Comedy of Erinn (18 page)

B
y lunchtime, the crew knew they were getting some really good footage. Erinn was thrilled that everything was going so smoothly. She admitted to herself that while she had gotten off to a rocky start, now she had much to be proud of.

When Jude called “Lunch,” Erinn headed toward the crew, but then saw Massimo, cape flapping in the breeze, heading to the buffet line. She was torn: Should she follow Massimo, since she felt that she was the reason he was here, or should she sit with Jude—and the crew—which is where she finally felt she belonged? She looked back and forth between the two men. Clearly, the night with Jude had been folly, but she had to admit she couldn't quite let it go. Jude had some very wonderful qualities. He was patient, kind, loyal to the crew, and had some good instincts.

Massimo, on the other hand, was the right age, worldly, interested in the arts. He had watched the cat without complaint. And hadn't he dropped everything to come be her George Washington? He was, perhaps, a little self-absorbed, but everyone had flaws.

Then why couldn't she shake Jude from her thoughts? She knew it was impossible, but when she let herself go, she thought about them . . . hanging out. She watched as a young woman in costume approached Jude. The woman had long corn-silk hair, a turned-up nose, freckles, and that overbite that men seemed to find so attractive. Erinn never understood that, but she had never met a man who couldn't be undone by a toothy girl. Jude leaned in to hear something the girl had to say. Then he laughed. The girl's hair glinted in the sun. Her curls shook as she laughed and she squeezed Jude's arm. The two of them headed to the buffet line. Erinn took a quick look at her cast list. The girl's name was Giselle.

Of course it was.

Erinn felt her self-confidence fading and decided to go with Massimo. She stood beside him in line and he took her hand and kissed it.

“This day, she goes well, no?”

“Yes. Very well. You are doing a great job.”

Erinn knew that Massimo wouldn't be interested in the technical aspects of the day. She would have to wait until she was with the boys to go over that sort of thing.

The line was moving slowly and there was plenty of food. Too much food, it turned out—many of the hardcore reenactors refused to eat. Some of them had brought beef jerky to gnaw on, but there were several who just continued to melt lead, so they could make more bullets. Erinn tried to stay focused on Massimo, but she couldn't keep her eyes off Jude and the small-waisted Giselle, who were standing right in front of them in line.

Rita suddenly appeared, carrying a large bathrobe. She butted in and held out the bathrobe to Massimo.

“You need to put this on,” she said. “You can't risk getting your costume dirty.”

Massimo held up his hand.

“No, Rita, I cannot,” he said. “I am George Washington. George Washington does not worry about this, and so I do not worry about this.”

“Christ, who knew they had method actors in Italy?” Rita said. “He's as bad as the reenactors. Next thing you know, he'll be pissing on his buttons.”

Jude, who was watching this exchange, turned to the girl.

“I'm not a real fan of method acting. I mean, you might end up doing your best work at the craft services table, and then where are ya?”

Giselle laughed and squeezed Jude's bicep. Erinn could barely hear them, but she did her best.

“Jude, you crack me up, I swear! I'm going to put that on Facebook.”

“I'll be here all week, Gazelle,” Jude said in some sort of bodacious borsch-belt accent.

Giselle burst into another round of titters. Erinn felt a tweak of jealousy at Giselle's nickname. Gazelle. Lithe, quick, keeping up with the herd. Clearly not an old relic like Tin Lizzy.

Erinn thought they seemed very young and . . . perfect together. She was just an old fool! She shot a glance at Massimo, magnificent in his uniform. He was smiling at her and handing her a plate.
Gallant,
Erinn said to herself as she took the plate. She stole another quick look over at Jude, who was carrying his plate to a table, his BlackBerry between his teeth and a can of Coke tucked under his chin.
Massimo is gallant.

Erinn kept an eye on her watch and called the group back to work after a half hour. The sky was starting to darken and there was no time to lose. She took up her position with her camera and again followed Massimo as he talked, soothingly, to wounded soldiers. He helped the “nurse” Giselle bandage a young soldier's eye. Erinn forced herself to get close-ups of Giselle's perfect profile. Since the eighties, Erinn had made it a one-woman crusade to smash the stereotype of women not being able to get along in the workplace. But panning across Giselle's ethereal features was cruel and unusual punishment.

Jude called “Cut” and summoned all the cameras—and Massimo—to his side.

“We need a little more movement, guys,” Jude said. “I think we need Washington to ride in on a horse and scan the camp. Massimo, can you ride a horse?”

“
Sì,
yes,” Massimo said.

“Bueno,”
Jude said.

“Dude, that's Spanish,” Carlos said.

“Whatever,” Jude said. “Carlos, you'll be the wide shots; Gilroi, medium; and Erinn, Washington's POV.”

Massimo looked at Erinn.

“That means point of view. My camera will see what your eyes see.”

“Ah, sì,”
Massimo said. “I know this POV. I did not understand the English word.”

Erinn's mind reeled.

“But . . . if I'm Washington's point of view, don't I have to be on horseback, too?”

“
Sì
. . . yes,” Jude said. “You know how to ride, don't you?”

“Of course I do,” Erinn said, although it had probably been twenty years since she'd been on a horse.

Fetus appeared with two saddled horses. The horses had strained the budget, but they were beautiful and worth every penny, Erinn had thought when she first laid eyes on them. Now she was sorry to see them. Massimo mounted as if he were born in the saddle. Erinn looked around her. The cast of reenactors continued about their business, but the entire crew was standing around, arms folded, smirking. Erinn was not a religious woman, but she sent up a prayer.
Please God, give me the courage and strength to get up on this horse. Don't let me fail . . . or flail.

This reminded her of a quote from Winston Churchill, and she threw it in for good measure: “Courage is going from failure to failure without losing enthusiasm.”

She knew she would have no enthusiasm if she fell off the horse, but failing Winston Churchill was the least of her worries.

Massimo reached down and extended an elegant hand toward her camera. She surrendered it and closed her eyes. She visualized riding through the Tuscan hills, one of her favorite memories. She rode up and down sloping vineyards and guided her horse along a placid riverbank. At one point, as the river got deeper and deeper, she felt the horse's footing soften and realized that he was swimming. Erinn inhaled, strengthened by the reminiscence, and climbed effortlessly into the saddle. She opened her eyes to applause. The crew was grinning, clapping, and whistling. She tried to hide a smile, but sent up a silent thank-you to heaven . . . and Winston. Massimo handed Erinn her camera and bowed deeply. Erinn hoped that Giselle was watching and looked over to the campfire that she was tending. Giselle gave her a toothy smile and waved. The fact that Giselle didn't see Erinn as even the tiniest threat could not dampen Erinn's mood.

She was, literally, back on the horse! Jude told her to get some footage of Massimo riding in the woods, then, when he came into the camp, switch to the POV position and try to shoot around the other cameras whenever possible. Erinn nodded and off she went with Massimo and their two horses.

Massimo and Erinn trotted out to a crest just out of sight of the set. Massimo turned out to be a fantastic horseman, and Erinn got some great shots of him riding majestically through the snow, cape snapping behind him. The temperature continued to drop, but Erinn didn't feel the cold. All the professional cobwebs of the last ten years were shaking loose. She felt as if she had been waiting her whole life to do this kind of shoot.

After she was sure she had enough footage of Massimo looking courageous and heroic, she instructed him to head slowly into camp. She would stay alongside him, shooting a close-up of his profile until he crested the hill. At that point, she would shoot slightly behind his shoulder.

“Ah! The POV,” Massimo said.

Erinn followed Massimo closely into camp, shooting down at the faces of the reenactors as they reacted to Washington's presence. Everything was quiet, and Erinn was aware that the only sound she heard was horses' footsteps and the very slight whisper of her camera. She had goose bumps and had to wipe her eyes a few times. It all felt so real.

“OK,” Jude called out. “I think we got it. Good work, everybody.”

Whatever spell had been thrown over the set snapped. Erinn dismounted, turned over her horse to Fetus, and everything returned to the twenty-first century.

 

Snow started to fall midafternoon, and Jude, who had had his eyes glued to the monitor all day, looked and signaled Erinn to walk with him. She tucked the camera under her arm and followed Jude toward the outskirts of the shoot.

“Well?” Jude asked.

“Well, what?”

“It's snowing.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“Is this some sort of code?”

“It's snowing. You're the producer. It's your call whether we wrap the shoot or not.”

Erinn almost staggered under the weight of such a decision. She had no idea the producer would have such enormous responsibility.

“Well,” Erinn said, “as the director, do you have everything you want?”

“No. But then, I'll never have everything I want. Do I have everything I need? Probably.”

She thought quickly. Her gut told her that they should keep shooting.

“Let's wrap,” Erinn said.

Her gut had told her to come to Valley Forge in a snowstorm the first time and look what had happened. She could only hope she'd made the right decision this time. She watched as Jude walked back to the set, where cast and crew were all looking at him. Erinn couldn't tell if he approved of this choice or not.

“That's a wrap,” Jude said.

Everyone clapped and shook hands. Erinn was comforted by this show of approval, until she realized that everyone else was just happy to get off work early.

“Good call,” Fetus said. “Thanks!”

Fetus joined the rest of the crew, busily striking the set. The boys moved fast, pulling down lights and wrapping the gear as quickly as they could. Snow was no friend to production equipment. Gilroi raced by Erinn, who was also packing gear. Erinn announced to the reenactors that they would be contacted for the next shoot. She looked at her clipboard. The next time they convened, it would be for the “Washington Crossing the Delaware” shoot. Carlos would be the lead producer, and she would be the backup camera op—along with Gilroi. Normally, Erinn relished being in charge, but she had to admit the fact that all responsibility would not be resting on her shoulders came as a relief.

Relief?
She felt herself flush at the admission. Relief at abandoning responsibility struck her as absolutely plebeian. Maybe she was getting old.

She caught a quick glimpse of Jude and Giselle busily punching their phone numbers into each other's BlackBerries. Erinn tried not to give in to temptation, but she couldn't resist. She checked out the cast list for the “Washington Crossing the Delaware” shoot and looked for Giselle's name. It wasn't there.

Erinn chuckled at her own insecurity and stupidity. She finished stowing the camera and tape and, staggering under the weight of the camera box, headed to the wardrobe trailer to collect Massimo, who was just coming out in his civilian clothes. He smiled when he saw her and she forced Jude out of her thoughts. Massimo took the camera bag from her and headed to the SUV. Erinn swiveled her head around, hoping nobody saw her relinquishing the bag. She was never comfortable with men carrying her gear, but after a day shooting, her back ached and her arms throbbed.

Our next hotel will have a gym
.
Atmosphere be damned
.

The snow continued to fall as Erinn maneuvered the SUV back to the hotel. Massimo was chatty, pumped from the day's shooting. He relived every scene, and Erinn tried to tune in once in a while to murmur an “um-hum.” She remembered this reaction from her Broadway days. Everyone behind the scenes was exhausted at the end of a performance, but the actors were coiled tight as wires, enough energy emanating from them that they could almost light up the street by themselves.

Back in the hotel lobby, Erinn wondered vaguely if she should wait for the boys to arrive but decided that she could connect with them later. Massimo insisted on carrying her gear to her room, but once there, he seemed content to leave it at the door—
Both literally and figuratively
, Erinn thought.

Her laptop sat on the desk, the Apple insignia practically winking at her, luring her to check her e-mails, but she was exhausted. She hopped into the shower, her head against the cool wall. It had been years since she had felt such physical fatigue. She smiled to herself.

Better get used to it
.
This looks like it's going to be your new life!