might reveal. It was a gesture both respectfully sweet and utterly charming.
From a man who claimed to be a descendant of the notorious outlaw and murderer Kid Gallagher.
“Okay, everyone,” Alison said briskly to all three extras. “Wedding rings and watches—are they all off? Let’s see wrists and left hands.”
One of the men, Marty, had a pale stripe where his wedding band had been. “Make up!” Alison shouted, telling him, “Get that covered up. Come on, Marty, you should know better.”
“I didn’t think it would show,” Marty said as he turned to meet the makeup boy.
Alison looked at A.J., who had big hands with strong yet graceful fingers.
“No ring,” he told her. “Not married. Do you have any time to talk, maybe later?”
“Early this afternoon,” she said, as she stepped slightly back and scanned each of the three men, looking for anything out of place that continuity might’ve missed. “Catch me after the shot, I’ll check my schedule and find you some time.”
“Thanks,” A.J. said, wisely leaving it at that, which she appreciated, because—
“Hey, wait a minute,” she asked the third man, “are you actually
smoking?”
“Henry said it was okay to have a cigarette during this scene,” the raggedy-looking extra said a touch defensively.
“They didn’t have filter tips back in 1898. You would have rolled your own from a pouch of tobacco,” she told him. “Come on, put that thing out.”
“We’re only in the background,” the man protested. “No one’s gonna see me, let alone my cigarette’s filter.”
“And what if,” Alison said, “Henry Logan, in a burst of creativity, decides that instead of pulling the camera back, he’s going to zoom in for a close-up of your face? And what if it’s brilliant? What if it’s the shot that’s going to win him the Oscar? Do
you
want to be the one to tell him he can’t use that shot because you’re smoking a twenty-first-century cigarette with a filter?”
Sullenly, with an exasperated exhale and an eyeroll, the man stubbed out his cigarette.
“Thank you,” Alison said. She turned to find A.J. watching her, a smile softening the lines of his face. God, he was a good-looking man—and doubly so when he smiled.
He bent down and picked up the now cold cigarette butt.
“Better not leave that lying here,” he said with that slight twang of his western drawl. “What if Henry Logan decides to zoom in on my boots?”
Alison laughed. “Are you making fun of me?” she demanded.
His smile deepened, revealing a dimple in his cheek. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Because you know as well as I do that Logan is no more likely to zoom in to a close-up of Mr. Flynn here, than he is to zoom in to a close-up of my boots—as attractive as they are.” He admired his boots for a moment, then looked back at her. “Logan’s pulling back to get a wide-angle shot of the sunrise. From that camera angle, we’re going to be nothing more than shadows that move across the clearing to help the lady and kids back toward town. Matter of fact, I’m a double for an actor who’s got lines in the altercation scene—between Gallagher and the widow—that they’re going to be shooting tonight.”
“Huh,” she said. “I thought this was your first time on a movie set.”
“It is,” A.J. said. “But I’ve seen a lot of movies, plus I learn pretty fast.”
“Places in five minutes!” someone shouted.
“Better move behind the camera,” A.J. told Alison. “I’m no expert, but even I know they didn’t have outfits like the one you’re wearing back in 1898.”
The devil in her made her say, “Yeah, women definitely didn’t wear boots like these back then,” as she backed away.
He laughed, but there was a flash of heat in his eyes. He tipped his hat down across his face again, as if to hide it from her. But he couldn’t resist another look as she walked away, peeking out at her from under the wide brim.
She knew, because
From a man who claimed to be a descendant of the notorious outlaw and murderer Kid Gallagher.
“Okay, everyone,” Alison said briskly to all three extras. “Wedding rings and watches—are they all off? Let’s see wrists and left hands.”
One of the men, Marty, had a pale stripe where his wedding band had been. “Make up!” Alison shouted, telling him, “Get that covered up. Come on, Marty, you should know better.”
“I didn’t think it would show,” Marty said as he turned to meet the makeup boy.
Alison looked at A.J., who had big hands with strong yet graceful fingers.
“No ring,” he told her. “Not married. Do you have any time to talk, maybe later?”
“Early this afternoon,” she said, as she stepped slightly back and scanned each of the three men, looking for anything out of place that continuity might’ve missed. “Catch me after the shot, I’ll check my schedule and find you some time.”
“Thanks,” A.J. said, wisely leaving it at that, which she appreciated, because—
“Hey, wait a minute,” she asked the third man, “are you actually
smoking?”
“Henry said it was okay to have a cigarette during this scene,” the raggedy-looking extra said a touch defensively.
“They didn’t have filter tips back in 1898. You would have rolled your own from a pouch of tobacco,” she told him. “Come on, put that thing out.”
“We’re only in the background,” the man protested. “No one’s gonna see me, let alone my cigarette’s filter.”
“And what if,” Alison said, “Henry Logan, in a burst of creativity, decides that instead of pulling the camera back, he’s going to zoom in for a close-up of your face? And what if it’s brilliant? What if it’s the shot that’s going to win him the Oscar? Do
you
want to be the one to tell him he can’t use that shot because you’re smoking a twenty-first-century cigarette with a filter?”
Sullenly, with an exasperated exhale and an eyeroll, the man stubbed out his cigarette.
“Thank you,” Alison said. She turned to find A.J. watching her, a smile softening the lines of his face. God, he was a good-looking man—and doubly so when he smiled.
He bent down and picked up the now cold cigarette butt.
“Better not leave that lying here,” he said with that slight twang of his western drawl. “What if Henry Logan decides to zoom in on my boots?”
Alison laughed. “Are you making fun of me?” she demanded.
His smile deepened, revealing a dimple in his cheek. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Because you know as well as I do that Logan is no more likely to zoom in to a close-up of Mr. Flynn here, than he is to zoom in to a close-up of my boots—as attractive as they are.” He admired his boots for a moment, then looked back at her. “Logan’s pulling back to get a wide-angle shot of the sunrise. From that camera angle, we’re going to be nothing more than shadows that move across the clearing to help the lady and kids back toward town. Matter of fact, I’m a double for an actor who’s got lines in the altercation scene—between Gallagher and the widow—that they’re going to be shooting tonight.”
“Huh,” she said. “I thought this was your first time on a movie set.”
“It is,” A.J. said. “But I’ve seen a lot of movies, plus I learn pretty fast.”
“Places in five minutes!” someone shouted.
“Better move behind the camera,” A.J. told Alison. “I’m no expert, but even I know they didn’t have outfits like the one you’re wearing back in 1898.”
The devil in her made her say, “Yeah, women definitely didn’t wear boots like these back then,” as she backed away.
He laughed, but there was a flash of heat in his eyes. He tipped his hat down across his face again, as if to hide it from her. But he couldn’t resist another look as she walked away, peeking out at her from under the wide brim.
She knew, because
Similar Books
