Comedy of Erinn (9 page)

She was committed to inflexibility and said so.

“You can't predict the weather,” Gilroi said.

“What has the weather got to do with it?” Erinn asked.

“Everything,” Gilroi said. “We're shooting in town, because there's no snow on the ground. But when it snows, we've got to go to our battlefields. How were you planning to shoot the scenes in Valley Forge if there's no snow on the ground?”

Erinn was alarmed that she hadn't thought about that. In her mind's eye, there was always snow on the ground when she visualized her shoot at Valley Forge. Insecurity washed over her. How stupid could she be? How could she not have anticipated this? When she'd left New York, at least she had had some success to cling to. What if she failed at this new job right off the bat? She forced herself to listen to Carlos and Gilroi block out the events of the next few days. She would have to be alert.

If the weather held—Carlos tapped on his BlackBerry—they would execute Plan A, which meant that they would shoot in the city. If it started to snow, they would shift to Plan B. Plan B involved each producer heading out solo to his or her respective battlefield and shooting scenes called “B-roll” . . . a staple of History Network reenactments . . . lots of beautiful camera angles and artistically framed scenery to be used under dramatic voice-overs.

She sipped at her cider. Gilroi suddenly lit up.

“Oh my God! Oh my God, I love this song!”

Erinn listened to the background music. They were playing “Jump, Jive an' Wail.” Erinn smiled. She had to shout above the crowd.

“I love this song, too.”

Gilroi stood up and held out his hand.

“Come on, Erinn, let's dance.”

Erinn looked around the pub. She pointed out that no one was dancing. Gilroi didn't care. He loved to dance, and there was a great tune playing.

“OK, Ms. Nineteen Eighties Playwright . . . don't tell me you can't swing dance!” yelled Gilroi over the music.

Erinn pretended she didn't hear him. But it was obvious that Gilroi knew that everyone who had been in New York in the eighties had learned to swing dance.

“I'll take that as a
yes. . . .
” Gilroi said.

In an instant, Gilroi had her on her feet, and muscle memory kicked in. Erinn was transported back to New York, when she was young and successful and spent half her nights happily dancing. Her insecurities fled as she swirled around. The room was a blur, but once in a while the startled face of a young pub patron smiled at her. She jumped, jived, and wailed as if her life depended on it.

When the song ended, Gilroi escorted Erinn back to the table, where Carlos was waiting.

“That was cool, Erinn,” Carlos said. “I wouldn't have thought you were a dancer.”

“Oh, don't be fooled by Ms. Tight Sphincter here,” said Gilroi, kissing Erinn on the head. “I heard the eighties in New York were just madness! I'll bet she has stories that would blow us away.”

Erinn sipped her hard cider. “More Than You Know” played over the sound system.

I
f the Revolutionary War were run anything like
BATTLEready!
, we'd probably still be British
, thought Erinn. For all the advance planning she'd done, it turned out that Carlos was right—flexibility was key! Well, she would make good on her promise to Mimi that she was indeed flexible. She looked out the window at the snowstorm that was blanketing the city. Plan A, their concept to start shooting in front of Independence Hall, was scrapped. It was on to Plan B. All the producers would go their separate ways and get some desolate footage of snow-swept hillsides and battle stations. In a day or two, if the snow didn't melt, they'd start shooting their scenes with costumed actors.

Erinn called the front desk and asked that the SUV be pulled up in front of the hotel. She grabbed her camera bag, struggled into her L.L. Bean gray down parka, gloves, and hat, and waddled out the door and down the steps to the lobby. Carlos, Gilroi, and Jude were all in the lobby leisurely drinking coffee. They watched her come down the stairs, lugging her camera bag.

“That's a look, Tin Lizzy,” Gilroi said, giving her down-clad figure the once-over.

“Well, it's going to be cold out there!” Erinn said, digging in her pocket for the valet stub.

“You're going out?” Carlos asked.

“Of course I'm going out. I have to shoot B-roll of the battlefield,” she said.

“Erinn, have some coffee,” Jude said. “It's freezing out there. We're not going anywhere today.”

“Excuse me,” she said. “You weren't at the meeting last night.”

“Well,
I
was at the meeting last night, and I'm with Jude,” said Carlos. “It's too cold out there.”

“Too cold?” Erinn said. “That's what this shoot is all about. We need to capture the misery of those poor benighted soldiers. We owe it to them to get out there and do our best work.”

“I'll do my best work from here,” Jude said.

“Fine,” said Erinn. “You Southern Californians can sit here. I'm going to work.”

“Southern Californians? Shows you what you know,” Gilroi said. “I was born in New Jersey. Was brought up there.”

“Oh please. That line is from
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
, nineteen sixty-nine,” Erinn said. “Really, Gilroi, you're going to have to get some more obscure material.”

Gilroi laughed and returned to his coffee. Erinn looked out the window and saw the Ford Explorer. Great wafts of icy snow pushed aggressively over the hood.
Even the car looks scared
, thought Erinn. She started to have second thoughts.

“Well, I guess if you have an SUV, you might be able to get through,” Carlos said. “Too bad we're stuck with a Focus. It won't take us anywhere in this weather.”

Erinn doubled her resolve.

“Seriously, Erinn, it's dangerous out there,” Jude said. “Just chill.”

“I'll chill in Valley Forge,” Erinn said and turned on her heel.

Erinn got in the driver's side and started the car. She was punching in the address of the battlefield when the passenger door opened. A man in a dark jacket climbed in. Under the jacket, he wore a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up.

“Just drive,” he said.

Erinn sat frozen at the wheel. The man spoke again.

“Come on, Erinn. If we're going to do this, let's do it,” Jude said from under the sweatshirt hood. “I don't want to get stuck in Valley Fucking Forge because you were too lame to stay inside.”

“Look, Jude, it's very nice of you—”

Jude put his hand up, blocking her words.

“Just. Drive.”

Erinn put the car in drive and headed north. She thought of mentioning that there was no traffic on Route 76, but Jude was clearly not in the mood for small talk. She looked at the scenery, but the snow had kicked up so much that she could only see three feet in front of her. Her vision was so obscured that she almost missed the sign for Valley Forge, but luckily, the GPS squawked, and she just managed to get off the highway with a sharp right turn. She glanced over at Jude to see if he'd noticed, but he was sitting with his head back against the seat, eyes closed and arms folded.

Thankfully, the GPS, with “her” calm English accent, guided Erinn through the park. If she had been on her own, Erinn realized, she wouldn't have been able to find anything—the entire park was white. She was trying to find some picturesque log cabins, but all she could see were large snowy lumps dotting the landscape. Her cell phone blared inside her pocket, and she was so startled, she almost drove off the road.

Pulling over, she fished her cell phone out of her coat. Erinn flipped it open and read the caller I.D. It was Massimo. Feeling a little shy, a quick look at Jude let her know he was still not participating in their adventure. He hadn't moved a muscle.

“Buon giorno, Massimo. Come andate?”
Erinn said.

“Buon giorno, dolce amica,”
came the deep baritone on the other end of the phone. “I have called to speak of Caro.”

Erinn's stomach lurched.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No, no,” he said. “I just want to know if he eat . . . the people's food.”

“People's food?” asked Erinn. “Oh! People food! You mean, not cat food?”

“
Sì
. . . I make such beautiful dinners and I have no one to share. I wish to share with Caro.”

“That's fine,” Erinn said. “Everything else OK?”

“Life, she goes on.”

Massimo started to cut in and out on the phone. Erinn shook it.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

Nothing. Erinn shook the phone again, but this time noticed the bars on the phone face were blinking.

She yelled into the phone, “Massimo, I have to go. The phone is running out of battery.”

She hung up and looked at Jude. He was clenching his teeth. “OK, let's calm down,” said Erinn. “I'll just grab some quick shots and we'll head back.”

“Shots of what?” Jude asked, looking out the window. “There's nothing to see!”

“Excuse me, are you now telling me what I should be shooting?”

“No . . . but I could if I wanted to . . . that is my job.”

“No, it isn't. You direct the scenes with the actors. I'm the producer with the camera. I direct my own B-roll. Feel free to stay in the car.”

Erinn got out of the SUV and slammed the door. The wind was howling so violently that she had to hang on to the door handles as she made her way to the tailgate. She felt the latch under her gloved fingers and gave it a pull. Nothing. She tried again. The latch wouldn't budge. She gripped her glove in her teeth and pulled it off, hoping that she'd get better traction with bare fingers. She tried the latch again and still it wouldn't open. She could hear Jude coming around the passenger side of the Explorer.

“I think the latch is frozen,” Erinn yelled to Jude over the yowling wind.

“Try the key!” Jude yelled back. “Maybe it's just locked.”

Erinn felt a twinge of annoyance. The back couldn't be locked, could it? The key was still in the ignition, so she trudged back to the driver's door, reached in, and tweaked the key fob. She looked in the rearview mirror as Jude effortlessly opened the tailgate and grabbed the camera bag. Erinn sprang back to the rear of the car and snatched the camera.

“I've got it from here,” she said. “Thanks.”

“Erinn, don't be insane,” Jude said, trying to take the camera case out of her hands. “You've made your point. Now let's go.”

“Oh? And exactly what is my point?”

“That you're the teacher's pet. The good little camera girl who won't let a blizzard stop her. Now let's go!”

Jude forced the camera bag out of Erinn's hand. His eyes suddenly took on a horrified light. Erinn instinctively panicked, but she wasn't sure why.

“What's the matter?” she asked.

“This car automatically locks itself,” he said. “Are the keys still up front?”

Erinn slipped and skidded her way back to the driver's door and flung it open with relief. She grabbed the keys and held them aloft. Even through the raging snow, she saw the relief in Jude's eyes.“That would have so sucked!” he said.

The wind picked up suddenly and Erinn almost lost her balance. She realized that the ground was starting to freeze underneath them. She admitted to herself that there was no point in being out—she'd never get a shot worth having, even if they didn't freeze to death.

“When defeat is inevitable, it is wisest to yield,” Erinn yelled to Jude.

“Whatever, dude. Let's bounce.”

Jude threw the camera gear into the back and felt his way to the passenger side. They both got in and Erinn started the car. She hoped Jude would stay quiet. She was feeling so shaky—not from the cold, but from the realization that she was not being a good producer.
This was complete madness coming out here,
she said to herself. What exactly was she trying to do, get them both killed? To put it in Jude's vernacular, she sucked!

Jude put on the heater and settled back in his seat with his eyes closed. He didn't say a word. Erinn tried to pull out onto the road, but the wheels just spun on the ice. Erinn and Jude looked at each other.

“Are we stuck?” Jude asked.

“We can't be,” Erinn said. “This is an SUV. It must have four-wheel drive.”

“Not necessarily,” Jude said. “Do you see any kind of lever or button or anything that would let you switch to four-wheel drive?”

Erinn frantically looked around, but she didn't see anything.

“No. There isn't anything. Are we doomed?”

“
Doomed?
Jesus, Erinn. You are a glass-empty kind of girl, aren't ya?”

“Actually, I'm a ‘The glass is the wrong size' kind of girl . . . woman . . . but I think that's beside the point right now. What should I do?”

“Start rocking the car. Put it in first, then reverse, then first, then reverse. Then give it a little gas and see if we can get out of this.”

Erinn started shifting gears and made a mental note. Next time, she wouldn't settle for anything less than an SUV with four-wheel drive.

Miraculously, the car suddenly shot forward. She gasped and Jude slapped her on the shoulder approvingly. Erinn turned slightly toward what she hoped was the road—it was so covered in snow that she couldn't actually see a road, but it must be there. Making sure no one was coming—
Fat chance
, she thought—she started inching the Explorer through the ice and snow. She was creeping forward, when the car became completely unresponsive and started sliding toward the right. Pushing the gas did nothing. Turning the steering wheel did nothing.

“Oh, no,” Erinn said.

“What?”

“The car has lost traction. We're skating on the ice.”

“Holy shit!”

Erinn frantically turned the wheel to the right and then to the left. The car continued to slide.

“Oh my God!”

“Stay cool, Erinn. We're on flat ground. Nothing can happen. Just chill.”

Erinn tried to relax, but the car kept sliding sideways, the weight of the vehicle causing it to pick up speed. Clearly, they weren't on completely flat ground or the SUV wouldn't be hurling itself sideways, but Erinn decided now was not the time to argue this point.

Erinn felt the vehicle tipping. She was jolted violently sideways and caught, suspended, by the seat belt. She craned her neck to look at Jude, who was looking up at her from the passenger seat. The SUV was completely on its side, like a gigantic dead beast.

“Now we're doomed,” he said.

Erinn tried without success to free herself from the seat belt. With every gyration, the belt tightened around her neck. She tried to hold still. She craned her neck and watched Jude brace himself against the passenger door with his right arm. This gave his seat belt some slack and he was able to release the lever. He thudded against the passenger door, but at least he was free. Erinn felt her breastbone pressing into the seat belt as she hung sideways. She watched as Jude twisted himself around, crablike, and faced her. She looked into his eyes.

“The camera case,” she said.

Jude sat back on his heels.

“Dude,” he said. “Seriously? Forget the gear right now. We're in deep shit.”

“The camera . . . ,” Erinn breathed heavily. “Check the camera. . . .”

“What are you, one of those freaks who needs to record their own death?”

“His or her own death,” Erinn corrected, gasping. “ ‘One freak' is singular.”

“You are so pushing your luck, lady,” Jude said.

Erinn was running out of breath, and she hung limply forward.

“Come on, Tin Lizzy,” Jude said, wedging his back against her.

She had her eyes closed, but she vaguely sensed that he must be standing on the passenger window . . . or the passenger armrest. What if he broke one of them? Would the rental company charge them? Had she bought the right insurance? Weren't they in enough trouble having skidded into a ditch?

Erinn heard Jude's voice through the fog. His back was to her.

“When I lift you up, you need to unhook your seat belt. Come on, Erinn, you can do this.”

Jude gave the faintest of pushes, but not enough to lift her.

“Crap,” Jude said. “I can't get enough traction with the console in the way.”