Dirty Movies (10 page)

Michael murmured his commiserations but Joe just shrugged.

The De Vries brothers had a very odd relationship he decided, doodling on the corner of his script. Stephen clearly detested Joe, but the bitching and snide remarks seemed to keep bouncing off a Teflon-plated exterior. He watched as the 1st AD turned to give the dark-haired girl a wink.

In the meantime
, Vincent was cruelly twisting the knife that Stephen had just stuck into the beleaguered prop department by systematically tearing apart the entire prop list. By now bored out of his mind, Michael bent down to pick up his pencil, looked across and saw that Vincent’s right hand was knuckle-deep inside the knickers of the woman next to him. He righted himself immediately.

Another agonising hour passed. By now
, Vincent had developed a nasty habit of firing off tricky questions at various departments and throwing a hissy fit when he didn’t find the answers satisfactory enough. He had already canned the costume supervisor and two Prop Masters and his mean little eyes were looking around for a few more scalps to add to his XXXL belt. As terms such as daily shooting ratios and coloured script page orders spewed forth across the table, Polly noticed that Stephen was glancing down at his watch more and more. 

Losing interest in a boring discussion on reputable crowd casting companies, Polly chewed her pencil and glanced
over at Michael. He looked like one of those sun-tanned gods from those travel adverts plastered all over the London Underground, she decided. The ones with every intention of making you feel particularly rubbish first thing on a Monday morning. He was also far too young and trendy looking to be an Exec. Polly had a mental image of sadistic, mean-eyed, ex-accountants covering this role and Michael was anything but. 

As if drawn by her scrutiny
, he looked over and caught her staring at him. He grinned again and this time was rewarded with a shy smile. Joe’s a lucky guy, he thought idly, assuming the two were together, before his thoughts strayed, as always, right back to Maisie. Thirty-seven attempts later and he had finally managed to get through to her last night.

All of a sudden
, Vincent whipped his hand out from under the table and sparked up a cigarette. Next up for deliberation was the big Bedouin battle scene, and with camels and horses galore, it was an act of carnage waiting to happen. The crew shifted miserably in their chairs fearing another eight hours of needling and pontificating. Meanwhile, fed-up of his producer’s over-bearing behaviour, Michael decided it was high time he had some serious input into this meeting.

‘Excuse me Vincent,’ he said politely, raising his hand, ‘I gotta say I have an issue with the timescale of this scene
.’ Next to him, Joe murmured in agreement. ‘We gotta build in more contingency, especially with so many animals on set. How many camels are we proposing to use anyway?’

The producer took a long, deep drag that seemed to incinerate the entire length of his cigarette.

‘If you’d bothered to read any of my emails, Mr Wilson,’ he began bitchily, ‘then you’d already know that we were intending to use forty.’

‘Too bad I never received them. T
hey must be off shooting pool with Stephen’s memo,’ shot back Michael, eliciting titters from all around. ‘So, forty camels…And how many horses?’ 

This time there was a sharp, collective intake of breath as the crew readied themselves for a Vincent-sized explosion. Michael has a death wish
, thought Polly anxiously. She could feel the red-hot heat of Vincent’s bristling hostility from five metres away.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake, we don’t have time for this
,’ roared the Producer. ‘About a hundred and fifty I should think. Why the hell does it matter anyway?’

‘Just voicing my concerns about the scheduling
,’ said Michael evenly. ‘I stand by what I said. We need to build in more time for potential animal behavioural problems if nothing else’.

‘And why the bloody hell should we do a thing like that
?’ screamed Vincent, losing his rag completely. ‘Besides being a total fuck-tard, are you some sort of authority on camels now?’

‘No
,’ reasoned Michael quietly. ‘But I did read someplace that horses and camels have a dog and cat-like antagonism thing going on. Now, I could be wrong. Hell, they might even turn out to be as ‘buddy buddy’ as you and me, Vincent,’ he added slyly, ‘but if there’s any chance that our animals might turn unpredictable, we need to factor it in. I think even you would agree that bolting horses and broken limbs are hardly contusive to our rigid scene set-up timings.’

As he said it
, the pretty brunette nodded in agreement. Michael stifled a smile. She had obviously read the same article from the in-flight magazine as him.

‘Well
, they all seemed pretty fucking cosy in
Lawrence of Arabia
,’ muttered Stephen, as Vincent erupted from his chair. Polly watched in amazement as his big fat face and baldhead turned an ugly magenta. He looked like Humpty-Dumpty with bad sunburn.

‘And why the fuck didn’t you warn us
about this?’ he screamed, rounding on the poor animal trainer, ‘you’ve fucked our entire shooting schedule now!’

‘Sort it out
, Joe,’ hissed Stephen, preventing Vincent from smashing a bottle of water over the animal trainer’s head. ‘Do it now. And as for you, get out of my sight!’ he snarled at the quaking trainer.

He immediately called a coffee break and stomped out of the room, closely followed by Vincent and Gillian. They returned
, ten minutes later, looking a lot less agitated after demolishing an entire packet of chocolate bourbons.

As the crew settled down for another hellish session, Polly was
soon losing the will to live again. Having dissected all the script issues, Vincent had now turned his attentions to the tedium of Health and Safety and risk assessments, but just as her eyelids were feeling the weight of eighteen camels, the producer promptly declared the meeting over. Right away, there was an unseemly stampede for the door with Stephen leading the charge. Through the window she caught a glimpse of him leaping into the back of his jeep and driving off in an enormous cloud of dust.

‘Off to smarm the pants off his latest costume assistant
,’ murmured Rachel, appearing behind her.

‘Oh well, she can always sew herself a new pair
.’

‘What are you two curtain-twitchers whispering about?’ asked Joe
, wondering back into the room.

‘Fashion
,’ they answered simultaneously, grinning at each other.

‘
Oh, right,’ said Joe, losing interest immediately. ‘I’m thinking of catching a bite to eat with Michael after work if you girls fancy it? Rashid’s been telling me about some local restaurant in town. I could give you the heads up when we leave?’

‘Thanks Joe, that sounds great!’ enthused Polly, trying not to gawp as he bent down to unplug
the meeting room’s flat screen.

‘Earth to Polly
,’ smirked Rachel, as she handed her a huge pile of leftover scripts. ‘Can you take these back to the office? I’ll follow in a bit with the rest.’ 

They watc
hed her stagger out of the door.

‘I think you have an admirer, Joseph
,’ muttered Rachel.

Hours later, with the gentle, early evening breeze beginning to tickle the tips of the palm trees outside, Michael strolled into the production office. The place was deserted, except for Polly who was on all fours wrestling with the temperamental Moroccan photocopier in the corner. Rachel had zipped off to the Make-Up Department to pinch some fake-tan, Vincent and Gillian had stormed off straight after the meeting for some splenetic screwing, and Stephen was still, thankfully, AWOL.

‘Hey, y
ou must be Polly,’ he called out.

Jumping up in fright, she smacked her head hard on the open paper tray of the photocopier and blushed right to the roots of her fringe.

‘Um yes, ouch…hello,’ she muttered, hoping that her glistening forehead looked more ‘healthy glow’ than all out sweat-fest.  

‘I recognise your voice
,’ said Michael in surprise. ‘You’re the chick who dropped the phone, then patched me through to Stephen. Nearly gave me a heart attack. He never takes my calls.’

‘I’m so sorry
, Mr Wilson,’ said Polly sheepishly. ‘It was so unprofessional of me.’

‘No need to apologise.
And what’s with all the ‘Mister’ crap? Makes me feel like a fifth-grade teacher, or worse, my father. It’s Michael to my face, but you have the go-ahead to call me an asshole in private. I’ll probably deserve it at some point in the next few months anyway.’

Polly
smiled. ‘Michael it is then. And I really am very sorry about the phone thing. I’m not very good with technology.’

‘Are you
any more fluent now?’

She shook her head ruefully.  ‘I tried to put a call through to Stephen this morning and ended up patching some VIP through to the studio canteen. Needless to say he didn’t call back
.’

‘Probably my father
.’

‘Let’s hope he likes couscous then. The
y don’t seem to serve much else.’

Michael burst out laughing. He liked this girl. ‘I believe a decent carbonara is more his thing. Look
, Joe’s outside with our driver. We’re heading out in five.’

‘Hooray, I’m starving! Let me go
and find Rachel and we’ll meet you outside.’

The rest of the evening unfolded in a pavement café besieged with broken white garden furniture and lively locals, all consuming excellent food and finishing up their meals with the delightful combination of a piping hot mint tea and an after-dinner smoke.

‘This country is so beautiful
,’ sighed Polly, glancing around as she lent back in her chair to ease her aching belly.

The setting sun had woven a spectacular web of reds and golden hues around each dusty brown building and a couple of
men were setting up a mini souk opposite, shouting out angry instructions at each other in a chaotic jumble of French and Arabic.

‘Just wait ‘til you see the sun setting over the desert
,’ murmured Joe.

‘Sounds amazing.
Do you think I’ll get the chance?’

Joe picked up Rachel’s cigarettes and started tapping the box lightly on the table.

‘I don’t see why not. I’ll take you out next Sunday if you like. I’ll need to check on the location for Monday morning anyway,’ he added, ignoring Rachel’s warning shot across the table.

Polly was beside herself with excitement. Michael was looking pretty interested too.

‘That sounds kinda neat. Can I join you?’

‘The more the merrier
,’ said Joe, glaring back at Rachel.

Just then
, Michael’s cell phone started bleeping.

‘That’s Maisie, she’s arrived!’ he yelped, scrolling through the message. ‘You guys mind if I duck
out? I’ll send the car back later. Thanks for an awesome night!’ And tossing a wad of dirhams onto the table, he legged it back to the waiting jeep.

‘Lucky Maisie
,’ murmured Rachel, pouring herself another mint tea. ‘I’ve never seen anyone snap to attention like that.’

‘Give him a break, Rach, the guy’s in love
.’

‘I’m
just bitter. I have meaningful relationships with camera companies and travel agents these days.’

But Joe didn’t seem to hear. His eyes
were following their Exec’s car as it turned into the next street and disappeared. Stephen had always given him the impression that Maisie and Michael had a relationship of extreme press convenience, yet the American’s reaction just now had confirmed his worst suspicions; that his brother was a lowdown, dirty, lying son-of-a-bitch. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thought bleakly. This was not going to end well.

B
lissfully unaware of Joe’s inner turmoil, Polly sat beside him cooing at an inquisitive stray that had plonked his head in her lap.

‘Cupboard love
,’ he warned, looking over.

‘Good’ said Polly, picking up her
half-empty dinner plate. ‘As he’s obviously starving, I’m only too happy to oblige.’

Joe watched her move off down the street tossing great, greasy, congealed chunks of leftover lamb tagine to her new friend.

‘Here’s an odd thing,’ said Rachel suddenly, watching him watching Polly.

‘What?’ asked Joe, reluctantly tearing his eyes
away.

‘I booked Maisie a flight from London this morning, which means
that she rolled up a good seven hours before that text turned up. Call me cynical, but that doesn’t sound like the lovesick action of a devoted girlfriend to me.’

‘Oh f
or god’s sake, everything doesn’t have to be a conspiracy, Rachel,’ said Joe irritably. ‘Perhaps she fell asleep by the pool? Two days of press junkets would be enough to frazzle anyone’s brain.’