Feast of Saints (27 page)

Jake had fallen into a state of semi-consciousness. Lilly had to call his name twice before she got through to him.

“Jake… Jake… It’s okay to shampoo, now,” she said quietly.

Jake opened his eyes and stared up at her downturned face. She was still running the comb through his hair, standing a centimeter from him, well within his reach. The effort he expended to keep from embracing her prevented him from responding to her immediately.

“You can shower here, if you’d like. Your bathroom is stunning but not very practical.”

She stepped back and opened the small shower stall in her bathroom and peeked inside. “There’s shampoo, conditioner and soap here,” she said. When she turned back to him, she looked away immediately. “Clean towels over there,” she said, pointing to a shelf above the commode, looking everywhere but at him.

“I’ll just leave you to it,” she said and fled the bathroom.

Jake sat where she had left him, looking at the plaster ceiling. He was a monster, he thought. Every movement she’d made while taming his hair, every touch, was sublimely geared toward his comfort – not his sexual pleasure. She hadn’t been teasing him before. She was just really good at her job. But still, here he sat, wanting her more than ever.

In the hallway outside her room, Lilly had no idea where to go. She was so flustered that there was no way she could head back down to the crowded kitchen. Jake had as much as told her not to touch him again, yet at the first opportunity, there she was, stroking his hair, his temples, massaging his scalp, leaning into him.

In desperation, she slipped into Clara’s room to hide for a few precious minutes and compose herself.

Clara poked her head out of her bathroom. At the sight of Lilly shutting the door behind her, having entered without the courtesy of knocking, Clara asked, “What’s going on? Everything okay?” Clara looked ready to make her way to the fire escape.

“Nothing, nothing. I’m sorry for barging in. I just thought I’d… see what you’re wearing to dinner.”

“Like you need style tips from an old dish rag like me,” Clara scoffed.

Lilly pursed her lips disapprovingly at Clara’s disparaging description of herself. True, Clara was no model. When she first met Clara, Lilly had thought she was a bit frumpy. But since then, they’d spent many long hours together. She had seen Clara from all angles, in all moods. She was a strong woman with strong facial features to match. A wide, full mouth and broad jaw line, a square chin. With her long, straight nose, there was nothing pert about Clara, but to Lilly’s artistic eye, that was a good thing. She had strikingly deep black hair and brows. Clara was beautiful in an Ava Gardner way, although a bit fleshier.

Unfortunately, Clara neglected to apply her considerable talent to her own appearance. Worse, when she’d hit forty, Clara had simply given up on anything remotely sexy, resigning herself to matronly, shapeless clothing.

Lilly tapped her finger to her lips. If she tamed her hair and did some strategic eyebrow plucking, Clara’s classic, dark beauty would stand out. Fifteen minutes later, when Clara and Lilly headed back to the kitchen, Lilly’s tweezing had revealed a graceful arch to her brow. Hair gel had tamed her frizzy locks, creating shiny black silky waves. A wide red belt cinched high on her waist accented her hour-glass shape that had been hidden under the oversized white shirt. Rich red lipstick accentuated her strong features.

Unbuttoning another button on Clara’s blouse and flipping up the collar on her shirt, Lilly said, “You’re striking. Put you in a bathing suit and lay you across the hood of a muscle car, and you’d be the perfect pin-up girl.”

When she and Clara rejoined the group in the kitchen, Raoul, who’d been explaining the importance of chopping, not crushing garlic, stopped midsentence to stare at Clara. Alan turned to see what had grabbed his attention and his mouth literally fell open.

Jake stood, offering Clara his seat next to Alan at the country table. “Italy agrees with you, Clara,” he said, smoothly acknowledging her transformation.

Raoul followed with, “I was not familiar with Gentry as an Italian name, but your ancestors must have been
Italiano
. Is your mother’s maiden name Bellucci, by chance?” referring to the darkly beautiful Umbrian actress and model, Monica Bellucci

Clara, unused to all the male attention, or accepting compliments on her appearance, credited Lilly.

“It’s Lilly’s work. You know she could make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”

Clara’s self-deprecating comment earned her a swat on the arm from Lilly. “All
we
did was highlight what was already there. You’re gorgeous. Own it.”

“So that’s what you were doing up there while Raoul and I were doing all the work,” Maya cut in, staring hard at Clara.

Turning to Lilly, she griped, “How come I never look this good when you’re done with me?”

Jake waved Bova off when he pressed for another round of grapa, a potent clear liquor made by distilling the leftover grape skins and pulp from winemaking. Jake suspected that too much of the stuff would have him hallucinating.

So far, the only positive thing he could take away from this evening, from this week, was that he could stop worrying about Lilly’s professional reputation. The fear that Lilly’s abrupt change to working with Maya might negatively impact her career had been eating at him. Maya could be temperamental and vocal with her displeasure. Jake had been checking in with Maya daily since Lilly had quit working with him. At the first hint of discord, Jake would have intervened.

His concern, it turned out, was entirely unnecessary. Maya was immensely pleased with Lilly, and the two had become friends. Close friends, he realized watching them tonight.

When the dinner conversation inevitably turned to how the film was progressing, Maya said, with a smirk bordering on a smile, “Lilly’s the first person since my sister who will give me an honest appraisal. It’s terribly irritating.”

“Oh, and you’re not irritating at all,” shot back Lilly. In a fair imitation of Maya, she said, “Allegrezza doesn’t need to stab Sofia. All that blood and death. So messy. Let’s consider our alternatives.”

Maya had said this exact thing in a script meeting three days before leaving for Italy. Her suggestion would have completely altered the end of Palmer’s book, which concludes with Allegrezza stabbing Sofia, turning her into a vampire and then leaving her to die with the rising sun. Dying a soulless vampire, heaven – and Blaylock – would be forever closed to her. It was the ultimate revenge.

Maya feigned offense, “What’s so unreasonable about my suggestion? Sofia and Blaylock love each other.” Turning to Alan for confirmation, she said, “Don’t we? We should be together forever.”

Alan, who’d been conversing with Monty, looked up in surprise.

“Pardon me? I’ve missed a crucial turn in the conversation.”

“Oh, Maya,” chided Lilly. “Stop worrying. It’s going to be epic. I promise.”

Monty surprised them both by chiming in. “Epic. That’s right Lilly! What is it you call her, Jake? Here’s to the Pixie!” he exclaimed, enthusiastically clinking glasses around the table. “Thank God Phillip snatched her up before she became completely unaffordable.”

That night, Jake lay in bed, glad he had passed on the extra rounds of grappa, but wishing he hadn’t taken Lilly up on the offer to use her shower. He was covered in her scent. Warm sugar cookies and vanilla. It was going to be another sleepless night.

Chapter 19

On Sunday afternoon, back in LA, Lilly’s thoughts were in a tangle as she biked her way over to Warner. On the long flight back from Italy the day before, Clara and Lilly had been seated together. Jake had taken the studio jet back with Maya, Alan and Monty.

On the flight, she’d had that deflated feeling she always got when a highly anticipated trip came to an end. Clara’s mood seemed to match hers. In a lull in the conversation, Clara reached below her seat and came up with a two-inch thick book entitled,
Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell
, by Susanna Clarke.

Lilly had laughed, “Why on earth would you haul such a huge tome between two continents?”

But the smile on her face became a fixed mask as Clara told her, “It’s for work. Jake’s offered me a job on his next film. He’s playing the part of Jonathan Strange.”

Clara elaborated, “Terry Gilliam is adapting the book into a screenplay. Guillermo del Toro is directing. Peter is producing.”

Peter, of course, was Peter Jackson. There were no three individuals better at crafting a fantasy than Jackson, Gilliam and del Toro. Together, they’d create a masterpiece. To work with the three of them was a once in a lifetime opportunity for an effects specialist. Or, it would be. For Clara. Jake hadn’t mentioned a word of it to Lilly.

Oblivious to the effect her announcement was having on Lilly, Clara became increasingly animated as she talked about the storyline, filming in Vancouver and meeting Jake’s co-stars.

“The book’s about a man, Jonathan Strange, who becomes a caretaker for an elderly magician, Mr. Norrell, hoping to learn from him. I haven’t gotten far, but there’s something awful about Mr. Norrell. I suspect there will be some bad magical happenings. Ian McKellen is going to play Norrell.”

“Wow, he’s brilliant,” she said, fighting down her jealousy and growing confusion over why no one, Jake or Phillip, had considered asking her to work on the film.

Lilly’s façade of feigned enthusiasm for Clara’s good fortune finally cracked when Clara told her, “Sierra Nighly has been cast as Arabella Woodhope, Jonathan Strange’s love interest.”

At her hissing intake of breath, Clara glanced over, taking in her sour expression.

“I know she’s no Maya, but she’s not bad,” Clara said.

Lilly rearranged her face into what she hoped was a smile, although it felt more like a grimace.

“No, no, she’s fine. She’ll be good.” Patting Clara’s hand to signal she needed to get up, she excused herself, escaping to the airplane lavatory.

Hyperventilating in front of the mirror, she fought the urge to scream. Or bawl her eyes out. Fury warred with sharp grief. She didn’t care about stupid Sierra Nighly. She didn’t, she insisted to herself. What she cared about was that she’d been bypassed. Jake had given her dream job to Clara. And for the ten hour flight, she had to sit next to her friend and pretend like she didn’t hate her just a little bit for taking a job that was so clearly tailor made for her. She wet paper towels with cool water and pressed them to her burning cheeks. With a herculean effort, she clamped down on her chaotic emotions until her expression was serene and composed.

When Lilly finally returned to her seat, she had bottled up the problem of Jake and
Jonathan Strange
, leaving it for later. Clara had her nose in the book and Lilly purposefully did not disturb her.

Skirting Hollywood Hills on North Cahuenga Boulevard, Lilly timed her breathing with the rhythm of her pumping legs to fend off the constriction in her chest as she thought about Clara’s news, and tried to calmly sort through her thoughts.

First things first. She had to confront the fact that, despite the tension between them, she’d been harboring the notion that she and Jake would continue to work together indefinitely. She’d thought that she would always be his first choice for any project, the way she was with his young cousin, Tyler. Clearly that was not the case.

A nasty thought crossed her mind, causing her to crush the brake handles and her tires to skid: Jake wouldn’t be choosing Clara over her if she hadn’t been such a prude.

Her anger turned inward and she berated herself. Did any part of her think she should have slept with Jake to secure her position?

Of course not. But she had to admit that their relationship would have been different. A brief fantasy flickered through her mind of her and Jake collaborating on projects over a perfectly arranged breakfast of orange juice and pastries. In her fantasy, they did this every morning. She’d be wearing a soft denim man’s shirt, Jake’s hair streaked with grey.

Yeah, right
, shrewd Lilly interrupted her dreaming. Like that was how it was going to be if she had let him stay that night when he showed up at her house. She would probably already be out of a job.

Another, much different vision of the consequences of sleeping with Jake flooded her mind. In it, she showed up at his Beverly Hills mansion for an evening with him, and found a house full people, heavily weighted in favor of tall, curvy actresses and models in slinky silk dresses.

Jake was Ben Farrow, her college crush, all over again. If she had slept with Jake she’d have been nothing more than just another groupie.

There was no way she was going to go through that kind of hurt again. She’d never been so humiliated in all of her life. Not sleeping with Jake may have cost her the
Jonathan Strange
gig, but she’d kept her pride, her self-respect.

Lilly’s mood improved at the thought that when she ran into Jake after
Feast
ended, she’d have no reason to feel ashamed. He’s the one who would be embarrassed.

And she was likely to run into him, wasn’t she? Working on Tyler’s next project.

Another fantasy of her and Tyler accepting awards for their future films flitted through her head. Jake applauding sheepishly, just another star in the celebrity filled audience.

That fantasy stalled as she remembered that Tyler was currently set for an extended run on Broadway. After Broadway, his parents could decide that he needed to focus on school and prepare for college. He might not make another feature film any time in the near future.

Her mood took a darker turn as she imagined Tyler headed off for college, her long forgotten. It’s not like he had any reason to stay in touch. She wasn’t his family or even a close friend. She was just a sometimes coworker.

Once
Feast
wrapped, Jake wouldn’t be around her either, like he was now, in her line of vision nearly every day. He’d go back to being an untouchable, ultra-wealthy über-celebrity that she saw only on talk shows, in the movies, or plastered on the cover of magazines.

Lilly had reached the end of her ride. Dismounting her bike, she came to a somber resolution. She was destined to lose both Jake and Tyler, and there was not a damn thing she could, or should, do about it.

Sierra Nighly, on the other hand, would remain a mainstay in both their lives. Starring in features with Jake. Accompanying him to all the big events in Tyler’s life.

The studio was quiet on a Sunday afternoon. With no interruptions, it took her less than an hour to check supplies for the week. She took advantage of the quiet time to make a checklist of items that she would need to pack for Maya’s scenes in the faux Spello township. They would head to the Brooklyn soundstage being readied for that purpose in a week.

Lilly was just locking up the Lab when her cell phone rang. It was Frances.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you on this day of rest,” opened Frances.

Lilly demurred, “No, not at all. Actually, I’m just locking up at the studio. What can I do for you?”

“A small contingent of our troupe is going to New York next week to film the encounter between Sofia and Blaylock.”

“Yes, I know. I planned on heading out with Maya next Sunday,” said Lilly, assuming that Frances was calling to confirm that she would take charge of Maya’s character for the crucial scene.

“No, that’s not what we need,” said Frances. Lilly was momentarily stunned. If she wasn’t going to be working with Maya, then what was left for her? Clara had firmly taken up the reins for Allegrezza. Was her work on
Feast
already over?

“I need you to take responsibility for overseeing the completion of the Spello sound stage,” Frances continued, cutting through Lilly’s thoughts. “You’ll need to be on the ground in New York no later than Thursday. I’d like to go ahead and put you in touch with the set decorator tomorrow so you can start reviewing the plan right away.”

Her mind stuttered, then quickly processed what Frances was saying. Trying not to sound like she was looking a gift horse in the mouth, she said, “When you say ‘oversee’, Frances, what exactly do you mean?”

“It has come to my attention that our current New York production designer has a few shortcomings. You’ll be replacing her,” said Frances. Then, used to dealing with talent much more savvy than Lilly, Frances added, “Of course, you’ll receive the appropriate credit for your work.”

“Get Janice up to speed on Sofia by Wednesday. I want you in New York ahead of us to iron out any problems with the
Infiorata
.”

Before Frances could sign off, Lilly quickly interjected, “Have you told Maya?” Her heart jumped at the opportunity to orchestrate the Spello scene, but her enthusiasm was dampened by Maya’s likely reaction to Janice taking over for her. Maya was not going to be pleased with this change.

“Let’s talk to her together, tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning. Enjoy the rest of your Sunday.” It wasn’t until after she’d hung up that Lilly realized Frances hadn’t bothered to wait for her to accept the new assignment.

As soon as she got home, she popped open her laptop and began researching the
Infiorata di Spello
. Hundreds of years ago, during a festival celebrating Corpus Domini, a tradition had sprung up of laying out flower petals before the bishop’s procession through the streets of Spello. With the passage of time, the flower carpets became increasingly more elaborate and spawned a competition in which the narrow winding streets of Spello were decorated in amazingly intricate carpets designed with religious themes, all made with flower petals and other plant material.

Lilly landed on a professional photographer’s website that had an entire gallery of the Spello procession from three years ago. She slowly clicked through the images, then clicked through them faster, creating a flickering moving picture. The religious celebrants wore gowns of white, heavily accented with bright golds and yellows. As they swept through the multi-hued mosaics, they scattered the petals in a kaleidoscope of color. The first physical encounter between Sofia and Blaylock would occur amidst the snowstorm of flowers.

She picked up her dog-eared screenplay hoping that someone much more experienced than she had given this considerable thought. The pages depicting the fight scenes were well-worn, Lilly having poured over them when developing the gruesome effects, but Allegrezza didn’t appear in Spello. She turned to the procession. There was virtually no dialogue. The whole point of the
Infiorata
was to provide a dramatic backdrop for the romantic scene.

There was a vivid description of the set, identical to what she’d seen in the web photographs. Raoul, in full bishop vestment, would trail through the petalled mosaics, a host of clergymen in equally elaborate gowns trailing behind. In keeping with the real festival, extras and crew dressed as townspeople and tourists would be invited to run through the flower-strewn streets as the procession passed, scattering petals everywhere. her vision sputtered and rewound.

The Spello flower mosaics would be destroyed on the first pass. None of the scenes on
Feast
had been shot in one pass.

She mulled over the problem. When it came time to edit the Spello scenes, Monty would mix and match camera angles from different takes. Even if she had unlimited identical sets, the petals would not scatter in the same way twice. Inconsistencies in the set production would not be forgiven. From take to take, she needed a way to match the trajectory of each petal.

That meant only one thing. There had to be a plan for chroma key compositing – green screening, like they’d done for the fight scenes – and some pretty detailed post-production animation. The live-action filming would still be complicated, but, if done with the proper planning and an eye for accuracy, the flawless end result that Monty demanded could be achievable.

Putting down the script, she picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts for Nat’s number. As she tapped Nat’s name, she hoped he’d forgive her for interrupting his Sunday evening.

When he picked up, she started apologetically, “Hi Nat. It’s Lilly. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“No problem, Lil. What’s up?”

“Are you coming with us to New York next week?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there. So, are you taking over for Sylvia?”

“Is she the production designer for the Spello sound stage?”

“She was. Frances fired her last week. I suggested you as a replacement. I guess Frances took me up on the suggestion?”

“Yes, it seems so,” she said.

“You’re going to have to go in there with a fire hose, Lil. They’ve got a top notch set decorator, but her background is in theatre. Nobody’s given any thought to how the scene’s going to film. You up for it?”

That was not what she wanted to hear. “Honestly, Nat, I don’t know. This isn’t going to be easy.”

“You got that right. It’s not even possible under the current plan. The proposed schedule was circulated while you were in Italy. You know how we deal with variables on the back side, Lil. You’ve got to green screen it. But it wasn’t even a budget item.

“I don’t speak French, but I’m pretty sure the words Frances used when she called New York shouldn’t be repeated in polite company.”

“Is it in the budget now?” she asked worriedly.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m coming. I’m going to have to miss the initial planning meeting for this year’s Comic-con.”

“Thank God,” she said. “Without your help, I’d never be able to pull this off. Although I’m sorry you’ll be missing your meeting.”