Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
His eyes widen, taken aback. “Uh, Billy.”
“Thanks, Billy. I’m Laurie.”
Billy nods quickly, too quickly, still surprised by the look of it. He’s new to this, I suspect. “I’ll, uh, I’ll bring your coffee soon.”
I catch my make-up artist shaking her head out the corner of my eye. “What?”
“Four sugars?” she repeats through a chuckle. “Does that not seem a touch excessive to you? How do you still have teeth?”
Now I’m laughing. “Dinnae worry. I paid a lot of money for these teeth. They can handle themselves.”
It takes forty minutes to finish the neck wound, which makes me late to set. Fortunately, I’m working with a brilliant director on this movie. Alexa Lee is a master of her craft, and I’ve admired her career for years. Being a part of one of her creations is the literal definition of a dream come true.
“Stan! My guy!” My arms are open as I approach one of my fellow co-stars, Stan Ryan outside the set. We go back a long way, Stan and I. Trained together at the same drama academy in London. This is the second time we’ve worked on screen together. The first being in one episode of a children’s drama for the BBC many moons ago.
Stan falls into my hug, claps my back before squeezing tight.
“Oi!”
We both turn in the direction of the yell.
“Watch the fuckin’ make-up! We wanna roll at some point this fuckin’ mornin’!” Ah, Jerome. Assistant director. Genius…and arsehole.
Stan pulls back, hides his smirk.
“Background!” Jerome continues to yell, calling for the attention of everyone involved in the scene. “Positions please for the master shot!”
After fist-bumping Stan, I walk onto the set that’s been constructed to recreate the backhouse of an eighties butcher shop. We’ll be filming a lot of scenes on this set over the coming week. The fight that leads to my current ‘injuries’ takes place outside it in the alley, but we’ll be shooting that on location. I’m especially looking forward to that one because it’s going to give me a chance to go home and see my mother.
I drop to my knees below the animal carcass replicas suspended from the ceiling before arranging myself in a lifeless position on the grimy and sawdust-covered floor. I’m not sure what the ‘grime’ consists of, but experience tells me it’ll be clean, safe, and possibly even edible despite how disgusting it looks.
“Laurie…” Alexa’s by my feet when I glance up. “Maybe go against the wall. Like a…a…” She circles the air while she visualises. “Slumped, ya know? As if he just gave up. That final blow…” I can almost see the images playing in her head. She’s so animated. Hands moving, head bobbing. “His body just couldn’t take it. Couldn’t hold him up.”
“Got it.” And I love it.
“All right, everyone, picture’s up!” Jerome calls.
Time to get ready. Take in my final breaths as Laurence Cole. Block out the cameras, and the boom mic hovering above my head.
“Roll sound!”
Stan’s off camera, waiting to run in and ‘find’ me.
“Roll camera! Last looks, everyone.”
Almost go time. Laurence slips away. I’m Quinn Rowe now. Undercover cop. Dying. I close my eyes.
“Marker!” The final call from Jerome before the snap of the clapperboard.
Alexa is up next. My facial muscles relax, feign unconsciousness. I’m ready.
And finally…
“Action!”
Here we go…
Five days later…
Last day with this damn eye prosthetic. Hadn’t realised eyeballs could sweat until this week. Fucking midnight and we’ve only just wrapped. I wouldn’t usually be so crabbit about it, but then I don’t normally want to dig my eye from its socket with the back of a fucking spoon.
A girl from wardrobe catches me picking at the silicone edges on my way back to my dressing room. She puts out her hand, stops me. “That bothering you?”
“Aye. Can’t wait to get the fucking thing…” It pulls free at the exact moment I say, “Off. Ow.”
“It shouldn’t be.” She moves closer, face mere millimetres from mine while she studies the eye. “Something must be in there, irritating it. You need to get that checked. Last thing you need is a real swollen eye.”
It seems this woman has ceased to exist before she’s even finished talking. My mind has switched off, forgotten it’s involved in a conversation with another person. The only person worth its attention appears to be the guy Andy brought to supper the other night. The spark. I’ve seen him around the last couple of days, attempted eye contact several times, to which he always looks away. Too busy, maybe. Uninterested. Or uneasy. Now, he’s standing just ten feet away from me, pointing to something high up while chatting to the DP.
“…Be a problem, especially shooting the pre-fight scenes.”
Right. Wardrobe woman. Conversation. “Y-yeah. Aye, I’ll get right on that.” I smile and nod and thank her with a pat on the shoulder, even though I’ve forgotten the entirety of our chat and what exactly I’m supposed to be ‘getting on’ to. Automatically, my feet start taking me towards my new friend.