Suspect in High Heels, page 19
"Places!"
The actors moved to their spots, and Dana returned my smile as she stepped toward an ornate gilt-edged chair beside the castle walls. If she was nervous, it didn't show in the least. She looked like a consummate professional, despite the fact this was the biggest role of her career to date.
Which made me nervous for her. My everyday life wasn't quite Hollywood exciting. More like slightly organized chaos, consisting of twin preschoolers (Max and Livvie), one husband in law enforcement (read: always working odd hours), and my own line of women's shoes called High Heels Seduction (my love affair with heels having developed in high school when I'd stopped growing at a whopping 5' 1 3/4" tall. And, yes, the three-quarters were important to note.). While I loved all of the above, my days were generally filled with much more mundane stuff than Elves, Dragons, Sworfs, and Bobbits.
"Lord of the Throne, scene sixty-seven, take twelve. Mark!"
"Speed!"
"And…action!"
Dana sat outside her castle, a golden chalice in her hands as she eyed the Evil Prince Demoy chopping wood—shirtless, of course—in the courtyard. She radiated Elf Princess Pixnetta royalty in her sparkling emerald costume. Behind her loomed her costar, Alia Altor, wearing a long black wig, a tight black dress, black robes, and a sneer on her face. Clearly a villain in the scene.
"The threat is nearer than you know," Alia intoned solemnly. "See to it that you…"
She trailed off into silence.
The crew waited, motionless.
"That you…" Alia bit her lip, frowning. "Sorry, line?"
"Cut!"
There was a collective groan from the crew. The Evil Prince dropped his axe. The guy holding the boom microphone rolled his eyes.
"What do you mean, 'sorry, line'?" Jasper Frost leaped from his canvas chair, clutching a megaphone that he most definitely didn't need. The way he was yelling, he could have been heard in the next province over. Frost was short and stocky, his wiry hair alive with frizz, his eyes small and mean under bushy brows. He wasn't much to look at, but his cardio conditioning had to be top-notch, considering how many times he'd run onto the set from his perch behind the cameras.
Alia paled. "I'm sorry, Mr. Frost. I don't—"
He flapped a script at her. "What's the matter with you, Alia?" he barked. "You are supposed to be Modura, the Dragon Queen. Not Idiota the Feeble!"
The actress blinked back tears.
But Frost wasn't finished. "An actress knows her lines! I hired an actress, didn't I?"
She flinched. "I know my lines. I mean, I knew my lines last night at the hotel."
"Well, then, maybe we should've filmed the scene last night at the hotel," he snapped.
Someone coughed lightly. Much of the crew busied themselves with making minute adjustments to equipment, carefully looking anywhere else. Others fidgeted uncomfortably as they waited in silence for the tirade to end.
"I don't know what happened there," Alia said. "It won't happen again."
"Of course it won't!" He narrowed his eyes. "Don't think that what happened in LA will keep me from firing you here if you don't deliver!"
I wasn't sure what had happened in LA, but it was clear by the way Alia's eyes darkened that the two had a history beyond this embarrassing moment. "I'll do better," she muttered.
"Learn. Your. Lines." Frost's gaze swiveled to Dana. "And you. I could get more emotion out of that rock. This is a pivotal scene for Pixnetta. Try acting like something other than a department store mannequin, will you?"
Someone on the set gasped. Maybe it was me.
Dana maintained a neutral expression when she nodded her acknowledgment, but her shoulders were rigid, and her hand clenched around her chalice until her knuckles looked white. Clearly it took every ounce of self-control not to hurl it at Frost's head.
He jabbed his finger at a dark haired woman who'd been introduced to me earlier as his 1st AD, Assistant Director, Tarrin Walsh. "Didn't I ask you to get that fill light fixed? Is it too much to ask to have lighting that works?"
Tarrin had a face full of freckles, was a couple inches taller than Frost, a couple decades younger, and I'd seen her pop at least a handful of antacids since I'd arrived. She pushed her dark hair out of her eyes as she clapped her hands briskly. "Can we get the gaffer out here, please?"
"Does anyone on this set know how to do their job?" Frost ranted.
"I'm doing my job," Tarrin assured him quietly. Which Frost ignored.
A brawny sixtyish man with a full dark beard and a shaved head appeared. "Someone needs lighting?"
Frost looked over at him. "Hey, Grizzly Adams, I need that light fixed."
"His name is Paul," Tarrin told him.
"I don't care if his name is Thomas Edison," Frost said. "Can he fix the fill light or not?"
"I can fix the light," Paul said.
Tarrin showed him the light in question and managed to position herself as a shield between him and Frost while he did the job, apparently assuming Frost wouldn't berate someone he couldn't see. Of course, Paul was about seventy pounds heavier and nine inches wider than her, so Frost was able to glare at parts of him while he worked.
A few minutes later, fill light restored, Paul left the set without a backward glance, and Tarrin turned to the bored crew with a few more claps. "Okay, everyone, let's try this again."
"Yes," Frost said, throwing up his hands, "by all means, let's try again. We have unlimited time and budget here. I'd love to spend another year of my life in Moose Patty, Saskatchewan."
"Moose Haven," Tarrin corrected him. "And it's not that bad."
"If you're in love with flannel," Frost snapped. "Someone ought to fire the location scout. What, the Keebler Elf tree wasn't available? It would've been bigger than this Godforsaken place."
"That's enough, Frost." The words were spoken quietly by the steel-haired forty-something woman standing off to the side, but they had the effect of a whip. The set instantly fell silent. Even the birds in the forest stopped chirping.
Frost clamped his lips and stomped back to his chair without another word.
Impressive. Maybe the woman had been a drill sergeant in a former life. Or a kindergarten teacher. Though, she was dressed like a Fortune 500 CEO in a tailored navy pinstriped pantsuit, a white silk blouse, and a pair of navy heels that were spotless despite the dust swirling up from the ground around the rest of the crew. Once she'd exercised her superpower, she turned her back to us and spoke into her phone.
Tarrin clapped once again. "Here we go, everybody."
Dana picked up her chalice. The Evil Prince Demoy began chopping wood again. Alia arranged her features into Modura's former ominousness.
"Lord of the Throne, scene sixty-seven, take thirteen. Mark!"
"Speed!"
"And…action!"
Alia stretched out an imploring arm. "The threat is nearer than you—"
Three cottony white lambs padded serenely across the set and disappeared behind the faux castle wall.
There was utter silence for a moment. Then Frost grabbed his bullhorn and yelled, "If the animal trainer isn't out here in five seconds, dinner is served!" He thrust the bullhorn into Tarrin's hands, got up, and stormed off the set.
She put it down on his empty chair with a nearly imperceptible sigh. "Take five, everyone."
From somewhere off-set, I heard one of the lambs baaaahhh.
CHAPTER TWO
"Is it always like this?" I asked.
Dana laughed as she carefully gathered up her Elf Princess skirts and took a seat in the makeup chair on the sidelines beside me. "I can't speak for every movie set, but as far as Lord goes, this is pretty much the norm." She lifted her face as the makeup artist, who'd introduced herself to me as Ellie, quickly applied a sheen of powder across Dana's shiny regions. "But trust me," Dana continued, "it'll come together in the end. Frost's been doing this forever. Even if he does seem a little rough around the edges."
"Seems rough?" I asked, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind my ear as I surveyed my reflection in the large mirror rimmed in lights. I'd gone light on the eye makeup that morning around my hazelish green eyes, and I was happy to see it smudge-free now. I pulled out a tube of Raspberry Perfection lip gloss and reapplied.
"Okay, maybe he is a little rough around the edges." She grinned through a cloud of powder.
"I'm seriously surprised you can keep your cool around a guy like that," I told her.
The makeup artist's eyes flitted to me in the mirror before quickly moving away again. I had a feeling I was voicing the opinion of a few members of the crew, even if they valued their jobs too highly to chime in. I hoped I wasn't causing problems for Dana.
"It's a great role," Dana said, clearly unfazed. "And it's not as if he's singling me out. That's just his way."
"I don't remember the Dragon Queen from the books," I mused, thinking of the poor woman who'd been berated.
"No?" Dana asked. She shrugged. "I guess I didn't read them all. But she's got a big role. She's Pixnetta's mortal enemy." She laughed, wiggling her eyebrows up and down.
"Be still," Ellie admonished her.
"Sorry." Dana gave her a grin. "Anyway, this weekend will be fun." She turned toward me. "I've really been looking forward to spending some time together."
"Me, too." I returned her smile. Even if when we'd originally planned a weekend getaway, I'd had visions of Vegas or Cabo. Visions that had faded as filming had gone long and Dana hadn't been able to get away. Instead we were in Moose Haven, Saskatchewan, which was the next best thing to paradise. If you were a moose. Or a moose lover. Or a moose hunter. As I'd quickly learned in the few hours I'd been in town, if you were looking for a manicure, a massage, and possibly a couple cocktails, you were out of luck.
Before I'd left LA, I'd envisioned Moose Haven as a quaint village nestled in the Canadian Rockies with plenty of shopping and dining options—like a Canadian Aspen. In reality, the whole town consisted of a few square miles carved into dense forest at the edge of the prairie province and featured a small hotel named the Big Moose, a slightly bigger hotel, aptly named the Grande Moose, The Tipsy Moose Tavern, and a general store, the Moose Market. Oh, and the Hungry Moose Restaurant, which I'd been told opened only for breakfast and closed at noon because its owner also owned the tavern, which opened at noon.
It seemed the residents of Moose Haven had tiny imaginations to go along with their tiny town.
"I know there's not much to do here," Dana said, as if reading my mind.
Ellie let out a derisive little huff of agreement.
"But we can always go hiking and birdwatching, right?" Dana said.
We looked at each other and burst into laughter. The only hiking I'd ever done in my life was from one end of the Beverly Center to the other. Though, in three-inch heels, that had been a mighty workout!
"Okay, I get it," Dana said. "At least it's warm enough that we can lie by the pool and drink cocktails."
"Count me in," Ellie piped up finally. "I heard the tavern makes a great moose-tini."
"Moose-tini? Do I want to know?" I asked.
Ellie grinned. "Probably not. But, you know, when in Rome. Hold on—let me touch up your eyeliner," she said to Dana, pulling a pencil from her apron.
"Heard from Ricky lately?" I asked, switching gears as I watched.
Ricky Montgomery was Dana's newlywed husband and arguably the more household acting name of the pair. He'd been on the paparazzi's A-list for years, and since the two had wed in an impromptu ceremony last year, so had Dana. Ricky was currently off starring in a movie set in France. He'd clearly drawn the long straw when it came to geography.
"He calls every night," Dana said, getting that dreamy, newlywed look in her eyes. "He told me the filming's going great. And bonus, he gets to look out his hotel window at the Seine."
"Must be beautiful," I mused.
"It beats looking out at a dumpster."
"You've got a view of the dumpster?" Ellie asked. "I've got a view of a wall. A dirty one."
I laughed. "My room overlooks the parking lot."
"Frost's probably got the scenic view," Dana said. "Whatever that might be."
"A moose?" I guessed.
"I'd much rather the Seine." Her smile was a little sad, and I felt for her. She and Ricky had hardly had time for a honeymoon before the demands of their respective careers had them on different continents.
Since there was nothing I could do on that front, I tried to lighten the mood. "What's with the lambs, anyway?"
Dana laughed. "Aren't they cute? There's a whole bunch of them. They were supposed to be what the Elven Warlocks shape shift into, but we haven't shot any of those scenes yet. I wouldn't be surprised if Frost orders rewrites to get rid of them."
"By get rid of, you don't mean with mint jelly, do you?"
She smirked. "Don't let his temper fool you. Yes, Frost is demanding, but that's because this project is important to him. He's counting on a hit. After all, the Ravensberg books have a huge built-in audience already."
"Tell me about it." I patted my bag. "I'm part of that audience. I brought along my hardcover copy of the first book for an autograph. Just in case he shows up."
"Fat chance," Ellie said. "This is Frost's baby now. He won't let anyone else within a hot mile of it."
"Lord of the Throne is his comeback vehicle," Dana said. "As we've heard ad nauseam."
I shrugged. "Comeback? I wasn't aware he'd left."
Dana waited while the makeup artist touched up her lipstick, then blotted her lips before answering. "Well, honestly he hasn't had any real hits since the early 2000s. You remember the Fast and Dangerous franchise?"
I scrunched up my nose. "You mean those testosterone festivals full of sports cars, explosions, and tough guy one-liners?" I'd been forced to watch one with my husband.
She nodded. "Fatal Ferrari was the last one. It was also the last time Frost had a seven figure box office weekend, too. That was 2002."
"But don't let him hear you say that," Ellie warned as she packed her brushes and powder back into a little metal case. "At least not if you want to make it off set alive."
We all chuckled, but I had a feeling she was only half joking.
The 1st AD, Tarrin, reappeared on set with her signature hand clap again. "Break time's over! Let's go, people. We've got a scene to film!"
"Back to the salt mines," I told her, grinning.
She returned it. "At least it beats flipping burgers." She paused. "Most days. When Frost isn't in a mood."
"This is him not in a mood?" I asked.
Dana laughed. "Don't worry, you won't be in the line of fire. Just find an out-of-the-way place to stand, keep your head down, and you'll be fine."
I did exactly that, and for the next couple of hours, I watched a repeat of much the same scene. Actors saying a few lines, Frost yelling, "cut!" over one thing or another, shouting (from Frost), tears (from various cast and crew), cringing (mostly from me). I felt like I watched enough takes to memorize the lines myself.
Finally, just as my toes were beginning to go numb in my leather pumps and we were starting to lose the daylight to dim pink hues peeking through the tree line, Frost snatched up his megaphone and stood.
"Obviously I'm not going to get any Oscar worthy performances out of you people today. I hope you can do better tomorrow. That's a wrap." Shaking his head in disgust, he glowered at the Dragon Queen, Alia Altor, as he stalked into a small trailer marked Director.
Immediately the atmosphere seemed to lighten. I took my first deep breath since midafternoon as I shook out my arms and legs, which were stiff from standing as well as the cool chill seeping into the air as the sun set. My stomach growled softly, but I noticed the craft services snack table already being broken down.
Dana hurried over to me. "Free at last. Give me a few minutes to change, and we'll hit happy hour at the Tipsy Moose."
"Sounds good," I said. "Hopefully we can order some food, too. I'm kind of hungry."
She nodded. "I'll only be—"
Frost's voice washed over the quiet set like a tsunami. "I want to see Dashel in my trailer now!"
Dana glanced at the trailer door where the edict had been shouted from. "Sorry. He's probably got some notes for tomorrow's scene. I'll only be a minute or two, okay?"
Judging from his demeanor all afternoon, he probably had a firing squad lined up and waiting. But I just smiled. "No problem. The Tipsy Moose can wait a few more minutes."
While she hurried off to answer the director's summons, I wandered around the set, honestly still a little awed by how the production designers had managed to make my favorite scenes from the book come to life. Despite Frost's complaints about their location scout, the forest setting and the makeshift castle they'd built at the edge of it were exactly as I had pictured Pixnetta's realm. Of course, the small village of trailers housing the director, actors, and various crew hadn't been in the books, but the meadow beyond it where the movie's epic battle scenes would take place looked straight out of the novels.
The set dressers had done an incredible job reproducing every minute detail of the fantasy kingdom depicted in J.R. Ravensberg's books. The actual footprint was small, although with tricks of the camera it appeared larger on the monitors I'd snuck peeks at during filming. And while the look of the castle's stone walls had been achieved by skilled painters rather than stonemasons, they appeared every bit like the real thing. I ran my fingers lightly across the filigree on the Dragon Queen's silver throne, appreciating the workmanship. From the corner of my eye, I noticed the cache of gleaming medieval swords awaiting the property master's arrival to tuck them away for the night. I went over to them, admiring the jewel-encrusted handles.
