figured, as Ben still had the bean-pole skinniness of an adolescent who had grown six inches in the past year. Tess’s greyhound had more body fat. “Although some actors aren’t as disciplined, and it gets to be a problem.”
“Really?”
“Let’s just say that
All the King’s Men
to Greer but knew she would be depressed if Greer’s only point of reference was Broderick Crawford. Or even worse, Sean Penn.
“But I thought the woman, the one who’s been running the crew, calling out some of the orders—”
“First AD. Assistant director, Nicole. She’s really good, and Stark’s smart enough to cede a lot of power to her. Smart or lazy — he doesn’t like to leave the video village if he can help it. At any rate, she’s pulling his bacon out of the fire on this ep.”
Something in the phrase, the bit about pulling Stark’s bacon, didn’t ring true to Tess. She didn’t doubt its veracity, having no basis to judge his performance. But she didn’t believe it was Greer’s unique opinion. Someone must have told her that, or Greer had overheard that scrap of phrase and decided to appropriate it.
“You need to watch from the village,” Greer said. “Where the director is.”
“Oh, I’m fine here,” Tess said.
“You may be fine, but Johnny’s not. You’re in his eye line, and he freaks out when there are strangers watching him.”
Tess decided not to point out that someone who freaked out when strangers were watching was a bad fit for the acting profession.
Greer led her to an encampment of director’s chairs, some of which did have names on their backs. Here was Flip, along with the tiniest adult woman that Tess had ever seen, her chair fitted with a wooden footrest higher than the others, so her legs didn’t swing free. The back of her chair identified her as Charlotte MacKenzie. So that was the bean counter who had cut her fee and reduced Lloyd to an intern. Ben wasn’t in his chair. He was several feet away, standing next to a cart piled high with food. Flip glanced up, caught Tess’s eye, greeted her with a curt, professional nod. Ah, she had segued into the category of “help,” alongside Greer. She no longer qualified for the thick charm Flip had piled on when trying to hire her. As long as his checks cleared, she didn’t give a damn.
“Here you go,” Greer said. “If you want to watch, you can take Ben’s chair and I’ll get you a headset.”
“Oh, I—” But Greer was off, catching a man by the sleeve and bringing Tess back what looked like a small battery pack with headphones.
“Just remember to give it back to me, okay? Don’t walk off with it, whatever you do.”
“I wouldn’t—”
“Do you want sides?”
“You mean like french fries?”
Greer gave an exaggerated sigh and thrust some pages into Tess’s hand — not a script, proper, but just a few pages, including the scene in question — then rushed away again, returning to her natural orbit at Flip’s elbow. She considered Tess a waste of time, and Greer clearly didn’t value people unless she felt they could do something for her. She wanted to be around those with power, and Flip was the power source here.
“Rolling… action…
fuck
.” The camera, a two-headed behemoth set on a wheeled cart, had snagged on its track. Workers rushed to it, not even waiting for instruction, already aware of what they had to do to fix the problem.
Ben wandered over to Tess, having snagged a handful of miniature candy bars, but waved Tess back into his seat when she tried to surrender it to him.
“Exciting, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” Tess said.
“I was being sarcastic. The most exciting thing on a movie set is craft services. The food,” he added helpfully, brandishing a Snickers. “Movie sets are lousy with free food.”
“Isn’t that hard on the actors?”
“Harder on those of us who have no incentive to maintain our boyish figures.” More sarcasm, she figured, as Ben still had the bean-pole skinniness of an adolescent who had grown six inches in the past year. Tess’s greyhound had more body fat. “Although some actors aren’t as disciplined, and it gets to be a problem.”
“Really?”
“Let’s just say that
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