Just One Wish (10 page)

Just as Mr. Powell told us to take our places, I felt my cell phone vibrating in my pocket. I didn’t take it out to look and see who was calling, as I didn’t think this was something a medieval nun would do. Instead I followed the other nuns out onto the set trying to look saintly. The director called out, “Atmosphere!” which was the extras’ cue to start moving about, and then “Action!”

Sir Guy rode up on his horse and had words with the mother superior. She spoke her lines to him with an equal measure of fright and disgust.

Personally, I thought it was very considerate of him to ride his horse into the courtyard so Maid Marion and Robin Hood would have some way to head off into the sunset together, but I tried to look at his men reproachfully anyway.

I turned when the mother superior got knocked to the ground. I reached out to help her up, but one of Sir Guy’s men grabbed me by the arm.

That’s when reflex took over. I twisted away from the man, trying to break his grasp. This must have caught him off guard because his feet didn’t move, even though he kept a hold of my arm. He teetered, swore, then fell sprawled out on the floor in front of me.

I stared at him in surprise. “Oh, sorry,” I whispered.

Mr. Powell stood up and yelled into the bullhorn, “Cut!”

Chapter
8

The movement of bodies immediately halted, and everyone turned to face the director.

“You—the pretty nun!” he called. “What do you think you’re doing!”

Every pair of eyes found me. I clenched my hands so tightly my fingernails dug into my palms. “Sorry. It was a reflex. You know, when someone attacks you, you just automatically—”

“No, you don’t,” he said in a clipped voice. “You are a nun. Nuns don’t fight back. Make another mistake and you won’t work on this set again.” He sat back down and waved a hand in our direction. “Everybody take your positions—and what is wrong with that horse?”

Everyone turned their stares from me to the horse. The horse didn’t seem nearly as humiliated by the attention as I had been—probably because horses have never been to junior high and don’t realize that when everyone stares at you like that it means social death.

The handler walked onto the set cooing at the horse, who kept moving its weight from one leg to another and twitching its ears.

“Something might be wrong with the saddle,” the handler called back. “I’ll check it out.”

Mr. Powell waved his hand in the horse’s direction. “That should have been done before. At the rate we’re going, they’ll put
Jeopardy
reruns in our time slot. Where’s our backup horse?”

The handler bent down to loosen the saddle straps and calmly called back, “We don’t need another horse. Samson’s a professional. He’ll be fine.”

“A professional?” Mr. Powell yelled. “I’ll give you a ten-minute break and then Samson will be a professional circus horse.” He said other things, but since they weren’t yelled into the bullhorn, I didn’t hear them. At the announcement of a break, dozens of murmured conversations started. Several of Sir Guy’s henchmen sat down on the floor. A few people wandered off the set and picked up water bottles. A makeup artist walked over to Esme and brushed powder across her forehead while another rearranged the hair on her shoulders.

I unclenched my fists. Little red fingernail marks dotted my palms. The other nuns moved away from me, as though associating with me would make them look bad to the director.

Well, the Hollywood life was already looking less glittery. In the half an hour I’d been an actress, I’d been insulted by the leading lady, yelled at by the director, and shunned by a group of nuns.

“You can’t take it personally.”

I looked up at the sound of Steve’s voice. I hadn’t heard him walk over, but now he stood in front of me. “Directors are just like that. They surgically remove all people skills from them during film school.” He leaned closer to me and lowered his voice. “Besides, Dean has obviously never been to Catholic school or he’d know that a lot of nuns can hold their own in a fight.”

“Thanks,” I said, because I knew he was trying to make me feel better. “I didn’t mean to mess things up for everyone.”

He shrugged, and I couldn’t help but notice the way his tunic emphasized his muscled physique. “If it hadn’t been you, he would have found some other reason to stop the scene. Just watch. He’ll make us do it a dozen times. By the time we’re through, there won’t be any water left in the fish pond. Sir Guy’s outfit will have soaked it all up.”

Over Steve’s shoulder I noticed Esme approaching, and I knew I didn’t have time to waste on small talk. “Can I ask you a favor?”

His eyes immediately clouded, and I wondered how many times strangers had asked him for favors. Still, he tilted his head and his voice took on a teasing tone. “Well, you can always ask.”

Esme reached his side, disapproval making her face look hard and cold. I knew she was about to take him away from me. I felt it happening already.

I reached out a hand toward Steve, nearly touching his sleeve. “Can I just have you alone for two minutes?”

His head tilted back, and he raised an eyebrow at me, which is when I realized I had not phrased the question right. With eyebrow still raised, he said, “Oh?”

Esme snorted in my direction. “Two minutes? Well, you must work fast.”

“No, I—”

Steve took a step away from me. “I’m sure you’ve heard all sorts of stories about celebrities, but I’m really not like that.”

Esme smirked at him and crossed her arms across her chest. “That’s right. One woman is pretty much like the rest to him.”

“Where do you come up with these things?” he asked her.

I said, “I want to talk to you about my brother. He has cancer.”

Steve’s attention returned to me, but he only looked mildly interested. None of the shock and sympathy most people showed me appeared on his face. “You want a donation? You’ll have to talk to my assistant. He takes care of that sort of thing.” Steve scanned the room. “He’s—where is Ron?”

Esme looped her arm through Steve’s and slowly pulled him away from me. “He’s probably arranging a hostile takeover of some poor, hapless company. Isn’t that what you pay him to do?”

I held up one hand. “I don’t want your money, just your time.”

Steve let out a short laugh. “You’ll have better luck asking for money. I have more of that. Find Ron and talk to him.” Then Steve let himself be propelled away.

I took a step to follow them, but Esme shot me a piercing look over her shoulder. “It’s unprofessional to bother celebrities during a shoot. And it’s absolutely unthinkable to ask for money.”

I stared after them, at first numb, until the humiliation seeped in. Then I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. I had never been so singularly dismissed in my life. And this after I’d told them my brother had cancer. I wasn’t a con man. I wasn’t some sort of free-loader. I’d asked for two minutes of his time, and he hadn’t been willing to give me that much. How did a person become so calloused to others’ suffering?

Well, what had I expected from someone who sued his own family?

I turned away from the sight of him and walked across the set. I meant to leave. I meant to walk back to Madison and tell her we were going home.

The director yelled, “Places, people!”

I kept walking.

“Hey, pretty nun!” the director yelled at me. “Get with the other nuns!”

I stopped as though pulled back by a leash. As much as I wanted to leave, I would draw too much attention to myself if I walked off the set now. The security guards, who were still prowling around the edges of the courtyard, would certainly notice me then. I gritted my teeth and stomped over to the other nuns.

The director held up one hand in the air. “And don’t look so angry,” he yelled as though I were tormenting him. “You’re a nun, for heaven’s sake!”

I took several deep breaths and stared at the ground, trying to regain composure. When I looked up, I saw Steve a few feet away, climbing his ladder but watching me. “You still look angry,” he said.

“I’m just an extra,” I told him. “You don’t need to concern yourself with me.”

“Listen, I’m sorry about your brother.”

“Yeah.” I sent him a cold smile. “I’m going to tell Sir Guy where you’re hiding as soon as he arrives.”

Steve tilted his head back and laughed. Which only made me want to throw something at him.

“Atmosphere!” The director called. I knew I wasn’t supposed to look at the camera, so I gazed across the set to where Esme and her ladies-in-waiting sat by the fishpond. It was the first time I noticed the pale pink roses that surrounded it. Roses like the ones I’d seen in that box. When had those flowers been brought in?

“Action!”

Sir Guy and his men came on. I gulped and didn’t have to fake my worried expression. I did, however, find it hard to look at them when I really wanted to scan the set for a snake. My gaze kept darting around the scenery.

This time when Sir Guy’s henchman grabbed me around the waist, I didn’t fight back. I let out a pitiful-sounding “Ahhh!” then craned my head around to check for anything slithering around the floor behind me.

Sir Guy led the horse over to Maid Marion, let go of the reins, and pulled Marion to her feet. The horse shook its mane and took a step away from the roses, but the director either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“You’ve made me a fool long enough,” Sir Guy said. “What is your answer?”

Maid Marion blinked up at him, a tearful expression on her face.

Robin Hood stepped out on the tree limb. “My answer is that you are a fool and will always be one.”

Robin Hood let two arrows fly in quick succession, although not the kind of arrows with tips that could actually hurt anyone. I supposed that was one of those parts they edited in later. Still, Steve managed to hit two of Guy’s men, including the man who held on to me. The henchman gave an impressive-sounding groan and dropped to the ground.

The director must have been paying attention to the henchman’s performance and not Steve’s face, or he would have complained. Because Steve gazed at me—at first it was only a glance because I was in his line of vision—but then a questioning look flickered across his expression. He was trying to figure something out. After a moment, he seemed to remember he needed to go on with the scene and he took hold of the rope. He jumped, but midair his eyes swung back to find me.

Recognition filled his face, and I knew he had placed me.

Which is probably why, instead of dropping to the ground in front of Maid Marion, he actually plowed into her and sent her flying into the fishpond.

An impressive splash shot up, followed by an even more impressive scream. I could hardly hear the director call “Cut!” over it.

Sir Guy burst out laughing, which didn’t help matters. As Maid Marion floundered around, trying to stand in a now waterlogged dress, he called out to her, “I’ve changed my mind. Robin can have you!”

Steve stepped into the pool to help Esme, but she stood up and pushed him away. “Do you think this is funny? There are fish in this pond! A carp ran into me! I probably have carp crap in my hair now.”

I’m not sure whether it was the yelling or the splash that convinced Herman to make a run—or rather slither—for it, but he shot out of the bushes, sweeping across the floor making giant S’s.

The horse noticed this new event right away. He whinnied, reared on his back feet, and proved he was indeed a professional. Or at least could have been a professional tap dancer, since this is what it looked like as he stomped the floor in an effort to keep Herman away.

Say what you will about snakes’ intelligence, Herman was smart enough to make a beeline, or in this case an S-line away from the horse, and into the group of ladies-in-waiting. They all screamed and jumped up on top of the benches, except for one who ran into the fishpond, pushing Esme down again as she did.

More splashing. More screeching. All of this commotion spooked the horse further, and he galloped off the set, scattering nuns in his wake. The last I saw of him, several crew members and the handler were chasing him through the miniature thatched village.

The director yelled things at the top of his lungs, most of which weren’t actually directions. However, in between a lot of cursing, he did tell us to “Clear the set!” and I intended to.

I turned to follow my fellow nuns. I’d even taken several steps in that direction when Steve grabbed my arm and spun me around.

“You’re that girl from the basketball game, aren’t you?” He gripped my arm harder, and his eyes grew cold. I couldn’t breathe. I stared back at him with my mouth forming a response that didn’t come.

Two security guards appeared behind him, peering down at me. They didn’t say anything, just watched Steve speak with me.

“You’re some sort of stalker, aren’t you?” he said.

“No.” I tried to take a step away from him but couldn’t budge out of his grip. “See, a stalker would have known you had brown hair. I only wanted to talk to you.”

“How did you get past security? How did you get a costume and a part on this series?”

I glanced at the security guards, who looked more menacing by the moment. “Is that a rhetorical question or do you actually want to know?”

“How about this—you can tell it to the police.” Steve let go of my arm, which was apparently the signal for the security guards to flank me on both sides.

“You don’t need to do that,” I said.

One of the security guards took hold of my elbow. “We’ll go ahead and contact the police for you, Mr. Raleigh.”

I kept my eyes on Steve. “No. Please.”

He stared at me, his expression unmoved, and didn’t reply.

The other security guard nodded in Steve’s direction. “We’ll take her to the guard station until the police get here. You’ll need to come by and make a statement for them then.”