Just Physical Page 3

  All the cables, lighting equipment, and the technology of a modern movie set contrasted sharply with the cast moving around in period costumes—the women wearing skirts or dresses and the men trousers, vests, and bowler hats.

  An actress in a white nurse’s uniform sat at a desk in the center of the room, listening to something Ben was explaining.

  Crash’s steps echoed across the shiny hardwood floor.

  Ben looked up and waved her over. “There you are. Thanks for coming in on such short notice.”

  “Sure. So, what do you need me to do?” Crash looked around, but there was no equipment set up that would give her any indication of what kind of stunt they wanted her to do.

  “Well…” Ben stepped away from the actress behind the desk and scratched his neck.

  Was he hesitating to tell her because it was a dangerous gag, maybe one involving fire? Crash swallowed. She wanted to shove her hands into her pants pockets while she waited for his reply but then realized she was wearing a skirt.

  “Nothing big,” Ben finally said. He handed her a stack of stapled pages—the list of scenes they would shoot that day.

  Her name was on one of the scenes. There was just one line of description for the stunt she was supposed to do.

  Dr. Lucy Hamilton Sharpe walks over to one of the patients, stumbles across a bedpan, and crashes into a metal cart.

  She turned the page over, thinking there had to be more. Nothing. This was a joke, right? No one booked a SAG-eligible stunt performer for something like that. She squinted over at Ben. “Uh, you want me to do…what?”

  “Stumble over a bedpan.”

  “Seriously?”

  He nodded and scratched the stubble on his chin, looking a bit embarrassed. “I know, I know.”

  She stepped closer to him so no one could overhear her. “Let me guess. The actress I’m doubling for is a bit…” She waved her hand while searching for the right word. “Difficult.”

  Someone cleared her throat behind Crash.

  When she turned, she came face-to-face with a woman who wore a costume that was identical to hers.

  Oh shit. That’s the actress I’m doubling. Just her luck.

  She didn’t look like the spoiled Hollywood diva Crash had expected. In fact, Jill Corrigan was exactly the type of woman who usually caught Crash’s eye. Compared to some of the actresses Crash had met, she wasn’t stunning, but there was a vibrancy, a spark to her that made Crash take notice anyway. The actress’s flaming-red hair contrasted with her fair skin, and for a moment, Crash thought it was a wig, just like the one she was wearing, but then a second look revealed that it was real. She stood eye to eye with Crash’s five foot eight, and yep, the wardrobe lady had been right—she was indeed a bit better endowed than Crash.

  What are you doing? Crash forced her gaze up and took in the charming smattering of freckles across the actress’s nose, which were visible even through her stage makeup. Cute. Definitely cute.

  But now the actress’s green eyes sparked with annoyance, destroying any hope that maybe she hadn’t heard what Crash had said about her being difficult. Jill folded her arms across her chest, which looked a bit out of place in her historical costume. “I happen to think that I’m fairly easy to work with. That is, unless someone assumes things about me without even meeting me first.”

  “Uh…” Well, if Jill refused to shoot the stumbling-over-a-bed-pan scene herself, she probably was a bit of a diva. But Crash knew better than to voice her thoughts. She’d have to work with this woman for the next two or three months, after all. “Hi,” she said with her most disarming smile. “Crash Patterson. Nice to meet you.” She held out her hand.

  After a few moments, the actress reached out and accepted her handshake. Her grip was firm. “Jill Corrigan.” She eyed Crash with a small wrinkle on her forehead that was just too adorable. “What kind of name is Crash?”

  “The name of someone who doesn’t mind stumbling over bedpans,” she said and then mentally slapped herself. The quip wouldn’t help establish an amiable working relationship.

  “Just to make one thing perfectly clear. I would rather do the scene myself, but Floyd wants to have a stunt person take over. It wasn’t my decision.”

  Crash hadn’t worked with the director before, but he didn’t seem the type who would coddle his actors. Was there something going on between him and the pretty actress, and that was why he didn’t want her to do this very simple stunt? It wouldn’t be the first time a set romance had impacted the production schedule, but Crash didn’t like it. She had never let her private life interfere with her work. In fact, she hadn’t even had a private life her first two years in the business. She’d been too busy introducing herself to any stunt coordinator who would talk to her and doing any gag, no matter how small. Kind of like the one she was supposed to do now.

  “No big deal,” she said. “I really don’t mind.”

  Jill mumbled something that sounded like “Well, I do,” before turning toward Ben and dragging him toward the edge of the set.

  Crash watched them, observed Jill’s gestures as she talked to Ben and waved her arm to indicate the set. She told herself she wasn’t ogling her; she was just trying to familiarize herself with the actress’s body language so she could adjust her own on camera.

  Finally, Ben shook his head to whatever Jill had requested.

  “Excuse me,” someone said behind Crash.

  The camera crew and the sound people were setting up their equipment all around her.

  Crash quickly got out of their way.

  Normally, Jill knew exactly how to use her Irish charm to get whatever she wanted. Not this time, apparently.

  Ben kept shaking his head, no matter what she said. “No, Jill. I can’t just ignore Floyd’s decision. You don’t want me to get in trouble with the boss, do you?”

  Jill sighed. “No. Of course not.”

  Nikki, one of the movie’s leading ladies, joined them. She wrapped one arm around Jill and gently nudged her. “Why are you so eager to get fake urine all over your costume anyway?”

  A grin slowly made its way onto Jill’s face. “Well, when you put it that way… Maybe I should be glad that the stuntwoman is doing it.” Despite her words, she couldn’t bring herself to be relieved. Shame and anger made her cheeks burn. She hated that the stuntwoman now assumed her to be a prissy diva who had requested a stunt double because she was afraid to chip a nail. Crash Patterson seemed to be the only person in the room who had no idea that Jill had MS. Hard to believe that anyone in Hollywood had missed the tabloid frenzy last June, but it seemed Crash had managed somehow. Normally, Jill would be glad about it, but now it meant the stuntwoman thought she was a slacker.

  Jill glanced over at Crash. Wearing the wig and the same costume, she could be mistaken for Jill from behind, but a closer look revealed that she didn’t look like Jill at all. While people often referred to Jill as cute, Crash was gorgeous, in that nonclassical, almost androgynous way that would have immediately captured Jill’s interest in the past. The woman’s jawline was a bit too square and her nose a bit too strong for her to ever make it as an actress, but Jill liked her dimpled chin and her striking blue eyes.

  She watched as Ben and Crash—or whatever her real name was—did a quick walk-through of the scene. Lighting was adjusted and the boom mikes moved back a bit, and then the cameras were rolling.

  “And…action!” Ben called.

  It was weird to see someone who looked so much like her, at least from behind and with a wig, walk down the row of beds. Was it just her imagination, or had Crash even adjusted her long, loose-limbed stride to the way Jill moved? Either she was really that good, or it was the skirt that changed the way she moved.

  Halfway toward her patient, Crash tripped over the bedpan. It looked real, as if she hadn’t known it was there. Crash almost fell and then careene
d into a metal cart that held medical supplies, which went flying in all directions.

  “Cut!” Ben called. He reviewed the take on his monitors, then immediately nodded. “Great. I don’t think we need to do it again.”

  Crash took off her wig, revealing short, disheveled black hair, and grinned. “Well, that was easy money.”

  Jill gritted her teeth. When the stuntwoman glanced over at her, she scowled and looked away. While it was Floyd who’d made that decision, it was hard not to resent Crash for being allowed to do what she no longer could.

  “Jill?” Ben called. “Ready to film the lead-in?”

  “Ready,” she answered, resolved to bag it in one take too. She’d show that stuntwoman that she wasn’t a difficult diva who held up production whenever she felt like it.

  They didn’t have time to break for a hot, sit-down meal from catering, so once Jill was done with her scenes for the day, she changed out of her costume and headed over to the craft services tent to see if there was any leftover food.

  She ran her hands down the seams of her pants while she walked. God, after thirteen hours in petticoats, skirt, and corset, jeans had never felt so good. She grinned inwardly. I might just set up a shrine to Levi Strauss!

  Someone cleared her throat behind her and said, “Hi.”

  Quickly, Jill snatched her hands away, embarrassed to have been caught practically caressing her own legs. Her cheeks heated, so she refused to turn around. She had a pretty good idea of who was behind her anyway. That low voice with the faint Texas accent was unmistakable.

  “Long day, huh?” Crash commented.

  Jill nodded but otherwise didn’t react to Crash’s obvious attempt to start a conversation. She wasn’t in the mood to make small talk with someone who had called her difficult in front of half the crew. She was working hard not to cause any trouble on the set, and she wasn’t about to let this stuntwoman—who didn’t even know how lucky she was to have her body do anything she asked it to do—make her look bad.

  When she stepped up to the twelve-foot-long craft services table that had been set up on one end of the tent, Crash joined her.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Jill saw that Crash had changed out of her costume too, apparently just as eager to get rid of the corset as Jill had been. Her low-rise jeans fit her like a second skin, making Jill’s dormant libido take notice. They had filmed some of the same scenes today, so the director would have the best material to choose from, but while Jill felt ready to drop, Crash looked fresh as a daisy.

  Figures. At least temperatures were still relatively cool for the middle of May in LA, so except for the fatigue, her symptoms didn’t flare up.

  Other actors and crew had wrapped their scenes too and were now descending on the food like a locust swarm.

  Jill threw a longing glance at the rapidly disappearing brownies, grilled cheese sandwiches, and muffins. In the past, she would have grabbed some of that food too, but she tried to stick to a healthier diet these days.

  Suppressing a sigh, she put a mango-lettuce-cucumber wrap onto her paper plate and reached for an apple—only to have her hand collide with another set of fingers reaching for the same piece of fruit.

  A shiver ran through her body. Quickly, she snatched her hand away. Not turning toward Crash, she felt more than saw Crash watch her. “What?”

  “Listen,” Crash said and gestured for Jill to go ahead and take the coveted apple. “I wanted to apologize for calling you difficult. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Jill weighed the apple in her hand. “Then why did you?”

  “Well, I’m not usually hired for a simple scene like that, so I assumed—”

  “You know what they say about people who make assumptions, don’t you?”

  Crash folded her arms over her chest and regarded her with a dismayed expression. “Are you always this…?”

  “Difficult?” Jill finished for her.

  One corner of Crash’s mouth twitched. “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you thought it,” Jill countered.

  “Oh, now you’re a mind reader too?”

  “I don’t have to be a mind reader to know what you’re thinking.” Jill knew she was a bit touchy, but she couldn’t help being hurt that this stranger had formed an opinion about her so quickly.

  At a stand-off, they stared at each other. Crash’s blue eyes were almost eerie, and it irritated Jill even more how fascinating she found them.

  “Ms. Patterson?” One of the PAs peered into the tent. “Mr. Brower is looking for you.”

  “Tell him I’m on my way,” Crash said but made no move to follow him out of the tent. When the PA walked away, she turned back to Jill. “I really want us to be able to work together.”

  “That’s one thing you don’t have to worry about. If you knew me at all, you’d know that I never allow my personal feelings to interfere with my work.” No matter what Crash thought of her, she was a professional.

  Crash didn’t look happy with the way they left things, but she finally gave her a nod. “I’d better go see what Ben wants. See you tomorrow.”

  Jill watched the tent flap fall closed behind Crash. God, it was going to be a long three months of shooting.

  CHAPTER 3

  Two sound technicians who’d sneaked off for a smoke stared at Jill as she passed them on the way to her car.

  What is it, boys? Never seen a woman in her underwear before? Chuckling, she glanced down at the pair of knee-length drawers and the chemise she was wearing. She unlocked her Beetle and let herself sink behind the wheel with a relieved sigh. Sitting down felt good, and so did being inside the car, where it was warmer. This was only the third day of filming, yet she was already exhausted. Today’s night shoot was kicking her ass, but Jill was determined to prove herself in the upcoming fight scene—even if she was only allowed to film the lead-in and the close-ups.

  Just when she reached for the jacket on the passenger seat, her cell phone rang. She fumbled it out of the jacket pocket and glanced at the display.

  Great. Her mother was calling. If she didn’t answer, she’d later have to listen to her ranting and raving about how worried she’d been. Sighing, she swiped her finger across the screen to accept the call. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Finally! I’ve been trying to reach you for hours!”

  “I’m still on set, so I couldn’t have my cell phone with me. I just went to the car for a minute. Did something happen?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  Jill gripped the steering wheel with her free hand. “Is Dad okay?”

  “What? Oh, yes, nothing like that. Your brother got a promotion! Isn’t that great?”

  “Yes,” Jill said dutifully. “It’s wonderful.” And it would be wonderful too if you didn’t scare me half to death!

  Her mother started to go on and on about the promotion.

  “Mom, I really can’t talk right now. We’re doing a night shoot, and I have to get back to the set.”

  “I just wanted to give you the good news and ask if you got my e-mail,” her mother said.

  The e-mail sat unread in her in-box, but there was a good chance it had to do either with her brother’s great accomplishments or with MS. Since her mother had chosen to tell her about James’s promotion on the phone, that left option number two. “The one about the MS health advice?”

  “Yes.”

  Bingo. Jill halfheartedly listened to her mother’s monologue about acupuncture, bee sting venom, and pH balance, all of which she was supposed to try out. Shaking her head, she thumped the steering wheel with her free hand. Since she’d finally told her parents about the MS last year, she’d stopped being their daughter and started being the family patient. Her mother hadn’t even asked how the shooting of Shaken to the Core was going.

  “Mom, I need to go,” she said when her mother started talking about
some aloe vera drink. She hung up, threw the phone onto the passenger seat, and closed her eyes for a moment.

  When Crash started to shiver in the cool night air, she slipped her leather jacket over her costume, not caring how ridiculous it might look.

  It seemed to take forever until the cameras and the rest of the equipment had been set up. Why was it that everything always seemed to take twice as long on night shoots?

  Spotlights cut through the darkness, illuminating a sea of tents that, in the movie, housed the injured and sick after the hospital had burned down.

  When her colleague who would play the looter breaking into the makeshift hospital arrived, she went over the fight choreography with him.

  After two run-throughs, both she and Ben were satisfied that all would go smoothly.

  “Okay, let’s get this over with so we can finally go home and get some sleep,” Ben said. He looked around. “Where’s Jill?”

  Crash peered around too but couldn’t locate her anywhere. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen her for the last half hour.

  “I think she headed to her car to get a jacket,” one of the PAs said.

  Crash looked over to the parking lot, but everything was pitch-dark over there. A hint of worry skittered down her spine. Why was it taking Jill so long to get her jacket?

  Ben let out a sigh. “Can someone go and get her? We’re losing time here, people!”

  “I’ll go,” Crash said before anyone else could volunteer. Maybe this would give her the opportunity to apologize again.

  In the last two days, she’d had a lot of time to watch Jill while she waited for her next stunt. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out that Jill was not the difficult diva she’d first thought her to be. Even after half a dozen takes, Jill was always ready to repeat a shot as often as it took to get it right. She never complained, and she never treated any member of the crew with disrespect.