Chapter 1
"Busy Earnin"
Having signed a contract, agreeing to its terms and citing my involvement. A "yes" to the project, this one as well as past. Here I was, rooted in the unfamiliar yet familiar world that I so loved. The irony was if I'd just passed or said "no" my life would be entirely different. I feel I don't belong here and not surprisingly many would agree, but what do I do about it? Lay low? Play the game? No way am I going to fucking play that game. No, I move forward. Be who I want and with whom I want.
"And…action!"
I took off on a dead run, jumping over roots and ducking under branches in the pouring rain. The costume I wore was a bit heavy and slowed me down some, especially when I tried to hurdle a stump and the pettiskirt got caught between my legs. After getting over it, I skidded to a stop by way of slamming into a tree. "Ouch!" That was going to leave a bruise on my shoulder, but I refused to pay it any attention and risk breaking character so instead I whirled around and raised my sword in a defensive manner. Two seconds later I turned to my left and ducked into the cave, hitting my mark as intended. I breathed a sigh of relief when the A.D. yelled, "Cut!"
Who said working in the English countryside would be quaint and enduring? I stepped out of the sludge and muck, careful to not let my feet slip and risk sliding face first into it like the last time. No matter how many times someone says, "Don't actually make contact with it" or "Be careful" I seem to do the opposite and inevitably injure myself. Earlier it was my ankle. I tripped over a root hidden in a mud puddle and landed face first into it. I managed to get up without slipping a second time, but skidded a little and tweaked my back.
Angus walked towards me and reached for my hand. "Great work, Kat."
I brushed myself off, but there was no way to determine what was the new dirt and what was the intentional, rubbed-on grime essential to my current costume.
"Cool," I said, while making a point to not look up. I didn't want him to see that I was in pain for fear he'd call it a day and set us behind schedule. Angus took the hint and squeezed my shoulder as he turned back to the crew.
Head up, do not show weakness, you can finish the day, I thought, as I maneuvered through the unstable mountain side, back towards an offset break area. Fatigue had set in. I cleared my throat and rolled my neck side to side for a stretch. Only a few more hours to go. I could make it. The last thing I needed was to trip. I was already wet and chilled to the bone. Three weeks of shooting outside in the elements was beginning to show not just on the outside, but on the inside of my body as well. I pulled a hamstring, sprained my wrist, and was bruised on nearly every inch of skin I had. My muscles ached to the bone and I craved a deep tissue massage and a good night's sleep.
"I hope you plan on taking care of your very crusty nasty self today." Drew chided me. Cleanliness! It was a good thing I didn't mind being a little dirty because the level of grit and grime that covered my body was nothing compared to the ecosystem that lived under my fingernails. I'd spent the better part of my time mucking up my hands to appear rough and calloused enough to portray someone on the run. Dirt decorated my face and ground into my eyebrows. And my hair…my hair was thick with debris and caked mud that I wasn't allowed to wash off every day. My hair no longer had movement and flow. It was stuck to my head in pieces that sort of laid against my shoulders like it needed help being held up.
"Girl, you stink." He added with fire. And last, but not least, I smelled horrible, even to myself. I felt sorry for anyone downwind from me, unless that someone was Drew. It was good for him to get a whiff now and then of what real work smelled like.
Humor. I needed a little humor to lighten my mood. "Ha ha," I said and lunged at Drew, jokingly of course, but when he dramatically dodged back from me, I really sort of felt like getting him a little dirty. He made a point of looking fabulously pulled together, each and every day while I basically lived like a pig. Seriously an actual swine. It wasn't so much what he wore. I mean…basically he dressed like me wearing jeans and t-shirts, but he's been so anal about being clean. No matter how cold or wet it was, I could count on his hair looking perfect while he stayed warm and cozy in his NorthFace parka. And forget about dealing with the acre of sludge and muck the set was staged around. No, my Drew made a point of his weatherproof boots staying on the straw and carpeted paths like a Sol Cal diva.
Drew was my best friend and had been since we were practically babies. Not only did I trust him with my life, but recently my career too. When The Journey blew up and took over my life, Drew was there to not only help me pick up the pieces and relearn how to manage everything through a different set of eyes, but he also became my personal assistant and right hand man. I'm truly grateful for his overbearing ways, wicked sense of humor, and questionable fashion choices.
To do it or not to do it? I quickly reacted to a shift in Drew's posture and the daring look in his eye. He was mine for the taking. I picked up a handful of mud and reared back my hand, prepared to launch a mud bomb directly at his chest when his high pitched scream halted my attack.
Drew pulled out his phone. "Stop, you wench!" I raised an eyebrow at his method of stall tactic. I didn't care much that he'd lamely tried to stop me, just that he really felt he entitled to stay tidy.
"You might want to rethink hitting me with the vile pile of slop."
"Nope, I don't," I said, preparing to fling it at him.
"Well then, I won't tell you what Ryan just texted."
I was wrong about his lame tactic. He went straight for the jugular, knowing I was desperately missing my man. "Awe…come on dude," I whined. "You're no fun."
"Drop it."
"Fine," I said, releasing the stinky blob of mud. I hated that he got his way, but sooner or later this war would restart. I say the word war loosely. Really it would be a one-sided ambush in that his manicured hands would never touch this disgusting mud to retaliate. "Now tell me," I demanded.
"Ryan just texted that he landed and is en route to the flat," Drew said, sliding his cell back into his pocket. I had the next three days off and Ryan managed to coordinate his schedule to sync with mine for the next week, a near miracle given his inability to plan. He couldn't come at a better time. I needed Ryan to help me clear my head and regroup for the next few months on this shoot.
"Oh man, I can't wait to see him. I'm going freaking mad having a romantic relationship through Skype."
"Clearly, by your looks and…smell." He scrunched up his face and shuddered. "You should consider Skype a good thing."
What the hell. Without warning I bent down and wrenched my hands deep into the sludge grabbing as much as my fingers could hold and flung the steaming pile before he could properly react. He saw me, mind you, and had just barely executed two overly careful steps before it landed squarely on his right shoulder blade.
"Argh!" he sounded. "You seriously just did that?" Okay I was wrong. It didn't just land on his shoulder. The slop separated and split on impact. There was crap speckled on his face, in his dark wavy hair, and across the side of his black Ray-Bans. "This shit is going to make me STINK!"
"Good!" I giggled. I watched Drew shift and contemplate hitting me back, but he scrunched his face up instead.
"Don't think this is over" He shook a gloved finger.
I ignored his threat and redirected the conversation. "Hope you have plans for this weekend?"
Drew removed his mud splattered glasses and made an overly dramatic attempt at cleaning them off with the sleeve of his jacket. "Don't even think of kicking me out," he said, referring to the fact he's staying with me in the downstairs bedroom of my two bedroom townhome.
"Why would I do that? Hang around as much as you want, but remember this weekend is clothing optional for Ryan and me."
"Uck…did you have to add that vision to my head when I already endure smelling and looking at your filthy ass?" He huffed and headed toward the make-up trailer. Drew might be trying to fool me into thinking he was going in to get cleaned up, but I noticed him and one of the make-up artists getting friendly.
"I see you! Maybe I won't be the only one having a great weekend," I yelled hoping he heard me. I'm guessing he had, given his behind the back bird he flipped at me. I started walking back towards my trailer when, "Ouch…" I sounded. After that last take, my ankle really hurt. Great! Just great!
I showered in my trailer, careful not to slip. It was a good thing I had the next few days off. I could tell my ankle was starting to swell. I let the hot water wash over me before dumping a ton of Kerastase shampoo into my hair. It would take more than one washing to get the grey caked in mud out, but I couldn't let Ryan see how mangy I'd become. Besides, the heaviness and damp musty smell was getting to me too.
After a through cleansing, I changed into a dark pair of Seven's and a slightly holed white shirt. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I looked unbelievably tired. Inevitable, I guess, given the long hours we'd been putting in on the film. I quickly tried to brush my now long hair, but the black hair extensions were beginning to grow out a little and the ends knotted up making it harder to comb through the ends. I grasped the middle point of my hair and gently pulled the comb through before twisting it all back into a long pony tail. I dabbed a bit of tinted moisturizer on the bags that had formed under my eyes. I have dark eyes already, but their appearance made me look old and wrecked. Mascara next, then I smudged a hint of black eyeliner along my lids to bring out the green in my eyes and counteract the heaviness underneath, and then I was done. When I grabbed my lip balm and phone, I noticed my hands were not even close to being clean. I chuckled to myself. I was proud of how gnarly they'd become and wanted Ryan to actually see the callouses and black gunk under my nails because I knew he'd think it was cool too. I grabbed the sweatshirt I'd thrown over a chair this morning and limped out the door to my awaiting ride. Ryan should be here by now. Drew texted him directions to the flat I'd been renting. I was staying just north of Notting Hill, in an upscale area that Ryan would not only recognize, but most likely never want to leave.