Last Summer in Louisbourg (4 page)

Chapter Six

Justine said she would ask permission for them to be in the film, but when it came right down to doing it she lost her nerve. “You ask, okay?” she pleaded, tossing the responsibility to Andrea. “I'll bet you're good at that kind of thing.”

“Not especially,” Andrea protested, but she mustered her courage and went to the administration office. It was located in Dugas House, a building that, from the outside, looked like a typical eighteenth-century French colonial home. Inside, it was a different story. Instead of the sparse, wooden furniture and open fireplaces that had sustained French families so long ago, this building was furnished with steel desks, swivel chairs, a row of gleaming filing cabinets, a computer, a fax machine, and several telephones. This was where decisions were made about the day-to-day concerns of running the Fortress of Louisbourg and where Jackie Cormier's office was.

Jackie listened carefully while Andrea described how she and Justine had been asked to play a role in the film. “Would it be all right if we accepted?” she asked tentatively.

There was a thoughtful pause while Jackie tapped her pen on her desk. “I don't see why not,” she replied. “Film is another way of promoting the fortress, after all. As long as this won't take too much time away from your regular work…”

“They didn't say how long it would take.”

“Tell me about it,” said Jackie, nodding wearily. “Filmmakers seldom do know how long anything's going to take. I've worked with them before.”

“All we have to do is stand behind some drapes and secretly listen to the governor's conversation with his fiancée. That shouldn't take very long,” Andrea reasoned.

“That depends,” said Jackie, raising a sceptical eyebrow, “on the length of the conversation. I hope it'll be fascinating.”

“Well, it's not,” replied Andrea. “We've already heard it. The governor had to repeat it over and over and over. It got boring.”

“So you really were eavesdropping, were you?”

“Ohmigosh, no. It's just that we had to keep quiet while they were rehearsing. We couldn't help overhearing them,” Andrea explained in a hurry.

“I'm sure it's not a state secret. It's part of the script. Okay, you and Justine go ahead. Sounds as if it could be fun.”

Andrea left Jackie's office almost dancing with excitement. She and Justine really were going to act in a film, a major film, not a school play. She could hardly wait to tell Justine the good news.

A week later the two girls were called back to the governor's suite. The first person they saw was Calvin with the mahogany hair and the black clothes. He was up on a stepladder, tinkering with a tall light standard. Whatever it was that a gaffer did, it had something to do with wiring and lights.

“Um…hi,” said Andrea. “We're going to be in the movie. We're supposed to see Penny Goodman about it.”

“Well, ah declare,” said Calvin, as he gave them both the once-over. “This's a day ah'll surely remember.” He spoke in a slow, almost musical, accent of the sort you hear in old movies about cowboys and horses. Calvin's dark eyes darted from one girl to the other. His one gold earring was as flashy as his smile. “Ah'll go find Penny for you. Just who-all do ah say is he-ah?”

“Andrea and Justine.”

“Andrea and Justine,” he repeated carefully, as if their names were of great significance. “Don't y'all go 'way now.”

He was back in two minutes, accompanied by a harassed-looking Penny Goodman carrying her clipboard. She glanced at the girls, but her mind was obviously on something else. “Be with you in a minute,” she announced, and strode towards one of the cameramen, launching into an energetic discussion with him. When she came back, she seemed distracted. “Your costumes are okay, but you need make-up. Downstairs, to the left. And tell Charlene to make it snappy. We're behind schedule.”

The make-up artist worked in a cramped room with one small window, a room normally used for storing fortress furniture. Tables and chairs had been shoved against a wall to make space for a couple of bright lights, a big mirror, a wheeled cart full of make-up, and a bulky reclining chair. In it was the actor who played the governor, still in white tights and velvet jacket. A cotton cape was draped around his shoulders. Charlene, a plump woman in a pink smock, was leaning over his face and brushing powder over his closed eyelids. Andrea had never seen a man's face covered in make-up before.

Charlene had chocolate-coloured skin and a halo of thick black hair. She glanced at Andrea and Justine and said, “Oh, Lordy, don't tell me there's two of you. I thought there was only one more.”

The governor opened his powdered eyelids and looked over at them. “Good morning, ladies,” he greeted them, oozing the artificial charm trained actors seem able to project even first thing in the morning.

“Lean back,” ordered Charlene and brushed mascara on his eyelashes. Then she flicked off the make-up cape and announced, “You're done. Who's next?”

“You go first,” said Andrea, nudging Justine.

“No, you,” protested Justine.

“I want to watch how she does it,” Andrea insisted.

Justine wiggled herself into the big chair. Charlene wrapped the make-up cape around her shoulders, then she stood back and took a long, analytical look at Justine's face before getting to work applying creams and powders in a subdued rainbow of pastel shades. Justine began to look older and considerably more glamorous. Charlene put the final touches to her work of art with a swoosh of mascara and a dab of bright lipstick. She stepped back to inspect her creation and nodded approvingly.

“What about your hair?” she enquired.

“What about it?” asked Justine. She was admiring her brand-new image in the mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair and patted it into shape.

“Oh, now I remember,” said Charlene. “You two are going to wear some kind of hats, right?”

“Our bonnets,” replied Andrea, pulling hers out of her pocket. “It's because we've got lice!”

“Lice!” cried Charlene. “You better not.”

Andrea was next. After Charlene had worked her magic Andrea took a long look at herself in the mirror, wondering if she could pass for eighteen. Maybe nineteen. Would her friends be able to recognize her when the film was shown? She hoped her name would be listed in the cast. Justine finally dragged her away from her daydreams, worried that they were going to be late.

“Mah eyes are buggin' outta mah head,” declared Calvin approvingly as he viewed the girls from halfway up the stepladder. “Li'l dahlins,” he sang out, as if it was a fragment of some song he knew.

Andrea tried not to smile in case it left lines in her make-up. No guy had ever called her “darling” before.

At the other end of the drawing room the governor, whose real-life name was Brock Rutherford, sat uncomfortably on the little curved chair that his true love usually occupied. He was wearing glasses and reading a copy of the
Halifax Chronicle-Herald
. His screen fiancée, whose real name was Deborah Cluett, was again dressed in the divine gown and the towering white wig. She was standing by an open window with her elbows on the sill—smoking a cigarette!

“Eww. Disgusting,” muttered Andrea.

Justine nodded and then said, “That Calvin guy has a funny accent.”

“He's from the States,” Andrea explained.

“Way down yonder y'awl,” mimicked Justine, trying to imitate him without much success.

“Do you think he's cute?” Andrea asked.

They stood watching him while he adjusted a light reflector. Justine considered the matter for a minute. “Sort of. Not exactly. I don't like his hair.”

“Let's move it!” ordered Penny. She positioned the two girls in the doorway while she gave instructions about the way they were to look as they spied on the governor and his fiancée. She coached them on the expressions they should wear when they glanced at one another with their shared secret.

“You're frightened by what you've heard and seen,” she emphasized. “Remember, you are servants. No status. No job security. If you get caught listening in on the boss, it's…” she demonstrated by pulling her index finger across her throat as if it was a knife. “So you're curious, but you're also very nervous. Got it?”

The girls nodded, already looking nervous.

Penny stepped off to one side. The governor and his lady returned to their proper places, without the cigarette, the eyeglasses, or the newspaper.

“My heart is yours, my own sweet love.”

“I pledge you mine.”

“Then shall we rendezvous this very night?”

“Oh yes, my dearest.”

“Oh, yuck,” thought Andrea to herself. Did people ever really say this kind of thing to one another? Even if it was the eighteenth century it still sounded absurd. She would have laughed out loud except that the cameras were now pointing in her direction. She acted surprised. She acted alarmed. She exchanged a knowing look with Justine before the two of them nervously inched their way back behind the drapery.

“Cut!” called the director. “That's the right idea. Now, next time it would be better if you, ah…Anita…” He pointed to Andrea. He had forgotten her name. “Could you stand just a little to the left of the door? And you…ah…” He pointed at Justine and didn't even attempt her name. “Ah…you could look a bit less startled. Not quite so much expression.”

They did the scene again. And again and again. In the end it took over an hour for them to create the precise mood the director wanted. By the time they were finished Andrea was weary and hot and Justine was in an irritable mood. Their heavy clothes were damp and their make-up felt sticky as they endured the heat from the lights. They were relieved when they were finally thanked and told they could leave.

“Y'all don't have to hurry away now,” suggested Calvin, smiling at Andrea as he gathered up an electric cable.

“We want to get out of our costumes. We're awfully hot,” Andrea complained.

“Then we can get some pop,” added Justine.

“That's a mighty fine idea,” Calvin agreed. “Ah was wonderin' where a fella goes aroun' he-ah for refreshment. Maybe ah could buy you a Pepsi. Maybe ah'll call you up sometime.”

Andrea tried not to look surprised. Was this guy asking both of them to go out with him? Or just one? Which one?

“'Low me to introduce mahself. Calvin ]efferson Lee. Ah'm the gaffer. New to these parts. Come from Alabama.”

“Oh,” remarked Justine, who couldn't think of anything to say. She had never met anyone from Alabama before. Nor had Andrea.

“Sure…we could go out…sometime,” replied Andrea uncertainly.

“And you are Miss Andrea…?”

Andrea suppressed a giggle. “Miss,” for heaven's sake. It was almost as old-fashioned as the governor's dialogue. “Baxter,” she finally managed. “Andrea Baxter.”

“I'm Justine Marchand,” Justine announced. “We'd better go now. We room together at the Northeast Bed and Breakfast.”

When they were aboard the bus heading back to town, Andrea asked her roommate, “Think I should go out with him?”

“Up to you.”

“He is cute, isn't he?”

“I think he's kind of old for you.”

“How old is he?”

“Ask him.”

“I can't.”

“I wouldn't worry about it. He might never call anyhow.”

“I don't care,” Andrea lied.

“Let's go for some pop,” suggested Justine a few minutes later as they trudged up the main road of the real-life town of Louisbourg.

“Right now?”

“Sure. They're gonna die up at the store when they see us made up like this.”

”Uh oh. The make-up. Maybe we should go home first and wash it off,” suggested Andrea, suddenly aware of how unnatural they must look.

“Who cares?” shrugged Justine. “I just want to see the look on that guy's face when we walk in there like this.”

“What guy?” asked Andrea.

“You know.”

“No, I don't.”

“He works there sometimes.”

“Oh, that guy. Curly hair. Wears those round glasses. Never smiles. Right?”

“Cory is his name.”

“You like him, don't you?”

“I never said that.”

“You do so like him.”

“I never said…all I said was I wanted to…oh, never mind. I just want a Coke, okay?”

“Let's go.”

When they reached the store, it was to discover that Cory was not working that day. Vivian, the woman who owned the store, was behind the counter instead. She greeted them cheerfully and asked them where they were going that evening, seeing that their faces were so lavishly made up. That only added to Justine's disappointment. They weren't going anywhere. By then Andrea merely felt self·conscious. Theatrical make-up simply didn't look right when you were wearing a sweatshirt that said BEAVER CANOE.