Comedy of Erinn, page 13
And speaking of irresponsibility and recklessness, they don’t have to hear about anything else.
Erinn, who prided herself on always having a quote available, could only manage: What happens in Valley Forge stays in Valley Forge.
Her cell phone, plugged into its battery charger for the last two hours, sounded. She picked it up and saw that it was Massimo. Waves of guilt flooded her. She closed her eyes. After her night with Jude, was she ready to talk to Massimo, of all people? Not that she was romantically involved with Massimo, but still.
“Pronto,” Erinn said into the phone.
“Ah! Erinn! I am lonely. I think about you during the last night.”
Erinn winced. She couldn’t very well say she’d been thinking of him during the last night.
“That’s nice,” she said. “How is Caro?”
“Caro is bellisimo. But he, too, is lonely.”
“I’m sure Caro is more than happy with you as a companion.”
“Sì. I move into the house to keep him company.”
Erinn took the cell from her ear and looked at it as if the phone were going to translate this incomprehensible statement. Perhaps it was his interesting take on English that was the problem. Perhaps he was asking if he could move into the house rather than stating that he had moved into her house. When clarity was not forthcoming, she spoke again.
“What was that?”
“The cat, he is so alone. I am so alone. So, I move into the house. Now. We are not so lonely as before.”
“Oh . . . I see.”
“This is good?”
“I . . . well, I have to admit, I’m a bit taken aback.”
“Che cosa? I do not understand. You have . . . how do you say . . . you have doubt?”
“Well . . . perhaps a little.”
There was silence. Erinn felt herself panicking. She did not want to offend Massimo, who, after all, was only thinking of her cat.
“Oh, what difference does it make?” she said. “Doubt is uncomfortable but certainty is ridiculous,” Erinn said.
“Ah! Voltaire!” Massimo said.
Erinn smiled.
“I have no doubts,” she said. “By the way, have you gotten your head shots yet? You won’t get anywhere without head shots.”
“I have had no time,” Massimo said. “The restaurant, she is very busy. And new head shots, they are very expensive, no?”
“Yes, they are. But I’m sure there are students around who would photograph you for less,” Erinn tried to speak simply. “Maybe you could find somebody inexpensive on craigslist.
“What is it . . . this craigslist?”
Erinn smiled again. You had to love a man who knew Voltaire but not craigslist. He was a treasure. And she was keeping him—if long distance. The phone clicked in her ear—it was that infernal “call waiting” contrivance. She looked at it . . . her sister was calling.“I have to go,” Erinn said into the phone. “Have fun with the cat.”
Erinn pushed the Call button on her phone. She could hear her sister screeching into the earpiece immediately.
“That . . . that . . . Italian . . . is sleeping in your house!”
“I know,” Erinn said.
“You know?”
“Well, of course I know! Do you think Massimo would just move into my house without my OK?”
Erinn settled back on the bed. She loved getting the better of her sister, even if it meant stretching the truth—or out-and-out lying.
“I tried calling you last night. Did you check your messages? I must have called a thousand times.”
“Three times, Suzanna. You called three times.”
“Well, why didn’t you call me back?”
“I . . . I’ve been really busy getting ready for the shoot. I haven’t had a minute,” Erinn said, reddening.
The truth was, Erinn was undecided as to whether or not she should confess her indiscretion with Jude. As much as Suzanna annoyed her, she was Erinn’s sister and the person in whom Erinn confided in those rare moments when Erinn was in a confidential frame of mind. When they were younger, Suzanna had been the one running to Erinn, her big sister, with breathy confessions of infatuations and dreams of the future. It had been years since Erinn had anything personal she wanted to share with her sister—confessions now felt indulgent and weak—but part of her wanted to shock her sister, part of her wanted to brag “I’m still in the game.” But now that Suzanna was ranting about Massimo, the urge to tell her had waned.
“Is everything going OK?” Suzanna asked.
“Yes!” Erinn said, perhaps a bit emphatically. “Do you remember Lamont Langley? He was sort of in my circle way back when?”
“ ‘Back in the day,’ Erinn. Nobody says ‘way back when’ anymore. You’re on a shoot with people half your age. You need to keep up!”
“Fine. Do you remember Lamont Langley, who used to be in my circle back in the day? He’s going to play George Washington in BATTLEready!”
“Oh? Is he still alive? He must be a million.”
“Why does everyone keep harping on Lamont’s age? He’s not even fifty!”
“Well, fifty is the new million. Say hi from me. OK, now that I know you’re not dead or fired, I gotta go.”
“You’ve got to relax,” Erinn said. “All this stressing about me isn’t good for the baby.”
“ ‘Stressing about me,’ ” Suzanna said. “Good choice of words! Very up-to-the-minute, Erinn.”
Erinn couldn’t help smiling as she hung up. She leaned back against the headboard. Her laptop was sitting on the bed beside her and she pulled up her e-mail. She clicked on a recent message from Carlos, asking if she wanted to have dinner with “the boys” before the big shoot at the Betsy Ross House tomorrow. Erinn wavered. On one hand, she didn’t want to see Jude or the other producers. On the other hand, she would have to face them all sooner or later, and if she went, she might be able to do some damage control if Jude started blabbing—a word Erinn did not use lightly. If she didn’t go, Jude would think she was hiding. Just the thought of him smirking at her while she stayed in her room made her furious. She’d show him. She’d go! She dashed off a quick note saying she’d meet them in the lobby in half an hour.
Erinn pulled on a pair of black wool slacks and a red sweater. She brushed her hair and put on the lipstick that Suzanna had bought her. She picked up her purse and headed for the door, but turned around. She wanted to make absolutely sure that the camera and batteries were all charging. She unplugged them all and re-plugged them one at a time securely into the various chargers. She picked up her camera and regarded it thoughtfully. She was still uneasy about any possible damage sustained from a night on the frozen earth. She powered up the camera and rewound the tape. She watched the viewfinder and saw only the white glare of snow whipping past the lens. Sound was suddenly audible on the tape. Jude’s voice could be heard saying, “. . . making sure the camera microphone is on. I want witnesses for how annoying you are. . . .” Erinn tried not to smile. As a woman, she was mortified by the events that had transpired, but as a writer . . . well, who would have guessed? Not she, and she was a damn good writer! Deus ex machina, indeed.
The video froze on the screen. Erinn looked at the viewfinder. The camera made a whining sound that squeezed Erinn’s heart.
This is where the camera froze.
The whining sound continued.
Something IS wrong with the camera!
Erinn sat down at the desk, glued to the viewfinder. The screen was dark, but there was still sound—muffled, but audible. Then, there were some murky visuals. The cabin ceiling came into frame, then the wall, then the fireplace. Erinn squinted, trying to determine what she was seeing. She caught her breath as she realized what the camera had captured. While they were in the cabin, and the camera was under Erinn’s coat, the camera had unfrozen and started shooting again. She was looking at what it had recorded when Jude lifted it out of her coat and set it on the floor. Mercifully, the camera was pointed at the fire, not at the bed . . . not at the hay. But the audio . . .
The sound was faint, and Erinn turned up the volume as loud as it would go. She could just determine the sounds of lovemaking coming from across the room. She sat mesmerized and mortified as she listened.
Erinn practically jumped out the window when the phone rang. She took a few settling breaths and answered it. It was Gilroi. They were in the lobby waiting for her. Erinn stammered an apology, and, losing her nerve, made excuses for the evening.
She couldn’t face Jude right now.
She hung up the phone and put her finger on the Erase button, but stopped herself. She hit Rewind instead—and listened a second time. If the camera had been able to talk, Erinn would have asked it: Could that enthusiastic woman possibly have been me?
She sat, staring at the camera as if it were capable of providing some answers.
Snapping back to reality, and realizing that her camera might have sustained some serious damage, she took out the tape and replaced it with a new one. She hit the Rewind button, then the Forward button. She concentrated on the mechanics at hand—not on her romantic interlude. The camera seemed to be fine.
That’s the only thing that’s important.
Erinn spent a fitful night. She got out of bed a dozen times and paced the floor. She looked at the clock and watched the minutes tick by—or, more precisely, click by. There was no analog clock for miles, it seemed. Even this hotel, dedicated to its historic, colonial feel, had digital clocks in its rooms.
Erinn was not looking forward to seeing Jude, but there was a part of her that just wanted to get that scenario out of the way. Had she taken the coward’s way out by not having dinner with the team? Was it going to be more awkward now, not less? She both anticipated and dreaded the morning light, which was now climbing murkily into her room—eastern exposure be damned.
Fortunately, the crew had an early call. They were to meet in the lobby at six a.m. sharp and be at the Betsy Ross House, ready to shoot, by seven. Erinn gathered her camera, lights, notebooks, phone, coat, and her wits and braced herself for the morning.
She picked up her notebook and opened it to double-check everything. It was filled with permits, timetables, and notes about the shoot. They would meet Lamont Langley and several other actors at the Betsy Ross House, along with a makeup-and-wardrobe person. If Erinn could stay focused on her work, she might be able to get through the initial awkwardness with Jude.When Cary had been assigning which producer would be in charge of which scenes, the segment of BATTLEready! that featured Betsy Ross was pretty much up for grabs. At first, Cary was inclined to assign the segment to Carlos, since the flag was featured so prominently in the Emanuel Leutze painting. Cary planned on using the painting—imprecise as it was—as the springboard for the “Washington Crosses the Delaware” show. Erinn remembered looking with astonishment at Cary. Hadn’t Erinn pointed out the immense inaccuracies of the painting?
“People relate to the painting, Erinn,” Cary had said. “That’s the important thing. Who cares if it’s accurate?”
“Who cares if history is accurate?”
Erinn felt it was her mission to set Cary straight. She pointed out that aside from the immense incorrectness she had already told them about, the flag that was featured in the painting was also wrong. Yes, it featured Betsy Ross’s “stars and stripes” flag, but the reality was, while the flag was designed in May or June of 1776, it wasn’t used until the Second Continental Congress flew it for the first time in September 1777. Washington crossed the Delaware on Christmas 1776—a full eight months before.
“OK, Erinn,” Cary had said. “Was the flag in use by the time Washington was at Valley Forge?”
Erinn’s heart started to beat a little faster. She had done her research and here was a perfect opportunity to show her stuff.
“Yes . . . Washington was in Valley Forge the following winter!”
“Fine,” Cary said, typing something into her computer and shutting it down. “Then you can be the producer in charge of the Betsy Ross shoot.”
With that, Cary had left the room. Erinn could feel herself glowing. Maybe she was going to be good at this job after all. She looked at the Revolutionary War timeline she had on her own computer. Technically, the flag would have been available to the soldiers at the Battle of Brandywine, which would mean Gilroi should be running the Betsy Ross episode. She was disappointed, but realized she should give the shoot to Gilroi. She looked around the building to find him. She would let him know that she didn’t mean to usurp the Betsy Ross shoot and she would gladly hand it over. She didn’t want any professional jealousy on the road. Been there, done that, she thought.
Erinn had run into Carlos and Gilroi at the bottom of the stairs. Carlos high-fived her.
“Dude,” he said. “Thanks for taking the Betsy Ross shoot. I owe you one!”
Erinn was confused. She decided to ignore Carlos.
“Gilroi, the Betsy Ross shoot is yours, if you want it.”
Gilroi looked at her, a small, sweet smile on his face. Then he burst into braying laughter. Carlos joined him. Doubled over, the two men—boys, as she now thought of them—headed off to parts unknown . . . without her . . . gasping for breath.
Well, at least I get to keep Betsy Ross.
Erinn continued to flip through the notebook. She was happy she had done all the extra research on Betsy Ross. It had always given her confidence to know all the facts . . . she felt it gave her an edge. She stared down at the pages. Although she knew the facts by heart, she read through them again. Betsy Ross was born Elizabeth Griscom into a Quaker household in Philadelphia on January 1, 1752. She was the eighth of seventeen children. When she finished her schooling, her father secured her an apprenticeship with an upholsterer. At this job, she fell in love with fellow apprentice John Ross, who was an Episcopalian. They eloped. The interdenominational marriage caused a split from Betsy’s family and meant her expulsion from the Quaker congregation. The young couple soon started their own upholstery business and possibly had two children—although Erinn found some historical dispute about that.
Erinn’s research revealed that Betsy Ross might or might not have actually made the first flag and probably didn’t make it in the house in which they were about to shoot. Moreover, Betsy might or might not have ever lived in “the Betsy Ross House,” although it was one of the most visited historic places in the city. She closed the notebook and gathered her gear. She lumbered, laden with equipment, toward the stairs. She told herself that she should not clutter up her mind with regrets and humiliation. She had to be on top of her game today. This would be her first day of being in control of a shoot, and she had a lot to prove.
CHAPTER 15
Gilroi and Carlos were already in the lobby when Erinn made her ungainly entrance. She did her best to make her trip down the stairs look easy—as if shouldering a load of equipment that would have felled a football team was the most natural thing in the world. Gilroi leaped up when he saw her and grabbed a bag.
“Let me help you with that,” he said.
Erinn just nodded. She wasn’t sure if she could speak. Her lungs felt as if they were about to burst. In days gone by (back in the day, she reminded herself), she would have insisted on carrying everything herself. Clearly, Carlos was trained by an old-time feminist, as he sat, trying to feign casualness. But today, she was grateful to the Gilrois of the world, who insisted that men were stronger than women and, therefore, should carry heavy things. Erinn knew that Massimo certainly had that old-world gentility and would have carried all her gear if she’d let him. I wonder what Jude would do? she thought.
Caring what Jude would or would not do in a given situation was not a good sign. She had to stop thinking about him!
Erinn dropped her gear and collapsed on the sofa with the other two producers. Sturdy blue boxes were piled high around them, since no good producer would ever let even a box of tape out of his or her sight. It was as if they’d built a little fortress in the middle of the well-appointed lobby.
Erinn looked at her watch.
“Jude will be here any minute,” Carlos said, apparently reading her thoughts. “He’s at the gym down the street. He always works out before we start shooting.”
Erinn thought about her morning, filled with details and lists and strategies. She silently begrudged Jude his leisurely morning at the gym. Not that she would have gone to a gym if she’d had a leisurely morning at her disposal, but that wasn’t the point.
“Jude will show up and say ‘Ready when you are,’ like we’ve been keeping him waiting. Happens every time,” Carlos said, shrugging his shoulders.
Erinn was surprised that neither Gilroi nor Carlos seemed to have any problem with this.
At that moment, Jude burst through the front door, sweating copiously and wearing a ripped T-shirt, threadbare sweatpants, and orange Nikes.
“OK, guys, ready when you are,” he said. “Let’s bounce.”
“You can’t go to the Betsy Ross House like that!” Erinn said.
Jude looked down at himself as if he’d just noticed he had a body.
“Like what?” he asked, sweat dripping into his eyes.
“You’re disgusting.”
“Disgusting is in the eyes of the beholder.”
“You are part of a production company with a stellar reputation. Do you really think they’d appreciate you showing up as their representative in your workout clothes?”
“Do you think a production company whose slogan is ‘Go APE’ gives a shit?”
“Look, we don’t really have time to argue. We’ve got to go,” Gilroi said, putting his arm around Erinn. “Don’t worry, he’ll dry.”
“OK, let’s do it,” Jude said. “I’ve already asked the parking guy to call a couple cabs.”
“Cabs?” Erinn asked. “Oh my gosh, I forgot to follow up with Hertz about the accident.”
