Heartland (12 page)

“Well, I reckon you'll have plenty of reasons to come down on me, green as I am. Comes time, you just fire away.”

“Don't worry. I will.”

“Well, Mr. Denderhoff, I'd say it's a pleasure but we both know I'd be lying. Just do me a favor and hold off yelling at the ladies. I've always had a hair trigger on their account. You find a need to shout at somebody, come looking for me.” JayJay nodded affably and walked away. He offered a couple of howdy's to the people he saw staring at him, feeling good enough over what he'd just done not to let the stares bother him too much.

“Mr. Junior? Did I get that name right? Hi, I'm Amber, the script girl? Would you like your pages?”

JayJay accepted the bound pages from a young lady who resembled a very tense elf. His name was scripted in red across the cover. “Do you make a question of everything you say?”

“Am I doing that? Oh. Yeah. I am. I don't . . .” She bustled away.

The pages were clamped into a simple plastic binder. The title was in bold.
Heartland on Fire
. He turned the page. The script was not in any order he'd ever seen before, blocked out in places and written down the middle in others. Names were in big, tall letters. Strange-sounding orders were also capitalized, like CUT TO, FADE OUT, PARA DIA.

But he had grown up on oddities of the English language like manuals for farm equipment and Sears catalogs. That was not what had him searching with his free hand for someplace to sit down before he keeled over. His hand found a canvas chair and he lowered himself down, all without taking his eyes from the script.

A voice said, “If you think saying a couple of nice words is going to let you get away with
this,
mister, you've got another think coming.”

Reluctantly JayJay lifted his gaze. He looked uncomprehendingly at the little AD.

Denderhoff carried his script rolled up tight. He had a trio of lenses strung around his neck. He was sweating. And angry. “Nobody sits in my chair.”

“Yours?”

“See the name on the back? Moi. Mine. Now up.”

“Sure thing.”

The gnat flitted off.

“Here, Mr. Junior.” Someone slid a stool within range. “Take a load off.”

“Thank you, sir.” He did not even see the man clearly. He had already turned his attention back to the pages in his hand.

The words marked for him to say felt as though they had been drawn from his own brain.

He flipped the pages. Same thing every time. JayJay shut the script. He stared into the soundstage's far shadows. The words did not just sound right. They were
his
.

A perspiring young man with bulky headphones around his neck and a stopwatch on a string raced over. “Fifteen minutes, Mr. Junior.” Then he was gone.

JayJay asked the empty air, “Does anybody move at a normal pace around here?”

“Hon, this is calm. You're only shooting trials today. Try going live. Nothing beats a live broadcast for pure frantic.” Hilda or Gladys grabbed his sleeve and snipped at a loose thread. She lowered her voice. “See the young lady standing all by her lonesome? She's your new love interest.”

“Say what?”

“She's almost as green as you, hon, and twice as nervous. Go give her a smile and a howdy.” The older woman batted her eyelashes. “First time I've ever been sorry they didn't ask me to dress up for the cameras.”

JayJay found it marginally easier to examine his chopped-up home. The structure was built on steel pilings and elevated about three feet off the soundstage floor. The lady leaned against the edge of his living room. As JayJay approached, he decided she did not look afraid. She looked irate.

But she sure looked good doing it.

All the eyes in the soundstage that weren't on him were on her. And for good reason. She drew every light in the room. Her jeans were spray-painted onto legs about six miles long. Her hair was too dark to be truly blonde and framed her face in a tawny mane. She had a cowgirl's rangy muscles. Her feet were the reason they invented boots. Emerald eyes watched his approach with wary intent.

JayJay touched the rim of his hat. “Morning, ma'am. I'm—”

“I know who you are.” Her gaze returned to the script. “Let's get one thing straight. All that success of yours? It doesn't leave me weak in the knees.”

“You're thinking of that other guy.”

But she was on a roll. “And another thing. I've heard you figure grabby-paws is a clause written somewhere in your contract.”

He watched her hands, and saw how she could not completely hide the tremble as she flipped through pages she probably didn't see. “That's the other guy again.”

“You think I'm kidding?”

“No ma'am, I surely don't.” JayJay set his hat on the cut-off floor beside her. “Matter of fact, I'd say you were being pretty temperate in your warning.”

She cast him a sideways glance. “Nobody says ‘temperate' anymore. It's a law they passed somewhere.”

“Guess I missed that. My first day here was Saturday. The feller over there with the lenses around his neck?”

“The mosquito. Yeah, he already drew blood, but he flitted away before I could smack him.”

“He set on me like a spark on dry tinder.” JayJay drew the knife from his belt. “I whanged this into the doorpost by his head. Which is why I'd call your warning there a polite form of hello.”

“I got the long version of that set-to from your fan club in Wardrobe.” She studied the sheafed blade. “Is that a genuine Bowie?”

“I can't say for certain about this thing. But a Bowie is what I use back home. You know knives?”

“My daddy has a Bowie. The handle was carved from the first buck's antlers he took.” Her gaze softened with her tone. “He was sixteen.”

“Don't hardly get any finer than hunting the high country and waiting for that first snow. You from Montana?”

“South Dakota. You?”

JayJay shook his head. “Hard to say.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. This place is so intense I can't remember much of anything from before I walked in the door over there.”

“How about your name?”

“Sorry.” She wiped one hand down the leg of her jeans before offering it. “Kelly Channing.”

“John Junior, Miss Channing. It's a real pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Well, you talk nice, I'll give you that much.” Her features held to their narrow caution, but her tone eased a trifle. “How did you wind up here?”

JayJay hesitated. “Miss Channing . . .”

“I'd say first names are called for. In case you hadn't noticed, they've got us kissing on page thirty-three.”

But he didn't want to start thinking on that. “Kelly, I have a mind not to answer you. I don't want you running off telling folks you've been hooked up with a man straight out of the piney woods.”

She was not the least bit impressed. “Tell you what, when we're done here we can compare tales. Make a wager over which one of us has the wilder story for how we got to where we are.”

“I wouldn't want to take your money.”

“You won't. Believe me.”

“So how about dinner?” Soon as he spoke the words, he wished he could take them back. The day was already too confusing to go chasing after a lady, even if she was about the best thing he'd ever seen in denim.

Though her gaze remained wary, she responded with a tight nod. “Winner chooses, loser buys.”

JayJay gave up on his desire to retract the offer when the steel outer doors clanged open and two men entered the room. First to enter was Peter, the writer JayJay had last seen at the fire. JayJay had met the other man when they'd had him read those lines with his fake sister Clara and then followed him around with the camera. Britt somebody. But JayJay could be excused for having been a little unfocused on Saturday. This morning the whole scene was crystal clear. Whatever title the guy might be wearing, this Britt fellow was the Business.

“Over here, Mr. Junior.” He vaulted up onto the raised half cabin and waved JayJay into his chopped-up sitting room. “I'm Britt Turner, director of
Heartland
. What should I call you?”

He pulled a chair over from the kitchen table. “JayJay's worked my whole life long.”

“And we thought a Claire playing Clara was too weird for words. Going to take some getting used to, an actor with the exact same name as his role.” The director shared a look with his AD. Denderhoff was stationed behind the sofa holding Claire and the writer. “PR ought to be able to make something of it.”

“I'll have a word.”

“When we're done here, JayJay, you need to head over to Allerby's office. Admin is working on your guild card, and Publicity will want to get some shots for the promo they're setting up.”

“You're the boss.”

Britt passed him a quick smile. “Nice to hear an actor say those words.” The director wore comfortable no-nonsense clothes, a loose cotton shirt and khaki pants. “Quick intros. You've already met Claire Pietan, right?”

JayJay realized he was speaking of his false sister. He nodded in slow awareness. Shifting the name that little bit helped him fit her into a new mental box. “Not by name.”

“And this is Kelly Channing.”

Claire's voice was acidic. “Oh, they're already
good
pals. Aren't you, little brother.”

“I met Miss Channing this morning,” JayJay confirmed, as Kelly gave the other woman a careful study.

“Great. Peter Caffrey here is
Heartland
's chief writer. And Derek Steen is acting first cameraman today.”

JayJay gave them a wave. “Nice to see you gents still up and breathing.”

“And clean,” Derek confirmed. “Thought I'd never get the smoke out of my hair.”

Peter Caffrey remained silent and gave him the sideways look of somebody who wasn't sure he liked what he was seeing. The director went on, “We didn't know where to locate you, so we weren't able to get the pages to you before now. Just the same, our thought was to try a few scenes on for size. Your lines will be on the teleprompter. We'll be filming, but just for study. It's all rehearsal.”

“The full script won't be done for another couple of weeks,” Peter warned the director. “I'm pulling what I can from the episode we never shot. But it'll be a while.”

“We're rehearsing,” the director repeated. “But we're going to light it and shoot it so JayJay here can get used to performing for the camera. You're new to this game, isn't that right?”

“First time up at bat.”

“We're not after breaking records here. We'll walk you slow through the process, work things at a comfortable pace. You got any questions, now is the time. Or comments. And once again, don't worry about not knowing your lines.”

JayJay figured now was as good a time as any to say, “I reckon it won't take me all that long to learn what you want me to say.”

That stopped traffic all through the soundstage. The director leaned forward. “Run that one by me again.”

JayJay hefted his script. “The words here sound like they were plucked from my head. I don't know how to say it any clearer than that.”

“Hear that, Peter? An actor who doesn't feel any need to play with your work.” The director stood up and made a process of dusting off his khakis. “Let's light this and see what we've got.”

Chapter 15

P
eter waited until they were into the fourth take of the second scene. He sidled up to where Derek was fiddling with an extra light for the kitchen. “This is crazy.”

Derek stepped back to the camera. “Good crazy or bad crazy?”

“Too much of both.”

Peter's best friend was lighting this practice scene like he was working for his first Oscar. “You ask me, I'd say we're cooking with gas.”

JayJay had slipped out the back door. Kelly was enduring some unwanted comments from the AD. Claire was fishing cigarettes from her shoulder bag. Britt was huddled over the remote at the back of the warehouse. A principal advantage of digital filming was how a director could flip the film from the camera, step to the remote, and get a firsthand glimpse of what they'd just shot. The remote was hidden behind a little white tent with “Director Only” written above the entry in Day-Glo orange. No actor was permitted inside the remote's tent. There was too much risk of them turning into mini-directors, looking to control their roles. Britt flipped the cover back and called over, “Derek!”

“Yo.”

“We need to mute the lighting on that side of the kitchen.”

“Working on it.”

Peter waited until the director had submerged to go on. “John Junior.”

“So?”

“Episode two? Your brain go back that far?”

Derek used a wrench with a taped handle to tap the light over a fraction. “Before my time.”

“John Junior is the character's childhood name. We used it once, then let it slide. The whole world had already accepted him as JayJay.” When Derek's only response was to step back behind the camera again, Peter added, “And the speed he's learning his lines. One time through, then he knows every word down cold.”

“So we're working with a sober star for a change.” Derek turned around and called, “Britt, I think we're ready!”

“In a minute.”

Peter stepped closer. “A guy who's never been under the lights before, he's smoothly working his way through a five-scene script? That doesn't strike you as even marginally strange?”

“Yeah. It does.” Derek leaned against his camera. Gave him a flat-eyed stare as only Derek could. “So where are you going with this?”

“I don't know. I just wanted to hear somebody else say it besides me.”

“Yes, Peter. I am as astonished as our director over there. I came in to do some rehearsal work. And I discover we're shooting finished takes. Everybody in here is so surprised they can't talk about anything else. About how we've got ourselves a JayJay Parsons who is going to reignite this series. About how we've got a future.” Derek crossed his arms. “So I'm asking you again. Where are you going with this?”