“See you then,” he says, and steps off the porch to climb into his truck. I go back inside and upstairs, keeping that stupid smile on my face.
In my room, I sit on my bed and type up all the production notes. My heart keeps pounding, not listening to any of the good common sense I’m laying down for it. You had fun, heart! And so did other parts of our body. A lot of fun, yes, but you can’t expect fun all the time. Sometimes you need to balance it out with work, and a vibrator.
But as I type and plan until the sky is dark outside and I’m bleary-eyed, I know I’ve still got Flint McKay on the brain. My mind is like a steel trap, and so’s my body. Once I learn something, I don’t unlearn it. And now that I know how good Flint is, how skilled, how hard and focused he can be when he’s at work…
I was never smart about playing dumb.
14
The wind’s blowing something fierce when I arrive at the construction site. But man, what a day to shoot. The sky’s a crystal blue dotted with fluffy white clouds, and the trees below the hilltop are still a soft blanket of golden and red leaves. My hair and my striped scarf whip around playfully in the breeze. The crew is talking to Flint and his workers, and they’re setting up shots, testing the light. Here I am, the mighty producer. What can I tackle today?
“Hey, are the honey wagons arriving soon?” a sweaty, balding guy carting cables asks as he walks past me. He winces. “I need a Port o Potty so bad.”
Glamorous!
As I head down the hill to wave the toilet-laden truck to the rest area, another, more familiar car shows up behind it. It parks, and a bright-eyed, chestnut-haired ray of sunshine pokes her head out the door. Ah, Callie Winston. My savior. Flint’s sister bounds up the hill toward me, grinning and waving. She also holds up a large Ziploc bag.
“Muffins!” she calls. “Blueberry and chocolate chip! Just baked this morning!”
Instantly, a flock of under-paid cameramen, PAs, and interns are pecking around Callie, like a gaggle of hungry geese wearing North Face. As she feeds my little Hollywood flock, I head over. She grins and puts an arm around my shoulder.
“Here she is. My favorite producer working with my favorite brother.” We head up the hill together. “Granted, he’s my only brother. But hey, you’re my only producer.”
“Where are the twins?” I ask, looking back at the car. Callie’s two year olds are the cutest, most demanding creatures on the planet, and I’m surprised they’re not tucked into their car seats shrieking and flailing and making precious little messes. Callie fluffs her hair and laughs that tired mom laugh.
“They’re staying with David’s mom for the day. Isn’t it incredible? Eight whole hours!” She sounds like such a thing has never been heard of before, like she’s discovered the Shangri La of free time.
“And you wanted to watch filming? I’m not sure that’s a good use of your precious liberty.” I laugh, but I’m a little confused, and a little anxious. There’s really nothing for her to do here, other than watch Flint measure stuff and curse on camera.
“Maybe I could help out? Catering? Chauffeur? Masseuse for attractive key grips?” She watches the hustle of everyone setting up the first shot and I see a longing in her expression that I’ve never witnessed before. Maybe staying at home with two small children all day long is getting to her. And maybe she won’t be so bored after all. I smile.
“Why don’t you bring any remaining muffins over to Imran at the craft table, and help yourself to some coffee? We can start there,” I say. She wraps me in a lady bear hug.
“Remind me to get you married to Flint so we can do this all the time,” she says, and bustles away. Meanwhile, I stand there frozen in shock and horror. I know the whole me marrying Flint thing was a joke, but part of me panics. Does she know what she’s saying? Did Flint tell her? Is it obvious? Or does she have no idea?
“Hey!” Jerri yells, walking over to me and clapping her hands together. “Are we getting started on this or what?”
Right. Put away your crazed libido, Laurel. It’s magic time. I head over to where Jerri and Raj are bookending Flint. He’s standing over a table, a blueprint spread on top. Holding it in place to keep the wind from snatching it away, he studies it intently.
“So you want me to make construction sexy.” He looks at Jerri like he can’t believe the words that are coming out of his mouth. Raj groans, very dramatic, and throws up his hands.
“It’s all about your personality. Look at the camera like you want to take it on a wild night on the town and then screw it in the back of your truck. Make the women of America melt,” Raj says, gesticulating wildly. Is he humping the air?
“I am not going to fuck the camera,” Flint says, in a voice of such righteous indignation I have to force myself not to snort.