Comedy of Erinn (15 page)

Rita helped Erinn into the rest of her costume. In addition to the corset, Erinn also donned a hoop petticoat. The hoops had pockets in them—eighteenth-century ladies used them as the “pocket books” of their day. Small books, sewing kits, handkerchiefs, and the like could be discreetly stuffed inside the petticoat. Erinn slipped her cell phone and some info from her clipboard into hers.

She also was forced into a “bum roll,” as Rita called it. Bum rolls were padded rolls used to make a woman's butt stick out somewhat, defining it so it wouldn't get lost in the burgeoning gown. Erinn felt the last thing she needed was another roll, but she held her tongue.

Finally, Rita appeared to be satisfied and Erinn looked at herself in the mirror. Her posture, aided by the corset, was perfect. Her dress, a blue-and-cream cotton with a fitted waist, delicate lace sleeves, and yards of skirt, swished with the slightest step. Rita came up behind Erinn and fitted her with a curly wig and delicate cap. Erinn felt transformed.

And ridiculous.

S
wallowing what was left of her pride, Erinn threaded her way to the front of the trailer—not an easy task, given the volume of her skirt. Lamont, still admiring himself in the mirror, stopped and assessed Erinn.

“Ah, Erinn, how the mighty have—” Lamont started again.

“Yes, Lamont, I know. I am stingingly well aware of how the mighty have fallen. Let's go.”

Erinn tried to escape the trailer, but Rita stopped her long enough to slap some makeup on her. At last, Erinn and Lamont descended the stairs. Mercifully, the crew was still busy and was paying no attention to the comings and goings of the makeup trailer. Erinn saw two costumed actors and she made her way over to them, Lamont in inebriated tow. She approached a tall man in a perfectly cut replica of colonial garb.

“Hello, I'm Erinn Elizabeth Wolf,” she said, offering her hand. “I'm the producer of this shoot.”

The man looked puzzled, so Erinn added, “. . . and Betsy Ross.”

The man shook her hand, but was clearly playing to Lamont and the other costumed man.

“And we thought things were tight on Broadway! These production companies are getting cheaper and cheaper. First the producers had to be able to shoot cameras, and now they have to be the cast.”

Erinn ignored the comment. She fished around in her petticoat pocket and pulled out her paperwork. She noted that the two men standing before her must be Ernest Martin and Paul Arnold, the two actors hired to play Washington's companions.

“And you are Ernest . . . or Paul?”

“Paul,” the man said, and made an elaborate bow, evocative of the early and middle 1770s, bending one knee and sweeping his hat toward the ground in an arc. Once the Revolution was a thing of the past, such bowing would go out of fashion. But for now, he had it right.

Normally, Erinn would be impressed by an actor who had done his homework. She was currently not in the mood for pleasantries, but then, when was she?

“All right,” she said, then looked at the smaller man. “You must be Ernest.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, twisting his tricornered hat. “I'm playing Robert Morris.”

Erinn looked at him critically. APE had hired a local casting company, and from what Erinn could see, they had made a mess of things. Robert Morris had been perhaps the wealthiest man in the colonies. This Ernest Martin didn't convey wealth. He had no bearing whatsoever. On the other hand, Erinn thought, Bill Gates had no bearing, either. Besides which, she reminded herself as she stepped on her petticoat, she had no right to complain about how anyone else was doing his or her job.

Paul flung an arm around Erinn.

“So, I guess you've figured out I'm playing your uncle, George Ross.”

Erinn shrugged off his ham-handed caress.

“George would have been Betsy's late husband's uncle, not hers,” she said. “
Late
being the operative word. They would have been no relation whatsoever when Washington and Ross came about the flag.”

“. . . and Robert Morris,” Ernest said. “Washington, Ross, and Morris came about the flag.”

Erinn opened her mouth, but was horrified to realize that she was about to utter the word
whatever
. She shook her head and started again. She smoothed out the papers in her hands and held them flat so the men could all see them.

“Just so we know what we're doing,” Erinn said. “We're going to be shooting two different scenes. In the first one, you three will enter and discuss the making of the flag. Silently. This will all be covered with a voice-over. So don't say anything—and don't overact.”

She saw the men exchange a look. Actors had a private nonverbal language—a series of eyebrow arches, tics, and lip pursings, which they assumed no one could understand but themselves. From her Broadway days, she interpreted this look to mean, “Can you believe this woman thinks we don't know we should not overact?”

“The second scene will have the three of you coming back and looking at the flag.”

“Can we overact when we see the flag?” Lamont asked.

They were interrupted by Jude, and Erinn introduced him as the director. As Jude made small talk with the men in their colonial costumes, she felt at loose ends. Normally, she would have turned over leadership of the shoot to the director at this point and gracefully retreated into the background with her camera, ready to shoot with Carlos and Gilroi. She looked down at her hoop skirt and realized there would be no graceful retreating. She tried to focus back on the conversation.

“. . . so the whole thing is pretty straightforward,” Erinn heard Jude concluding.

“Why do we have to do both scenes in the same room?” asked Lamont.

Erinn bit her tongue. Lamont knew better than to question the director. It was just another reminder that he had no respect for the genre in which they now found themselves working. She waited patiently for Jude to put him in his place.

“Not a bad idea,” Jude said. “Maybe we could shoot you guys coming out of a coach or something.”

Erinn tried not to let out a gasp, but it escaped her.

“Betsy?” Jude said. “You have a problem with that?”

“Well,” Erinn said, “as a matter of fact, I do. Not as Betsy, of course, but as the producer in charge of this shoot.”

Erinn reddened as Jude looked at her silently—and then winked.

“OK,” Jude said. “As producer of this shoot, what's your problem?”

“There is, of course, the obvious fact that we don't have a coach—or horses—or other actors or other costumes budgeted for this scene. Then there is the fact that the men came to see Betsy Ross in the summer of 1776, not the winter, which would make this landscape all wrong.”

“That's why we pay her the big bucks,” Jude said, tugging Erinn's lacy cap into place. Erinn grimly swatted his hand away. Jude spoke to the actors. “But you guys keep thinking. I run a collaborative set. I'm open to all ideas.”

Erinn watched him walk back to the crew. Was he out of his mind? What director was open to
any
ideas . . . let alone
all
ideas?

“Lights are all set up,” Carlos called from the doorway to the Betsy Ross House. “Let's get rolling.”

“Hang on one second,” Jude said, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at his notes.

He looked at Erinn so seriously that she held her breath. He was reading the production notes she had painstakingly made . . . had she done something wrong? Overlooked something important?

Jude came over to her and stood beside her, shoulder to shoulder, so they could read the notes together. His hair grazed her cap, and she tried to steady her breathing. He pointed to a paragraph. His close proximity made the words dance in front of her eyes, and she tried to make them come into focus. The words were just not making sense to her. Giving up, she stalled for time.

“What seems to be the problem?” she asked.

“We're supposed to show Betsy Ross cutting out a five-pointed star with just one cut,” he said. “What the fuck?”

Erinn relaxed. She smiled at Jude.

“Yes, that's part of the myth . . . or history . . . of Betsy Ross. Washington apparently wanted to use the European six-pointed star, but Betsy showed them that she could cut a five-pointed star with just one snip of the scissors. This would be a time-saver and would be easy to teach other seamstresses. I thought it would be incredibly cinematic. That's why I added it to the shot list.”

“Well, since you're now our Betsy Ross, can
you
do it?”

Erinn beamed. When she had read about the star and how it was cut, she was confused. As with everything Erinn encountered that made no sense to her, she did some Internet research and learned how to do it. She thought, ruefully, that she originally had planned on showing the woman who played Betsy Ross how to cut the star, but now, as fate would have it, all she had to do was rely on herself.

This was familiar ground.

“Don't worry,” Erinn said. “I know how to do it, and I brought the props.”

“That's my girl,” Jude said, and kissed her on the top of her head.

Jude led the actors into the house, which was now a well-organized museum. Thankfully, the production company had managed to secure the museum on a Monday when it was closed to the public—therefore saving APE a lot of money. Closing down any establishment was a pricey endeavor and one the production company steered around whenever possible. APE had gotten permission to shoot for the day, but Erinn had made sure the crew was aware of the fact that they were shooting in a piece of history and to take extra care prepping and striking the set.

The house itself was styled on the colonial “bandbox” design, with one room on each floor and a winding staircase stretching from the cellar to the upper levels. The building's large first-floor window faced the street to display merchandise. Betsy used the first-floor front room as her workshop, and it was into this room that Erinn led her costumed troop.

The room was small and seemed even tighter, thanks to all the equipment and men. Erinn silently signaled Carlos and Gilroi that there would be hell to pay if they so much as raised an eyebrow over her costume. She hoped she looked threatening, but with the little lace cap perched atop her wig, she wasn't sure.

Erinn watched Jude as he checked lighting, audio levels, and furniture placement. He called the crew over to give final instructions. Instinctively, she started over, but Lamont stepped on her skirt.

“I don't think he means you, Betsy.”

Erinn was irritated at Lamont's impertinence and annoyed that he was right. She glanced at a young man standing with Jude whom she had not seen before. He seemed very young and distracted. In alarm, she realized that he was holding her camera. Picking up her skirts, she swished over to the group of men.

“What's shaking, Betsy?” Jude asked.

“I . . . I . . . ,” Erinn said. “I haven't met this young man who has my camera.”

“Oh,” Jude said. “This is Oliver.”

Oliver nodded, but didn't take his eyes off the floor.

“May I speak to you in private?” Erinn said to Jude, pulling him aside.

“Erinn, we're falling behind schedule. What is it?”

“Why does that boy have my camera?”

“He was the local P.A.,” Jude said. “But since we're a producer short, he's been promoted to cameraman.”

“But he's so young.”

“He's not that young.”

“He's a fetus.”

“Chill, Erinn. He'll be fine. Your camera will be fine. You'll be fine. It's the magic of television.”

Jude finished his preparations and escorted Erinn to the chair where she would receive her visitors as Betsy Ross. Erinn felt her pulse race when he touched the small of her back. She wondered how Jude remained so calm. Did the fact that they had had a romantic interlude mean nothing? Was this the way it was between men and women now? She remembered the free-wheeling sexual energy of New York in the eighties, before the AIDS epidemic brought it to a screeching halt. But she had never been one for casual sex even then. She realized that there was no possibility of any sort of real relationship between the two of them, and she would be foolish to romanticize one night of passion.

She sat down, trying to stay focused on the business at hand. Jude handed her some needlepoint.
Needlepoint?

“What am I doing with this? Betsy Ross was an upholsterer,” Erinn said.

“I needed a prop, and I couldn't find a staple gun,” Jude said. Carlos snickered in the background. “I got that sewing thing from the gift shop. Just deal with it.”

Erinn tired to settle into her chair, a near impossibility considering all the stiff undergarments she was wearing.

Jude assembled everyone and ran through the scene.

“OK, guys, here's what we're going to do. Betsy Ross will be doing whatever. Gilroi, I want you to get all the medium shots. Carlos, grab close-ups . . . hand-held, you know what I want. But don't go nuts. The History Network doesn't want us to go crazy.”

“What should I do?” asked Oliver.

“You just keep the camera on sticks and get the wide shots.”

Erinn tried to catch Jude's eye, but he was busy getting the final details nailed down. She realized that he was doing her a favor by keeping her camera in the safest possible spot—locked down on a tripod.

Within minutes, they were ready to shoot. Erinn started pretending to needlepoint, and the actors were stationed just outside the door, waiting for Jude's signal.

“OK,” Jude called. “Everybody quiet. And.... whenever you're ready, Erinn.”

Erinn lifted her needle up and down in what she hoped was a realistic approximation of needlepointing. She tried not to be irritated with Jude. After all, he was keeping her camera out of the fray. But, she had to admit, she was annoyed when these young directors said, “Whenever you're ready.” What was wrong with the clean and precise “Action”?

“OK, hang on,” Jude said.

“I think a rocking chair would be better,” Jude said, looking at Erinn. “Can we get a rocking chair?”

Carlos and Gilroi groaned and Jude good-naturedly flipped them off. Normally, this would be a fair question to ask the producer, Erinn thought, but she was pretty confined in her costume.

“No,” Erinn said. “We can't get a rocking chair.”

Erinn saw Carlos and Gilroi exchange an appreciative glance. Apparently, most producers didn't stand up to their directors. Jude knelt down by Erinn's chair and looked up at her. She tried not to look into his eyes and busied herself arranging her skirt.