“What are we waiting for?” I ask Kenneth.
It appears that everything is finally in place. And I say finally because this morning can kiss my black ass. Working with film presents enough challenges without the power going out and lights not working. At least we have a backup generator until we figure out what the hell is going on. If I hear one more person yell we’re working on it from the equipment truck, I can’t be held responsible.
“Uh, so . . . we’re missing someone,” Kenneth says.
“Missing someone?” I gesture to the beach and what seems like an army of extras. “Seems like the gang’s all here. We’ve had enough delays. Let’s get started.”
“We’re waiting on one cast member.” Kenneth adjusts his glasses and averts his eyes.
“I know you’re not saying an actor is late to my set. That can’t be what you’re saying.”
“Well, late may not be the right word,” Kenneth hedges. And I know he’s hedging because I’ve known him for a long-ass time. “Delayed.”
“Delayed is late if I can’t start shooting. Who is it?”
“Neevah.”
Right. So now the uncomfortable silence and shifty stares make sense. No one is late to my set. I’ve been known to track tardy actors down and deal with them myself. Everyone knows Neevah and I are together and are watching to see how I’ll handle it when my girlfriend is late.
I didn’t spend the night with her. I forced myself out of bed, left her asleep and went back to my own cottage to prepare for today. A lot of good that did me since the day feels shot to hell before we’ve even gotten started.
“Did she report for hair and makeup?” I demand, sitting forward in my director’s chair.
“Yeah, Takira—”
“Where is Takira?”
“I’m here,” Takira says from a few feet away.
I walk over and ask her in as low a voice as I can manage when I’m this annoyed. “Where is she?”
“She got hair and makeup over an hour ago,” Takira says. “And she was headed for wardrobe. Maybe she—”
“Where’s wardrobe?” With it being a new set on location, I don’t actually know where everything is situated.
“This way,” Takira says, starting to walk. “But she probably isn’t—”
“Do I look like I have time for probably? We’re wasting money and time. Believe me, the first union break will come before you know it.”
I stride past craft services and through a jungle of equipment and crew to a white hard-topped tent marked wardrobe. When I walk in, the large space is divided into smaller sections, separated by privacy dividers and populated with hanging wardrobe bars. Linh glances up from a table where she’s seated in front of a sewing machine. Her eyes flick, filled with curiosity, between Takira and me.
“Is there a problem?” she asks.
“We’re looking for Neevah,” I say. “She came to wardrobe?”
“Of course.” Linh frowns. “But that was like an hour ago. She was headed for set.”
“Well, she hasn’t made it to set and I need to get started.” I turn on Takira. “Did you check her room?”
“I knocked, but there was no answer, and I didn’t actually expect her to be there because she’s been here.” Consternation pinches Takira’s expression. “I can go check again.”
“No, I will.”
I certainly know the way after last night, and I have a key.
I’m an idiot.
I lowered my guard. I can’t afford to be lax on this—the biggest project of my career. And instead of nailing down shot lists and making sure I was ready for the first day of shooting, where was I?
With my girlfriend.
Even irritated, I can’t dismiss what we had last night. It shook me. Being inside her raw was . . .
Am I seriously getting hard in the middle of a crisis?
I don’t regret one minute of it, but this is what I get. The more I think about it on the way to Neevah’s room, the more annoyed I become. With myself and with her. We’ll have to be smarter than this, better than this if we expect our relationship to work, on set and off. And if we expect other people to respect it.
I reach her room and don’t bother knocking, but use the key she gave me last night.
“Neevah!” I yell as soon as I enter the cottage.
No response.
I walk down the short hall to her bedroom. Wearing her white terrycloth bathrobe over her costume, she’s asleep on the bed.
“Really?” I say harshly, but shake her shoulder gently. “Neevah, wake up.”
Her lashes flutter, and I steel myself against the big brown eyes that come into focus. She smiles sleepily at me and reaches up to touch my beard. “Hey, you.”
I jerk my head back. “Neevah, what the fuck? The whole crew is waiting for you.”
She frowns, tilting her head like she’s not sure what I could be talking about, but then she glances down at her bathrobe, reaches up to touch her wig.
“Crap!” she says, scrambling from the bed.
“Rule number one. Never be late to my set.”
“I wasn’t late.” She rushes to the mirror to check her makeup and the wig. “I was on time. I just came back here because with the power out, we couldn’t do anything. I was feeling so . . . I’m sorry.”
“I can’t put sorry on film. Don’t be sorry. Be on time. Be where you’re supposed to be. Be prepared, dammit.”
“Are you kidding right now?” She whirls from the mirror to face me, indignation splashed across her expression. “I miss one call time in four months and you light into me like this?”
“What should I do when one of my actors is late? Give you a gold star for every time you weren’t?”
“You’re being a dick.”
“I’m being the director, Neevah. I can’t play favorites.”
“Favorites? Who’s asking you to?”
“You’ve put me in a position where my crew is wondering if I’ll go easy on you because we’re—”
“Fucking? Is that what you were gonna say?”
The word torpedoes between us, sounding coarse in this room where we made love last night. When it was lusty and tender and perfect. All the things I don’t have time to consider when I’m burning money having a damn lover’s quarrel.
“Don’t do this shit with me, Neevah. Not today. Of all days, not today. I don’t have time for it. We’re behind, and we’re gonna fuck around and lose my light.”
“Ever think there might be something more important than your damn light?”
“No, because that’s my job to think there is nothing more important than my damn light, and it’s your job to be ready when I have it.” I leave the room and yell over my shoulder, “Cameras roll in two minutes.”
