Bootycall 2 - J. D. Hawkins Page 0,7

But you’re not expecting this. You don’t know anything yet. You get a little nervous maybe when he doesn’t respond at first, but pull it back.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. I’m just finding the right level.”

“Ok. It’s very simple. Don’t load yourself up with it, ok? Roll sound. Action.”

I push open the door.

“John! Hey! John!”

Christopher jumps out of his chair. “Cut! Dylan. Why are you shouting?”

I freeze. “Shit. Sorry Chris. I’m just…just trying something.”

He pulls off his baseball cap and rubs his temples, nodding. “Ok. You’re thinking too much about what comes after. Let’s just get you walking over to the bed and pulling back the blanket. We’ll cut there, then push in and get your reaction in a separate shot, ok?”

I nod.

“Ok. Harry, is that light looking good? That’s not going to be a post-production headache, is it? Ok, I’ll take your word for it. Roll sound. And…action.”

I zone out for the next ten or so takes. Chris’s voice coming from some place over the hills, my head spinning every time I move. My eyes staring into the distance like they’re too heavy to move. I don’t know what anybody’s saying to me anymore, I just keep nodding and taking my place behind the door, hoping that if I do it enough times I’ll somehow get through this, somehow make it all go away. I’m not here, I’m somewhere in limbo, somewhere in the past, looking at Chris’s face and the scene around me, the cameras and the lights, as if they’re the memory.

“Ok, cut it. Let’s take a short break. Back here and ready to shoot in ten everyone,” Chris shouts, before leaping out of his chair and quickly moving towards me. He waves his hand in front of me.

“Hey, Dylan. What’s going on today, man? You didn’t take anything before the scene, did you?”

“No. No. I’m totally sober.”

He gazes into my eyes, searching for the evidence. Finally he nods, satisfied.

“It’s cool, ok? No big deal. You’re probably just a little stressed, a little overworked. It’s been a tough schedule. It’s a tough scene.”

“Yeah,” I agree, but the last thing I want right now is the director making excuses for me.

“Ok. Don’t worry about it. Go to your trailer, get out of the character a little, take your mind off the work, call a friend or something. Then we’ll come back and try again.”

He slaps me on the shoulder as I stumble off in the direction of my trailer, everything still spinning around me wildly. When I step inside I slam the door closed and crumple into a chair, my head stuck in a whirlwind, my heart thumping like an angry tribe.

“Dylan?” comes a voice from outside. It’s Gemma.

“Yeah.”

She steps inside, that tablet still attached to her hand, and smiles. It’s one hell of a smile, and focusing on it helps me push the maelstrom inside of me a tiny bit further away.

“How’s it going?” she asks, as she settles into a chair opposite.

“Good. Good.”

She presses her lips together and then speaks carefully. “I was watching you work. On the monitors.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Gemma eyes me, her gaze searching. “Is something bothering you?”

It takes a lot of effort to chuckle away her concern and reach for the mini-fridge to pull out a beer, but I do it anyway.

“No. I’m fine. I just have a splitting headache. I should try to get a little more sleep.”

“Well the beer probably won’t help.”

I pull it away from my lips and grin.

“You’re probably right,” I say, settling it down on the counter.

She smiles again, and I feel like I’m basking in the warm rays that come from her beautiful face. Absorbing a little of the calmness and order that she projects like an elegant work of art.

What can I do to help?” she asks.

“Nothing,” I say, before turning to her and returning her gentle gaze. “It’s just…have you ever lost anyone? Close to you?”

“I’ve lost people, yeah. My mother.”

“Shit, I knew that. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry, Gemma.”

“You are not an idiot. It’s really ok,” she says kindly. “What did you want to know?”

I sigh. “How did you handle it? I mean…for research purposes. Just so that I can get some ideas for that scene.”

She looks up as she thinks about the question, and I realize I’m hanging on her answer like it’s the most important thing I’ll ever hear. Because I can’t go back to what I felt, what I went through. I need another way into this scene right now. Reliving