Just Physical (3 page)

At the countdown, Crash's body started to buzz with excitement. The thrill of doing a high fall never got old, no matter how often she'd done it. She planted her feet more firmly and waited for the final cue.

“Go!”

She jumped over the ledge face-first, kicking her legs and flailing her arms just the way the director wanted it. The ground rushed up fast.
Wait, wait, wait…
She gave the cameramen as much time as she could so they'd have plenty of material to shoot before rotating her body.

She landed flat on her back, her chin tucked into her chest, with the impact as evenly distributed as she could. A bit of air whooshed out of the bag.

Everything went quiet for a moment. Then the crew broke into applause.

Crash lifted up on one elbow, looked behind her, and grinned.
Perfect landing.
She had hit the white X in the center of the air bag.

Their stunt coordinator, who was also the second-unit director, walked over. “You okay?”

She smoothly rolled off the air bag and dropped to the ground. “Yeah. Need me to do that again?”

“No. You nailed it on the first take. Nice job.”

“Too bad,” Crash grumbled. With the adrenaline still pumping through her body, she was ready to climb back up and do it all over again.

He looked her up and down as if taking her measurements. “Do you have more stunt work lined up for the next few months?”

“Not yet.” Crash wasn't at a point in her career yet where she would constantly work. Just when she had started getting bigger jobs, she hurt her leg in a motorcycle stunt. Then, on her first job after that had healed, a fire stunt had gone wrong. Memories of heat searing her skin flashed through Crash's mind, and she stifled the impulse to rub the burn scar on the back of her neck. The screw-up hadn't been her fault, but that didn't matter. If people thought she was still skittish about it, word would get around, and stunt coordinators would stop hiring her. Nothing was more dangerous than a stunt person who couldn't keep a lid on their fear.

“You might want to hit up a buddy of mine, Ben Brower.” The second-unit director handed her a business card. “They start shooting a historical drama with lots of action scenes in mid-May, and they're still looking for a girl to double one of the actresses and maybe play a few extras in the more dangerous scenes.”

“Woman,” Crash said.

He frowned. “What?”

“They're looking for a
woman
to double one of the actresses,” Crash said softly, but without flinching away from his gaze.

His frown deepened. “That's what I just said, isn't it?”

Crash decided to let it go. The second-unit director looked as if he were old enough to have gotten his start doubling for John Wayne, so compared to his age, she really was little more than a girl. He was offering work, so he hadn't meant it in a belittling way. “So, who would I be doubling?” she asked. “The lead actress?”

“No, one of the supporting actresses. Jill Something-or-another.”

Great. So she'd be doubling for some unknown wannabe starlet who probably had one scene in the movie. Crash sighed. Well, it was better than nothing, and he had said she could play an extra in some of the more dangerous scenes. If she did well, it might get her on the list of candidates for bigger, more exciting work. “Okay,” she said. “I'll give Mr. Brower a call.”

“It's a movie about the great earthquake and fires of 1906, so you'll probably have to do some fire stunts. You're up for that, aren't you?”

Crash gritted her teeth. News in the stunt business traveled fast. “I'm up for it,” she said as evenly as possible and pocketed the card. “Thanks.”

CHAPTER 2

“And cut,” Floyd Manning called.
He gave Jill a nod. “Thank you, that was great.”

Jill stuck her index finger into the high neck of her starched blouse and tugged, while trying to adjust her corset with the other hand. She didn't know how women in 1906 had lived like this every day. She'd been saddled with the corset and the two petticoats for less than a day, yet she was already sick of them.

“Why don't you take a short break?” Floyd eyed her with a wrinkle of concern between his eyebrows. “We won't need you for the next hour.”

Truth be told, Jill could use a break, but she didn't want any special consideration. “Um, wasn't I supposed to head over to the second-unit set?”

The director shook his head. “That's not necessary. We'll get someone from the stunt department to do it. Just join them after your break so they can shoot the lead-in.”

Jill gave up on her attempts to get the corset to fit more comfortably and narrowed her eyes at Floyd. “Nikki and Shawn are running through walls of fire, climbing tons of debris, and dodging panicked horses, and you think I can't even trip over a bedpan?”

Floyd got up from the director's chair and walked over to her, probably so none of the crew and cast would overhear what he had to say. “It's not that I think you can't do it. But if you get hurt, we'll have to stop production while you heal. That means a lot of lost money. If the stunt person gets hurt, we just call in another one.”

After seven years in the business, Jill knew that was how things worked, but she still felt there was more to it than the routine procedure. “Yeah, but it's not like I'm supposed to do a backflip and land on a galloping horse. I'm tripping over a bedpan, for Christ's sake!”

Folding his arms across his skinny chest, Floyd faced her squarely. “It's not as easy as it looks. You could still get hurt.”

“Would you let me try if I didn't have MS?” Jill asked.

A slight flinch. “It's not like that,” he said but couldn't look her in the eyes anymore.

Bingo.
She'd been right. Not that it gave her any satisfaction. She opened her mouth, about to tell him where he could shove his unwanted consideration, but then she bit her tongue. He probably meant well, or he had the producers and their insurance company breathing down his neck. Besides, it wouldn't do her any good to get a reputation as a diva who flew off the handle when things didn't go her way.

She inflated her cheeks and then blew out a breath. “All right. If you're sure you want to bother a stunt person for an easy thing like that…”

“I'm sure,” he said.

When he didn't add anything else, she turned and walked to her trailer. At times like this, she really regretted coming out to the press and the public—not as a lesbian, but as a person with MS.

Well, it wasn't as if you had much choice.
The paparazzi had snapped pictures of Grace helping her to her trailer when her symptoms had flared. The press and the public had promptly concluded that they were having an affair. If she hadn't revealed the truth, the rumors would have gotten out of control, hurting her friend's career, because back then, her fans had still assumed Grace to be happily married to action star Nick Sinclair.

Jill entered the trailer and flopped down on the couch. Exhaustion settled over her without warning, so she closed her eyes, not even bothering to get out of her costume. She'd rest here for a moment and then head over to the second-unit set. Maybe Ben, the second-unit director and stunt coordinator, would let her try no matter what Floyd said.

Crash grunted as the pink-haired wardrobe assistant laced up her corset. Man, this thing was worse than a stunt harness.

The young woman stepped back and eyed her from head to toe. Usually, women didn't frown like that when they regarded her half-dressed body.

“What?” Crash asked and peered down her body too.

“Um, you're about the same age, height, and weight as Ms. Corrigan, but…uh, you need a little something…” She gestured at Crash's chest and then stuffed some padding into the corset.

Chuckling, Crash held still. She had yet to meet the actress she would double, so she had no idea about her bra size. Of course she had planned to pay her a visit and study the way she moved so she could copy her as closely as possible, but the stunt coordinator had called her in two weeks early, saying there'd been a change of plans and they needed her right away.

She didn't yet have the call sheet or the stunt script, but when she had arrived, the second-unit set had been buzzing with activity. The rigging coordinator had set up a ratchet and debris cannons, so apparently, one of the stunt performers would be thrown through a wall or a window by some kind of explosion. She hoped she'd get to do that gag or another, equally exciting stunt.

Once she was in costume and had her makeup done, she headed back to the set. Her petticoats rustled, and she looked down at the long skirt she was wearing. It always felt a bit strange. While her job sometimes made it necessary to wear a dress or a skirt, the last time she'd worn one off-set had been her sixth birthday.
Good thing they pay me well for this.
At least the high-neck blouse and the ankle-length skirt would cover the pads she'd wear for some of the stunts. Usually, stuntwomen had it harder than their male colleagues since they didn't get to wear baggy pants and long-sleeved tops that could hide their pads.

When she stopped a PA and asked him where Ben was, he directed her toward one of the buildings. They were shooting in an old, abandoned hospital that reminded her of the one in
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
. She followed other cast and crew members up the stairs and found herself in a long room, with two rows of metal-framed beds lined up along the walls. Gas light fixtures hung from the ceiling.

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?”